Kristine June

His dark hair, just a bit tousled from the rush, caught the light, and the sharp angles of his jawline seemed even more pronounced against the backdrop of the gritty site. His team watched him with admiration; Jungwon always exuded this calm, confident charm that somehow made even the most panicked scenes feel manageable.

Jungwon quickly assessed the man’s condition. The patient was unconscious, his breathing shallow. One of his teammates handed over the stethoscope, and Jungwon listened intently to the faint sounds of the man’s breathing. His brow furrowed.

“Possible head trauma. We’ve got low oxygen saturation,” he muttered under his breath, signaling for the oxygen mask as his hands moved swiftly yet delicately over the man’s body, checking for fractures and injuries.

His every move was precise, commanding attention—not just because of his skill but the way he carried himself. Even in the face of an emergency, he looked collected, like he was born to handle the pressure.

"Jungwon," his teammate called from the side, holding the patient's chart. "No significant external bleeding. We’ve got a weak pulse though, around 130, BP's borderline. We need to get him out of here fast."

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed as he nodded, quickly making a decision. “Let’s secure his airway first and immobilize his spine. We can’t risk any movement.” He made the call as he smoothly slid the oxygen mask onto the patient’s face, adjusting it with a gentleness that contrasted the urgency of the situation. His fingers brushed over the man’s wrist, checking his pulse again. A slight frown creased his forehead.

With practiced ease, his team set up a backboard to stabilize the patient, while Jungwon prepared to radio the hospital. His deep voice echoed through the dust-laden air, crisp and calm. “We’re looking at a possible internal bleed or brain injury—trauma to the head, decreased GCS. Get Y/N on standby. She’ll want to know.”

He tapped his earpiece, dialing straight into the hospital, his tone switching effortlessly into that of a strict professional.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice filled with authority as he spoke into the receiver, “we’ve got a situation here. Male, late twenties, unconscious after a fall from height—GCS is 4. We’ve administered oxygen and immobilized his spine, but he’s unresponsive. Internal injuries are likely.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, before your voice came through, crisp and all business. “Vitals?”

Jungwon rattled off the numbers, his tone growing sharper as he outlined the gravity of the situation. “BP’s dropping fast, pulse is weak, pupils uneven—one’s blown. It’s not looking good.”

“Get him here as fast as you can,” you replied, your voice steady. “We’ll be ready when you arrive. I need him in trauma two for imaging, and you better give me a detailed report when you get here.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes subtly, though no one else could hear his exasperation. “Of course, Doctor. Just make sure the room’s prepped.” His sarcasm was impossible to miss, but before you could retort, he was already motioning for his team to get the stretcher ready.

“Let’s get moving,” he said, standing up in one fluid motion, his wide shoulders casting a shadow over the patient as he signaled for the transfer. His team lifted the man onto the gurney, Jungwon guiding them every step of the way. Despite the intensity of the moment, there was something about the way he commanded the situation—his deep voice, his piercing gaze, the way he moved like a force of nature—that made even a frantic scene seem a little calmer.

Jungwon was the kind of guy people listened to, the kind of guy people looked up to. Even with the weight of the situation hanging over him, he held his head high, taking charge like it was second nature. His team moved quickly, securing the patient in the ambulance as Jungwon gave one last glance to the scene before climbing in.

“Let’s go,” he said firmly, and with the wail of sirens, they sped off toward the hospital.

Jungwon stormed through the emergency room doors with a sense of purpose, his jaw clenched as he guided the gurney toward the trauma bay. “28-year-old male, head trauma, GCS of 4, possible internal bleeding. Move it!” His voice boomed with authority, eyes scanning the room as the ER team sprang into action.

The chaos of the emergency room was nothing new, but today it seemed more charged than usual. The tension was thick as the nurses hurried to get the trauma room prepped, doctors barking orders as they readied themselves. And at the center of it all was you—focused, sharp-eyed, already gloved up and waiting.

The moment Jungwon and his team wheeled the patient in, your eyes met his, a silent exchange of understanding mixed with the tension that always crackled between them in moments like this. Not that anyone would’ve noticed—your constant bickering was practically a feature of every shift.

You stepped forward, your voice cutting through the noise of the room. “Trauma two is open. Let’s get him in fast!”

The team followed your lead, transferring the patient from the gurney to the hospital bed with swift efficiency. Jungwon stayed close, hands still gripping the rails of the stretcher as if he was unwilling to relinquish control.

“You took too long with the vitals report,” you said, throwing him a sharp glance. “We could’ve been in there five minutes ago.”

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed. “We did take the vitals. Maybe if you paid attention, you’d know that.”

“Excuse me?” you shot back, your gaze never leaving the patient as you worked to stabilize him. “I don’t need a paramedic trying to tell me how to do my job. We had a plan, and your delay didn’t help.”

Jungwon glared, his voice low and clipped. “Maybe if your plan didn’t waste time on unnecessary scans, we wouldn’t have needed a second round of intubation last time.”

Your hands froze for a split second before you caught yourself. You threw him a withering look. “This again? You think you can waltz in here and play doctor, Jungwon?”

“I’m not playing doctor. I’m trying to make sure you don’t screw it up.” His tone was biting, but professional, and the tension in the room rose instantly.

One of the nurses stepped back, shaking her head. “Here they go again.”

You didn’t back down, leaning closer as you adjusted the IV line. “How about you leave the doctoring to me, and I’ll leave the paramedic work to you? We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Jungwon took a breath, his expression unreadable for a moment, his frustration barely contained. “Fine. Just don’t mess it up.”

“Same to you,” you retorted, not missing a beat.

Before Jungwon could respond, one of the nurses interrupted. “Dr. Y/N, patient’s BP is dropping.”

Instantly, you refocused, the banter dropped as quickly as it had escalated. “Let’s get the trauma panel done. We need to stabilize him before moving for imaging. Prep the fluids.”

Jungwon watched you work, his arms still crossed, but he didn’t say another word. Despite the constant arguing, there was no denying that you are incredible at your job. Even in the most high-pressure situations, you were in complete control.

You worked together in tense silence, the only sounds in the room now the soft beeps of the monitors and the quiet shuffling of the medical team around them. Jungwon’s team lingered just outside, waiting for their next call, though they couldn’t help but glance back inside the room occasionally, accustomed to the combative exchanges between Jungwon and you.

As the patient’s vitals finally stabilized, you took a step back, letting out a quiet breath. “We’re clear to take him to imaging now. Good work, everyone,” you called to the team, your voice steady once more.

Jungwon uncrossed his arms, walking past you toward the door. “You’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You narrowed your eyes at his back but said nothing. You didn’t need to. Your argument had run its course for now.

Thirty minutes later, with the patient stable and prepped for surgery, you stepped out of the trauma room, pulling off your gloves. Jungwon was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, that same tight-lipped look on his face.

“Everything go okay, or did I miss something else?” he asked, his voice loaded with sarcasm.

You glared at him. “Yeah, we managed just fine without your commentary, thanks.”

“Good,” Jungwon muttered, pushing himself off the wall and adjusting his jacket. “Maybe next time you won’t waste so much time arguing.”

“Maybe next time you’ll do your job and get out of my way,” you shot back, your voice sharp.

“You love being in control, don’t you?” Jungwon’s eyes glinted, his voice dropping low as he stepped closer. “Can’t handle someone else calling the shots, huh?”

You crossed your arms, your gaze unyielding. “I don’t need to handle anything, least of all you.”

“Trust me, I’m not asking for much,” he replied with a smirk, his voice oozing with challenge.

You scoffed, brushing past him. “Try asking for less.”

Jungwon shook his head with an exasperated sigh as he watched you walk away, but his lips twitched ever so slightly. The others on their teams didn’t even blink. This was just how the both of you were. They were used to it by now—the biting remarks, the challenges, the constant back-and-forth. Every time Jungwon’s ambulance showed up, it was only a matter of time before you and him were at each other’s throats again.

Hours later, the hospital had quieted down. The rush of the afternoon was over, and most of the staff had gone home. You and Jungwon had managed to avoid each other for the rest of your shifts, though your earlier argument still hung in the air like static.

You finally peeled off your gloves after your last appointment and scrubbed your hands clean, your mind replaying the events of the day. You were tired, drained even, but there was something about that last spat with Jungwon that wouldn’t stop gnawing at you. Maybe it was the way he always had a smug retort ready or how he never backed down from your challenges.

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. “Annoying paramedic,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing your coat and heading out of the ER.

Your apartment wasn’t far from the hospital, a quiet space tucked away from the noise of the city. By the time you have arrived, your exhaustion had fully settled in, your body craving rest.

You pushed open the door and was greeted by the sound of faint rustling from the kitchen.

“Rough day?” a familiar voice asked, soft and warm.

You smiled, the tension from earlier melting away. There, standing in the kitchen in the same paramedic uniform that had driven you crazy just hours ago, was Jungwon. His hair was a little disheveled now, his expression soft and boyish, the strict leader of the paramedic team completely gone.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, walking over to him, your eyes catching on his broad shoulders, still defined under the crisp lines of his uniform. Jungwon turned around, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat when you see his easy smile, so different from the sharp tone he used at work.

Without another word, Jungwon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. The scent of antiseptic still clung to his uniform, mixed with the faintest hint of his cologne. You closed your eyes and let yourself melt against him, the weight of the day slipping away. You buried your face into his shoulder, feeling the strong muscles beneath the fabric, and sighed softly.

“You’re lucky I put up with you,” he teased, reaching for your hand and pulling your close. “Even after you yelled at me for no reason.”

“I didn’t yell for no reason,” you protested, but your voice had lost all its sharpness, softened by the warmth of being home. You leaned against his chest, letting out a deep breath. “Okay, maybe I did. But only because you deserved it.”

Jungwon chuckled, his arms wrapping around you more tightly. “Sure, I deserved it. You really hate me that much, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat behind it as you melted into his embrace. “The worst,” you muttered, though your fingers played with the collar of his uniform.

Jungwon smirked, resting his chin on top of your head. “Good thing we’ve got the whole night to make up for it, then.”

“You’re still in your uniform,” you mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. But inside, your mind was in chaos. His broad shoulders. The way he held you. The authority he exuded at work seemed to linger here, too, but only just enough to make your heart race.

Jungwon chuckled, his hand moving up to cup the back of your head. “I thought you liked me in uniform.”

You groaned, your cheeks flushing. “Stop it. I’m tired.”

“Liar,” he teased, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His own softened as he took in your face, the familiar tenderness filling his gaze. “You love it.”

And he wasn’t wrong. As strict and commanding as you could be at work, here with him, you couldn’t help but feel weak in his arms. You were whipped for him in every sense of the word, even if you would never admit it out loud.

Jungwon kissed the top of your head, his earlier bravado fading into a gentle affection. “Come on. Let’s get you out of these scrubs and cuddle.”

You let out a soft laugh, the kind that only he ever got to hear. “You’re the one who’s going to change first. That uniform’s distracting.”

“I knew it,” he grinned, but without missing a beat, he started peeling off his jacket, revealing the tight black undershirt beneath that highlighted his lean muscles. You had to look away before you lost yourself completely.

As you settled onto the couch, your limbs tangled together in the quiet of their apartment, the world outside felt a million miles away. In here, there were no patients to save, no colleagues to impress, no reputations to uphold. It was just the both of you.

Jungwon nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his earlier strictness replaced by a cuteness that only you got to see. “You’re such a pain at work, you know that?”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “You’re not so easy yourself.”

And just like that, the bickering, the tension, all of it faded away. Because here, in your shared apartment, away from the chaos of the ER and the expectations of their coworkers, you were just you and Jungwon—no titles, no arguments. Just two people who loved each other, even if you never let anyone else know.

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐵𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝐼𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒

𝑆𝑜 𝑊𝒉𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑊𝑎𝑠 𝐴𝑛 𝐼𝑑𝑖𝑜𝑡?

𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑇𝒉𝑟𝑜𝑤 𝐴 𝐵𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝐴𝑡 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝐶𝑟𝑢𝑠𝒉

𝑊𝑒𝑙𝑙, 𝑇𝒉𝑖𝑠 𝐼𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑊𝒉𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐵𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝐼𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒

𝑆𝑜 𝑊𝒉𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑊𝑎𝑠 𝐴𝑛 𝐼𝑑𝑖𝑜𝑡?

𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑇𝒉𝑟𝑜𝑤 𝐴 𝐵𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝐴𝑡 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝐶𝑟𝑢𝑠𝒉

𝑊𝑒𝑙𝑙, 𝑇𝒉𝑖𝑠 𝐼𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑊𝒉𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑

Keep my heart guarded ✶ lhs

word count: 22.7k

Your long-term relationship with your bodyguard-slash-personal assistant Lee Heeseung goes way back in high school. Ever since then, he keeps your heart guarded and humbled in every possible way since your makeup line started to rise into fame. But when a dating scandal tied you with your brand's ambassador, leading to a PR stunt that will last for two years, that's when you realized that your relationship with Heeseung was starting to crumble because of the fortune and popularity.

Play dates ✶ pjs

word count: 25k

A drunken one night stand went wrong when news of the darling socialite was seen leaving the penthouse of CEO Park Jongseong, one of the most sought bachelors in Korea. In order to save face and reputation, a fake dating contract of six months was proposed.

The problem? Turns out you and Jay were ex-lovers — a secret relationship that ended up in a bad light and three years after not seeing each other, you two ended up in the headline of the tabloids and gossip articles. Fake it 'til you make it, they say, and it doesn't help that your ex-boyfriend is great with the act, blurring the lines between repressed feelings and acting like everything's fine between the two of you.

Crayon portraits ✶ sjy

word count: 19.4k

You have a secret — you have a daughter. A four year old little girl who's the bright definition of summer sun. You have another secret, the father is nothing but a bartender at a local beach bar where you had a vacation a few years ago. With your reputation on the line, you forced yourself to keep them hidden from the world and thankfully, Jake was willing to hide his daughter and agree with your conditions — until he decided he doesn't want to for his daughter's sake, leaving you questioning your life as a career woman and a mother.

Conveniently, Mr. & Mrs. Park ✶ psh

It was simple. Go back to South Korea, take his inheritance from his late father, leave, and never return. But it wasn't simple for Park Sunghoon when he discovered that in order to receive his inheritance, his father required an heir and family from him.

Then came you. A mess, carrying an eight-month old baby, scared of the world. Sunghoon needed a family, you needed protection and shelter. Filling each other's needs, the two of you arranged a marriage of convenience for a year. It’s that simple. You two convinced, not until lines started to blur and wants started to diminish your supposed needs.

Chasing after storms ✶ ksn

word count: 20.3k

Your life has always been a matter of business. Even your marriage with the cold-hearted Kim Sunoo was purely out of business. An alliance. To strengthen one’s company and partnership. But when a conversation between Sunoo and a family lawyer suggesting to divorce you was overheard, you resorted to your only choice — ran away.

Seven months into your disappearance, and your husband found you in the smallest, most secluded isle in your country. Eager to bring you home, his desperation clashed with your stubbornness, creating a storm that left both of you stranded in your loveless marriage.

Ruining empires ✶ yjw

Your relationship with Jungwon comes in hotel rooms and behind closed doors, where it's just the two of you who love each other with much tenderness. While in the outside world, the two of you are destined to be rivals due to your family's long-term rivalry when it comes to being the top corporation in your country. But when secrets are starting to spill, and meet-ups are getting harder to do so; you and Jungwon must face the world and prove that what you two have is real.

The art of tension ✶ nrk

word count: 22.4k

Your divorce has been the talk of the town. The cold and meticulous CEO who wasn’t able to give affection to her ex-husband, eventually was replaced with someone younger and prettier in less than five months after the divorce. You tried to keep your reputation stable despite all the names thrown to you, but when an art gallery exhibit trailed you to Nishimura Riki — handsome, fine, reputable-looking yet younger male who seems to be drawn to you, tension arises and gossip articles start to brew.

The printer is jammed.

It takes a very exaggerated eye roll and an embarrassing amount of self control to refrain from kicking the damn thing. Besides, you’re pretty sure your previous wording was too kind. 

Because a more accurate depiction of the situation would be:

The printer is jammed. Again. 

You’re not sure which cruel deity is responsible for the creation of Monday afternoons, but you’re sure they’re laughing at you now. Dressed in business casual and praying against all odds that the clock hanging on the office wall will start ticking a little faster, you almost wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. Spare you from your misery 

And it’s not like a jammed printer is the end of the world. From a logical, unbiased point of view, you’re sure it’s nothing but a small, easily solvable problem. 

But it’s four pm on a Monday afternoon and you’ve had back-to-back meetings since you clocked in at eight this morning. The only real break you had lasted twelve minutes. Most of which were spent dabbing coffee stains from your blouse after Terry from accounting knocked into you in the staff kitchen. 

Your head is pounding and your feet are aching and your bladder is overly full and your left bra strap is starting to dig into your shoulder in a way that is entirely too overstimulating. 

And you really, really just need this report to print. 

After all, your boss made it very clear that you would not be clocking out for the day, no matter what hour of the evening it is, until said document is laid on his desk. Never mind the fact that you weren’t made aware of this demand until a handful of hours ago. 

So yeah, the printer jamming – again – does kind of feel like the end of the world. 

The screen is still flashing with an angry reminder to fix the paper jam in Tray 2. The instructions are starting to blur a little as you furiously blink away hot tears. 

You won’t cry at work. You won’t.

But your exhaustion is catching up with you, and the first thing it usually takes with it is your control over your emotions. 

The more you try to will them away, the more insistently they want to escape. 

Bent over the printer, you’re in the middle of trying to dislodge a particularly stubborn piece of A4 when the first tear finally does escape. It falls in a thick, wet train down the length of your cheek, settling for a moment at the base of your chin before dripping, a little pathetically, right onto the stack of papers in the printer tray. 

Your hands go slack on the sheet you’re warring with. 

For a moment, all you can do is sigh. Hang your head and hope some higher power takes pity on you. 

Stressed, burnt out, overworked. This was not how you thought you’d be spending your early twenties. But a salary is a salary, and fighting with an inanimate object on the worst day of the week keeps your lights on and your stomach full. 

Hunched over, you’re suddenly glad that the printer is kept in a separate room outside of the main office space. That there are no witnesses to your slightly pathetic meltdown.

Save for a few, it’s not like you care all that much about what your coworkers think of you. But the last thing you need to add to this day is a fresh bout of humiliation. 

Just one more minute, you tell yourself. One more minute of silence before you pull yourself together and finish dislodging the stupid piece of paper. 

It must be at least 4:10 by now, which means you have less than an hour to go. You can do it. You can. You just need one more minute of silen–

“Everything okay?” 

The sudden intrusion is so startling that your head jerks up in a subconscious reaction. Only, of course, to be met with the open printer tray you’re currently trying to troubleshoot. 

The clunk that echoes through the tiny printer room as your temple comes in direct contact with hard plastic is almost as loud as it is painful. 

“Ah,” you wince, hand instinctively flying to the side of your head. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, ____.” You’re not sure if your hesitation comes from embarrassment or the fact that you head is still spinning. Either way, you’re slow to move as you look up at your sudden audience. 

Over your shoulder, Yang Jungwon has nothing but apologies written all over his delicate features. Brow pulling into a concerned frown, he’s quick to kneel to your level. 

If anyone was going to find you like this, you suppose you’re glad it was him. A recent hire fresh out of university, Jungwon has carved out a quiet kind of reputation for himself in the office. 

His presence isn’t commanding, but it is steady. The kind of person that you never see get worked up or angry or even annoyed no matter how many last minute deadlines are assigned or how many printers get jammed when he really needs to use them. 

And from what you’ve gathered, he mostly keeps to himself. It’s not from a lack of effort on your coworkers’ behalf. You know firsthand that he’s been invited to multiple post work gatherings and weekend events. 

His popularity doesn’t exactly surprise you. Even with his quiet demeanor, he has a striking presence. One that makes you curious, leaves you wanting to know more. 

Never mind the fact that he’s absolutely gorgeous. 

Still, despite their efforts, you also know that he’s politely declined each and every invitation without ever giving any real explanation. 

In all honesty, you’ve always just assumed there was a girlfriend he was eager to run home to. 

But even that is nothing more than a mindless assumption. After all, you’ve only had a few interactions with him, and nothing beyond the typical small talk all office workers develop a talent for. 

Even now, he makes the simple button down and slacks he’s wearing look like they came right from a runway. 

You’re not quite sure why, but it almost makes you want to cry harder. 

At the very least, you’re pretty sure you don’t need to worry about rumors of you having a minor meltdown in the printer room spreading through the office. Jungwon might be a hot topic of office gossip, but he’s not one to spread it.

“I am so sorry,” he repeats, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His words are spilling out a bit too fast, blurring into each other around the edges. “I just saw you in here, and I couldn’t tell if you were okay or not, so I wanted to–”

“Jungwon,” you interrupt. There’s no kind way of telling him that his rambling is only making your headache worse. That it’s only making your tears fall faster. Instead, you abet his misplaced guilt. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

A bit shakily, you muster up your most convincing smile. But your smudged mascara, slightly puffy eyelids, and still visible tear track suggest otherwise. 

Jungwon’s brow just pulls together a little further. “Are you sure?” He’s unconvinced. Taking a wary glance at the printer tray, he looks back to you with concern in his eyes. “That sounded like it hurt.”

“Really,” you force another weak smile. “I’m sure.”

“Can I at least take a look at it?” Guilt is still written plain as day across his face. 

Assuming he’s referring to the printer, you nod before taking one big scooch to the side. Within the confines of this tiny room, it only puts you closer to him. 

And it takes less than a second for you to realize your assumption was wrong. Because Jungwon doesn’t reach for that stupid piece of A4 still jammed inside Tray 2 or even the printer tray that just nearly concussed you. 

No, instead, his long fingers trek a steady path towards your hand. The one that still rests against your temple. Gently, he pries it away, replacing it with his own careful touch.

You’re all but immobile as gentle fingers press lightly against the side of your face, adjusting it slightly. His fingers are cool, soothing as he turns your injury towards the overhead light. 

Pliant in his hands, it’s all you can do to watch as his brow furrows in concentration, eyes scanning over your skin. Taking the skin of your bottom lip between your teeth, you pray he doesn’t notice the sudden heat in your cheeks. 

From this angle, with this proximity, you can practically count his eyelashes. They’re long, you notice. Long and wispy where they frame his dark eyes. 

“No broken skin,” he finally asserts. You can feel his breath against your skin. It takes nearly all your concentration to suppress the shiver that threatens to trace your spine. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if it bruises. There’s a bit of swelling, too. Keep an eye on it these next few days, and let me know if it doesn’t go down on its own.” 

You’re not exactly sure if Jungwon – quiet, gentle Jungwon – would be the first person you’d go to for first aid advice, but you nod anyway. 

And you’re not sure where it comes from, the sudden urge to cry again. But somewhere between the pain in your head and the soft probing of his fingers against your skin, emotions are starting to bubble beneath your stoic facade. 

It’s subtle, barely perceivable, but you can feel your bottom lip beginning to quiver. 

Much to your unending humiliation, you’re not the only one who notices. 

You’re not sure how he does, but he does. 

“Hey,” Jungwon tries. His hand is still on your face. His voice is impossibly soft, and it only makes you want to cry harder. You feel like a skittish kitten he’s trying to lure in from a rainstorm. 

His lips part as if he’s going to continue. They fall shut again before he can. 

Something in his brow softens. Concern is replaced with empathy. 

Hand falling back to his side, he suddenly changes the subject. “You’re in the marketing department, right?”

Lips still trembling, you turn your eyes towards the floor before giving him a small nod.  

From this angle, the only thing you see are his shoes. Standard leather work shoes, they’re slightly scuffed where they rest against the carpet. 

They still look formal, of course. Nothing that would raise any eyebrows in a professional setting. And from far away, you’re sure they appear pristine. 

But from this close, you can make out all sorts of rough edges. Little marks and dents and scuffs that serve as evidence of where he’s been. 

“Why don’t you head home for the day,” Jungwon suggests gently from above you. “I’ll let your team and your supervisor know that you’re not feeling well.” 

You take a deep breath, do your best to make sure your voice is steady before you respond. Shaking your head, you point out, “It’s almost the end of the day anyway–”

“Exactly,” Jungown nods, kind but firm. “There’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Actually,” you grimace, trying not to let the truth inspire another round of tears. “I need the report I was trying to print. I have to turn it in before I leave today.”

There’s a beat of silence. You’re worried that Jungwon will keep offering you too much kindness, so you rush to fill it. “It’s fine, though. I think the paper jam is almost fixed, and I already sent the report to the printer, so I’m sure it will come through in a minute–”

“Perfect,” Jungwon interrupts again. “I’ll take it to your boss, then. Alan, right? I’ve spoken with him before. I’ll also let him know that you went home for the day.”

“Jungwon, you don’t have to–”

“I know.” At the interruption, your eyes snap back to him. There’s an intensity in his eyes when you match his gaze. Something so sincere that it’s hard to look away. Even though you know your eyes are still shiny with tears you wish you’d hidden better. Even if the stress and exhaustion and weariness are probably written plain as day across your features.

“I know,” he repeats. “I want to. Go home and get some rest, okay?”

It’s probably stupid, to agree so easily. But something in his eyes has you believing, even if just for a moment, that everything will be just fine if you do what he suggests. That all of your concerns and worries will work themselves out and you’ll be able to come into the office tomorrow feeling refreshed for once. For the first time in a long time. 

So you nod. You let him help you up off the floor and don’t bother hiding your face as you wipe the last of your unshed tears from your eyelashes. It probably only smudges your mascara further, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about that, either. 

The printer is still jammed and your report isn’t turned in and you’ll have to walk past your entire team back to your desk to get your things on your way out. 

But for this fleeting moment, those worries feel small. Distant. Manageable. Able to be tucked away and saved for later. 

You still don’t know much about Jungwon. The only knowledge you have comes from speculation and wishful thinking. But now, more than ever, you really wish you knew something of substance. 

But you have no idea how to tell him that. Don’t know if you even should. So instead, you say what you can. 

“Thank you, Jungwon.”

For a moment, all he does is smile. It’s small, but it reaches his eyes. Makes them sparkle a little brighter. 

His voice, like the rest of him, is gentle when he says, “Sure thing, ___.”

…..

Despite the fact that it accounts for roughly eighty percent of your job, you prefer to avoid your email inbox like the plague. 

Most days, by the time you do get around to checking it, it’s already jam packed with unreasonable requests and last-minute changes and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors. 

When you sit down at your desk on Tuesday morning, you’re extra reluctant. After the printer fiasco yesterday, you’re feeling particularly sensitive to all of the potential bullshit. And you have the distinct feeling that a rather nasty message about leaving the office early unannounced is surely waiting for you. 

But the inevitable can only be delayed so long. With a wince and a final swig of coffee, you muster the courage to give the mail icon on your desktop a double click. 

The top of your inbox is filled with the usual nonsense. A request for a meeting tomorrow morning on a project idea you’ve had finalized for months. An RSVP form for the optional, but highly encouraged, upcoming staff party. A reminder from your boss that final quarterly reports need to be submitted by Friday at the latest. 

A few lines down, though, something out of the ordinary catches your eye. Checking the time stamp, you see that it was sent right as the day started. 

From: [email protected] 

Subject: Printer Issue Follow-Up

Contemplating for a moment, you frown. The first floor of Vesselsoft is no stranger to printer jams. They’re typical occurrences, not major problems to be resolved via email. You didn’t think there was a printer issue to follow up on. 

But it’s far more intriguing than anything else on your work account. So, ignoring all of the other messages, you open the email from Jungwon. 

Good morning ____, 

I hope you’re doing well. I wanted to let you know that the workroom printer jam has been fixed, and your report was delivered safe and sound yesterday evening. I also wanted to check in and see how your head is feeling. 

Best, 

Jungwon

You reread it. Once. Twice. 

It’s a simple message, all things considered. But it has you searching for subtext where there likely isn’t any. If anything, this serves as a confirmation of what you already knew about Jungwon. 

He’s kind. Considerate. The type of person that would help you fix a jammed printer and check in on you the next morning. Right when he clocks in. 

The type that could probably tell that your head was the least of your concerns yesterday, but still chooses to ask how you’re doing  without drawing excess attention to it. 

For a moment, you almost wish he would make a habit of attending after hours work events. You have the distinct feeling that sucking up to your superiors would be a little less awful if someone like him was around to do it with you. 

From: You

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Printer Issue Follow-Up

Good morning Jungwon, 

Thank you for resolving that printer issue! And thank you for checking in. My head is feeling much better today. 

Thanks again, 

____

After a final once over, you press the send button, watching as the animation shows the message flying out from your inbox. 

You imagine it flying into his. It’s subconscious, the way you start to picture what his face will look like when he sees it. 

You know he’s in the programming department, which is on the same floor as your office. Honestly, you’re a bit surprised you haven't seen him around more. 

Will he smile, you wonder. Will he have that same, gentle fondness in his eyes he seems to carry with him everywhere?

You don’t get an answer to that particular question, but you do learn that Jungwon is an incredibly prompt communicator. 

It’s barely been ten minutes before your inbox is chiming again. 

From: [email protected] 

Subject: Re: Printer Issue Follow-Up

Sure thing, ___. Glad to hear it. 

Jungwon

You can’t hide the small smile that threatens to turn the corners of your lips upward. It’s not like he’s done anything particularly groundbreaking. But even bits of kindness have become a bit of a rarity for you these days.

You can’t think of anyone else in the office that would insist on sending you home thirty minutes early and offer to finish up your work for you. You can’t think of anyone else who would have navigated yesterday’s fiasco with as much gentle care as he did.

You can’t remember the last time someone bothered to consider you. To lighten your load when they noticed you starting to sink under the weight of it. 

So you’re smiling. Despite the fact that it’s still a Tuesday morning and you have a long week ahead of you. Despite the fact that you’re still very much locked into a job you mostly despise. 

Mentally, you make a note to give some gesture of your gratitude. To do something that will brighten his day a bit, too. 

But you don’t know him. Don’t know how he takes his coffee or if he has a favorite brand of ballpoint pen or if he could use an extra favor from someone in the marketing department. All the sorts of things that coworkers do to show a little bit of appreciation. 

But the universe, at least in part, seems to be on your side today. 

When you head into the staff kitchen for your mid-morning coffee refill, you find it already occupied. 

It’s a bit ridiculous, the way you suddenly feel flustered. Have the urge to smooth your hair, fix your blouse. 

He has his back turned to you, and it takes you nearly half a minute of contemplation to decide whether or not to say something. In the end, the decision is made for you. 

Your phone lights up with an urgent request that you check over the second half of the report you – well, Jungwon – submitted last night. 

Sighing, you turn away from the kitchen. Your second cup of coffee, and a conversation with a certain programmer, will just have to wait. 

You do, however, notice one last thing before you go. Watching silently, you can’t help but smile a bit as you watch Jungwon add two sugar packets to his mug. 

Sweet, you think. Just like him. And now you have at least one bit of information to work with. 

After submitting the edits on your report, you decide to use your recently earned knowledge. Deciding that he’s worth the splurge, you open the delivery page of the cafe down the street, the one that’s ridiculously overpriced but undoubtedly makes the best coffee in the area. 

And when you order it in his name, a hot coffee with two sugars, you ask the barista to attach a note. 

Thank you again for yesterday. I hope this is how you like your coffee! 

An hour later, your inbox chimes with another message. 

From: [email protected] 

Subject: Thank You

You’re too kind, ____. Thank you for the coffee. How did you know just how I like it?

All the best, 

Jungwon

If his words make you smile a little too hard, well, you figure no one ever has to know. 

The universe, however, would seem to have other plans. 

Of everyone in the marketing department, you find your coworker Grace to be the most bearable. A few years older than you, she was by far the most welcoming when you joined the team. 

And you have the sneaking suspicion she has just as much disdain for your supervisor as you, even if the two of you have never openly discussed it. 

Unfortunately, she does have the fatal flaw of never being able to finish her work day without getting herself involved in someone else’s business. For the most part, you’re spared from her nosiness. 

Mostly because your life doesn’t carry the same flair for drama that she loves most. But today, she decides to give it a shot anyway. 

Standing behind your office chair, she nearly startles you out of your seat when she asks, “Who’s got you smiling like that?”

Closing the email as quickly as you can, you turn to face her. 

“No one.” It’s too rushed, too evasive. She sees right through it. 

“Mhmm.” 

Heat rising in your cheeks, you double down. “No, really.” Scrambling for a lie, your eyes land on one of your desk photos. One that shows your childhood cat, affectionately named Mr. Snuggles by your elementary school self. “I just heard from the vet that my cat is feeling a lot better. I was worried she was really sick.”

It’s a bold faced lie. Mr. Snuggles has been dead since your third year of high school. 

“Ah,” Grace says. Her features fall slightly as she realizes she won’t be getting a worthy scoop from you. Realizing that’s probably not an appropriate reaction, she forces a smile. “That’s great! I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” you nod, hoping it will mark the end of the conversation. 

