destiny🍰

following her around the mall like two lost pups, both hands occupied by endless shopping bags as she bounces from one store to another, the sound of her newly bought kitten heels echoing through heeseung and jake’s ears whilst their eyes are glued to the back of her pink little miniskirt swishing around, barely covering a thing. geez, such perverts! (˶˃𐃷˂˶)

and then comes their favorite part of the day. their hearts practically leap out of their chests when your eyes catch a glimpse of their your favorite lingerie store, dragging them inside cluelessly to ask for their opinions as you naturally did with all the other stores, questioning them on which color looks good on you the best. their hungry gaze trailing your every move almost going unnoticed by you.

and who are they to say no when you ask them to join you in the dressing room to help? you might be an airhead, but you’re not that stupid to not notice them ogling you the entire day. plus, you think they deserve a little treat for putting up with you and your shopping addiction. so when they tower over you from the front and the back, trapping you between themselves, all you can do is let out a pleased hum as jake kisses you rough on the lips, not wasting a second while his slender fingers play with your hardened nipples through the lace bra he had picked out minutes before.

“look at her jake, such a pretty mess for us already..” heeseung mumbles before pressing a soft kiss against your neck. his hands slid down your bare waist, knee in between your thighs and pressing against your soaked core, making you mewl against jake’s lips.

you then decide that shopping with these two will be your favorite part of the week from now on.

​you stared at the photo, my thumb hovering over the screen. he was with you for two years and he couldn’t say those words to you, even in your anniversary. the whole time in your relationship, he was reckless, emotionally distant, and entirely unpolished. you spent a year settling for what you had because you thought it was love.

but the day he sent you a text saying it was over, he told you he just wasn't ready for commitment. now you realize he was ready, he just needed two years of your patience to learn how to be the man a girl deserved.

then there was jaemin, a senior from high school, your first…you wouldn’t say boyfriend but a fling. it was simple, you liked him and he liked you back. but only because you liked him that he liked you back.

then when he met a girl from his club where he really, really liked, your fling was over.

and even before all of them, there was the ultimate what if: park jongseong.

he was your childhood friend, the boy who lived just doors down, whose laughter was the soundtrack to your earliest memories. you had loved him since you were six years old, a silly, innocent crush that somehow managed to grow up right alongside you. as the years bled into high school, that fondness turned into something heavy and terrifying. you spent months practicing confessions in front of your bedroom mirror, your heart hammering against your ribs, only to swallow the words every time you saw him smile at you. he was your safe haven. the risk of speaking up and ruining the one steady friendship you had was a price you couldn't bear to pay.

until, he took an interest in your cousin, karina. you watched frozen as he confessed to her in the school field during lunch. he told you that day that he would confess, breaking your illusion of anything happening between the both of you. what you didn’t expect was he fell for someone you also knew for years, let alone a family member.

then months later, he admitted that he liked you back. but you were still just children then. his definition of love was too small, too cautious to risk breaking the fragile, beautiful friendship you had built. he didn’t know how to hold a girl’s hand while holding her history at the same time. but thanks to you, he knew what real love was. you gave him a lesson he’d forever treasure.

just not with you.

the worst part, you never got to tell him how you felt. you just quietly stepped aside, becoming the supportive best friend who helped him figure out what to say to her.

​"y/n? hey, are you even listening to me?"

wonhee, ​your roommate snapped the thread of my thoughts. she was sitting across you, a half-eaten plate of pasta between us, looking at me with a mixture of concern and mild annoyance.

​you locked my phone, the screen going mercifully black, and forced a practiced smile onto my face. "yeah. sorry. just... an internship notification. what were you saying?”

"i was saying about the drama I just overheard by the counter while getting our drinks."

she leaned in closer across the small table, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "you know jisu from the department next to ours? apparently, she and sunghoon just made it official on their feeds. like, matching profile pictures, public couple status, the whole nine yards."

wonhee shook her head, taking a slow sip of her drink. "everyone is losing their minds because sunghoon used to be notorious for being completely uncatchable. he’d date a girl for a month, get bored, and leave them with enough character development to write a novel. but look at him now—completely whipped. i guess some girls are just born to be the final destination, while the rest of us are just the rest stops along the highway."

you gave wonhee a weak smile, “tell me about it.”

just when you were about to mope on your feelings, your boss from your internship messaged that you interns are needed tomorrow for an urgent shoot. luckily, you had no classes tomorrow so you have time while still catching up with some tasks for school.

tomorrow has finally arrived and you came to the building of the prestige building of véra, a magazine known for its sleek minimalism and its legendary ability to turn underground creators into overnight icons. it was a place where trends didn't just get covered—they were born.

"no, absolutely not. the lighting is completely flat, and the silk looks like cardboard under these gels. look at the monitor!"

"i’m tracking the ambient light, okay? but if you want that raw, overcast mood you specifically asked for in the mood board, we need to shift the reflectors. now."

the sharp, overlapping voices echoed across the massive concrete studio space the moment you pushed past the heavy double doors. the atmosphere inside was thick with tension, a frantic ballet of production assistants rushing past with garment bags, makeup artists adjusting their kits under blinding vanity lights, and the distant, rhythmic clack-clack-clack of a high-end camera shutter.

in the center of the chaos stood the creative director, kang jiah, pinching the bridge of her nose in sheer frustration, while the lead photographer, oh minseok adjusted a massive lens on his tripod.

as a makeup artist student, your brain automatically began calculating the fix before anyone even asked you to. you could see the problem from ten feet away: the model had a gorgeous, warm skin tone, but the current lighting was clashing with the undertone of her foundation, making the high-shine finish look chaotic instead of seamless.

you gripped the handles of your professional makeup train case a little tighter, swallowing down your nervousness. you were just a standby intern here to clean brushes, prep skin, or rush to the makeup artist’s bag for products they need, but the thick tension in the room made your heart hammer against your ribs.

“excuse me,” a calm, clear voice suddenly broke the thick tension in the room. "if i may offer a small suggestion? what if we change the polarization instead?"

from the shadows behind the main monitor setup, a boy who seemed to be around your age stepped forward. he was dressed simply in a loose black sweater and clean trousers, a professional light meter slung casually around his neck.

"if we drop a linear polarizer onto the lens and tilt the key light down by just five degrees, the camera should cut the greasy reflection from the strobe while keeping the model's natural skin texture completely intact. director kang gets her soft, glass-skin look on the monitor, and you won't lose your highlights, sir. It should take less than two minutes to adjust."

the studio went quiet for a beat. photographer oh peered over his shoulder, checking the math on the monitor, before a slow, appreciative nod broke across his face. he stepped up to his own rig, quickly adjusting the polarization filter to test the student's theory.

"he's right. the polarization math checks out," photographer oh announced to the room, looking thoroughly impressed. "good eye…what’s your name?”

“jungwon, sir. yang jungwon.”

“good eye, jungwon.” director kang told jungwon with her stern voice but the look of amusement on her face did not leave.

yang jungwon.

everyone at the university knew who he was. he wasn't just talented; he was the golden boy and a prodigy. he was the type of student who's friends with everyone, the student whose photography portfolios were already being archived by professors as future curriculum benchmarks.

he possessed a rare, effortless blend of sharp academic intelligence and raw artistic intuition. he was brilliant, celebrated, and completely out of reach.

a boy existing in a flawless, sunlit orbit that a guarded, cynical standby intern like you had no business crossing.

jungwon wiped a stray lock of hair from his forehead, offering a small, dimpled smile to a stressed-out production assistant who had just dropped a roll of gaffer tape near his feet. he bent down, picked it up, and handed it back to her with a gentle, "here you go. don't worry, we have plenty of time."

you swallowed hard, averting your eyes.

he was brilliant, he was elite, and he was universally kind. the ultimate hazard sign.

it would be a lie if you said you didn't find him cute the first time you saw him in the building.

​"y/n, go in and touch up the nose and jawline," the head makeup artist, hyeji called out, waving a hand toward the vanity. "matte it down just a bit so the polarization works properly."

​you blinked, snapping out of your thoughts, and quickly grabbed your powder puff and a translucent setting powder.

​walking onto a live set always felt like stepping into a spotlight. your heart did a nervous little flutter as you approached the model, consciously keeping your eyes glued to her face and away from the monitor station where jungwon was standing.

​"excuse me," you whispered politely to the model, stepping into her personal space.

​you raised your hand, your fingers stabilizing against her jaw as you gently tapped the powder puff onto her skin. this was your comfort zone. the familiar scent of cosmetics and the meticulous, rhythmic tapping usually calmed your nerves.

​until you felt a presence shift right behind you.

​"ah, wait a second please," a quiet voice murmured.

​you froze, your hand hovering inches from the model’s cheek. jungwon had stepped up right next to you, leaning in slightly to look at the model's face through the small space between you two. he was close enough that you could catch the subtle, clean scent of his fabric softener—like fresh laundry and cold winter air.

​he wasn't looking at you. his sharp, focused eyes were entirely on how the studio lights hit the model's skin finish. he raised a hand, using his thumb to gently mimic the angle of the key light.

​"if she tilts her chin up just a fraction when y/n finishes dusting the powder," jungwon said softly, addressing the photographer while subconsciously using your name, "the shadow under the jaw will clean up perfectly."

​your breath hitched in your throat. y/n. he didn't even know you, yet hearing your name leave his lips in that calm, casual tone felt like a sudden spike of electricity.

this feeling was familiar, you said.

​as soon as the thought crossed your mind, a cold wave of reality washed over you, dousing the spark before it could even catch fire. you quickly finished the last few taps of powder, stepped back, and offered a hurried, polite bow to the model and jungwon before retreating to the dark edges of the studio.

​your chest felt tight. you're doing it again, you scolded yourself, your fingers gripping the plastic handle of your powder compact so hard your knuckles turned white.

​you felt pathetic. you felt completely, utterly cursed.

​it was always like this. one soft glance, one polite gesture, a boy simply using your name and your heart was already trying to sprint ahead. you fell fast, hopelessly fast, like a script that had already been written for you a hundred times before. you were the girl who romanticized the bare minimum, the girl who mistook a photographer's technical focus for something personal.

​you closed your eyes for a brief second, forcing your breathing to steady.

​if you let yourself look at yang jungwon, you knew exactly how this story would end. he would smile, he would be kind, he would inadvertently teach you how to love a little deeper—and then he would hand his heart to someone else, leaving you behind with nothing but a notebook full of character development.

​you weren't going to be the rest stop on his highway. not this time.

​"y/n? can you clean the brushes from the morning prep?" the senior makeup artist's voice called out from the vanity room.

​"coming," you replied, your voice dropping back into its practiced, neutral tone. you pulled your shoulders back and walked away from the lit set, determined to keep yourself distracted from whatever feelings that are rising.

***

dear, y/n,

sometimes, old habits die hard. you recognized the electricity today, didn't you? it’s the exact same current that left you in the dark three times before. he is a walking hazard sign with a dimpled smile, and you are already stepping over the yellow tape. the truth is, you missed the way a single voice could make the room tilt, and for the first time in a very long time, it felt kind of beautiful to feel everything all at once again.

the train ride home was the worst part of the day. it gave you too much time to think, the rhythmic, metallic hum of the carriage matching the uneasy beat of your heart as the train rattled through the city.

​sitting crushed between tired commuters, you pulled out your phone. your thumbs moved on pure instinct, opening the app and typing his name into the search bar before your logical brain could even try to stop you.

​@jw_209

​you swallowed hard as his profile loaded. no private account lock. no gatekeeping. just a blue checkmark, a massive follower count, and a grid that looked exactly like a highly curated digital museum.

your eyes scanned his feed, and that familiar flutter settled deep in your chest.

he liked taking photos of landscapes with ethereal vibes. misty horizons, soft pastel sunrises over quiet shorelines, and ancient trees swallowed by a dreamlike haze. he captured the world in a way that made ordinary things look completely breathtaking.

​he was incredibly talented, yet his captions were entirely humble. just a single camera emoji or a word or phrases about the fleeting nature of everyday moments, or how softly a quiet afternoon can pass you by.

​then, you scrolled down a bit further and hit the real hazard zone: his tagged photos.

​there were countless pictures of him posted by other people. jungwon sitting at a university cafe surrounded by a huge group of friends, all of them leaning into him. jungwon smiling broadly, showing off those deep, clear dimples as he held up a peace sign next to girls from the dance club, the cheer squad, the student council. every single person in his tagged photos looked happy just to be standing near him.

​he was tagged in sweet birthday posts, late-night study group sessions, and celebratory dinner collages. he wasn't just liked. he was cherished by everyone who crossed his path.

though he doesn't post photos of people in his social media. you guessed he likes to keep the people in his life private or he just likes taking photos of landscapes than people.

on the way back home, you were pulled right out of your thoughts by the familiar chimes of the convenience store down the street from your dorm.

​the door swung open, and a boy stepped out into the humid night air, a small plastic bag dangling from his fingers. your footsteps completely faltered on the pavement.

​it was yang jungwon.

​he was dressed down even more than he had been at the studio, his hair slightly damp and a pair of simple slippers on his feet. he stopped under the warm, buzzing glow of the storefront sign, completely breaking the distant, untouchable image you had just been staring at on your phone. he was right here. in your neighborhood.

​before you could even think about hiding or turning around, he raised his head. his sharp eyes blinked in surprise, and then, those deep, familiar dimples cut into his cheeks as he caught sight of you.

​"oh? y/n, right?"

“j-jungwon!”

damn it, you really had to stutter and raise your voice.

“you just got home?”

​"yeah, the head artist wanted the foundation brushes sanitized tonight because the morning crew needs them fresh, and then i had to sort the sponge bins and double-check the inventory list for the next shoot since we won't even be there on friday, so it just took way longer than expected."

it felt like you couldn’t breathe after that. why did you have to overexplain? he had asked a simple four-word question, and you had handed him a full logistical breakdown of your internship duties like a nervous suspect under interrogation.

