★☆

“what happened baby? fuck on me, rutt on my fingers, baby, i know she’s going mad..”

of course she’s definitely going mad, pussy spasming around his lithe digits and sucking them in until the last knuckle, trickling her juices down the back of his veiny hands, dropping down onto the ground below from collecting on the gold band around his wrist.

“mmphh, fuck- fuck-“ your words are garbled together, drool bubbling in the corner of your twitching lips. you’re a mess and he’s fucking grinning at the close sight in front of him. all you can see is him with his hair falling over his shoulders and curtaining your surroundings, long locks draped over your face, wispy ends tickling your cheeks and sticking onto your temples. his fanged smile sinking into his bottom lip. goodness, you’re surprised you can see all of that with your blurring vision, hard not to when he’s forcing you to stare at him.

beomgyu loves to watch you come undone, needs to see you fall apart.

“fuck? hmmm, i thought you wanted to fuck on this desk, right? isn’t that want you wanted?” he tilts his head and you want to die, just fall apart and let yourself fall back onto the desk comfortably, give your shaking arms a rest from holding yourself up.

you nod once and he hums almost immediately, catching your faltering gaze. “ohhh, i know baby, i know my fingers feel good, i got you. trust me, just give me one more.” how many more? it’s like he just wants to prove he can make you cum with his mouth, his fingers and then his co-

“can youuuuu…?” the last word ends off with a pathetic whine that doesn’t even sound like you, you would even be clowning yourself with second hand embarrassment if it wasn’t for the sudden flick of his wrist and the curl of his ring and middle finger. going deeper, and deeper, you didn’t finish what you wanted to say but he still gave it to you.

it squelches, suctioning and bubbling from how soaked you already were and he’s just grinning. fuuuuuck, him, goodness he’s too fine and he has too much power in his hands.

“what, did i do it right?” he nods, sharp eyebrows raising as he glances around your messy face, looking for your approval when he already knows he got it from the moment his fingertips prodded against that one spot.

shit, he’s so fucking hard between your legs that wrap tighter around his waist and he should look at the mess he made in front of his sweats but he’s admiring your strength, how well you try keeping your fluttering eyes open and listen to his request.

until you don’t. and he’s more frozen, enthralled by the way you suddenly move your head, tucking your chin towards your neck to gaze up at him through your lashes in this mean, darkened expression. glaring; almost challenging him as he fucks his fingers harder, eyelashes fluttering but still keeping your eyes on him.

gyu grins so hard, chuckles at the sound of your whimpers becoming throaty and at your deviance and instead of feeding into it, he relishes with giggles.

“don’t be mad, pretty,” and presses his lips onto your forehead in front of him with a soft peck. this time you couldn’t hold out any longer, eyes rolling back when he twists his wrist again and ducks his head low once again— meeting your eye level and staring face to face. invading your space.

he’s insufferable, but the pleasure is building and the pressure is getting worse and it’s starting to really stretch in your trembling belly-

“can you please?” you’re desperate and he hears you clearly.

“i am, that’s what i’m doing, just want you to let it go,” so causal, so like his entire arm wasn’t shaking in front of him from the force his fingers fuck into your sopping cunt.

“no, b.. but just gimme your—“

“but i am,” he chuckles again and even louder when you suddenly shuffle onto your elbows instead from your arms finally giving out. a whole clutter of something gets knocks off the desk, clatters and thuds against the ground but who the fuck cares.

“that’s not… what i m-meant, you know that.”

“mmm- but i don’t know anything-“

“fuck your fingers- on everything in this earth, i swear if you aren’t in me in the next five minut-“

“is this not enough? am i not enough for you?” his fuck ass pout, and you’re not having it,

“shuuuut the .. fuck up, mygoodness- you know what i meant so just put it in and quit being a bitch about it- aahhh-“ beomgyu doesn’t let you rant any longer until a squeal rips from your throat before your trembling lips snap shut, tightly together at how his fingertips sudden prod deeper. deliciously.

“yeah, cause you’re such a sick lil thing that loves cumming on my cock when i slide it in, huh.” and you couldn’t even see the manic look you know paints his face because your eyelids are squeezing shut at the pending release. please, you’re praying he doesn’t comment on it cause your face is burning from the sudden exposure.

“mhm, i’ll give it to you baby, just give me this one right now, that’s all i ask.”

you’re so close, it’s right there and he’s fucking you in the same, deliciously continuous pace. ugh, you’re getting there, it’s great and he’s just encouraging you, as if he’s pulling all remnants of your arousal from your body all into his hand, sucking it out of your wiggling figure as he tells you to give it all to him. cmon, cmon baby, that’s it, baby, pretty please?

your toes are curling again the small of his back from his sweet tone, heel digging into his hip, your hands are squeezing tightly into fists next to your torso as his voice lulls you into that beautiful release—

and now he gives you space because he wants to see your entire visceral reaction once he feels that one last clench around his fingers.

and fuck, does it last.

he’s humming, groaning behind all of your sweet noises that bounce off his bedroom walls at the tightness and the way your head lolls back over your shoulders, hanging restlessly to reveal your marked neck. how your legs hike up higher and towards your body, knees almost knocking together and thighs closing around his wrist from the intensity. he doesn’t mind it, doesn’t mind the way your elbows slide outward and your back lays flat over the desk from how well you come undone. his deep voice murmurs beautifully,

“ohhh, that’s it baby, you’re so beautiful, so pretty..”

that tank top is stretching around your arched frame, and he’s licking his plush lips at the sight of your piercings, poking through the fabric along with your hardened nipples.

and for a moment, he lets you catch your breath while he whispers more sweet words, reminding you how great you are and how juicy you look in his eyes. that he wants to devour you, remind you that you’re his goddess and oh so sweet, giving him what he wanted and painting his sweats a darker gray with your sacred water.

“holy … fuck,” your meek voice huffs out in a weak whimper afterwards, hand raising up to press against your heated face.

“holy fuck, huh?” gyu parrots, slowly sliding inch by inch of his fingers out from your cunt. “for someone who didn’t want my fingers at first, you sure don’t wanna let go of them.” he states, as if it’s a matter of fact.

your blush deepens as you close your legs, sheepishly covering yourself and looking away from his gaze, ignoring how his giggle awakens more butterflies in your stomach.

“hush.”

and as much as you tempt him with your pitiful sobs, as much as he wants to feel the full rawness of your soaking pussy — wet, sloppy, probably aching and clenching with desperation— he respects your wishes on always using protection.

unless you tell him otherwise.

no need to tell him twice.

“gyu, i—” you don’t know what to even say because you’re already fighting with your inner demons, the rational side beating down that ancient feeling that runs through your veins everytime you get to this point of sex. but it all goes away when he presses a hand over your lower back as warning for his cock nudging into you, splitting you open not even a second later. then he sinks in, inch by inch, to make you feel it.

the slight friction, the thin rubber.

“mmphh, fuuuck youuu,” you don’t know if the strained whine was from ecstasy of finally getting what you wanted, from shame for thinking he would actually follow your desperate shameless plea, from sadness that he didn’t, or from anger that you fell for his trick, that he made you believe he didn’t have any condoms on him.

you should’ve known. beomgyu loves to play games, but is still serious underneath the tease.

and then somewhere in between his muffled moans, he giggles at your frustrated bliss, and all those emotions dissipate with each vibrating timber of his absolute glee because you hear the affection laced in his deep voice. your body willingly melts further into the mattress when he leans down to press his plumped lips against the reddened tip of your ear. “what was that, brat? you’re still getting what you wanted, right? i thought this is.. what you wanted, right?”

beomgyu uses his hips to emphasize, snapping them harder.

and even with the condom, you can still feel his thickness nudge perfectly against your clenched walls, his globular head prodding deeper until his pelvis is pressed flushed against the plumped fat of your squished ass cheeks.

oh fuck yeah, you still feel him. even in your throat, choked up from how full you finally feel. it’s fine, of course it’s more than fine when you’re getting the dick you wanted all day.

“what happened baby? fuck on me, rutt on my fingers, baby, i know she’s going mad..”

of course she’s definitely going mad, pussy spasming around his lithe digits and sucking them in until the last knuckle, trickling her juices down the back of his veiny hands, dropping down onto the ground below from collecting on the gold band around his wrist.

“mmphh, fuck- fuck-“ your words are garbled together, drool bubbling in the corner of your twitching lips. you’re a mess and he’s fucking grinning at the close sight in front of him. all you can see is him with his hair falling over his shoulders and curtaining your surroundings, long locks draped over your face, wispy ends tickling your cheeks and sticking onto your temples. his fanged smile sinking into his bottom lip. goodness, you’re surprised you can see all of that with your blurring vision, hard not to when he’s forcing you to stare at him.

beomgyu loves to watch you come undone, needs to see you fall apart.

“fuck? hmmm, i thought you wanted to fuck on this desk, right? isn’t that want you wanted?” he tilts his head and you want to die, just fall apart and let yourself fall back onto the desk comfortably, give your shaking arms a rest from holding yourself up.

you nod once and he hums almost immediately, catching your faltering gaze. “ohhh, i know baby, i know my fingers feel good, i got you. trust me, just give me one more.” how many more? it’s like he just wants to prove he can make you cum with his mouth, his fingers and then his co-

“can youuuuu…?” the last word ends off with a pathetic whine that doesn’t even sound like you, you would even be clowning yourself with second hand embarrassment if it wasn’t for the sudden flick of his wrist and the curl of his ring and middle finger. going deeper, and deeper, you didn’t finish what you wanted to say but he still gave it to you.

it squelches, suctioning and bubbling from how soaked you already were and he’s just grinning. fuuuuuck, him, goodness he’s too fine and he has too much power in his hands.

“what, did i do it right?” he nods, sharp eyebrows raising as he glances around your messy face, looking for your approval when he already knows he got it from the moment his fingertips prodded against that one spot.

shit, he’s so fucking hard between your legs that wrap tighter around his waist and he should look at the mess he made in front of his sweats but he’s admiring your strength, how well you try keeping your fluttering eyes open and listen to his request.

until you don’t. and he’s more frozen, enthralled by the way you suddenly move your head, tucking your chin towards your neck to gaze up at him through your lashes in this mean, darkened expression. glaring; almost challenging him as he fucks his fingers harder, eyelashes fluttering but still keeping your eyes on him.

gyu grins so hard, chuckles at the sound of your whimpers becoming throaty and at your deviance and instead of feeding into it, he relishes with giggles.

“don’t be mad, pretty,” and presses his lips onto your forehead in front of him with a soft peck. this time you couldn’t hold out any longer, eyes rolling back when he twists his wrist again and ducks his head low once again— meeting your eye level and staring face to face. invading your space.

he’s insufferable, but the pleasure is building and the pressure is getting worse and it’s starting to really stretch in your trembling belly-

“can you please?” you’re desperate and he hears you clearly.

“i am, that’s what i’m doing, just want you to let it go,” so causal, so like his entire arm wasn’t shaking in front of him from the force his fingers fuck into your sopping cunt.

“no, b.. but just gimme your—“

“but i am,” he chuckles again and even louder when you suddenly shuffle onto your elbows instead from your arms finally giving out. a whole clutter of something gets knocks off the desk, clatters and thuds against the ground but who the fuck cares.

“that’s not… what i m-meant, you know that.”

“mmm- but i don’t know anything-“

“fuck your fingers- on everything in this earth, i swear if you aren’t in me in the next five minut-“

“is this not enough? am i not enough for you?” his fuck ass pout, and you’re not having it,

“shuuuut the .. fuck up, mygoodness- you know what i meant so just put it in and quit being a bitch about it- aahhh-“ beomgyu doesn’t let you rant any longer until a squeal rips from your throat before your trembling lips snap shut, tightly together at how his fingertips sudden prod deeper. deliciously.

“yeah, cause you’re such a sick lil thing that loves cumming on my cock when i slide it in, huh.” and you couldn’t even see the manic look you know paints his face because your eyelids are squeezing shut at the pending release. please, you’re praying he doesn’t comment on it cause your face is burning from the sudden exposure.

“mhm, i’ll give it to you baby, just give me this one right now, that’s all i ask.”

you’re so close, it’s right there and he’s fucking you in the same, deliciously continuous pace. ugh, you’re getting there, it’s great and he’s just encouraging you, as if he’s pulling all remnants of your arousal from your body all into his hand, sucking it out of your wiggling figure as he tells you to give it all to him. cmon, cmon baby, that’s it, baby, pretty please?

your toes are curling again the small of his back from his sweet tone, heel digging into his hip, your hands are squeezing tightly into fists next to your torso as his voice lulls you into that beautiful release—

and now he gives you space because he wants to see your entire visceral reaction once he feels that one last clench around his fingers.

and fuck, does it last.

he’s humming, groaning behind all of your sweet noises that bounce off his bedroom walls at the tightness and the way your head lolls back over your shoulders, hanging restlessly to reveal your marked neck. how your legs hike up higher and towards your body, knees almost knocking together and thighs closing around his wrist from the intensity. he doesn’t mind it, doesn’t mind the way your elbows slide outward and your back lays flat over the desk from how well you come undone. his deep voice murmurs beautifully,

“ohhh, that’s it baby, you’re so beautiful, so pretty..”

that tank top is stretching around your arched frame, and he’s licking his plush lips at the sight of your piercings, poking through the fabric along with your hardened nipples.

and for a moment, he lets you catch your breath while he whispers more sweet words, reminding you how great you are and how juicy you look in his eyes. that he wants to devour you, remind you that you’re his goddess and oh so sweet, giving him what he wanted and painting his sweats a darker gray with your sacred water.

“holy … fuck,” your meek voice huffs out in a weak whimper afterwards, hand raising up to press against your heated face.

“holy fuck, huh?” gyu parrots, slowly sliding inch by inch of his fingers out from your cunt. “for someone who didn’t want my fingers at first, you sure don’t wanna let go of them.” he states, as if it’s a matter of fact.

your blush deepens as you close your legs, sheepishly covering yourself and looking away from his gaze, ignoring how his giggle awakens more butterflies in your stomach.

“hush.”

Because this can’t be happening. It really cannot be happening, and if you say something out loud—if you voice the feelings that are keeping your voice from working, then it’ll just move everything along, it’ll just cement the thing. And it’ll be over. Any response is acceptance.

So you stall. You don’t speak for as long as you can manage, until you finally get the single word out in a breath. “What?” you ask.

You’re fairly certain this is a nightmare. If you squeeze your eyes shut tight enough, they’ll fly open, and you’ll be back in bed, curled up against Kai, his strong arms holding you to his chest. But you don’t wake up. You can’t will the conversation away, can’t pretend those six words aren’t hanging between the two of you.

He’s sitting with his hands folded on the table in front of him, looking affected by the words he’s spoken, but not shaken up by them. He looks calm. He looks like he made the decision weeks ago and has finally gotten up the nerve to say the damn thing aloud.

It’s not like he looks happy, or even completely neutral, about doing this to you. There are creases at the corners of his eyes, a furrow in the center of his brow, and worry draining the color out of his face. He looks sad, too, but not enough to stop it.

You’re being blindsided. Date night ruined out of nowhere. Your perfect relationship breaking into pieces. You didn’t see the cracks.

His eyes soften as the confusion settles in across your features.

“The band is really starting to take off—” he starts, which only elicits a groan from your lips.

You can’t help it. Everything’s about the band. All the time. And you’re supportive. That isn’t the issue. You don’t mind his weird hours or the time he spends away recording singles or planning local tours. You don’t mind his following of women who spend their time talking about how hot he is. You don’t mind because he’s yours. He comes home to you. He treats you right, takes you out on dates, buys you gifts, loves you.

But sometimes it’s exhausting, too. Even if you don’t want to admit it. Part of you, the selfish part, misses when you didn’t have to share Kai with his adoring fans, with the rest of his band.

“And I just think it’s probably better—safer for you, if we aren’t together anymore.” He does sound concerned. And it’s something you’ve talked about before, this safety aspect. Some of his fans want him all to themselves and will go to estranged heights to belittle or even harm anyone he’s seen with. It isn’t a shock that he’s concerned—but that he’s willing to end everything because of it, without any additional conversation.

Unfortunately, you can’t bring yourself to engage in rational thought at the moment, with him looking at you like this and saying these things. Seeming like he cares, but cutting himself out of your life in the same breath. Ending it.

You’re certain you’ll rethink all of this later. Spend time wondering if there was something you could have said differently, something you could have done to make him stay.

Now, however, you say the words that you can’t hold back. “Safer,” you say. “I don’t care about safety.”

“I do,” he says. “I’ve seen what happens to the people who date celebrities in this industry. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“No one knows about our relationship now,” you say, trying to reason with him. “They’re not going to find out later. We’re good at being secretive.”

“Until we aren’t,” he says. “And it won’t be as easy later.”

A sigh escapes your lips, and you can’t keep yourself from saying the next thing—the thing festering between the hurt and the love in your chest. “Are you sure you don’t want to be single so you can do whatever you want without consequence?” you ask, leaning back in the chair, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to put distance between you and him. You let that rotten anger free, because it doesn’t really matter anyway, right? Not when he’s so clearly made the decision to leave, already. When it was always a part of the plan.

And you want to ask that, too. If he ever planned to stick around. But you can’t bring yourself to do it. Not when those words hurt too much, when recognizing that this relationship was always a sinking ship makes it feel like you’ve lost everything.

“Don’t say that,” he says, and there’s pain in his voice. Another indication that he feels something. Unfortunately, those feelings don’t make it any further than his tone. They aren’t enough to change his mind.

“We don’t have to do this,” you say. A final plea. Stay. Please.

The words fall on deaf ears. “We do,” he says. The corners of his lips quirk downward, and you can feel the expression reflecting on your own face, the way tears sting in the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

When he gets up sometime later, after more circular conversation and further attempts at convincing that continuously fall flat, he reaches for you. One hand settles on your shoulder, his eyes trying to reach yours. Whatever he tries to convey is lost on you.

You look away, and he leaves you there, sitting at your dining room table with your head in your hands—trying to make sense of it all.

ONE YEAR (AND A FEW MONTHS) LATER

“Come on,” Jihyo says. She holds one of your hands between two of hers. She’s making that face, big brown eyes looking at you—like you saying yes to this request is the most important thing in the world. “Please come with me. Please.”

You don’t look at her, because it’s easier to tell your best friend no when you can avoid her gaze. “Why did you even buy tickets to their stupid show anyway?” you ask.

She lets out a long series of sighs, throwing her head back in a show of dramatics. You’ve had this conversation before. It’s one of Jihyo’s biggest flaws—how much she loves your ex-boyfriend’s music. “Because the bassist is hot, first of all.”

“And the lead singer is my ex,” you say.

“I know the lead singer is your ex. We’ve met, remember?” Jihyo says.

“Okay, then you know that he sucks and I don’t want to see him.”

“He does suck,” Jihyo comments. “However… what it ends up being good for you?” There’s a lilt to her voice, like even she knows the words she’s saying are insane.

You groan. “How could seeing thousands of girls swoon over my ex be good for me?” You raise a brow. It’s hard enough seeing him plastered all over social media, reading the comments, witnessing millions of people worldwide fall in love with him.

“You’re right,” Jihyo says, but you watch her face fall. “Bad idea.”

A sigh looses from your lips. It is a bad idea. You know it is. Seeing him again, in person, will break your heart all over again. But Jihyo’s your best friend, and you’d do anything for her. “If you really want to go,” you start, even as a sour feeling develops low in your stomach at the mere thought of being in the same room as Kai. “I’ll go with you. He probably won’t even see me, anyway.”

And besides, maybe she’s right. Maybe it could be good for you. Even though you’re fairly certain, all it will be is bad. You’re fairly certain you’ll see him up on that stage and feel nothing but regret, nothing but sadness—and a hatred of yourself for being unable to stop him from leaving.

A year isn’t a lot of time. Not really.