But Grace isn’t quite ready to let it go. “That does remind me, though. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Uh oh. 

“You’re not seeing anyone, right?” You’re not sure how a sick cat would remind her of your dating life, but you suppose there are larger mysteries to be solved. 

And on second consideration – oh. Is it really that obvious? “No,” the syllable drags as you attempt to tread carefully. “Why?”

Grace shrugs, but the conversation feels more calculated than nonchalant. “I was at my friend’s baby shower a couple of weeks ago, and her younger brother just moved back to the city. He’s been living abroad since high school. He’s around your age and a total catch. I didn’t talk to him much, but he reminded me of you a bit. I think the two of you would get on.” 

“Oh,” is all you say. Your uncertainty must be written all over your features, because Grace is quick to continue.

“No pressure, of course. But let me know if you’d like me to pass his number along.”

Do you? It’s been ages since you went on a date. And even longer since you went on a date with someone you’d describe as a total catch. 

And apparently, your single-ness is painfully visible to the people around you if Grace was able to pick up on it so easily. 

Besides, it might be nice, you think. To have a conversation with someone that isn’t about quarterly reports or upcoming deadlines or jammed printers. 

But then your mind wanders to the last conversation you had about a jammed printer. To a set of pretty, dark eyes and a pair of gentle hands. 

To a string of email conversations that don’t really mean anything. But you almost wish they did. 

It’s messy, you think. Far from ideal. JUngwon might not be in your department, but he still works just down the hall. Inter company relationships aren’t forbidden, but they do carry a certain amount of risk.

Jungwon isn’t petty. He wouldn’t make your life a living hell if things were to end badly. But you might start feeling awkward in the staff kitchen and you might have to start timing your walks to the parking lot so that they don’t coincide with his.

Small adjustments. Minor inconveniences more than anything.

Besides, it’s all conjecture. 

You can count the conversations you’ve had with Jungwon on your fingers, and the majority have been channeled through your work email. 

It’s hardly romantic. 

But even as you try to see things from a detached, logical perspective, one thought keeps swimming back to you.

You think you could talk about jammed printers forever, as long as it was with him. 

Sighing, your heart can’t decide if it wants to sink to your stomach or crawl up your throat at the realization. 

Turning back to Grace, you just offer her a tight smile. “I’ll let you know.”

…..

In the coming weeks, your coincidental run-ins with Jungwon start to become more and more frequent. 

First, it’s the two of you just so happening to need a coffee refill at the same time. When your path cross in the staff kitchen, you raise an eyebrow at the sugar packets he adds to his mug and he shakes his head as you take a long sip of your plain, bitter drink of choice. 

Then, it’s the morning in the parking lot when the two of you just so happen to arrive at the same time, pulling into adjacent parking spots. His smile is gentle, albeit a bit sleepy, when he bids you, “Good morning.” 

Your heart flutters a bit when you return the sentiment. You do your best to ignore it. 

Next, you stumble across him in the staircase on an otherwise quiet afternoon. This time, however, he’s already deep in another conversation. Or, you realize at second glance, trying very hard to wiggle his way out of another conversation. 

For all intents and purposes, Jenna from the legal department is a sweet girl. A bit overbearing at times and doesn’t always take well to being told no, but she’s harmless for the most part. Smart and driven and you admit a little glumly, quite pretty. 

Even underneath the overhead fluorescents in the stairway, she manages to avoid looking washed out. 

They’re already talking by the time you get there, and the only thing you catch is the tail end of their rather one-sided conversation. 

“It’s a great place, really,” Jenna insists, smiling a little too brightly. “And the food is to die for. They’re always running really unique specials. I think you’d really like it.”

And you could just turn around and pretend not to have seen anything. You could just take the elevator instead. In fact, you probably should. 

But suddenly, it’s as if your shoes have been filled with lead. Feet frozen to the earth, all you can do is watch. 

“Oh,” Jungwon reaches for the back of his neck. “Thanks for thinking of me, Jenna, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.”

“Oh, really?” she pouts. “Is there another night that would work bett–”

“Jungwon!” Your voice is too loud, reverberating off the walls of the stairway in a way that has two pairs of eyes immediately darting towards you. And interrupting had seemed like a good idea a few seconds ago, but now you realize your fatal mistake. 

You have no plan. No idea what to say next. 

Still, you force a smile. “Just the person I was looking for.”

You don’t think you’re imagining it, the immediate wash of relief that colors Jungwon’s features. 

“Hey, ___,” Jenna waves, a bit dejectedly. She doesn’t exactly look pleased to see you, and you can’t really blame her. “Could you give us a minute? I was just in the middle of–”

“Sorry, Jenna,” you shake your head. “This is kind of urgent.”

“Right,” Jungwon nods, looking at you again. “We’d better go then.”

“But I–”

“See you around, Jenna.” You’re tone is too bright as you spin around, making a beeline back towards the door. A flicker of satisfaction warms in your chest when you realize Jungwon is right on your heels. 

He waits until the two of you are back in the empty hallway, closed door serving as a barrier between you and Jenna, before he speaks. 

Looking at you, he quirks his head to the side. “So, what’s the urgent thing you need help with?”

Oh. Right. 

Sighing, you decide honesty, or at least partial honesty, might be your best bet. 

“Sorry,” your smile is sheepish, “did I read that wrong? There’s nothing urgent. I just…” you trail off, searching for the words. “It just looked like you might have needed an exit.”

For a moment, he says nothing. The silence gives your mind too much room to spin

Maybe you did read things wrong. Maybe he was enjoying a perfectly pleasant conversation with perfectly pleasant Jenna. Maybe he was looking forward to going to a nice restaurant with her and trying all sorts of unique specials and–

“Thank you.”

“What?”

Jungwon’s eyes soften. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost describe his expression as… fondness. “An exit,” he clarifies. “I did need one. So thank you.”

“Right.” Your voice is suddenly breathless, and you can’t think of a good excuse for it. Feigning a nonchalance you don’t feel, you wave off his gratitude, “Anytime.” 

“Careful,” Jungwon warns, but the same hint of teasing, the same glimmer of affection, is still there. “I just might take you up on that.” 

“It’s a good thing I meant it, then.”

Jungwon’s features soften into a smile. A small one, meant just for the two of you. Reaching up, he pushes a stray strand of hair from his eyes. 

It’s only natural that you follow the movement. His hands are nice, you think. Long, lithe fingers, and–

You frown, eyes zeroing in on the knuckles of his right hand. 

Bruises, you realize. Dark, purple bruises span the length of his knuckles. Angry and mottled and from what you can tell, recent. 

And so many. You can’t imagine what he could have possibly done to earn them. 

Gaze still trained on the injury, your eyes widen. “Are you okay?”

It’s Jungwon’s turn to be confused. “What?”

“Your hand,” you nod at it. “Are those bruises?”

“Oh.” He shrugs, brushes it off like it’s nothing. But his hand falls to his side, obscured from your sight, all the same. “Yeah, I just slipped the other day trying to hang a picture in my apartment. The frame caught me funny when it fell.”

“You… slipped.”

Your disbelief must be apparent, because Jungwon is quick to add, “My hand slipped, really. My phone started ringing, and it caught me off guard.”

“Ouch,” you grimace. “That sounds like it hurt.”

Again, Jungwon shrugs. But his eyes are doing that thing again. Sparkling. “It’s not so bad.”

“Still,” you insist. “You should be more careful.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees. It’s just the two of you, alone in a dimly lit hallway. His gaze is trained on yours. The distance between you is respectable, appropriate. Suggests that the two of you are coworkers and nothing more. But you have the distinct feeling that he’s not entirely talking about hanging pictures when he says, “I probably should.”

…..

The next morning, Grace is the first person you see as you walk into the office. And she’s already waiting for you. As soon as you come in, she hands you a coffee with an apologetic smile. 

“Uh oh.” You hang your coat, accepting the cup from her hands. It’s not unusual to receive coffee from a coworker, but it usually comes as a form of consolation. “What’s this for?”

“It’s from Alan, actually.”

Your lips flatten. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It’s not that bad, really.” Grace’s smile is less than convincing. “He just wants us all to get together this Friday night after work at that bar down the street. Y’know, to network.”

You groan internally. There go your plans for a relaxing Friday at home. 

“How is it networking if it’s just our team? We see each other every day.”

“That’s the other part,” Grace nods towards the cup in your hand. “Didn’t you notice he pulled out all the stops? That’s from the shop down the road. The one that charges eleven dollars for a small latte.”

“Oh god,” you groan, this time audibly. “What else does he want?”

“We’ve all been strongly encouraged to invite people from different teams around the company.”

You suppress a strong urge to roll your eyes. “Of course we have.”

Privately, you think that if Alan wants to network so bad, he should be responsible for creating the guest list himself. Outwardly, you just sigh. 

As if you didn’t have enough on your plate already. Now you need to schmooze some other poor employee into wasting their Friday night talking about work. 

Sitting down at your desk, you take a sip of your coffee. It is admittedly delicious. The thought only makes you want to bang your head on your keyboard even more. 

The problem of finding a plus one follows you all the way through the afternoon. All the way to the workroom, where you once again stumble into a certain blonde programmer that’s beginning to feel like part of your daily routine. 

This time, Jungwon is alone. 

He’s frowning at the printer, brow furrowed. 

“Don’t tell me it’s jammed.” 

When he sees that it’s you, his features immediately soften. He smiles and something tugs at your heart. It’s enough to have you forgetting about Friday night, even if just for a moment. 

“No, thankfully. My computer just doesn’t seem to want to connect to this printer.”

“Mm,” you hum. “Send it to me, and I’ll try printing from mine.”

Jungwon shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll just go up to the accounting department and try their printer.”

“Jungwon,” you level him with a look. “You are the last person to be telling me I don’t have to do you a favor. It’s really no problem. Just send it over.”

“Okay,” he finally relents. 

Waiting for it to ping through on your end, an idea suddenly strikes you. You’re not sure if it’s a good one or if your judgment is starting to be warped by all of the toner cartridge fumes, but here, in a quiet workroom with nothing but Jungwon and a half-working printer to keep you company, you find a bit of your bravery. 

“I know this probably isn’t your idea of a perfect evening,” you start. Your words feel too loud in this tiny space. “But the marketing team is getting together after work for drinks this Friday night. We’re also encouraged to branch outside of our department and invite other company employees, so if you’re free, we’d love to have you.” The more you say, the worse it sounds to your own ears. Why would anyone, much less Jungwon, want to come to a work event for the marketing team. Suddenly embarrassed you even brought it up, you find yourself rambling. “The bar is actually pretty nice. It’s not super fancy or anything, but it has, uh, really great chandeliers. It’s a nice ambience, and–”

“___.” Jungwon interrupts with the sound of your name. 

“Yeah?” You’re trying not to sound too hopeful, but you have the distinct feeling that you fail miserably. Despite your hesitance, you realize something. 

You want him to say yes. 

You want him to give you a different response than he gives everyone else. A different response than he gave Jenna. 

You want him to say yes, even though no one wants to go to a work event for the marketing team on a Friday night. 

You want him to say yes anyway, because it’s you. 

“I’d love to, really.” He reaches up, scratching at the back of his neck. “But I’m busy Friday night.”

Short. Succinct. To the point. He doesn’t spare any extra details. 

You already knew it was a long shot. But it stings all the same. 

You wanted to be the exception to the rule. Someone that would finally get him to say yes. Or at the very least, someone he would bother to give an actual reason for his absence to. 

“Oh.” Your voice is smaller than you mean for it to be. “Of course!” And now it’s too loud, too bright. You can’t find the happy medium, can’t find your natural tone. “I’m sure whatever it is will be way more fun, anyway.”

Jungwon just gives you a small smile, not bothering to affirm or refute your assumption. Not deigning to add any more details. 

It kind of makes you wish that the ground would open up and swallow you whole. 

“Well, I should probably get back to my desk.” You don’t know why you’re scrambling for excuses. Jungwon clearly doesn’t feel the need to provide any. “Did everything print okay?” You nod towards the small stack of papers in his hands. 

Jungwon is still looking at you. His lips part, as if he wants to say something. Brow creased, it’s as if he’s at war with himself. As if he can’t decide what to say or how to say it. 

After a beat, his mouth falls shut again. He gives a minute shake of his head. You watch as his hair sways in time with the movement. 

“Yeah,” he tells you. But he still hasn’t bothered to look down at the document between his fingers. “Everything printed fine.” 

“Okay.” You nod again. “Good.” Your voice sounds hollow in your ears. “Well, I’ll see you around, then.”

I’ll see you around?

I’ll see you around?

It takes all of your willpower not to cringe outwardly. It’s the most awkward, stilted thing you could have possibly said, but you’re not sure how else to fill the stifling silence. 

“Of course,” Jungwon nods. “Have a good day, ____.” The worst part is that he looks like he genuinely means it. “And enjoy your Friday night.”

“Right.” Your smile is feeble, doesn’t reach your eyes. “You too.” 

You’re so caught up in your own humiliation that you don’t notice the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes either. “Sure thing.”

…..

Changing your clothes in the last stall of the office bathroom kind of feels like a new low for you. But by the time Friday evening comes around, the last thing you want to do is attend a mandatory – scratch that, highly encouraged – work event at a bar still wearing your blazer and slacks. 

The jeans and sweater you replace them with are still nice by any standard, but they’ll feel a bit less stifling after a handful of drinks. 

Grace, at least, seems to have the same idea. Deciding she’s by far the most bearable person of the evening, you slide down next to her in the booth. 

Of course, that thought only makes you think of another person you’d invited. Someone whose absence feels especially notable as you nurse the remnants of your first cocktail. 

You don’t really want to get drunk tonight. You don’t want to be here at all. 

You put in your forty hours of work this week, and the only place you want to be is at home in a pair of sweatpants. 

The only person that would have made it a little more worth it made it very clear that he had better things to do. The details of which, of course, he didn’t bother to share. 

The thought spurs you to take another long sip. 

You don’t want to get drunk. But you don’t want to think about him either. 

Besides, Grace doesn’t seem to share your reservations. 

It’s barely been forty minutes when she pulls out her phone, thoroughly tipsy, and decides that you are the best person to help her sort through her list of matches on her favorite dating app. 

“He’s cute, right?” She flashes her phone screen towards you. 

He is. You nod and tell her as much. 

His eyes might not sparkle very much. And his hair might not fall perfectly over his forehead. And he might not furrow his eyebrow in concentration whenever the printer in the workroom gives him a hard time –

No. 

Tonight is not about him. He made it very clear that he had no interest in being here tonight, and the last thing you’re going to do is spend the evening fixated on him. 

Grace, at least, seems willing to help on that front. 

“Oh,” she suddenly interjects from your side. “That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to show you a picture of my friend’s brother. You know, the one I mentioned a couple of weeks ago?”

It’s a bad idea, probably. You’re still feeling slighted and bitter and no matter how many times you tell it not to, your mind keeps wandering to Jungwon. 

Despite your reluctance, the cocktails are catching up with you. There’s a pleasant, slightly numb haze in your mind. It makes resistance feel futile. 

All you do is nod, and Grace starts searching for his social media profile. It takes her a few more tries than it would sober, but she does eventually find it. 

“Here,” she says, offering her phone to you. “His name is Jay. He grew up here until he left to go to an international high school. He’s been living abroad ever since, but he recently moved back. Their dad is pretty high up at a software development company. I think he came back because he landed a job there too.” 

You do your best to absorb the information, to nod along with what she says, but in all honesty, you’re quite distracted. 

Jay is quite distracting. His feed is well-curated without being overbearing. Covered in travel photos, unbelievably flattering candid shots, and stunning nature pictures, he immediately piques your interest. 

Not to mention the fact that he’s stunning. Maybe not quite as stunning as –

No. Again, you refuse to go there. 

You’re not sure if it’s the drinks or the photos or the spite that makes it suddenly feel like a good idea, but you’re telling Grace to pass your number along to Jay before you can think better of it. 

And if nothing else, at least he doesn’t seem like the kind of person that will make you wonder. Or even wait for long. 

You’ve barely gotten home, mind mostly clear even if it is still a bit muddled from the exhaustion of a long week, when your phone screen lights up with a notification. 

It’s just a string of numbers for now, but you’re quick to create a new contact. 

Hey, the message reads. This is Jay. Grace gave me your number. I hope that’s alright!

A few seconds later, another text comes through. 

Jay: How do you feel about art exhibitions? There’s one opening this weekend right next to one of the best coffee spots in the city. I’d love for you to join me. 

It’s simple. Straightforward. Not something you’ll search for subtext or pick apart for weeks. 

And it’s easy to respond to. 

You: That sounds great! I’ll look forward to it

…..

Another week at work passes with the same monotonous, sluggish flow as any other. But this time, it’s interspersed with messages you’ve started to look forward to. 

You’ve just sat down with your third cup of coffee on Monday morning when the first one chimes through. 

Jay: Good morning, ___. I hope your Monday is off to a better start than mine. 

A second message comes through. This one is an image. One that unmistakably shows a stack of papers covered in a dark brown stain you recognize all too well. 

You: Oh no! 

Pausing for a moment, your teeth worry at your bottom lip. Deciding to go for it, you send your own picture in return. 

The image of your full coffee cup goes through, along with another message. 

You: I think it might be. My coffee is still in my cup, at least

It takes him less than a minute to respond. 

Jay: Black coffee! Oh, you mean business. I’ll deny it if you tell anyone, but I always have to add sugar and cream to mine. 

You can’t help the smile that starts to spread over your lips. Sugar and cream. An aversion to bitterness. It reminds you of someone else that always adds a little sweetness to their –

Shaking your head, you force the comparison away. Putting the other man firmly out of mind, you decide to return Jay’s lighthearted message with one of your own.

You: Don’t tell anyone, but this is my third cup of the morning. 

Jay: Third cup of straight black coffee. Whew, remind me not to get on your bad side today. 

Jay: Speaking of which, do you always drink it black or could you be persuaded into something a little sweeter? 

He’s talking about coffee, yes, but it feels just a little bit like flirting. Biting at your lip again, you decide there isn’t much to lose.

Besides, it’s kind of… fun. You can’t remember the last time you were well and truly flirted with. 

You: Depends who’s asking

Jay: Hmm

Jay: I’ll have to work on my persuasion skills then

Jay: The place I’m taking you to on Saturday has an insanely delicious caramel latte, and I need to know what you think of it

You: Tempting

You: But I’m not sure I’m convinced 

Jay: I’ll work on that, then

You can’t hide your smile this time. 

A minute later, two more texts ping through. 

Jay: Duty calls, unfortunately

Jay: The rest of my Monday is stacked, so if I am slow to respond to any messages, that’s why. Enjoy the rest of your day, ___

He’s straightforward. Communicative. You appreciate the notice. The fact that if you do send another message without a response, you won’t have to waste your day wondering why. 

You: Ugh, don’t you hate it when you actually have to work at work?

You: I hope all goes well! Enjoy the rest of your day too, Jay

Setting your phone down, you return your gaze to your computer screen and unfortunately very full inbox. 

Your focus, however, remains half-occupied by a message thread sitting dormant on your tucked away phone. 

…..

Jay’s messages begin to become a highlight of your work day. Despite the fact that there’s often a large lapse in time due to both of your busy schedules, you start to anticipate every text he manages to send. 

And they only serve to build more excitement around your upcoming date. 

By the time Thursday comes around, you’ve all but mentally clocked out for the week. Refilling your water bottle in the staff kitchen, your mind is so occupied that you almost run right into the person coming through the door the same time you’re leaving. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was–”

“___.” The sound of your name stops you in your tracks. “Breathe,” Jungwon is smiling, but there’s a hint of concern there, too. “You’re okay.”

“Jungwon,” you exhale. Your frantic apology begins to subside, replaced by an overwhelming surge of self-consciousness as you tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

You haven’t spoken to him, haven’t even seen him, since he rejected your invitation last Friday. 

He’s not trying to pick at old wounds, but it still stings a bit when he asks, “How was Friday?”

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, “It was a typical work gathering.” Then again, it occurs to you that he might not know. Since he never bothers attending any of them. 

Not that it really matters. Besides, you’re lying a bit anyway. Typical work gatherings don’t usually end with you setting up a date. Not that you want Jungwon to know about that either. 

You can't pinpoint exactly why, but the thought of him knowing doesn’t sit with you quite right. Besides, it’s not like he’s ever shown any interest in your personal life, anyway. He would find it weird, most likely. Annoying, if you were to divulge any details. 

“Oh, well, I’m sorry again that I couldn’t come.” Just like that day in the workroom, he reaches back to scratch at his neck. You have the distinct sense that he’s the one who suddenly feels a bit awkward. “Friday nights are…” he trails off, “Friday nights are hard for me, usually. I’m always pretty free on Saturday mornings, thought, so if–”

“Don’t worry about it.” Oh god. Your intention certainly wasn’t to make him feel guilty for having a social life outside of the office. Suddenly worried that you read the situation all wrong, you’re quick to assure him, “You don’t have to come to anything that you don’t want to. And especially if you have plans already. I just asked you because my supervisor wanted us to invite people from other departments.”

If his face falls slightly, you’re too caught up in your own rambling to notice. 

“And, you know,” you continue, “since you helped me that day with the printer.” 

“The printer,” he echoes, voice suddenly hollow. “Right.”

“Right,” you echo. The room falls into silence again, and this time, it’s weighted with a horrible awkwardness neither of you can shake. 

“Well,” you finally say, holding up your bottle. “I got my water, so I’m gonna head back to my desk.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you around?” It’s just as stilted as it was before, but you’re desperate for any way to exit this conversation. 

“Yeah,” Jungwon repeats. “Sure thing, ___.”

…..

By the time Saturday morning comes, you’re a mess of anticipation and frayed nerves. 

You’re early to arrive at the address of the coffee shop Jay sent you a few nights ago, but he’s already there waiting for you. And his social media might have painted an impressive picture, but one look tells you that it still doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing. 

Jay is gorgeous.

Almost as gorgeous as –

You kill the thought as soon as it comes. This day isn’t about him, and comparisons will do you little good. 

Instead, you refocus on your date. 

He’s polished and put together in an effortless sort of way. The kind of person that you see once in passing and then can’t stop thinking about for the rest of the week. His features are angular, sharp. But they soften into a warm smile the second he lays eyes on you. 

In the end, it doesn’t take him much convincing at all to persuade you to try the caramel latte. And he’s right. It is absolutely delicious.  

It was easy to fall into a natural rhythm over text, and your face-to-face conversation flows even better. 

He tells you about life abroad and all of his favorite parts of living in another country. He tells you about his family and what he missed most about this city he’s learning to call home again. 

He listens, actively, while you tell him the more mundane details of your own life. His questions are well-timed and never feel like interruptions. 

His kindness doesn’t feel like a facade. His interest doesn’t feel like a cheap trick to get what he wants from you and then disappear without a word. 

And when it becomes painfully apparent at the art exhibition that he’s far more well-versed in the subject than you, he doesn’t make you feel stupid. Instead, he takes his time explaining each piece. Highlights the aspects that would be most interesting to someone without any kind of background in art. 

He’s kind, considerate, and the day passes by in a blur of fleeting glances and shy smiles. At the end of it, he offers to drive you home and opens your car door for you. Small gestures that make you feel seen, considered. Valued. 

When he says goodbye with a hug that doesn’t last nearly long enough, the smell of his cologne is something you hope will linger as long as the memories of the day do. 

It’s easy, you think, as you watch his car drive away from your window. Jay is someone that’s easy to be around, to spend time with. 

And when he messages you later that night, reiterating his enjoyment of the day and asking to meet again, he’s easy to say yes to. 

…..

You’re not sure how, but the only person that seems even more excited than you about you and Jay is Grace. 

Despite the fact that your communication as of late hasn’t involved anything scandalous, she feels the need to rehash every detail until she’s heard it one hundred times. 

It doesn’t matter how many times you tell her that the last text message he sent you wasn’t anything to swoon over. In fact, it was rather short and unexciting. 

Jay: Have you seen my ring by chance? I remember wearing it that day I was in your car, and I haven’t been able to find it since then. 

But Grace won’t hear it. You’re not exactly sure what she heard from Jay’s sister, but she spends the rest of the coming week hounding you over the details regardless. 

The staff kitchen is hardly the place for conversations about your personal life, but the setting doesn’t seem to bother her at all. Instead, she pretends to be busy washing an already clean coffee mug while she asks again, “So you went out for the first time last Saturday, right?”

“Mhm,” you nod. 

“And then you got dinner together Wednesday night after work?”

“Yep.” You’re pretty sure she’s already asked the same question at least six times. 

“And he’s planning to take you out again this Saturday?”

“Right.”

“My god, you two are practically married.” She punctuates the absurd claim with a wistful sigh. 

“We most certainly are not.” 

“Okay, but you literally just met, and you’ve already seen each other twice with plans for a third.”

She does have a point there. Never mind the fact that you haven’t dated anyone in a while. It is a quick timeline, no matter how you look at it. But you’ve been itching to spend time with him ever since your first date, and Jay seems to be on the same page. 

It feels fast, yes, but it doesn’t feel forced. For you, that’s what matters most. 

That, along with the fact that a certain someone has been noticeably absent from your mind the more time you spend with him. For now, you’ll choose not to read too much into that. 

“God,” Grace sighs again. “I miss going on dates.”

“What are you talking about? Didn’t you go on one a couple weeks ago?” You distinctly remember helping her set it up that night at the bar after work.

“Well, yeah, but I mean good dates. You know, getting properly wined and dined and all that. I guess I’ll just have to live vicariously through you.” 

“We went to dinner once, and there was hardly any wine involved.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. All I’m saying is you’re lucky to be seeing someone that actually puts in effort for your dates and doesn’t just take you to the closest bar to his office and hope that buying you a handful of drinks means he’ll get lucky.” Pausing for a moment, she looks up, eyes landing somewhere just over your shoulder. “Right, Jungwon?”

Immediately, it’s as if you’ve been submerged in ice cold water. Because there’s no way she said–

“Jungwon?” Turning around, you’re put face to face with the last person you wanted to overhear this particular conversation. 

“Hey, ___.” There’s a smile on his lips. Small as always, but something feels wrong about it. “Grace,” he nods at the girl over your shoulder. “Sorry,” he’s still looking at her, “were you asking me something?”

“No, we were just leaving, actua–”

Grace pays you no attention. “Just telling ___ how lucky she is that her man actually puts effort into their dates, since it feels like such a rarity these days.”

“He is not my man.” The glare you send your coworker is lost as Jungwon turns back to you, eyes wide, gaze indecipherable. 

“You’re dating someone?”

“I…” The easy, most available answer is yes, but you’re having a hard time getting it out. And there are other semantics involved. 

Are you dating? Not really. That usually indicates some kind of commitment, exclusivity. Going on dates might be a better way to put it. But clarifying that miniscule distinction for Jungwon feels strange for some reason. 

“My friend’s brother,” Grace supplies unhelpfully from the corner. “What can I say? I’m a natural born matchmaker.” Her proud smile is lost on the both of you. You’re only looking at each other. 

“Oh.” Jungwon’s voice is small, hollow. “That’s nice. I’m happy for you.”

You want to scream, just a little bit. Or maybe cry. You can’t make up your mind. 

And you’re not sure where it comes from, the sudden, overwhelming surge of guilt that begins to build in your gut. You can’t even decipher who it’s directed towards. Towards Jungwon? Towards Jay? Towards yourself? 

Grace, despite her self-proclaimed talent for setting up dates, is apparently incredibly inept at reading the room. With no prompting but her own, she’s pushing forward. “He lived abroad for a while and just moved back to the city, which is like, the perfect scenario for going on dates. And he’s always had a flair for romance. I remember–”

“Well,” you interrupt, desperate for an out, “we better get back to the project we were working on—“

“What project?” Grace, it would seem, is determined to be anything but helpful.

“You know,” you glare at her, “our project.”

“Right!” She looks sheepish, finally catching the hint. “That project.”

Turning back to Jungwon, you can still see the rigidity of his features. The tension that has yet to ease. “I’ll…” you’re not sure how to part ways now without making things worse. But it feels wrong to just leave without saying anything. For the third time in the span of days, you tell him, “I’ll see you around.”

And for the third time, he agrees, “Yeah.” This time, however, his eyes still flickering with annoyance, shoulders still set with residual frustration. “Sure thing, ___.”

It’s what he always says, you realize. But this time, it’s missing that easygoing, genuine lightness he usually says it with. 

This time, it sounds like rejection.

Yours or his, you’re not entirely sure.

…..

You manage to avoid Jungwon for the rest of the week. It’s ironic, almost. You were so worried about pursuing a potential relationship with him because you wanted to avoid this exact scenario. 

Now, a handful of dates with someone who is very much not him tucked under your belt, you still feel the need to turn and walk the other direction whenever you think you hear his voice or get a glimpse of blonde hair. 

But the office is only so big, and there are only so many corners to duck into. Barely a week has passed the next time you unwittingly bump into him. 

“Oh,” you startle slightly, walking into the workroom and already finding it occupied. And of course you’d run into him here, of all places. Kneeling in front of the printer, his brow is furrowed in concentration as he tries to dislodge yet another paper jam. 

“Sorry.” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for exactly, but it feels warranted regardless. “I’ll just leave, and—”

“___,” he cuts you off with the sound of your name. Looking down at him, you're met with the expanse of his back. A button down shirt tucked into dark pants. Standard work attire that has no business looking this ridiculously good on anyone. “You’re fine. You don’t need to leave. Just give me a second, and the printer’s all yours.” 

You nod, even though he can’t see you. If the lack of a verbal response bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he busies himself with the jammed printer, muscles of his back flexing slightly underneath the fabric of his shirt as he tugs at the stubborn papers. 

Cheeks heating slightly, you force your gaze elsewhere. 

“There,” he says after another minute of adjustments. Standing to full height, he turns to face you. “All fixed.”

Looking up at him, you’re about to offer a quiet thanks when your eyes land on his right cheekbone. Specifically, the fresh cut that spans the length of it. 

The gasp the spills from your lips is entirely without permission. But you can’t quite help it. The wound is quite superficial, surface level at most, but it mars his otherwise perfect skin in a way you weren’t prepared for. 

Without your permission, your fingers start to reach towards the injury. They make it halfway before you remember yourself, before you regain your sense of reality. Your hand falls limply back to your side. 

“What happened?” You breathe. 

Jungwon’s brows draw together in confusion for a moment before a flicker of realization dances across his features. 

“Oh.” He exhales, fingers tapping against the broken skin of his cheekbone lightly. “Nothing. I just, er, fell the other day.”

“You fell,” you echo. Like all of his other excuses, it’s vague. Flimsy at best. 

“Yeah,” he confirms with a slight nod. Again, he says, “I fell.”

It’s evasive. And it feels like more than just an explanation for his injury. 

It feels like confirmation of the distance between the two of you. His final assertion that you’re nothing but a coworker to him. Someone that he tells edited versions of stories to, someone that he keeps firmly planted an arm’s length away. 

Fine. If he wants to give you shitty excuses for his Friday nights and his absences at work events and now his injury that very obviously did not come from a fall, that’s just fine with you. 

After all, he’s nothing but a coworker to you either. The upcoming date you have planned with Jay is enough to prove it. 

“Well,” you tell him, forcing a smile. The fake, disproportionately bright kind that you only ever use with your coworkers. “I hope it heals quickly.”

And then you’re brushing past him, making your way towards the printer as if he’s nothing but an obstacle in your path. 

Collecting your freshly printed document, you turn and walk out the door without so much as a backward glance. 

…..

Sliding into the passenger seat of Jay’s car Thursday evening, you feel the stress melting from your shoulders the second the door shuts behind you. 

This is something else he makes easy: forgetting about whatever woes you managed to acquire after a long day of work. Jay just smiles as you sit down next to him, turning down the volume on the radio as he asks about your day. 

Tonight, the two of you are headed to one of your favorite diners. Somewhere where you can chat and laugh and relax over a pile of french fries and obnoxiously gaudy decor. 

But before you turn down the street that leads to the restaurant, Jay asks if the two of you can make a quick stop. 

“I left my bag at the gym last night,” he explains apologetically. “Do you mind if I swing by and grab it real quick? It’s on our way.”

You reassure him that it’s no problem, and a handful of minutes later, the two of you are parked outside of a rather nondescript, faded building. 

Frowning slightly, your eyebrow quirks up in surprise. Although he hasn’t outright disclosed anything, from what you’ve gathered so far, Jay’s family is quite well off. The kind that pays for expensive memberships at bougie gyms with saunas and swimming pools. Not the kind that frequents dark, run down gyms in the middle of a random residential area. 

Pulling his key from the ignition, Jay turns to you. “You can wait here, if you want.”

“That’s okay.” You’re already unbuckling your seatbelt. “I’m tired of sitting, anyway.” You really are. Plus, you have to admit that you’re kind of curious. 