​jungwon blinked softly, taking in your breathless ramble. for a horrifying second, you thought he might find you completely weird—but then, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and that deep, gentle dimple appeared on his cheek.

​"ah, so that's why you're so late," he murmured, his voice incredibly soft in the quiet night air. "you worked really hard today.”

“t-thank you. it was just part of the job, really. i’m still just a standby intern, so i have to do my best not to get in anyone's way."

​jungwon tilted his head slightly, his gaze warm. "you didn't get in anyone's way. your skin prep made the polarization adjustment work perfectly."

the fact that he remembered that brought your heart into a sudden, breathless flutter, the erratic rhythm pounding so loud against your ribs you were terrified he could hear it in the midnight quiet. it was that exact same jolt of electricity from the studio, only this time, it felt twice as loud under the quiet streetlights. your heart was doing dangerous, hopeful flips, completely ignoring every single warning you had just given yourself.

​jungwon shifted his weight, his plastic bag rustling softly against his sweatpants. he looked down at the street for a second, a small, polite smile lingering on his lips before he looked back up at you.

​"well, it's getting pretty late," he said softly, gesturing slightly with his head toward the direction of the apartment blocks. "i should probably head back home before the ice cream i bought completely melts."

​you blinked, forcing your brain to kick back into gear. "oh! right, yeah. of course. go ahead."

​"get home safely, y/ni," he murmured, stepping past you with a gentle nod. "see you at the studio on friday."

​"goodnight," you whispered to his retreating back.

​you stood frozen on the pavement, watching his tall, relaxed figure disappear into the shadows of the street. the subtle scent of his fabric softener still lingered faintly in the humid night air, a cruel reminder that he had actually been standing right there.

​you let out a long, shaky exhale, finally allowing your shoulders to drop. you were supposed to be building walls. you were supposed to be guarding your heart against the ultimate hazard sign.

​but as you turned the key to your dorm room, your heart was still stubbornly replaying the exact way his dimples looked under the convenience store light.

the quiet hum of your desk lamp was the only sound in the room. you had been staring at your color theory assignment for the past hour, but the lines of text were starting to blur together. your brain was entirely fried.

​just a five-minute break, you promised yourself.

​it was a lie, and you knew it. your fingers moved on pure autopilot, unlocking your phone and opening the app before your conscience could stage an intervention. you had explicitly told yourself to stop looking. you had promised yourself on the train, and again at the door of your dorm, that you wouldn't feed the curse.

​but as you clicked on his profile, a little red circle illuminated his profile picture.

​new post • 2 min. ago

​your breath caught. you tapped it.

​it wasn't an ethereal landscape or a misty sunrise. it was a shot taken from a low angle, capturing the wet asphalt of the pavement reflecting the warm, buzzing neon glow of the convenience store sign down your street. in the distance, the blurry silhouette of the quiet neighborhood stretched into the dark, looking incredibly nostalgic and soft through his lens.

​it was the exact spot where you had been standing together just an hour ago.

​he had captured the ordinary street and turned it into something poetic. your heart did that dangerous, breathless stumble all over again as your eyes drifted down to the caption.

​he wrote: daylight.

***

dear y/n,

how are you supposed to know which signs are real and which ones are just the universe playing a cruel joke? when you spend your whole life guarding your heart against a curse, you start to see warnings everywhere. you read caution tape in a polite smile. you read danger in a dimple. but when a boy posts a picture of a midnight street and labels it daylight, what are you supposed to believe? is it a green light, or just another beautiful hazard sign?

​you and jungwon have the same elective of visual media color theory. though you never noticed him fully until yesterday’s studio shoot, you now vividly remember seeing his name printed right above yours on the attendance sheet every single week.

​today, you sat right in the middle of the classroom just to get a better view, since you could barely see the slides when you were seated at the sides of the room.

​what you didn't expect was looking up to see the dimpled boy sliding into the empty seat right next to you, greeting you with a soft smile.

​“hey, y/n.”

​“h-hi! jungwon.”

the syllable felt heavy on your tongue, entirely too loud for the quiet buzz of the classroom before the professor walked in. you quickly looked down at your desk, blindly organizing your highlighters just to keep your hands from shaking.

he set his laptop down on the wooden desk, the plastic convenience store bag from last night nowhere to be seen, replaced now by the clean, sharp scent of his usual cologne. out of the corner of your eye, you watched him lean back in his chair, his long legs stretching out comfortably under the desk.

"you usually sit by the windows, don't you?" he asked, his voice low and conversational as he adjusted his screen.

your hands froze on your pencil case. you turned your head to look at him, your chest tightening. "y-yes. how did you know?"

jungwon paused, his fingers hovering over his keyboard. he turned his head to meet your gaze, those deep dimples faintly tracing his cheeks as a soft, easy smile broke across his face. "i sit a few rows back. it's kind of hard not to notice when you're always dropping your pens under the chairs."

a mortified heat rushed straight to your face. you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. all this time, you thought you were completely invisible, a nameless face in a hundred-person lecture hall. but he hadn't just seen you yesterday—he had been watching your clumsy morning routines for weeks.

"i don't drop them that often," you muttered defensively, though your voice lacked any real bite because your heart was currently trying to escape your ribs.

"hm, if you say so," he amusedly replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners. he leaned in just a fraction closer, his shoulder almost brushing against yours. "but since you moved to the middle today, i figured i'd move too. the view is better here anyway."

the professor finally walked into the room, clapping his hands to start the lecture, but your brain had already completely short-circuited.

the view is better here anyway.

you didn't say it out loud, but you completely, wholeheartedly agreed.

the view from the middle of the room really was so much better, especially when it included the sharp line of his jawline and the soft way his hair fell over his forehead as he looked back down at his laptop screen. you couldn't help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at your lips. you had originally just wanted to see the lesson clearly, but sitting right next to yang jungwon was an undeniable upgrade.

as the professor finally walked in and the slides changed to color wheel harmonies, you leaned back in your chair, feeling a warm, victorious rush of giddiness settling deep in your chest.

throughout the whole lecture, jungwon noticed how you were having a hard time catching up with the professor’s fast pacing. without a word, he simply slid his notebook toward the center of the desk, his clean, neat handwriting perfectly capturing everything you had missed.

you blinked, giving him a questioning look that clearly said, what about you?

he just leaned in slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes as he murmured, “it’s okay. i have photographic memory anyway.”

a quiet laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, though you quickly clamped a hand over your mouth so the rest of the lecture hall wouldn't hear.

and when class ended, one of your elective mates came to jungwon and thanked him for lending him his notes from last week’s session.

you froze, your fingers tightening around your pen. a cold splash of reality hit you right in the face. you had almost fallen for it. you had almost convinced yourself jungwon only did that gesture for you.

but he was just like that with everyone else.

***

dear y/n,

sometimes, it would be easier to just pull back completely and build your walls so high that no dimpled smile can reach you. it is easy to tell yourself to keep your distance when you think you are just another face in his crowded room. you can convince your mind that his kindness is a warning sign, a trap designed to make you stumble.

but what are you supposed to do when the universe refuses to cooperate with your defenses? how do you run away when every detour somehow leads you straight back into his path? it feels like the world is intentionally shrinking, forcing your orbits to cross whether you are ready for it or not.

if every sudden encounter keeps pushing you closer, maybe the real danger isn't his casual charm. maybe the real hazard is how badly you want to stop running. you are standing on the edge of the hazard zone, and you are starting to realize you don't want to step back.

but the universe, it seemed, hadn't gotten the memo.

"y/n, thank goodness you're here early," the head stylist breathed, rushing past you with an armful of garment bags the moment you stepped into the studio. "the model for the second layout just called in sick, and the concept director is losing her mind. since you have the closest features to our model, could you maybe stand in for her today? don’t worry, i won’t make you add extra work. just be a model for today.”

your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around the strap of your makeup kit. "me? a model?"

"yes, please! the lighting is already set up for your skin profile anyway," she pleaded, gently nudging you toward the center of the dark studio before rushing off to coordinate with the wardrobe team.

even though you were nervous, you felt flattered by the sudden shift from being the one holding the brushes to being the one everyone was rushing to get ready.

seconds later, you were pressed into the leather chair, staring at your own reflection framed by bright, blinding vanity bulbs. as the senior makeup artist began sweeping a fluffy brush across your cheekbones, your eyes instinctively drifted to the mirror's reflection, scanning the dark background of the studio.

there he was.

jungwon was standing by the equipment table, a light meter slung around his neck as he manually adjusted a camera lens. but as you watched him through the glass, his hands suddenly slowed down. without turning his head, his gaze quietly shifted upward, his dark eyes locking onto your reflection in the mirror.

your heart did a violent, dangerous skip. for a split second, you were entirely breathless, caught in a silent, cross-room stare through a sheet of glass.

but then, jungwon blinked, casually turning away to say something to a lighting crew member as if nothing had happened.

you quickly looked down at your lap, your cheeks burning under the heavy layer of setting powder. you're tripping, you firmly told yourself, your fingers gripping the fabric of your skirt. you are completely hallucinating. he was a photographer; he was probably just looking at the vanity lights or checking the ambient glare in the room. he wasn't looking at you. he couldn't be.

"all done, sweetheart! step onto the backdrop for me," the artist said, giving your shoulder a reassuring pat.

your feet felt heavy, practically glued to the floorboards as you finally stepped onto the seamless backdrop. the harsh studio lights cut through the shadows, illuminating the space and making you feel incredibly exposed.

at the center of the set, jungwon was now waiting by the tripod. when you took your place, he slowly lowered the camera body from his face. the casual, easygoing expression he always wore vanished. he didn't smile, and he didn't drop a playful comment like he did in the classroom. he just stared, his dark eyes tracking you with that exact same quiet, unreadable intensity you thought you had imagined in the mirror.

you fixed your posture, forcing your face into a neutral, professional mask. you had to remember the lesson from yesterday. you weren't special.

“whenever you're ready, jungwon,” director kang said, her voice sharp but steady as she reviewed the digital monitor from the sidelines.

jungwon blinked, the director's voice hitting him like a sudden splash of cold water, snapping him out of his trance. his jaw tightened slightly as he quickly looked away from you, slowly raising the camera back to his eye to hide his face behind the lens.

"right," his voice came out a little rougher than usual, echoing slightly in the quiet studio. "let's... let's start with the profile shots. look slightly to the left, please."

you did as he asked, turning your chin toward the shadows and focusing your eyes on a random spot on the studio wall. at first, your limbs felt stiff, every muscle in your neck tight with the lingering anxiety of being just a temporary replacement. you were acutely aware of the lens pointed at you, and even more aware of the boy behind it.

click.

the flash illuminated the dark studio for a microsecond.

"good," jungwon’s voice drifted over from the tripod, lower now, carrying a calm, steady rhythm that instantly cut through your panic. "just like that. now drop your shoulders a bit, y/n. take a deep breath in... and let it out."

you followed his voice, exhaling slowly. as your shoulders relaxed, something shifted inside you. you looked down at the structured, high-fashion wardrobe they had styled you in, felt the perfect weight of the makeup on your skin, and realized something liberating: you weren't a mistake or a technical hitch. you were a cosmetology student who understood exactly how angles, textures, and lighting worked. you knew your face. you knew your undertones.

and suddenly, you didn't feel like a hiding substitute anymore. you felt powerful.

"perfect. keep that exact expression," jungwon murmured. click. "tilt your head up just a fraction. let the key light hit the high points of your cheekbones."

his guidance was effortless. he wasn't treating you like a standard, disposable model, nor was he acting like the casual classmate who shared notes. behind the camera, yang jungwon was a complete professional. he gave commands with a quiet, grounding confidence that made you feel completely safe to move, to experiment, to own the space under the lights.

click. click.

"bring your hands up toward your collarbone," he instructed softly, the lens tracking your movements. "soft fingers. look right into the lens this time."

you didn't hesitate. you turned your head back toward the center, lifting your chin, and looked directly down the barrel of his camera lens. you locked eyes with him through the glass, no longer trying to hide behind a neutral mask. you let your confidence show—letting him see that you were completely present, commanding the set just as much as he was.

from behind the camera, you heard the faint, sharp intake of jungwon's breath. but the camera didn't stutter.

"beautiful," he whispered, the word carrying a raw, genuine weight that sent a different kind of thrill straight down your spine. click. "stay right there. don't move."

beautiful.

he just said it so casually, so effortlessly, but the word felt entirely too heavy as it hung in the space between you. he didn't lower the lens, keeping his gaze locked onto yours through the camera glass as if he were trying to capture something far deeper than just a standard lighting test.

"and... cut!" director kang's voice suddenly cut through the air, breaking the spell. "excellent work, everyone. let's check the monitor."

the blinding studio lights dimmed slightly as the crew immediately swarmed around the main digital display. you stepped off the seamless backdrop, your knees feeling a little weak now that the adrenaline was fading. you tentatively walked over to the edge of the crowd, peeking over a stylist's shoulder to look at the screen.

a small gasp escaped your lips. the images looking back at you didn't look like a nervous, last-minute substitute at all. the lighting caught the crisp edges of your jawline, the makeup looked flawless under the exposure, and your eyes held a sharp, captivating confidence.

"wow, y/n, look at your facial symmetry," one of the senior stylists praised, clapping her hands together. "the textures are so clean. you look incredible!"

"honestly, you saved us today," director kang agreed, nodding dynamic approval as she scrolled through the burst shots. "the mood is exactly what we needed for the editorial pitch. you're a natural."

your chest swelled with a warm, triumphant rush of pride. all your hours studying skin prep and facial angles had paid off, and hearing the professional crew validate your work made you feel completely on top of the world.