“Wear a hat or something. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Jihyo says. Famous last words.

There isn’t really a guide for how to get over a breakup when the man that you’re in love with becomes a global sensation, basically overnight. No one prepares you for how often you’ll have to see his face, for when he shows up on your favorite variety show. No one prepares you for when his face is plastered all over social media, or for when his songs come on in the grocery store. No one prepares you for the dating rumors, the photo-ops, the everything.

And as a result, well, you never really have the chance to get over him, exactly. You grow bitter, sure. Angrier every time you see his face looking back at you from a magazine cover or the latest album.

And yeah, sometimes you listen to his music at night when you can’t sleep. Which, of course, only makes things worse. On bad nights, you put on his old shit, and the words he wrote about you stream through your headphones, activating a new type of sadness. It stirs with the regret and makes you nauseous, but you can never seem to stop yourself from doing it.

Even though a large part of you recognizes that yes, it’s a truly horrible idea to go to this show—there’s another part of you that wants to. A part of you that’s curious. That wonders what will happen if he sees you there, in the crowd.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you get ready, reminding you over and over again that this is something to be anxious about, sparking feelings you thought were long forgotten. You think about him looking at you and almost call the whole thing off. You think about his brown eyes roaming over your face and inevitably think about the last time he looked at you—when you couldn’t stop him from walking away.

Maybe this time it could be different. You let yourself think that for only a moment before you force the thoughts away—force yourself to think about how he discarded you for the fame and the fortune, instead. You will yourself into hating him so you don’t miss loving him.

Clearly, a year is not enough time to mourn the loss of a relationship. Probably because you haven’t worked that hard to get over it in the first place. You’ve spent the year moping, wishing things were different, and rejecting Jihyo every time she suggests meeting someone new.

It doesn’t matter anyway. The relationship is dead. There’s no mending it. This is just a concert. You remind yourself. It’s just a concert for a group that your friend loves and nothing more. Maybe you can pretend you never dated in the first place, pretend he’s someone else entirely.

You try to strike a balance between a cute outfit and something that doesn’t scream, I’m trying too hard. The result is a pair of flared jeans and a crop top. Simple makeup and loose curls. You aren’t trying to impress him. You repeat the words like a mantra. You aren’t trying to do anything. You don’t even want him to look at you.

If you think it enough times, maybe it’ll be true.

In truth, however, the idea of him spotting you in the crowd makes your stomach turn. What if he sees everything he lost? What if he comes to his senses?

If he wants you back—would you take him?

It’s not something you can even afford to think about. It’s been an entire year without any contact. He doesn’t want you. You just have to remind yourself of that. He doesn’t want you. He didn’t want you then, and he won’t want you now.

Your phone lights up, pulling you out of the shameful spiral of thoughts and back into the real world. Right. The real world. The world in which you’ll be alongside thousands of other girls. Girls who want him to look in their direction.

You glance down at your phone. One unread text.

jihyo: Downstairs with the Uber!

You unlock your phone, momentarily ignoring her message. At the very bottom of your messenger app, there are five years of messages spanning your relationship with Kai. You removed the hearts from his name a long time ago and replaced the cute pet name you previously kept his info saved under. You could never delete the texts. For a moment, you think about texting him.

There have been a lot of moments like these.

Of staring at his contact information and deciding whether or not to say something. Of seeing his face pop up on TikTok and had to hold back from leaving a comment. Of keeping your finger from clicking FaceTime. None of it’s good or healthy.

If you text him now, what would you even say, anyway?

Hey! Hope you’ve been well. I’ll be at your show tonight? Of course not.

He probably wouldn’t even respond. Maybe he’s changed his number.

You decide against it when another text from Jihyo pops up, encouraging you to get your ass in gear.

When you slide in next to her, it’s immediately obvious how underdressed you are. “Should I change?” are the first words out of your mouth. She has on sharp eyeliner and a dusting of blush under her eyes. Her cheeks are dotted with sparkles that could catch anyone’s eye from a mile away.

“No,” Jihyo says, without needing a moment to think. “You look hot.”

“Damn,” you say. “I was going for invisible. You know, look right by me in the crowd, invisible.”

“We don’t have to go,” Jihyo says, her voice softening—and you’re certain, in that moment, that she would really turn around and leave if you decided against it. “If it’s going to be weird, we can stay home, really.”

“No, it’s okay,” you say, because just like she’s willing to stay home, you’re willing to suffer for her happiness. And besides, she hasn’t stopped talking about Soobin this and Soobin that for the past several days, and you don’t want to stand in the way of her delusions.

You and Soobin were friends at one point. Close, even. Even though you try not to follow the band, you know he’s one of the only original members left. Everyone else has been replaced.

“Okay,” Jihyo says, putting her hand in yours and giving it a squeeze. Reassurance. At least you’re in this together. Besides, what's the worst thing that could happen? If he looks at you, he looks at you. It’s not like he’s going to stop the concert to speak to you. There’s a safe distance, a disconnect.

Besides, he’s looked at you countless times before. From the stage. From across the table. While hovering over you in bed. It’s different now—you know it is. Time has made the wounds fester, has made you cautious, scared. You push those thoughts away and put on a brave face, instead. You can enjoy this.

The Uber drops the pair of you off a few blocks away from the venue. Even from a distance, concert attendees clutter the streets. Tomorrow x Together merch as far as the eye can see. Shirts with Kai’s face on the front and tour dates on the back. It’s safe to say you won’t be getting one of those.

Your nerves kick into high gear the moment you set foot inside the venue. Every step forward is echoed by an equally loud beat of your heart that only grows louder until you get to your section.

Your seats are so close you can almost put your hand flat on the stage.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” you say, voicing the same thoughts you’ve been having for the past hour. The past few days.

Jihyo shakes her head. “If he looks at you funny, I’ll kick his ass, don’t even worry about it.”

“You won’t even notice, you’ll be too busy looking at Soobin,” you say.

“Good point,” she comments, laughing under her breath. She takes your hand again, squeezing it. “I know this is hard, but I’m really glad you decided to come.”

“I hope he looks ugly,” you say, without really thinking. “I hope he looks really ugly, and he doesn’t look at me, and I can go home at the end of the night without feeling any kind of way about it.” Even as you say the words, though, you know it’s a lost hope. You know he’s going to look handsome because you’ve seen him lately, and you know he probably will look at you, because god damn it, you’re right at the edge of the stage. If he didn’t look, it would be out of pure avoidance.

“That’s the spirit!” Jihyo says.

There’s a lot of time between when you get to your seats and when the music starts. At least an hour of waiting. It goes by too fast. And soon enough, the band takes the stage.

Kai walks out to an outpouring of screams from the crowd around you, his smile big and wide. He lifts one hand to encourage them further. You can’t help but roll your eyes—hoping at the last minute that none of his diehard fans see you. They’d probably fight you for such an indiscretion against their bias.

But to you, it’s just annoying. This version of him, so different and odd. Not at all like the person you knew, the one who was shy and nervous about performing.

The shock takes a long time to wear off. The last time you saw him on stage, the room could only fit two hundred people, and he played a guitar you bought him for Christmas. Now he’s surrounded by equipment that costs more than your car, clothes that you could never dream of affording.

But at the same time, he looks in his element, like he was born to do exactly this. And you’re happy for him—of course you’re happy for him. Or, at least, you’re happy for the man you used to know. The one you loved. The one who loved you. You’re happy that he got everything he ever wanted. You try not to think about how that never included you.

Jihyo sings along next to you, but your state of shock doesn’t wear off that easily. He’s blonde now, hair so bleached it's nearly white, and if you didn’t know him, if you weren’t so used to seeing his face everywhere—you might not recognize him. He holds himself differently. Moves differently. His voice is stronger, his guitar playing better.

It’s so abrupt, you have to take a step back into the crowd, trying to distance yourself from this person you hardly recognize. You no longer worry about him seeing you. You just want to stop seeing him.

But there’s nowhere to go. The crowd’s packed tight on all sides, and all you can do is hold onto the barricade in front of you and look away.

Unfortunately, not looking at him sets you apart from the crowd, makes you stand out, so you look at his bandmates instead. There’s Soobin on the bass—who Jihyo hasn’t taken her eyes off of, Yeonjun on rhythm guitar, Taehyun on the keys, and Beomgyu in the back on the drums.

Jihyo gave you the rundown on all their names in the hours beforehand. You didn’t have the heart to admit you already knew them. That you’ve been letting Tomorrow x Together rot you from the inside out since the night of your breakup.

You met Soobin back in the day, but the rest are new. Replacements for the bandmates you used to know. The ones you goofed off with on late nights. Pizza and beer during the grind for fame and fortune. Well, that wasn’t what it had felt like at the time. Back then, they were just a group of guys having fun. It got serious at some point. You must have missed exactly when.

Kai’s the star of the show, though. At least that much is glaringly obvious. His outfits are sparklier, his makeup and hair done more professionally. The lights track his movements. The fans scream his name.

Everyone else is just backup. You have to wonder if that’s why his original bandmates left. It’s just speculation, though. Thoughts gleaned from watching just a few songs played in a stadium packed with fans, from thirty minutes of trying not to look at your insanely famous ex-boyfriend.

You start to think you’ll make it out okay. That you’ll be able to leave without the ever-feared eye contact.

The girl next to you pulls out a sign and holds it high above her head. It reads take a shot with me. With her other hand, she holds out a small plastic bottle. Kai crosses to your side of the stage, reading the sign and nodding.

He drops to one knee and extends his hand to grab the bottle.

When he looks at you, the arena goes quiet. All music ceases, and your heart stops. Is this happening for him, too? He doesn’t look away, and time seems to stretch on endlessly. Just the two of you looking at one another. Your own breathing loud in your ears.

The girl holding the sign looks at you, but you can’t look away from him.

You don’t say anything.

The bottle slips out of his grasp and bounces lost on the concrete between the stage and the crowd. He mouths something to the girl, an apology, maybe, before pulling the mic away from his mouth to clear his throat.

He walks away, and the sounds of the stadium kick back on at full volume.

For the rest of the night, he avoids your eyes. But it’s okay, because you can barely look at him, either.

By the time the show ends, you’re certain Jiyho was right. This is the closure you needed.

You pace back and forth outside the venue for far too long, waiting for an Uber to show up. “You saw that, right?” you ask Jihyo, because you can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop seeing him in front of you, staring back at you.

“I saw.”

“He’s not even the same guy,” you say, because it feels better to get the words out instead of letting them rot in your head.

Don’t you know all this? Haven’t you seen the videos on stage, in interviews, on social media, flirting with fans, basking in the glow of his newfound fame? Why does it feel like such a shock now, when you’ve been watching the transformation for months?

“They say fame makes people weird,” Jihyo comments. “I’m sure it’s crazy, getting famous overnight like that.”

“Yeah,” you say, because there are no other words left rattling around in your brain, and you aren’t going to defend him. You won’t come up with reasons for why he might be different, or blame it on the fame alone. Even though you definitely could. You could excuse everything in the world if your Kai showed up again. You know he never will.

There are so many more things you want to say, things you want to complain about. You want to spit out words about how handsome he looked, about how you felt when he looked at you, but they don’t come. You’re glad they don’t. You don’t want to make a fool out of yourself for wanting him even a little bit.

It’s mostly confusing. Your feelings.

He’s different. And you don’t want him. And you’re over him. But he looked at you. And he’s handsome. And you’re not over him. And maybe if he wanted you again, you would want him, too. But he won’t. He won’t. You have to remind yourself of that very important fact. He won’t. That’s the problem. That’s always been the problem.

“This is taking forever,” Jihyo says. “I’m just going to walk home. You’re welcome to crash at my place if you want, or wait it out until the ride doesn’t cost a billion dollars.”

You look down at your phone. No messages. You hate yourself for checking, for hoping. You need to get the possibility of ever speaking to him again out of your mind. And there’s one surefire way to do exactly that. “I think I’m going to grab a drink,” you say. “Need to clear my head.”

“Okay,” Jihyo says, bringing you in for a hug. “Let me know when you get home safe?”

You raise a hand in a playful salute before the two of you part ways. She walks downtown, back to her apartment, and you head in the opposite direction, toward a seedy dive bar you used to frequent with Kai.

So, maybe going there to clear your head isn’t exactly the best idea in the world. But it’s the only place downtown you actually like. Who cares if there are memories of you and Kai in there? There’s also alcohol. Besides, this new Kai, the one dressed in expensive clothes and smirking at the girls who scream his name? He would probably hate your old haunt.

The place is fairly empty. Just a few other patrons sipping drinks quietly or while playing pool in the back.

“Whiskey sour, please,” you say as you sit down, exchanging your card for a thin napkin and a kind smile from the bartender. The entire place feels achingly familiar.

“People actually drink those?” a voice to your left asks.

You consider ignoring him. You came here to clear your head, after all. Not to engage in conversation with any of the locals.

“What?” you ask, as the bartender sets the rocks glass down in front of you. Your eyes shift to the man seated to your left. He’s got long brown hair that frames his face and falls just past his shoulders. It’s got a slight wave to it. He’s handsome, but you don’t really notice that about him. Just that he’s a man, and that he’s talking to you when you would prefer to be left alone.

“Whiskey sours,” he says. “I didn’t know people actually drank those, and they weren’t just like a made-up drink.” He smiles at you, and it seems genuine. Like this is just something he does for fun, talking to strangers in bars.

“Aren’t all drinks made up?” you ask.

He laughs. A warm, happy sound—out of place in the dark, dingy bar. “Okay, good point,” he says, raking a hand through his hair, letting the wavy brown locks fall back into place on his face.

There’s something about him you can’t place. A hint of familiarity.

“Do I know you?” you ask, letting your eyes roam over his face, trying to identify what’s on the tip of your tongue.

“Why?” he asks, leaning forward. “Do I look familiar?” he says, raising a brow to accentuate his flirty tone.

You turn your full attention on him, swiveling in the bar stool to get a good look, whiskey sour in one hand, studying him over the rim. You aren’t the kind of person who usually speaks to anyone in bars—that’s more Jihyo’s bag—but something about him intrigues you. Maybe it’s his candidness, his ability to strike up a conversation with you and make it feel like you’ve spoken before.

Besides, it’s not like the bar is full of talkative types. Most people show up, grab a drink, and keep to themselves. The more social people—the ones looking to flirt, looking to mess around—go to the much more popular clubs in the area. Those places give you a headache. And even worse, they play your ex’s music.

But here is this man, offering you a kind, closed-mouth smile. Looking at you with warm brown eyes, eagerly awaiting your next move. And it’s not like you want to ignore him. You wanted something to clear your head. Maybe alcohol isn’t the only solution.

“Do you want a hint?” he asks when you don’t say anything, instead opting to sip your whiskey sour.

“So, I do know you?” you ask.

“Know is a strong word,” he says.

You take another sip. “Okay, mystery man.”

“How is it?” he asks, brows drawn together like he’s witnessing you drinking something truly unfathomable. Like, he can’t comprehend how anyone would want something so disgusting.

“Delicious, thank you very much.” You toss your hair over your shoulder and refocus on him, narrowing your eyes, determined to figure out who he is.

He must sense your determination, because he laughs under his breath. “I saw you in the crowd earlier—”

It clicks fast. The drummer. Oh fuck. You think about standing up and leaving. But you haven’t paid your tab, and there’s nothing wrong exactly with talking to one of Kai’s bandmates. It’s just, well, fucking strange. Instead, you cut him off before he can continue. “Oh,” you say, hasty. “I’m not a fan.” The word just fall out. It’s not like you mean to say them, really.

This only makes him chuckle again, deep and warm. It registers in the back of your mind that you like the sound.

“No?” he asks. “Me either.”

You almost choke on your drink.

“What?” he asks, like the words he said were completely innocent.

“I just don’t think you’re supposed to say that about your own band.”

“I just started, it’s fine,” he says.

Your brain whirs. Something in the back whispers ask about Kai, but you squash it down. Kill it like a bug. You’re meant to be ignoring that problem. And look at how well that went—the universe just happened to place a friend of his right in your path. Well, you can’t ignore him now. Especially not when he intrigues you so much. You want to keep talking to him, even if you can’t exactly identify why.

“It’s Beomgyu, right?” you ask, wincing while you do it. You aren’t supposed to know their names.

It makes him smile, though, and it’s almost enough to forget that it’s embarrassing. “But you’re not a fan?”

“Not a fan,” you repeat. Desperate to change the subject away from the band, you say, “Why are you here alone?” Even though you really mean: where is everyone else? Where is Kai?

Beomgyu chuckles again. He’s always laughing under his breath at your words. Like everything you say delights and interests him. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you sat down. You’re not sure you want him to. “Please,” he says. “No one else in that group would ever come here.”

It’s a relief just as much as it hurts. Your Kai loved this place. At least it’s confirmation that you’re right about him being different.

“Oh,” you say. “So you’re not like other girls?” This time, you raise a brow to accentuate your flirty tone.

And of course, he smiles. “Exactly.” He looks at you, studying you in the same way you looked at him only moments prior. Like there’s a question on the tip of his tongue he’s not certain he wants to ask. He does. “So why were you at the concert if you’re not a fan?”

“Good question,” you say. “Best friend made me go. She’s kind of obsessed with Soobin.”

He nods, like that’s understandable. “And you’re not obsessed with anyone,” he says. “Because you’re not a fan.”

“That’s correct.”

“I don’t know, you might want to reevaluate. Have you seen the drummer?” he asks.

He’s so casual with it, the words falling off his lips without a care in the world. It hardly feels like you’re talking to a global sensation. Maybe your eyes should have drifted over to him during the concert more often. It would have at least proven to be a good distraction from the one you were trying not to look at.

“I have,” you say, trying to keep the small smile from growing on your face. “He’s okay.”

He places a hand on his chest with mock hurt. “Oof, you wound me.” You turn back toward the bar, but his eyes continue wandering over your face, watching you. Trying to figure you out, maybe. “So you don’t like Tomorrow x Together, but you do like whiskey sours.”

“I’m a woman of taste, what can I say?” you reply, glancing sideways at him.

“I’m not sure about that,” he says, scrunching his face in disapproval while looking down at your glass.

You know he’s baiting you, trying to get you to turn back in his direction and argue with him about it—and it’s working. You can’t help yourself. With a sigh, you raise a hand for the bartender. “Another whiskey sour, please?”

“Damn, you like them so much you need a second one?” he asks, glancing at the nearly full glass still situated in front of you.

You turn then, narrowing your eyes at him. “It’s for you.”

“Oh,” he says, dragging out the sound. “You shouldn’t have.” He looks genuinely concerned about the idea of drinking it.

“I think you’re going to like it,” you say confidently. “And then you’ll have to admit that my taste is excellent.”

“Oh, that’s what this is? That’s what we’re doing?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips, suddenly interested in whatever little game you’ve concocted.

It probably would be smarter not to engage with him at all. He’s a friend of Kai’s, right? You should find a reason to excuse yourself already, save the drama, save the potential mess. Unfortunately, Kai doesn’t even cross your mind.

“That’s what we’re doing,” you say.

Even as you look away to take the glass from the bartender, you can feel his eyes on your face. It makes heat rise to your cheeks. You’ve only had a few sips of alcohol, so why is your body reacting like this? It feels like a betrayal to turn red under someone’s gaze.

You curse Jihyo for being right, for knowing exactly what you needed even though she never could have guessed that this is how it would end up.

You push the glass over to him with a smile on your face.

“You’re too excited about this,” he says, his nose still scrunched at the bridge.

He raises it to his lips and takes a small sip. There’s a flicker of something across his face, and you know immediately that he doesn’t like it. He tries to pretend anyway. “Oh,” he says. Then, “Mmm, yeah. It’s good.”

It’s not convincing in the slightest. “You hate it,” you say.

He folds under no pressure. “I hate it.” He pushes the drink back in your direction. “It’s like something my grandmother would drink.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you say. “What are you drinking, then, that’s so delicious?”