You fall into step at his side as the two of you make your way towards the building. The closer you get, the more decrepit it appears. Paint is peeling from the exterior, leaving it an odd, mottled brown color riddled with rust marks. 

Even the sign, Kang’s Gym, is small, faded, and only visible once you’re nearly to the entrance. 

Jay steps in front of you, holding the door open for you to enter. 

The inside, you realize as you step in, is in no better shape than the outside. The wall closest to you is lined with weightlifting equipment that looks as if it were pulled from past decades. 

Padding is torn in places, and questionable stains cover the place, accumulated from years of use. 

You’re about to ask him outright why on earth he patronizes such a run down place when your eyes land on the far wall of the gym. There, you think you find your answer. 

There’s no weightlifting equipment or cardio machines. Instead, the majority of available space is filled with several sets of boxing rings. Like the rest of the gym, they’re equally faded and worn with years of use. 

But the lighting in that part of the gym is noticeably better. Far brighter, more intentional. As if the rest of the gym is just for show and that is the true purpose of this building. 

You’re suddenly overcome with the urge to take a second glance at your date. 

He has a lean, athletic build, yes. The kind that you assumed came from some kind of regular exercise regiment and not his office job. 

But boxing wasn’t exactly what you expected. 

Jay turns to you. His expression gives nothing away, holds no indication that this is anything out of the ordinary for him. “I think I left it over by the locker rooms.” 

Encasing your hand in his, he leads you towards the rings. Several of them are occupied, mostly by one-on-one sparring matches. 

Walking past the first one, the two men inside the ring turn to look at you and Jay as you pass. 

“Hey, man,” the first one offers with a nod of recognition that Jay returns. As his eyes slide over to you, they widen slightly in surprise. Gaze falling to your intertwined hands, the man just shakes his head slightly before returning to his sparring partner. 

Moving past them, you shake the odd interaction from your mind. 

You spare fleeting glances for the rest of the people you pass. For a moment, you try to imagine Jay in the ring instead of them. It’s an odd contradiction with what you’ve come to associate with him. 

Easygoing. Considerate. Even tempered. They’re traits that feel at odds with the kind of stark physicality required in a boxing ring. 

Then again, the more you consider it, the more you start to make sense of it. Jay is all of those things, yes, but there’s also an undercurrent of something else. 

A quiet intensity he carries with him. Something he has control over. Something he can channel when needed. 

The more you think about it, the easier it is to picture him in the ring, throwing precise, calculated punches until victory rests on his square shoulders. 

You’d be lying if you said the mental image didn’t pique your interest. You’re about to ask him if he’ll let you watch next time he’s in the ring when a flash of color in the last boxing ring, the one closest to the locker rooms, catches your attention. 

It’s unlikely. It feels impossible. Even more so than the thought of Jay in a boxing ring. But as you draw closer, you confirm your suspicions. 

After all, you would know that shade of blonde anywhere. 

It takes everything in you not to stop dead in your tracks. But even as you continue forward, hand still encased in Jay’s, your eyes are trained solely on the space between Jungwon’s broad shoulders. 

It’s almost inhuman, the feline agility that he moves with. He’s smaller than his opponent, but he’s faster. Lighter on his feet. 

The punches he throws are dizzyingly accurate, and his sparring partner seems to think the same. A muted thud is followed by a string of expletives that become more clear the closer you get. 

“Jesus, Jungwon.” The man across from him is still a bit breathless as he recovers from having the wind knocked out of him. “Bad week at work or something?”

“C’mon, Heeseung.” It doesn’t sound anything like the Jungwon you know. Gone is the quiet friendliness you’ve always heard from him. His voice is still gentle, but it carries an unmistakable command. “Stop going easy.”

“I’m not,” the other man – Heeseung – argues. “What has gotten into you? It’s like you’ve been insane since that match last week.” 

“Whatever,” Jungwon scoffs, shaking his head. “Let’s just take five.” 

“Make it ten,” Heeseung goads across from him. 

Jungwon sends him a warning glare, but says nothing. Instead, he reaches for his water bottle at the corner of the ring, leaning against the ropes that enclose it. 

All you can do is watch, suddenly fascinated by the way sweat darkens his hair, trails down the length of his neck. Jungwon gives a quick shake of his head, sending his hair scattering over his forehead as he leans further into the ropes behind him.

Tipping his head back, his throat works against a swallow as he takes a long drink from his water bottle. 

Jungwon sets his water bottle down, turning towards Heeseung like he’s about to say something else when movement catches his attention. 

More specifically, your movement. His eyes fall on you, and for a moment, you’re rendered just as immobile as him. His gaze widens in recognition and then suddenly, he’s standing. 

Long strides eat up the length of the boxing ring as he crosses it, every step bringing him closer to you. With a distinct sort of grace and practiced ease, he jumps over the side of the ring, landing on his feet just as you and Jay pass him. 

With a hand on your shoulder, he stops you both in your tracks. His touch is gentle, but commanding. It leaves little room for argument. 

“This is the guy you’ve been seeing?” Jungwon’s eyes are molten lava. If you thought that day in the staff kitchen was the most visible emotion he was capable of mustering, you were sorely mistaken. The Jungwon that stands in front of you now is simmering with it, vibrating with barely contained emotions. 

At your side, Jay turns back. With your hand still enclosed in his, Jay’s gaze goes straight towards Jungwon’s hand on your shoulder. 

“Jungwon,” he nods coolly. 

Jungwon ignores him entirely. His gaze is still trained directly on you. 

Glancing between the both of them, the tension between them is palpable. Over Jungwon’s shoulder, you can see Heeseung leaning against the edge of the boxing ring as if he can’t decide whether to intervene or not. 

“Well,” you say, attempting to diffuse a bit of the rising animosity, “I guess I don’t need to introduce the two of you, then.”

This time, it’s you that Jungwon ignores. Turning to Jay, he’s all venom. “And you brought her here? What the hell are you doing?”

“Relax, man.” Jay rolls his eyes. “We’re just grabbing my bag.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you left here,” he bites. “You know better than to–”

Shaking his hand off your shoulder, annoyance makes itself visible across your features. It’s one thing for Jungwon to be pissy towards your date, but it’s another entirely for him to assume that you can’t handle something as mundane as a boxing gym. 

And if you're honest, the whole overprotective act just rubs you the wrong way. Why does he think he gets to ignore you all week at work and then act like he knows what’s in your best interest?

“I think I can handle watching people throw a few punches, Jungwon.” Your voice is all ice, and it changes his demeanor immediately. The anger begins to dissipate, leaving him with wide eyes that beg for your understanding. 

The frustration is still there, though. “That’s not what I meant, ___.”

“I don’t really care what you meant.” You’re not sure if it’s true, but you want it to be. For now, that’s enough. “Why don’t you go back to your friend and pretend like you never saw me. You’re good at that, right?”

It’s a low blow. And it has his features falling immediately, eyebrows slackening as if you’ve slapped him. 

His voice is notably gentler when he says your name. “___…”

This time, it’s Jay that speaks. “I suggest you listen to her, man. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Jungwon wants to say more. You can see it in the way his mouth twitches, in the way his shoulders still rise with tension. Finally, he relaxes. Just a fraction of an inch, but you know it’s over. At least for now. 

He doesn’t say anything, but he does take a step back. And then another. 

His eyes are still on you, even as Jay keeps walking, pulling you gently along with him. 

By the time he finds his bag and the two of you make your way back out, Jungwon is nowhere to be found. 

You can still feel eyes on you, though. 

This time, it’s Heeseung’s gaze that follows you all the way out the door. 

Back in Jay’s passenger seat, you turn towards your date, a million questions swimming in your mind. 

“What on earth was that all about?”

Jay just frowns, knuckles white against the steering wheel. Instead of answering, he asks a question of his own. “How do you know him?”

“What?” Too confused to protest, you answer. “We work together.” Then you repeat, “What’s going on?”

Jay sighs, leans his head back against his seat. “He’s in marketing with you?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Programming. I don’t want to ask you again.” This time, you can’t help the expletive. “What the fuck was that?”

“We…” Jay trails off, searching for an explanation. “We know each other.”

“Yeah, no shit. How?”

“We went to the same middle school, before I left for high school. He was a year behind me.”

“And what?” You ask, trying to think of what kind of feud middle schoolers could possibly have that would warrant tonight’s interaction. “He stole your lunch money and you never got over it?”

“Not quite.” His lips are tight. “Look, ___. I know you can’t help who you work with, but Jungwon… he’s not who you think he is.”

“And you are?”

Jay turns to you, hurt clearly written across his features. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” you argue, doubling down. “What’s not fair is giving me vague half truths about my coworker and expecting me to just agree blindly while you evade all of my questions.” A moment of silence passes. Jay says nothing. Finally, you tell him, “If you’re not going to be honest with me, then I think you should just take me home.”

“Wait, ___–”

“I’m serious, Jay. I’m not about to go have dinner with you and pretend that this didn't just happen. Just take me home.” Softening a bit at the obvious distress on his face, you add a quiet, “Please.”

You won’t compromise your boundaries, but you don’t have it in you to be needlessly cruel, even if his evasiveness bothers you to no end. 

Jay just sighs, pulling into an empty parking lot before turning around and heading in the opposite direction. Towards your apartment. 

The rest of the car ride passes in stilted silence, neither of you willing to break it. 

Jay is the first one to speak, but it’s not until you’re sliding out of his passenger seat, back turned towards him. 

“Good night, ___.”

For a moment, you consider just ignoring him. But it feels petty, even for these circumstances. For now, you’ll just have to trust that he needs time to find a way to tell you the truth. 

“Good night,” you tell him. But you still don’t look back.

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READ PART TWO HERE

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That word honest lands like something sharp. You think about the agent call, standing outside the campus café with your hand over your mouth trying not to cry in public, how the first person you called was Pen because you needed someone who would just scream with you for a minute before the practical thoughts arrived. You called Marcus second. You wanted him to scream with you too.

He didn’t scream with you.

“I should go,” you say.

“You’re upset.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say you’re fine when you’re—”

“Marcus.” You pick up your bag. “I’m breaking up with you.”

The silence that follows is the silence of someone who did not see it coming, which tells you something about how differently the last six months have looked from his side versus yours.

“You’re being dramatic,” he says finally.

“Okay.”

“You’ll feel differently when you’ve calmed down.”

“Maybe,” you say, which is the kindest thing you can offer him right now.

“You’ll come back,” he says, and he says it the way someone states a fact — no cruelty in it, just total certainty — and something about that, more than anything else he’s said, makes you absolutely sure that you won’t.

You close his door quietly behind you. You sit in your car for three minutes in the parking lot. Then you drive to Pen’s, and you sit on her kitchen floor, you let yourself feel it for exactly one hour before you get up and make tea and tell her you’ll be fine and you mean it.

Two weeks later you are doing considerably better, by which you mean you have not thought about Marcus in at least four hours when Pen texts you from outside the rink.

Pen: 4-1 we are WINNING

You’re cross-legged on her couch with a script and a highlighter and approximately no intention of moving because you have an audition callback next week and the Sondheim is not going to learn itself. You send back a string of celebration emojis and go back to your lines.

Twenty minutes later your phone rings. Not Pen — Jake, which is unusual enough that you pick up.

“Hey,” you say. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

“We are.” His voice has the particular warmth of someone who’s just won something. “Listen, there’s an after party at the house. Jay and I are heading over now. You coming?”

You open your mouth to say no. You have a callback. You have a script. You are a responsible person with priorities.

“Pen’s already going,” Jake adds.

“She didn’t text me.”

“She probably figured you were studying.”

You look at your highlighter. You look at the script. You think about Marcus’s voice saying you’ll come back with total certainty, and you think about how you have been on this couch for six days straight except for class and rehearsal.

“Who’s Jay?” you say.

“Park Jongseong. Defenseman, plays left side. You’d like him, he’s a menace.” A beat. “Good menace.”

“Text me the address,” you say.

You don’t tell Pen you’re coming. This is partly because you want to surprise her and partly because she will ask why you didn’t just come to the game and you don’t have an answer for that. You pull up to the house and it’s already heaving — lights on every floor, bass you can feel from the driveway, the controlled chaos of a team that’s just won something.

Jake meets you at the door with Jay at his shoulder, who is, as advertised, a menace — tall, sharp-eyed, grinning at you like he already knows something.

“So you’re the theatre friend,” Jay says.

“So you’re the left defenseman,” you say back.

“Jake said you’d have a comeback ready.”

“Jake was right.”

Jay laughs, which you decide means he passes, and Jake hands you a drink and steers you inside and you take a long sip and let the party close around you like water.

This is what you’re good at. This — noise and people and the specific relief of being in a room full of strangers who don’t know anything about you. You talk to everyone.

You make a girl you’ve never met laugh so hard she spills her drink and then feels bad about it and then laughs harder. You debate the zombie apocalypse with two of Jake’s teammates and have opinions so specific they go quiet and stare at you before immediately taking your side. You are three drinks in before you clock that you haven’t thought about Marcus or the callback or any of it in over an hour.

You find Pen in the living room and she makes a noise like she’s been electrocuted. “You’re here—”

“Surprise.”

“Jake said you were studying—”

“I was,” you say. “Then I wasn’t.”

She grabs your face between her hands and looks at you the way she does when she’s deciding if you’re okay and you give her your most convincing everything is fine smile and she squints at you for two seconds and then pulls you into a hug.

“I’m glad you came,” she says.

“Me too,” you say, and mostly mean it.

She gets pulled back toward Jake eventually — he finds her across rooms like he’s got a compass pointed at her, which you find both extremely sweet and a little annoying in the way that genuinely lovely things sometimes are — and you drift toward the makeshift dance floor because someone has finally put on something worth moving to and your body has been sitting still for two weeks.

You dance the way you do everything — fully, unselfconsciously. The drinks have done their job and you’re warm and loose and the bass is good and you stop thinking in words for a while. Someone dances near you and then with you briefly and then peels off, and you don’t mind, you keep moving.

Then there’s a different presence behind you. Larger. Certain of itself.

Hands find your hips and you almost turn around and then you don’t, because whoever this is knows what they’re doing — the grip is confident without being grabby, and they fall into your rhythm immediately, like they’ve been watching long enough to know it. The proximity sends something electric up your spine.

You keep dancing. You let him.

His hands pull you back incrementally and you go, and his mouth drops to the curve of your neck — not kissing, just close, breath warm on your skin — and you think: I know who this is. You’ve felt this specific quality of attention before, at games, across kitchens, in hallways.

You turn around.

Lee Heeseung looks at you like you’re the answer to something he’s been working out all night. Up close he’s a lot — dark-eyed and flushed from the win and the heat of the room, watching you like you’re the only person he can see.

“Captain,” you say.

“Theatre kid,” he says back.

You keep dancing, facing him now, and somewhere in the next song his hand slides from your hip to the small of your back and you let it and he is very beautiful and you have decided, in the specific way you make decisions when you’re four drinks in, that you are going to stop pretending this isn’t interesting.

“You weren’t at the game,” he says, mouth close to your ear.

“No.”

“Jake said you might come to the party.”

“Jake is very persuasive.”

“I’ll tell him that. He’ll be insufferable.”

You laugh and his hand tightens at your back, like your laugh does something to him, and then he pulls back enough to look at you and whatever’s on your face makes something shift in his expression — the easy performance of it dropping for just a second.

“Hey,” he says. Quieter. “You okay?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that.”

“Because you’ve been dancing like you’re trying to outrun something for the last forty minutes.”

You look at him. You’re a performer — you know what it is to be watched by someone who’s actually paying attention, and Heeseung is paying attention, and the accuracy of what he just said lands somewhere under your sternum.

“I broke up with my boyfriend two weeks ago,” you say. Surprised to hear yourself say it.

“Yeah?” Waiting. No particular reaction.

“He said I’d come back.” You hold his gaze. “I’m not going back.”

Heeseung looks at you for a moment. “No. You don’t seem like someone who goes back.”

The song changes. You’re barely dancing anymore. His hand is still at the small of your back and you’re close enough to feel the warmth coming off him.

“Heeseung,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Take me upstairs.”

The room is dim — one lamp in the corner, door shut, the party dropping to a muffled pulse below. He turns to face you and for a second you just look at each other, and then he crosses the space and kisses you.

It’s slow at first. Both hands framing your face, mouth working against yours. You grip the front of his shirt and kiss him back and he makes a low sound against your mouth that you feel in your stomach.

The kiss gets deeper — he tilts your head back and takes the angle he wants and you let him, open for him, tongue sliding against his, messy and warm and real. He pulls back to drag his mouth along your jaw, your throat, and you tip your head to give him room.

“Bed,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says, and walks you back to it.

He sits you on the edge and his hands slide up your sides — slow, deliberate — and stop at your chest. Both of them. Full.

You inhale sharply.

“Fuck,” he breathes, more to himself than you. His thumbs drag over your tits, testing, squeezing, like he’s been thinking about this. “Yeah. I’ve thought about this.”

His grip tightens — not rough, but not gentle either — and then he leans down and kisses you again while his hands work you, thumbs brushing over your nipples through your bra until you arch into him.

“Sensitive?” he murmurs.

You nod.

“Good.”

He pulls your top and bra down and his mouth replaces his hands — warm and open, taking your tit into his mouth, tongue circling your nipple before he sucks, harder than you expected. You gasp, back arching off the mattress. His other hand stays on your other breast, squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, alternating between slow and sharp until you have your hands in his hair and your eyes at the ceiling and absolutely no remaining composure.

“Heeseung—”

“I know,” he says, not looking up. He drags his teeth lightly over your nipple as he pulls away and you shiver. Then he drops to his knees.

He gets your jeans off and pulls you to the edge of the mattress and then his mouth is on your inner thigh and he is in absolutely no hurry. He maps up slowly — open-mouthed, teeth occasionally — and you prop yourself on your elbows and watch him because you are not going to miss this. He glances up and catches you looking and the almost-smile you get is genuinely unfair.

When he finally gets to your pussy it’s without preamble — flat of his tongue, one long stroke, and the breath punches out of you. Then he settles in. He learns you fast: what makes your hips stutter, what makes you grab for him. His tongue works your clit in slow circles and then quick and then slow again, and when he slides two fingers into you and curls them against your walls you make a sound you’re not sorry about.

“There,” you say.

He keeps going there. His mouth stays on your clit and his fingers work that spot and you grab his hair — not directing, just holding on — and you feel it building fast, hot, unstoppable.

“Heeseung—”

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t need you to guide him or recalibrate or any of the things you’ve had to do before — he just reads you and responds and keeps going until your thighs are shaking against his shoulders and you’re coming, your whole body pulling taut and releasing in waves while he works you through every second of it.

He stands, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and you pull him into a kiss before he’s finished moving.

“Your turn,” you say.

You get his shirt off and run your hands over his chest, his stomach. He’s beautiful and he knows it and somehow right now that’s not annoying. You get his jeans down and wrap your hand around his cock and the sharp intake of breath you get is the most satisfying sound you’ve heard all night. You stroke him slowly, watching his face — the composed expression cracking, jaw tight, eyes darker — and you could do this for a while just for that, but you want him inside you and you’re done waiting.

He rolls a condom on and then he’s between your thighs looking down at you, and you look back, and there’s a second of something real and unperformed before he presses into you.

The breath punches out of both of you.

He goes still, and you feel the stretch of him and grab his shoulder on reflex, and he says low, “good?”

“So good,” you say. “Move.”

He starts slow and deep, each thrust deliberate, his hand sliding back up to your chest — gripping your tits like he can’t help it.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “I’m not getting over this.”

He picks up his pace and you feel every stroke of it against your walls and his thumb finds your nipple and works it and the combination makes coherent thought genuinely difficult. He watches your face while he fucks you and you let him look because whatever’s on your face right now is the most honest thing in the room.

He adjusts his angle and hits deeper and your back arches.

“Keep doing that,” you say.

He keeps doing that, harder, his other hand braced to hold you exactly where he wants you, until you cum around him with your nails in his back and he groans at the feeling of it.

You push him onto his back and he goes easy, hands settling at your hips. You sink down onto him and you both exhale. You start moving and his eyes drop to your chest immediately, hands coming up to grip your tits while you ride him, his head tipping back.

“Don’t stop,” he says.

His thumb finds your clit and circles it, perfectly timed with your rhythm, and you don’t last — you cum again with your rhythm breaking and he grips your hips and starts thrusting up into you, chasing it, control slipping.

He flips you without warning. On your stomach, his hand pressing into your lower back, setting the angle.

“Stay,” he says, breath uneven.

You do. And then you push back anyway.

That wrecks him.

“Fuck—” He loses the last of his control, fucking you harder, his voice rough and real and completely unlike the easy composed thing he is everywhere else. He buries himself and comes, body going rigid, and you feel every second of it.

You both go still.

The party thumps somewhere below you. The lamp throws everything amber. He rolls off you and you both lie there and breathe, and then you start laughing — not for any reason, just a release valve, just the sheer absurdity of this night — and after a beat he laughs too, genuine and unguarded, and it makes you like him a little more than you meant to.

“What’s funny,” he says.

“I genuinely don’t know,” you say.

The laughter settles. Ceiling. Quiet.

“How come I’ve never fucked you before?” he says. Conversational.

“I’m more of a relationship girl,” you say. Then you hear yourself say it and something shifts. “Or I was. I’ve been a relationship girl since I was like seventeen and honestly I think that’s the problem. I go from one to the next and I never just — “ you gesture at nothing “— exist. By myself. Without someone who has opinions about my life choices and whether my career is realistic and—” you stop. “Sorry. That was a lot.”

“No,” he says. He’s watching you with that full-beam attention that you’re starting to understand is just how he listens. “Keep going.”

“I just mean I don’t want another relationship right now. I want to have fun. I want to focus on my work and go out and not have to check in with anyone.” You pause. “That probably sounds—”

“Normal?” he says.

“I was going to say selfish.”

“Same thing sometimes.” He’s quiet for a second, easy, unbothered. “So do that.”

“I am,” you say. “I’m doing that.”

“Good.” A beat. Then: “We could help each other out. While you’re doing that.”

You look at him. “No strings?”

“No strings,” he confirms. “You’ve got your thing, I’ve got the season. Neither of us wants anything complicated.”

You look at him for a long moment. He looks back and doesn’t try to sell it, doesn’t push, just lets it sit there as a plain offer, take it or leave it.

You reach for your phone off the nightstand.

Hey, don’t wait up. I’ll see you in the morning x

Pen’s reply comes back in under a minute. A single question mark. You lock your phone and put it face-down and look at Heeseung.

He’s already watching you, and before you can say anything he reaches over and pulls you in by the jaw and kisses you — slow, no urgency, like you’ve got all night, which you do — and you go easily, your hand finding his chest, and that’s the end of the talking.

You slammed the door to your car, the sound of your boots hitting the ground with your ever confident stride filled the air. You were determined to finish this case and get justice once in for all. Justice for the murder of your former partner, colleague, your close friend.

You were in complete hysteria when you found out the death of your long-term partner, Hyunjin. Unresolved, you made it your duty and mission to find Hyunjin’s murderer, and you know it starts here. After endless research, you found it. Mr. Yang, the mastermind of a crime syndicate running illegal underground fights. It was previously Hyunjin’s case, before they killed him. After being advised multiple times by the police department to let higher-ups handle it; the very own department you and Hyunjin worked for years, you continued on with the case solo regardless. It was only a matter of time before they found out. You will find the murderer and avenge Hyunjin. It’s a must.

With every breath you let out, it vaporized into the freezing wind. The anger you felt, finally coming so close to catching the murderer, warmed your skin. You wore a big black leather jacket over your black hoodie, which was propped over your head to not bring attention to you. And finally, you walked into the run-down building.

The dim glow of the boxing gym’s fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows over the empty ring. The scent of sweat and leather lingered in the air as Jungwon pounded his fists into the heavy bag, each strike landing with a satisfying thud. The rhythmic sound filled the otherwise silent space, save for the occasional shuffle of his feet against the worn-out mats.

It was late—too late for anyone else to be here. Just how he liked it. No distractions, no expectations. Just him, his gloves, and the fight ahead.

Or so he thought.

The gym doors burst open with a sharp bang, the force of the entry sending them swinging against the walls. Jungwon froze mid-punch, his head snapping toward the disturbance. You stood in the doorway, the neon “OPEN 24 HOURS” sign flickering behind you, casting a faint blue glow against your sharp alluring features.

You are immensely stunning—though the deadly glint in your dark eyes made it clear you aren’t here for small talk. Walking with your hands stuffed into your jacket’s pockets, you carried an air of authority, but no badge in sight.

No uniform. No backup.

Jungwon wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and exhaled, “Gym’s closed.”

You ignored him. In a flash, you reached behind your jacket, pulled out a folded document, and tossed it onto the gym floor between you both. It landed with a crisp slap, the bold lettering of WARRANT FOR QUESTIONING staring up at him.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, amusingly, “You could’ve just asked nicely.”

You stepped forward, your boots echoing against the floor, “Shut it, you’re coming with me.”

Your voice was smooth but edged with something sharp—something personal. Jungwon exhaled through his nose, glancing between you and the warrant.

“What exactly am i being accused of?”

“Illegal underground fights. Money laundering. Possible ties to the Black Dragon Syndicate,” You stated, analyzing his undeniably handsome face.

God, not to mention the look of his body…

Jungwon let out a short laugh, shaking his head, “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“Maybe,” you tilted your head, eyes locked onto his like you were waiting for him to slip up, “Maybe not. Either way, I have questions.”

Jungwon’s eyes trailed down your body, sensing something was off, “Where’s your badge?”

You raised your head defiantly, “I don’t need one.”

Liar.

Jungwon had been in enough situations to recognize when someone was playing outside the rules. And judging by the way your fingers twitched at your sides—like you are itching for a fight—this wasn’t just a routine questioning. This was personal. And he could read right through your pretty face.

“I see,” he mused, stepping out of the ring.

He smirked, “You’re not supposed to be here, are you?”

Your expression remained unreadable, “I’m here because your name keeps coming up in places it shouldn’t.”

“Or because you need answers you’re not getting through official channels.”

The flicker in your gaze told him he was right. Something dark coiled in his chest. He didn’t know what you were looking for, but if you are this desperate, you are dangerous. Maybe not to him—not yet—but to yourself.

Before he could think too hard on it, you moved.

Fast.

In one swift motion, you grabbed his wrist, yanking it behind his back with expert precision. Jungwon twisted out of your grip just as quickly, breaking free and stepping back.

You lunged again, and he dodged, catching your wrist before you could land a hit.

you were skilled—he could feel it in the way your muscles tensed, the way you adjusted your weight in a split second, ready to counter his next move. But so was he.

You both clashed, a flurry of movement and near-misses, neither fully committing to hurting the other but neither backing down.

Then, you changed the rhythm. Instead of another strike, you feinted—just enough for him to react—before sweeping his legs out from under him.

Jungwon hit the mat with a grunt. Before he could push himself up, you pointed a gun at him, your other hand held a pair of cuffs.

He looked up at you, lips still curled in amusement despite the fact that you’ve just floored him, “Woah, pretty, thats a dangerous toy you have there. Let’s put it down, yeah?”

You leaned down, voice low and firm, “This isn’t a game, Jungwon.”

Your mask had cracked—just a little—but enough for him to see it now. The anger simmering just beneath your calm exterior.

Jungwon’s smirk softened, “Who are you really after?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Stop acting. I know it’s you who’s been behind all of this.”

"I already said you have the wrong guy."

“Actually,” you murmured, reaching into your jacket pocket.

Jungwon barely had time to register the movement before you pulled out a sleek black USB drive, holding it between your fingers like a loaded gun.

His stomach twisted.

“Recognize this?” you asked, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp.

Jungwon kept his expression neutral, “Should I?”

You smirked, but there was no humor in it, "You should. Because I know exactly what’s on it.”

He clenched his jaw. He didn’t know what kind of information you had or how you got it—but if you were confident enough to use it against him, it couldn’t be good.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” you continued, stepping closer.

“You’re going to help me find the real culprit. The person responsible for all of this mess. And in return…” you twirled the USB between your fingers.

“This stays between us.”

Jungwon exhaled slowly, his mind racing. He could fight you on this. He could try to get away, call you bluff. But something told him you wouldn’t have come here without leverage you were willing to use and he just had too much to be guilty for to risk it.

So instead, he met your gaze, tilting his head slightly, “Blackmailing me, Detective?”

“Call it… an incentive," you shrugged.

He let the silence stretch between you both before finally giving you a small amused chuckle, “Alright, I’ll play along.”

You nodded, pocketing the USB again.

“Good,” you murmured, “Then let’s get to work.”

Jungwon sat in the passenger seat of your car, his body lazily slugged into the seat, his legs propped open. The soft hum of the engine filled the silence between you, the glow of streetlights casting fleeting shadows across his face as you sped down the empty roads.

He rolled his wrist as he played with the hem of the long bandages on his hands, "So, where are we going, Detective? Or do I not get that privilege?”

You kept your eyes on the road, your grip steady on the wheel, “We’re going to talk somewhere private.”

Jungwon smirked, tilting his head slightly, “Careful, that almost sounded like a date.”

You shot him a glare, “Are you always this shameless?”

Jungwon chuckled under his breath, his dimples showcasing his handsome face frustratingly, watching you from the corner of his eye. Now that he was sitting this close, he could see it—the exhaustion hidden beneath your sharp exterior. The tightness in your jaw, the way your shoulders never fully relaxed, as if you were constantly bracing for a fight.

Whatever you were after, it wasn’t just about justice. It was personal. He knew that. He looked out to the window.

"You never did tell me what’s on that USB.”

You remained silent for a moment, your fingers tightening slightly around the wheel. Then, you said, “Enough to ruin you.”

Jungwon whistled, “That bad, huh?”

“I don’t make threats I can’t back up.”

“Fair enough.” He studied you, curiosity growing, “But if you had enough to ‘ruin me,’ as you say, why not just use it? Why drag me into this?”

You exhaled through your nose in irritation, “Because you’re useful.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, “And here I thought you just wanted my charming company.”

You didn’t take the bait.

“My partner was murdered,” you said, your voice even, controlled.

“The higher-ups don’t want me on the case. They shut me out, told me to move on. But I know there’s more to this.”

Jungwon leaned forward slightly, intrigued despite himself, “And you think I can help because…?”

You hesitated. Just for a second.

“The Black Dragon Syndicate has connections to underground fights,” you admitted.

“I have reason to believe my partner’s killer is tied to them. And you?” you finally glanced at him, your gaze cutting.

“You may not be dirty, but you’re close enough to their world. Close enough to get me where I need to be.”

Jungwon considered your words carefully.

He wasn’t stupid—getting involved in something like this could destroy his career, his life. But then again… you weren't wrong. He knew people. He knew how the underground worked, how fighters got tangled up in things bigger than they could handle.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, Detective. I’ll do what I can, but after that, we're done.”

“Okay.”

“But,” he added, smirking, “if I’m doing this, we do it my way. You’re good, but you don’t know their world like I do.”

You arched an eyebrow, “And what exactly is your way?”

Jungwon leaned back again, his smirk deepening, “We start with a fight.”

You pulled the car into an abandoned lot behind an old warehouse, the headlights cutting through the thick mist rolling in from the docks. The place looked empty, but Jungwon knew better. This wasn’t just some random stop—You brought him here for a reason.

He leaned forward, glancing around, “Let me guess. This is where you try to get me killed?”

You shut off the engine and unbuckled your seatbelt, “That depends on how cooperative you are.”

Jungwon looked down, a genuine smile plastered across his face.

And God, those dimples your heart can never get used to.

“You really know how to make a guy feel special, Detective.”

Ignoring him, you stepped out of the car. He followed, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets as the cool night air settled around you.

you turned to face him, your expression unreadable, “If we’re doing this, I need you to prove you’re not just going to slow me down.”

Jungwon tilted his head, intrigued, “What, you want me to do push-ups or something?”

Your lips twitched—almost like you wanted to smirk—but you didn’t. Instead, you nodded toward the warehouse.

“There’s a fight happening inside. Illegal, no official records, all cash bets. It’s run by a middleman for the Black Dragon Syndicate.”

Jungwon frowned, “And you want me to fight?”

“No,” you closed the distance between both of you, “I want you to win.”

Jungwon's eyebrows furrow, he looks down at you, “You realize if I step into that ring, I blow my cover, right? I have a reputation to keep.”

“Then don’t lose.”

Jungwon studied you carefully, searching for any hesitation in your eyes. There was none. Your faces only mere inches apart. And although it was freezing outside, you can't help but to feel like you're burning up.

“You really are insane, aren’t you?”

You look away, trying to calm your rapid heartbeat, “You said we do this your way, Jungwon. This is your world. You know the rules. If I walk in there alone, I get nothing. But if you fight—if you win—you get me a seat at the table.”

“These people know me. They know what I can do. I don’t need to prove myself.”

“I know," You nodded, “all you have to do is get me close to the right people.”