"i'm completely satisfied with how these turned out," a quiet, familiar voice spoke up from behind you.

you turned around to find jungwon standing there, his camera now resting against his hip. he wasn't looking at the monitor anymore; his dark eyes were fixed directly on you, a soft, genuine smile touching his lips.

"the lighting and the textures hit perfectly," he added, his voice low and private amidst the loud chatter of the crew. "i'm really glad y/n stepped in today."

your heart gave a violent, unruly thud against your ribs.

the crew was still talking loudly around you, debating layout designs and background colors, but your selective hearing had already locked the world out. i'm really glad y/n stepped in today. his words replayed in a dizzying loop, sweet and terrifyingly sincere.

he might have sounded like a good coworker but as you looked at the faint trace of his dimples, you knew your defenses were in serious trouble.

after changing your outfit from the shoot, you stopped in your tracks when you saw jungwon clearing up the equipment by himself. the heavy studio lights were mostly shut off, leaving only the dim, warm overheads casting long shadows across the empty room. he looked completely different now. his jacket discarded, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up to his elbows as he reached up to untighten a massive softbox modifier from its stand.

you hesitated for a fraction of a second before setting your tote bag down on a nearby stool. you walked over, your sneakers squeaking quietly against the concrete floor.

"need a hand?" you asked, reaching out to stabilize the heavy metal base of the C-stand before it could tilt forward.

jungwon blinked, looking down at you from his height. a look of surprise crossed his face, followed quickly by that familiar, easy smile. "oh, y/n. you're still here? it's okay, i've got it. you should head home, it's getting late."

"i want to help," you replied, your voice steady despite the quiet thumping in your chest. you didn't let go of the metal stand. "besides, you're the one who did all the heavy lifting during the shoot. consider it payback for the notes."

jungwon let out a soft, breathy chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "alright. if you insist."

for the next twenty minutes, the studio was quiet except for the rustle of velcro, the clinking of metal stands, and the low, easy hum of casual conversation. you helped him coil the heavy black extension cords while he carefully packed his camera body and lenses into his padded backpack. without the pressure of the crew or the blinding lights, the stiff walls you had painstakingly built after yesterday's lecture began to feel entirely useless.

"all set," jungwon finally said, zipping his bag closed and swinging it over one shoulder. he turned off the remaining studio switch, plunging the room into darkness except for the green exit light by the door. "let's go?"

you nodded, walking out into the cool evening air together.

the walk to the transit station was surprisingly peaceful. the streets of the city were buzzing with the usual nighttime traffic, but between the two of you, there was a comfortable, easy rhythm. you talked about the concept director’s hectic energy, your favorite color theories, and how relieving it was to finally finish a long week of classes.

when you finally reached your stop, you turned to wave goodbye, but jungwon didn't stay on the platform. instead, he quietly stepped off the train right behind you.

"wait, jungwon," you blinked, looking around the familiar street corner near your neighborhood. "your place isn't around here, is it?"

jungwon adjusted the strap of his heavy camera bag, looking down at you under the warm, amber glow of the streetlamp. his dimples showed faintly as he smiled, his hands slipping into his pockets.

"it's not," he admitted casually, his voice low and incredibly grounding in the quiet night. "but it's dark out, and you worked hard today. i wanted to make sure you got home safe."

your breath hitched, your fingers tightly gripping the straps of your tote bag.

there it was again. that dangerous, dizzying rush of kilig slammed right into your chest, loud enough to drown out the distant hum of the evening traffic. i wanted to make sure you got home safe. the words hung in the space between you, illuminated by the warm, amber glow of the streetlamp.

for a terrifying second, you wanted to believe it. you wanted to believe that this detour, this long train ride out of his way, was for you.

but then the memory of the classroom flashed behind your eyes—the classmate thanking him for the notes, the realization that yang jungwon was just effortlessly, universally good. of course he was walking you home. you had stayed late to help him lift heavy equipment; he probably just felt standard, polite responsibility as a coworker to make sure you didn't walk the dark streets alone. he would have done the exact same thing for director kang, or the senior stylist, or anyone else.

he was just being a good guy. that was all.

"you really didn't have to, jungwon," you said, forcing a small, polite smile to your face as you stepped backward toward your gate, desperately trying to keep the distance between you. "but... thank you. for the walk. and for today."

jungwon didn't move, his hands still tucked into his pockets as he watched you step away. the easy smile on his lips faded into something quiet and slightly intense, his eyes tracking your defensive posture with an unreadable look.

"anytime, y/n," he murmured softly. "get some rest."

your breath hitched, your fingers tightly gripping the straps of your tote bag.

there it was again. that dangerous, dizzying rush of warmth slammed right into your chest, a sudden flutter so loud it threatened to drown out the distant hum of the evening traffic. i wanted to make sure you got home safe. the words hung in the space between you, illuminated by the warm, amber glow of the streetlamp.

for a terrifying second, you wanted to believe it. you wanted to believe that this detour, this long train ride out of his way, was for you.

but then the memory of the classroom flashed behind your eyes. the classmate thanking him for the notes, the realization that yang jungwon was just effortlessly, universally good. of course he was walking you home. you had stayed late to help him lift heavy equipment; he probably just felt standard, polite responsibility as a coworker to make sure you didn't walk the dark streets alone. he would have done the exact same thing for director kang, or the senior stylist, or anyone else.

he was just being a good guy. that was all.

"you really didn't have to, jungwon," you said, forcing a small, polite smile to your face as you stepped backward toward your gate, desperately trying to keep the distance between you. "but... thank you. for the walk. and for today."

jungwon didn't move, his hands still tucked into his pockets as he watched you step away. the easy smile on his lips faded into something quiet and slightly intense, his eyes tracking your defensive posture with an unreadable look.

"anytime, y/n," he murmured softly. "get some rest."

“thank you, jungwon.” you gave him one last polite nod, turning around to finally press the unlock button on your gate. your hands were shaking slightly, and you were desperate to get inside the safety of your house before your face completely gave you away.

“y/n?”

his voice called out, stopping you right in your tracks. your fingers froze against the cold iron of the latch. you took a quiet, steadying breath before slowly looking back over your shoulder.

“yes?”

jungwon was still standing under the amber streetlamp, his hands deeply embedded in his jacket pockets. he tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that completely bypassed your professional walls. the softest, most genuine trace of a smile appeared on his lips, causing his dimples to faintly show in the shadows.

“you looked pretty today.”

***

dear y/n,

sometimes, the universe doesn’t just nudge you; it completely corners you. you try to write off his kindness as a collective luxury, a universal trait he hands out to anyone who asks, because believing you are special is a luxury you simply cannot afford. but how do you categorize a quiet detour under an amber streetlamp? how do you rationalize a parting line that wasn't meant for a coworker, a classmate, or a crowd, but uniquely, devastatingly, for you?

you couldn’t reply.

the moment the word left his lips, your brain completely short-circuited, leaving you entirely breathless under the dim streetlamp. you practically threw yourself through the gate, shutting the iron latch behind you with a loud, metallic clang that echoed through the quiet neighborhood. your heart was hammering violently against your ribs as you sprinted up the steps, not daring to look back to see if he was still standing there watching you run.

it was only when you were locked safely inside the dark sanctuary of your bedroom that you finally collapsed against the mattress, pulling a pillow over your face to smother a helpless, frustrated groan.

you looked pretty today.

the phrase replayed in a dizzying, echoing loop, vibrating straight down to your fingertips. you tightly closed your eyes, desperately trying to summon the cold reality check from the lecture hall. he is just nice. he is just a naturally attentive guy who knows how to make people feel comfortable on a set.

but as you turned over and stared at the dark ceiling, your fingers tracing the edges of your blanket, a quiet, terrifying truth settled in your chest. no matter how high you built your walls, yang jungwon didn't even have to try and scale them.

he was effortlessly dismantling them, brick by single brick, and you were completely running out of places to hide.

the next morning brought a blinding, unapologetic sunlight that did absolutely nothing to clear the fog in your head. you woke up with your limbs tangled in your sheets, your phone still clutched tightly in your palm as if you had been guarding it in your sleep.

when you dragged yourself out of bed and walked over to the bathroom sink, you actively avoided looking at your reflection for the first five minutes. you splashed ice-cold water onto your face, hoping the shock of it would finally scrub the lingering warmth out of your cheeks and snap you back into reality.

it was just studio adrenaline, you reasoned with yourself, aggressively rubbing a fluffy towel against your skin. people say fleeting things when they’re tired after a long shoot. he was probably just riding the high of a successful layout.

but the moment you sat down at your vanity to start your morning skincare routine, your hands froze.

you picked up your daily moisturizer, but your eyes involuntarily drifted to your own reflection in the glass. suddenly, you weren't looking at your bedroom walls anymore. you were seeing the dark studio mirror. you were seeing the way his dark eyes had pierced right through the reflection, tracking your every move while the makeup brush swept across your skin.

you looked down at your hands, your chest tightening. your fingertips automatically brushed against your collarbone, tracing the exact spot where he had told you to place your hands.

"beautiful," his whispered voice echoed in your ears, so clear it made you flinch.

you let out a shaky breath, forcing your hands down into your lap. it was terrifying how a single night could completely alter the space around you. your bedroom, your vanity, your own face—everything felt entirely compromised by him. you couldn't even apply your makeup without wondering if your features really did look the way he implied.

unable to handle the loud silence of your thoughts, you decided to escape your room. you spent the rest of the morning trying to drown out his voice with mundane tasks—cleaning your desk, organizing your elective binders, and making a mental checklist of your upcoming assignments.

by saturday afternoon, your eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, your mind completely exhausted from the non-stop mental gymnastics. you had finally managed to calm your heart rate down, sitting at your desk and staring blankly at a textbook.

ding.

the sharp vibration of your phone against the wooden desk made you flinch.

your hands shook slightly as you picked it up, your breath instantly catching when you saw his name illuminated on the lock screen.

jungwon: [1 file attached]

jungwon: finished compiling the raw layouts for director kang. thought i’d send you your edit first.

you swallowed hard, your thumb hovering over the glass. you tapped the file, waiting a few agonizing seconds for the high-resolution image to clear.

when the details finally rendered, the air left your lungs completely.

it wasn’t just a well-shot photo. he hadn't used the sharp, cool commercial lighting the director usually preferred for editorial pitches. instead, the coloring was incredibly soft, almost romantic, warming up your skin profile in a way that made you look like you were glowing from the inside out.

but it was the lighting on your eyes that made your chest completely constrict. he had meticulously adjusted the shadows so that the tiny, glittering reflection of the studio lights caught the exact center of your pupils. your gaze looked impossibly deep, intense, and vulnerable.

he had spent hours looking at your face in high-definition. he had zoomed in on your features, balanced your undertones, cleaned up the lines, and perfected the exposure.

you stared at the screen, your heart racing. a normal photographer would have just dropped the files into the shared studio google drive or handed them over on monday. but yang jungwon had edited yours personally, isolated it from the rest of the layout, and sent it directly to your private inbox on a saturday afternoon.

you slowly leaned back against your chair, the cold wood pressing into your spine as you stared at the beautiful, terrifying image of yourself.

you could try to convince yourself that he was just a gentleman under the streetlamp. you could pretend he was just being polite when he called you pretty. but looking at this photo, you realized something that terrified you to your core: through the lens of his camera, yang jungwon looked at you like you were the only thing on the set that mattered.

your phone buzzed again in your palm, making you jump.

jungwon: do you like them? y/n: i love them, jungwon! you did an amazing job with the lighting and the textures. it doesn't even look like me. jungwon: it looks exactly like you. i just captured what was already there.

your phone slipped an inch in your hand. you squeezed your eyes shut, a soft, helpless groan escaping your lips as you buried your face in your arms on the desk.

he was doing it again. he was effortlessly throwing lines that completely bypassed your defenses, speaking with a terrifying sincerity that left you absolutely no room to hide.

a week later, director kang officially approved the editorial pitch, and the official shoot layouts were finally uploaded to the department's public portfolio. you felt a quiet sense of relief, thinking the excitement from that chaotic friday had finally settled down.

until later that evening, when your phone notification panel lit up with a tag.

yang_jw tagged you in a post.

your thumb practically smashed against the screen to open the app.

it was a carousel post titled simply: bts 📸

the first slide was a moody shot of an overhead key light piercing through the dark studio. the second was a close-up of a heavy black camera cable coiled neatly over a metal stand. the third was the empty grey seamless backdrop.

and then, you swiped to the fourth slide.

the breath caught in your throat.

it was you.

it wasn’t one of the polished, perfectly posed files he had sent to director kang. it was a candid, behind-the-scenes frame captured right in the middle of the shoot. you were sitting in the leather vanity chair, the bright, blinding bulbs framing your silhouette, your chin turned slightly over your shoulder. your expression wasn't a professional mask; it was soft, slightly dazed, caught in the exact microsecond you had instinctively looked into the mirror to search for his reflection in the dark background.

he had captured the exact moment you were looking for him.

you swiped to the fifth and sixth slides: more inanimate props, a discarded lens cap, the digital monitor from a distance.

you swiped back to the fourth slide, your heart hammering against your ribs so violently it felt loud in the quiet of your room.

​you stared at the screen, your eyes tracing the soft edge of your own silhouette under the bright vanity bulbs. anyone else scrolling through his feed would just see a cool, atmospheric behind-the-scenes shot of a makeup student on set. they wouldn't notice the way the light caught the exact, vulnerable curve of your shoulder. they wouldn't know that the slight daze in your eyes was because you had been looking for him in the dark studio mirrors.

​but you knew. and more terrifyingly, jungwon knew too.