You peer over into his cup, then meet his eyes again. At some point, you moved your stool closer to his. At some point, you turned completely to look at him again, and now your knees are positioned between his.

“Oh, this?” he asks, picking up his glass. “It is delicious, thank you so much for asking.”

You roll your eyes at him and his prized possession, a rocks glass with salt dusted around the rim. “I didn’t take you for a margarita guy,” you say.

“It’s a strawberry margarita.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you say, placing your hand on your chest with feigned sincerity.

He raises a hand, and you reach out to grab his forearm without thinking, trying to stop him from doing what you know he’s about to do. You’re in his personal space. “No, that’s okay—” you start.

It doesn’t stop him. He makes eye contact with the bartender. “One strawberry margarita for the lady.”

You remove your hand from his forearm and back away from him, eyes narrowed. You motion to the two beverages already sitting on the bar in front of you.

“Wow,” he teases, as if seeing them for the first time. “You must be thirsty. Guess you’re going to have to stay awhile.”

“Are you this annoying to everyone, or am I some special case?” you ask.

He winks at you. “Oh, you’re special.”

The bartender places the third drink in front of you, but it takes a second for your brain to start working again. “You know I’ve had a strawberry margarita before. I know what they taste like.”

“I just thought you might need a refresher,” he says. “Maybe it’ll realign your tastes.”

“Doubt it,” you say, lifting the drink to your lips. You take a small sip, then place it back down on the table. “Yeah, it’s delicious,” you said. “Are you happy? It’s delicious.”

“Fucking ecstatic,” he says. “Now try yours again.”

It seems like you’ve had your eyes narrowed on him all night, but you don’t stop now. You raise the whiskey sour to your lips and take a sip.

“Which one’s better?” Beomgyu asks, leaning forward to catch your eyes.

You press your lips into a tight line and grumble. “The margarita,” under your breath.

“Sorry, what?” he asks. “I didn’t hear you.”

“They’re both good,” you say, slightly louder.

“Your tastes haven’t changed?” he asks.

“Nope,” you say. “And now I have three drinks to finish.”

“Okay, and where do we stand on the drummer?” he asks, that lazy smile appearing on his lips. You start to think about how handsome he is without meaning to.

You purse your lips, really giving it some thought. “He’s kind of obnoxious.”

“Obnoxiously handsome?”

“Sure,” you say.

“Hm,” he says. “It doesn’t seem like you really mean that.”

You stand up, grab the margarita with one hand and the whiskey sour with your other. “I guess you’ll never know.” You take a long sip of the whiskey sour, finally finishing the glass, only to pick up the second one. “You know, I have two drinks, and you only have one, and I don’t think that feels fair.”

“I’ll take that margarita off your hands,” he says.

“You wish,” you say, pulling it closer to your body.

He smiles proudly, and you know it’s because you like the damn thing. It’s fruity and delicious—of course, you like it. “It’s not my fault you don’t like the acquired taste of a whiskey sour.”

“I’m so sorry, I hope you’ll be able to move past this.”

“I’m not sure I can,” you say, grimacing. “Maybe you should try acquiring some taste.”

You’re standing between his legs, with him looking up at you, and it only occurs to you then that you still haven’t moved. You’re just standing there, looking down at him, holding a drink in each hand. And he’s looking up at you, too, the corners of his lips turned up in a smile.

“Are you any good at pool?” you ask.

He shakes his head, entranced by anything you have to say. “Awful.”

“Great, me too,” you say. “Let’s play.”

It’s not easy to leave the spot between his legs. There’s something captivating about him, about being in his direct vicinity. Like a gravity that pulls you closer. You do step away, though, and head for a pool table. Most of the place has cleared out, leaving the three tables all empty.

You grab a cue. When you turn around, he’s an inch away, reaching for one of the cues behind you. You clear your throat and quickly sidestep away from him, unable to take the intensity in the way he looks at you, the closeness.

“You do know how to play, don’t you?” you ask, teasing gently.

“Yes,” he grumbles.

You set up the game, rolling the balls back and forth inside the rack. “I’ll break,” you say.

You’re lining up your shot when you say, “Loser pays the tab?”

He takes another step closer to you—like you’re both experiencing the same draw, the same inability to keep your distance. The cue slides forward in the crook between your thumb and pointer finger when he says, “Hmm, boring. If I win, I want your number.”

The bluntness catches you off guard, and your hand slips out of position at the last moment. Your cue misses the ball entirely, and he just leans in closer. “I know I’m not very good, but I think you were supposed to hit those.”

You stand up, turning to face him, so little space in between you. “You distracted me,” you accuse.

“My bad.” Then, “Do you agree to my terms?”

He extends a hand for you to shake, and you take it. He pulls you forward a little bit, just enough to whisper in your ear. “Great. You’re going down.”

“So confident,” you say, but your voice wavers a bit. It’s easier to speak when he steps away. “Take your shot, then.” You watch him over the rim of your almost-empty margarita.

He takes off his jacket, slinging it over a nearby chair. His t-shirt clings to his biceps, and you have a difficult time not staring. He catches you as he gets into position, looking up at the last second. If you had any doubts about whether or not Beomgyu’s attractive, they’re long out the window, now.

He sinks one ball. “Stripes,” he says. Then another.

“Am I being hustled right now?” you ask, one raised brow. He misses on the third. “You wouldn’t hustle me, would you?”

He passes through your personal space again, and you start to think it might be just to drive you crazy. Does he see the way you tense when he gets closer? He makes a show of moving past just to grab his margarita.

“Never,” he says. “You’re too pretty. I play an honest game.”

“Please,” you say. “You’ve been trying to get me to change my mind about the drummer since I sat down.”

He steps closer to you again. “And?”

“And, I don’t think that’s very honest.”

“Why not?” his eyes aren’t looking at yours, but somewhere just a few inches lower.

“Well, you’re the drummer, Beomgyu.”

He likes the way you say his name.

“Ah, that’s right. Must have forgotten. It’s your turn, you know.”

You turn away from him, but he doesn’t give you an inch. You stand back up. “Will you get us another round?”

“Yes,” he says. “Don’t cheat while I’m gone.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you say, already turning to line up your shot. You catch up quick. After sinking the first ball, you reposition, catching his eye from the bar—watching you while he waits for the drinks. He gives you a small wave of his fingers, and you look away, refocusing.

Even looking at the pool table, your heart flutters. You have to grind your teeth to focus. This will require a lengthy conversation with Jihyo tomorrow—because what the actual fuck is going on? The worst part is that you can hardly even bring yourself to care about the complicated nature of the situation, because when he looks at you, you get so god damn distracted. You can’t think about anything else—anyone else.

And it’s refreshing. If you had a moment to think about it, it would be refreshing. Unfortunately, the only thing you can think about is how attractive he is and how your skin feels like it’s going to burst into flames every time he gets close to you.

None of those things makes focusing on playing pool any easier, because even as you turn away, you can feel him looking. And you’re fairly certain, in the moment, that you’re going to lose because you can’t get your brain to work properly.

If you hadn’t just mainlined two drinks into your system back to back, there may have been some kind of warning going off. Unfortunately, that functionality’s firmly offline, and there’s no little voice in the back of your head to remind you that being into a rockstar has failed you in the past.

Instead, you close your eyes for a second, try to muster up any semblance of concentration, and take your shot.

When the ball rolls into the pocket, you say, “Yes!” rolling forward onto your toes in a show of excitement.

He appears behind you with two strawberry margaritas. You reach for one. “Don’t you want to finish your whiskey sour first?” He nods toward the one left behind on the table, the one you’d ordered for him.

You make a face. Scrunching your nose up like he did.

“Margarita, please,” you say.

He hands it to you, then moves to take a shot. Your hand reaches out to stop him, landing flat against his chest. “Hey,” you say. “It’s not your turn.” He looks down at your hand, then at you, eyes traveling up your arm on their way.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice dropping lower. You look at your hand on his chest, drag your eyes slowly upward to meet his.

Time does that thing again—where it freezes. And the world stops, and you’re just looking at each other.

It doesn’t seem fair to have world-stopping eye contact twice in one night, but it happens, and you can’t look away. He drops the eye contact, eyes falling to your lips. You jerk your hand away fast, turning away to hide the hot blush on your cheeks.

He doesn’t acknowledge any of it, doesn’t comment on the way you look away or the way your cheeks turn a completely different shade. It’s almost gentlemanly. Instead, he just extends a hand toward the table for you to continue.

You do.

The game continues, neck and neck for a little while, until you slowly pull ahead. You exchange glances and quips in between sips of your drinks. When you look away, Beomgyu’s eyes still find you. And when he looks away, you’re always tracing his features like they’re something you’ll want to remember later.

Some time later, at the bottom of your fourth drink, Beomgyu leans over to take his shot. You watch him because you just can’t help yourself. A smile graces your lips, and you can’t remember the last time you had this much fun with anyone other than Jihyo. A stranger, no less. Someone you met within the last hour and a half.

It’s curious, really.

The state of your mind.

The way you haven’t thought about Kai. The way it hasn’t even crossed your busy mind to be worried about the fact that you haven’t thought about him, about the fact that this could be his friend. That what you’re doing could be considered a betrayal of some kind.

And even if it did cross your mind—to be concerned about what you’re getting yourself into—you probably wouldn’t walk away, either.

You wonder what’s running through Beomgyu’s head while he lines up his shot, his eyes lifting to look at you across the table. A slow smile crosses his features, and his eyes have a glassy tint to them. The same tipsy state you’re enjoying reflects back at you. The high points of his cheeks are red, and it occurs to you then that he might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life. What is he thinking about—when he looks at you like that?

“Risky shot,” you say, when he looks down the cue at a ball a little too close to the eight.

He brushes it off with that same smile he’s been flashing all night. “I like a challenge.”

The confidence is sexy. However, when he misses and instead sends the eight ball into the pocket, you can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips.

“So, that does mean you lose,” you say.

“I know what it means,” he says, hanging his head in shame. There’s still a smile on his lips, though, so you know it isn’t that serious.

You grimace, “And you don’t get my number.”

He looks up at you, then, eyebrows narrowing, but you just continue. “And you have to pay the tab. Huge bummer.” You finish off the rest of your drink and outstretch a hand.

He takes a step closer, looking at your empty hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Damn, you’re taking my phone, too?” he asks.

You shake your head, laughing. “No, you idiot. It’s for my number.”

He unlocks his phone and puts it in your hand. You put your number in it and hand it back. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you answer the call.

Beomgyu chuckles. “It works.”

You hang up the phone and go to put it back in your pocket, catching the time as you do. It’s so much later than you thought. “Shit,” you say. “It’s 2am.”

“Guess I should probably stop bothering you then,” he says.

“I guess so,” you tease.

You make your way back to the bar where he pays the tab. You leave together, too. Once outside, everything goes quiet. You’re just standing there. Both of you have your hands in your pockets, and you’re looking at each other and then not looking at each other, avoiding eye contact while seeking it out.

“You’re going to use that,” you say. “My number?”

“I am,” Beomgyu says.

“Cool,” you say, rocking on your heels.

Beomgyu clears his throat. “Can I get you a ride home?” he asks.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say, phone already out, looking at Uber places.

You lean against the side of the building, and the bricks are cold through your shirt. He stands in front of you, hands in his pockets. He takes one out to grab his phone.

“Where do you live?” he asks.

You roll your eyes and take the phone out of his hands to put in your address. It’s not far. Maybe twenty minutes.

“What about you?” you ask.

“I’m close by. It’s a short walk.”

“Okay,” you say. “Thanks.”

He moves, sidestepping you to lean against the wall next to you. Your arms touch, and it sends shivers up your spine. Everything is tense and quiet, the awkward comedown after hours of flirting in a shady bar. You look down at his hands, then back up at him.

“No problem,” he says. His eyes fall to your lips, and you watch like it’s in slow motion. You move a half a centimeter closer, trying to make it subtle, casual. He notices. He sucks in a breath, moves the same fraction closer, too, until your shoulders are almost touching.

His fingers twitch at his side, like he’s trying to decide what he wants.

Then, he lifts his hand, reaching for you. He touches a strand of your hair, and you’re holding your breath—waiting for whatever’s going to happen.

You don’t realize you’re doing it, but your body turns toward his as his turns toward you, and then you’re fully facing one another.

“How long until the Uber gets here?” you ask, the words just above a whisper, despite the fact that there’s no one around to hear them.

“I have no idea,” he says, still looking at you, watching you, trying to determine whether or not you want the same thing he does. You can hardly stand it, the way his eyes roam all over your face, up and down. You think about grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

There’s no time. He moves first.

He makes to close the distance, and you meet him in the middle. It’s not tentative or shy. He knows what he wants, and he goes for it. His lips collide with yours, and you can taste the night’s drinks on each other’s breath.

His hand comes up to settle on the side of your face, and your hands fly up to hold onto his biceps. It’s a night of tension and touches unwinding all in one moment, and you don’t realize how badly you wanted this until it’s actually happening.

His lips move slowly against yours, savoring the moment. Beomgyu pulls away first. Your eyes meet, and your cheeks turn a hot shade of red, because, well, you aren’t exactly the kiss a stranger in a bar kind of girl.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for the past hour and a half,” Beomgyu says, words breathy.

“Me too,” you say. Maybe because the alcohol has loosened your spirits, because it’s easier to say what you really mean, or just because you want to keep kissing him.

“Yeah?” he says.

You nod. “Uber’s still not here,” you comment.

He laughs lightly under his breath. “It’s not.”

“Beomgyu,” you say.

His eyes meet yours. “Yes?”

“Kiss me again?” you ask.

He obliges, and it’s not nearly as nice as the previous kiss, like you’ve set something ablaze in him just by asking nicely. He steps into you, parting your lips with his. Your back hits bricks, and you forget where you are entirely. One arm drops to your waist, wrapping around you, pulling you closer to him. You drape your arms over his shoulders, let one hold onto the back of his neck.

He deepens the kiss, and you only break away from each other for a second or two once in a while, when you remember to breathe. You smile against his lips, and he pulls you closer. You can feel the warmth of his body through his clothes, can feel the strong muscles in his arms, the way he tenses slightly under your touch.

One of his legs nestles between your thighs, and you drop your hands to his chest, looking for something to touch as his tongue slides between your lips.

You can’t help it. Again, blame the alcohol for making it easier not to care about your actions or how you come off. You want him. You roll your hips against his thigh, chasing some friction. He grins against your lips, then moves his hands, first letting them lie flat against your back before one dips under your shirt and touches your bare skin.

Someone clears their throat loudly. It’s meant to be heard.

Neither of you stops.

When the stranger says your name, you finally break away. You turn to look at him, your hands tangled up in Beomgyu’s shirt. Your grip loosens when your eyes meet Kai’s.

“What’s going on?” Kai says. He’s looking at you with eyes you’ve never seen before. Full of something you don’t recognize. Almost hatred. Even from the stage, he didn’t look at you like that. You weren’t kissing his drummer, then, though.

“You and Kai know each other?” Beomgyu says, and there’s a hint of pain in his voice.

You open your mouth to speak, but words don’t come out. Your gut tells you to say no, because it would feel better—even though it’s a lie.

And seeing him only reminds you of losing him. Not that all at once feeling—sudden and at the dining room table. But slowly, in the months before. All the times you needed him, and he wasn’t there.

It only serves to make you angry, now, in this moment.

“Yes,” you manage to say, through your clenched jaw.

The drunkenness hits you like a wave, or maybe it’s the feeling of loss after you and Beomgyu break apart, and you have to place a hand on the bricks behind you to keep from falling over. Your head swims, and the world spins.

“Tell Beomgyu how we know each other,” Kai says. There’s a bite to his tone. That same anger you don’t know what to do with. Anger he never would have turned on you a year ago.

Beomgyu looks at you, expectantly. There’s no anger in his eyes, only a bit of confusion. Still, he looks like he wants to close the distance between you, looks like he wants to hold you up or help you home, or whatever you may need. But there’s something else too, in the slight quirk of his brow—that confusion. Or maybe a fear, of what there might be between you and Kai.

“We used to date,” you say.

A car pulls up to the curb. “That’s for you,” Beomgyu says, voice soft, a counterbalance to your ex-boyfriend.

Kai walks toward the car before you can and says something to the Uber driver. He taps his hand on the roof, and the car pulls away before you can even object. Kai turns back to look at you. “So what the fuck was this then?” Kai asks, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders up to his ears, looking entirely uncomfortable with the whole situation. “Were you trying to get back at me, trying to get my attention?” he asks. “You have it, now.”

“What?” you say, because you’re shocked at the words being spoken. Because, of course, you never thought for a moment about anything other than kissing Beomgyu and how badly you wanted it to happen in the seconds just before it did. “No.”

“Then why?” Kai asks, stepping closer to you and Beomgyu.

Beomgyu moves, stepping in front of you. “Come on, man, let’s not do this,” he says. “She’s drunk,” he says. “I’m drunk. Can’t we just have this conversation in the morning?” He’s trying so hard to be polite, even though you can see the way his hands tense at his sides, how he works not to ball them into fists.

“My car’s around the corner,” Kai says. “I’ll drive you home.”

You roll your eyes out of pure exasperation. “Fine,” you say, because you just want to crawl into your bed and pretend this entire day didn’t happen. Well, maybe not all of it.

Beomgyu looks at you. “I can get you another ride,” he says.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I’ll be fine.”

Kai nods in the direction of a waiting car. Beomgyu finally steps away from you, giving you space. You follow Kai. When you look over your shoulder, Beomgyu is watching you leave. You mouth, I’m sorry, and he shrugs, like it isn’t a big deal.

You can’t help but wonder what’s going on inside his head.

Kai’s car, as it turns out, is not really his at all, but one with a driver. He opens the back door for you, then climbs in next to you. You don’t look at each other. You shrink in your seat, arms crossed over your chest. You close your eyes and pretend to fall asleep so you don’t have to endure further questioning.

You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing somewhere nearby. A few things register at the same time, as your eyes blink open. First and foremost, it’s abundantly clear that you are not in your bedroom. The headache drilling a hole into your brain registers next, then the sound of your phone again.

The bedroom is clean, minimalist. There’s a guitar in the corner. An old one. You sit up the moment you recognize it. Kai’s. God damn it. Everything from the night before comes flooding back all at once. You try to find your phone, throwing the covers off. It falls out of the tangled comforter.

The call ends, and Jihyo gives you enough time to see the seven missed calls on your home screen before it lights up again with her face.

When you pick up, she immediately starts talking. “Oh my god,” she says, and you turn down the volume on your phone a hair. “Where are you?”

“So, funny story—” you start.

“You kissed Beomgyu last night, and Kai saw, and now you’re not at home?” Jihyo says.

“What?” you say. “How do you know that?” You’re whispering, worried about being overheard.

“Let’s see. How do I know that?” She doesn’t wait for your response before continuing. “Because everyone on the planet knows it. Well, I guess they don’t know that you’re not home. I know that because I’ve been banging on your door for like—fuck—thirty minutes at this point.”

“Wait, slow down,” you say. “How do you know about Beomgyu?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jihyo says. “Check your texts.”

You pull the phone away from your ear to open the messenger app. There are a few from Jihyo, but the most recent is a screenshot from some news outlet. The image is of the dive bar from the previous night, of Beomgyu’s lips on yours. The headline reads Choi Beomgyu Spotted Kissing Mystery Woman After Concert.

“There’s a video, too,” Jihyo says.

You scroll down. The video autoplays. The audio is muffled. You watch you and Beomgyu kiss. You watch Kai interrupt. You watch him walk you to his car, then the video ends.

“Oh,” you say.

Because what else is there to say, really? You know enough to know it’s bad, to register in the moment that this is a bad thing that’s happened—but your head hurts, and you’re still thinking about the way Beomgyu kissed you, especially after seeing it play out all over again.