Jungwon exhaled, irritated, leaning closer towards you, “You’re asking me to put everything on the line.”

You held his gaze, defiantly, “And I’m putting everything on the line, too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You held your gazes, faces so close it made your hands clench. The distant echoes of voices from inside the warehouse filled the silence between you, the weight of what you both were about to do settling in. The tension palpable.

Then, finally, Jungwon smirked.

“Fine,” he said, walking past you, "Try to keep up, Detective. The moment we step inside, you’re in my world now.”

Jungwon led the way toward the warehouse, his steps unhurried, confident—like he owned the place. In a way, he did. His name carried weight in the underground. He didn’t need an invitation, didn’t need to sneak in through the back. Wherever there was a fight, Jungwon was welcomed. Respected. Feared.

You walked beside him, your sharp eyes scanning everything. Light on your feet, your guard completely up. Your presence just as commanding, but in an entirely different way. You are striking—undeniably so. Even in the dim, grungy surroundings, you turned heads. It wasn’t just your beauty; it was the way you carried yourself without needing to show much skin. The lethal grace in your movements. The sharp glint in your eyes that warned people you are no easy target.

Jungwon noticed, too. But unlike the others, he wasn’t staring in admiration—he was entertained. Curious.

"Didn’t peg you for the type to blend in," he murmured, amusement lacing his tone.

You didn't even glance his way, "And I didn’t peg you for the type to care."

You were used to it—being looked at, admired, but so underrestimated. It didn’t faze you. You were too busy to care about anything other than your mission, too uninterested in wasting time falling in love. After all, you had your fair share with men and saw glimpses of how disappointing they could be.

As you reached the entrance, a heavyset bouncer stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flickered from Jungwon to you, eyes narrowing.

“Didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” he grunted, “You fighting tonight?”

Jungwon smirked, “Maybe. Just here for business.”

The bouncer’s eyes shifted to you, “And her?”

Jungwon didn’t hesitate. He threw an arm around your shoulders, a smug grin tugging at his lips, “She’s with me.”

You barely resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs. Instead, you turned your head slightly, giving him a mocking smile and a sharp glare which practically threatened, Touch me again, and I’ll break your wrist.

He returned a cocky smile.

He looked at Jungwon, smirking, “Didn’t think you were the type to settle down.”

Jungwon chuckled, “Who said anything about settling?”

His tone was playful, but you caught the knowing glint in his eyes. He was enjoying this too much. His comment irked you. You move away from him.

Finally, he stepped aside, jerking his head toward the entrance, “Try not to get blood on the floors.”

Jungwon shrugged, following behind you towards the entrance, “No promises.”

The moment you stepped inside, the air changed. The heat of bodies packed together, the metallic scent of sweat and blood, the roar of the crowd as fists met flesh—it was intoxicating.

You took it all in, your sharp gaze flicking from the ring in the center of the room to the men gathered around it, placing bets with wads of cash. The underground fights weren’t just brutal—they were a business. A business with deep ties to the Black Dragon Syndicate.

Jungwon leaned toward you, his voice low, “Welcome to the underworld, Detective.”

You ignored him, scanning the crowd, “Who do we need to talk to?”

Jungwon followed your gaze, spotting a familiar figure near the betting table.

“There. See the guy in the gray suit? That’s Kang Min-sik. He handles the syndicate’s finances—the bets, the payouts, the money laundering.”

You nodded. “Then he’s our way in.”

Jungwon chuckled, “Slow down, pretty. You can’t just walk up to him and start asking questions.”

You turned to him, crossing her arms, "Then what do you suggest?”

Jungwon glanced at the ring, where the current fight was wrapping up. The crowd was hungry for more, the energy in the room electric. His smirk widened.

“We make an entrance.”

Before you could question him, he stepped toward the announcer’s booth, his voice carrying over the noise, “I’m fighting.”

The announcer, a wiry man with a scar over his brow, lit up at the sight of him, “Jungwon! You sure? Last time you nearly put a man in a coma.”

Jungwon just grinned, “Then let’s see if anyone else wants to take the risk.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, and just like that, the stage was set.

You clenched your jaw. You had come here for information, not a spectacle. But as Jungwon stepped toward the ring, rolling his shoulders, your realized something.

Jungwon wasn’t just fighting for show.

He was sending a message.

And every man in this room—including Kang Min-sik—was about to hear it loud and clear.

You stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed, watching Jungwon like a hawk. You told yourself you weren't impressed. That you didn’t care about his reputation or the way the entire room seemed to gravitate toward him. Or the small anxiousness of him getting hurt.

But when Jungwon stepped into the ring—the lights casting shadows over the sharp angles of his face—you felt something stir.

The crowd roared as his opponent climbed in, a towering brute covered in tattoos. A challenger who clearly thought Jungwon was just another name to add to his kill count.

Jungwon didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. He only smirked, the same infuriating confidence he always carried, but now it felt different. Like he was proving something—to you.

The bell rang.

The brute charged, swinging a punch meant to take Jungwon’s head off.

But Jungwon was faster. He dodged, fluid and effortless, his movements precise. He ducked under the next swing, landed a brutal counterpunch to the ribs. The punch echoed through the warehouse, and the brute staggered back, gasping.

Your eyes flickered. He was playing with him.

You should have looked away. Should have focused on the mission.

But you didn’t.

Because watching Jungwon fight was like watching something untamed—dangerous but mesmerizing. There was no wasted movement, no hesitation. He was completely in control.

Another punch. A ruthless uppercut. The brute collapsed, unconscious before he hit the ground.

The warehouse erupted in chaos, cheers shaking the walls.

Jungwon turned, searching the crowd, and when his eyes landed on you—he smirked.

You scoffed, arms tightening over your chest, “Show-off.”

He climbed out of the ring, walking toward you, sweat glistening on his skin, knuckles bruised, lip busted, and a few cuts.

“Admit it, you were impressed.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve seen better.”

Jungwon smiled, “Liar.”

Before you could snap back, a new presence approached. Kang Min-sik, the man you had come here for, was watching Jungwon with a knowing smile.

“Still undefeated, I see,” Kang mused. His gaze flickered to you, “And who’s this?”

Jungwon wiped blood from his knuckles, glancing at you. For a split second, his expression softened, “Someone who needs answers.”

You stepped forward, meeting Kang’s eyes without fear, “And I think you’re going to give them to me.”

Kang laughed, but there was something calculating in his gaze, “Well, now I’m curious. Let’s talk.”

Jungwon leaned in close to your ear, his voice barely above a whisper, “Try not to get us both killed, alright pretty?”

Your eyes met, and for the first time, a genuine laugh escaped your lips. He faltered for a moment before falling into a smile.

"Sure."

You both followed Kang Min-sik through a dimly lit hallway behind the main warehouse, the muffled roars of the crowd fading into the background. The scent of old smoke and sweat clung to the walls, but you kept your focus sharp. This was the moment you had been waiting for.

Kang led you both into a small, lavishly furnished office—a stark contrast to the grunge of the underground fights. A leather couch, expensive whiskey bottles lining the shelves, and a single desk where he took his seat, gesturing for you to do the same.

Jungwon leaned against the wall instead, arms crossed, while you remained standing, you sharp gaze locked onto Kang.

"So," Kang began, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "what exactly is it that you need from me?"

"My partner was murdered. I have reason to believe the Black Dragon Syndicate was involved. I need names. Connections. Anything you know."

Kang chuckled, shaking his head, "Bold. You storm in here with a notorious fighter at your side and expect me to just hand over information? What makes you think I’d betray my own?"

You didn’t blink, "Because you’re not loyal to anyone but money, and I’m willing to make it worth your while."

Kang raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but before he could respond, Jungwon stepped forward.

"Careful, doll," he murmured, "Men like him don’t just take money. They take leverage."

Kang smirked, "Smart man."

You had known walking into this that Kang wouldn’t just hand you what you wanted. But you also knew you couldn’t walk away empty-handed.

Jungwon sighed, "Alright. Let’s make it simple. She’s not a cop anymore. She’s working for herself. And I vouch for her."

Kang's gaze flicked to Jungwon, "You vouch for her?"

Jungwon hesitated for a brief second before nodding, "Yeah. I do."

you turned to him, surprise flickering in your eyes.

Kang hummed, studying you both, then leaned back, "Interesting."

He tapped his fingers against the desk, "I might have something. But if you want it, there’s a price."

you expected that much, "Name it."

Kang’s lips curled, "A job. There’s a man the syndicate needs… dealt with. Not killed, just taught a lesson. Someone who thinks he can run from his debts. You two take care of it, and I’ll tell you what I know."

you immediately stiffened, "I don’t do dirty work for criminals."

Kang shrugged, "Then you don’t get your information."

You clenched your fists, your pulse spiking with frustration.

Before you could speak, Jungwon let out a slow exhale, "We’ll do it."

you snapped your head toward him in disbelief.

Jungwon met your gaze, You want answers? This is how we get them.

Kang grinned, "I like you, Jungwon. It's not easy to find a reasonable man who knows how to get something he wants."

You bit back a curse, shooting Jungwon a glare. You wanted to fight him on this—wanted to push back—but you knew he was right. You were already deep in this. There was no easy way out.

Kang slid a slip of paper across the desk, "There’s the details. Handle it cleanly, and I’ll give you your lead."

Jungwon took the paper. Turning on your heel, you stormed toward the door. Jungwon followed you, but before he stepped out, Kang called after him.

"You’re playing a dangerous game, Jungwon. Does he know you're doing this?" he tilted his head. Jungwon looks towards your direction, no sign of you.

"I hope you know what you’re doing," he continues.

Jungwon smirked to himself before walking out, "Wouldn’t be fun otherwise."

Jungwon caught up to you, his footsteps deliberate. You spun around, shoving Jungwon against the car with surprising force.

"What the hell was that?" you hissed.

Jungwon, still pinned against the metal, raised an amused brow, "That was me getting you what you wanted. I was expecting a 'Thank you,' but sure, this works fine, pretty."

You glared up at him, your body close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, "You don’t get to make deals for me."

Jungwon rolled his eyes, "And yet, here we are."

You hated how calm he was. Hated the way he looked at you—like you were some reckless fool who didn’t know how to play the game.

"I can't stand you already," you said, voice low.

Jungwon leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your ear, "Likewise, detective."

For a moment, the anger between you shifted into something else—something charged, electric.

Then you stepped back, snatching the paper from his hands, "Fine. But if you screw this up, I’ll be the one teaching you a lesson."

Jungwon grinned, "Now that’s a fight I’d actually look forward to."

Later, you both headed to a motel for the night. You knew it was only a matter of time before you were chased down and hunted. You needed to stay on the low. You changed into more comfortable clothes, waiting for Jungwon to step out of the shower. You sat at the couch, enjoying a cup of ramen. After a while, he showed up. He took a seat next to you, grabbing your cup of ramen and taking a bite. You furrowed your eyebrows, annoyed.

"Hey—"

You stopped at the sight of his busted lip and other injuries. Your face softened a bit. You sighed, mindlessly grabbing his hand to examine his knuckles. He freezes, looking at you as your fingers brush over his knuckles.

"This looks pretty bad. I'll treat your wounds. Stay right here," You stand up before he could protest.

You come back with the kit, sitting in front of him. You clear your throat, reaching for his hand.

"You don't have to do this, It's nothing serious," He protests.

"Just shut up," you scold.

You're slow and careful with his wounds, the sound of your breathing and Jungwon's soft groans in pain filling the silence. Then, you work your way to his face. You apply ointment to his cuts, softly blowing onto it. You lean closer to his face, treating his busted lip. You look up to meet his gaze, wavering a moment. You both look away and you pack everything up.

"Thanks," he mumbles.

"We should get some sleep. We have a lot of things to do," you suggest.

He nods.

"I'll sleep on the couch," he says, getting comfortable on it.

"Why not on the bed?" You asked.

"There's only one," He replied.

"So?" you raised an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic shy behavior, "I don't care whether or not you're on it."

He blinks, dumbfounded.

You walk into the room, making your way on it. He walks in, slowly making his way under the covers. Once settled, you turn the lamp off on the nightstand. Only the moonlight from the windows illuminates the bedroom.

You shift in bed, finding a comfortable position. You lay on your side, your eyes closed. You hear Jungwon shifting too, before it going all silent. Only the soft sounds of breathing can be heard.

"By the way," he broke the silence softly, "you never told me your name."

You open your eyes. You immediately find his eyes, him laying towards you. Your breath hitched.

"Y/n," you confessed softly, "My name is y/n."

There's a small moment of silence, staring at each other's faces under the moonlight.

"Y/n," he whispers your name tenderly.

You swear you've never loved the way you've heard your name be said before until now. Your favorite sound. Like it was meant for him to be said. Never sounded so correct, so right.

You woke to warmth. It took you a second to remember where you were—the dimly lit motel room, the scratchy motel sheets, the faint hum of traffic outside. But what startled you the most wasn’t the unfamiliarity of the room. It was the arm draped over your waist.

Jungwon.

your breath hitched as you realized how close he was, his body pressed lightly against yours, his warmth seeping through the thin barrier of fabric between you both. His breathing was slow, steady, still deep in sleep. You stiffened. You should move. You needed to move.

But for some reason, you hesitated. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to.

Jungwon, the man who drove you insane, the notorious fighter with an irritatingly charming smile and dimples to die for, felt… different like this. Vulnerable. At peace.

He’s still a criminal, you reminded yourself. A fighter who plays by no rules but his own.

But lying there, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest, it was hard to see him as just that.

your movement must have disturbed him because, within seconds, his grip tightened slightly before his breathing shifted. He stirred, his body tensing as he slowly became aware of your positions.

And then, you heard the smirk in his voice before you even turned to look at him. Your face burned up in embarrassment.

“When you said you didn’t care about me being in bed beside you, i didn’t think it meant to this extent, detective,” he teased.

Your face burned as you shoved his arm off and sat up, scowling at him, “You were the one holding onto me!”

Jungwon stretched lazily, completely unfazed, “I was asleep. You, on the other hand, let it happen.”

Your glare could have melted steel, “I was asleep, you idiot.”

He smiled, sitting up as well, his blonde hair tousled in a way that made him look ridiculously attractive. It was infuriating.

“Relax, Y/n,” he said, voice still husky from sleep, “You were having a nightmare, shifting in your sleep uncomfortably and it didn’t stop until you were close.”

Your face softened.

“Oh…thanks,” you mumbled, before yanking the blanket off and standing up.

Jungwon laughed, low and amused, but he didn’t push it further. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Alright, alright. So, what’s the plan?”

You grabbed your jacket, forcing yourself to focus, “We find Kang Min-sik’s target, deal with him cleanly, and get our information. And after that?”

you turned to face him, your expression serious, “I’ll let you go.”

Jungwon held your gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes.

But then he gave a small smile, “Sure, Detective. Whatever you say.”

And for some reason, you had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t be that simple.

The morning air was crisp as you stepped out of the motel, the scent of rain still lingering from the night before. You walked ahead, your mind sharp despite the exhaustion weighing down on you.

Jungwon followed, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

“You’re quiet,” he noted.

You didn’t look at him, “Just thinking.”

“About how much you enjoyed waking up next to me?” he teased.

You shot him a glare, “About how I’m going to break your nose if you don’t focus.”

Jungwon chuckled, “You’re the cutest when mad.”

The target Kang Min-sik had given you was a man named Park Sung-ho, a mid-level bookie who had been skimming money off the syndicate. He wasn’t dangerous—not in the way true criminals were—but he had crossed the wrong people.

And now, you had to decide how far you were willing to go for the information you needed.

you found him in a rundown café on the outskirts of the city, hunched over a newspaper with a half-finished cup of coffee in front of him. He looked harmless—just a man trying to disappear.

you exhaled, “This feels wrong.”

Jungwon leaned against the wall, watching you, “You knew what this was when you agreed to it.”

“I agreed to handle him, not do the syndicate’s dirty work,” you turned to him, your voice firm.

“We’re not going to hurt him,” you warned.

He reached over to move a hair strand from your face. Jungwon studied you for a second, then smirked, “Guess I’ll have to be the scary one, then.”

Before you could react, Jungwon strolled forward and casually slid into the seat across from Sung-ho. The man tensed immediately, his fingers tightening around his cup.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” Sung-ho muttered.

Jungwon tilted his head, “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Trouble’s looking for you.”

Sung-ho swallowed hard, “Listen, I don’t have the money—”

Jungwon leaned forward, his voice dropping into something low and lethal, “We’re not here for your money. We’re here to give you a message.”

You watched, arms crossed, as Jungwon’s entire demeanor shifted. This wasn’t the reckless fighter you had been dealing with. This was someone else. Someone who knew exactly how to make a man sweat. And you’d be lying if this wasn’t doing something to you in strange ways.

Sung-ho paled, “Please… I have a family.”

Jungwon’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers tapped once against the table, “Then you should’ve thought about that before stealing from people who don’t forgive.”

You exhaled sharply and stepped forward, placing a hand on Jungwon’s shoulder.

“That’s enough,” you said, your voice softer than before. Jungwon glanced up at you, something flickering in his gaze.

But after a moment, he leaned back and sighed, “Lucky you. The detective here has a soft spot for people like you.”

Sung-ho looked between you and Jungwon, eyes wide.

you pulled out a piece of paper and slid it across the table, “You disappear. Tonight. Take your family and leave the country. If the syndicate finds you again, we won’t be able to stop them.”

Sung-ho hesitated, then grabbed the paper. His hands trembled, “Thank you.”

You didn’t respond. You simply turned and walked out, Jungwon following behind you.

Once you were back on the street, he whistled, sulking.

“Didn’t take you for the merciful type. I’m starting to think you’re just nice to any man who isn’t me,” he shoved his hands in his pockets, kicking the rocks on the floor.

You shot him a look, confused, “And I didn’t take you for the type to play the villain so well.”

Jungwon shrugged, “I’m full of surprises.”

“oh, yeah?” you tried to meet his avoidant gaze.

was he…mad?

You walked in silence for a moment before he glanced at you again, “You know Kang’s not going to like this, right?”

you exhaled, “I don’t care what Kang likes. He gave us a job, and it’s done.”

Jungwon stared at you for a moment before breaking into a soft smile, “God, you’re stubborn.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his dimples, “You’re just figuring that out?”

His smile widened, but there was something different in his expression this time. Something closer to admiration.

As you made your way back to Kang Min-sik, you couldn’t ignore the shift between you both. The line between enemies and allies was already beginning to blur. And that was dangerous.

By the time you both returned to Kang Min-sik’s hideout, the air between you and Jungwon had changed. It wasn’t just the usual tension anymore—it was something heavier, something unspoken.

Kang was lounging in his leather chair when you walked in, a glass of whiskey in hand. He didn’t even bother looking up right away, his attention focused on the flickering television in the corner. When he finally did acknowledge you, it was with a slow, lazy smirk.

“You’re back early,” he mused, swirling the drink in his glass. “That means one of two things—either the job went smooth, or you decided to get creative.”

You crossed your arms, “The job is done.”

Kang arched a brow, glancing at Jungwon, “Is that so?”

Jungwon shrugged, all casual arrogance, “The guy got the message loud and clear. He won’t be a problem anymore.”

Kang studied you both for a long moment, tapping his fingers against the desk.

“Funny,” he murmured, “Because I heard a different story.”

Your spine stiffened. You should have known Kang would have eyes everywhere.

“I hear,” Kang continued, “that instead of teaching him a lesson, you let him go. Gave him a nice little escape route.”

He titled his head, “is that true?”

You held his gaze without flinching, “You wanted him dealt with. He’s gone. That’s all that matters.”

Kang’s smirk faded. “No, sweetheart. That’s not all that matters.”

Before you could react, one of Kang’s men moved. A blur of motion—faster than you expected. A blade flashed, aiming straight for your throat.

But Jungwon was faster.

In an instant, he grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it sharply. The knife clattered to the floor, and before the attacker could react, Jungwon drove his fist into his ribs. The man doubled over with a pained grunt.

The room went still. The sound of liquid trickling onto the floor filled the room. You looked over to Jungwon, his palm was dripping in blood from the huge slit he got from the knife.

Your heart pounded, but your expression remained stone-cold.

Kang let out a slow exhale, standing up. “Impressive,” he murmured, “You’ve still got it, Jungwon.”

Jungwon glanced at his hand like he wasn’t affected, “You knew what you were getting when you asked for my help.”

Kang chuckled, but his amusement didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. I did.” He glanced at you, “And you, detective—I should’ve known you’d pull something like this.”

You lifted your chin, “Are you giving us our information or not?”

Kang studied you for a long moment before finally sighing, “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.”

He turned, grabbing a folder from his desk and tossing it toward you.

You caught it.

“There’s your lead,” Kang said. “But I’d watch my back if I were you. You made a lot of people unhappy today.”

You didn’t respond. You simply opened the folder, scanning the contents. Names, addresses, connections—pieces of the puzzle you had been chasing.

You looked up at Jungwon, who had gone unusually quiet. His jaw was tight, his fists still clenched.

what’s up with him?

“We’re done here,” you said, turning to leave.

But before you could step out, Kang’s voice stopped you.

“One last thing.”

You turned back.

Kang smirked, “You two make an interesting pair. Almost as if you trust in each other. That’s too bad.”

You furrowed your eyebrows but neither of you responded.

Kang’s smirk widened, “Careful with that. Trust is dangerous in this world. Especially when you think you have the other person all figured out.”

The night air was cold when you stepped out of the building, but you barely felt it. You clutched the folder tightly, your mind racing with the information inside. Jungwon was speeding ahead of you, you walked faster to catch up.

“Jungwon, wait! what’s up with you?” you called out to him.

Jungwon exhaled sharply beside you, “That could’ve gone worse.”

You examined him, “But it didn’t.”

He let out a low chuckle, anger plastered on his face, “You’ve got a bad habit of pissing off dangerous people.”

Trying to deescalate the situation, you smirked playfully, “You’re one of them.”

Jungwon turned to you, something unreadable in his expression. “Yeah,” he murmured, “I guess I am.”

He kept walking, your face fell to a frown. You held your breath. You grabbed his hand.

“What’s wrong with you!”

“Nothing!” he shouted.

Your eyes glanced down at the blood smudging on your hands as you hold his.

You shook your head, “this won’t do. Let’s go back to the motel to treat your wound.”

Before you could move, he yanked his hand from your grip.

“I don’t need your help,” he murmured, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Anyway, you have your leads and clues now, so this is over,” he locks eyes with you.

“This isn’t over. We haven’t even found the real culprit yet!”

“You can handle yourself perfectly fine!” He retorted.

“Stop…dragging me into this mess more than you have. Because of this, word is probably out about me being involved in this. Everything is on the line. My career. My reputation. Everything,” he continues, stepping closer to you.

The thought of being so close to finding out the long-awaited truth just for him to back out is killing you. You’re so close yet so far. And as much as you know you can handle yourself, you wouldn’t have gone this far without Jungwon. And you hated the thought of relying on him more than you thought you would.

“Jungwon,” you reached out for him, “I still need you. Please, we’re so close.”

Jungwon’s eyes flickered in something unreadable. He stepped impossibly closer to you. You could feel his heat radiating off him.

“Don’t…say stuff like that,” he fumed, “I can’t stand it. I can’t stand you a second longer.”

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. With all the anger and confusion that went through your veins, you let impulsivity take ahold of you.

“God I hate you so much, Jungwon,” you hissed, before leaning in to kiss him.

A million bolts of adrenaline fired up within you, sighing against the kiss.

Jungwon took his hands out of his pocket, cupping your face with his bloody hands to deepen the kiss. His response was urgent, desperate, and yet so tender. You both forgot how to breathe, too focused on your lips on each other to worry about taking a single break from tasting each other.

And then, finally, you broke away to catch your breath. Small pants came from one another, processing what just happened. Jungwon leaned in almost immediately after breathing to give you small and slow pecks onto your lips, refusing to be away from you. You smiled against the kisses, trying to move away but he locked you against him with his arm around your waist.

“Jungwon, stop it. Let’s go treat your wounds, okay?”

“Okay, but i’ll drive,” he stated, grabbing the keys from your pockets.

The moment the door shut closed behind Jungwon, he quickly captured your lips. Caught off guard, you stumbled back against the wall, a soft thud in result. You softly groaned against his lips, grasping onto his shirt. Jungwons hands travel down to your waist, his fingers sliding under your shirt to touch your bare skin. Your heart fluttered at the sudden contact. The kiss was now sloppy, hot, and desperate. He lifted you against him without breaking the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck. He blindly carried you to the bedroom, softly laying you on top of the bed. You sat up slightly, going further into the bed.

You felt like prey, the look in his eyes eliciting a lewd response from you. He took off his jacket before his shirt, he crawled slowly onto the bed. Eyeing you down dangerously. He hovered over you, kissing you slowly. He tugged at your shirt before helping you take it off. You tossed it aside along with the other clothes. He left hot wet kisses along your neck, trailing down to your chest. His big hands wandered across your body, resting to cup your breasts slowly. He sucks and bites the skin of your neck and collarbone before leaving more love bites onto your breasts. You let out small airy moans, gripping onto his hair. He unclasped your bra, tossing it aside.

He kisses you once more, “You’re so beautiful, it’s driving me insane.”

Your hands slowly glide against his bare chest, feeling him as he sucks onto the sensitive buds of your breasts. A warm pulse between your legs becoming gradually unbearable.

He pulls away, playing with the hem of your pants. You nod, allowing him to slide it off. You shyly tighten your legs together, embarrassed of how damp your panties are from the arousal. As if he couldn’t get any harder, the sight of you under him, wet just for him, made his cock ache. He forcefully pulled your legs apart before settling in between them. He leaned over to kiss you, hungrily. His bulge rubbing against you, creating torturous friction. You moaned, your hips subconsciously bucking up to feel more of him. He groaned against the kiss, his cock begging to be released from his tight pants.

“Jungwon, please,” you tugged onto his pants.

“Please what, y/n?” He teased, slowly grinding his hips into you.

“Stop fucking teasing,”you replied, becoming frustrated by the second.

He smiled before quickly standing up to unbuckle his belt and slid what was left of him off. Your eyes swallow the sight of him whole. He slowly pulls off your wet panties down your legs. He leaves a trail of wet kisses down your stomach. Finally, he envelops your clit into his mouth. The sensation rushed right through your body, causing a yelp in pleasure to escape from you. You reach out to him, gripping onto him as he savors you. Lewd wet sounds fill the room.

“oh, fuck—oh, Jungwon…” you moaned, biting your lip in hopes to keep quiet.

He pulls away, aligning his twitching cock between your wet folds. He rubs it in a bit, slow and deliberate.

you groan, “I can’t wait any longer…”

“What was that, detective? Couldn’t hear you…” he taunted.

“oh, you asshol—!” you argued, but quickly cut yourself off with a moan at the feeling of Jungwon pushing himself into you.

You felt like you were being filled up. So full.

He was slow, gentle, yet unforgiving.

Once all the way in, he leaned over to give you a sloppy kiss.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

You shake your head, softly whining at the stuffed feeling.

He smirked, pulling his hips back before pushing back in. He moved slowly at first, waiting till you adjusted to him. His face flinched in pleasure, your tight grip onto his cock driving him crazy. He cursed under his breath, picking up his pace. He threw one leg over his shoulder, wrapping his arm around it to secure. His hips snapped against yours, hitting spots deep within you. You moaned loudly, gripping onto the sheets beneath you in ecstasy.

“fuck…you’re taking me so good, pretty,” he whispered, admiring your fucked-out face.

“so pretty, just like this,” he continued, pressing a hand on your lower stomach, feeling where his cock thrusted within you.

“oh my—mhm,” you choked out, your mouth falling agape at the overwhelming sensation.

He let go of your leg, towering over you in missionary. He used his arm for support, kissing you tenderly. He left soft kisses onto your neck and jawline as he continued to thrust into you. The sound of leather jackets hitting the ground and lewd sounds filling the room.

“Not so bossy now, are you, detective?” he laughed, his voice coarse and airy.

“I still hate yo—!” you attempted to argue, but instantly failed at the feeling of Jungwon going deeper—faster.

“Shut up and take my cock,” he groaned, fisting your hair before slightly pulling your head back.

Your eyes rolled back, digging your nails onto his back. You clenched around him, approaching your high.

“So fucking pretty, my cockdrunk slut,” he grunted, his eyes locking with yours.

You stared back into his, feeling a knot begin to form in your stomach. It was all to intimate—too much to handle, yet neither of you could look away. Too scared as if to lose this special moment, this undeniable connection.

You cupped his cheek, glancing at his lips. Jungwon leaned in, kissing you lovingly.

“M’gonna cum,” you whined against his lips, wrapping your legs tighter around him.

“Me too,” he exhaled.

He quickened his pace, cursing under his breath. Finally, you let out one last yelp in pleasure, shaking violently against him as you reached your high. His cock twitched shortly after, filling you up entirely. He moaned your name like small prayers, thrusting a few more times to ride out the high. Then, he drops beside you. Sweating and panting, you both close your eyes and catch your breath. Lying on his stomach, he opens his eyes to face you. He meets your softly asleep expression and the way your chest rose and fell. He smiles to himself, finding it cute how fast you fell asleep. He reached to push out a strand of your hair from your face delicately, mesmerizing by your beauty. Wholeheartedly, just you. He loved the sound of your soft breathing, the smell of your hair, the warmth of your touch, and how perfectly you fit right in his arms. Like you were meant to be there for him. Just for him.

He scoot closer, wrapping you in his arms gently. You stirred softly in your sleep before snuggling up into his warm chest. He smiled, looking at you shift for a comfortable position. He analyzed your face until his eyes became heavy. He kissed your forehead before falling into a deep sleep of his own.

The next day, you hadn’t realized how long you fell asleep for. Your eyes flickered open at the stinging sensation of the sun. You looked around gently, finding yourself entangled in Jungwons arms. Your eyes widen as memories of the previous night flashed before your eyes. You freeze as he softly stirs in his sleep, groaning. Once it’s safe, you carefully and slowly manage to release yourself from his grip. You tip-toed across the room, picking up your pants from the floor. You hurriedly put them on, as you rushed down the hallway.

“Crazy,” you whispered to yourself scoldingly, “you must’ve gone crazy, Y/n!”

You threw on his jacket and put your shoes on before grabbing the keys from the table. You made yourself outside the motel, turning on the car. You sit there, recalling every single touch given to each other. You could still feel his lips on your body, his big and warm hands gripping onto your ass, and how broad his back felt as you scratched onto it. You groaned, resting your head onto the steering wheel in frustration.

How were you supposed to face him now? What is there to say after that?

You know you should ignore it, disregard it as a moment of weakness and desire, but you know it’s far much more than that. At least for you.

Jungwon reached out for you absentmindedly, only to be meet with a cold, empty, spot. He quickly sat up, looking around the room. Your clothes weren’t on the floor, the door was opened, and no sound of you. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Y/n?” he called out, putting on his pants.

No response.

He walked into the hallway, opening the bathroom door to check.

no one there.

He went into the living room, then the kitchen. He finally pieced it together. But then, the front door opened. He whipped his head around to catch your figure.

You held a plastic bag from the store and a nervous expression.

You tossed the keys onto the table.

“Y-you’re up…” you broke the suffocating silence.

You focused your attention onto the materials in the bag, trying to ignore his piercing gaze—and his unusual silence.

You took out the bandages and alcohol solution to treat his wounds.

“These are for you…we didn’t get to treat it yesterday so I—” You froze at Jungwon’s lips onto yours.

He cupped your face, pressing his body up against you. You lose your balance, your back hitting the wall. You softly moan against his lips, attempting to push him away but he deepens the kiss. You stop fighting it, gripping onto him tightly as you close your eyes and melt into him.

You break the kiss to catch your breath, your gazes meet. He glances down at your swollen lips. He leans in again, as if trying to devour you whole. You stop him, signaling to the table.

“Let’s get your wound treated first,” you swallowed, “please.”

“fine,” he mumbled, plopping himself onto the chair.

You let out a shaky exhale, sitting down in front of him. You open the contents, treating his wound delicately. His face would flinch here and there, but no sound. Jungwon observed you intently, as if watching an art piece. He couldn’t help it, and it frustrated him so much. He glanced down at his jacket you’re wearing. A small smiled crept onto his face, a prideful feeling in his chest arising at the sight of it.

You looked at his direction, realizing you’re wearing his jacket.

“Oh, i’m sorry…I grabbed the nearest jacket and i didn’t notice it was yours…”

“I don’t mind. It suits you better,” he smirked.

You blinked, dumbfounded.

After you finished treating his wound, you got up.

“We should get some days to rest…I’ve found the place and time that will lead us to Mr. Yang.”

He stiffened a bit before nodding.

You told yourself it would be the first and last time, that the first time was just a mistake, that you found him annoying, and that you couldn’t stand him.

Yet, you found yourself for the next few days in his arms over and over again, his lips worshiping your body, and his cock deep within you.