​your thumb hovered over the screen, paralyzed by the sheer weight of what this meant. you could rationalize notes. you could rationalize a long walk home in the dark as standard gentlemanly politeness. you could even convince yourself that a personal photo edit was just him being a meticulous, dedicated photographer.

​but this? breaking his own years-long aesthetic grid just to drop a candid frame of your face into the world?

​there were no olympic-level mental gymnastics left to save you. you couldn't hide behind the "good classmate" excuse anymore.

​with a trembling thumb, you tapped the little heart icon below the post, watching it turn red.

​almost instantly, a new notification slid down from the top of your screen, making you gasp softly in the quiet room.

​yang_jw: you're awake?

shit, shit, shit!

you scrambled backward against your headboard, nearly dropping the device straight onto your face. you had liked the post less than thirty seconds after he uploaded it. there was absolutely no playing the "i just happened to see it on my feed" card—you were actively lurking, and your lightning-fast double-tap had completely exposed you.

​your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, typing and deleting three different responses while your chest squeezed with a frantic, dizzying heat.

​y/n: yeah, just finishing up some reading.

​you pressed send, holding your breath as the single gray checkmark turned blue. almost immediately, the three typing dots appeared.

​yang_jw: reading? at 1 AM?

yang_jw: or were you just waiting for my post?

​you let out a helpless, strangled sound into the empty space of your bedroom, burying your burning face straight into your pillows. he was shameless. he was entirely, utterly shameless, and the worst part was that he was exactly right.

​before you could even think of a defensive lie to protect your dignity, your phone buzzed again in your palm.

​yang_jw: do you like the fourth slide?

​your breath hitched. he wasn't dancing around it. he knew exactly what he did when he put that candid photo of you in the middle of his grid, and he was deliberately forcing you to acknowledge it.

​you sat up, biting your lower lip until it turned white. you couldn't keep running. if he was going to be this bold, you had to find a way to stabilize your own footing before you completely dissolved under his pace.

​y/n: the lighting was nice. but i thought your feed was strictly landscapes.

​you stared at the screen, your heart hammering a chaotic rhythm against your ribs as you waited. seconds ticked by like hours until the screen lit up with his reply.

yang_jw: you keep tabs on my feed?

shit.

but ​before you could even think of a lie to salvage yourself, the next bubble popped up.

​yang_jw: but yes, it is. yang_jw: but you looked too pretty in that mirror to leave you in a hidden folder.

you completely froze in your spot.

the air left your lungs, leaving you staring blankly at the glowing screen as the world around you fell entirely silent. you couldn't move. you couldn't blink. your fingers remained locked stiffly around the edges of your phone, your eyes glued to the word pretty.

when you finally found the strength to move, it was only to let out a shaky, breathless exhale. then you rolled onto your bed, your stomach flat on the mattress, and let out a muffled scream into your pillow.

***

dear, y/n,

it is a completely strange but nice feeling to realize you aren't trying to pull away anymore. you are slowly getting used to the feeling again, realizing it's okay to just let someone in without making everything so complicated.

you find yourself looking forward to see and hear from him again, no longer finding the shield to protect your composure.

the next morning arrived. you walked onto campus with a lighter step, the lingering echo of jungwon’s late-night words crawling in your mind like he planned to occupy every single corner of your head.

you spotted him almost immediately near the entrance of the lecture hall, leaning against the hallway wall with his hands casually tucked into his pockets as he chatted with a few classmates. the exact moment you stepped into view, his eyes instinctively separated from the crowd, tracking your approach with that same soft, unwavering focus that had defined the studio mirrors.

as you drew closer, the conversation around him seemed to fade into a quiet blur, leaving just the steady ground between the two of you.

"morning, y/n," jungwon murmured, his voice dropping into a softer, private register meant only for you as a genuine, dimpled smile broke across his face.

your heart gave a familiar, dangerous thump, but instead of panicking, you found yourself returning his smile. "morning, jungwon."

he stepped away from the wall, naturally falling into step right beside you as you walked through the threshold of the lecture hall. the sudden shift from the chaotic, noisy hallway to the relative quiet of the classroom felt seamless with him next to you. without even asking, he guided you toward the middle row, pulling out the chair right next to the one where his laptop and notebook were already neatly set up.

he had saved you a seat.

"you look awake for someone who was reading at 1 AM," he teased quietly, sliding into his chair and leaning his chin in his hand as he looked over at you, his eyes glinting with a familiar, playful mischief.

you felt a sudden rush of warmth in your cheeks, but you managed to look right back at him. "i told you, i had things to finish."

"right," he hummed, the corners of his lips twitching as the professor walked up to the podium and the lecture hall began to quiet down. jungwon opened his notebook, but before he focused on the board, he leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice a low, comforting murmur against the background noise of opening laptops. "we're getting dinner after this, by the way. i found a really good place nearby."

it wasn't even a question. it was an inivitation that you would spend your evening with him, and the terrifying part was that you didn't even want to object.

by the time the late-afternoon elective finally wrapped up, the sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting long, amber shadows across the campus pathways. you followed jungwon through the bustling streets just outside the university gates, the humid evening air a stark contrast to the air-conditioned lecture hall.

he led you down a quieter alley, stopping in front of a small, cozy restaurant with warm, low-hanging yellow lights glowing behind a tinted glass pane. inside, the space was small and intimate, filled with the soft chatter of other students and the rich, savory aroma of hot food.

"two?" the server asked, and jungwon nodded, naturally guiding you toward a booth tucked away in the back corner, away from the main walkway.

as you slipped into the leather seat, the soft ambient lighting washed over his features, throwing the sharp angles of his jawline and the deep set of his eyes into beautiful, soft relief. it felt completely different from the high-stakes pressure of the studio or the crowded campus. here, stripped of cameras and portfolios, it was just the two of you.

"order whatever you want," jungwon said, sliding the menu across the dark wooden table toward you, his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting second that left a trail of static on your skin. "my treat today. to celebrate your successful photoshoot."

you looked up from the menu, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "you give me too much credit. you did good too, you know."

jungwon let out a low, amused huff, leaning back against the leather booth as he looked at you through the warm, dim lighting of the restaurant. "is that so? i guess we make a pretty good team then."

your cheeks burned, “i guess we do.”

and as the weeks bled into a comfortable rhythm, you realized you really did.

that quiet dinner quickly transformed from a one-time celebration into a regular part of your routine. it happened so gradually that you didn't even notice the shift at first. one day you were just elective mates, then interns working on a shoot, and the next, he was naturally weaving you into every single part of his day, making it easy for you to navigate the lively, chaotic orbit of his massive social circle.

because jungwon was the type of guy who belonged to everyone, hanging out with him meant automatically being pulled into his circle. you became a familiar face at the crowded university cafeteria tables, sharing loud, overlapping conversations with his friends who welcomed you without a single second of hesitation. you watched him handle the campus attention with an easy, effortless charm, throwing bright smiles to passing students and keeping everyone laughing.

but the real magic always happened when the noise of the crowd finally thinned out. no matter how many people were vying for his attention during the day, the late evenings always distilled down to just the two of you, sitting across from each other at that same dark wooden table under the warm, low-hanging yellow lights.

"you're staring," jungwon murmured one rainy tuesday evening, a soft, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he set his chopsticks down.

you blinked, tearing your gaze away from the sharp line of his jaw to look down at your half-empty bowl. "i am not. i was just thinking."

"about what?" he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, closing the physical distance between you just enough to make the ambient chatter of the restaurant fade into the background.

"just... how you manage to keep up with everyone," you admitted honestly, gesturing vaguely toward the window where a group of students from his department had just waved at him through the glass. "you're always surrounded by people."

jungwon looked out the window for a brief second, then turned his focus back to you, his dark eyes softening into that intense, private expression he only ever used when the two of you were alone. "it's easy to talk to everyone, y/n. but that doesn't mean i want to spend my quiet hours with just anyone."

before you could even process the sudden, breathless skip of your heart, a confident, unfamiliar voice interrupted the space between you.

"hey, jungwon, right? i thought that was you."

you blinked, turning your head toward the edge of the booth. yoonchae from your class was standing there, looking effortlessly chic in a cropped leather jacket, a bright, confident smile fixed entirely on jungwon. she didn't even glance your way, completely erasing your presence from the table.

"i saw your latest photography feature on the department page," she continued smoothly, leaning slightly against the wooden partition of your booth. "it was amazing. i was actually wondering if you had time to collaborate on a editorial project next month? can i get your instagram or phone number?"

your chest tightened instantly. your mind, always looking for a reason to retreat, immediately clouded over with that familiar, suffocating insecurity. here it is, a bitter voice whispered in your head. this is his actual world. this girl was confident, stylish, and fit perfectly into the creative orbit he ran in. you were just the girl he casually helped out, the lesson he learned along the way to becoming a better photographer. you were a placeholder in his quiet hours until someone who actually belonged in his grid stepped up.

you lowered your eyes to your lap, your fingers gripping the fabric of your skirt as you prepared for him to give his usual, friendly campus smile and type his number into her phone.

"sorry, i can't," jungwon said.

his voice wasn't just polite; it was incredibly flat, completely stripped of the warm, universal charm he usually gave out so freely.

the girl blinked, caught off guard. "oh? are you too busy with the elective portfolio?"

jungwon didn't hesitate for a single second. he casually shifted in his seat, his hand moving across the table until his knuckles lightly brushed against your arm, drawing a firm, undeniable boundary in front of the stranger.

"no," jungwon said softly, his eyes dropping to you for a brief, reassuring second before he looked back up at the girl. "my girlfriend is right here. i don't take private project numbers."

your lungs completely locked up.

for a single, terrifying second, your heart fluttered so violently against your ribs it felt deafening. girlfriend. hearing the word leave his lips, spoken with such heavy, calm authority in his low voice, sent a sudden, dizzying rush of heat straight to your face.

but almost as fast as the thrill arrived, the cold weight of reality crashed right back down, pulling the warmth straight out of your chest.

yoonchae mumbled a quick, embarrassed apology and quickly retreated, but your mind had already clouded over, spiraling back into that familiar, suffocating insecurity.

you were just a prop.

the thought settled heavy and bitter in your stomach. because a guy like yang jungwon: a universally loved, constantly surrounded by people, and utterly effortless doesn't do serious relationships. he didn't need to. he was just a naturally attentive, overly nice guy who treated everyone with a baseline level of casual intimacy. he was smooth because it was his default setting, not because he was trying to win you over.

he didn't mean the word girlfriend. he had just used you as a convenient, safe shield to get out of an awkward conversation because he knew you wouldn't make a scene.

"sorry about that," jungwon murmured, turning his full attention back to you, his expression softening as if he hadn't just completely shattered your internal world. "she can be a bit persistent."

you swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing a small, tight smile to your lips as your walls slammed shut with a heavy, definitive thud.

"t-tell me about it," you said, forcing a small, hollow laugh as you poked at your food. "good strategy though. i make a pretty believable prop, don't i?"

you tried to look up and give him a funny, conspiratorial wink—anything to bury the suffocating weight crashing down on your chest. but your smile didn't reach your eyes, and your voice cracked just a fraction too much on the last word.

and jungwon, being the observant person he was, didn't laugh.

the easy, playful expression completely melted off his face, replaced by a quiet, piercing focus that made you want to look away. he slowly set his glass down on the table, his dark eyes tracking the slight tremor in your fingers before locking onto yours.

“you okay, y/n?” he asked softly, bending down to look at your eyes. but you quickly avoided him.

“y-yeah. just got something in my eye is all. listen, i still have some projects to finish so i need to go.”

“let me take you home–”

"no!" you quickly interrupted, scrambling to grab your bag. "i mean, wouldn't want to overstep." and just like that, you ran out of the restaurant before he could even reach for the bill.

what you didn’t know was jungwon felt his own chest tighten.

***

dear, y/n,

this is exactly why you should’ve kept your walls up.

it is a painful, heavy thing to realize how quickly you can fall back into the habit of building walls. you are slowly getting used to the feeling again, realizing that the only way to keep your heart safe from someone who belongs to the world is to completely remove yourself from the equation.

you tell yourself it’s safer to just be distant again. it’s way easier to pretend you don't care than to risk believing you actually matter to someone like him.

a week has passed since that day.

today, the morning arrived with a gray, overcast sky that seemed to match the cold numbness settling back into your chest. you walked onto campus with a heavy, deliberate step, your eyes strictly fixed on the concrete pathways to avoid scanning the crowds for a familiar shock of dark hair. you had your oversized jacket pulled tightly around you like armor, determined to slip back into the quiet anonymity of being just another student in the department.

you managed to avoid the main lecture hall entrance entirely, slipping through the side doors and taking a seat in the very last row, tucked far away from the middle rows where you had spent the last few weeks.

"y/n."

your fingers froze on the zipper of your bag at the sound of his voice.

jungwon was standing at the end of the row, looking completely exhausted. the usual easy, universal charm was entirely missing from his face, his dark eyes shadowed with a quiet, desperate intensity as he looked down at you. he didn't care that a few passing classmates were glancing over at his unusually tense posture; his focus was entirely locked onto you.

"you didn't answer my texts," he said softly, his voice dropping into that private register, though this time it sounded raw, carrying a heavy weight that made your chest ache. "i kept calling you."

you swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing your expression to remain perfectly flat as you looked up at him, refusing to let him see how much you were hurting. "i told you, jungwon. i had projects to finish. you don't need to check up on me."

jungwon took a step closer into the row, his knuckles white as he gripped the back of the empty chair in front of you. "you’re not a prop. at the restaurant. i’m sorry i hurt you."

you looked down at your hands, refusing to meet his eyes because you knew your expression would crumble.