“That’s not it,” Jihyo says.

She sends another link. This one is from one of Beomgyu’s fansites. It says, in all caps: CHOI BEOMGYU’S MYSTERY WOMAN IDENTIFIED. Then, it lists your full name and age. One of the first comments reads: oh my god, isn’t this Hyuka’s ex-girlfriend?

Your heart stops in your chest, and the world tilts on its axis, and suddenly you’re back at that fucking dining room table, sitting across from your still-boyfriend, watching him explain to you why it’s dangerous for you to be involved with or any other celebrity. It doesn’t make sense at the time, but it hits you now that he might have been right. And honestly, that annoys you more than the scandal itself.

“This isn’t great,” is all you can bring yourself to say.

Jihyo laughs, and you can tell she’s more worried about the whole thing than you are. “It’s really fucking bad, actually.”

“I know that.”

She goes quiet for a second. “How was it?”

Your face gets hot. “Really good.”

“Where are you?” she asks.

“Kai’s.”

The silence is enough to showcase her shock.

“I know,” you say. “I know, I know, I know.” It hits harder then, how much of a mess this all is. “It’s just—oh my god, Jihyo. Beomgyu is so—”

“Hot?” she asks. “Yeah.”

“Hot and nice, but also… I don’t know. Charming.” It feels wrong to say these things in Kai’s bedroom, but you can’t help it. You can’t stop thinking about Beomgyu.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Jihyo says.

“Weird, it kind of feels like you’re judging.”

“Couldn’t you have just kissed, I don’t know—inside?” Jihyo asks. She pauses. “What did Kai say?”

“He wasn’t exactly thrilled.”

“Right, obviously,” Jihyo says.

“What are the chances I can sneak out of here without having to talk to him about it?” you ask.

Jihyo takes a moment to answer, which obviously means your chances are really, really bad. “Not great.”

“Should probably just get it over with,” you say. “You know? Rip the bandaid off.”

“So you are stalling,” Jihyo says. Then, “Text me when you’re on your way home.”

“You know where the spare is, just let yourself in,” you say.

“I’m currently sitting on your couch.”

You laugh under your breath. “Perfect. Hopefully I’ll be back soon.”

The call disconnects, and you’re left sitting in Kai’s room in silence, wearing your clothes from the night before, the headache still pounding against your skull. Your lips still tingling from the kiss, thinking about Beomgyu, stressed about everything that’s suddenly been thrust in your lap.

You get up, compose yourself as best you can, prepare yourself for whatever is to come, and crack open the door. You don’t see anyone until you step out. Then, Kai clears his throat, and your eyes flick to him sitting on the couch, arms crossed over his chest. He’d broader than you remember.

“So, you fucked up,” he says. It feels like the first thing he’s said to you in a year. Even though you spoke last night. This feels like the first time, all over again. And it strikes you through the heart, how distant he is with you. Almost like you were never his to begin with. Like you’re just some annoying stranger he has to deal with.

You stare at him for a long time, trying to think of something to say.

It’s just such a shock, how much of a different person he is. The blonde is enough to separate him from the person you used to know, but the apartment helps too. It’s so clean and empty. Almost sterile, with items that cost more than your biweekly paycheck.

“I guess,” you say. It’s so obvious how much he’s bothered by all of this, and that alone is enough to make you care less. Maybe it’s petty, but seeing how upset he is makes you feel better.

He drops his head into his hands, runs them both through his hair as you watch from the door frame.

“I thought you said you were going to take me home last night,” you say.

“You fell asleep before you could give me your address,” he says.

It makes your mouth fall open. “Kai,” you say. “You know my address.”

He has no comment on that. He just looks up at you, elbows on his knees, and hands still in his hair. Maybe you would think he looked handsome if he weren’t being so annoying.

“This is a big deal, you know,” he says.

“I know that,” you say.

“Do you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Do you really?” he asks again.

“Yes,” you stress.

“Then why did you do it?” he asks.

Your mind blanks. You can’t exactly say because Beomgyu’s hot. You don’t. “Why is this my fault?”

“Trust me, I’ll deal with Beomgyu, too.”

“Is this about the scandal?” you ask. “Or is it about the kiss?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kai asks, leaning against the back of the couch, looking at you intently.

You can’t bring yourself to walk any closer to him. Maintaining space makes it feel easier. “I mean, are you upset about the scandal or are you upset about the kiss?”

“Why would I be upset about the kiss?”

There’s that distance again. The mental to your physical. “I don’t know,” you say. “Why would you be?” Finally, you move, walking through the living room toward the front door. “Nice to see you, by the way. Glad you’re doing well.” The words fall off your tongue more venomous than you mean for them to.

“Come on, don’t be like this,” Kai says, which—of course—only makes you angrier. He stands up from the couch and follows you.

You whip around to face him. “Me?” you say, in disbelief. You laugh in his face, and it feels good. It feels good to be the one hurting him for a change. Maybe when you get home, you’ll feel bad about that—but not now. “You’re unbelievable.”

When you reach for the door, his hand shoots out to stop you. Not touching you, but lying flat against the door to keep it closed.

“We have to talk about the scandal,” he says.

“Don’t worry,” you say. “I won’t be seen with any of you ever again. That should solve the problem, right?” you ask. He doesn't speak, doesn’t budge. “Move your hand, Kai.”

He does.

“So,” Jihyo says, the moment you’re comfortable next to her on the couch. “What really happened? Not like the quick version, but the story. I want all the dirty details.”

“There aren’t a lot of dirty details,” you say. There would probably be more if Kai hadn’t shown up. Would you have gone back to Beomgyu’s place with him if he asked? Or invited him back to yours? Probably. Kissing him, it felt like nothing could stop either of you. Well, except for Kai.

You tell her the full story. Not leaving anything out.

“I mean, what does that fucking mean anyway—why would I be upset about the kiss? Like he’s just some stranger and not someone I dated for five entire years of my life,” you say, because that’s the part that frustrates you the most. “Was he always this much of a manchild when we were dating?”

Jihyo makes a face.

“What?” you ask.

“I mean, yeah,” she says. “He kind of was. You just never saw it because you were so in love with him. Nothing he did then was enough to make you stop wanting him.”

“Rose colored glasses, I guess,” you say. “But even then, he wasn’t that bad. I mean, he didn’t treat me badly. He didn’t lie to my face.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I guess.”

It makes you see everything differently. It makes you want to analyze every aspect of your relationship with a fine-toothed comb, looking for signs you might have missed. A single sentence, enough to seed all your doubts in him.

“I just don’t get it. He treated me like a stranger.” You run your hands through your hair. “But he was obviously upset. I mean, he basically kidnapped me. He yelled at Beomgyu, tried to tell me I kissed him for attention. He was upset. Why try to backpedal later?”

“Were you?” Jihyo asks.

“Was I what?”

“Trying to get his attention?” she clarifies.

“What?” you ask, because honestly, the thought of there being any validity to that line of questioning hasn’t occurred to you. “No. Honestly, Kai was the last thing on my mind.”

Jihyo nods.

“Beomgyu was just so,” you say, motioning with your hands to make sense of the feelings he brought to life inside your chest. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I wasn’t thinking about anything else all night. Just him. Just how much fun we were having. How easy it was to talk to him.”

“How good a kisser he was,” Jihyo adds.

“Yeah, that too.”

“So, are you going to call him?” Jihyo asks.

“I don’t have his number,” you say. “Besides, I told Kai I wouldn’t speak to any of them ever again.” It’s a lie, anyway. He called you. You just haven’t saved the details, but you could find them if you really want to.

“Right,” Jihyo says. “But that’s just something you said. It doesn’t have to be something you meant.” She puts a hand atop yours. “It really bothers you, huh?” she asks. “What Kai said?”

That’s one way of putting it. It’s like his words slid up under your ribcage and made a home there next to your heart, living in a place where they could easily pop up over and over like a reminder. Why would I be upset about the kiss?

It makes your skin crawl. But if roles were reversed—would you be able to admit it to him? If you saw him kissing someone new, even a year later, would you be able to admit to him that it made you angry or jealous or sad or anything? Or would you brush it off too, and pretend that it didn’t matter? That he didn’t matter?

There’s no immediate answer to the question that satisfies your brain, so you continue to spiral thinking about it.

And it doesn’t matter, not really. Because what would you have said, anyway—if he’d admitted to caring?

It’s not like you’ve seen each other, like you know this new version of him. And so you try to convince yourself that you don’t care. That you don’t care about the fact that he doesn’t.

Life goes back to normal for a few days. You start to forget what Beomgyu’s lips felt against yours, what his hands felt like against your bare skin. You start to think that it’s okay, that maybe everything was just heat of the moment. Thinking about them both comes and goes in bursts of annoyance and confusion. But the moments grow further apart.

You’re thinking about texting Beomgyu. You save his number and stare at the contact details, thinking that you owe him some kind of explanation. An apology, at least. He doesn’t give you the chance.

Your phone buzzes while you’re looking at his contact, with his name appearing at the top of your screen. It’s such a coincidence you think you might have manifested it, and you almost throw your phone across the room. You open the message.

beomgyu: damn, i heard you never want to speak to me again

Of course, Kai relayed that message to him. Of course he did. You stare at the words on your screen for a long time before replying.

you: okay so i may have said that in anger you: would you believe me if i said it wasn’t actually true

beomgyu: so you do want to speak to me again?

Even over text, you can feel the charm in his words. Your heart flutters in that same way it did at the bar several days ago, whenever his eyes were on you. In reality, you weren’t sure he’d want to talk to you. But, of course, you’re glad he does.

you: yes

Your fingers hover over the letters for a moment as your brain works, trying to figure out if you want to say the next thing or not. You decide it’s better if you just get it out of the way.

you: i should explain you: about kai

beomgyu: in person?

you: is that a good idea, bc of the whole scandal thing

beomgyu: oh yeah, did you hear we’re dating

you: i saw something about that yeah

beomgyu: so when can i see you

You don’t take the time to worry about how bad of an idea it is. Instead, you figure out exactly when to meet up. You immediately start getting ready. You don’t think about the consequences. There’s something about this man, about Beomgyu, that makes all rational thought fly out the window.

For you, someone who’s often calculated, often overthinking, it’s a new feeling.

Jihyo would probably say you’re being impulsive. Maybe spontaneous is a better word. The thought process itself doesn’t matter. What does is that you’re downstairs waiting in the back alley of your building approximately thirty minutes later.

You have a baseball cap and a scarf on, a big coat. It’s probably not enough to actually obscure anything if there are people looking to snap images of you. Those people are ruthless. There’s probably someone with a camera nearby, just waiting for something juicy.

And Beomgyu will be there soon, too. Probably in a similar outfit. It won’t stop rumors from spreading, but you have a feeling Beomgyu doesn’t care about any of that.

It’s a bad habit, but you fish the pack of cigarettes out of your purse and place one between your lips, lighting it while you wait.

The seeds of doubt creep in then, when it’s already too late to change the plans, when he’s already walking toward you with a warm smile on his face.

Oh god. What are you doing? Is this even a good idea? You hardly know this man. It shouldn’t matter what you feel or felt in fleeting moments days prior, right? It would be better for everyone, and yes—you do mean everyone—if you kept your promise to never speak to them again.

But as you watch him approach, neither can you get your feet to move. You don’t want to run away. You don’t want to never speak to him again. In fact, your heart beats faster the closer he gets. You take a long drag from the cigarette, but it doesn’t make you feel better.

And then he’s standing in front of you, bending slightly to make eye contact with you under the rim of your hat. “Nice disguise,” he says.

You can’t feel this way about someone you met days ago, who you spent only a few hours with. But you can’t control it either, the way he makes blush rise to your cheeks immediately. It’s nearly impossible to play it cool, because there he is. Inches away, and you’re already thinking about grabbing him by the collar to pull him in for another kiss. You manage to keep your composure. Another drag. A long breath out.

Beomgyu’s wearing a pair of plain jeans and a baggy sweatshirt with an oversized leather jacket on top. His hair is long and wavy with pieces framing his face. He isn’t wearing a hat or attempting to hide his appearance in any way. He’s just here. Smiling at you.

“Thanks,” you say, and you’ve lost all your bravado from the night at the bar, your flirtatious nature falling apart under his gaze because now you have these feelings that you aren’t quite sure what to do with.

Now you’re nervous. Maybe because it has become something you can fuck up.

“You okay?” Beomgyu asks, still looking up under your hat to meet your eyes. You might as well take it off, but you don’t.

“Yes, yep, yes,” you say, which is maybe one too many times to be convincing.

“You seem nervous,” he says. “Do I make you nervous?”

“What?” you say, laughing under your breath, trying to push away the fact that he’s right, that he’s absolutely spotted your nerves from a mile away. “Me? Never.” You place the cigarette back between your lips, taking a slow drag.

He just laughs, totally calm, totally collected. Then, he reaches up and takes the cigarette out of your mouth, flipping it around in one quick motion to put it in his own. You stare at him all the while, mouth partially agape. He looks even more beautiful, somehow, as he takes a drag and then lets the smoke escape in a long stream. When he places the cigarette back between your lips, his thumb touches your bottom lip, shocking your system. This only serves to make him smile.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke,” you say. It seemed like the kind of restriction their company would put on them.

Beomgyu smiles. “I don’t think anyone is supposed to smoke.”

“So,” you start. “You don’t hate me?”

His eyebrows immediately draw together in confusion. “Why would I hate you?”

“The whole Kai thing, I mean… It’s complicated.”

“I don’t care about him,” he says. Catching you off guard again. Like it’s his job to surprise you. “He’s kind of an ass, anyway.”

“You don’t want like, an explanation?” you say.

He tilts his head to the side, still studying you, watching the drag you take as you wait for his response. “You dated Kai, you’re not dating now. I remember the kiss. I’m not worried about him.”

It drives you a little insane, how confident he is.

“You remember the kiss?” you ask, a smile spreading across your lips, those nerves fading away the longer you exchange quips.

His closed-lip smile breaks into a full, toothy one, and he laughs. “Yeah,” he says, like it’s fucking obvious. This time, he takes the cigarette out of your hand, takes a small puff, then extends it back toward you. “Didn’t seem like you were thinking about anyone else.”

“And how would you know that?” you ask, even though obviously, you weren’t thinking about anyone else but him.

“I just know these things,” he says. “I’m very smart.”

“Right,” you say. “Of course.”

He doesn’t even follow up with a confirmation, doesn’t ask if you were, in fact, thinking about Kai during the kiss. He’s that confident.

Beomgyu’s eyes drift to the side, looking at something to the left of you. He rolls his eyes, scoffing under his breath. “I’m sorry about this,” he says.

“About what?” you ask. Even though you follow his gaze, you don’t really see anything.

He nods to the left. “By the trash cans.”

You see him then, the man with a camera pointed in your direction, taking shots of whatever conversation you’ve been having. Probably to further whatever rumors and scandals the two of you have stirred up.

“You don’t seem very concerned about it,” you say. “The rumors and stuff.”

He shrugs. “Oh no, I’m caught up in a scandal with a gorgeous woman. Whatever will I do?” he mock complains.

The man in the distance still has his camera pointed at you, and Beomgyu’s eyes continue wandering in his direction. Checking every few seconds to see if he’s still watching.

Beomgyu reaches behind you and pulls the hood of your jacket up, blocking out more of your face.

“I thought you didn’t care,” you say, watching him. You put the cigarette out on the bottom of your shoe.

“I don’t care what they say about me,” he says, eyes still glancing sidelong at the photographer. He takes a paper mask out of his pocket and hands it to you. “Put this on.” Then, he grabs your other hand and pulls you toward the man with the camera.

“They’re still going to know it’s me,” you say. “They already have my name and everything. It’s all over everything, last time I checked.” But he’s still pulling you toward the man with the camera, his fingers interlaced with yours. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“It probably isn’t,” he says.

You get close enough to the cameraman that you can almost hear the sound of the shutter.

“Hey,” Becomgyu says, his voice more stern than you’ve heard it, more pointed. “What are you doing?”

The man has the audacity to snap another picture, the lens of his camera pointed directly at you—the sliver of skin showing on your face. But he doesn’t answer Beomgyu, hardly even looks at him. You can’t tell if it’s a state of shock or if he’s used to having encounters like this.

“You should delete those, don’t you think?” Beomgyu says. “And learn to respect people’s privacy?”

The man doesn’t move.

Beomgyu puts his hand on the end of the lens, covering it. The man tries to move his camera out of Beomgyu’s grip, but Beomgyu just holds on tighter. He flashes you a warm, apologetic smile.

“How long were you planning on following her?” he asks. “Take pictures of me, sure. But she’s just a regular person, and I’m pretty sure this is stalking.”

The man still doesn’t answer, is just trying to get his camera back so he can get out of there. Beomgyu sighs, wrenching the camera out of the man’s grasp.

“Hey—” the man says, trying to reach for it.

Beomgyu puts one hand on the man’s chest, holding him back. With his other hand, he flips open the bottom casing and pops out the SD card. Then, he hands the camera back to the photographer.

“There are other photos on there—” the man says.

Beomgyu laughs. He drops the SD card to the ground and crushes it under his heel. “That sucks. Next time it’ll be your camera.”

He drops an arm around your shoulders and navigates you away. “Sorry,” he says, under his breath. “Those people piss me off.”

It all happens so fast, you hardly have time to react or think. But as you’re walking away, there’s one thing that’s blatantly obvious. Kai would never have done something like that for you. No, he cared too much about his reputation.

And Beomgyu, well. He certainly doesn’t.

You’re a good distance away before he lowers your hood again, looks at you with those searching brown eyes.

“Sorry,” he says again. “I probably should have been more careful the other night. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Right,” you say. And your mind flashes back to that fucking dining room table. To conversations about safety.

He smiles, like he’s reading your mind. “Next time we’ll have to find some place more private.”

Your brain is going a hundred miles a minute. He’s so unpredictable. Saying and doing things you never expect. It takes your mind a moment to catch up. It’s been fifteen minutes, but you’re still thinking about the way he took the cigarette out of your mouth, when he’s moved on to where he wants to kiss you next.

And of course, you want to agree. Your cheeks flush, and you want to nod your head vehemently, but there’s one thing that’s stopping you. You can’t bring yourself to voice it, though, your worries about Kai.

His fingers are still intertwined with yours.

“Oh, so you want to see me again?” you ask, tugging his hand to pull his body closer to you. Neither of you learn from your mistakes.

“Maybe,” he says, teasingly.

“Maybe!” you object.

It only makes him laugh. He squeezes your hand. “We’re off on another leg tomorrow, but when I get back?”

“Yes,” you say, not caring about sounding too eager.

The corners of his lips quirk upward. “Cool,” he says. “I think the company’s going to release a statement about the rumor tomorrow, but if you have any issues or anything, just let me know. I’ll kill them,” he jokes.

“They’re your fans,” you point out.

“Yeah, and some of them are creeps.”

“I’m not sure you’re allowed to say that,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, sorry. My devoted fans, you’re so right. Is that better?”

You shrug. “I don’t know—I’m not one of your fans, so I wouldn’t know.”

He deadpans. “You take that back.”

“I don’t think I will,” you say, smiling proudly at him.

He shakes his head at you, but there’s no real disappointment that shows through the smile. “We’re gonna get you on Team Beomgyu eventually,” he says.

“We’ll see,” you say.

“We’ll see!” he repeats. He glances down at your interlocked hands. It’s probably already too late, he thinks. The world already thinks you’re dating. The social media outlets have reported on it. It’s a rumor that won’t easily go away. He thinks about releasing your hand, about taking a step back to make things easier for you, but he can’t bring himself to do it, either.

He releases your hand when his phone starts vibrating. He pulls it out of his coat pocket and shows you the screen, Kai’s face looking back at you. “I have to go,” he says.