You both argue, fight, but end up making love to each other at the end of the day. It was a predictable, frustrating, routine. One which you both felt frustrated by but couldn’t change even if you wanted to. Because you both knew; you liked this more than you expressed.

And tonight, was just another one of those moments.

“ngh…fuck, Jungwon,” you moaned, riding his cock on the living room couch.

He looked up at you with his half-lidded gaze, immersed into the pleasure you gave him. His strong arms rested onto your ass, gripping and pulling it towards his cock every now and then.

“fuck, pretty, just like that,” he groaned, throwing his head back.

You bounced on his cock, your breasts mimicking your movement. Your moans became more persistent as you felt your orgasm approach. The room was filled with heavy breathing and the sound of skin. You were so adjusted to him, that he could easily slide in and out from you. It drove him crazy.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him sloppily. He returned the kiss almost immediately, locking you tightly against him with one arms around your waist and the other up your back. And then, he thrusted upward, forcing you to take every single each of him.

You yelped in pleasure, gripping onto his shoulder for support.

“You can take it, baby,” he cooed, watching your mouth fall agape.

You nodded insistently, biting back curses. Tears swelled the corner of your eyes, the pleasure becoming more and more intense.

“Jungwon I’m…” You cried out, digging your nails into his skin.

“I know, baby,” he moaned, “you’re taking me so fucking good…”

A ring of your cream built around his shaft, his cock glistening from how wet you are.

He slapped your ass harshly, leaving a permanent mark onto it. You whimpered, digging your nails into his shoulders. You clenched around him, his twitching cock begging for release.

And then, with a final thrust, you both come undone. He groans your name before coating your velvet walls with warmth. You shook vigorously, falling onto him in exhaustion. Panting, he welcomes you in his arms, embracing you.

You stirred softly in your sleep, slowly opening your eyes at the light of your phone turning on. You looked around, careful to not wake up Jungwon—who was sleeping peacefully in your arms. You felt a warm feeling in your heart at the sight of him. You reached for your phone from the nightstand. Your eyes gazed over the message from an unknown number.

‘Find the phone booth.’

The neon glow of the city flickered in the rain-soaked streets as you paced outside the dingy motel. You made your way inside the phone booth, just outside your motel room. You pressed the ringing phone to your ear. Static crackled on the other end before a voice—gruff and familiar—cut through.

“You’re in over your head, Detective."

Your grip on the phone tightened, “Then why don’t you tell me what I’m missing?"

A long pause.

“Mr. Yang. He’s a ghost. You won’t find him unless he wants to be found.”

"Good thing I make a habit of pissing off men like him,” you stated.

"And that’s exactly why you’re about to get yourself killed."

You exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over your face, “I don’t have time for riddles. My partner is dead, and I’m going to find out who put the bullet in his head—"

"Then stop looking where you shouldn’t."

Your face twitched, "What the hell does that mean?"

“See that key on top of the phone box? Take it to the mailbox. Go alone. And…” he warned, “Don’t show Jungwon.”

“What? why?”

The line went dead.

You lowered the phone, unease twisting in your gut. Something wasn’t adding up. Someone was playing you, nudging you closer to the edge of a trap you couldn’t see.

And the worst part?

You had a sinking feeling that Jungwon knew more than he was telling you.

You turned, heading to motel’s unit mailboxes. You opened the corresponding box with the key. Your hands trembled as you pulled the white envelope out, labeled with red pen ‘Y/N.’

You opened it to reveal various photos.

But, they weren’t just photos. They were surveillance footage snapshots of Jungwon.

The days and time leading to the murder and of the murder. At the same place of the crime scene.

Your blood runs cold and you feel yourself sick. You swallow hard, ignoring the familiar sting in your eyes and ache in your heart. But most of all, the boiling coursing through your veins.

No, this couldn’t be. Jungwon wouldn’t…?

Why was he there? Has he been lying to you this whole time? stringing you along?

The weight of the realization crushed you. You looked over at the glistening fire pit inside a metal can. You threw the pictures in. You made your way back inside. As you walked down the hallway, you felt sicker and sicker.

What does those photos mean? why should I trust him? Should I confront him? What should I even do?

You froze outside the bedroom door. Your hand hovered over the doorknob, hesitant. Then, you slowly opened it.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped together, his expression unreadable. The room smelled like rain and worn-out tension, like two people teetering between trust and betrayal.

"Who was that?" he asked.

You hesitated, looking over at the window with shifted blinds. He must’ve heard the phone ring…and saw me out there.

You flashed a soft smile, “An old friend. Says I should stop looking.”

Jungwon’s jaw tightened but then relaxes, returning a teasing smile, "Maybe you should listen."

Your eyebrows furrowed, "You sound just like him."

He gets up to walk over to you, placing a tender kiss onto your lips, "And maybe that should tell you something."

And although you knew those words were teasing and light, you couldn’t help but to feel as if there was a deeper meaning to it.

The words hung between you, heavy and unspoken.

For the first time, you wondered if Jungwon was trying to protect you—Or if he was keeping you from the truth.

So you waited, watching.

You both went to the boxing gym he practiced at. This was the ways he wasted his time, so you accompanied him. He rented out a private room, claiming he needed to focus. So there you were, sitting on the mini couch in the corner, watching as he boxed away all his thoughts and feelings onto the bag. You tried to focus on your phone, but your eyes kept finding their way back to his figure. He was panting, a determined look on his face, and his forehead sweaty. It turned you on, weirdly enough. Your mind drifting off to many dirty fantasies. Jungwon looked over to you, catching your gaze.

“What is it, pretty?” He asked, walking over to you.

You shifted in your seat, embarrassed. He tossed his boxing gloves onto the couch.

“Nothing,” you lied.

He narrowed his eyes on you suspiciously, lifting his eyebrows in a flirty manner. You could tell he was frustrated from his boxing performance, you saw the irritation on his face when he missed something.

“Don’t lie,” he warned, gripping your face to look at him.

You batted your eyelashes at him, innocently. Albeit to the many fantasies flashing through your mind at the moment just at the sight of him.

He tilted his head slightly, examining you. His thumb made its way into your mouth, coating it with your salvia. You suck on it softly, to tease. His face flinches, a bulge growing in his pants. He lets out a low chuckle. He leans down to kiss you, slowly. You lean back onto the couch, allowing him to tower over you, his leg between your thighs and his arms resting on either side of you. You sigh against his lips, melting into him. He kisses you deliberately slow, passionately, as if to drive you mad. And it was working.

His hot, wet kisses trailed down your jawline up till your neck. You softly moaned, incapable of thinking rationally. You looked at the door through your half-lidded eyes, the fear of being caught arousing you. He lifts off your shirt, you let him. He tosses it onto the floor, cupping your breasts that sat so pretty in your laced bra.

“My God,” he mumbled, “I can never get enough of you.”

He recaptures your lips once again, his hand trailing down your bare waist to grip your ass. You whimper against his lips, your panties feeling soaked. Breathless, he pulls away.

“Get on all fours. Now,” he demanded.

You nod, pushing yourself further onto the couch. You take off your pants, tossing them alongside his pants and other clothes on the floor. You get on all fours, your cunt aching to be filled by him.

He goes behind you, giving you a harsh slap on your ass before pulling down your wet panties. Your hips moved closer to him, pressing against his throbbing cock. He griped onto your hips tightly.

“So desperate for me, aren’t you?” he teased, rubbing his dick between your wet folds.

He cursed under his breath, pushing into you with a harsh thrust. You cried out, gripping onto the couch for balance. He started to rock his hips against you, his pace deliberate and hard. You could tell something was on his mind, and he was using you to release all the pent-up emotions he had. But you didn’t mind.

The sound of skin filled the room, but it wasn’t louder than the people outside the room. Your moans were broken, the air taken out from you as Jungwon pushed his cock further into you. He was filling you up so good.

His pace quickened, he reached for your hair, pulling it back to deepen his cock within you.

“Take it like a good girl, I know you can do it, detective,” he cooed, watching as you struggled to form words.

Your moans became louder, the pleasure becoming intense the more he hit the deep spots. Tears formed the corner of your eyes, you were drowning in pleasure. You didn’t want this to stop.

Jungwon softly shushed you, “Do you want everyone out there to know you’re getting slut out by me?”

You shook your head, whimpering in attempt to bite back your sounds. He lets go of your hair harshly, the mess of your hair and makeup arousing him.

“fuck,” he groaned, “look at you. Such a gorgeous mess.”

His hips snapped against your hand-marked ass, tears falling down your face. You’re a moaning mess, uncontrollable panting and incoherent words. Jungwon grabbed a boxing glove, placing it in front of your mouth.

“Open,” he demanded before stuffing your mouth with it. You bit down on it, hard.

His pace was merciless, pounding into you till your legs trembled. Your loud cries were muffled against the glove, your eyes rolling back into your head as he repeatedly hit your spot. Tears dripped down your chin.

He fucked his anger out on you, focusing on where your dick entered and slid out your cunt. His breath rigid and unstable. He cursed under his breath, throwing his head back. He leaned forward to harshly press you against the couch, arching your back for him.

This new position brought you to the stars. Jungwon let out a loud groan, slowing down only momentarily to thrust harder into you.

“i’ma fucking cum,” he grunted, pressing you harder into the couch the closer he got.

You only whimpered in response, feeling your legs violently shake as you became closer to your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he breathes, releasing his warm load inside of you.

Your eyes roll back, letting out one last moan before coming undone. Your legs immediately give out, falling onto the couch. You both laid there, entangled in each other’s arms till you were ready to go home.

The underground fight club reeked of sweat, blood, and desperation. The crowd roared around the cage as two men beat each other senseless under the flickering overhead lights. You stood at the edge of the chaos, hidden in the shadows, your gaze locked onto one man.

Jungwon.

You followed him here, the middle of the night, after kissing you on the forehead while you were “sleeping.”

He moved like a predator—fluid, precise, devastating. With a swift hook, he sent his opponent crashing to the ground. The bell rang, signaling his victory, but he barely acknowledged the cheers. Instead, his gaze flickered to the edge of the ring—where a man in a black suit surrounded by countless bodyguards sat, watching. A face I couldn’t manage to see beyond the countless of people.

Your hands curled into fists. Who was he meeting in secret like this? Surely it isn’t to fight, he didn’t seem to enjoy it a bit in the ring. Why is he doing this?

And then, it clicks.

You had spent weeks tracking down leads on your partner’s murder, and every single road led back to this place. To the crime syndicate Mr. Yang ran. To the fights Jungwon couldn’t seem to walk away from.

And now, you knew why.

“He’s…meeting Mr. Yang,” you whispered to yourself. Realization crashing down onto you mercilessly.

As Jungwon exited the cage, wiping blood from his knuckles, Mr. Yang gestured for him to come closer. You pressed yourself against the wall, listening intently.

"You’ve done well," He mused, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand, “But you and I both know fights like these won’t get you what you really want."

Jungwon didn’t reply. Your eyebrows furrowed.

Mr. Yang smirked, “I hear your detective has been getting too close. Poking around where she doesn’t belong. Looking for me?”

Your heart pounded.

"Leave her out of this," Jungwon said, voice cold.

Mr. Yang let out a low chuckle, “Oh, Jungwon. You don’t really believe you can protect her, do you?"

He leaned forward, his expression turning lethal, "Your little girlfriend is a problem. And problems need to be handled. You know this.”

A muscle in Jungwon’s jaw twitched, “What do you want, Seokjin?"

Seokjin smirk widened, "Y/n."

He took a slow sip of his drink before setting it down. "I’ll make it simple for you. You deliver Y/n to me. Alive. I’ll make sure she disappears, without a trace. No pain. No struggle. Just gone."

Your breath caught in your throat. You catch a glimpse of his face.

"You want me to turn her over to you?" Jungwon asked, the weight of it suffocating. "What happens if I refuse?"

Seokjin’s eyes turned colder, "You’ll make her an enemy, and you’ll be forced to kill her yourself. Your choice."

Jungwon clenched his jaw, the words burning like acid, “I’m not killing her."

Seokjin’s smile widened, “Then you’ll do what I say. It’s simple, little brother. You give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you need. Y/n will be safe. I’ll make sure of it."

Jungwon’s hands trembled, but he kept his face neutral. He wasn’t afraid of Seokjin. He was afraid of what he would become if he gave in. But there was no choice. Your life was in the balance.

"I’ll do it," Jungwon said quietly, “But this is the last thing I ever do for you."

Seokjin’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, “I’ll hold you to that."

As Jungwon turned away, the weight of the decision hit him like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t just betraying you. He was betraying everything he had ever believed in.

His undeniable love for you, in which he held dearly.

And for what? To save your life. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But deep down, he knew that the moment he betrayed your trust, he would lose you forever.

He couldn’t look Seokjin in the eye any longer—not after the ultimatum, not after hearing those words, but just as he turned toward the exit, the harsh whisper of a breath cut through the air.

“I heard everything.”

Your voice sent a shockwave through him. His blood ran cold.

Your figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the club, standing near the entrance with your gun still holstered at your side, but your expression was a mix of disbelief and crushing disappointment. Your eyes bore into his, like daggers, each one colder than the last.

Jungwon froze, his throat tightening. He had no idea how long you had been there, how much of the conversation you’ve overheard. But one thing was certain—everything had changed in that moment.

The distance between you both had just been measured in miles, and it felt like an ocean had opened up.

“Y/n…” His voice cracked despite himself. He couldn’t bring himself to take a step toward you. How could he? How could he explain this?

You didn’t move, your stance unyielding, "How long, Jungwon?”

Your voice was low, controlled, but there was a tremor in it, one that echoed deep inside him. Memories of all the moments you’ve spent together flashing before your angry eyes.

"How long were you planning to keep this from me?" you fought back the tears threatening to form in your eyes.

His eyes flickered between Seokjin, who stood silently, watching the scene unfold with a smug satisfaction, and you.

"I didn’t want you to know,” He hated the weakness in his voice, “I didn’t want you to be part of this."

"Part of this?" You laughed bitterly, though it didn’t sound like humor. It sounded like a wound being ripped open.

"You don’t get to decide that. I’ve been part of this from the very start. Every decision you’ve made, every lie you’ve told—I've been there. Has everything been in a lie?”

“No, I—”

“You think you were protecting me, huh? By keeping me in the dark? You think you’re a hero here?!” you shouted, your hands trembling in rage.

Your eyes were hard, unforgiving.

Jungwon clenched his jaw, but the words wouldn’t come. What could he say?

That he had betrayed you to save you? That in his twisted logic, letting you hate him would keep you alive?

He didn’t know if he could even convince himself of that anymore.

“You knew,” you whispered, “You knew what would happen to me the moment you decided to carry out this lie. You knew how much it meant to me! You knew you were signing my death sentence, but you still did it. You still betrayed me.”

His breath caught in his throat. You were right, and he knew it. Every excuse he had built up, every lie he had told himself to justify his actions shattered in that moment, leaving nothing but the truth. He had given you up to protect you... but in doing so, he had destroyed everything you’ve both built. Every kiss, every touch, every lingering gaze, every passionate night, the subtle phases. Everything.

"Y/n, listen—”

"No," you cut him off, your voice breaking.

The gun at your side glinted in the low light as you took a step forward, but this time, it wasn’t aimed at him. It was held loosely, the weight of it feeling heavier than anything you’ve ever felt.

“You don’t get to apologize now. You don’t get to fix this. You made your choice,” you hissed.

Seokjin finally spoke, his voice a chilling interruption, "She’s right, Jungwon. You’ve chosen your side. The moment you decided to play hero, you sealed your fate—and hers."

Your gaze shifted toward Seokjin, icy fury radiating from you, "You. I’m not afraid of you."

Seokjin raised his hands up, a mocking smirk on his face.

"You’re just a coward hiding behind your power, your money. You don’t control me,” you fumed.

Seokjin smiled, but there was no warmth in it—only a cold satisfaction, "I control everything. Including your fate, Detective."

You didn’t flinch. You took another step toward him, your eyes never leaving Seokjin’s, “Then come at me."

Jungwon’s heart sank as he watched you stand your ground, the fire in your eyes only growing stronger. You had no idea what you were dealing with. Seokjin wasn’t just a criminal—he was the mastermind, the puppet master who pulled every string in their world. And right now, he held all the cards.

But as you locked eyes with him, something shifted inside Jungwon. The familiar, heavy weight of guilt and regret flooded over him, and suddenly, it wasn’t about Seokjin anymore. It wasn’t about the choice he had made or the lies he’d told.

It was about you. He was so ardently in love with you.

The words exchanged between you both hit him harder than any punch could. You had never looked at him like that—never with such raw hurt and betrayal.

You turned to look back at Seokjin, but he was no longer in sight. Just a bunch of bodyguards.

"Where is he?" you asked, your voice steady despite the unease curling in your gut.

Jungwon didn’t answer right away. He just stared at you, his jaw tight, hands curled into fists.

"Jungwon," you warned.

"You need to leave," he said finally.

Your brows furrowed, “What?"

“Right now. Walk away and don’t look back."

A cold chill ran through you, “Why the hell would I do that?"

A low voice echoed from behind you, "Because you were never supposed to make it this far, Detective."

You whirled around, your gun drawn, but before you could react, strong hands gripped your arms, yanking you backward.

Jungwon didn’t move from his place, tightly having his hand fisted to prevent him from interfering. He looked away, couldn’t bare the sight of betraying you evermore.

Rage ignited inside you, hot and consuming, “You set me up."

You struggled against the men restraining you, fury twisting in your chest, “you bastard!”

Jungwon finally looked at you then, something unreadable in his gaze, "I’m sorry."

But you didn’t believe him. You couldn’t.

Because the man standing before you wasn’t the Jungwon you thought you knew. He was just another enemy. Another bittersweet memory.

The sharp sting of metal bit into your wrists as you struggled against the cuffs, your pulse hammering in your ears. The cold cement floor beneath you sent a chill up your spine, but it was nothing compared to the ice in your veins as you replayed the moment Jungwon betrayed you.

The moment he handed you over to his older brother, Seokjin Yang. The one you’ve been looking since the start.

Days had passed, and each one even worse than the other. Jungwon had returned home, where he was originally from, in Seokjins mansion. Where you were held captive, underground. It was a harsh awakening, to see that all this time you’ve known a version of him that wasn’t true.

But he didn’t try to correct you, nor open up about it either. And he technically didn’t lie, he wasn’t who you was looking for. But he knew…all this time. He stringed you along. He played with your feelings.

But it wasn’t the last time you’ve seen him. He would come down, everyday, with food trays and clothes. He looked different than when you first met him. He was properly clothed, his basic outfit probably costing a fortune. It was a bitter reminder that you hadn’t known him at all. He was just a rich, corrupt, boy after all.

And the family of your partner’s murderer.

He looked at the other untouched food trays from the previous days. He sighed, kneeling in front of you. You looked away, couldn’t bear the sight of him.

“You need to eat,” he urged angrily, “are you trying to kill yourself?”

You glared at him, your face pale and beads of sweat grouping on your forehead. Small cuts on your face and bruises on your body.

‘you did this to me,’ you thought.

You stayed silent. His expression softened, guilt plastered across his face. He placed the tray on the ground in front of you.

“Y/n, I know you’re angry, you have every right to be,” he pleaded, “but please. I beg you, eat something. At least drink some water.”

He grabbed a bottle of water and opened it, he pressed it to your lips. You hesitated at first, but then took a long sip. You brought your swollen wrists up to your mouth, wiping away dripping water.

His lip twitched into a hopeful smile. He grabbed a spoonful of hot soup, bringing it up to your lips. He blew on it before letting you swallow it.

But then, you spit it back to his face.

“I don’t want it,” you said coldly, “don’t show your face in front of me again. I don’t want to see you.”

He wiped off the food from his face with his shirt, revealing his bare chest. Your eyes flickered, memories of the intimacy you both once shared flashing for a split second.

The bodyguard at the door checked in and saw the scene. He came closer, ready to attack. Jungwon extended his hand, signaling to stop.

“Im fine. I provoked her,” he defended. He stood up, looking at me once more before turning to leave.

“I’ll be back,” he stated, “please eat.”

He didn’t come back for the rest of the day. You were slowly becoming impatient. You needed to leave.

How long were you going to stay like this? Helpless? You needed to leave.

Seokjins men paced outside the locked room, their voices low and guarded. They thought you were helpless. Powerless.

They had no idea who they were dealing with.

You forced yourself to stay still, controlling your breathing. Then, with one swift motion, you dislocated your thumb, ignoring the sharp pain as you wrenched your hand free from the cuffs. Blood trickled down your wrist, but you didn’t care. You had one goal.

Survive.

And then, make the Yang family pay.

You moved quickly, silently. One of Kang’s guards turned just in time to see you launch at him. Your elbow slammed into his throat, cutting off his air before he could sound the alarm. His gun clattered to the floor, and you caught it in one smooth motion, spinning just as another guard rushed toward you.

Two shots. Two bodies down.

The door burst open. You raised your weapon—

But it was him.

Jungwon stood in the doorway, breathing hard, his gun still lowered at his side. His dark eyes flickered between the unconscious men on the ground and you, standing there with a gun aimed at his chest.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

And for a moment, you had a flashback to the night you first met. You guys started like this, and now it seems like you’ll end like this.

Then your finger tightened on the trigger, “Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you right now."

Jungwon didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

He exhaled slowly, stepping forward, “Because if you do, you’ll never know the whole truth."

Your hands trembled, anger and betrayal warring inside you, "You don’t get to talk about the truth. Not after what you did."

His jaw clenched, “I had no choice."

"There is always a choice, Jungwon."

Something flickered in his eyes—regret, guilt, something deeper. But you weren’t ready to listen. Not yet.

"Move," you ordered, keeping the gun trained on him.

“No,” he said, standing in front of the gun. But as you brushed past him, his voice was quiet—almost broken.

"If I had told you everything back then, would you have believed me?"

You didn’t answer. Because you weren’t sure.

You heard the commotion upstairs, probably back-up. Jungwon grabbed your wrist.

“where are you going?,” his face softened, “i’m coming with you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, about to protest, but you had no time to spare. You both managed to rush out through a secret back way. It was cold, you were weak and exhausted, but you made it out. Your eyes frantically looked around for a car. You pointed the gun at Jungwon, signaling to the luxury lined cars.

“Turn one on. Hurry,” you threatened.

He nodded, grabbing keys from his pocket, he rushed to a car. You both got inside the car, he turned it on, you kept the gun pointed at him.

You left out a shaky exhale, clearly in pain. You flinched, glancing at your wound on your side and cut on your shoulder.

Jungwon glanced over to you, worriedly.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

You tightened your grip onto the gun, “Eyes on the road.”

You guided him to a place. The only place you could think of now. The only place you wish to be.

Home.

You push him inside, gun still pointed to him.

His expression was unreadable, he looked around, observing the place. You carefully reach for his pocket, your hands coursing through his body, taking his gun out. He didn’t reach for his weapon. He didn’t try to run. He just stood there, staring at you like he was bracing for impact.

"You betrayed me."

The words barely made it past your lips. You hated how raw they sounded, how much hurt was laced in them.

Jungwon exhaled slowly, “I know."

“you lied to me!”

“I did.”

Your finger hovered over the trigger. You had pictured this moment a thousand times since the night he handed you over to Seokjin. Since the night he let you believe he had chosen the enemy over you. The night he gave what you both had up. If anything.

"Then why?" Your voice shook, but your stance remained firm. "Why did you sell me out? Why did you let me think—"

"Because it was the only way to keep you alive!" His voice cracked through the silence, loud, desperate.

He took a step forward, and you immediately cocked the gun, making him halt. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.

"Seokjin was going to kill you, and nothing—not your badge, not your skills, not even me—was going to be able to stop him. So, I made a deal."

"A deal?" You scoffed, rage clawing its way up your throat, "You handed me over like I was some bargaining chip!"

Jungwon shook his head, “I bought you time. I knew you'd escape."

His voice was strained, laced with something that sounded dangerously close to regret, "I had to make sure Seokjin didn’t see you as a threat long enough for you to get out of there alive."

Your pulse roared in your ears, “You think that justifies what you did?"

"No," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, "But I’d do it again if it meant keeping you breathing."

For a moment, all you could hear was the rain outside, the faint hum of the city beyond these walls. The weight of his words settled over you like a storm, suffocating and relentless.

"I don’t need you to protect me," you whispered.

“I know that. But i can’t…I can’t help it,” he confessed.

He took another step forward, and this time, you didn’t stop him.

"Then why?" you asked again, but this time, the question wasn’t just about the betrayal.

It was about everything. The tension, the lingering touches, the stolen glances. The way his eyes lingered too long when he kissed you. The way he caressed your hair as you slept in his arms.

Jungwon swallowed hard, "Because I love you."

The confession hit you like a blow to the chest.

Your hands trembled around the gun, but you refused to lower it. You didn’t know what was worse—the betrayal or the fact that some part of you had wanted to hear him say it.

“How do i know that’s not just another one of your lies? How am I supposed to trust you?”

Jungwon took one last step closer, close enough that the gun was pressed against his chest. The only barrier between you two. His voice was raw when he spoke.

"You can hate me. You can pull that trigger. But don’t ever doubt that I would’ve given up everything if it meant keeping you safe."

The gun in your hands felt impossibly heavy.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you had the strength to pull the trigger.

Then, finally, you sighed, “You really are an idiot."

Jungwon blinked, "Excuse me?"

"You love me, but you thought lying to me and betraying me was the way to protect me? Idiot."

“There is something I must give you,” he said, reaching for his pocket.

You observed carefully as he pulled out a flashdrive. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You need to see this,” he handed it over to you.

You grabbed your old laptop, the screen flickered on. You plugged in the chip. Jungwon sat at a safe distance beside you. The audio file played through the tiny speakers.

"Y/n… if you’re hearing this, then I didn’t make it."

Your heart clenched. It was him, Hyunjin.

"I don’t have much time. They know I’m close. But listen—Seokjin isn’t our enemy. He was helping me. He’s an old friend from high school…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But, I have proof that the real threat isn’t him—it’s someone inside our own department. Someone powerful. Someone who’s been playing both sides."

Your throat tightened as your partner’s voice cracked, “Seokjin tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. And now I’m running out of time. If something happens to me, don’t trust anyone. Find the evidence. Finish what I started. And Y/n… whatever happens, don’t let them turn you into their pawn like they did me.”

The recording cut off.

You barely registered the moment the room started spinning. The flash drive felt like a dead weight in your palm.

You were too in shock. Hyunjin and Seokjin, friends? Hyunjin running from someone in your department?

This whole time…you had it wrong.

For months, you had poured every ounce of your rage into bringing Seokjin down. You had been convinced that he was the one who ordered the hit on your partner, that he was the reason for the blood on your hands. And now—

Now you know the truth.

Jungwon, who had been sitting beside you, finally spoke. His voice was careful, measured.

“Your partner had been investigating a dangerous underground crime syndicate—one even more powerful than Seokjin’s operations. He and Seokjin had a secret alliance, working together to take them down from the inside. Seokjin, despite his reputation as a crime boss, had been trying to dismantle the organization in his own way, using his influence to protect those who couldn’t go to the police. But then, Hyunjin got too close. He uncovered something that put him directly in the syndicate’s crosshairs—maybe evidence that tied corrupt officials and high-ranking officers to the criminals. He needed to get it out.”

“So he turned to Seokjin,” you continued.

He nodded, “But before Seokjin could move, the syndicate acted first. They made it look like Seokjin had ordered the hit on Hyunjin, knowing that it would shift all suspicion onto him. By the time we arrived to help as back-up, he was already dead. Which is why I was there the day of the murder. The real mastermind, A high-ranking official or someone within the police force who had been feeding information to the syndicate. They needed Hyunjin gone, and framing Seokjin was the perfect cover. That’s the real truth, Y/n.”

Your eyes flickered, tears stinging your eyes. This was your breaking point. You had been so blinded by rage, you hadn’t realized the answer was there all along.

Jungwon hesitantly reached for your shoulder, caressing it.

You turned to him, embracing him. He immediately welcomed you in his arms, caressing your back in comfort.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, “As long as i’m here, no one can hurt you…”

you pulled away, gently.

“I love you, Jungwon,” you confessed, “as much as I hate to admit it.”

He paused for a moment before flashing you a genuine smile, his dimples showcased.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to say that,” he whispered, towering over you.

He kissed you lovingly, soft, and slow. As if you were fragile, as if he was scared of hurting you.

As if he was going to lose you if he let go.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer. You fell back onto the couch, allowing him to hover over you.

“If I could go back and do it differently, I would. I’d choose you. Every time,” he whispered.

Your heart slightly ached.

"I don’t deserve you," he continued, “But if there’s even the smallest chance that you could forgive me… that we could try again… I swear, I won’t waste it."

"You’re going to have to prove it," you said softly.

Jungwon’s lips parted, as if he hadn’t expected you to give him even that much. But then, after a moment, he nodded, a small, almost broken smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He recaptured your lips again, this time more yearnfully.

"I will," he promised, “Every day, for as long as you’ll let me."

The silence of the room was dense, almost suffocating in its absolute stillness. Lately, your reality had been a relentless, kinetic blur—an exhausting cacophony of early morning alarms, the grating friction of your oversized luggage wheels dragging across unforgiving pavements, and the chaotic energy of crowded dressing rooms. As a makeup artist in constant demand, your life had been measured in meticulously blended palettes and punishing itineraries, moving seamlessly from one demanding client to the next with barely a fraction of a second to draw a steady, conscious breath.

Now, perched on the edge of the plush hotel bed with the coastal sun pooling warm and golden across the linens, the sudden absence of urgency felt entirely alien. A profound lethargy seeped into your bones, yet your mind remained agonizingly wired. You stared down at your hands, half-expecting your fingers to twitch, reaching for a powder brush out of sheer, unadulterated muscle memory.

It’s supposed to be a vacation, you thought, the silence of the suite feeling vast and disjointed. So why does this tranquility feel so much like an ambush?

Your gaze shifted, drifting toward the nightstand and landing inevitably on the sleek, cold surface of your phone. It sat there, stubbornly blank. You reached out, your thumb tapping the glass with a hesitant rhythm. The screen flared to life, illuminating the time, the date, and an aching, hollow void where a notification ought to have been.

Nothing. Not a single word from Sunghoon.

You let out a frayed sigh, pulling your knees tightly to your chest in an attempt to anchor yourself. The chasm between the two of you had been expanding for a while now, a quiet, creeping frost that had systematically settled over the foundation of your relationship. You had rationalized it, naturally. You were both drowning in the turbulent waters of your respective ambitions. You were perpetually on the road, masking other people's exhaustion while ignoring your own, and his life was entirely consumed by the ice.

As a figure skating coach, Sunghoon's days began long before dawn, his hours dictated by relentless training schedules, impending competitions, and the heavy expectations placed upon his athletes. His world was one of rigid discipline and sub-zero temperatures, and lately, it felt as though that same biting chill had seeped into the very fabric of your shared life.

It’s just the nature of our careers right now, you had told yourself repeatedly, clinging to the excuse like a lifeline. We’re just overwhelmed. We’re merely out of sync.

But as you stared at the glaring emptiness of the lock screen, those carefully constructed rationalizations began to disintegrate, leaving behind a sharp, undeniable sting of rejection. It wasn't merely the absence of a superficial morning greeting; it was the palpable erosion of your intimacy. You were finally still, the relentless noise of your professional life temporarily muted, and in this newfound, terrifying quiet, his absence was the loudest sound of all.

Am I the only one still trying to hold onto this fraying thread? you wondered, a bitter lump forming in your throat. Does he even realize I'm gone?

You flipped the phone face-down onto the mattress, as if obscuring the screen could somehow neutralize the heavy, sinking weight in your chest. This getaway was supposed to be a desperate attempt to recalibrate, to scrub the residual burnout from your system. Instead, the isolation was merely amplifying the fractures in your life you had been too busy to notice.

Miles away, submerged in an entirely different frequency of chaos, the backstage of the venue thrummed with heavy, electric anticipation. The muffled, rhythmic roar of the crowd seeped through the concrete walls—a sound that usually sparked nerves, but tonight, it only fueled the warm, familiar camaraderie simmering in the cramped dressing room.

Jungwon sat slouched behind a makeshift practice pad, absentmindedly twirling a pair of hickory drumsticks between his nimble fingers. The rhythmic thwack-thwack of the wood against rubber served as a grounding heartbeat beneath the noise. He felt entirely in his element, anchored by the steady presence of the people around him.

"You're going to need a personal security detail tonight, Jungwon-ah," Jay suddenly quipped, breaking the comfortable silence. He was leaning against a battered leather sofa, his fingers effortlessly running through a complex blues scale on his unplugged Stratocaster. He looked up, an amused glint in his sharp eyes as he appraised their drummer. "With the way your shoulders are looking these days, the girls in the front row are going to completely lose their minds the second you take your jacket off."