"it's fine, jungwon," you whispered, trying to force your voice to sound completely detached. "it was just a joke. you don't have to apologize for something petty."

"it wasn't a joke to me," he cut in, his voice dropping even lower, thick with a frustration you had never heard from him before. he slid into the empty seat right next to you, his presence suddenly overwhelming the small space in the back row. "i didn't say it just to make her leave, y/n. i said it because... because it didn't feel entirely like a lie to me."

your breath hitched, your eyes snapping up to look at him.

jungwon was leaning in close, his usual calm demeanor completely shattered. he looked vulnerable, almost fragile, his dark eyes searching your face for any sign of the warmth you used to give him so easily.

"there's actually someone i really like right now," he murmured, the confession slipping into the quiet space between you like a heavy secret. "and seeing her stand there, asking for my number...it just made me realize how much i only want to focus on one person."

he was looking at you with so much quiet intensity, his lips slightly parted as if he was waiting for you to understand, waiting for you to realize exactly who he was talking about.

but your brain, completely clouded by a week of suffocating insecurity, didn't see the love in his eyes. it only saw a devastating confirmation of your worst fear.

he likes someone else.

the words echoed like a physical blow inside your head. you were the practice run. the lesson.

"oh," you forced out, the word tasting like lead on your tongue. you managed to pull a tight, completely empty smile onto your face, even as your chest felt like it was physically breaking. "i... i didn't know. she's really lucky, jungwon. i hope it works out for you."

before he could even react to the sudden, freezing distance in your voice, you stood up, grabbing your bag and stepping past his frozen frame into the aisle, running away before the tears blinding your vision could finally fall.

“you.”

you didn't move. you couldn't breathe. for a second, you thought you were hallucinating.

slowly, you turned around.

jungwon was already standing up. his shoulders tense as he stared straight at you.

"it's you, y/n," he said, his voice cracking slightly on your name as he closed the small distance between you in two long steps, stopping just close enough that you could feel the sudden warmth radiating off him. "the girl i like. the only person i want to focus on. it's been you this entire time."

she would feel an absolute, dizzying rush of cognitive dissonance—like the ground had suddenly been pulled out from under her boots. after a whole week of meticulously convincing herself that she was completely invisible and just a temporary "lesson" in his life, his sudden confession completely short-circuits her brain.

her walls are still up, but they are cracking violently. she is caught between a desperate, fluttering spark of hope and the terrifying urge to protect herself from a cruel joke.

"it's you, y/n," he said, his voice cracking slightly on your name as he closed the small distance between you in two long steps, stopping just close enough that you could feel the sudden warmth radiating off him. "the girl i like. the only person i want to focus on. it's been you this entire time."

your brain completely short-circuited.

you stared at him, your chest heaving as you tried to find a catch, a punchline, anything to make reality align with your insecurities again. but jungwon’s face was completely raw, his lower lip slightly trembling as he waited for you to say something.

“w-what?” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as you took a small, panicked step back. “when? why?”

the questions tumbled out of you in a frantic, unpolished rush, stripping away all the cold, distant armor you had tried so hard to build.

"what do you mean why?" jungwon asked, a breathless, incredulous laugh escaping his lips as he took a step forward to close the gap you had just made. he reached out, his fingers gently captured your wrist, his thumb resting right over your racing pulse.

he let out a low, shaky exhale, his thumb moving in a slow, comforting circle against your skin, trying to ground you through your panic.

"i fell for you on our very first day as interns," he murmured, his dark eyes softening completely as he brought you back to the beginning. "remember that chaotic first shoot? everyone was running around, but i couldn't take my eyes off you. you were so shy, yet you were completely locked in. i loved how focused you were, how much heart you put into every single task. you were radiant, y/n. in a room full of people trying to stand out, you stood out to me just by being you."

he took a small step closer, his voice dropping into that intense, private register that belonged only to you.

"i did everything because i wanted an excuse to be near you," he whispered. "it's been you since that exact day. how could you think it was anyone else?"

“i was…i was never the one,” you whispered. “i was never the one that people think i’m worth staying for.”

jungwon let out a sharp, ragged breath, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to keep you anchored as your words physically pained him. the easy, polite campus favorite completely disappeared, replaced by a boy who looked entirely devastated that the girl he loved felt so invisible.

he didn't hesitate. he took that final step, closing the remaining distance between you until he was gently framing your face with his hands, his thumbs carefully wiping away the tears on your cheeks.

"i'm not going anywhere, y/n. i'm staying right here. with you."

***

dear, y/n,

it turns out that rewriting the script in your head is a slow, terrifying process.

for a long time, you were completely sure you were just the type of girl guys date before finding the one they actually want to settle down with. you really believed you were just a temporary phase. but now, jungwon is completely focused on you, and he isn't looking for anyone else.

you're still really anxious, though. every time your phone lights up, a part of you still expects him to text you saying he changed his mind or made a mistake. but he doesn't. instead, he just keeps showing up and proving you wrong.

nothing is official yet. you didn't suddenly become his girlfriend overnight. but even without a label, everything between you two feels completely different now.

on a tuesday morning, you didn't sit in the back row.

you had tried to, out of habit. your fingers pulling the strap of your oversized bag tight against your shoulder as you entered the side door. but jungwon was already there, sitting in the middle row right where you two used to be. the moment the door clicked, his head snapped up, his dark eyes instantly finding yours in the crowd.

he didn't wave or make a scene, but a small, private smile tugged at the corner of his lips. he casually lifted his laptop sleeve off the empty plastic chair beside him, claiming the space before anyone else could even think to take it.

your heart did that familiar, breathless flutter as you walked down the steps.

"hey," he murmured softly as you slid into the seat, his voice dropping into that private register that still made your face flush. he didn't slide his hand over yours or push your boundaries, but he reached into his jacket pocket and slid a small, familiar plastic bottle across the desk.

it was a fresh bottle of the exact soothing eye drops you always used when your eyes got tired from staring at editing screens.

"since you had something in your eye last week," jungwon said, his eyes crinkling slightly with a gentle, teasing warmth that completely lacked any judgment. "just in case."

you stared at the bottle, the lump in your throat returning, but this time it wasn't from sadness. "jungwon, you didn't have to—"

"i wanted to," he interrupted softly, leaning his elbow on the desk so he could look at you properly.

and then he did the one thing that always sent your heart into an absolute frenzy.

he leaned his elbow on the desk, tilting his head as he intentionally closed the distance between you. jungwon brought his face so close you could trace the sharp line of his jaw, the faint scent of his laundry detergent instantly filling your senses. his dark eyes locked onto yours, completely invading your personal space in that quiet, effortless way only he could pull off.

“j-jungwon?” you stammered, your voice coming out as a tiny, embarrassed squeak as you tried to press your back against the hard plastic of your chair to gain an inch of safety.

“mhm?” he murmured, not moving back even a fraction of a millimeter. instead, a tiny, knowing smirk began to pull at the corner of his lips, clearly enjoying how easily he could throw you off balance.

“y-you’re too close,” you whispered frantically, your hands gripping your desk as you looked around to see if anyone was watching. “mr. lee just entered the room.”

jungwon didn't panic. instead, his smirk widened just a fraction, his dark eyes brimming with amusement at your flustered reaction.

slowly, casually, he leaned back into his own space just as the professor set his briefcase on the podium. but right before he completely pulled away, jungwon leaned in one last inch, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper right against your ear.

"mr. lee can wait," he murmured, his tone dripping with a quiet, playful confidence. "but fine. i'll let you focus on the lecture. for now."

he straightened up in his seat, opening his notebook with perfect poise as if he hadn't just completely set your nerve endings on fire. but as he picked up his pen, he deliberately shifted his notebook just an inch closer to yours, his shoulder lightly brushing against your arm—a constant, warm reminder that he wasn't going anywhere.

now that you and jungwon are now aware of feelings towards each other, he has become flirtier each day. but with boundaries. he still asks if it’s okay to hold your hand, place his arm around your shoulder when walking, always checking in with a quiet, questioning look before stepping an inch closer into your space.

and every time he notices you second guessing if you want something, he takes the initiative of doing it. so in days that you do want to hold his hand but too shy to ask, he gently places his hand under yours and locks your fingers. and of course, it sent your heart into overdrive.

on friday afternoon, as the campus was emptying out, jungwon slung his backpack over one shoulder and leaned against the edge of your desk.

"a few of my seniors are holding a small wrap-up gallery in the department studio tonight," he said, tilting his head to catch your eyes. "then we’ll have an after party. just some music, drinks, and looking over the final print layouts. i want you to come with me."

your fingers paused on your notebook. the familiar, anxious tightening returned to your chest, your mind instantly telling you that you didn't belong in a room full of talented, confident upperclassmen who already knew him so well.

“is it alright?” you whispered, looking up at him uncertainty. “i don't want to intrude.”

jungwon’s expression softened instantly. he didn't laugh or dismiss your worry. instead, he stepped closer, blocking out the rest of the noisy hallway so it was just the two of you.

"you're not intruding, y/n," he said softly, his voice steady and completely serious as he reached down to gently tap the back of your hand. "i'm the one asking you. i want you to be there. with me."

then the night of the gallery came.

the studio was packed, filled with the low hum of indie music, the clinking of plastic cups, and the bright, warm glow of track lighting illuminating the rows of framed photographs along the walls. jungwon had been caught by a group of design seniors the moment you walked through the door. you had gently nudged his shoulder, giving him a small smile to let him know you didn't mind, before slipping away into the crowd to look around on your own.

the talent in the room was undeniable, but as you wandered down the final row of the exhibition, your steps slowed to a complete halt in front of a small, dedicated corner panel.

your breath caught in your throat.

the first frame was a candid shot from your very first day as interns. it was the chaotic studio set, cluttered with stray wires and half-assembled lighting rigs, but the camera hadn’t focused on the set. it was focused entirely on you. you sat on a crate with your face angled away, completely locked into adjusting a camera lens.

the second frame was the campus lecture hall taken from a low angle. it captured the stark, geometric lines of the plastic desks, but the focus was trained on the middle rows where you two always used to sit. a soft, natural light filtered through the gray windows, hitting the exact spot where his notebook usually brushed against yours.

and the final photograph made your heart do a sudden, breathless flip.

it was the outside of the restaurant from a week ago, taken through the glass window under a heavy, overcast sky. the frame captured the exact table where everything had boiled over, the blurry reflection of the street lights casting a quiet, moody atmosphere over the empty chairs.

the photos were the places you had been with him.

beneath the triptych of photos was a small, white card printed with a simple title:

paying attention.

"i didn't put your face on blast, i promise," a soft voice murmured right behind your ear.

​you turned around to find jungwon right behind you, his hands in his pockets as he smiled down at you.

"i asked the professor if i could keep the subject anonymous on the final prints," he explained softly, stepping a little closer into your space. "i wanted to show you how i see you, but... is this okay? if it makes you uncomfortable, i can take them down right now. seriously."

"no," you whispered, a genuine smile finally breaking through the remnants of your anxiety. "don't take them down. they're... really beautiful."

without second guessing, you threw your arms around jungwon.

you felt a deep, grounding warmth expand in your chest—the realization that you were someone worth paying attention to.

after five hours, the after-party finally started. the room was alive with everyone cheering, laughing, and clinking their beer glasses together in celebration.

​“congrats to us!” jungwon's senior, lee chan, toasted, raising his glass high into the air.

after taking a sip, chan’s eyes flicked over to you, a warm smile breaking across his face. "and thanks for coming, y/n! jungwon was practically talking about it for days.”

​your face flushed a sudden crimson, your eyes darting over to jungwon.

​jungwon just let out a soft laugh, completely unbothered by his senior exposing him. he casually slung an arm around your shoulder, bringing you securely into the circle. "ignore him," he murmured down to you, his thumb lightly rubbing against your arm. "but he's not entirely wrong."

“jungwon, hey!”

yoonchae was there again. you remembered that she was probably only around because her brother was in the same department as jungwon, a detail he had mentioned to you weeks ago.

​“yoonchae, hi.”

​“so, i heard from my brother that you and y/n aren't actually dating," she started, pulling her phone out of her bag and extending it toward him with a hopeful smile. "so… i was thinking if i can maybe, you know? come on, it's not like you're taken, right?”

​“yoonchae, i've already told you before that i am interested in someone.” jungwon didn't hesitate for a single second. he reached down, deliberately capturing your hand and locking his fingers tightly with yours. “she's right here. dating or not, y/n is the only girl i like.”

yoonchae’s jaw dropped slightly. she stared at jungwon, entirely speechless at how effortlessly and publicly he had rejected her.

​she looked at you, then back at jungwon. without uttering another syllable, she gave a stiff, embarrassed nod and quickly slipped away into the crowd.

the night continued with you and jungwon completely melting into the crowd. almost everyone couldn't help but tease him, laughing at how he looked like a total lovesick puppy and constantly joking about how he had finally found his muse.

​eventually, the party wound down, and the two of you walked home together through the quiet streets. your hand was wrapped in his, his fingers locked firmly in yours.

​“wasn't that too harsh?” you asked softly, breaking the silence as you looked down at your joined hands.

​“not if she completely ignored your presence,” jungwon replied without a shred of regret, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction.

​you bit your inner lip, your heart doing a small flutter as you built up the courage to ask the question that had been looping in your head. “but... were you serious? about what you said?”

​jungwon looked down at you with a slow, knowing smirk. he knew exactly what you meant, but he wanted to hear you say it. “which part?”

​your eyes grew wide, but you tried your absolute best to maintain your composure. “you know... the part where you said... you like me.” the last few words came out as a quiet mumble, your face burning.

​“what's that?” he teased, tilting his head closer to yours. “didn't quite catch that.”

​“jungwon,” you whined, pulling slightly on his hand.

​“what? come on, say it clearly,” he laughed.