“Okay,” you say. And you don’t ask for anything, don’t ask him to text or call or anything. Because this is a man you just met—a celebrity. And above everything else, you shouldn’t want him as badly as you do after only knowing him for such a short amount of time. You shouldn’t care so much about when he’ll be back or whether or not he’ll call.

You tell yourself it’s just the carnal aspect. Your body reacting to his being nearby after such a good kiss the previous week. It’s not really feelings.

“I’ll text you,” he says, and you nod.

He smiles, taking a few steps back as he makes to leave. “Don’t forget to tell me if anyone wrongs you—they’ll hear from me.”

“Totally,” you say, laughing under your breath as he goes.

Days pass. You go back to work. You take note of anyone lurking around the corner. Everyone with a camera might be someone taking a picture of you. You stay off social media, no longer wishing to see the vitriolic hate some people find it necessary to spew about you. Words about not deserving Beomgyu or messing with Kai’s head. In the few hours you spent scrolling before Jihyo took your phone away, you saw pretty much every mean thing in the book.

So, you’re not on Instagram when Kai DMs you. You’re not even near your phone. You come back to the message hours later.

A simple message from his professional account.

kaikamal_: hey

It’s so strange. So distant. But it matches everything else about this new version of him. Every interaction has involved distance of some kind. In words or real space. In lies or feigned emotions, trying to pretend certain things didn’t bother him.

Okay, fine.

You’re still kind of hung up on that.

The lie.

Because you know it’s a lie. You saw the way his body went rigid, the way he wanted to drag you away from the scene, the way he wanted to yell at Beomgyu about it. The kiss pissed him off.

And you hate how much it bothers you that he wouldn’t admit it, hate how much you’re still thinking about it, even now.

But what would it change, really, if he admitted it? Nothing. Maybe you would at least respect him more.

So you stare at the words on the screen for a long time, thinking about things past and impossible to change.

you: hey

It’s simple enough. Not committing to a conversation, really, but acknowledging it. You could be meaner, harsher, but you wait—wanting to see what he has to say first.

kaikamal_: im sorry

You blink a few times to make sure you aren’t seeing things. He’s not typing. He doesn’t say anything else for several minutes, leaving you questioning.

you: ??? you: for what

Maybe it’s petty, but you aren’t going to assume anything, especially when there are various things that he could be apologizing for, various things that you deserve an apology for.

You almost put your phone down, giving up on waiting for any kind of reply.

kaikamal_: being an ass kaikamal_: about everything

It’s beautifully vague. Enough so that you could assume it’s in reference to the past or present. You refuse to assume.

you: what do you mean everything

And you can see it, the way he probably drops his head into his hands and groans a thousand miles away. It always drove him insane, the way you pushed his buttons, asking for more.

kaikamal_: i was upset about the kiss

you: why

kaikamal_: come on kaikamal_: you know why

you: not sure i do

It might be the message that sends him over the edge, that pushes him to stop responding. He starts typing, then stops. Starts. Stops.

kaikamal_: can’t you just accept my apology

you: no you: it’s a bad apology you: if you rlly wanted to talk to me you could have just texted me, instead u chose to be vague on instagram dms you: i don’t get you

kaikamal_: it sucked to see you kiss beomgyu bc you’re my ex

you: so? you: you broke up with me

kaikamal_: that doesn’t mean i want to see you kiss other guys

you: see you: was that so hard to say

Another stretch of time passes between messages.

kaikamal_: are you going to keep seeing each other

The audacity.

you: maybe you: not really your business

kaikamal_: kind of is kaikamal_: it affects the whole band

There it is. It’s not about you. Not really. It’s about the band. The fame. The fans. It’s about how it will affect him. You turn your phone off to stop yourself from saying something you’ll regret.

“Do you think he’s still into you?” Jihyo asks, hours later, sitting on your couch with a bottle of beer in one hand and your phone in the other, reading over the messages.

You shrug. It’s crossed your mind, sure. “Maybe,” you say. “I don’t think it matters if he is or not.”

“Because you wouldn’t take him back?” she asks.

You nod. “If he is into me, that’s not even his biggest problem with the whole thing. It’s all about the band and fans. How it’ll change things with them. He can’t have a girlfriend because then his engagement will go down. Beomgyu can’t have a scandal because it makes him look bad. It’s barely even about me.”

“Why message you at all, then?”

“No idea,” you say.

“And why didn’t he just text you?” Jihyo asks, scrolling through the messages again. She goes too far up and finds old reels you sent each other back when you were dating. She quickly scrolls away.

You shrug. “Probably deleted my number.”

“You should delete his,” she says.

But you know you won’t.

You have two very separate problems, you and Kai. Kai feels weird about the kiss because he doesn’t understand his own feelings or how to differentiate them from the stress the kiss puts on his position in the group, but you? You still can’t break completely away from the idea of your Kai.

That he’s in there somewhere. That this new version of him is a facade. That he’ll reappear someday. It’s not something you’re actively thinking about. But it’s the blocker, the thing that makes it difficult to delete his number.

Jihyo hands your phone back when it buzzes. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asks, the same question you asked Beomgyu a few days prior.

You echo his answer. “It probably isn’t,” you say.

But you can’t help yourself. It’s like touching the stovetop when you already know it’s hot. You know this is going to get messy, eventually. You know it. There’s no way to avoid it. But you put your hand down anyway, thinking maybe you’ll get lucky and it won’t be.

You wait for the burn.

Jihyo gets up for another beer, and you check the text.

beomgyu: no new pics of you online in the past few days beomgyu: i’m considering that a win

You laugh under your breath, trying to hide the immediate joy that appears at the sight his name, his words.

you: maybe that one guy told all his photographer friends how scary you are

beomgyu: you think i’m scary?

you: of course not you: you give big softy hate to break it to you

beomgyu: but like tough big softy right

you: …….sure

beomgyu: don’t do this

Jihyo puts another beer in front of you on the table. “How’s the crush?” she asks.

You look up from your phone. “It’s not a crush,” you say, defensively.

“Oh, really?” she asks, raising a brow. “What would you call it, then?”

You lift the beer for a long sip while you think of a way to answer the question without immediately admitting you’re wrong.

A picture of Beomgyu appears, and it’s enough to distract you from the conversation.

beomgyu: no new pics of you on the internet but here’s one of me beomgyu: just in case you didn’t see it

you: i didn’t you: i’m not a fan, remember?

beomgyu: fuck that’s right i forgot

“You’re smiling at your phone an awful lot for it to not be a crush,” Jihyo says.

Another long sip while you contemplate the feeling you’ve been avoiding thinking about. You haven’t had a crush on anyone since before Kai, which feels like a lifetime ago. You haven’t been on dates or even thought, for a second, about being with anyone.

And now here’s this man, bothering his way into your life. Charming you, making you think these thoughts that you haven’t had to deal with in so long.

But neither does it feel like a crush should feel. It’s obvious reciprocated, so you don’t have to worry about the worst part of a typical crush, and you’ve already kissed—so those nerves are gone too. It’s more than a crush. It’s something you don’t really understand, which only makes it more complicated.

“Hey, you should be happy about this. Maybe I’ll have him slide Soobin your number,” you say.

Jihyo drops her arm around your shoulders. “Have I ever told you how smart and hot you are?”

“Once or twice,” you grumble jokingly.

Another buzz of your phone.

beomgyu: so did you like the photo

You shake your head, rolling your eyes.

you: you’re so irritating, you know that?

beomgyu: that’s crazy, would you believe i’ve heard that before

you: yes

beomgyu: so…

you: don’t you have like drums to play or something

beomgyu: maybe

“What do I even say to that?” you ask, showing Jihyo the series of messages. She looks at the photo. It’s a candid of him on stage, sweat dripping down his face, a drumstick in each hand. He’s wearing a shirt with no sleeves, and the muscles in his arms look insane. It’s a good photo. A great one.

“He looks hot,” Jihyo says. “Tell him he looks hot.”

You roll your eyes. “But that’s what he wants me to say.”

Jihyo blinks a few times, trying to figure it out. “Okay,” she says, tentatively. She leans back against the couch and takes a sip of her drink. “You want him to think you’re interested, but not too interested. You want to compliment him, but not say exactly what he wants to hear.”

“Exactly,” you say.

“And why can’t you just tell him he looks hot?” she asks.

You shrug. “Too easy.” Plus, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You like the little game of pretend you’ve been playing together.

you: yeah, i like it you: your fans are good photographers

“Is this your way of flirting?” Jihyo asks. She’s more the direct type. A tell the man exactly what you want and see what happens kind of girl.

“Yes,” you say. Then, “Well, at least… I think so.” It’s not like you’ve flirted with anyone in years. But this does make your heartrate sky rocket. “Besides, he doesn’t need me to tell him that I think he’s hot,” you say. “He already knows what I think.”

beomgyu: 😫

The company releases a statement the following day stating that Beomgyu is not in a relationship with anyone, and that speculation of any kind will not be tolerated by the company. It’s polite, yet firm, urging fans to ignore the situation for the safety of the people involved.

A week after the statement, you and Jihyo meet to grab drinks after work. A routine that’s fallen out of favor recently, with everything going on.

“So how are we going to get Soobin's phone number?” Jihyo asks as another round of shots is placed on the bar in front of you.

You learn back to ponder this. “It’s gotta be delicate,” you say. Even though nothing you’ve been involved in with Tomorrow x Together has been delicate so far. In fact, most of it has been exactly the opposite. In truth, you don’t know if it’s even possible.

You want to believe, of course, that you’ll spend more time with Beomgyu. But there’s that fear nagging in the back of your mind, too, the one that reminds you that all of this could crash and burn at pretty much any moment.

“I think it’ll be better if I just invite you out with us some night,” you say. But even that feels like planning too far ahead. You have to remind yourself that you barely know Beomgyu. That he’s just someone you met at a bar, just someone you kissed, just someone you’ve been texting. You have to remind yourself that it’s very possible there’s nothing between you. That after another date or two, it’ll fizzle.

There’s no reason to plan anything. To set yourself up for disappointment. But none of that is what Jihyo wants to hear. Jihyo wants to hear that you’ll slide Soobin her contact information and that she’ll be on her way to Soobin-town in no time at all.

“That could work,” Jihyo says, and you laugh.

Across the bar, you catch sight of someone with a phone, their camera pointed in your direction. A man around your age, maybe a little bit older.

“Hey,” you say. “I think we should get out of here.” You don’t motion to the man with the phone, don’t make a big deal of the situation.

You pay the tab, scurry out of the bar, and hold Jihyo’s arm, keeping her close to you. You get a few blocks before the words fall off your lips in a panic. “Hey, don’t freak out,” you say, clutching her. “But I think someone is following us.”

Jihyo turns to look behind you.

“The guy from the bar,” you say. “I think he was filming us. Does he still have his phone out?”

Jihyo looks forward again. “Yes.”

“What do we do?” you ask, even though you’re fairly certain Jihyo doesn’t know the answer—neither of you has ever been in a situation like this one before.

“Hey!” the man’s voice calls, as he jogs to catch up with you.

You and Jihyo both freeze, looking at each other, trying to determine the best course of action. Apparently, that’s not moving. The man catches up. He’s wearing a black hoodie unzipped over an equally dark shirt and jeans.

He says your full name. He says, “Do you have any comment on your relationship with Choi Beomgyu?”

It takes a lot to shock you, but this does. Your eyes go wide. It’s one thing to notice someone taking your photo, but another entirely for them to follow you across town, to address you by your full legal name, to demand information out of you.

It’s even more to, when you don’t respond and instead take a few steps back, reach out and grab your wrist.

“Hey, don’t touch her,” Jihyo says when your brain doesn’t react.

“Any comment on the relationship?” he asks again.

“What?” you say, because it’s all your brain can manage, because you’re confused and shocked and being held tightly by this strange man who only seems to care about whatever scandal you’ve stirred up with Beomgyu.

Jihyo reaches out and pries the man’s hand off you. “She’s not dating anyone,” Jihyo says. “Post that, you asshole.” Then, she grabs your hand and pulls you away.

The two of you pick up the pace, nearly sprinting through downtown blocks, desperate to get away as fast as you can. You don’t take the time to look behind you, to see if he’s still following you, you’re just running blind toward Jihyo’s apartment without thinking.

When you finally reach the apartment complex, finally close Jihyo’s door behind you, it’s with heaving breaths and fast heart rates.

“Was that normal?” Jihyo asks as the two of you settle down from the strange encounter.

You roll your wrist, stretching out the tenderness from the man’s tight grip. “I fucking hope not,” you say. It’s almost an instinct, how fast you take out your phone to tell Beomgyu. You’ve been texting pretty much non-stop since he left with the band, and this is an update he’s going to want to know about.

you: hey

Your fingers hover over the letters, trying to figure out how to explain exactly what just happened to you. There’s a little voice in the back of your head that raises concerns—that puts you back at that dining room table, but you can hardly hear it over the hammering of your heart.

you: so someone just followed a friend and i home

It doesn’t take long for him to get back to you. Sometimes you think he must have his phone nearby on stage.

beomgyu: fuck beomgyu: im so sorry beomgyu: are you okay?

Again, you stare at the letters on your phone and try to form them into words. It takes too long. Beomgyu’s face appears on your phone as it buzzes, and you answer immediately.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. The care in that single word hits you square in the chest.

Those fears take hold of you again. Your mind plays tricks on you. If you tell him everything, he’ll realize the only way to fix the problem is to leave you behind. If you don’t tell him, maybe that won’t happen.

“What happened?” he asks. The concern coats both words, and you couldn’t lie to him even if you really, actually wanted to.

You clear your throat. “I was getting drinks with my friend Jihyo, and I noticed someone with their phone pointed at us, so we left.”

He stays silent, letting you get the story out.

“He followed us out, and when he caught up to us, he asked me about you,” you explain.

Beomgyu lets out a long sigh. “Fuck,” he says. “But you’re okay?” he asks. “Not hurt?”

Jihyo looks at you pointedly. She raises both eyebrows. Tell him, she mouths.

You grumble under your breath. “My wrist’s a little sore, he grabbed me.” Silence falls over the line, and it speaks volumes to his anger. “But it’s okay, really. I’m fine.”

“Do you remember what he looked like? You should file a report,” he says.

“Okay,” you say. “Yeah, I will.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says again.

“It’s not your fault,” you say. Fear creeps in like an old friend. Rearing its ugly head again and again. Uninvited.

He lets out a deep breath that seems to relieve some of the tension from his voice. “Okay,” he says, maybe because he can tell how stressed you are, can tell that his anger isn’t what you need right now. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he says again. “We’ll be back in a few days. We’ll figure this out,” he says. “I really am sorry.”

“It’s okay, Beomgyu, I swear,” you say.

“Okay,” he says. Each okay feels a little bit lighter, like he’s returning to form.

“You’re excited to see me?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood.

It works. You can almost hear his smile. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

When the band gets back to the company headquarters after the last leg of the tour, it’s not a warm welcome. It’s to criticism about the way certain situations have been handled, about blatantly ignoring certain rules. Most of the criticism is lobbied in Beomgyu’s direction, but when it’s time to point fingers, they’re all aimed at Kai.

They talk about fixing the problem, about cleaning up the mess made by the group. They explain how disappointed fans are, both in Beomgyu and in Kai. They explain all of it over and over, but none of it really seems to sink in.

At least, not for Beomgyu. He’s only half-listening anyway, and Kai can tell.

There’s always been tension between the new members of the band and the old. Specifically, when it comes to Kai and his arrogance. The fans love him the most, which means he can do no wrong, which means he gets to control everything going on around him.

But this news—this video spreading of him yelling at Beomgyu and his ex—the fans don’t like it, don’t like this side of him. And while they’re equally upset with Beomgyu for betraying their trust, Kai has a larger fanbase, and therefore more people carrying pitchforks with his name on them.

And of course, he can’t turn that anger toward the company.

So, he turns it to Beomgyu instead.

After the long, laborious meeting, everyone disperses, going to their respective rooms. It isn’t long before there’s a knock at Beomgyu’s door, and a conversation that’s been brewing for over a week starts at full force.

No niceties, no heys, just Kai standing with his arms crossed and his brows drawn in the doorway. He says, “I told you it was a bad idea to pursue her.”

He thinks about shutting the door in Kai’s face, but the line between what he can get away with and what he can’t has grown thinner ever since he started using it as a jump rope.

“You did,” Beomgyu says with a shrug.

Kai pushes past him and into the living room.

“Yeah, come on in,” Beomgyu says. There’s not a lot of familiarity between the two. Fans have noticed that, too. They notice everything.

Kai leans against the kitchen island, looking at Beomgyu. It doesn’t take him long to get out the words he wants to say, the real reason that he’s there right now. “I want you to stop seeing her.”

“Because it’s best for the group or because you’re jealous?” Beomgyu asks.

It’s so strikingly similar to your line of questioning that it unsettles Kai. “Because it’s better for the band, Beomgyu,” he says, seriously. Taking that I’m the leader tone with him.

“That’s why you broke up with her, right?” Beomgyu asks. “Because it was better for the group? Being single is a part of your charm, and dating her just got in the way of that.”

“No, of course not,” Kai says. “Is that what she told you?”

Beomgyu shrugs. He’s tired. The tour’s been long, and he wants to lie down. Wants to call you, think about you, see you.

Kai sighs, like he’s the one stressed in this situation. Stressed at simply the idea of you not understanding the reasons he chose to leave.

“You know, you can’t stand me—but you’re not any better,” Kai says.

Beomgyu doesn’t get defensive. He just listens.

“We broke up to prevent something like this from happening. I broke up with her to protect her. You don’t care about any of that. You’re selfish,” Kai says. “You guys want to think I’m the bad guy? That’s fine. But I made the decision to leave so that something like this wouldn’t happen.”

It renders Beomgyu speechless.

“You want her even if she gets hurt?” Kai asks. “Because that’s all you’re doing. You’re not risking your safety, just hers.”

When he realizes that Beomgyu isn’t going to say anything, Kai sighs. He claps Beomgyu on the back in a show of solidarity, and there’s a moment of understanding. This sucks, it says. This sucks, but we have to make the right choice. He leaves Beomgyu standing in his apartment alone, wondering what the right choice is—and if it’s selfish to want you anyway.

When Beomgyu invites you over the following day, there’s no hesitation in your answer, and soon enough, you’re standing in his living room, taking in his apartment. It’s the same layout as Kai’s, only a few floors down. It’s livelier, too. Brighter. Like someone actually lives there. There are pictures of his family on the fridge and knick-knacks scattered around the place. Art on the walls that doesn’t read as pretentious.

He’s leaning against the arm of the couch, watching you explore the place, eyes following you.

“How’s your wrist?” he asks.

“It’s fine,” you say. It was sore for the day, but the pain went away quick. You stretch it, roll the joint. “See? Good as new.”

It isn’t immediately obvious that something is off. You don’t notice his quieter demeanor or how he isn’t cracking as many jokes until much later. You chalk it up to nerves.

You take a seat on the couch, and he slips off the arm of it and onto a cushion next to you.

“How was the rest of the tour?” you ask.

He nods. “It was good. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m kind of glad it’s over.”

You feign a shocked expression. “Choi Beomgyu, are you saying you don’t love being a rockstar?”

That lazy smile appears on his lips. “You think I’m a rockstar?”

You shove him playfully, and he laughs.

“I like it,” he says. “Some things get annoying, though.”

“Like what?” you ask. “The thousands of fans in love with you?”

“Careful,” he says, eyes finding yours. “You sound jealous.”

Your thighs are nearly touching. You want to close the distance. Reach for him, maybe, but your nerves get the best of you. Instead, you just maintain the eye contact, keeping the smile pressed to your lips, batting your eyelashes at him. “Why would I be jealous?” you ask. “I’m here. Not them.”

His gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second, but you watch the fall. He blinks a few times, as if trying to clear his mind. He stands up, puts distance between you. He clears his throat. “Want anything to drink?” he asks.