From the opposite corner of the room, Beomgyu snorted in agreement. The deep, resonant vibration of his bass guitar briefly rattled the loose floorboards as he joined the banter. "Seriously, it’s getting out of hand," Beomgyu teased, shaking his head with exaggerated disbelief. "Are you trying to be a musician or a professional bodybuilder? Have some mercy and leave a little bit of the spotlight for the rest of us."

Even Yujin, the youngest, who was meticulously taping down the wires of his keyboard, paused to offer a bright, knowing giggle, fully enjoying the spectacle of his older members teaming up.

Jungwon rolled his eyes, though the gesture lacked any real defensive heat. The affection in the room was palpable, a thick, invisible thread of brotherhood that tied them all together through countless late-night rehearsals and grueling tours. He looked down at his drumsticks, attempting to compose his expression into one of humble indifference.

"It’s really not like that, Beomgyu hyung," Jungwon countered smoothly. He tossed a drumstick into the air and caught it with practiced, effortless precision. "And you're exaggerating, Jay hyung. I’m just trying to prioritize a healthier lifestyle, that's all. Stamina is the most important thing for a drummer, you know. I have to keep up with the setlist."

He delivered the excuse with a nonchalant shrug, aiming for sheer modesty. Yet, despite his best efforts to downplay the compliments, a telltale dimple pressed into his cheek. A distinct, feline curve of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips—a subtle, unapologetically proud smirk that completely betrayed his satisfaction with his own hard-earned discipline.

"Right. A healthier lifestyle," Jay deadpanned, exchanging a knowing, brotherly look with Beomgyu. "Make sure you tell that to the tight, sleeveless shirts you suddenly favor."

"Just focus on your tuning, Yujin, don't listen to them," Jungwon shot back playfully, pointing a drumstick at the keyboardist to deflect the teasing.

A collective burst of laughter echoed through the small space, cutting through the pre-show adrenaline. Jungwon leaned back, letting the familiar, affectionate mockery wash over him. In the high-stakes, unpredictable world of performing, this dynamic—this unshakeable bond and easy laughter—was his sanctuary. It was a stark, vibrant contrast to the isolating quiet he had known before they formed the band, an energetic warmth that made him feel entirely, undeniably alive.

The pulsing, rhythmic vibration of the venue’s soundcheck reverberated through the plush carpet of the VIP lounge, doing absolutely nothing to settle your restless nerves. You wandered aimlessly past an array of velvet booths and softly lit bars, a complimentary, all-access platinum lanyard hanging around your neck like an unfamiliar weight. Your most lucrative client, one of the event’s primary sponsors, had insisted you take it. "Live a little," she had demanded.

Yet, as you navigated the sea of impeccably dressed industry insiders and overly enthusiastic elites, you had never felt more entirely out of your element. The idleness was a physical itch. At this exact hour, you should be gripping a setting spray, barking time warnings, and managing three different crises at once. Instead, you were aimlessly circling an open bar, completely clueless about the band playing tonight, and agonizingly aware of your own unproductivity.

I should just go back to the hotel and organize my brushes, you thought, aggressively swiping a stray hair out of your face while looking down at your stubbornly silent phone. At least that makes sense.

You took a sharp, frustrated turn down a dimly lit corridor leading toward the private balconies.

Thud.

The collision was abrupt and solid, jarring the breath right out of your lungs. You stumbled backward, dropping your phone in the process, your hands instinctively flying out to steady yourself against what felt remarkably like a brick wall disguised in a tailored leather jacket.

"Whoa, careful there."

A hand shot out, gripping your elbow with lightning-fast reflexes to keep you from hitting the floor. You blinked, your vision refocusing on the person you had just essentially tackled.

He was standing there with a half-empty glass of iced Americano in his free hand, miraculously unspilled. He had sharp, distinctly feline eyes that were currently observing you with an infuriatingly high level of amusement. But it was the smirk—a slow, arrogant curving of his lips that pressed a deep dimple into his cheek—that immediately sent a hot flash of irritation shooting up your spine.

"Usually, people ask for an autograph or at least pretend to ask for directions before they throw themselves at me," he noted smoothly, his voice laced with a thick, teasing drawl. He released your arm, taking a deliberate sip of his drink as he looked you up and down. "But I admire the direct approach. Very bold."

You stared at him, momentarily paralyzed by the sheer audacity of the statement. "Excuse me?" you sputtered, the absurdity of the situation temporarily overriding your usual polite professionalism. "I didn't throw myself at you. You were standing in the middle of a blind corner like a decorative pillar."

His smirk widened, transforming into something incredibly dangerous and unmistakably smug. Jungwon shifted his weight, leaning casually against the wall as if he had all the time in the world, despite being scheduled to take the stage in less than twenty minutes. He found this genuinely hilarious.

"A decorative pillar," he repeated, rolling the words around as if tasting them. He let out a short, breathy chuckle. "That's a new one. I'm usually told I'm the main attraction. Are you lost, or is this a new strategy to get my attention?"

You let out a dry, exasperated breath, stooping down to snatch your phone off the carpet. You genuinely had no idea who this guy was. To you, he was just another overly confident VIP guest with a great bone structure and an ego the size of the arena outside.

"Trust me, the last thing on earth I want right now is your attention," you fired back, dusting off the screen of your phone. You looked back up at him, narrowing your eyes. "And for the record, if I were trying to get someone's attention, I wouldn't do it by nearly giving myself a concussion. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find somewhere to sit where I won't be ambushed by walking ego trips."

Instead of looking offended, Jungwon’s eyes practically sparkled with mischief. You had just handed him a golden opportunity, and as a natural-born provocateur, he was absolutely not going to let it slide.

"Walking ego trips? Ouch. You wound me," he deadpanned, placing a hand flat against his chest in mock offense, though the arrogant twinkle in his eye completely ruined the act. He took a deliberate step closer, blocking your path just enough to be a menace. "You really have no idea who I am, do you?"

"Should I?" you challenged, crossing your arms defensively. "Are you the bartender? Because unless you're planning to hand me a drink to make up for my near-death experience, you're just standing in my way."

Jungwon threw his head back and let out a genuine, booming laugh that echoed off the hallway walls. The sound was bright, contrasting sharply with his menacing demeanor.

"The bartender," he managed to say, catching his breath as he looked at you with renewed, highly entertained interest. He leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping an octave into a low, conspiratorial whisper that sent an involuntary shiver down your arms. "Tell you what. You go find your seat out there. And when the show starts, you can decide for yourself if I look better mixing a cocktail or making thirty thousand people scream."

Before you could even process the ridiculous weight of that statement, he offered you a final, devastatingly cheeky wink, effortlessly sidestepped you, and sauntered down the hall toward the backstage doors, leaving you standing there utterly bewildered and fiercely annoyed.

Who on earth does he think he is? you fumed internally, your heart suddenly hammering an entirely different, erratic rhythm against your ribs.

You had every intention of remaining utterly unimpressed. You braced yourself against the plush backrest of your seat, folding your arms into a tight, defensive knot, fully prepared to maintain a fortress of cynicism for the remainder of the setlist. But the moment the first heavy, resonant kick drum reverberated through the colossal speakers, your defiance began to violently fracture. It wasn't merely music; it was a physical force, a tidal wave of kinetic energy that bypassed your ears and crashed directly against your ribs, demanding to be felt.

Despite your desperate efforts to focus on the intricate guitar riffs or the blinding, kaleidoscopic lasers sweeping the arena, your gaze was magnetically, almost betrayingly, pulled back to the center of the stage.

Up there, surrounded by a fortress of cymbals and snares, Jungwon was a completely different entity. The arrogant provocateur from the dimly lit hallway had vanished, seamlessly replaced by an artist entirely consumed by his own orbit. He didn't just play the instrument; he commanded it. His entire body moved with a fluid, explosive grace, anchoring the band with a masterclass in controlled chaos.

What frustrated you the most wasn’t his undeniable, raw talent—it was his lethal awareness of it. He possessed a terrifyingly precise understanding of his own gravity. Whenever the wandering live cameras panned to his face, projecting his larger-than-life image onto the massive screens flanking the stage, he knew exactly how to act. A subtle, dangerous tilt of his head, a fierce, piercing glare through his sweat-dampened fringe, a fleeting bite of his lower lip before launching into a blistering drum fill—every micro-expression was a calculated strike, brilliantly engineered to whip the crowd into a state of absolute delirium. He was effortlessly pulling the strings of thirty thousand heartbeats, and he was entirely, unapologetically reveling in the power of it.

You found yourself leaning forward, the ice in your glass melting completely forgotten as the heavy rhythm began to dictate your own pulse.

Then, the tempo abruptly shifted. The rest of the band pulled back, their instruments fading out as the stage was suddenly submerged in a heavy, expectant darkness. A single, piercing white spotlight crashed down from the rafters, isolating Jungwon on his raised riser. The arena fell into a breathless, collective hush.

For a fraction of a second, he sat perfectly still. His chest heaved heavily with exertion, the wooden sticks resting lightly, almost reverently, against the snare. He tilted his head back, peering up into the blinding light, and then—it happened.

A smile broke across his sweat-dampened face. But it wasn’t the sharp, mocking smirk that had infuriated you in the dimly lit hallway. It was a radiant, entirely unguarded grin of pure, unfiltered euphoria. It was so impossibly wide and genuine that it carved a deep, devastating dimple into his cheek.

That single, charming indentation was completely jarring. It violently contradicted his fierce, untouchable aura, softening the sharp, aggressive angles of his jaw and revealing a boyish, breathless joy that was deeply, dangerously magnetic. Under the harsh glare of the stage lights, that little dip in his cheek felt like a secret he was unconsciously sharing with the entire arena.

You felt a sudden, traitorous warmth bloom in your chest, a strange, fluttering sensation that completely short-circuited your brain. It was infuriatingly unfair. How could one tiny, endearing feature possess the power to so thoroughly dismantle your irritation? You could actually feel your meticulously constructed defenses melting away, leaving a helpless, fluttering ache in the pit of your stomach as you stared at him. The sheer, unadulterated passion radiating from that dimpled smile was so intensely attractive it made your head spin.

And then, before you could even process the sudden softening of your own heart, he unleashed hell.

The drum solo was a staggering, thunderous assault on the senses. It was a blinding blur of motion, an intricate, impossibly fast barrage of rhythm that sounded like a collapsing thunderstorm. The sheer velocity and power of his strikes filled every cubic inch of the venue, vibrating through the soles of your shoes and rattling the breath right out of your lungs. He was a force of nature, his sculpted arms flexing and straining with every brutal, rapid-fire hit, yet that beautiful, breathless smile never quite left his face. He was entirely consumed by the music, a manic, brilliant blur of passion and precision.

The raw, primal intensity of it, juxtaposed with the lingering memory of that sweet, euphoric dimple, was utterly intoxicating.

As he struck the final, shattering crash cymbal, throwing his head back as the sound exploded outward, the arena erupted into a roar so deafening it felt apocalyptic.

Up in the safety of the balcony, your arms had long since uncrossed. Your hands were gripping the velvet armrests so tightly your knuckles had turned a stark white. You sat entirely paralyzed, your lips parted in silent shock, your heart hammering a frantic, echoing response to the rhythm he had just laid down. The sheer magnitude of his stage presence had completely obliterated your annoyance, leaving behind a terrifying, breathless awe.

Dammit, you thought, letting out a shaky, defeated exhale as you stared at the panting, wildly triumphant figure on the jumbotrons, your chest still tight from the way he had just smiled. He really is that dangerous.

The blinding surge of the arena’s house lights snapping back on felt almost violent, instantly shattering the hypnotic, electric spell that had held the entire venue captive. The deafening roar of the crowd slowly dissolved into a chaotic, buzzing murmur as thirty thousand people began moving toward the exits. Up in the VIP balcony, you remained frozen in your seat, your ears still ringing with the phantom echo of that final, earth-shattering cymbal crash.

You slowly exhaled, your trembling hands finally releasing their death grip on the velvet armrests. The adrenaline was beginning to drain from your system, leaving behind a strange, hollow exhaustion and a lingering flutter in your chest that you were desperately trying to ignore. You reached into your bag, intending to gather your belongings and make a swift, solitary escape back to the agonizing quiet of your hotel room.

Before your fingers could even brush the fabric of your coat, the sharp, continuous vibration of your phone jolted you out of your daze.

You froze. A sudden, pathetic jolt of electricity shot straight to your heart.

Sunghoon.

It had to be him. It was late, his grueling training sessions on the ice were likely over, and he was finally, finally checking in. Your hand actually trembled as you dug the device out of your bag, your mind already racing with a dozen different ways to respond to his delayed apologies. You were ready to be a little cold, a little distant, just to let him know how much his absence had stung all day.

You pulled the phone out and flipped the screen over.

Your shoulders instantly slumped. The breath you had been holding deflated into a dry, bitter sigh.

Meh.

It wasn't Sunghoon. Not even close. The glaring caller ID flashed with the name of your most lucrative client—the primary festival sponsor, a woman whose wealth and influence practically dictated the entire city's social calendar.

Swallowing the heavy, acidic lump of disappointment, you aggressively blinked away the sting behind your eyes. You cleared your throat, forcing your voice to adopt its usual, polished professional cadence. "Hello? I just wanted to say thank you for the tickets, the show was—"

"I need you," she interrupted, her voice entirely stripped of its usual refined composure. She sounded breathless, frantic, and dangerously close to a meltdown. "Please tell me you brought your emergency kit on this trip. Tell me it's in your hotel room."

You frowned, sitting up straighter as your professional instincts ruthlessly overrode your lingering post-concert haze and relationship woes. "I always travel with a condensed kit. Why? What’s going on? Are you hurt?"

"Not hurt, just entirely ruined!" she gasped, the sheer panic in her tone piercing through the poor cellular connection. "My makeup artist for the after-party just canceled. A family emergency, completely unavoidable, but I am hosting the absolute highest-tier VVIPs tonight and my face is melting off from the humidity in this private viewing box. I am begging you. I know you are on a strict vacation mandate, but I will pay you triple your usual rate. Quadruple. Write your own check, I do not care."

I’m supposed to be on vacation, you thought, a profound wave of weariness washing over you. I am supposed to be resting.

You closed your eyes, pressing two fingers against your throbbing temples. You could easily say no. You were legally, contractually, and physically entitled to say no and walk away. But as you pictured the deafening silence of your hotel suite—the unread messages, the glaring absence of your boyfriend, and the dangerously confusing memories of a certain dimpled drummer that were threatening to occupy your mind—the chaotic, demanding familiarities of your job suddenly felt like a lifeline.

Work was safe. Work was a realm where you had absolute control.

If I go back to that room alone tonight, I’m just going to drown in my own head, you realized with a heavy, sinking clarity.

"Take a deep breath," you instructed, your voice instantly dropping an octave into the steady, authoritative tone that made you so highly sought after in the industry. The reluctance melted away, replaced by a sharp, calculating focus. "Where are you heading to prep?"

"The Imperial Penthouse at the Four Seasons," she breathed out, a profound wave of relief suddenly washing over her words. "I already have my security detail waiting for you at the VIP exit. They will drive you straight to your hotel to grab your kit, and then escort you directly to my suite."

Of course she did. She was a billionaire; she moved cities, not just cars.

"Have a double espresso waiting for me," you replied dryly, already standing up and slinging your bag over your shoulder. "Give me exactly twenty-five minutes. Don't touch your face, don't even wipe your forehead. I'll fix it."

You ended the call, slipping the phone back into your pocket. The lethargy that had plagued you all morning was entirely gone, incinerated by the sudden spark of purpose. You weren't a lost, lonely girlfriend waiting around for a text anymore. With your shoulders squared and your mind rapidly cataloging foundation shades, you turned on your heel and marched toward the exit, ready to dive headfirst back into the high-stakes mess you knew best.

However, as you navigated the labyrinthine, dimly lit corridors leading toward the VIP exit doors, a sudden shift in the crowd's current forced you to halt. A formidable wall of broad-shouldered venue security was advancing down the hall, aggressively carving a clear path through the lingering event staff.

It was the band.

They walked with the exhausted, buzzing swagger of musicians fresh off a triumphant set. You caught a fleeting glimpse of Jay laughing heartily at something Beomgyu said, but your breath completely hitched in your throat when your gaze inevitably landed on the figure trailing slightly behind them.

Jungwon.

He had a white towel slung carelessly around his neck, his dark, sweat-dampened hair clinging messily to his forehead. The ferocious, untouchable performer from the stage was gone, replaced once again by the dangerously observant provocateur from the lounge. And as if guided by some infuriating, deeply cursed magnetic radar, his sharp, feline eyes flicked through the bustling corridor and locked precisely onto yours.

Time seemed to maliciously slow down. You froze in your tracks, the heavy makeup kit in your mind momentarily forgotten.

He didn't break stride, but the exact second he recognized you, that devastatingly arrogant, deeply indented smirk crept right back onto his face. He maintained the eye contact, holding your gaze captive as he tilted his head just a fraction, raising a single, teasing eyebrow. He didn't have to utter a single syllable; the cocky, triumphant message was broadcasted loud and clear across the hallway.

Well? Do I look better making thirty thousand people scream? You definitely know exactly who I am now, don't you?

It was the most overwhelmingly confident, silent 'I told you so' in the history of human communication.

A hot, prickly flush of pure, concentrated indignation spiked violently in your chest. Cih, you scoffed internally, your jaw clenching so tightly it actually ached. He is absolutely, unapologetically unbearable.

Refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered, you shot him the most lethal, aggressively unimpressed glare you could muster. You lifted your chin defensively, pivoted sharply on your heel, and marched straight out the double glass doors into the cool night air, desperately trying to ignore the phantom echo of his smug, knowing chuckle trailing right behind you.

The heavy, soundproof doors of the green room finally clicked shut, abruptly severing the chaotic, buzzing noise of the backstage corridors. The instant they were enclosed in the familiar, dimly lit sanctuary of their dressing room, the collective adrenaline that had sustained them began to rapidly crash, giving way to a profound, bone-deep exhaustion.

Beomgyu was the first to surrender, collapsing onto the sprawling leather sectional with a dramatic, breathless groan, his long limbs sprawling out to claim maximum territory. Jay followed suit, leaning heavily against the vanity counter, though a sharp, immensely satisfied grin still played on his lips. He grabbed a chilled bottle of water from the cooler and tossed it across the room with practiced aim.

Jungwon caught it effortlessly, a breathless chuckle escaping his chest as he sank into the plush armchair in the corner. He draped the white towel over his head, using it to aggressively dry his damp hair, completely shedding the ferocious, untouchable persona he had worn on stage.

"I'm filing a formal, written complaint with management," Beomgyu announced to the ceiling, his voice raspy but dripping with theatrical grievance. "We need to put a legal cap on how much raw energy the drummer is allowed to exude. Did you guys see him during the bridge? I felt like an extra in his personal documentary. You were absolutely glowing out there, you little menace."

Jay tipped his head back, letting out a rich, resonant laugh that instantly warmed the cramped space. "I warned you," he said, gesturing toward Jungwon with the neck of his own water bottle. "I told you the sleeveless shirt, combined with whatever possessed him tonight, was going to be an occupational hazard for the rest of us. You didn't just play the drums today, Jungwon-ah. You absolutely devoured the entire arena. I’ve never seen you that dangerously dialed in."

Even Yujin, who was usually the quietest during their post-show comedowns, nodded vigorously from his spot on the rug where he was stretching out his wrists. He looked up at Jungwon with wide, unmasked admiration. "Seriously, Jungwon hyung. It was like you were in a completely different dimension. The crowd was eating out of the palm of your hand. I almost missed my chord progression because I was too busy watching you completely destroy that solo."

Jungwon rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing a faint, embarrassed pink beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. The arrogant, teasing provocateur who had ruthlessly taunted a stranger in the hallway completely dissolved, leaving only the genuine, grounded core of who he was when he was surrounded by his brothers.

"You guys are heavily exaggerating," Jungwon mumbled, attempting to project a shield of humble indifference, though the bright, undeniable joy in his feline eyes betrayed him completely. He took a long sip of water, the cold liquid soothing his raw throat. "The crowd's energy was just incredible tonight. It's easy to lose yourself when they give so much back."

"Don't deflect, you brat," Jay teased gently, walking over to push Jungwon's damp fringe out of his eyes with a heavy, affectionate hand. The older guitarist’s gaze was exceptionally soft, entirely stripped of any rockstar pretense. "You were the absolute anchor tonight. You held us all together. You always do, but tonight... tonight was entirely your orbit."

A warm, profound sense of contentment settled heavily in Jungwon's chest, a feeling far more intoxicating than the roaring adulation of thirty thousand strangers. This—this messy, exhausted, deeply loyal camaraderie—was his true sanctuary. Looking at Beomgyu now bickering playfully with Yujin over who deserved the first turn in the shower, and feeling the steady, grounding weight of Jay’s hand on his shoulder, Jungwon felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude for the chaotic family they had forged through years of relentless practice and shared dreams.

He let out a soft, breathy laugh, leaning back into the cushions as that signature, deep dimple pressed back into his cheek. The adrenaline was finally fading, his muscles were throbbing with a dull ache, and somewhere in the city, an incredibly stubborn, angry girl with a makeup kit was probably still cursing his very existence.

But sitting right here, entirely enveloped by the loud, comforting banter of the people who knew him best, Jungwon had absolutely never felt more at home.

The Imperial Penthouse at the Four Seasons was a sprawling, opulent sanctuary of polished marble and floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a breathtaking, panoramic view of the glittering city skyline. Yet, to you, it was merely another workspace. The moment you had crossed the threshold, the residual adrenaline from the concert and the lingering irritation sparked by a certain dimpled drummer had been ruthlessly locked away.

You had your condensed kit splayed meticulously across the massive vanity, your hands moving with the swift, practiced, and almost surgical precision that justified your exorbitant rates. Your client sat before the brightly lit mirror, sipping her promised double espresso, the frantic panic from her phone call completely subdued by the rhythmic, soothing sweep of your brushes.

"I seriously do not know what I would do without you," she sighed, leaning back slightly as you expertly blended a flawless, velvet-matte contour along her jawline. "You are an absolute artist. A literal lifesaver."

"Just doing my job," you replied softly, your voice a calm, professional murmur as you reached for a setting powder.

"Oh, please. Don't be modest," she dismissed with a wave of her perfectly manicured hand, peering at your reflection through the mirror. She observed you for a moment, her sharp eyes taking in your focused expression. "Tell me something. A woman as stunning, successful, and incredibly talented as you... you must have someone. A boyfriend? A fiancé hiding somewhere?"

You paused, just for a fraction of a second, tapping the excess powder off your brush. "I do. A boyfriend. We've been together for four and a half years. Approaching five, actually."

The client arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a look of genuine, unfiltered incredulity crossing her features. "Five years? And no ring?" She let out a short, elegant scoff. "Darling, if a man manages to catch a woman like you—someone with her own empire, her own talent—and hasn't rushed to permanently lock that down by year three, what exactly is he doing with his time? You are absolutely not someone a man should keep waiting."

Thump.

The words weren't laced with malice—they were merely draped in the casual, unapologetic bluntness of a billionaire who always demanded exactly what she wanted precisely when she wanted it. Yet, the question struck the very center of your chest with the devastating, visceral force of a physical blow.

Your hand, hovering just inches from her cheekbone with a velvet powder puff, imperceptibly froze. The air in the lavish penthouse suddenly felt infinitely thinner, a suffocating tightness wrapping around your ribs.

Five years.

The number echoed loudly, mockingly, in the hollow chambers of your mind. It sounded like an absolute eternity, a monumental testament to loyalty and endurance. But right now, beneath the glaring vanity lights, it didn't feel like a milestone. It felt like an anchor. It felt as though you had been fiercely treading water in the exact same spot for months, exhausting yourself just to keep your head above the surface while the current threatened to drag you under.

The client's offhand remark violently tore a specific, deeply buried memory from the recesses of your mind, playing it behind your eyes with agonizing clarity.

It was your third anniversary. You were sitting in a dimly lit, impossibly expensive restaurant. The soft, flickering glow of the tabletop candle had reflected beautifully in Sunghoon’s dark, intense eyes as he reached across the white linen tablecloth to envelop your hands in his. He hadn't held a velvet box that night, but his voice had possessed an earnest, desperate conviction that had completely stolen your breath.

“Just a little longer,” he had murmured, his thumb drawing gentle, comforting circles into your knuckles. “Once this Olympic qualifying cycle is over, once my skaters are set and the pressure drops. I promise, I’m going to marry you, okay? I know it's hard right now, but I won't make you wait much longer. You're everything to me.”

You had believed him. You had anchored your entire heart to that promise, wearing it like an invisible shield against the lonely nights and the canceled dates.

But the qualifying cycle ended. And then a new season began. Then a grand prix. Then a national championship.

The desperate, passionate promises of your third anniversary had slowly, silently dissolved into the background noise of his early morning rink schedules and your perpetual, grueling itineraries. The vibrant, all-consuming love you once shared hadn't exploded; it had simply, tragically calcified into a quiet, heavily scheduled routine of polite texts and missed calls.

What exactly is he doing with his time?

The question violently rattled against the fragile cage of your composure. You were halfway across the country on a forced vacation you hadn't even wanted to take, staring at a phone screen that had remained stubbornly, devastatingly blank all day. You were absolutely no closer to that beautiful promise than you had been two years ago. The realization was a sudden, freezing plunge into ice water.

You weren't waiting anymore. You were just stuck.

Pull yourself together, a desperate, frantic voice commanded in your head. Do not fall apart here. Not now.

You swallowed hard, your throat clicking painfully as you forced the suffocating lump down. You took a slow, steadying breath, pulling a masterfully crafted, polite smile onto your lips as your professional facade slipped flawlessly back into place.

"We're both just incredibly focused on our respective careers right now," you replied smoothly, your voice miraculously level despite the violent tremor tearing through your heart. The lie tasted like dry ash on your tongue. "Timing is everything, I suppose."

"Hm. If you say so," the client murmured, closing her eyes as you gently pressed the powder puff beneath them. "Just remember, darling. Talent like yours shouldn't be put on standby for anyone."

You didn't answer her. You merely lowered your eyes, focusing entirely on the flawless canvas of her skin, fighting an agonizing, silent war against the sudden, burning sting of tears threatening your vision.

With a final, feather-light sweep of a fluffy brush across her cheekbones, you took a deliberate step back, letting the warm, ambient light of the penthouse catch the flawless, velvet finish you had just orchestrated.

"You're all set," you announced quietly. The sharp, mechanical snap of your makeup kit closing echoed in the sprawling room, signaling the end of your temporary distraction.

The client leaned closer to the illuminated mirror, turning her head from side to side. The frantic, overwhelmed woman from the phone call was entirely gone, replaced by a radiant, untouchable powerhouse ready to command a room. She let out a breathy, immensely satisfied laugh.

"Magnificent," she declared, picking up a diamond-encrusted clutch from the vanity. She turned to face you, her sharp eyes scanning your slightly rumpled, practical work clothes, before a brilliant, commanding smile took over her features. "Leave the kit here. You can send the hotel staff to fetch it tomorrow. You are coming down to the after-party with me."

You blinked, caught completely off guard by the sudden invitation. Your hands instinctively tightened around the handle of your case. "Oh, no, thank you," you replied quickly, shaking your head with a polite, practiced smile. "I really shouldn't. You're hosting VVIPs, and I’m barely dressed for a hotel lobby, let alone an exclusive event. I just want to head back to my room and—"

"And do what?" she interrupted, her tone dropping its harsh edge, softening into something surprisingly observant. "Sit in a painfully quiet suite and overthink about a man who is making you wait?"

The bluntness of her words completely knocked the wind out of you. You parted your lips to offer a defensive, professional retort, to politely insist that you were perfectly fine, but the words withered and died in your throat.

Because she was absolutely right.

If you went back to your hotel room right now, you knew exactly what was waiting for you. The dense, suffocating silence. The plush, empty bed. And the sleek, cold surface of your phone, sitting on the nightstand, utterly devoid of a single message from Sunghoon. If you went back to that isolation, the fragile dam holding back your crushing realization about the last five years of your life would completely shatter. You would be left drowning in your own tears, suffocating under the weight of broken promises and cold realities.

You didn't want to think anymore. You didn't want to rationalize his absence, and you absolutely did not want to feel the hollow, aching loneliness that had become your constant companion.

You desperately needed noise. You needed chaos, loud music, and a room so incredibly crowded that you wouldn't have the space to feel sorry for yourself.

"I..." you started, your voice wavering slightly before you forced it to steady. You slowly let go of the handle of your makeup kit, letting it rest on the marble counter. You looked down at your simple attire—a sleek, black long-sleeved top and tailored trousers. It wasn't a designer gown, but it was chic enough to blend into the shadows.

You let out a long, heavy exhale, consciously releasing the agonizing tension that had been locked in your shoulders for hours.

"You know what? Fine," you finally conceded, a bitter, exhausted smile touching the corners of your lips. "I suppose I could use a drink. Or three."

"That is the spirit, darling!" she beamed, immediately looping her arm through yours with a surprisingly warm familiarity, dragging you toward the heavy mahogany doors of the penthouse. "We are going to get you a glass of the most absurdly expensive champagne they have. Tonight is about celebrating, not waiting around."

As you stepped into the private elevator and watched the floor numbers plummet toward the VIP lounge, you closed your eyes, leaning your head against the cool glass wall. You were going to turn your brain entirely off tonight. No thoughts of figure skating, no agonizing over unanswered texts, and absolutely no dwelling on the past.

You were just going to let the heavy, pulsating rhythm of the night wash away the exhaustion, completely unaware that the very same rhythm you were seeking out was currently being celebrated by a certain dimpled drummer in the exact same room downstairs.

The sprawling VIP lounge of the Four Seasons had been transformed into an exclusive, sensory overload. Heavy, pulsating bass thumped through the floorboards, reverberating against your ribs the moment you stepped out of the private elevator. The room was a dizzying kaleidoscope of low amber lighting, clinking crystal glasses, and the suffocating perfume of the city's absolute elite.

True to her word, your client had immediately procured you a glass of champagne that likely cost more than your monthly rent, before instantly being swallowed by a sea of socialites and industry executives.

Left to your own devices, you retreated to the edge of the sprawling marble bar, taking a long, deliberate sip of the sparkling liquid. The alcohol burned pleasantly down your throat, a desperately needed anchor in the midst of the chaos. You closed your eyes for a brief second, allowing the sheer volume of the room to drown out the relentless, agonizing ticking of your own thoughts.

"You know, for someone who claimed to have zero interest in my existence, you certainly have a habit of magically appearing wherever I am."

The smooth, impossibly confident drawl slid through the heavy noise, sending a sudden, involuntary spark of irritation straight down your spine.

You didn't even need to turn your head to know who it was. You opened your eyes, letting out a dry, exasperated sigh before slowly pivoting on your heel.

Jungwon was leaning casually against the bar right next to you. The sweat-drenched intensity of his stage performance had been washed away, replaced by an effortlessly sharp, off-duty aesthetic. He was wearing a relaxed, unbuttoned silk shirt that practically breathed arrogance, and in his hand, he held a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid.

He took a slow sip, his sharp, feline eyes trailing over your simple, practical attire with an agonizingly slow, deliberate assessment. And then, right on cue, that infuriating, devastatingly deep dimple made its appearance as a smug smirk stretched across his face.

"Following me now?" he teased, tilting his head slightly, completely unfazed by the lethal glare you were currently directing at him. "Or did you finally decide to take my advice and come see if I look better mixing cocktails?"

"I would rather drink battery acid than watch you do anything," you fired back instantly, your voice dripping with a polished, icy sweetness. "And for the record, I was dragged here by a client. If I had known this was the designated watering hole for inflated egos, I would have stayed in my room."

Jungwon let out a bright, booming laugh that genuinely startled you, the sound rich and warm against the chaotic backdrop of the party. He leaned in a fraction closer, invading your personal space with a practiced, predatory grace.

"Ouch. Still so combative," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, teasing register. "You must have a terrible poker face. Because from where I was sitting up on that stage, it looked an awful lot like you couldn't take your eyes off me."

Before you could unleash the scathing retort currently burning on your tongue, a heavily manicured hand suddenly clamped down firmly onto your shoulder.

"Darling! There you are!"

Your client materialized beside you, her eyes practically sparkling with the thrill of the party. She looked between you and Jungwon, the sudden, sharp silence between you two immediately registering on her highly attuned social radar. She took in Jungwon’s leaning posture, his teasing smirk, and your flushed, thoroughly aggravated expression.

A slow, delighted smile spread across her face.

"Well, well," she purred, her gaze lingering on Jungwon with an appreciative nod before snapping back to you. "I leave you alone for five minutes, and you've already found the most magnetic boy in the room. I must say, the sheer tension between you two is absolutely palpable. You look remarkably good together. A very... volatile match."

What?

Your jaw practically unhinged. "No—we are not—he is just—" you stammered, the professional, composed facade you had maintained all day completely shattering under the weight of her ridiculous observation.