​“jungwon!” you whined again, hiding your face slightly behind your free hand.

​but then, the teasing look in his eyes began to shift. his laughter quieted down, replaced by a soft, intense focus that made the breath hitch in your throat. the ambient hum of the streetlights overhead suddenly felt incredibly loud as he stopped walking, causing you to pause right along with him.

​“you are,” jungwon murmured, his voice dropping into a gentle, low register. he lifted your hand, his thumb softly tracing the knuckles before he let go of the tight grip to hold just your fingertips, his skin warm against yours. “i really like you, y/n.”

​the sheer sincerity in his dark eyes stripped away all of your remaining defense mechanisms. the anxiety that usually kept you trapped in your own head completely evaporated, leaving only the honest, racing beat of your heart.

​“i-i really like you too,” you whispered back, your voice small but steady.

​jungwon took a slow step closer, completely closing the distance between you. his free hand came up, his fingers brushing light as a feather against your jawline before his thumb settled right at the corner of your cheekbone, tilting your face up just a fraction. he didn't rush. he just stood there for a breathless second, his gaze flicking down to your lips before locking back onto your wide eyes, waiting patiently for you to adjust to how close he was.

​“can i kiss you?” he asked softly, his thumb giving your cheek a reassuring, tender stroke.

​“please,” you whispered, the word leaving your lips like a breathless plea.

​a soft smile broke across jungwon’s face at your response. he didn't wait another second. his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair as he leaned down and finally pressed his lips to yours, sweet and slow.

​it made your heart do a dizzying, breathless flip. his lips were incredibly soft, parting slightly as he pulled you just a fraction closer against his chest. your fingers instinctively gripped the fabric of his jacket, your whole body melting into the touch as a warm, electric flutter rushed from your chest straight down to your toes.

as both of you pulled away from the kiss, jungwon let his hands slide down to your waist, pulling you back in for a quick, tight hug. he buried his face in the crook of your neck for a second, letting out a soft hum of satisfaction that made your heart do another dizzying flip.

​“does this mean we're… boyfriend and girlfriend?” you asked shyly, your fingers lightly gripping the fabric of his jacket.

​jungwon let out a soft giggle against your skin, the vibration tickling your neck before he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes full of warmth. “yes. yes, i'd love that.”

***

​dear y/n,

​it is a beautiful thing indeed to be able to find someone. you are incredibly, genuinely happy, and your heart doesn't feel like it's constantly bracing for impact anymore.

​but being with jungwon has also taught you that a real relationship isn't all cupcakes and rainbows. there are still days when your old insecurities and tendencies to overthink flare up out of nowhere, making you quiet and distant.

​loving someone isn't a magical cure for anxiety. it doesn't fix the pieces of you that feel broken.

you and jungwon had a date today. it's been weeks since you have been girlfriend and boyfriend. and it was the happiest you've felt in a while.

a knock startled you out of your thoughts as you checked your outfit one more time. you had opted for a classic combination: a warm cream cardigan layered over a simple tee, paired with structured wide-leg trousers that made you feel completely put-together yet comfortable.

wonhee was grinning brightly at you, stepping right into the entryway the moment the door swung open. without a word, she reached forward to gently adjust the collar of your tee and smooth down the shoulder of your cream cardigan. "there. perfect. you look so effortlessly pretty today! are you ready for your date?”

​“a bit nervous,” you admitted, feeling a sudden jolt of nervous electricity running through your system.

“hey,” wonhee placed her hand kn your shoulder, “you got this. and if jungwon doesn't see how incredibly lucky he is to have you, just let me know. i will personally make sure every single senior in his department knows he’s an absolute fool, and his pristine reputation will be completely ruined by tomorrow morning.”

“wonhee,” you taunt.

“i'm just saying.” wonhee giggled, gently grabbing your shoulders and turning you toward the door. she gave you a playful nudge forward. "now stop stalling and go. he’s probably already waiting outside, and you shouldn't keep your boyfriend waiting."

boyfriend.

on cue, a knock came again, and this time, you answered it.

​when the door swung open, jungwon was standing there, looking effortlessly handsome in a simple jacket. the moment his eyes landed on you, his breath hitched slightly, his gaze sweeping over your cream cardigan and wide-leg trousers with a look of pure, unadulterated admiration.

​“hi,” you murmured, your heart doing a familiar flutter.

​“hi,” he replied softly, a warm smile breaking across his face as if he couldn't help himself. “you look beautiful.”

​“you ready?” he asked, his voice low and comforting.

​you nodded your head, the last of your nervous jitters completely melting away. jungwon offered his arm, and you gladly looped yours through it, stepping out into the hallway as he gently pressed your arm closer to his side, making you feel completely secure before you even left the building.

jungwon takes you out to a beautiful, open-air city square where the evening breeze carries the distant chatter of people and the soft glow of fairy lights tangled in the trees. walking arm-in-arm, he effortlessly shields you from the busier walkways, pointing out little shops or laughing at the synchronized fountains, making the wide, bright world feel incredibly small and private just for the two of you.

​you smiled, the warmth in your chest blooming beautifully. but as you stepped past a brightly lit clothing storefront, the air in your lungs suddenly turned to ice.

​“jungwon, is that actually you?”

​the soft, bright voice called out from the restaurant entrance. jungwon paused, turning his head, and you felt his entire posture straighten up in surprise. walking toward your table was a girl with an effortless, radiant smile and a polished grace that made the entire room feel a little brighter.

​“minji!” jungwon’s face lit up with immediate, genuine recognition as he stood up to greet her. “wow, it’s been so long. what are you doing back here?”

​“my family just moved back to the area,” she laughed, her voice carrying a familiar, easy warmth. jungwon immediately turned to you, his hand reaching for yours to introduce you.

“minji, this is y/n. my girlfriend.”

“omg, hi! finally, jungwon has gotten himself a girlfriend.”

​she was completely lovely. she didn't do a single thing wrong. but as she chatted with jungwon for a few minutes about their old neighborhood before waving goodbye, a suffocating wave of anxiety washed over you.

​she was stunning. her hair sat perfectly, her laugh was effortless, and she possessed a kind of glowing, unbothered confidence that you felt miles away from. sitting across from jungwon again, your cream cardigan suddenly felt suffocating, and your wide-leg trousers felt like a clumsy attempt at looking put-together. the food on your plate suddenly looked unappetizing as the old, familiar voice whispered that you were completely out of your league.

​“y/n? hey, you’re getting quiet on me,” jungwon murmured softly, leaning across the table, his dark eyes full of immediate concern. “what’s going on in that head of yours?”

​you stared down at your fingers, tracing the edge of the napkin to keep your voice steady. “she’s… really pretty, jungwon.”

​“she’s an old friend,” he replied instantly, a gentle, reassuring smile breaking across his face. “i promise that's all.”

​you swallowed past the lump in your throat, the overthinking brain refusing to let go of the bone. “did anything… ever happen between you two? back then?”

​“no, never,” jungwon said easily, shaking his head. “we were just kids who grew up on the same block. we played video games and rode bikes. that was literally it.”

​you looked up, your eyes searching his face, silent and unconvinced. jungwon sighed softly, a tiny, amused but fond smile tugging at his lips as he realized he couldn't hide anything from you. he reached across the table, covering your cold hand with his warm one.

​“okay, fine,” he gave in gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles. “the only thing that ever happened was that our parents used to tease us. when we were around ten, our moms joked around a lot about how we’d probably end up getting married because we were inseparable. but it was just a silly parents' joke.”

​he meant it as a reassuring confession to show how ridiculous the history was, but inside your chest, the words landed with a heavy, deafening thud.

​married.

​“baby,” jungwon murmured, his hands coming up to gently hold your fingers. he looked down at you, his eyes completely honest. “i'm sorry. i shouldn't have brought that up so carelessly. when we were kids, maybe there was a silly, innocent part of me that had a crush on her back then. but i swear to you, those feelings are completely gone. they've been gone for years.”

​when you wouldn't look at him, your eyes still trained on the ground as you tried to process the heavy spiral in your chest, jungwon didn't get frustrated or tell you that you were overreacting.

​instead, he patiently guided your cold hands up, cupping them securely against his warm cheeks and leaning his face into your soft touch. he tilted his head just enough so that you were forced to see the absolute sincerity in his gaze.

​“our parents made jokes about the past, but i'm looking at my future right now,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your wrist, his heartbeat steady and grounding beneath your palms. “it's only you, y/n. it's always just been you.”

“how sure are you about that?”

​“how sure are you about that?” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly under the weight of your own mind. you hated how small you sounded, hated that even with his face leaning so trustingly into your hands, the ugly, loud voice of your anxiety was still trying to convince you that you were a second choice.

​jungwon didn't blink. he didn't sigh in frustration, and he didn't let go of your hands. instead, he just closed his eyes for a brief second, absorbing the raw vulnerability of your question, before looking right back at you with a gaze so steady it felt like an anchor.

​“because when i was ten, i didn't know what loving someone actually meant,” he said softly, his voice incredibly quiet but unshakeable. “i thought it was just sharing toys and living on the same block. but with you? i know exactly what it is.”

​he kissed the palm of your right hand, his lips warm against your cold skin.

​“i'm sure because when something good happens, you're the first person i want to call. i'm sure because even when you get quiet and distant like this, i don't want to be anywhere else in the world except right here, waiting it out with you. minji is a part of a childhood scrapbook, y/n. but you are my real life. you are my today, and you're the only one i want for tomorrow.”

you let out a shaky breath you didn't realize you were holding, the heavy knot in your chest finally loosening under the steady, unshakeable warmth of his words. the ugly, loud whispers of your overthinking brain slowly faded into silence, replaced entirely by the sound of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

​he was right. she was the past, but you were his right now.

​“okay,” you whispered, a small, watery but genuine smile finally breaking across your lips. “i believe you.”

​jungwon smiled back, a look of pure relief crossing his handsome face. he kissed the palm of your hand one more time before lowering your hands, locking his fingers tightly with yours as the two of you began walking down the glowing, tree-lined street once again. the anxiety hadn't completely vanished from your system—it rarely ever did—but with his side pressed warmly against yours, the world felt safe again.

​but your worries did not disappear overnight.

months have passed since that evening of your first date, filled with shared laughter and a love that grew steadier with each passing day. jungwon had proven his words true over and over again, never letting you drift when the overthinking got too loud.

​yet, the mind is a stubborn thing.

jungwon was and is serious about you. every small gesture, every patient reassurance when you got quiet, and every look he gave you proved that you weren't just a passing chapter in his life. so, he decided that it was finally time for his parents to meet you. he wanted you to meet the people who mattered most to him, completely missing the way your stomach instantly dropped in panic.

“my son!”

as soon as the door opened to jungwon’s condo, his mom gave him a tight hug, immediately stepping past him to look at you with a wide, welcoming smile. jungwon laughed softly, wrapping an arm around his mom's shoulders before gently pulling you into the space alongside them.

“mom, let me breathe first,” he teased gently, though his eyes were bright with happiness as he looked between the two of you.

“but i miss my baby!”

this was the first time you can genuinely see jungwon embarrassed, but it was adorable. his cheeks flushed a faint, endearing pink as he cleared his throat, trying to regain his usual cool composure while his dad just chuckled behind them, carrying a small box of side dishes into the kitchen.

all was going well. the conversation flowed effortlessly over the sound of clinking chopsticks and quiet laughter.

“you know, y/n, jungwon has been smiling so much more lately,” his mom mentioned softly, reaching over to squeeze your wrist. “whenever we call him on the weekends, he’s always in a good mood because he’s either on his way to see you or just got back from a date. you’ve been such a wonderful influence on him.”

“thank you, mrs. yang,” you murmured softly, using the title she had warmly insisted on earlier. you felt a genuine sense of relief wash over you.

but that relief was cut short when his father set down his glass, looking between the two of you with a reflective nod. “it’s just so interesting seeing jungwon with someone so quiet and gentle,” his father noted with a thoughtful, friendly smile. “you know, his mother and i always assumed he’d end up with someone loud and full of energy, like minji. they grew up together, so we were just so used to that specific dynamic. but it’s good that he’s learning to appreciate a different kind of presence now.”

learning to appreciate.

your stomach completely dropped. they weren't trying to be mean at all. it was just a casual comment. but hearing his dad say that made your worst fear feel real. to them, minji was the standard: the girl who naturally fit into his life.

suddenly, that creeping feeling was crawling back into your system and into your head.

this option focuses on him noticing y/n's discomfort right away and stepping in to protect her peace.

jungwon, who had been watching you the entire time, saw the exact moment your face went rigid. without a second thought, his hand reached under the table, finding your ice-cold fingers and squeezing them tightly.

“that was a completely different time, dad,” jungwon cut in smoothly, his voice calm but incredibly firm as he looked directly at his father. “who i was when i was ten years old doesn't matter. y/n is my present, and she’s exactly who i like.”

his mother’s eyes widened slightly at jungwon's serious tone, her expression shifting into immediate regret. she looked at you, her face full of genuine worry.

“oh, dear, i’m so sorry,” his mom said softly, reaching across the table to gently touch your arm. “your father didn't mean it that way at all. we are so happy you’re here with him.”

“yes, please forgive an old man's clumsy words, y/n,” his dad added quickly, looking incredibly apologetic. “i only meant that we are glad to see how happy and grounded jungwon is with you. we really didn't mean to compare you.”

you managed to nod politely, offering his parents a tight, small smile. “it’s okay, mrs. yang. mr. yang, really. don’t worry about it.”

you forced yourself to get through the rest of the dinner. you chewed your food without tasting it, laughed at the right moments, and politely helped clear the plates. you didn't storm out, but your anxiety made you want to disappear.

the second the front door clicked shut and his parents finally left, the fake smile dropped from your face. your breath hitched, and the hot tears you had been holding back for the last hour finally slipped down your cheeks.

jungwon turned around immediately, his face full of pain as he stepped toward you. “y/n, baby, hey—”

“jungwon, please,” you whispered, stepping back, your hands trembling as you wrapped them around yourself. you couldn't take his comfort right now. the ugly thoughts were too loud. “i just… i think i need to go home.”