“Sure,” you say. “Whatever you’re having.”

He sets two cans of beer on the coffee table in front of you.

“What is it?” you ask when he’s silent for a little while too long. When the silence starts to feel less like nerves and more like something’s wrong.

He drops his head into his hands, raking both hands through his hair as he lifts it, looking anywhere but at you.

“It’s not the fans that I don’t like, or the fame, really,” he says.

It takes you a moment to realize what he’s talking about, that he’s continuing your previous conversation.

His eyes find yours. “It’s that I can’t want anything without it being a huge deal.” He sighs.

“Oh,” you say.

No other words come to mind. There’s nothing you can think to say that will make things better, anyway.

“What do you want?” you ask, because your mouth is dry and your head is empty and you want to be sure you know exactly what he’s talking about before you say anything else.

And then he looks at you. He looks at you, and it’s abundantly clear what he wants.

“Beomgyu,” you say, tentatively. His eyes don’t waver, don’t drop from yours. His knee knocks into yours, and it’s your eyes, this time, that fall to his lips. And you’re thinking, why isn’t he kissing me already? just before he closes the distance.

Kissing Beomgyu is like dropping a lit match into a puddle of kerosene. The moments your lips touch, everything’s on fire.

It escalates quickly, like you’re picking up right where you left off outside the bar. Your hands settle on his shoulders, and his find your waist, pulling you closer to him. It’s awkward, clumsy. Sitting side by side on the couch isn’t exactly a conduit for maximum contact. But you’re both twisted toward the other, both taking everything you can get.

There’s something hungry about it, the way Beomgyu grabs you and doesn’t let go, the way his hand settles on the side of your head to hold you to him. It isn’t long before the position has changed and you’re sitting on top of him, knees on either side of his hips.

It isn’t long before his tongue slips between your lips, his hands thread through your hair, and you’re humming happily into his mouth.

It’s different than your last kiss. Just as clumsy, just as much fulfilled tension and satisfied payoff. But the way he kisses you, it’s like he’s afraid he’ll never do it again. You part to catch your breath, letting your forehead rest against his as you take in sharp breaths.

You want to say something, but all your confidence has gone out the window, and you can’t think of any comment to make other than, wow. So you just breathe in and out.

His hands slide atop yours, resting on his chest, thumbs moving against the backs. His eyes flick to yours, and his lips part like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. He just watches you.

You open your mouth, but decide against words and instead press your lips against his again. The difference in the kiss is immediately apparent. Slower. You’re both savoring it. His hands don’t move from atop yours.

This time, it’s Beomgyu who breaks the kiss, breathing ragged, eyes fluttering closed.

Something is off.

You just aren’t sure exactly what.

It’s obvious that he wants to be kissing you. You can feel him under you, through his jeans. But it’s like he’s holding back, limiting himself from enjoying it fully. So, you keep looking at each other, not moving back in, letting the tension hang in the air.

It’s strange to be with someone you don’t know very well. Someone you’ve been talking to for a little while. Someone you’ve kissed before. But still, someone you don’t know everything about. Their intricacies, insecurities, fears, all a mystery to you. And you suppose the opposite is true, too. How much does Beomgyu really know about you?

And that’s when you start to get into your head about it. About everything. Because what is it, really, that you’re doing right now?

All of your escapades have been attached to long-term relationships. And these feelings you have for Beomgyu, well, they certainly feel real. But how real could they be after a cumulative maybe three hours spent together, alongside multiple text conversations and a few phone calls? If Jihyo were here, she’d probably tell you to get it together. To kiss the man and figure out your feelings later. You want to do that.

Something crackles in the air between you, though. A force field, and neither of you can quite push through it. Your feelings aren’t so scary—not when they’re up against the mystery of his.

“Hey,” Beomgyu says, like he can see the cogs turning in your head, the overthinking you’ve been engaging in for the past several minutes.

“Hey,” you say.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You try to tell yourself that someone you just met can’t break your heart. That your heart is too strong to be torn in half so easily. But you feel the cracks regardless, and your eyes fall closed as if to avoid whatever words are going to come next—because you can feel them, bouncing around inside Beomgyu’s head, waiting to be spoken aloud.

He picks up one of your hands, laces his fingers through yours.

“I want this,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong. I really fucking want this.” He laughs under his breath, but it’s more uncomfortable, unfortunate than anything else.

“But,” you say, because you know it’s coming.

As someone who’s been on the receiving end of many a conversation such as this one, you have a preternatural sense of determining when there’s a but.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says. There’s a sadness in his voice, and it’s obvious that this isn’t a decision he wants to be making.

You pull away from him, then, removing yourself from his lap quickly to save yourself the horror and embarrassment. It comes, anyway. Your cheeks are flaming red, the heat spreading to your ears, too. You don’t sit back down, instead putting as much distance between yourself and Beomgyu as possible.

He stands up immediately, closing said distance.

“Wait,” he says, and he reaches out to touch your arm, but you step back in confusion and a desperation to be anywhere else.

“I should go,” you say, trying to get the words out of your mouth. “Yeah, I really think I should go.”

You’re so close to the door, so close to being able to escape this awkward situation, this repeat of the same thing you’ve already fucking been through, this second rejection. You should have known. That’s the only thought going through your head. You should have fucking known.

“Wait, wait,” Beomgyu says again, stepping in front of the door. He reaches for you so tentatively. Not grabbing you, just reaching up and placing his hands on your forearms.

You can barely look at him, and he can’t bring himself to make you.

“Can I explain?” he says softly. “Please?”

“Okay,” you say, nearly choking on the single word. You refuse to cry about this in front of him, to make a bigger deal about it than it really is. Because it shouldn’t mean anything to be rejected by someone you hardly know, and yet it does.

“I like you,” he says. He means it. Somehow, that doesn’t make anything better. “I just—I don’t want you to get hurt, and these people, they’ll do anything to get the information they want.”

It’s for your safety.

“I said I was okay,” you say. “I meant it, really.”

Beomgyu sighs, and you know he’s thought about this a lot. “I’m putting you in danger, just because I want you. Because I’m incapable of being patient. It’s not fair to you. I shouldn’t have kissed you that night, not like that.”

You suck in a sharp breath.

“I just mean,” he says, loosing a sigh. “I should have been more careful about it from the beginning. And it’s my fault people are stalking you and hurting you, and I want to do everything I can to make that stop.”

You press your lips into a tight line to keep any emotion from showing on your face. You don’t really know how to feel. There’s a bit of anger flaring in your chest, but you’re not sure what to do with that.

“So to recap,” you start. “You want me, but you’re rejecting me because you don’t want me to get hurt?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“You know this hurts me, right?” you say.

It must take a second for his mind to catch up, because he says, “I’m not rejecting you.”

Your brows draw together in confusion.

“Sorry,” he says again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not good at this. I’m not rejecting you. I like you. I really like you. I just think we should wait for this to all blow over. I don’t want to risk you getting chased down again or injured or anything. But people will get over it eventually, I think.”

“What if they don’t?” you ask.

“They will,” he says, and he sounds confident enough that you believe him.

It’s still strange. It still makes that numb feeling stretch out from the center of your chest. Because it kind of still is a rejection, even if he doesn’t want to think about it that way. Not right now is still kind of no.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he says. “Maybe that’s selfish too, I don’t know.”

“Did Kai put you up to this?” you ask, because the idea’s been lingering in the back of your head since he uttered the first words. It has Kai written all over it, this idea that you need to be looked out for by anyone other than yourself. You can’t see past the rejection, can’t see the truth in what he’s saying, the idea that putting a hold on whatever it is the two of you have will keep people from literally stalking you.

But you’ve always been like that. Unable to see past the hurt to the truth. The pain blinds you, and when it comes time to see the reason, your eyes are closed.

Beomgyu’s expression softens. He doesn’t answer the question. “I don’t want to do this either,” he says.

“Then don’t,” you say.

“It’s not—it’s not that simple,” he says, and the hurt flares in his eyes, too.

But this being hard for him doesn’t do much to make you feel better, when neither of you needs to be doing it at all.

You don’t know what else to say. There isn’t anything that can change his mind, that much is clear. You want to fight. You think about fighting harder, but realize it’s not worth it. And when you leave, hood pulled tight over your head, disguised to prevent more pictures from being taken, you’re fairly certain you’re never going to hear from him again.

warnings | tags ; lowercase and small text [you can freely copypaste the fic into any resource that will make it sentence case if lowercase is uncomfy for you! i have nothing against it!] ; regular enemies stuff like bickering, mutual insults and duels ; can get melancholic and too introspective ; characters get so delusional that they don't even consider being delusional.

smut warnings ; dom yeonjun x sub reader. specific warnings will be listed in each chapter [good luck, peachy], but in general:

unprotected penetrative sex (birth control potions for both), oral (f and m receiving), lots of mess, praising (of course), rough sex (sometimes), hair pulling / choking / the lightest spanking. stuff like this—just your regular smut that sometimes gets a little too detailed

⠀⠀⠀C H A P T E R S

teaser⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀1⠀[⠀7k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀2⠀[⠀13.4k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀3⠀[⠀12k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀4⠀[⠀16k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀5⠀[⠀10.9k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀6⠀[⠀13.4k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀7⠀[⠀15k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀8⠀[⠀9.5k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀9⠀[⠀13.6k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀10⠀[⠀12.7k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀11⠀[⠀14k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀12⠀[⠀13.3k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀13⠀[⠀15.1k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀14⠀[⠀14k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀15⠀[⠀14.6k⠀]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀16 [ 8.9k ]⠀⠀››⠀⠀chapter⠀17⠀⠀⠀

posting schedule ; no fixed schedule yet, but i'm trying to post on saturdays and wednesdays, every 3-3.5 weeks—chapter 17 is planned for july 15th, but i can’t promise it’ll be out exactly then [ i'll do my best still ]

⠀⠀⠀AGE / YEAR CHEAT SHEET

in this au, hogwarts functions as both high school and college. students can choose to finish after high school or continue as college-level students at hogwarts (which is why there are no seventh-year slytherins except yeonjun and mc).

yeonjun and mc are in the same year; soobin (hufflepuff) and beomgyu (gryffindor) are one year below them; taehyun (ravenclaw) and kai (hufflepuff) are two years below. [ it makes sense that soobin and beomgyu are in the same academic year, i swear. feel free to send me an ask if you're curious! ]

seventh-year students are around 21–22 years old; chapter 3 and all following chapters take place during the 2021–2022 school year.

⠀⠀⠀N O T E S

chapters start and end randomly because i don't write by chapters, i just have a long ass sheet, and i'm simply trying to separate them by word count and scenes. i'm sorry chapters aren't for me ;-;

taglist ; [feel free to contact me to be added!] @.human-misery ; @.xylatox ; @.vicurious28 ; @.gyuchubss ; @.yeonjunnnielover ; @.lovely-maryj ; @.97z-jk ; @.hwangjoanna ; @.yjnwonstars ; @.heylolmeow

Your bags are sitting at the end of you bed still only half packed. You loved packing, the meticulous nature of it was everything you loved. Sometime for big trips you even made yourself a list before hand so that you could get the thrill of crossing the packed items off. But with this trip the packing process had not gone as planned, you kept putting it off, until the very last minute. The night before your early morning flight to Seoul. You were ecstatic to have the opportunity but the excitement did not ease the ever growing nerves bubbling over in your stomach.

Your cell rings loudly through your small apartment, but nevertheless you still cant find the device. Sorting through your closest, dresser and sheets and still you cant find the where the sound is coming from. Finally you the low moon light reveals your phone on your bed side table - where you always keep it- It's your boss Danielle — Dani to you and her friends — Dani was calling most likely to scold you for not being packed. She most definitely knew of you delay with the project, as she is the person you go to in any sort of crisis. She didn't have to give you grief but as the closest thing to a mother figure in the city she took it upon herself as soon as she hired you as her assistant. 

Most people roll their eyes and feel bad for you mention your job. But its not as bad as. the movies make it out to be at least not with Dani. She was always so sweet and supportive. She even made sure that you were working on you own career. You had just graduated fashion school and were looking for any entry level job that had anything to do with fashion, designing, or styling. So when almost 3 months had gone by and you were still eating on tables at a crumby dinner you broke and put out an add as a personal assistant. You never thought you'd get lucky enough to think that Danielle Morrison would reply asking you to come in for an interview and offer you the job on the spot, but here you were a year and a half later getting her phone call at eleven pm. 

"So how long till your fully packed?" She asks dismissing the idea of starting a conversation with 'hello'. "Because I know you well enough to know that you pack my bag before you packed your own." She laughs taking a drink of her red wine. You may not be able to see her but its definitely what she's drinking. 

"About an hour." You answer putting the phone on speaker and throwing it down on the duvet with a small thud.

"Ugh, well were gonna be gone for almost two months so don't forget to over pack. Better to have to much than too little." You can hear the thump of her heels on her desk. 

" I am aware of the length of out stay, considering I booked our hotels and flights." You giggle reminding her of who really should be bossing around who. "Okay well I think I can lock in and get this done pretty quick if I'm not distracted. So bye! I love you and I'll see you in a few hours for our flight. The car is picking you up at 5:30 sharp. Please set your alarm for earlier I know its gonna take you longer than 20 minutes to wake up unlike you claim. " Yup laugh and end the call before she can scold you again. 

The morning light is barely visual when you wake up in the morning. Your coffee has already start brewing sending the magical sent of caffeinated perfection your way. The hot beverage burns the roof of your mouth but you keep drinking knowing that you won't have much time for a proper breakfast. 

As expected the car arrives much to quickly for your liking. Popping your ear buds in and shuffling your favorite pop punk playlist- All American Rejects might now be for everyone at five am its always been prefect for you- you head down the three flights of stairs with your 4 separate bags. Some people may have considered it over packing but you worked in fashion so to much was probably not enough. Henry, Dani's and by association, your driver took your bags and stuffed them in the back of the black SUV. you hopped in the front and closed your eyes. Early morning traffic always seemed to be worse when you were heading to Dani's so you thought there may be a chance for a minute or two extra of sleep. 

Dani's building was a lot nicer than yours. With tall glass walls and all the amenities a person could dream of, it was by far one of the nicer complexes in Manhattan. Not only do you call her but you also make sure to buzz her apartment and send her more than one text before you finally receive a response of a simple 'one minute' text from your boss. After twelve and a half minutes of waiting she finally greets your and henry with a cheesy grin followed by a mean glare. You and henry take the bags from the door man and load them into the car with you own. Her six bags give you a sigh of relief at your own luggage situation. 

You don't speak a word to Dani the whole car ride. You learned the hard way that she is not a morning person. Even after three cups of coffee she would still give you the death glare if you spoke a word to her before noon. 

Henry parks the car and unloads the ten bags onto and cart and even pushes it to the the checking station for you. You check all of the bags and direct Dani to security in silence. You would think that 6 am would be a slow time at the airport but after living in new york for 5 years you realize that the saying is true even for the airport the city really never slept. Waiting in the endless TSA line was something you had gotten used to over the last year and a half. You traveled with Dani a lot and really did enjoy it but sometimes your heart ached to stay home and cuddled in your bed with a scary movie. But in order to live your dreams you've learned that there will not only be sacrifices but a lot of them. 

You get through TSA and head straight for the only good coffee shop in the airport knowing you'll meet Dani at the lounge with her own coffee order and breakfast. 

the coffee in one hand and ham and cheese croissant ,sending heavenly cheese smells to your nostrils, you scan your boarding pass and make your way into the airport lounge. Out of all the perks of your job this may just be your favorite. You had always thought that time at the airport was such a waist. With all the noise and people you were never able to get any work done. And with the fact that you were never technically off the clock the waisted time at the airport always made you feel a little guilty. So when Dani finally hit 75,000 a year on her credit card you knew you had to bite at the opportunity to get yourself some much earned you time while still at waiting for your plane. 

You set the flat white in front of Dani and pull our her croissant. She smiles from behind her laptop and bites into the sandwich. You think she might orgasm from the smell alone but thankfully her mind and body stays fully intact. You pull out your tablets and keyboard and begin to edit the document containing Dani schedule for the next two months. You had meticulously planned every single minute of the work trip, just as she had asked you to. 

Before you know it you are boarding the plane and settling in your seat. With such a long flight you had booked your self in first class and and Dani at the absolute front of plane, just like she liked. She much preferred to be the first to be served on a flight. You were in the middle with another seat on the left of you. You went to activate the thin vinyl separator in between the seats but it wasn't going up. You wave down an attendant and ask her if you had done something wrong. She informs you that unfortunately there had been a malfunction with this seat and the wall couldn't go up. She apologies and offers a complimentary drink and snack for the inconvenience. You take up her offer and ask for a mimosa and fruit. Who said morning drinking was out?

The plane has gone still and quiet when the tall stranger sat in the seat across from you. He immediately closed the shade on the window and settles into his seat. He flips off his hood to reveal the perfect strawberry blonde hair cropped right over his ears and falling in his eyes. He sports Ray Bans and large head phones. He glance over to find you staring and smiles with a small wave, you take a drink of your mimosa and focus back to your tablet. 

Once you're in the air you start to work on your own designs knowing that you'll need to have this dress done by the time you are back to the states. Your sister had asked you to complete it a few months ago for her senior prom. You had sketched out the skirt and top but the design and colors just weren't coming to you. 

"Wow you look determined." The low voice says next to you. On your left the owner of the voice stares at you with a small smirk. 

"Oh yeah, I'm just working on a sketch." you say, forming my lips into a thin line. 

"Oh your an artist. Can I see what your working on?"

"Oh, well I'm really in to the middle of something and it not even close to done." you push out a pitiful laugh and play your music again. 

"Oh come on, I'm sure their great! Just give me a peak!" He insists practically reaching over the separator to look at your tablet. you scoot over and pull the tablet close to your chest. "Seriously? Don't be humble. I'm sure its not that bad!" 

"Dude she obviously doesn't want to talk to you much less show you her work. Just fuck off man." A different softer voice says above you. The voice belongs to the sunglasses wearing man on your right. He's standing over you glaring at the man on your left. The first speaker rolls his eyes and presses play on his film subsequently leaving you alone. You look up to the second man with a soft smile and mouth a thank you. He quickly turns and heads to the front of the plane for the restroom. You focus back onto the sketch you were previously working on but your head keeps taking you back to the voice of the man to your left. The soft easy nature of it with the hint of a Korean accent. You hadn't gotten a great look at his face but you knew just from the little interaction that he had to have been beautiful. 

You give up on the sketch and decided that stretching your legs using the restroom would be the best option. You head over the restrooms and enter the small cabin. Washing you face and hands you open the cabin door with a jolt almost bumping into the man in front of you. Which much to your relief is the man sitting on your left. You see now that you assumption was correct. With high soft cheek bones and the most perfect lips he smiles taking a step back. 

"Sorry, I thought the lavatory was empty." He laughs letting out his easy going voice once again. 

"You're fine. Its all yours now." You grin holding the door for him. 

"Thanks, your the girl sitting next to me aren't you?" He asks keeping you tethered to the conversation. 

"Yeah, thanks again for telling that guy off. I appreciate it!" You thank him again attempting to slide back to your seat he grabs your attention again. 

"Do you wanna switch?" You give him a questioning look. "Seats I mean. switch seats. So that you don't have to sit next that dick." He explain himself further. 

"Oh no, its fine he really hasn't bothered me much. but thanks anyway." You wave him off. 

"Okay well if you change you mind just give me a look and we can switch right away." He smiles stuffing himself into the small restroom cabin. 

You sit back at your seat and are immediately greeted by the other man grinning at you possessively. You turn away from him and decide that you might as well take the offer that you were previously given. 

When the man on the left comes back to his seat you look at him with much dismay in your eyes. He doesn't even sit down. Just grabs his orange juice and lets you slide into his seat. He slides himself into yours and hands you your water across the the aisle. 