Jungwon, of course, was thoroughly enjoying your misery. He didn't bother to correct her. Instead, he simply offered your client a devastatingly charming, polite bow. "Thank you, ma'am. She’s just a little shy."

"I am going to actually kill you," you hissed under your breath, your cheeks burning with a hot, furious flush as he threw you a triumphant wink.

"Oh, youth," the client laughed, utterly oblivious to the silent war waging between you. She tapped your arm lightly. "I need to go greet the CEO of Zenith Holdings, they just arrived. Mingle, darling! Live a little!"

With that, she swept away into the crowd, leaving you stranded once again with the very source of your mounting headache.

"A volatile match," Jungwon repeated thoughtfully, swirling the ice in his glass as he looked at you with renewed amusement. "I like the sound of that."

"I need air," you muttered, abruptly placing your champagne flute onto the marble counter with a sharp clink. You couldn't do this. The sheer force of his personality was demanding too much energy from a battery that was already dangerously depleted. "Do not follow me."

You didn't wait for his response. You turned your back on his infuriatingly attractive smirk and pushed your way through the dense crowd, desperate to find a quiet corner. You slipped through a set of heavy glass doors that led out to the sprawling, dimly lit corridors wrapping around the venue.

The deafening noise of the party instantly muffled into a dull, distant thrum. The hallway was relatively empty, lined with decorative pillars and shadowed alcoves.

You let out a shaky, exhausted breath, pressing your palms against your heated cheeks as you walked aimlessly down the corridor.

Just calm down, you told yourself, the heavy silence finally allowing your intrusive thoughts to rush back in. Where are you, Sunghoon? Why won't you just look at your phone?

"Are you sure nobody is going to walk past?"

The voice was faint, a hushed, sultry whisper drifting from a shadowed alcove just a few feet ahead of you.

You froze. Your blood turned instantly to ice.

"My father's security has the main elevators blocked off," a man's voice murmured back. The tone was low, dripping with a dark, intoxicating hunger. "And besides... I told you I was entirely unattached tonight."

Your heart skipped a violent, terrifying beat, entirely seizing in your chest. You knew that voice. You knew the exact pitch, the subtle, breathy cadence of it. You had listened to it whisper absolute devotions in the dark, and you had heard it make desperate, sweeping promises over candlelit tables.

No. It can't be. He’s at the rink. He’s three hundred miles away.

A sickening, instinctual dread gripped your throat, but your feet moved of their own accord. You took one silent, agonizing step forward, turning the corner of the heavy marble pillar.

The air left your lungs in a violent, silent rush.

They were right there, brazenly pressed into the shadows of the hallway. Sunghoon—your Sunghoon—had his hands gripping the waist of a stunning woman draped in a silver designer gown. You instantly recognized her face from the event banners; she was the heiress of Zenith Holdings, the primary sponsor of the entire festival.

He had her pinned effortlessly against the textured wallpaper, their lips bruised and swollen, completely and desperately entangled in each other.

The world literally dropped out from beneath your feet. A deafening, high-pitched ringing consumed your ears, drowning out the faint music from the party. The betrayal wasn't just a shock; it was a physical mutilation. It felt as though someone had reached directly into your chest and violently ripped your heart out with their bare hands.

Five years. He ignored me all day because he was here.

"Sunghoon?"

Your voice cracked, frail and devastated, slipping out before you could even register that you had spoken.

The movement in the alcove halted instantly. The heiress gasped, shoving him back and hastily smoothing down her ruined dress, her eyes wide with shock as she looked at you.

But Sunghoon didn't flinch.

He slowly turned his head, his dark eyes landing on you standing trembling in the middle of the corridor. You waited for the panic. You waited for the horrified realization, the desperate apologies, the frantic scrambling of a man who had just been caught destroying the life he had promised to build with you.

Instead, what you saw absolutely terrified you.

There was nothing.

His expression was entirely blank. The warmth, the quiet affection you had anchored your entire youth to, was completely eradicated. It was replaced by a glacial, horrifyingly composed mask of mild irritation. He looked at you not as a lover he had betrayed, but as a minor, unforeseen inconvenience on his schedule.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice entirely devoid of an ounce of guilt. It was smooth, callous, and utterly chilling.

"What am I—" you choked out, a raw, burning sob tearing at the back of your throat. Your hands shook so violently you had to grip the edge of the pillar to stay upright. "Sunghoon, what is this? Who is she? You—you didn't answer my texts all day. You're supposed to be at the rink!"

Sunghoon let out a slow, deeply exhausted sigh. He casually adjusted the lapels of his pristine suit, his demeanor so relaxed it felt like psychological warfare. He turned to the heiress, offering her a low, polite nod. "Give us a moment, please."

The woman didn't need to be told twice. She shot you a brief, entirely unapologetic look before hurriedly clicking her heels down the opposite end of the hallway, leaving you entirely alone with a stranger who wore your boyfriend's face.

"Don't do this right now. Don't make a scene," Sunghoon warned, his tone dropping into a cold, authoritative register the second the heiress was out of earshot. "You know exactly how the industry works. She’s the primary sponsor for the new Olympic facility. It’s networking."

"Networking?" you repeated, the sheer, unadulterated absurdity of the lie acting as a sudden spark to the agonizing grief in your chest. The devastation began to rapidly curdle into a blinding, white-hot rage. "You were kissing her in a public hallway, Sunghoon! Do not treat me like I am stupid! We have been together for five years!"

"And what have those five years been, exactly?" he countered ruthlessly, his dark eyes narrowing into cruel, unforgiving slits. He took a deliberate step toward you, his height and presence suddenly feeling entirely suffocating. "You are never there. You are always flying across the country to fix somebody else's face. We’re practically strangers who share an anniversary date. It was only a matter of time before this ran its course. You should have known that."

The absolute cruelty of his words struck you with the force of a bullet. He wasn't just cheating on you; he was rewriting your entire history. He was weaponizing the sacrifices you had made for both of your careers to justify his own calculated, brazen betrayal.

"You promised," you whispered, the tears finally breaking free, spilling hot and fast down your cheeks. The words tasted like blood on your tongue. "You promised me on our third anniversary. You said I just had to wait."

"Grow up," Sunghoon replied, his voice a lethal, emotionless whisper that shattered the absolute last remnants of your breaking heart. He looked at you with a chilling, detached finality, entirely unmoved by your tears. "Promises don't build arenas. Connections do. Now, please leave. You are embarrassing yourself."

The silence that followed Sunghoon’s final, devastating statement was asphyxiating. You stood there, completely hollowed out, the tears tracking hot and unheeded down your cheeks. He hadn't just broken your heart; he had meticulously, clinically dismantled your entire reality and stepped on the pieces. You couldn't even formulate a response. Your throat was locked in a paralyzing vice of grief, your lungs violently rejecting the air in the corridor.

You felt entirely small, utterly pathetic, standing before a man who was looking at you as though you were nothing more than dirt on the sole of his polished shoe.

"I specifically recall her saying she needed air, not a front-row seat to whatever pathetic display of insecurity this is."

The voice was a low, lethal drawl that sliced through the heavy, suffocating tension like a physical blade.

Sunghoon’s glacial expression finally faltered, his jaw snapping shut as his head turned sharply toward the sound. You blinked rapidly through your blurred vision, your trembling hands still gripping the edge of the marble pillar.

Stepping out of the shadows, entirely unhurried and radiating absolute menace, was Jungwon.

He hadn't stayed at the bar. Despite your explicit demand, he had followed you. And just moments prior, as he had navigated the secluded hallway, he had crossed paths with the fleeing heiress. He had watched the billionaire's daughter frantically smoothing down her silver dress, her lipstick smeared, as she scrambled past him in a desperate bid to escape the scene.

Jungwon hadn’t stepped aside to give her room. Instead, as she scurried past, he had merely paused, fixing the woman with a slow, deeply visceral scowl. The deep-seated disgust that had twisted his features—a harsh, condemning furrow of his brows and a cold curl of his lip—had been so intensely palpable that the heiress had physically flinched, averting her eyes in sheer, humiliated panic before practically running back to the party.

Now, he stepped into the dim light of the alcove, and the atmosphere in the corridor violently shifted.

The playful, arrogant provocateur who had relentlessly teased you just minutes ago was completely eradicated. In his place was the man from the stage—the commanding, untouchable force who possessed a terrifying understanding of his own gravity. But this time, he wasn't trying to charm an arena; he was directing every ounce of that lethal, magnetic intensity straight at the man who had just shattered you.

Jungwon didn't look at you. He walked straight past you, his broad shoulders deliberately cutting off Sunghoon’s line of sight to your trembling frame, effectively placing himself as an impenetrable wall between you and your boyfriend.

"Embarrassing herself?" Jungwon repeated, rolling Sunghoon's cruel words around in his mouth as if they tasted like absolute poison. He let out a dry, humorless chuckle that held absolutely no warmth. He tilted his head, his sharp, feline eyes dragging up and down Sunghoon’s pristine suit in a slow, agonizingly deliberate assessment of pure disdain. "That's a fascinating choice of words coming from a man who has to resort to groping sponsors in a public hallway just to fund his career."

Sunghoon’s posture instantly stiffened, a dark, dangerous flush of anger finally cracking his composed facade. He squared his shoulders, trying to use his height to intimidate, but Jungwon didn't so much as blink.

"Excuse me?" Sunghoon demanded, his voice a low, warning hiss. "This is a private conversation. I highly suggest you mind your own business before you find yourself thrown out of this hotel."

"And I highly suggest you lower your voice when you speak to her," Jungwon fired back instantly, his tone dropping into a terrifyingly calm, absolute zero register that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He took a single, deliberate step closer to Sunghoon, entirely unfazed by the threat. "You want to talk about building arenas? About connections? Let me make something incredibly clear to you. You are wearing a nice suit, standing in a nice hotel, but beneath all of that, you are just a remarkably cheap, cowardly little man who couldn't handle the fact that the woman standing behind me is ten times the person you will ever be."

The absolute conviction in Jungwon's voice sent a sudden, violent shiver down your spine. The tears were still falling, but the paralyzing grip of Sunghoon’s cruelty was suddenly, jarringly interrupted by the sheer, protective weight of Jungwon’s presence.

Sunghoon scoffed, though the sound was tight and noticeably strained. He looked past Jungwon, aiming a bitter, condescending glare at you. "Is this what this is? You're throwing a tantrum over my networking while you have some washed-up musician following you around like a stray dog? You really are pathetic."

Before Sunghoon could even finish the sentence, Jungwon moved.

It wasn't a physical strike, but the sudden, aggressive shift in Jungwon’s posture was so predatory that Sunghoon instinctively took a step back, hitting the textured wallpaper of the alcove. Jungwon leaned in, his face inches from Sunghoon’s, the dark intensity in his eyes absolutely lethal.

"If you ever speak to her like that again," Jungwon whispered, every syllable coated in a heavy, undeniable promise of violence, "I won't just ruin your little networking event. I will make sure thirty thousand people out there know exactly what kind of trash is coaching their national team. Do we have an understanding?"

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle ticking violently beneath his skin. He stared at Jungwon, a silent, furious war waging between them, but he didn't dare push back. The cowardly core that Jungwon had just accurately diagnosed was paralyzed by the sheer, unadulterated dominance of the drummer standing in front of him.

Without waiting for a response, Jungwon finally turned his back on Sunghoon, dismissing him with an air of absolute, crushing finality.

He looked at you, and the instant his eyes met yours, the terrifying, icy fury in his gaze completely dissolved. The transformation was so jarring it made your breath catch. The harsh lines of his face softened into something entirely different—something remarkably gentle, observant, and profoundly careful.

He didn't smirk. He didn't offer a witty, arrogant quip. He simply looked at your tear-stained cheeks, the trembling of your hands, and the shattered pieces of your heart practically bleeding out onto the marble floor.

He didn't ask if you were okay, because the answer was agonizingly obvious.

Instead, he gently reached out, his warm, calloused fingers wrapping firmly but lightly around your wrist. The point of contact sent a sudden, grounding shockwave through your numb system.

"We're leaving," Jungwon stated quietly, his voice a steady, unwavering anchor in the midst of your collapsing universe.

And without looking back at the man who had just destroyed your past five years, Jungwon gently pulled you away from the shadows, leading you away from the wreckage and straight into the unknown.

The heavy, pulsating rhythm of the bass violently assaulted your senses the moment Jungwon pulled you back through the velvet-draped doors of the VIP lounge. The sheer, suffocating volume of the party should have been overwhelming, but you were completely numb to it. The only thing tethering you to reality was the steady, burning warmth of his calloused fingers wrapped firmly around your wrist, dragging you away from the wreckage of your life.

He didn't lead you back into the suffocating sea of socialites. Instead, he expertly navigated the shadowed perimeter of the venue, steering you toward a deserted, dimly lit stretch of the mahogany bar that was completely shielded from prying eyes.

The second the dense crowd was no longer pressing in on you, the survival instinct that had kept you walking suddenly shattered.

"Let go," you choked out, aggressively wrenching your arm out of his grasp.

The sudden loss of his grounding touch left you shivering, the icy, agonizing reality of what had just happened rushing rapidly back into your lungs. You wrapped your arms tightly around your own waist, physically trying to hold your fracturing pieces together.

"I have to leave," you stammered, your chest heaving with erratic, shallow breaths as you blindly turned toward the exit. "I need to go back to my room right now."

But Jungwon didn't move. He stood his ground, his broad shoulders forming an impenetrable barricade between you and the heavy glass doors. He looked down at your trembling frame, a rare, genuine flicker of hesitation crossing his usually unreadable features. He wasn't smirking. He was observing you with the careful, tense caution of someone watching a building on the absolute verge of collapse, entirely unwilling to let you walk out into the night alone in this state.

That hesitation—that terrible, quiet look of pity—was the absolute final straw.

Your pride, already pulverized and bleeding out on the hotel floor, flared into a desperate, defensive rage.

"Then what?!" you snapped, your voice cracking violently as a fresh, humiliating wave of tears spilled over your lashes. You glared at him, your hands balling into trembling fists at your sides. "Why are you looking at me like that? Haven't I been pathetic enough for one night? You saw the whole thing! You saw exactly what he thinks of me. So go ahead, tell me how stupid I am for waiting five years! Are you going to mock me again? Because I swear to God, I do not have the energy for your arrogant ego right now!"

Your breathing was ragged, your throat burning with the sheer, agonizing force of your outburst. You braced yourself for the inevitable punchline. You waited for the arrogant drummer to roll his eyes, to throw a sharp, witty insult that would finally, completely break you.

Jungwon simply stared at you. He let the silence stretch, absorbing your frantic, jagged energy without flinching.

Then, he let out a slow, heavy sigh. He casually leaned his hip against the edge of the bar, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mock you?" he repeated, his tone dripping with that familiar, dry drawl. He arched a single, lazy eyebrow. "Please. Give me a little more credit than that. My material is significantly better than pointing out the agonizingly obvious."

He casually turned his head, snapping his fingers lightly to catch the bartender's attention, and ordered a glass of ice water. When he looked back at you, the arrogant edge of his voice had entirely evaporated. What remained was a low, steady cadence—a sarcastic wrapping hiding a surprisingly deep, grounding core.

"I was actually going to point out," he continued smoothly, taking the glass from the bartender and sliding it across the marble counter toward you, "that your makeup is miraculously, entirely intact for someone whose five-year plan just violently imploded in a hotel hallway. It’s objectively impressive. What kind of setting spray is that? Industrial grade?"

You blinked. The sheer, unapologetic absurdity of the question collided violently with the blinding panic in your chest, momentarily short-circuiting your tears. You stared at him, utterly bewildered by his refusal to coddle you.

Jungwon uncrossed his arms and took a deliberate step closer. He wasn't invading your space, but his presence was a heavy, magnetic anchor demanding that you stop spiraling into the dark.

"Listen to me," Jungwon murmured, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that completely paralyzed you. The sarcasm melted away, leaving a raw, fiercely protective honesty. "You are currently a lot of things. You are furious. You are devastated. You are probably in desperate need of a very dark room and a very loud scream. But you are not pathetic. The only pathetic thing in this entire building is the coward who just traded a masterpiece for a cheap sponsorship deal."

The absolute conviction in his words slammed into your chest, a sudden, desperate influx of oxygen into your suffocating lungs.

Jungwon tilted his head, that devastating, boyish dimple finally pressing into his cheek, though the smile accompanying it was soft, remarkably gentle, and entirely reserved for you.

"And honestly?" he added, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial, teasing whisper. "If you run away crying right now, you're just going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he ruined your night. And I personally despise letting men with terrible, cheap suits win."

You stared at the glass of ice water sliding across the marble, the condensation weeping down its sides. Jungwon’s words hung in the space between you, a sturdy, defiant lifeline thrown into the middle of a raging hurricane. He was entirely right. Fleeing into the night in tears was a surrender, an agonizing confirmation that Sunghoon held the power to destroy you.

But as you stared at the clear liquid, the survival instinct that had kept you upright suddenly mutated into a desperate, reckless urge to feel absolutely nothing at all. The clarity of sobriety was unbearable. If you stayed in your own head for one more second, the reality of those five wasted years would crush your ribs into dust.

You slowly pushed the glass of water back toward him.

"I don't want water," you murmured, your voice frighteningly hollow. You turned your gaze, locking eyes with the bartender. "Bring me a double shot of whatever you have that burns the most. And leave the bottle."

Jungwon’s easy, leaning posture instantly dissolved. He dropped his arms, a deep, genuine scowl replacing his soft smile. "Whoa, okay. Hold on. I said don't let him win, I didn't say aggressively poison your own liver. That’s a terrible coping mechanism."

"I am not coping," you replied sharply, snatching the heavy crystal glass the bartender placed in front of you. The amber liquid sloshed violently against the rim. "I am turning my brain off. You can either stay and watch, or you can leave. I genuinely do not care."

You didn't give him a chance to argue. You tipped your head back and swallowed the liquor in one agonizing, punishing gulp. The alcohol tore down your throat like liquid fire, a harsh, grounding burn that successfully, if only momentarily, drowned out the agonizing echo of Sunghoon’s cruel voice.

You slammed the glass back down. "Again."

For the next hour, the sprawling, chaotic lounge devolved into a smeared, impressionistic canvas of neon lights and heavy bass. You systematically set out to eradicate every conscious thought in your head, chasing the numbing, heavy blanket of intoxication with ruthless efficiency. The crushing grief in your chest slowly dissolved into a hazy, detached static.

Beside you, Jungwon hadn't left. He hadn't touched his own drink, either. He merely sat there, serving as a silent, formidable guard dog, aggressively glaring at any suited executive who even thought about approaching your corner of the bar. He tried to cut you off twice, his sarcastic reprimands laced with genuine exasperation, but you batted his hands away with the sloppy, stubborn defiance of a broken heart.

Just one more, you promised yourself, the edges of your vision beginning to aggressively tilt. Just until I can't remember his face.

But the gravity of the room was failing. The thumping bass of the music no longer felt like a rhythm; it felt like a heavy, physical weight pressing down on your shoulders. You reached for the bottle one last time, but your fingers missed the glass entirely.

The floor suddenly pitched sideways.

You didn't even have time to register the fall. The very last, fragmented sensation your failing brain managed to process was a strong, firm arm wrapping securely around your waist before you could hit the marble floor, and the faint, distinctly comforting scent of cedar wood and mint.

Then, the world plunged into absolute, merciful darkness.

Consciousness returned not as a gentle awakening, but as a brutal, agonizing collision with reality.

A blinding, piercing pain instantly cleaved through your skull, demanding immediate retribution for the night's reckless intake. You let out a dry, raspy groan, blindly burying your face deeper into the pillow to escape the harsh slivers of daylight slicing through the curtains.

Your mouth tasted like ash, and your limbs felt like they were cast in heavy lead. You tried to mentally retrace your steps—the concert, the penthouse, the crushing betrayal in the hallway, the bar. The memories were terrifyingly fragmented, violently punctuated by the burn of expensive whiskey and the faint, grounding scent of cedar wood.

Your vision swam for a precarious second before the room slowly came into focus.

You froze.

The air in your lungs completely stalled. Every single alarm bell in your hungover brain began to scream in chaotic unison.

You were lying in a bed, but the sheets pooled around your waist weren't the crisp, stark white cotton of your standard hotel suite. They were charcoal-grey, silken, and undeniably expensive. You slowly, rigidly turned your head. The room was massive—featuring dark furniture, a sprawling leather seating area, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a completely different angle of the city.

This was absolutely, unequivocally not your room.

Panic, sharp and terrifying, instantly sliced through the haze of your hangover. You shot up, immediately clutching the thick duvet to your chest, your heart hammering a frantic, echoing rhythm against your ribs.

You looked down.

And then, your heart completely, terrifyingly stopped.

You weren't wearing your sleek, black long-sleeved top. You weren't wearing your tailored work trousers. You were sitting there in nothing but a thin, tight inner tank top and a pair of ridiculously short sleep shorts.

My clothes.

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated horror. A blinding, suffocating panic instantly hijacked your nervous system. You frantically scanned the unfamiliar suite. Your trousers and top were neatly folded on a nearby ottoman.

WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES?! WHO CHANGED MY CLOTHES?!

The sound of a heavy door clicking shut echoed from the adjacent bathroom, followed by the steady, unhurried padding of bare feet against the hardwood floor.

You stopped breathing entirely. You gripped the duvet so tightly your knuckles turned a stark white, pulling it all the way up to your chin like a physical shield.

Emerging from the hallway, aggressively drying his damp hair with a white towel, was Jungwon.

He was wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, the low-slung waistband sitting dangerously low on his hips, his incredibly sculpted chest and broad shoulders still glistening faintly with water from the shower. The fierce, untouchable stage persona was gone, replaced by a devastatingly relaxed, domestic aura that completely short-circuited what little brain capacity you had left.

He stopped dead in his tracks the second he saw you sitting bolt upright in his bed, looking like a cornered wild animal.

For a terrifying, agonizingly long second, the two of you merely stared at each other in the heavy, sunlit silence of the penthouse suite. You were practically hyperventilating, your wide, horrified eyes darting frantically between his bare chest and the neatly folded pile of your clothes.

"My clothes," you choked out, your voice a raspy, panicked squeak. You swallowed hard, pressing your back flat against the headboard. "Where... who took off my clothes?"

Jungwon slowly lowered the towel. He took in your death-grip on the bedding, your deeply flushed face, and the sheer, existential panic radiating from your entire body. He looked at the folded clothes, then back at you.

You could practically see the gears turning in his head. The absolute worst, most chaotic instinct he possessed immediately seized the golden opportunity. A slow, deeply amused smirk began to curve onto his lips, carving that infuriatingly devastating dimple right back into his cheek.

He tossed the towel over a chair and sauntered slowly toward the edge of the bed.

"Honestly?" Jungwon drawled, his voice dropping into a low, sultry register that sent an involuntary shiver straight down your spine. He braced his hands on the mattress, leaning in just close enough for you to catch that faint, intoxicating scent of mint and cedar. "I have to admit... I didn't expect you to be quite so... cooperative."

Your jaw physically unhinged. The color completely drained from your face, only to be violently replaced by a burning, scarlet flush.

"You—what?!" you shrieked, scrambling backward until your spine hit the solid wood of the headboard.

Jungwon let out a low, breathy chuckle, thoroughly reveling in your absolute devastation. His feline eyes glinted with lethal, unapologetic mischief. "I mean, for someone who practically hissed at me all night, you were surprisingly eager once we got through the door. It was quite the plot twist. But hey... it was definitely fun."

The silence that followed was apocalyptic.

Your brain completely flatlined. He unbuttoned my top. He took off my pants. He said it was fun. HE UNDRESSED ME.

"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"

The sheer, unadulterated mortification forcefully ejected your soul from your body. With a blind, hysterical cry, you grabbed the heaviest, fluffiest pillow beside you and hurled it directly at his head with lethal intent. "You absolute pervert! You arrogant, opportunistic jerk! I am calling the police! I am calling my lawyer!"

Jungwon caught the pillow effortlessly mid-air, bursting into a bright, ringing laugh. He didn't even attempt to retreat. Instead, he casually reached into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled out his phone.

"Before you call your legal team," Jungwon teased, his dimple so deep it looked permanent, "you might want to review the evidence. Because I distinctly remember having a very hard time escaping your grasp last night."

"I did not touch you!" you gasped, clutching the duvet so tightly your fingers ached.

"Right. Let's consult the archives, shall we?"

With a wicked glint in his eye, Jungwon tapped his screen.

Immediately, a voice filled the quiet penthouse. It was slurred, incredibly whiny, and dripping with a pathetic, tearful desperation.

“Nooo... don’t put me down... I don't want to be alone...”

Your entire body went rigid.

“Hey, stop grabbing my shirt, I’m just trying to get you a glass of water—” Jungwon’s exasperated, slightly strained voice echoed from the speaker.

“Don't leave me!” the recorded version of you wailed dramatically, followed by the distinct sound of fabric tearing. “Stay here! You're warm! Just stay right here, please, please, please...”

“Okay, okay, stop crying, my God, I’m not leaving, just let go of my neck—”

Jungwon tapped the screen again, silencing the audio.

The penthouse descended into a deafening, agonizing quiet.

You were entirely, profoundly speechless. The fierce, defensive rage had completely evaporated, replaced by a level of humiliation so deep and monumental that you felt it in your actual bones. You had begged him. You had clung to him like a lost, pathetic koala and practically ripped his shirt off because you didn't want to be alone.

I want to cease existing, you thought, a silent scream echoing in the hollow chambers of your mind. I want the earth to open up and swallow me immediately.

You squeezed your eyes shut and slowly, miserably slid down the headboard, pulling the duvet entirely over your head until you were completely submerged in the darkness of the expensive sheets. You curled into a tight, mortified ball, refusing to face the daylight or the infuriatingly smug drummer standing beside the bed.

"So," Jungwon’s voice floated through the fabric, completely laced with a bright, victorious laughter. You could practically hear the arrogant smirk on his face. "Are we still pressing charges, or are you ready to admit that you were the one taking advantage of me?"

You let out a muffled, agonizing groan from beneath the blanket.

"Go away," you rasped, your voice completely devoid of any fight.

"Wow," Jungwon breathed out, his voice suddenly dripping with a heavy, theatrical disbelief. You felt the mattress dip significantly as he sat down right beside your huddled form. "I see exactly how it is."

Through the thick, expensive fabric of the duvet, you heard him let out a deeply exaggerated, heartbroken sigh.

"So this is your game?" he continued, his tone a lethal mixture of mock-devastation and absolute, unapologetic flirtation. "You drag a defenseless, innocent musician into your room. You practically tear his clothes off, beg him to stay in your arms, whisper sweet, desperate pleas into his ear all night... and the second the sun comes up, you just tell him to go away?"

You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, gripping the blanket from the inside. Please, make him stop.

"I feel so incredibly used," Jungwon murmured. His voice dropped an octave, slipping into a low, raspy register that vibrated straight through the mattress and directly down your spine. "You threw yourself at me, completely compromised my morals, and now you're just casting me aside like yesterday's garbage? You are a remarkably cold woman. I thought what we had was special."

"I am going to throw myself off the balcony," you mumbled into your knees, your entire body burning with a lethal combination of mortification and a sudden, treacherous flutter in your chest.

"You can't do that. You haven't taken responsibility for my feelings yet."

Suddenly, you felt his strong hands grip the top edge of your blanket fortress. With a swift, effortless tug, he pulled the duvet down, successfully exposing your flushed, thoroughly miserable face to the harsh morning light.

You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to look at him, but you could feel the immediate, magnetic weight of his proximity.

"Look at me," he commanded softly, the teasing edge of his voice sharpening into something dangerously magnetic.

You stubbornly opened one eye, fully prepared to glare at him with the fire of a thousand suns, but the breath instantly caught in your throat.

He was leaning over you. He was so impossibly close that you could feel the faint, warm brush of his breath against your cheek. His damp, dark hair fell messily across his forehead, casting soft shadows over those sharp, distinctly feline eyes. The arrogant smirk was still there, carving that devastating dimple into his cheek, but his gaze was heavy, incredibly focused, and entirely directed at your lips before slowly trailing up to meet your eyes.

The sarcastic, complaining victim he was just playing completely vanished, replaced by a man who knew exactly what his proximity was doing to your pulse.

"You were very demanding last night," Jungwon whispered, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face as he watched your pupils slightly dilate. He tilted his head, his voice dropping into a sultry, heart-stopping drawl. "I had to work very hard to keep you happy. The least you could do is look me in the eye when you break my heart."

Your brain completely short-circuited. The lingering headache from the alcohol was entirely obliterated by the sudden, violent hammering of your heart against your ribs. He was gaslighting you—you knew he was aggressively, relentlessly making the entire thing up just to tease you—but the sheer, unadulterated tension radiating from him was utterly intoxicating.

"You..." you stammered, your voice failing you completely as your eyes darted nervously down to his bare, sculpted chest, and then immediately back up to the ceiling. "You are insane."

Jungwon let out a low, breathy chuckle, clearly satisfied with the absolute chaos he was inflicting on your nervous system. He held your gaze for one, agonizingly long second, letting the heavy, flirty tension simmer between you until you thought you might actually faint.

Then, just as quickly as he had cornered you, he pulled back, casually sweeping a hand through his damp hair and effortlessly breaking the spell.

"And you owe me breakfast for the emotional trauma," he announced brightly, pushing himself off the bed with a graceful, athletic ease. He walked over to the bedside table, picking up the glass of water and the two painkillers he had set down earlier.

He turned back, holding them out to you with a charming, victorious grin.

"Now take these," Jungwon ordered playfully, the chaotic provocateur fully restored. "Room service is bringing up a ridiculous amount of pancakes in ten minutes, and if you think I'm letting a cold-hearted heartbreaker like you eat them in bed, you're absolutely delusional. Get up."

The sharp, melodic chime of the penthouse doorbell suddenly echoed through the sprawling suite, abruptly piercing the heavy, tension-laced air of the bedroom.

Jungwon paused, glancing over his shoulder toward the living room. He let out a soft, amused exhale, setting the glass of water and the painkillers down on the nightstand.

"Perfect timing," he murmured. He turned his back to you, casually strolling toward the bedroom door. He paused in the frame, throwing one last, devastatingly cheeky wink over his shoulder. "Put your clothes on. If you make me eat breakfast alone after the emotional trauma you put me through, I am officially holding a press conference."

The second his broad shoulders disappeared around the corner and his footsteps faded toward the foyer, the paralyzing, magnetic spell he had cast over you completely shattered.

Your brain, which had been thoroughly short-circuited by his relentless teasing, suddenly rebooted with a single, blaring directive.

Flight.

There was absolutely no way you were going to sit across a dining table and eat pancakes with a man who had a recorded audio clip of you aggressively begging for his body heat. The sheer, debilitating mortification of the last ten minutes, combined with the catastrophic wreckage of your five-year relationship, was entirely too much for your fragile, hungover psyche to process.

You threw the duvet off your body as if it were on fire. The hangover was instantaneously obliterated by a massive, violent spike of pure adrenaline.

Moving with the frantic, terrified speed of a cornered fugitive, you scrambled off the mattress. You snatched your neatly folded trousers from the ottoman, practically falling over as you desperately shoved your legs into them. You didn't even bother to button your black top correctly, simply throwing it over your head and pulling it down as you frantically scanned the floor for your shoes and your bag.

From the foyer, you could hear the faint murmur of Jungwon’s voice thanking the hotel staff, followed by the soft squeak of the room service cart being wheeled into the living area.

Now or never.

You grabbed your heels in one hand and your bag in the other. Holding your breath, you tiptoed out of the bedroom, pressing your back flat against the cool wall of the hallway. You peeked around the corner. Jungwon was standing with his back to you, inspecting a sprawling array of silver cloches on the dining table, entirely unaware of the frantic escape currently unfolding behind him.

You didn't hesitate. You darted across the open space with the silent, desperate grace of a phantom, reaching the heavy mahogany double doors of the penthouse.

Your trembling fingers clamped around the brass handle. You turned it with agonizing slowness, wincing at the faint click of the latch, and slipped through the narrowest possible opening.

The moment you were out in the hotel corridor, you pulled the door shut behind you and absolutely bolted.

You sprinted down the plush, carpeted hallway in your bare feet, your lungs burning and your heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your ribs. You reached the elevator bank and frantically mashed the 'Down' button, glancing back over your shoulder every two seconds, utterly terrified that the heavy penthouse door would swing open and a pair of sharp, feline eyes would catch you in the act of fleeing.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open. You threw yourself inside, slapping your hand against the lobby button as if your life depended on it.

"Close, close, close," you chanted under your breath, watching the silver doors slowly slide shut, completely sealing you off from the penthouse floor.

As the elevator began its rapid descent, the absolute absurdity of the morning finally crashed over you. You slumped against the mirrored wall, dropping your head into your hands as a shaky, exhausted exhale left your lips.