“y/n, look at me. you heard what i told them. she’s not like that to me. why are you pushing me away?”

“because they look at me and they see a lesson!” your voice finally broke, a sharp, painful sob escaping your throat. “they look at me and see someone who is helping you grow up, jungwon. what if that’s all i am to you? what if i’m just the person you’re with until you’re ready to go back to someone like her?”

jungwon flinched as if you had physically struck him. a heavy, painful silence fell over the apartment. he took a slow breath, his dark eyes brimming with a mix of deep hurt and sheer frustration that he couldn't seem to break through the walls of your anxiety.

“is that really all you think of me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet, raw whisper. “after all these months, you still think i’m just using you as a placeholder?”

he stepped forward, refusing to let you shrink away this time, his hands gently but firmly capturing your trembling wrists.

“i am not your ex, i’m not your fling, and i’m not jongseong, y/n,” he said, his voice shaking slightly with emotion as he looked directly into your tear-filled eyes. “i don't need a lesson, and i don't need to practice how to love someone. i love you. i chose you, and i am pouring everything i have into us. it hurts so bad that you’re letting a careless comment throw away everything we’ve built.”

you stared at him through a blur of hot tears, his grip on your wrists feeling less like an anchor and more like a trap you desperately needed to escape. you heard his words. he loves youand he isn't your ex. but the chaotic noise inside your head was just too loud. you were completely emotionally exhausted.

“jungwon, please,” you choked out, pulling your wrists back out of his hold. you couldn't look him in the eye, unable to bear the heavy hurt radiating from him. “i can’t… i can’t do this right now. i just really need to go home.”

jungwon stood perfectly still, his hands hanging empty in the space between you. he looked at your trembling shoulders, realizing that no matter what he said right now, your mind was miles away, trapped in a past he hadn't created.

he let out a long, heavy breath, his head dropping for a second before he looked back up at you with soft, tired eyes.

“okay,” he whispered quietly, his voice thick with unvoiced exhaustion. he didn't fight you, and he didn't force you to stay. instead, he reached for his car keys on the counter. “i’ll drive you.”

“no,” you said quickly, stepping back toward the door before he could even take a step toward you. “no, jungwon, please don't.”

jungwon froze, his fingers tightening around his car keys. “y/n, it’s late. i’m not letting you go out there alone like this.”

“i’ll book a ride. i just… if i get in the car with you right now, i feel like i won't be able to breathe,” you confessed, your voice dropping to a desperate, raw whisper. you hated hurting him, but the walls of the apartment already felt like they were crashing down on you. “i need to be completely alone. please.”

the word please seemed to deflate whatever fight jungwon had left in him. he looked at you, seeing the genuine panic in your eyes, and realized that forcing himself to accompany you would only make your spiral worse. it broke his heart, but he put his car keys back down on the counter.

“okay,” he whispered softly, his voice heavy with defeat. “i won't force you. but let me book your ride. let me at least do that so i know you're in a safe car.”

you didn't have the energy to argue. you just stood by the door, hugging yourself tightly as jungwon quietly pulled out his phone, his hands trembling slightly as he booked a ride to your apartment.

when the app showed the driver was outside, he walked over and opened the door for you. he didn't try to hug you or touch you, completely respecting the distance you asked for.

“text me when you get inside your room,” jungwon said, his dark eyes brimming with so much quiet love and unspoken hurt as he watched you step out into the hallway. “even if you don't want to talk to me, just send a dot. please. just let me know you're safe.”

you nodded your head and closed the door. as you walked down the hallway and headed toward the car, you finally let your tears fall, not caring if the receptionist in the lobby or the driver saw you.

***

dear y/n,

you thought you were completely past this after all these months of quiet, steady happiness.

he is good to you, and he has done absolutely nothing wrong. your heart knows he isn't the one who hurt you, but the fear of history repeating itself is paralyzing. you ran away tonight because the walls were closing in, and you are so terrified of ruining something beautiful.

you are standing at a crossroads now, completely exhausted from fighting your own mind. you want to believe you deserve this love, but the urge to protect yourself is pulling you backward. the storm inside you is loud, but will you still find the strength to trust and give it a try?

you texted jungwon that you needed space. you told him you just needed to make sure history wasn't repeating itself.

it took a few long, agonizing minutes before your phone buzzed in your hand.

jungwon: i understand. take all the time you need, y/n. i’m not going anywhere, and i’m not letting go of us. please just rest well tonight.

staring at the glowing screen, a fresh wave of tears blurred your vision. he was giving you the exact reassurance you desperately needed, yet the heavy, unresolved space between you felt wider than ever.

days turned into weeks and the space between you only grew heavier. neither of you reached out, the silence lingering like an unspoken question that you were both too afraid to answer.

you had thought that having this time to yourself would help clear your head and make you feel safe again. instead, the endless quiet only proved that the ghost of your past wasn’t something he was creating—it was something you were still carrying all on your own. missing him had become a constant, dull ache in your chest, making you realize that the walls you built to protect yourself were only keeping you trapped in your own loneliness.

the realization hit you fully when you found yourself staring at an old photo of the two of you, his bright, genuine smile a stark contrast to the hollow ache currently sitting in your chest. you had spent so much time trying to make sure history wasn't repeating itself that you hadn't noticed you were the one sabotaging your own present. it was finally time to stop letting your fear dictate your future, even if your hands were still shaking at the thought of making things right.

but you were too scared. maybe you didn’t deserve that second chance when all he did was be so nice and gentle, giving you the love you had been searching for all along.

on cue, your phone lit up with an unexpected video call notification. you slid the button to answer, clearing your throat before speaking. “jongseong, hey!”

“hey, y/n,” jongseong replied, his face appearing on the screen. he gave you a small wave, looking totally relaxed but a bit curious. “i’m only calling because a few really sad heartbreak tweets popped up on my timeline today, and i noticed you liked one of them. it just felt a little out of character for you. are you doing okay? any problems between you and jungwon?”

you froze, the heavy silence of your room suddenly feeling magnified through the speaker. your throat felt completely tight, and your mind scrambled for a safe lie, a polite excuse, or any regular answer to cover up the mess inside your head. but looking at jongseong’s kind, expectant face on the screen, the wall you had built over the past few weeks finally crumbled.

you let out a shaky breath, looking down at your lap because you couldn't bear to hold his gaze anymore.

“do you know that there are two types of people in the world?” you murmured, your voice cracking slightly as the tears threatened to spill over again. “the lesson and the one. sadly, i’m the lesson.”

“okay…” he said slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned closer to the camera. “i’m not following. what do you mean by that, y/n?”

“i mean… some people only enter a person’s life to teach them how to love, how to grow, or how to be better for the next person,” you whispered, a single tear finally slipping down your cheek. “they’re just a temporary chapter. they're the lesson. and then there are the people who get to stay forever. they’re the one.”

you finally looked up at the screen, your eyes completely raw and vulnerable as you stared at him.

“his parents think i'm just a phase, jongseong. they think i'm just someone he's with until he's ready to go back to a blueprint that naturally fits his world. and the worst part is… i’m starting to think they’re right.”

you let out a tired, shaky sigh, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“you know my history, jongseong. you’ve seen firsthand how many times i’ve been left behind, and how much it took for me to piece myself back together,” you murmured, your voice dropping to a soft, exhausted whisper. “i already know exactly how it feels to be the lesson that helps a man grow up for someone else. i’ve been that girl my entire life, and i just… i don’t think i have the strength to go through that all over again with him.”

jongseong went completely quiet on the other end of the line, his expression softening as your words settled over him. he rubbed the back of his neck, looking down for a brief second as if carrying a quiet weight of his own before fixing his steady, grounded gaze back on you.

“y/n, look at me,” he said softly, his voice dropping into that deep, comforting tone. “i know your history. i know exactly how much you've been through, and i'm not going to sit here and tell you that your fears aren’t valid. but you are completely wrong about one thing.”

he leaned a little closer to the camera. “i don't know the guy personally, but i know you. and from everything you’ve ever told me about him, from the way your face lights up when you mention his name, he isn't the type to treat you like a phase. his parents don't get to decide who his 'one' is, y/n. he already chose you, so don't let their words choose his ending for him.”

you looked away from the screen, your bottom lip trembling as his words cut right through your defenses. you wanted so desperately to believe he was right, but the heavy weight in your chest made it so hard to breathe.

“but what if they’re right, jongseong?” you whispered, a fresh tear spilling over as you brought your knees closer to your chest. “it’s so easy to say he chose me now, but choosing someone gets a lot harder when the whole world is pulling you in the opposite direction. i'm just so tired of being the only one who ends up broken when the choice gets too heavy.”

“you told me once, he’s different. you said he was the first person who made you feel safe enough to lower your guard. don't take away his chance to be the one who stays just because everyone else before him left.”

you let out a shaky breath, wiping the dampness from your cheeks with the back of your hand. his words hit a little too close to home, reminding you of the girl who used to be so certain about the boy she loved.

“i did say that, didn't i?” you whispered, a small, incredibly tired smile touching your lips for a split second. you looked back up at the screen, trying to clear the thick emotion from your throat. “i'm sorry for dumping all of this on you out of nowhere. let's not talk about my mess anymore. how are things with you and karina?”

jongseong chuckled softly, the heavy atmosphere completely lifting as he leaned back in his desk chair. “speaking of the devil,” he murmured, just as the sound of a fridge door closing echoed through the speaker, followed by the soft padding of footsteps.

a second later, karina leaned into the frame, damp hair wrapped in a towel and a plate of sliced fruit in her hand. “tell her i say hi! and tell her you haven't washed the dishes from breakfast yet,” she teased, popping a piece of apple into her mouth before pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head and walking back to the living room.

jongseong rolled his eyes fondly, watching her leave before fixing his gaze back on you. “see? we’re surviving, even if we’re constantly stressed about finals and rent. our parents definitely had their doubts about us moving in together so early, but we just decided to figure it out as we go. it’s not perfect, but it’s real. you and jungwon can figure it out too, if you just give him the chance to try.”

“thanks, jongseong,” you murmured, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest finally unravelling into a sudden, desperate wave of clarity.

“anytime, buddy,” he replied with a warm, final nod.

and with that, you both ended the call.

before the fear could creep back in, you immediately grabbed a coat from the chair and shoved your feet into your crocs. you unlocked the deadbolt with trembling fingers and swung the door open, but what you didn’t expect was jungwon standing right there, catching his breath with his hair sweaty, probably from running all the way to you.

“h-hi.”

“hi.”

a breathless, fragile silence settled over the hallway. jungwon looked down, his gaze lingering on your feet tucked into your crocs, and then you looked at his messy, sweat-dampened hair. despite the heavy heartbreak that had been hovering over you both for weeks, a tiny, incredibly watery laugh slipped past your lips.

jungwon’s lips twitched into a faint, exhausted smile, though his eyes stayed completely soft and intense.

“where were you going in such a hurry?” he asked softly, his voice still a little breathless.

“i was… i was going to you,” you confessed, your voice cracking as the tears finally spilled over, blurring your vision.

jungwon’s eyes softened completely, his hand moving from your wrist to gently cup your cheek, his thumb catching the tear before it could fall. “to me? why?”

“because i’m so tired of being the girl who only exists to teach good men how to love someone else,” you choked out, your hands anchoring onto the fabric of his jacket because your knees felt weak. “i don’t want you to be my temporary chapter, jungwon. i don’t want this to be another heartbreaking lesson. i know you’re the one. i know it. and it terrifies me, but i was running to tell you that i don’t want to let you go.”

jungwon stared at you, completely frozen as his usual composure totally shattered. a glassy sheen quickly took over his sharp eyes, his bottom lip trembling just a fraction as the heavy unshed tears made him look incredibly vulnerable in the dim hallway light. he looked so profoundly undone by your confession that he couldn't even find his voice to speak.

seeing him look at you like that suddenly made a wave of intense self-consciousness rush over you.

you let out a wet, breathless laugh, instantly dropping your gaze to his chest as your cheeks flushed deep red. “oh god,” you muttered, your voice cracking as you weakly hid your face against his jacket. “i can’t believe i sound so silly saying that. it sounded so cringe, i'm sorry—”

jungwon wasted no time in closing the gap between the two of you and crashed his lips onto yours. compared to your first kiss, this one was full of pure yearning and a desperate, breathless relief that made your knees give out completely.

he kissed you until the lingering taste of your tears melted away, his hands moving up to cup your face so tightly, as if he were physically anchoring you to him. when he finally pulled back just a fraction, his forehead remained rested against yours, both of your breaths coming out in hot, uneven puffs in the quiet hallway.

“it’s not silly,” jungwon whispered fiercely, his voice raspy and thick with the tears he was trying not to spill. he blinked, a stray drop finally escaping and trailing down his flushed cheek as he looked deep into your eyes. “i ran all the way here because i felt like i was suffocating without you. i ran to tell you that i don't want to lose you. i'm not letting you go.”

you could only nod as a fresh wave of tears blurred your vision. your fingers gripping his shoulders so hard your knuckles turned white.

jungwon smiled weakly, his thumbs gently wiping away the new tears on your cheeks before leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, right at your hairline. he kept his arms securely locked around you, anchoring you against his warm chest until your breathing finally synced up with his.

“i mean it, y/n,” he murmured into your hair, his voice steadier now but still filled with that fierce determination. “no more lessons. we're figuring this out together.”