"So, do I get a name?" You ask bravely. Letting the blush hit your ears. He looks over to you with a sweet smile. 

"Yeonjun." His name sounds like sunshine in a bottle and describes him perfectly. You give him your name and fall into a perfect set of conversation. Finding out that he is from Seoul but was in New York for work. He listens intently when you tell him about your preparations for Seoul fashion week and that you'll only be in the city for two months. He jokes at showing you around the city and a blush creeps along his cheeks when you said you would take him up on it. After what seems like 15 minutes and not nearly seven hours hours the plan lands in Seoul. Yeonojun slips his sunglasses back on and his hood back up and stays in his seat. 

"It was nice to meet you." He looks up as you throw your bag over your shoulder. 

"It was nice to meet you too Yeonjun." 

With the flight behind you and a surge of confidence after your brief flirtatious conversation you take Seoul in with a large deep breath. The air is sticky from recent rain but you don't mind. Rain was something you missed so much from Washington. 

Dani and you meet right outside of the gate and trade brief pleasantries before heading straight to baggage claim. Pushing your joint bags up what seemed to be a 70 degree angle had to be the hardest thing you had done in your life. You love Dani but sometimes she can be a bit oblivious to the task at hand. 

You find the car picking you up load everything into the trunk. Its smaller than the SUV you usually take but you don't mind just thankful you won't have to figure out the Seoul Metro system. Its nearly four PM hear but its only three AM back home. So your hotel bed immediately envelopes your body as soon as you walk into you chilly room. 

After hours of sleep and a glorious shower you head down to the complimentary breakfast to start you day. Dani has not broken her slumber so you make a note to wake her in a hour. Knowing she will thank you for getting a head start on her day even if she does not want to be woken right away. 

With the day schedule revised, Dani's coffee order in hand, you march to the second floor neglecting to take the elevator simply because you know you can use the steps. Your own iced vanilla latte practically slips out of your hand when you make your final decent. You take a thirsty gulp and press a light knock on Dani's door. No sound comes from behind the door. You wait and are utterly disappointed but not surprised when you only hear silence. You pull out your last option and swipe the key card you had printed for her room.

"Wakey, wakey! Sorry but your sweet dreams have come to end no you just get me and the perfect 50 degree weather." You shout setting her coffee down on the side table. She turns over in her bed and gives you one of the worst glares she's ever laid on you. "The no talking before noon rule was revoked when we got to Seoul Dani. So get your ass up and dressed. I already had your out fit steamed and pressed." You say handing her the garment bag. She takes a large deep drink of her coffee you think there isn't a way she didn't burn her entire mouth in the process but that's the thing about Dani, she's practically not human.

After Dani is dressed and properly caffeinated you head to to the office you'll be working out of for the next two months. Originally the directors of Seoul fashion week told Dani she didn't need to come out so early to prepare but her being the stubborn goat, she was insisted.

The company had set aside an office for Dani to work and already had it fully accustomed to her liking. The fact that you didn't have to run around like a chicken with its head cut off making her office perfect gives you a sigh of relief and saves a good 45 minutes of your day. 

You dive into you work going through emails, sending emails, proofreading emails. You could've practically been an email genius by now! But after some time you notice the clock tick a little past twelve. Putting in a lunch order and an additional soda for your boss you tell her you'd be heading out for lunch. Dani smiles and waves you off, to engrossed in her own designs and work to notice you leave. 

You push the elevator doors to open and walk in attempting to balance your computer, tablet and every other random items in your large leather bag. The Elevator moves down two floors and the doors open again. You turn to the side leaning farther in to your phone. Unfortunately this causes a domino effect and all the items you've been attempting to keep stable tumble out of you bag and onto the floor. 

Leaning down and picking up your items the man next to mirrors your motions. Only when he looks up from the ground do you notice you've met before. 

"Yeonjun." You speak. The blonde boy looks up quickly and lights up the cabin with his smile. 

"Hi." He lets out breathless. "What are you doing here?" he adds a curious look on his face. 

"This is where me and my boss are working out of for our stay. We got here this morning." You chime with a little more giddiness than you would like to admit. He smiles back but doesn't offer you a reply. His stupid sunglasses sit on his nose as if untouched from the first time you saw him. 

"So you're getting ready for fashion week, but that's not for another six weeks. Why come so early?" He asks leaning against the back wall of the elevator. You laugh and explain the reasoning for Dani's need to be ahead of the rest of the designers on the runway for fashion week. He simple nods along keeping eye contact. 

"So what are you doing here? You never told me what you do?" You enquire hoping to gain a little more information about the man next to you. At the exact moment you finish you question the elevator doors open again and invite a large group of men and women into the small space. You're quickly shoved up against the wall with Yeonjun in toe next to you. He smiles and looks down at his feet as if ready to kick every other person in the elevator out and down the the shaft so he can answer you. But nevertheless he stays silent with that damn grin plastered across his face. He close enough that you can smell his cologne, leather, the deep sweet smell that is distinctly the soft pliable fabric. You think that it may be the best thing you've ever 

The doors open up and lets the large group of people and yourself out onto the first floor. 

"I'll see you round Chanel!" He calls as he heads the opposite direction. You smile and wave politely. The nickname came from a conversation you had only yesterday. When you mentioned working in fashion, he attached himself to the one brand he knew 'Chanel'. You found it endearing that he even remembered your conversation. 

Out on the street you notice a large crowd of people gathering at the sidewalk across fro the building. Many of them being held back by a metal barrier and multiple security guards. You wave the thought aside and head in the direction of the restaurant. 

By the time you get back to work your stomach has been angry for too long and fingers are starting to shake from hunger. You devour the sandwich chips and soda you had ordered. You even indulged in a cookie from the restaurant after more than one patron recommended it. 

Dani sits in her office unaware of the rest of the world. You slip in as quiet as possible as to not wake the beast. 

"You've barely touched your lunch, can I get you something different? Something you'd enjoy more?" You request, leaning against her desk. The low light of her office brings a relaxing feeling to your stomach the pale light from the window makes you want to take a seat in the plush chair in front of her desk and simply just chat with her. 

"No, I'm okay, just not super hungry. My stomach has been acting weird all day." She admits looking up at you earnestly. You push her comically large water bottle a little closer to her and give her a stern look. She take along drink and lets out a refreshing 'ahhhh'. You at her and head back to your desk and laptop. Taking your own advice and sipping on your water. 

Time seems to slow as the afternoon lulls on. Many people go in and of you temporary space, some meeting with you others speaking with Dani, but it mostly just turns to a blur of bodies and voices. 

The sun starts set letting a golden ambiance into your space. You attempt to shoo your boss out of her office and back to the hotel for dinner and bed, but she insists on staying a little longer to finish her project. Sitting in your chair with your tablet in your lap you scratch away at the over done design in your hands. You're about to erase the entire thing when a soft voice breaks you from your dazed state. 

"Hey Chanel." Yeonjun flirts the blush evident on his cheeks but but his confident smile eases the color. 

"Hiya!" You shout already seeming to excited to be in his presence him again. The thing about talking with Yeonjun was that the world seemed to speed up and slow down at the same time. It was like you were the only people in room and no one else mattered. Its funny to think that you are already so comfortable with him considering the short time you've known him. And it wasn't only his words but his presence and his scent, god his scent drove you crazy. 

"What are you doing here?" You shake away the thoughts of his cologne from your head and nostrils. Wanting to simply be here. 

"Wanna to talk to you, actually!" He smiles leaning against your desk. You can already feel the color strike your face, you must look like a freaking lobster after Yeonjuns words.

"Me?" you ask pathetically as if he was asking the potted plant behind you. 

"Yeah." He laughs. "I wanted to ask if you wanted to joining me for dinner tomorrow?" He breathes letting his chest fall. He must have been nervous because after the words fall from his mouth because you can hear that his breathing is a little more even now. 

"Oh." You practically tip over in you chair. "Why?" you let, out embarrassed at the idiotic response. "I mean, not why, I don't know. I- sorry. I'm just shocked." You stop before you let more words out. Of course you had been flirting with him, he had been a cute guy you most likely would never see again, running into him today was never part of your plan. The plan which was more of a unstructured idea of fun and whimsy. And getting asked out on your second day in Seoul was also not part of your plan. Or your unstructured idea of fun and whimsy. You didn't mind, but god you were only here for 2 months, 8 weeks! You cant go out with a guy who lives half way across the world. You just cant, its not realistic. You rub slow circles over your arm. attempting to push your stomach down from your throat. 

"Well," he laughs again stopping himself mid sentence. " I thought you were into me." He states plainly. And of course it was plain. You were into him. He was your airport crush. The guy you make googly eyes over, maybe get he chance to flirt with once and then have a wet dream about three weeks later. Not the guy that actually asks you out. "But I guess I was wrong. I'm sorry." He waves standing from your desk and starts to go back the other way. 

"Wait!" You shout leaping out of your seat. Grasping at his wrist. He turns back to you and gives you a wry smile. "Its not that I'm not into you. I was just wasn't expecting it is all." Your out of breath by the time your up and next to him. " I am definitely into you." he smiles at your addition making him radiate pure sunshine. " But I still cant go out with you." Your voice breaks with the realistic truth. Yeonjums face falls and its as if a large storm cloud has passed over his entire being. 

"Oh, well can I ask why not?" He's kind about the question and you almost don't provide him an answer but with the heart breaking frown on his face you give in.

"I mean I'm only here for two months and I really don't do casual. Or at least I try not to. I just don't want to start something neither of us can finish. You know?" The answer seems good enough to perk him back up but his face stays turned down in the moon cast light. 

"I understand. Thanks for being honest though. An hey if you end up changing you mind take this." He bends over your desk stealing a pen and sticky note, writing 10 numbers down. "text me anytime." He hands you the note and proceeds on his way. " Goodnight Chanel!" He waves, his lips finally turning up the slightest bit 

After effectively pushing Dani out of her office and tucking her in you roll into bed yourself. But you are one unlucky bastard because instead of being blessed with the perfection of a dreamy sleep you lie awake thinking about none other than Yeonjun. You wished you could've said yes, could've indulged in a date with him, but your entire life is in New York. I mean you were based there with Dani and you apartment was there. Which was really it but that's still a lot you argue. What if you end up really falling for him just to be dragged back to the US and have him stay here in Korea. It just wasn't feasible but realism doesn't keep you from dreaming about what you would wear to dinner and how he would drape coat around you when its cold. About how he would hold you hand and walk you on the inside of the street. How his hand would feel on you waist, on your hips. How your lips would feel when he finally closes the distance between you. How his body would feel flush against yours. How his hand would feel between your thighs. How his soft voice would sound in your ears praising you for how you were behaving. You practically moan at the thought. 

The next morning your surprised to find a text lighting up your phone. 

Dani ✨: Please dear god bring me water!?!? I cant stop throwing up 😭

You: OMG I'll be right there!!!!!!!

You sprint down to the lobby and grab three bottles of water and the best anti nausea medicine they have. You then heave yourself back up the stairs and don't even bother with knocking. You find Dani hanging over the toilet with a horrible pout. 

"Oh my god! What the fuck?" You gasp at the disgusting sight of your boss sitting on the bathroom floor actively beginning to vomit again. You drop the bottles and medicine and pull her hair out of her face. Coughing and dry heaving for another 2 minutes you keep your hand on her back attempting to soothe her in any way possible. She sits up after this round puking seems to be over. 

"I haven't thrown up like this since i was still clubbing and drank like a maniac." She laughs still effortlessly charming even when sick. You coax some water and meds into her and after it seems that she wont be throwing up at least for a little while longer you move her to her bed. You tuck her in and grab the ice bucket lining it with a bag just in case. She attempts to shoo you off saying she doesn't want to get you sick, but you insist on taking care of her. You sit on the opposite side of her and turn on the TV. 

"Wait, I really don't want to watch cable television." She cries grasping at the remote. 

"Okay well I know you well enough to know you are gonna get bored sitting here." You laugh pushing a strand of her hair out of her color drained face. 

"You're right! So tell me about your day yesterday! We barely talked. I already miss gabbing with you!" She gushes laying herself farther into her pillows. You roll your eyes. 

"My day was boring, nothing even happened." You say turning towards her. Even though that was technically a lie you keep the whole Yeonjun situation to yourself knowing she will only force you to go into explicit detail and then torture you until you go to dinner with him. She knew you hadn't been on a date in a long time and would definitely be using it against you. 

"That's a lie ma'am. You have a tell. I saw you talking with someone yesterday evening!  Who was it?! He looked cute!" She wiggles her eyebrows. 

"I do not have a tell!" You roll your eyes again and proceed to easily give in. "But I was talking with someone." Blushing you tell her everything from the plane ride to the the embarrassing encounter and prompt rejection by you. 

"You said no?!?!?" She screams practically bursting your ear drums. "Why would you say no? He sounds like your dream guy! And he works in fashion! He sounds like a fucking catch!" She beats you with a pillow. You dodge the blow and take the pillow from her 

"You're right he does. But I live in New York. Not Seoul." You remind her. The silence sits thick between you. You know shes thinking of a way to convince you to go on this date. But you ignore her wishes and turn the TV on anyway. Flipping through channels of commercials and cheaply made movies. 

You start considering the date in your mind. Rolling over the idea of what it would mean to go out with Yeonjun. I mean would it have to mean anything? You think. Maybe not? But again it could mean a lot and then you'd leave after 2 months and you would be completely heart broken. You did want to go but you didn't want to end up back in New York hating yourself

"Okay, why is that such a bad thing though. This doesn't have to be serious! Like you could just go on a date some quick dick and then head out! I mean lets be honest how long has it been since you got hot and heavy with someone?" She asks prodding the questing even further. "And no your vibrator does not count." She laughs. You take the moment to hit here back with the pillow and ignore her accusations. 

With HGTV in the background you think to yourself how long it has actually been. Over a year is what you guess. The end of your relationship with Marcus, your former boyfriend, was anything but hot. But that's another reason not to go! You might not be ready for a date, even something casual. 

"Oh my god! I can feel your brooding from here!" Dani shouts. Breaking you from said brooding. "Please just jump in head first and go out with him. I wouldn't be where I am if I didn't take risks and jump with out looking. And In my opinion my life is great!" She brags pumping out her chest. Rolling your eyes for umpteenth time today you simply glare at her. "As I am your boss, I will be making the decision for you. You are going on this date. in fact I'm gonna take you shopping right now. No work today only date preparations!" she squeals sitting up in her bed. 

"Dani, no way! You were just violently throwing up like an hour ago! Besides going on a date right now would only distract me. This is a work trip after all. " 

"Who cares if its a work trip?! You should go even if its just to have a nice meal and get to dress up. And now I feel a million times better anyway. Please! I wanna go shopping so bad." Shes basically on her hands and knees begging you. You let out a huff and cross your arms over your chest. 

"Then go shopping for yourself Dani. I don't need to go on a date. I shouldn't go on a date." 

"Okay fine. i wasn't gonna pull out this card but we've gotten to the point where i need to." Dani stature suddenly becomes serious. More serious than you've seen her in a long time. You think the only you've seen her this serious was her own wedding, you had just began to work for her. Many of her bridesmaids had warned you 'she usually isn't this quiet. you're in for a real treat.' they joked. now you thought maybe the only things she took seriously were the people she loved. 

"you haven't been the same for a little while. I'm not sure exactly what it is but i can tell something is up. I don't think a date could solve all of your problems but I think it could get your mind off of the things that you shouldn't be focusing on." Her words are honest and laced with care. You can tell she really does want the best for you. 

"Fine. Let me text him quick." 

Shopping with Dani wasn't like shopping with anyone else. It was more ritualistic. And much more expensive. It turns out that her pleading wasn't entirely selfless. That's how you find yourself in a locked room of the top floor of the Seoul Hermes. Wishing to yourself you had never said yes to a shopping spree or a date with Yeonjun. You had accompanied Dani to many quota bag appointments. So the mysterious nature of the whole tryst wasn't foreign to you. You had seen your fair share of the New York Hermes and even owned a few products, kindly given to you for Christmas by your boss of course. 

With your second glass of champagne in hand the navy loveseat dips dips under your weight. Across from you Dani leans over the orange box a small woosh sounds as she lifts the lid . Practically oozing over the leather item, she speaks with the sales associate and shakes her hand. The box is slid into a matching orange bag. 

With bags strewn across you shoulder you finally get to the shop that you can afford with a few more dress you like. The shop is small nothing like the shops that Dani frequents. It smells like sweets. It wafts through the air giving the store a homey atmosphere. You flip through the options and pull out few, setting them aside to try on. Dani reminds you to go out of your comfort zone. She pulls a few dresses you would never wear in the light of day but you add them to your pile nonetheless, simply to please her. 

With soft pop playing in the over had speakers you start with a baby blue floor length dress that you and Dani immediately decide washes you out too much. You then move onto a short yellow dress but the sequins are scratchy seemingly leaving a little rash on your thigh. After ten more dresses, four different pairs of heels. A few tours of the jewelry case and the citrus scent of many top shelf perfu,es still lingering in the air. You decide on a short sleeveless black dress with white fringe on the edges. It hugs your curves gently and falls right at the middle of your thigh. Dani pairs it with a strappy black heel with silver hardware. She also insists on getting you a new black clutch to go along with the outfit. 

Sitting with Dani in her hotel room was a chaotic unlike her shopping tendencies this was completely off the wall. Loud R&B fills the bathroom bouncing off the walls and back to your ears as Dani paints your face with red lip stick, its the third one she's tried tonight on you. And she finally found a winner. Squealing through the music she basically leaps into the air. 

"You look incredible, girlie!" She screams playing with your perfect curls. You stand and take a look at yourself in the mirror the dress extenuates everything it needs to. The make up leaves you speechless, your eyes pop perfectly with the dress and the silver shimmer Dani applied and the red lipstick is truly the exact right color. Yeonjun had texted you back saying he would pick you up at 6:30 it was now 6:00 and you were trying to get over the nervous feeling in your belly.

You head back to you room and grab the clutch from the dresser putting your phone, wallet, and, a few other things in there you might need. In your own bathroom you spritz on your Chanel No 5. You almost always saved it for special occasions but you convince yourself to use the one Chanel product you own. If only to use it as a conversation starter. At 6:24 exactly a soft knock lands on your door. 

You open the door and find Yeonjun with a light blue and white striped shirt with a black blazer over top. He's holding a bouquet of blush pink peonies. His eyes go wide when he takes you in. 

"Wow, you look," His sentence falls off as his eyes roam down your body. "incredible." He finishes,limply handing you the flowers. You can smell them from your side of the door, fresh and faintly rainy "For you. I wasn't sure what your favorite was but these looked nice." He offers, 

"Thank you, that's sweet." You smile taking the flowers, you step deeper into the room. You find a glass and fill it with water. Peeling the paper off the flowers you slip them into the glass and look up. Yeonjun is watching you from the door way in complete awe.

"Ready?" You ask walking closer to him. He nods and closes the door behind you. You walk to the elevator in silence. It's not the stiff silence but a kind , soft, silence. In the elevator he hovers his hand over your shoulder leading you out of the cabin. He slides his sun glass over his eyes and pushes you to the door. A black SUV waits outside the hotel. Yeonjun holds the door for you and then offers you a hand up to the vehicle. Yeonjun and the driver speak briefly in Korean and the car sets off into the city. 

"So where are you taking me?" You tease, crossing you legs in the seat. 

"Just a restaurant uptown. I hope you like traditional Korean food because that's all they serve." He smiles. 

"Well I love the Korean spot in my neighborhood back home so I can imagine how amazing this will be." You card a hand through your hair and turn back to the view of the city. 

The SUV has the perfect new car smell, clean, comfortable. Even the vehicle Henry drives doesn't smell this good. The ride isn't long, only a few minutes from your hotel. Yeonjun again helps you from the car but instead of letting go of your hand when you make your decent he holds it tight and leads you into the restaurant. 