You were a highly sought-after, fiercely independent professional, and you had just successfully snuck out of a rockstar's hotel room like a guilty teenager. It was humiliating. It was chaotic. It was the absolute lowest point of your entire existence.

You closed your eyes, the chilling memory of Sunghoon’s cruel, detached face in the hallway violently clashing with the lingering, phantom warmth of Jungwon’s breath against your cheek. You were a complete, catastrophic mess, and you desperately needed the safety of your own, empty hotel room to fall apart in peace.

Never again, you vowed silently to yourself, staring fiercely at your own disheveled reflection in the elevator doors. I am leaving this city today, and I am never, under any circumstances, crossing paths with Yang Jungwon again.

To Be Continued ᯓ★

Jungwon’s presence was sometimes overwhelming.

He existed in a way where his presence silently demanded everyone’s attention in the room, despite being a silent person. Where he stood, he exuded a quiet sense of authority. His arms were always crossed, his posture upright, and he would raise his eyebrows and tilt his head in a way that made your heart flutter with unease. Wherever he was, your eyes were immediately drawn to that spot. You didn’t think he noticed. At least, you sincerely prayed that he never did.

You and Jungwon weren’t close at all. You both were Event Coordinators for the Gardening club, but seemed to exist in different planes despite being co-chairs. When you applied, you didn’t realize that he would apply for the same position.

You knew Jungwon before from how often you both attended the Gardening Club events the previous year as general body members. While you were soft-spoken and shared an endearing doe-eyed enthusiasm for attending things such as the Terrarium Workshop and the Campus Beautification Project, Jungwon was more knowledgeable and boasted his intelligence during events such as Composting 101 and Fruits for Food Banks.

You did really want to be his friend. After all, above all that intimidating brainpower, he was kinda cute.

It wasn’t Jungwon’s plant wisdom that first captivated you. It was his big cat eyes, sharp and angled eyebrows, and the way his lips effortlessly pressed into that assessing and tight line. You couldn’t deny how good-looking he was.

However, your attraction for him didn’t translate into closeness.

If anything, it made you feel more aware of the distance between the two of you.

Your interactions were efficient and too professional in comparison to the way that the rest of the officers and executive members spoke to each other. He messaged you only when necessary, and most of the time, that’s all that you would say to each other. Whenever he spoke, you would consistently respond the same way. You’d let out a timid and polite, “Yes…” without even realizing that you had responded. There was no small talk and no “How are you?” Not even during board meetings would you guys speak to each other. It somehow became a routine that Jungwon would always speak for you during Committee updates.

You and Jungwon were colleagues, and that was fine.

But sometimes, you wondered if he even remembered anything about you beyond your name and your role.

Yet for some reason, there was a certain dynamic that you and Jungwon seemed to have. Somehow, along the way, you both slipped into a pattern that bloomed without even speaking a word to each other.

When Jungwon spoke, you obeyed.

He never requested or asked you anything. Questions like, “Can you do it?” were never given to you. Jungwon always just told you what needed to be done, and you executed it without giving it a second thought.

“Go set up the tables first.”

“Go handle check-ins.”

“Make sure the inventory is accounted for before we leave.”

His voice was always calm. He never sounded confused or hesitant. No, his words were the final say. They were decided even before they were known to you.

And you always answered, “Yes.”

(At one point, you realized the reason why he was so conclusive with his words is because you never denied him. Not once.)

Even though the board members raised their concerns and suspicions in the past about how you both interacted, you honestly were content with it. After all, Jungwon never raised his voice, never micro-managed you, and never corrected you unless you shyly requested some guidance. But there was an unspoken expectation in the way he carried himself, as if he assumed your attention before he even had it.

He always had it, and you hoped that he didn’t know that.

Throughout the semester, although your gentle heart was riddled with worries for how close you both were, your dynamic with Jungwon somewhat pacified your worries.

It got to the point where you found yourself waiting for instructions without realizing it. You didn’t do anything without glancing at him for guidance first. When he gave you instructions, it felt grounding in some way, as if you were letting go of a deep breath you didn’t know you were even holding. As if you were slipping into a role that you didn’t even have to think about.

You didn’t know when, but at some point, he stopped over-explaining things to you. He stopped checking if you understood. The extent of his directions became shorter. Sometimes, just a simple glance at you and a tilt of his head to signal what he wanted was enough of a command for you to understand.

To everyone else, it probably seemed like an efficient partnership with excellent teamwork.

To you, it felt like something more instinctive. As if your body had found its calling.

You never minded that he took charge. If anything, you preferred it. There was comfort in knowing he had already decided, and that all you had to do was listen and execute. Jungwon never praised you out loud. In fact, the word count between you guys seemed to lessen after every event hosted. However, you felt his approval in the way he moved on immediately after giving you a task with a silent certainty that you would always do as he expected.

And you always did.

You guys still weren’t close. You still didn’t know his favorite food or what he did on weekends. To be honest, you were sure he still didn’t know your major.

But in the plane between his instructions and your response, there existed a quiet understanding neither of you addressed.

And it unsettled you to no end.

𓇼 𓂃 𓈒𓏸

“Okay, next for our Committee updates, can we have Event Coordinators?”

You both stood up at the front of the meeting room to present your debriefing together. However, per usual, Jungwon began speaking first. He didn’t even glance in your direction as he began relaying what you guys have been up to since the last board meeting. His voice was assertive as always as he droned on, “We just finalized our venue and our housing for the annual Coastal Restoration Trip. Housing costs will be about 143,942 Won. The binding form to sign up for the trip, as well as ride sheets, has already been sent out, courtesy of my co-chair. She also drafted the itinerary. If you guys have any suggestions, please message in our joint committee groupchats and she will take them into consideration. After a week, when the binding form closes, we’ll send out room sign-ups.”

“Are we clubbing?” The Outreach Chair, Jake, raised his hand with a wriggle of his eyebrows and a bite of his lips. Jungwon rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

“Yeah. It’s tradition. With advice from last year’s chairs, we found this club called Club Decelis, which is planned for the second night of the week,” Jungwon answered. “Any other questions?”

Everyone shook their heads. Upon receiving a glance from Jungwon, you sat down immediately with him, following behind.

𓇼 𓂃 𓈒𓏸

The drive to the beach house was long and quiet. It bloomed a silence that settled comfortably for everyone else but made you hyper-aware of every little movement Jungwon made. He sat upright in the front, his posture straightened out as always. He had his right hand on the steering wheel while his left hand was curled into a fist for his temple to lie on. He would occasionally shift his hips to adjust his posture and glance at the back mirror and side mirrors. Although he looked relaxed, everything about him expressed his authority. It didn’t help that he was quietly giving you reminders to look out for, keeping his voice hushed out of respect for the three guys knocked out in the back of his car.

As you nodded at his words, realization set in that this was probably the most time you guys would spend together. Your heart began racing at the thought of a week filled with interacting with Jungwon. Was this finally the time for you guys to become more than colleagues? Could this be your chance to become acquainted with Jungwon? After a year of just being co-chairs, the idea of you and Jungwon being at least a little more familiar with each other made your cheeks flush.

The road stretched on, the rising sun inviting rays of luminescence to pour through the window. After a couple of hours filled with Jungwon’s calm music, the other officers in the back awoke and were chattering, joking about how drunk they would get. You would sometimes chime in with something, only earning coos from them with how endearing you were. Every time, you would react the same. A shy smile and a quick refocusing on the scenery outside.

Jungwon glanced at you every time you spoke. There was nothing new in his eyes. After all, he was the same as always. Just giving you an acknowledgment that you were there. You hated how your stomach tightened. You always looked back at the windows, pretending you weren’t affected at all.

When the beach house came into view, your eyes widened as you unintentionally let out a, “Wow!” The tall beach house seemed like a mansion to you. “How did I manage to fit this into our budget?” You squealed, looking at the backseat to joke with the Fundraising chair. Jongseong laughed and cooed at your innocent reaction.

“You’re a miracle worker, what can I say? All I did was approve of the budget, silly.” He gently poked your forehead. You pouted at the firm touch and turned back around, watching Jungwon park with his tongue poking his cheek, causing the skin to protrude in a way that made you unconsciously bite your lip.

You all stepped out of the car, stretching your tense bodies after the long car ride. You were about to help take up suitcases when Jungwon stopped you with a mere raise of his palm. “Don’t take them. Let the others take it. Take this up instead.” He gave you the lighter loads to take up. You did as told, as always.

Everyone settled down easily. The entire beach house was buzzing with excitement as everyone unpacked. You smiled, a quiet expression of your sentiment for everyone else’s enthusiasm. People moved back and forth between rooms as they chattered. As the hours passed and the sun set, the exhilaration died down into a calmer atmosphere. At dinner time, everyone ate together with nonstop conversation being tossed around from person to person. However, after the filling group meal, the energy that had carried the group throughout the day died down and fizzled into exhaustion. Everyone retreated into their rooms slowly into the night, leaving you in the common room by yourself.

With nobody around to distract you, you began checking the inventory tomorrow, as well as double-checking the itinerary. Your laptop was open at a dull brightness as you sorted through the heavy boxes that Jungwon didn’t allow you to touch earlier. The house smelled faintly of salt and sand, the sound of waves a steady and crashing thunder through the open windows.

“You’re not going to bed?”

You screamed and jumped as Jungwon spoke up suddenly. You covered your mouth for a second before smiling sheepishly. “Oh, sorry…” You apologized as fast as you could. “You scared me…” You almost began to sulk, your voice in a near-whine. He stood at the arch leading into the hallway, his sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms as he kept his keen eyes on your hunched figure. The dim overhead light cast him in soft shadows, but his posture remained the same as ever, keeping his usual authoritative aura afloat.

“Did you finish checking the inventory?” he asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the archway.

“Yes,” you answered immediately. “Everything’s accounted for…”

Silence settled in the common room as he kept staring at you. He didn’t make any moves to speak or seem like he acknowledged your response. After a pause, he then said, “Good.”

The single word settled over you more heavily than it should have.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to start early. Everyone should be up by 7 am latest. I’ll brief everyone again before we head out on our plans for tomorrow. I’ll handle the transportation schedule while you got the attendance and supplies.”

“Yes.”

His keen eyes softened around the edges just for a second. They didn’t hold the usual strictness he maintained in his stern gaze, but you knew he was assessing you as he usually did. You knew it all too well. He was confirming what he already knew. That you would listen to him, per usual. Jungwon let the silence hang over both of you guys, looming over you in a way that made you almost shiver.

“Get some rest,” he said, finally making a move and standing up straight.

“Yes,” you said softly, then patiently waited for him to retreat. You watched as he turned around, showing off his broad-shouldered figure to your seeking eyes.

He took three steps before his voice broke the tense silence lingering in the air. “And also…” He paused, just long enough to make your shoulders tense. “…Make sure you set your alarm. I don’t want you to be frantic in the morning.” Your heart skipped at his reminder. It wasn’t like him to show this type of consideration towards you.

“I will,” you said quickly, realizing that you didn’t respond as fast as you usually did. “I won’t oversleep, promise…” He nodded at your words, seemingly satisfied by your response despite it not falling out of your usual words.

You waited for him to walk away with your pulse just a little too loud in your ears, keenly aware of how easily he guided you into your dynamic and how easily you’d seemed to accept it. You walked through your room, where the Public Relations Chair, Aeri, was already asleep. You shut the door quietly, leaned back against it, and let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“It wasn’t anything…” You whispered to yourself, as if trying to reassure your racing brain. However, you couldn’t deny that Jungwon seemed a little more in-reach than usual. Something akin to anxiety filled your heart, and as you drifted off to sleep, you realized that it was the anticipation of his leading tomorrow.

𓇼 𓂃 𓈒𓏸

The next morning was filled with exaggerated yawns and complaints about the early morning time. The sun wasn’t even out yet when you had everyone up and ready for Jungwon’s debriefing. Aeri clung onto your side, resting her head on your shoulder as you all sat down on the couches and floor. Heeseung, the Webmaster chair, was leaning back, tilting his head so that he could lie on your knees. Jungwon was the only one who stood, his upright posture giving way to his usual domineering demeanor. His sharp eyes landed on you, making your body act instinctively to sit up a bit straighter.

“We’re going to split into two teams today. We have a dune restoration team and an invasive species removal team. I’ll be in charge of the invasive species removal team while my co-chair will be looking after the dune restoration team…” Jungwon began. He continued to explain the duties of both teams, keeping his eyes locked on you. It caused you to flush, despite you not wanting your body to react to his heavy gaze.

After Jungwon’s thorough debriefing, you all headed to the beach. Everyone was gushing over how close the walk was, only a mere seven minutes away from your guys’s Airbnb. While Jungwon took the lead and navigated everyone towards the destination, you stayed in the back to ensure that nobody trailed behind. You counted everyone’s head, making sure once more that you didn’t forget anyone. Your posture was slouching way more than usual, courtesy of the heavy bag you were carrying filled with water bottles and prepackaged snacks for everyone.

“Need help?”

You looked up to meet the eyes of Leehan, a general body member who you recognized from how often he attended events that you planned. You offered him a kind smile. “It’s okay, I got it! Go walk with the rest of your friends!” You urged him.

“It’s okay, I can help carry your bag. It’s almost the size of you.” He joked. You pouted and shook your head, waving your hands. Just as he opened his mouth, presumably to whine and take your bag, Jungwon appeared. He effortlessly grabbed the bag from your grip and looked at you with an unfamiliar yet charged gaze. The weight disappeared so suddenly that you stumbled forward half a step, fingers curling around empty air. Jungwon adjusted the strap over his shoulder with ease, emphasizing his broad figure.

“You were going to carry this all the way there,” Jungwon said, as if he already knew what you were going to do. As if he were already keeping an eye on you and your moves. “Don’t,” He calmly said, “It’s even weighing down on my shoulder.” He added, which was atypical of his usual mannerisms of talking.

“It– it’s okay, Jungwon… I can handle it–”

“No, you can’t,” he cut you off. His words were firm, deciding for you. “You’re not going to be carrying this heavy bag that looks like it’s about to cut off your hand circulation.” Jungwon briefly gave a look to your hand, which had red imprints from the bag weighing down your body. He then looked at Leehan.

“Oh, uh… I was just trying to help…” He sheepishly spoke up. Jungwon offered him a small smile, a friendly one which was unfamiliar to you.

“I know, Leehan, it’s all good. You can walk with the others.” At Jungwon’s instruction, Leehan nodded and scuffled over to walk alongside his best friend, Taesan.

The sandy smell of the coast hit your senses even before you could see the shore. Everyone was cheering as the breeze carried some sediment and jostled into the locks of their hair. You giggled, endeared by how excited everyone else was. Jungwon leaned forward to glance at your expression.

When everyone got on the beach, a local man was waiting for the group, standing next to a weathered signpost. Jungwon approached the man first, as the two had been consulting with each other for months before the beach trip. After exchanging hushed formalities, the local redirected his attention back to the entirety of the group.

“Hey, everyone! Firstly, thank you for being here and helping us. Even though this area is a popular tourist destination, to be honest, our beaches have been struggling a lot…” He went on to explain the current state of the beach, how the constant foot traffic sped up the erosion process of the dunes, and how tourists unintentionally carried and introduced invasive species to the foreshore. After the local’s story and receiving yet another debriefing from Jungwon, everyone got to work.

You supervised the team assigned to dune stabilization. Everyone went back and forth with carrying bundles of native dune grasses in their arms. Some began digging to prepare for the placement of the grasses, while others firmly planted the stems into the hot sand. You eagerly explained to whoever would listen that this would help the slopes slow water runoff and prevent further erosion. Your direction was soft and gentle, holding no semblance of assertiveness. Your feet dug into the sand as you scrambled around to give everyone water and snacks.

Meanwhile, Jungwon stayed with the team that worked farther inland, identifying and removing invasive plants. Jungwon displayed his concentrated plant knowledge as he lectured his team, explaining to them about the thick-rooted plant species that stole nutrients and space from native growth. He kept a cooler open to invite people to take water and snacks, but didn’t make an effort like you did to attend to the team.

When the sun set and began to paint the horizon line in golden and purple hues, it was finally time for you guys to finish up. Sand clung to sweaty bodies, and hair stuck damply to necks. Conversation slowed into lazy fragments as the group trudged back toward the beach house, panting heavily. You stayed behind to chat with the local to ensure everything was proper before the entire group left. You didn’t notice until he was walking behind you, but Jungwon also lingered with you.

You two walked back to the beachouse together, silence settling in between you two as your feet tiredly dragged across the pavement. Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder, making you squeal in surprise. Jungwon kept his grip firm on your shoulder, staring at you. “Your skin is red,” he stated, staring as salt dried on your reddening skin. “Did you forget sunscreen while waiting on everyone else?” He asked calmly.

You bit your lip and shrugged, trying to diffuse the tense situation that began to coil an unknown heat in your stomach. Jungwon let out a sigh, not one that sounded annoyed but more disappointed. Your heart lurched in anxiety at the small sound. He pulled out something from his bag, revealing a bottle of aloe vera. He slowly uncapped the bottle, squeezing the gel onto his palms. He didn’t bother warming it up as he lifted up his hands. He paused for a brief moment, and you realized that he was waiting for you to deny him. Once he realized you weren’t going to stop him, he steadily placed his cool palms on your shoulders. You let out a whimper at the temperature shock, jutting your chest out slightly to instinctively run from the insanely cold gel. You heard him breathe out of his nose slightly as he gently but firmly ran his palms down to your back.

“Good,” he said. wiping off the rest of the gel onto his exposed arms. When you guys got back to the beach house, everyone was lounging about and doing their own thing. Some were eating dinner while others were snacking on whatever they could get their hands on. You didn’t notice the teasing glances that everyone else exchanged when you and Jungwon came back together, and with no one else.

Jungwon dropped the aloe back into his bag, nodded once at Jongseong, and disappeared upstairs without a word. His absence gave way for your thoughts to spiral, replaying the way his hands had pressed into your skin. His movements were decisive as always. He didn’t hesitate with his touch, pressing his palms against your body, acting like he was getting familiar with your skin against his. Your chest felt even tighter as you recalled the moment.

You excused yourself early, grabbing yourself a microwaveable meal before heading to your room.

The hallway upstairs was dim, lit only by a small lamp near the staircase. The wood beneath your feet creaked softly as you walked, every sound amplified in the quiet. You stopped outside your room, hand hovering over the doorknob.

“…You’re going to bed early.”

Jungwon stood a few steps down the hall, leaning against the wall the same way he always did. His arms were crossed as he stared you down, his expression unreadable.

“I’m a little tired…” You mumbled, your voice came out smaller than you intended.

He nodded, as if he’d expected that answer. Silence followed, stretching thin between you. His eyes moved over you, not in the sharp, assessing way you were used to. No, his eyes raked across you slower, as if he was taking his time in memorizing your physical.

“You did well today,” he said.

You blinked. “Oh… um. Thank you…” You replied softly, not used to him praising you verbally.

“You didn’t have to stay back with the local,” Jungwon continued. “But you did. Thank you. It meant a lot to him, he told me.”

You swallowed. “I was just doing what I was supposed to...”

He raised his eyebrows at your response, poking at the side of his cheek with his tongue. The silence loomed over you again, and you felt like laughing at how often you both were in this situation.

“…Why?” slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. Confidence surged through your body suddenly. Maybe it was the way that Jungwon was taking care of you for the past two days, or maybe it was the unfamiliar environment that made you feel more self-assured in speaking up to him. Maybe it was the way that Jungwon kept looking at you, but never made a move to speak to you. 

His brows lifted a fraction. “Why what?” He asked, trying to make it obvious that he wasn’t expecting you to say anything more.

“Why do you always—” You faltered, heat crawling up your neck. “Why do you always decide things for me…?”

The question hung between you guys, dangling as if it were a fragile chandelier threatening to fall between you both. For the first time you’ve ever spoken to him, Jungwon hesitated. However, it didn’t take long for him to respond back.

“You always let me. Why are you questioning it now?” His voice was low as his smirk widened. He took a heavy step closer to you, then another, and then another until he was within your reach. Your chest tightened as your breath stuttered in your throat.

“I’m– I’m sorry…” You apologized instinctively. Jungwon then tilted his head, letting air escape his mouth as he laughed at you. It felt condescending, but your offense didn’t prevent the ignition of heat deep in your chest.

“You always listen so well..." Jungwon murmured. "Always makes it so easy f'me."

Your knees nearly buckled as he retreated back into his room.

𓇼 𓂃 𓈒𓏸

The next day, everyone was buzzing with excitement. After doing some more hard work under the blazing sun, the entire group was just waiting for the sun to set to bust out all of the alcohol they had bought before the trip. While you were making yourself a small dinner, everyone was getting dressed in their hottest attire and filling their Red Solo Cups with Soju and mixers. Jungwon was sitting at the dining table in a simple pair of grey sweats and a white compression shirt, his hair damp from his shower, with thick-rimmed glasses settling on his nose. He was drinking a shot of Soju mixed with Yakult from a cup, watching carefully to ensure nobody got a little too drunk. You sat next to him and ate your dinner happily.

“Why aren’t you comingggg?” Aeri complained, grabbing your attention as she loudly whined. She handed you her cup, which you placed a palm up to refuse. When Aeri thrust the cup towards you again, Jungwon took it instead and gave it back to her. “Jungwon, you’re not coming too, right? Jay told me…” She slurred, Asian flush already settling in to meld with the blush on her cheeks.

“No. Someone needs to remain sober here to make sure you all get back home safe.” Jungwon smiled. Aeri pouted, but continued to drink with everyone. Jungwon’s hand settled on your chair, resting comfortably to remind you of his presence. After you finished your dinner, you stood up wash the dishes, trying to ignore how hyper-aware you were of Jungwon. At 10 pm, you and Jungwon made sure everyone got into their Ubers safely, leaving the two of you alone in the house. As soon as he closed the door, he looked at you sternly.

“Stop biting your nails.”

You quickly retracted your fingers from your mouth and looked at him sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m just nervous…” You smiled. “I’m worried for everyone to come back safe and sound…”

“I’m here too. You don’t have to worry by yourself.” Jungwon leaned in closer to you. You tilted your head back, nervous at the sudden proximity. His gaze pinned you in place, his eyes steady and unwavering as they locked onto your face. They then trailed, shifting around to examine your body.

“Jungwon…?” You unintentionally let a whimper slip out from between your lips as his heated gaze travelled to observe you. He stepped closer to you, and you instinctively took your steps back until your back was pressed against the door of the beach house. He was close enough for you to smell the Soju lingering on his breath.

“You always worry so much by yourself. What am I here for then? Hm?” He murmured, his voice low and quiet. “I always take care of you, don’t I?” He whispered. You bit your lip as you nodded silently, not trusting yourself not to make an embarrassing noise if you opened your mouth. “Tell me.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at the simple command, but you could feel the weight of his words in your stomach. Embarrassment crossed your expression as you looked down. Jungwon looked at you with a stern expression on his face, raising his eyebrows at your sudden disregard for his instruction. “Now.”

His voice still remained the usual monotone and calm diction he always had, so you could tell he wasn’t angry when he demanded this of you. You realized that he was giving you a command like he was recalibrating something. “Y– you always take care of me…” You whispered. His expression formed a satisfied and content look as a smug smirk appeared on his lips.

“Good.” He began patting your head. Your posture shrank at the affection.

“J– Jungwon, are you drunk…?” You asked. He laughed, sounding almost offended by your question.

“Do you think a shot of Soju is enough to get me drunk?” He purred. You shook your head.

“N– No…” You meekly responded as he smoothed out your hair to cup your cheeks with a gentle yet firm hold.

“Then why are you asking stupid questions? Hm?”

“I’m sorry…”

He let out a guttural groan as you apologized again. Jungwon felt like he was about to lose his fucking mind. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl… You always listen to me so well, do you know that?” His composed demeanor unraveled completely. Your simple apology disarmed all of his inhibitions as he began to ramble. “It’s so fucking hard working with you sometimes… You’re always so polite, so eager to listen to me… You’re so sweet, do you know that? Hm?”

You didn’t know what else to say but slip out another apology. Jungwon’s body shuddered, as if his nerves reacted to your words, your presence, your mannerisms, your everything. He felt your cheeks heat up through his palms. Feeling your body respond to him made him tremble with exhilaration.

“Do you know how badly I want you? Hm?”

“N– no…” You shook your head shyly, your body quivering like a leaf jostling in a harsh breeze.

“Should I show you then? Hm?” He cooed. You meekly nodded, letting out a quiet whimper. “Words, baby, I need words…”

“Y– Yes, please… Jungwon…”

You never imagined that you would be in this situation. The situation being Jungwon gripping your chin and pulling you in to clash your lips into a clumsy and bruising kiss. He took charge, as always, leading your mouths to fall into a synced rhythm. His left hand darted to grip your hip, pulling your lower body into his. You let out a whine as your hips made contact with each other, and Jungwon couldn’t help but let out a moan into your mouth. He pulled away, leaving your eyes locked on the saliva bridge that felt apart once your lips disconnected.

“C’mon, bedroom…” He muttered, dragging you to his room. You followed him, stumbling over yourself as he led you to his room. Jungwon half-heartedly shut the door as he cupped your face again, kissing you deeply. You tried to follow his desperate movements, holding onto his broad shoulders as he tilted your head up.

“So pretty… so good f’me…” he groaned, pulling away once more. “Let me see you, baby? Please?” He cooed.

“Okay, Jungwon…” you responded, pulling your oversized Gardening Club shirt over your head to reveal your bare chest. He let out a moan as you presented your soft skin to him.

“Can I touch?” He asked softly. You nodded eagerly. He didn’t wait. His hand immediately shot up to grope your breast, feeling the soft fat mold into his fingers. He gripped your chin again, kissing you once more. It was like he was addicted to your lips; he couldn’t get enough of your soft mouth against his. How they melded against his, and how it chased his lips so needily. You let out soft whimpers into his mouth as he gently massaged your chest, as if trying to memorize the shape of your body to his.

The sounds of the waves crashing against the shoreline were tuned out by how fast your heart was pounding in your ears. You gripped his wrist instinctively as he gently pinched your nipple with his fingertips. “Does it hurt, baby?” He murmured against your lips. You pulled away, panting to catch your breath. Instead of answering his question, you gifted him a soft mewl and a headshake. He frowned, his voice dipping with his disappointed diction. “You know I like it best when you use your words.”

“No– no, doesn’t hurt, Jungwon.” You gasped. He smiled, pleased with your response. He gently held your face in his palm, his thumb gently caressing the plane of your cheek.

“Good. Good girl,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “Gonna touch you down here, mkay? Do you want it?”

“Mhm, yes, please, want it real bad, Jungwon!” You whined, high in your throat. His hand made its way into your shorts, his two fingers pressing up against your soaked panties. He cursed under his breath as he slid your panties to the side, gently rubbing to feel how wet you were.

“Oh, baby, you’re so wet. Were you like this ever since we became co-chairs? Hm? Did your cute panties get soaked every time I told you what to do?” He crooned in your ear, his voice soft like he wasn’t speaking the filthiest words into it.

“Yes, Jungwon…” You confessed shyly. He smiled.

“Cute…” he mumbled. “Wanna know something too, angel girl? I got even harder knowing that you would listen when I told you what to do…” A moan escaped your lips at his honest words.

“Jungwon…” You whined. “Please– please touch me more,” you pleaded. He hushed you, soothing you to placate your desperate sounds. He pulled down your shorts and panties, gently settling you on the bed with your back pressing down against the cotton sheets.

“So pretty, baby,” he complimented you. “Spread your legs.”

You obeyed immediately, his words making your nerves shake and move instinctively to the sound of his voice. He gently traced your opening with his index fingertip, watching your legs tremble and your hips quiver at his tender touch. “Sooo beautiful, you’re so beautiful.” He murmured, more to himself than to you. He pressed his finger inside, revelling in the way you whined his name. He pumped his finger inside, holding your hips down to prevent them from bucking up. “Your body’s so sensitive. Is it usually like this, baby, or is your body eager f’me?” He laughed softly.

“Jungwon…” you drawled out his name in a whine. He shushed you once more.

“It’s okay, baby, I got you, you know I always got you…” He cursed as he felt your muscles tightly grip around his finger. He gently prodded with a second finger, watching your expression carefully. “God, so pretty…” Jungwon bit his lip. He scissored his fingers, wanting to prepare you for his cock.

“Jungwon, feels s’good…” You gasped. He groaned, every sound causing his body to pulse with desire for you. He couldn’t help but press his fingers even deeper inside of you, wanting to hear how loud you could get. Your moans and mews heightened in volume as your body writhed around, driven by the pleasure Jungwon was gifting you. It got to the point where even his firm and strong hand holding your body steady wasn’t enough to prevent your movements.

“Jungwon, m’cumming, m’cumming…” You wailed. He rubbed your clit with his thumb to bring your body to its peak. He watched in awe as your hips convulsed, groaning as your hole tightened around his fingers and clamped down as if trying to lock them inside of you. He pulled out his fingers slowly, mesmerized by the juices you left on them. He continued to rub your clit to slowly bring your body down from its high.

He smiled and gently caressed your torso, skimming his fingertips over the skin. “Good… you’re so good f’me. Good girl.. You did so well.” He praised. You let out a few whimpers from the aftershock, small pants leaving your chest as you calmed down. After your hazy eyes cleared up, your stare fell onto Jungwon. He had a soft smile on his lips as he kept his keen gaze on you. “Still want more?” He asked. “We can stop if you want…”

“No, no, please don’t stop, Jungwon…” You begged, gripping his strong forearm. He let out a chuckle at your greedy begging. You watched with wide eyes and an agape mouth as he pulled down his sweats and briefs in one go, revealing his cock to you. The tip was red, with precum beading at the tip and dribbling down his hard shaft. You darted out your lips to lick them. “Jungwon…” You whined. He took his fingers covered with your wetness and stroked himself, eyeing your pussy with a reverent hunger in his eyes.

“Fuck, baby…” He breathed out. He dug into the nightstand to pull out a condom and a bottle of lube. He rolled the latex over his length before drizzling the substance over it to help you. He hooked his arm under your thigh, pulling you to the edge of the bed. He kept his grip tight on your leg as he gently thrusted against your pussy, not entering you quite yet. “Feel me, baby?” He softly asked. You nodded with a whimper caught in your throat, your hips thrusting upwards to chase the feeling of his heavy cock against your most sensitive body part. “Ready?”

“Yes, ready, ‘m ready, Wonnie…”

The nickname made him groan out loud. He gently guided his tip to your entrance, pressing into your body. “Jungwon… Jungwon…” You whined as he began stretching out your hole.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby, ‘m here. Just hold me, I got you…” He whispered, entering you slowly. You let out pants, as if you were a dog begging for a bone. Once he bottomed out, his hips pressed up right against yours, causing you to squirm around. “Stop squirming, baby, stay still ‘n let your body adjust…”

“‘Kay, Wonnie, sorry…” You murmured, your eyes blinking rapidly as they nearly rolled to the back of your head. He hummed, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks down to your jaw and neck.

“Good, so good…” He hissed as you clenched around his cock. He began driving his hips into you in slow and controlled movements, letting out soft moans as you gripped his broad back. Your fingernails dragged down his skin as he began speeding up his movements, rutting into you desperately. “Y– you feel so good, baby…” he whined, burying his face into your neck. His fingers tightened their hold on your hip while his other hand planted itself in the sheets, bracing his body on the bed. You whimpered as your legs encircled his lower back, bringing him closer.

“Won– Jungwon…!” You gasped. You squealed as his tip battered deep into your tummy, jostling your nerves as he let you indulge in the feeling of his cock filling you up. He let out soft groans as he observed how your body responded to his motions. “Jungwon, please hold my hand…” You whimpered, outstretching your palm. He intertwined your fingers together and pressed a sweet and heavy kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“I got you…” He cooed. You felt your body tense up as you came, clamping your muscles around Jungwon’s girth. A guttural groan escaped his throat as he felt you climax around him. He filled the condom with his semen as his own peak hit, his hips twitching to instinctively burrow inside of you. Jungwon stilled for a moment before pulling out, removing the condom and tying it tight before tossing it into the wastebasket. He collapsed next to you, bringing your shivering body into his.

“Jungwon…?”

“Hm?”

“I think you know my body better now than you know my own person.” You giggled. He brushed your sweaty hair away from your face, pressing a soft kiss to your nose.

“What do you mean, baby? That’s not true,” he softly murmured. “I know your major and what you want to minor in, even though you’re embarrassed to declare without knowing if you really want it… I know what your favorite flowers are, even if you’re also embarrassed by them ‘cause they’re so popular. I know your favorite snacks and the snacks that you hate, even when you accept them from other people to not seem rude…” He rambled on. You flushed and buried your face into his chest. There was a long pause before he chuckled and spoke up again, leaning in to whisper into your ear.

“And most importantly, I know that you love to listen to me, baby.”