The dimly lit dinning room is covered with maroons and golds. You can smell the salt and spice from the hostess table. The entire space reeks of money. Yeonjun gives the hostess his name and she leads you both to a secluded booth near the back of the restaurant. You pick up a menu and scan over the options.

"Ok, well unfortunately I speak no Korean so I think it would be wise for you to just order and i'm sure i'll love it!" You laugh looking up from your menu to find Yeonjun already smiling at you. He nods and waves over the waitress. He speaks with her quickly and hands her the menus. 

"I hope you like bokbunja?" He leans in. You look at him dumb founded as the word is nothing but a jumble of letters to you. " Its blackberry wine." he explains. 

"Oh, fuck yeah!" You exclaim, his face falls. "Oh my god, were at this beautiful restaurant and I just dropped the f bomb. I'm so sorry." You apologize letting your head fall into your hands. 

"Don't apologize I was just surprised. You don't seem like a girl who would curse." He eases himself into his chair . 

"Yeah, that what people say a lot, but in all honesty I kinda have the mouth of a sailor." 

"Hell fucking yeah." He states calmly. His voice has that perfect sway the it always does. The slight hum that he adds after each of his sentences makes you smile. His smile widens a laugh spilling from his lungs. "So you grew up in Washington. Why New York?" 

"Fashion lives in New York. There isn't a better place for it besides maybe Milan." 

"Seoul is pretty amazing for fashion. I think at least." 

"Yeah, I will say there is nothing like the style here. So did you go to school here?" 

"I uh studied entrainment at Global Cyber ​​University. Where did you go to school?" 

The conversation flows easily, you eventually let your guard down. Something you haven't done with any body but Dani in a long time. The discussion moves from small talk to something much deeper. You learn the little things, hes an only child, among other things, he adores mint chocolate chips ice cream. 

After your third glass of bokbunja the sweet drink begins to inebriate your senses. You laugh at another one of of Yeonjuns jokes which simply sets you over the edge. You slap the table and look up at the man across from you. 

"Would you like dessert?" Yeonjun speaks you shake you head letting him know that you are completely full.

"Thank you though, this was an amazing meal and the company wasn't horrible either." You blush pushing a curl behind your ear. "I think that maybe we should do this again." You admit, giving him a sweet smile. 

"Well if you want. My flat isn't far. We can keep chatting have some coffee." You can see that he does really want to talk to you more so you agree and head out of the dimly lit restaurant. 

In the car ride back to his flat Yeonjun continues to listen to your stories of New York. He laughs and scoots closer to you. 

"So how did you get in fashion? I don't think I ever asked." He asks taking your hand and leading you out of the car. 

"I always knew I wanted to do something with clothes. I mean every girl runs around the house playing dress up but I was meticulous about it. Everyone of my friends had to be color coordinated and have the perfect accessories. All my friends hated that I wouldn't let them wear missed matched dresses and pants. And then when I got to high school I took a home ec class and learned that I loved sewing and one thing lead to another and before I knew it I was in New York for fashion school." There was a lot more to the story than just that but even if you did feel comfortable with him Yeonjun didn't need to know everything about your life. Not right away anyways. 

His home reflects him with beautiful with marble floors and wooden accents. Yeonjun definitely has taste. It even has his perfect deep leather smell. You immediately notice the low lighting, perfect for an after date rendezvous. 

You both slip off your shoes and walk farther into the home. His couch is in the middle of the apartment, sitting in front of a large TV. On the couch left is a slab of wood carved into a table with plush cream chairs surrounding it. His kitchen is on the other side of the dining table. 

"Would you like something to drink? I have soju or water or I can make coffee." Yeonjun opens the fridge, loetting the garlicy scent waft over you. He must have made an incrdibly rich dish for the entire kitchen to smell so pungent. 

"I would love some water." Leaning on the counter, you feel oddly bare with out your heels on. Yeonjun hands you a bottle of water and you sip it slowly. 

"Wanna sit?" He's already half way to the couch when he makes the suggestion. You sit on the lush couch and tuck your legs under you. With your dress slideing up your thigh and you don't move to pull it back down to entranced in the story Yeonjun is telling you. You scoot closer to him with out thinking, you fingers make thoughtless circles around his bicep. The action obviously goes straight to his head because his shit grin is plastered back on his face. 

You lift a hand to push your hair out of you face but Yeonjun beats you to it. Fingers linger down your jaw line and the feeling is ice cold. You both go quiet not wanting to break the tension. And for a horribly long minute Yeonjun sits as close to you as possible. His eyes wander from your eyes to your lips and back. You mirror his actions taking in his own soft lips with you eyes. They are the best shade of pink, the cupids bow connecting at the top of his mouth. 

He finally closes the distance between the two of you. You kiss him back falling into his chest. His hand moves from your cheek to you waist and he pulls you closer to him. You breath him in wishing to tug him closer. His other hand has made its way to the back of you neck, he moves you slightly to deepen the kiss. Your lips slowley part letting his open with them. His tongue glides over yours delicately. He withdraws from you, taking in a deep breath. You smile at him for a minute before diving back into his mouth. He tastes like the wine you've been drinking, perfectly sweet with an aftertaste of a sour bite. It seems almost sweeter coming off him. You moan into him while you lift yourself out of a seated position and onto his lap, a leg on either side of his waist. You let your weight fully fall on him and find the friction near your core even more enticing than the messy kiss. You paw at his jacket attempting to shove it off of him. He breaks the kiss and looks at you earnestly for a moment. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asks face full of honesty. 

"Yes definitely." You connect your mouths again and finally push off his jacket. He grabs at your ass pulling you flush against him. You grind down further searching for any sort of friction. Before you can protest Yeonjun grabs your waist and picks you up off the couch. Wrapping you legs around his waist you look at him with wonder. 

"I haven't given you a proper tour. Why don't I show you my bedroom." He quips laying a light kiss on your neck. Moaning at the contact. He walks you both from the couch to the bed room with relative ease. He closes the door behind him and leans against it.With you still in his arms he begins to kiss at your neck again. He begins to suck and bite right wear your neck and shoulder connect. 

"Yeonj," The name falls of your tongue but is interrupted by the soothing feeling of his own tongue on the bitten spot undoubtedly leaving a purple mark. He toys with the zipper of your dress and snags it down. With your body press completely to his chest keeps the fabric up right. 

He continues to the bed and promptly drops you onto the matteress with a bounce the top of you dress falls down revealing the black and pink set you picked out to go under. Yeonjun marvels at you. You think he might as well be comatose and he hasn't even seen you naked yet. Taking this time you sluff off your dress the rest of the way to showing off the full set. You blush at his reaction, seemingly dumbfounded. 

"Are we gonna continue or are just going to stand there with your jaw on the ground?" You tease with a silly smile. He immediately falls to his knees and begins kiss the inside of your thighs. Instantly your hand find his strawberry blonde hair. He begins to do what he had done to your neck earlier, leave obvious marks and bites. After a torturously long time he finally lands right where you need him. His fingers yank at the fabric between him and your core. He slides them down past your knees and throws them god knows where. 

He's back and attached to you again in a moment. He laps up the wetness that has emerged from your core. He grunts into you like a man starved. His tongue rolls over your folds and teases your hole. 

"Jun, please don't tease." You cry pulling his face closer to your ever heating cunt. You grind down on his face feeling his nose bump your clit. At the contact you moan out his name again. He notices the reaction and redirects his attention to the neglected bud. With precise circles of his tongue he slowly makes you unravel. He replaces his tongue with his thumb and continues his previous task. Slowly he begins to fuck your hole with his tongue. In and out at the perfect pace, his thumb doesn't slow down either, simply keeping up with his tongue. 

"Oh my god, I'm close!" You cry out begging for more. He obliges by quickening his pace and eating every ounce of arousal around his mouth. He rips his hand away from your clit and quickly start to suck on it. His finger speedily replaces his tongue as he thrusts up into you, your plush walls convulsing around him. When he adds a second finger you break, the tense knot in your belly breaks and your orgasm runs over you. Yeonjun continues to fuck you with his fingers dragging out your high. 

When his hand leaves your throbbing core you sit up to look at him. His face is a bright red obviously out of breath. His shirt has yet to come off. You quickly stand to your knees ignoring the pain that comes with the motion. You unbutton his shirt as he continues to kiss your neck. You push off the fabric and let it drop to the ground. His under shit is slight see through with all the sweat that its absorbed. 

He rips it off and to reveal a perfectly sculpted body. Your hands fall from his neck to his pecs. Much like earlier you make aimless cirles on his skin. He begins to kiss you again lying you down on his bed. Your hands blindly find his belt buckle and begin to undo the loops. While you work on his belt he lift up your chest and snaps off your bra letting your tits fall free. He pulls back from the kiss and has the same look he had on his face before. 

"What do you think? As amazing as you imagined?" You quip finishing off his belt and throwing it to the side with your own discarded clothes. He simply laughs and nods in regard to your question. His hand finds your breasts and makes aimless shapes around them kneading them in his palms. He begins to focus on your nipples with his thumbs. You scratch at his back letting your nails almost break the skin. His hands move from your nipples to you waist. He kisses down your neck connecting his mouth to your chest. His tongue circles the erect bud, sucking tediously. He pulls you closer and farther into his mouth. He slides from one to the other making sure to give treat each equally. The slickness of your breast from Yeonjuns mouth goes unnoticed by you. More concerned about the wetness in between your thighs. "Please Jun. I need you in me." You beg your hands moving to his pants. 

"Just wanna make my baby feel good." He mumbles drunk on your skin. 

You push his slacks down to his knees. His boxers have a small damp patch letting you know that you are not the only one affected in the situation. You move to push down his boxers but he pulls back.

"Shit!" He exclaims. You give him a questioning look. "I don't have protection." He speaks, dragging a hand down his face. 

"Seriously?! You don't keep a box of condoms by your bed what kind of man are you?!" You shout crossing your arms over your bare chest. The area sticky from saliva. "God I have to do everything don't I. Go grab my clutch by the door I have brought a pack." You direct. He sprints out the door leaving you to sprawl across the vast bed. He back in an instant holding the foil in his hands. He leaps on to the bed over your sprawled body. He plants a quick kiss on your lips and sticks his thumb in his boxers pushing them down to let out his heavy length. . You pull him closer beckoning him into another kiss. His head runs over your folds before penetrating your hole. You take his length in your hands and make a few hurried strokes. You can feel every vein. He twitches underneath your touch. Your thumb falls from his shaft to his head right over his sensitive slit, your spread around the pre cum letting the thick liquid help your hand slide up and down his length. You take it in both your hands making usre to give extra attention to his crown. 

Your hands fall, opening yourself back up to him. He takes the condom and rips the packaged open. Rolling it down his cock he lines up with your entrance. You lift your hips begging for him to fill you. He obliges and slips his head in.

The stretch is immense. You breathe through the pain and focus on the pleasure to come. He pushes in a little farther letting out a small grunt. Your arms wrap themselves around his neck to anchor you. Your legs attached to his waist. 

"Fucking hell, you are tight." He rasps after hes fully bottoms out. 

You breath raggedly, "Please I need more." You beg scratching at his back. 

He slowly begins pull out and thrust back in, each time hitting your sweet spot. And every time he does you moan louder. Letting out broken screams of his name. "Ugh! Just like that!" You scream. "Jun! Fuck!" You screach with your hands in his hair you pull him into a languid kiss, nothing but teeth and tongue. 

His hand flies between you and starts to rub precises circles around your clit again. This makes your moans loader and your screams whiner. 

"God Jun I'm so close!" You shout as your hips jut up into his. After your confession he begins to quicken pace not only chasing your high but his as well. He then pulls completely out only to slam back into you an instant later. With a yelp of his name you cum, the knot in your lower belly breaks. The more you moan through your orgasm the more you feel the pulsating of Yeonjuns length. The sweat beads down on his forehead dripping onto the fabric beneath you. "Oh Jun." Th mumble of his names sets him over. 

He thrusts harder lengthening both of your highs. You kiss him as he does running your fingers through his hair and down his back again. He slows lettign you breathe in the deep thick air. YOu can practically taste the sex, the scent surrounds you.

You feel his length softening inside as you come down from your extreme high. He pulls out of you and discards of the condom in the bathroom. He reapers with a damp towel and begins to clean off your legs. 

"Thank you." you whisper sitting up. He nods and smiles wordlessly. 

"Do you wanna hop in the shower before me? I am more than happy to wait." He lets out walking closer to you from the bathroom. 

"Oh no, its fine you go ahead." He slumps himself into the bathroom and you hear the water begin to fall. 

You search for your bar and dress while he showers admitting to your self that is probably better to shower at your hotel. The hunt for the clothes takes longer than you would like it to. Yeonjuns room is quiet large with many spaces a bra could slide under. When you finally slip on your undergarments and find your dress you hear the water turn off and Yeonjun come out. With his towel wrapped around his wait and body still shimmering with water he simply look ethereal. 

"Oh good! Do you mind zipping my dress back up? I can't get it." 

"Why? You're not gonna sleep in that are you?" He laughs stepping toward you. 

"Well no but I cant exactly get a cab ride back to my hotel naked." You laugh looking up at him. 

"Oh, well I was hoping you would maybe sleep here tonight." He grins sheepishly "So that I make breakfast in the morning " He says wrapping his arms around your waist. "Even maybe get to talk more. Or I don't know repeat some of the event from tonight?" You give him a knowing glare. "Please." He gives you the biggest boba eyes ane even pouts his lip. "You begged all night long. Now its my turn." His fingers rise and fall over your bare spine. 

"I'll need something to sleep in because I'm not one to sleep naked. And you should change the sheets while I'm in the shower." You command walking to the bathroom and stepping under the hot water

Waking up in Yeonjuns bed alone wasn't what you expected this morning. It wasn't like you cuddled all night a you wanted to be woken up with kisses. But waking up in an empty bed was never a great feeling. Standing from the mattress , you walk over to the bathroom continuing your usual morning routine. 

"Noooooooo!" Yeonjun shouts from the bedroom. You step out to find him clutching a tray with eggs bacon and toast, with a large glass of water sitting atop it. "You were supposed to be asleep so  I could wake you up with the smell of breakfast in bed!" He whines. You give him a sweet smile and walk over to take his wrists in your hands. 

"You are the sweetest." You smile. "Go back out and come back in. But wait like thirty seconds!" You exclaim shooing him out of the room. 

"Why? I still wanna have breakfast with you!" He yells from behind the door. You run back to the bed and tuck yourself under the covers. Closing your eyes feigning sleep. The crack of the door alerts you He walks over wafting the smell of fried meat and eggs into your nostrils. "Good morning!" He whispers bent down with the tray at your face. You open you eyes and dramatically stretch your arms up over your head. 

"Wow that smells amazing!" You beamed with wonder in your eyes. The smirk doesnt go unnoticed by Yeonjun, but he wipes it off you with a sly kiss. "I'm really hungry." You mumble into his mouth."But I'm a little type A and I will not eat in bed. Ever. So lets eat in the dinning room." You request. 

"Okay, give me just a minute. I'll be right back." Yeonjun coos his breath barely above your mouth. You stay in bed playing with the makeshift shorts he gave you last night. The boxers are soft on your legs and his shirt smells so much like him it seeps into you nose and you never really want it to leave. Yeonjun slides back into the bedroom slipping through the door way on his socks. He races over to the bed and picks you up in fell swoop much like he did last night. You wrap your legs around his waist in order to pull yourself closer to him. With your lips hovering over his you close the distance. Unlike last night the kiss breaks and he leans forehead against yours. He sets you down on the smooth fabric of the cream chairs surrounding the wooden table. 

"What was that for?" You question, sipping on water from the tray. 

"Well, personally I think that a princess like shouldn't ever touch her feet to the ground." He states simply. 

"Are you calling me high maintenance?" You snicker playing offense. 

"No, but last time I check Chanel is a high end brand." He quips wiggling his eyes brows. The flirting is nonstop the entire meal. With his jokes and your laugh both of you think that you could stay here for ever.

Falling down onto the sheets sweat beading on each of your foreheads. The thick smell of sex surrounds you and Yeonjun once again. 

"God! That was amazing. " You breathe your chest rising and falling with difficulty. 

"Hell yeah. I could get used to that!" Yeonjun hoots. 

"What? Me riding you?" You retort. He kisses your neck over the obvious hickies he left only last night. "Jun, stop! I don't think I could do a third round." You object, but his mouth stays connected to your neck. "Also. I haven't even texted Dani yet and I'm sure she is wondering where I am and what the hell the plan is for today." You exhale brushing his hair out of his face when he finally looks up from his trail of kisses. 

"Ugh, fine but I do want to see you again. Soon." He states standing and retrieving the discarded clothes. "Do you want something else to wear? So you don't have to be in your dress again?I have sweats and a tee you can even where some slippers of mine." His tone is neutral as if you had done this a hundred times. You nod and sweep on the shirt and sweats he'd lends you. "Besides you'll have to return them sometime. So maybe this is more for my gain."He chimes, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

"I'll make sure it all gets back to you." You tease letting go of his frame and ushering yourself to the door. "I'll see you around. Okay Jun?" You close the door behind you.

"So in conclusion I had the best time. And it was really the greatest date I've ever been on. So thank you I guess." You confess to Dani laying your head in her lap. 

"I told you!" She yelps back practically jumping in her seat. "Oh my god! You are so lucky! I've heard Korean guys treat their wives like literally royalty!" 

"Ugh! stop I'm not gonna marry this guy!" you exclaim beating her with a pillow. "But getting that kind of head every night would be amazing." You sing falling back into the mountain of pillows and blankets. 

"You are so in love!" Dani exclaims hitting you in shoulder. You simply roll you eyes and continue to scroll on your phone. 

Monday morning comes to quickly, but you don't mind knowing you will most likely get to see Yeonjuns face today. You hope you run into him in the elevator again. Maybe he'll hit the emergency stop and take you right there. 

Unfortunately you get a text fromYeonjun saying he isn't in the office today but he'll gladly pick you up for drinks at his house. You giggle at the thought, making your stomach stir sweetly. 

Dani and you take he elevator to the 10th floor of your temporary office. That's when you notice it. The poster a young intern carries with her. The distinct strawberry blonde hair catches your eyes first but then its the glint of the eyes. 

"Who is that?!" You pry. She rolls out the poster to its full length to show the man slouching in a clean shirt and shorts. 

"Its Choi Yeonjun, he's a part of TXT. The biggest boy group right now." The intern explains. 

"Oh. That's cool." You feign nonchalance and walk out of the elevator cabin whispering to Dani "We need to talk right now please." 

02. he's hot

01. digital footprint

03. our anniversary

04. honey boo

05. she's gonna be there

06. bonding experience

07. he's not that good looking

08. the fucking hunger games

09. not that hard

10. high school set up

11. still cute tho

12. the love of her life

13. i wanna ask him out

14. surprise cancelled

15. we're not even friends

16. second date

17. apologize

18. costume parade

19. teddy bear ice cream

20. having fun

21. new bestie

22. she's a bitch

23. he looks hideous

24. he's an idiot

25. quality time

26. she likes sharks

27. the real mvp

28. yeonjun drama

29. masochist

30. soft spot

31. fire alarm

32. future boyfriend

33. future wife

34. i like her

35. feeling seen

36. safety precaution

37. lover boy

38. knowledge

39. step on me

40. the horniest

41. no more fighting

42. awkward and silly

43. funny story

44. buddy system

45. we're done

46. choose your date

47. have fun

48. he got a date

49. date night

50. doing coke

51. this is love

52. ready to try

53. friendship cancelled

54. college girls

55. insecure little man

56. step down

57. winners

58. dumb bitches

59. lousy players

60. regular tuesday

61. serious company

62. dramatic

63. no wedding

64. kinda still my win

65. like a promise

the end

taglist: open! (7/50)