***

dear, y/n,

in this world, there are two types of people: the one and the lesson. you were the latter. but right now, you’re the first.

you spent so much time convincing yourself that you were only built to be a temporary chapter, a stepping stone for someone else's perfect blueprint. but you don't have to stay broken just to teach a good man how to love. you can be the one who gets to stay, too. and you finally found your 'the one'—the boy who ran all the way to your door in the middle of the night just to prove he was never going to let you go.

three months later.

“jungwon, if you don't turn that stove down right now, we are going to set the fire alarm off for the third time this month,” you laughed, leaning against the counter of your apartment as you watched him frantically wave a kitchen towel in front of a smoking pan.

“i have it completely under control!” he insisted, though his cheeks were flushed a soft pink and his sharp eyes were wide with adorable panic. he quickly slid the pan off the burner, letting out a dramatic sigh of relief before turning around to face you. his hair was slightly messy, a soft contrast to the structured, neat look he usually wore around his family, and he was wearing an super oversized hoodie that you were pretty sure actually belonged to you.

you walked over, entirely unable to hide the fond smile on your face as you reached up to fix a stray strand of hair falling over his forehead. “you’re supposed to be the responsible college student, remember? what happened to the planner jungwon?”

“the plan got complicated,” jungwon murmured, his tone instantly softening the second your fingers brushed against his skin. without missing a beat, his hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him with that effortless, natural familiarity that had become your favorite part of every single day. “besides, i was distracted looking at you.”

“so cringe,” you teased, echoing the exact words from the night he ran to you, but your heart still did that familiar, happy flip against your ribs.

jungwon chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated against your chest as he leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. “i told you three months ago,” he whispered against your lips, his thumbs gently rubbing soothing circles through the fabric of your shirt. “it’s not cringe if it’s real. now kiss me before the smoke alarm actually goes off.”

many people have 'a thing'.

something that helps them feel at ease when they're down, something that distracts them from the real world, or something that they just love.

your thing was your stuffed animal, as childish as it may sound.

bear. that's what his name was!

a winnie the pooh, rattle toy stuffed animal, with a white shirt from another animal, that has faded more and more yellow as time passed.

you've had this stuffed animal for years, and it was your favorite! so much to the point where you brought it everywhere when you were a kid.

doctors office? dentist? your sisters band concert? bear was there for all of it.

now, you had many stuffed animals, but none of them really ever clicked with you like how bear did.

bear was just different. it was something about his smell.

you would hold him up to your face and inhale and be brought immediate comfort.

it smelt like home.

lately, though, you had noticed you had to press your nose harder into his fur to find the smell. 

it was fading, slowly, like a photograph left in sunlight. you told yourself it was just because he was old, because you had washed him too many times, but the thought made your stomach tight. 

you couldn't remember when exactly the scent had started to thin, only that now you had to inhale twice as deep to get that same hit of comfort. 

you carried bear around all the time and kept him around all the time, all the way to your adulthood.

around your teenage years, you started to get embarrassed about bear.

it felt odd.. you felt immature.

everyone else around never had stuffed animals around 24/7. you'd go over to a friends house and the layout of their bed would be completely different. no stuffed animals anywhere.

it only got worse as you grew older.

people started caring less and less and less about their childhood toys, while you were still stuck.

you even tried to convince yourself at one point some random day in highschool.

"i don't need bear! i'm not even gonna sleep with him tonight" you thought to yourself.

you tried to sleep that night… keyword 'tried'

it was probably the worst sleep of your life. you couldn't sleep until 5 in the morning, and even when you did fall asleep, you'd stir yourself awake every 10 mins.

after that you gave up. 

you never bothered to tell anyone about bear, but it was just a little secret you had. you needed him in order to get any sort of comfort.

cut to now, you're an adult. living a full life, with lots of friends. bear still always by your side.

one day, it was laundry day.

living in the apartment you had, you didn't own a washer or dryer, you had to go to laundromat in order to wash anything.

you stand in front of your hamper and stare at it like it's a problem to be solved.

it's overflowing. socks are spilling over the side like they're trying to escape.

you've been putting this off for eleven days now, ever since you wore your last clean pair of jeans to that party at mayas and spilled wine on them.

you look down at your jacket, hanging on the hook by the door. bear is in there. he's always in there.

you grab the hamper with both hands and kick the door open with your foot, maneuvering down the narrow hallway of your building. 

the stairs creak under your weight. the third floor always feels higher when you're carrying three weeks of dirty clothes.

the laundromat is four blocks away. you walk there because the bus costs two fifty and you'd rather spend that on coffee. 

the autumn air is sharp enough to make your nose run, and you burrow deeper into your jacket, your hand finding the front pocket automatically.

bear is there. you can feel the soft bulk of him through the denim. your thumb traces the edge of his shirt, that faded yellow fabric that used to be bright white. 

you don't take him out. you never take him out in public anymore. but you know he's there.

the laundromat is called spin cycle, which you think is a stupid name but whatever. the bell above the door jingles when you push it open with your hip.

the smell hits you immediately. detergent and warm cotton and that particular steamy humidity that only exists in places where clothes are being dried. it smells like clean, which is different from how bear smells, but somehow related.

you set your hamper down in front of an empty washer near the back. 

number fourteen. you have a preference for the back machines. less chance of someone seeing you talk to your jacket pocket.

you sort your clothes with the efficiency of someone who's done this many times. darks in one pile, lights in another. you check pockets out of habit, even though you know exactly what's in yours.

your hand hesitates on the zipper of your jacket pocket.

you could take him out. just for a second. just to make sure he's okay before you put everything in the machine.

but the door opens behind you and an older woman comes in with a rolling cart, and you drop your hand like you've been caught.

you stuff your clothes into the machine instead. jeans first, then sweaters, then the delicates bag with your underwear because you're not brave enough to wash those in public view. 

you toss the detergent pod on top and shove four quarters into the slot.

the machine groans to life. water starts rushing in.

you stand there for a moment, watching your clothes disappear under the suds. 

your jacket is still on. you never take it off at the laundromat. the machines run hot and the room gets warm, but you keep it zipped up to your chin. bear stays close to your heart that way.

your phone buzzes in your actual pocket.

it's a text from your roommate, sarah. she needs you to pick up her prescription while you're out. she'll pay you back. she even adds three pleading emojis.

you sigh and look at the washer. it has thirty two minutes left on the cycle.

you could wait here. sit on the orange plastic chair and scroll through your phone and try not to think about how your jacket is starting to make you sweat.

or you could be productive.

you check the pocket one more time, patting the bulge that is bear. he's there. he's fine.

you walk out into the afternoon.

the pharmacy is two blocks north. you pass a coffee shop and smell espresso and almost stop, but sarah said urgent, so you keep walking. your hand stays in your jacket pocket the whole way, fingers wrapped around bears soft body.

the prescription pickup line is four people deep. you wait. you shift your weight from foot to foot. you think about your clothes spinning in circles back at the laundromat.

when it's your turn, you give sarahs name and date of birth. the pharmacist is slow. she types with one finger. you try not to tap your foot.

finally, you get the small white bag with sarahs name printed on it. you tuck it into your purse and head back out.

on the way back to the laundromat, you stop at the corner store for a bottle of water. the clerk knows you and waves. you wave back.

you're gone for twenty three minutes total.

when you push back through the door of spin cycle, the bell jingles again. the humidity hits your face.

your washer is still running. you can hear it churning, that wet slapping sound of clothes being beaten clean.

you sit down on the orange chair to wait. you pull out your phone. you scroll through instagram for four minutes. you watch a video of a cat falling off a counter.

then you get up to check the time left on your machine.

and you realize.

your jacket is gone.

you stand there staring at the orange chair where you were just sitting, and your jacket is not there. 

you left it there. you know you left it there. you always take it off when you sit, even for a second, because the heat is too much, and you draped it over the back of the chair, and now it's gone.

your heart starts beating in your throat.

you look around the laundromat like the jacket might have just fallen on the floor. like it slipped down behind the chair. like you're imagining things.

but it's not on the floor. it's not behind the chair. it's not on any of the other chairs or folded on the counter or hanging on the coat hook by the door.

someone took it.

or someone moved it.

you walk in a circle around the laundromat, checking every surface, every chair, every windowsill.

you stand in the middle of spin cycle laundromat and your washer beeps, signaling that the cycle is done, and you can't move.

your clothes are done.

your jacket is gone.

bear is gone.

you walk back to the orange chair and you sit down heavily. the plastic creaks under you. your hands are shaking so badly you have to press them between your knees to make them stop.

you try to think logically.

maybe someone moved it. maybe an employee put it somewhere. maybe it got mixed in with someone elses stuff by accident.

you get up and walk to the front counter. there's a girl there with blue hair and a nose ring, reading a paperback with a dragon on the cover. she looks up when you approach.

"hi," you say, and your voice sounds wrong. thin and shaky. 

"did anyone turn in a jacket? navy blue denim? oversized?"

she shakes her head. "not that i've seen. did you check the lost and found?"

you nod. you checked. it was just a sock and a hanger.

she gives you a sympathetic look. "sometimes people move stuff if it's in their way. check the other chairs?"

you already checked. you checked everywhere.

you walk back to the orange chair and sit down again. the washer has stopped beeping now. your clothes sit in the dark behind the glass, wet and heavy and waiting.

you should get them. you should transfer them to the dryer. you should finish your laundry like a normal person.

you can't get up.

your phone buzzes. it's sarah, texting to ask if you got her prescription. you stare at the screen and your thumbs hover over the keyboard but you can't think of what to type. you can't think of anything except the empty space where your jacket should be.

you start to cry.

you didn't mean to. 

you blink hard and press your palms against your eyes but the tears come anyway, hot and fast and embarrassing. you're twenty years old crying in a laundromat over a lost jacket. over a stuffed animal. over bear.

a woman folding towels nearby glances at you. you turn away and hide your face in your hands.

you stay like that for a long time.

eventually you force yourself to stand up. you wipe your face with your sleeve. 

you go to the washer and pull out your wet clothes and carry them to a dryer. you put in quarters you can barely see through your tears. you start the machine.

you sit back down on the orange chair.

you don't know what to do.

you think about calling the police, but what would you say? someone stole my jacket and inside the pocket was a winnie the pooh stuffed animal and i need it to sleep? 

they'd laugh. or worse, they wouldn't laugh. they'd look at you with that concerned expression that says they're wondering if you're safe to be around.

you think about going home without him.

the thought makes your chest tighten until you can't breathe. 

you put your head between your knees and count backwards from one hundred. you learned that in therapy sophomore year when the panic attacks got bad. it doesn't help much now.

the dryer hums.

you sit there and you wait for your clothes to be done and you try not to think about where bear is right now. 

if he's on the floor somewhere. if someone threw him away. if someone found him and is holding him and wondering why a grown woman carries a baby toy in her jacket pocket.

the shame burns hot in your throat.

but underneath it is something worse. something empty and cold. the knowledge that tonight you'll go home to your small apartment and you'll lie in your bed and you won't sleep.

you know this because you've tried to sleep without him before.

you remember junior year. the night at your grandmothers house. 

you'd been so careful all evening, checking your pocket every ten minutes, feeling the reassuring lump of him against your hip. but when you got home and reached in to pull him out for bed, your hand met only empty fabric.

you'd left him on your grandmothers couch. three hours away. three days before you could go back.

that first night without him, you lay in bed with your eyes wide open and stared at the ceiling until the sun came up. 

you counted sheep. you counted your breaths. you listened to every creak of the house settling, every car passing on the street outside, every beat of your own heart that seemed too loud and too fast.

you didn't sleep for one minute.

the second night was worse. your body ached with exhaustion but your mind wouldn't stop spinning. you got up and walked circles around your room at three am. 

you sat on the floor and pressed your face against your knees and rocked back and forth like a child.

by the third night you were hallucinating. shadows moved in the corners of your vision. sounds came from inside your walls. 

you'd tried to remember the smell exactly, sitting there in the dark at your grandmother's house, but you couldn't conjure it. 

you could remember that it was warm, that it was sweet like vanilla and something else, but the specific scent eluded you. it worried you more than the sleeplessness, that your brain couldn't hold onto something so essential. 

you called your grandmother at four in the morning crying so hard you couldn't make words.

you got him back on the fourth day. you slept for fourteen hours straight and woke up with his face pressed against your cheek and your pillow soaked with tears.

you can't do that again.

but you don't know how to fix this.

the dryer stops.

you sit there for five more minutes before you get up and pull out your warm clothes. you fold them mechanically. shirts first, then pants, then socks matched into pairs. you put them in your hamper.

you carry the hamper home through the darkening streets.

the autumn air bites at your cheeks. you didn't realize how late it'd gotten. the streetlights are on now, orange and humming.

you walk up the three flights of stairs to your apartment. sarah is home. she's making pasta in the kitchen and she looks up when you come in.

sarah sees the expression on your face, hers immediately becoming concerned. "are you.. okay?" she asks cautiously.

you nod and pull the white bag from your purse and hand it to her. "fine," you say. "i'm just tired."

she takes the bag but she doesn't look away from you. "you don't look fine," she says. "you look like you've been crying."

you turn away and hang your keys on the hook by the door. "i'm fine," you say again, but your voice cracks on the second word.

"hey," she says, softer now. she puts down the wooden spoon she was holding and comes over to you. "what happened? did something happen at the laundromat?"

you shake your head. you can't talk about it. if you try to explain you'll start crying again and you don't think you'll ever stop.

"i just need to lay down," you say.

sarah reaches out and touches your arm. "are you sure? you can talk to me, you know. whatever it is."

you nod and pull away gently. "i'm sure," you say. "just tired."

you go to your room and close the door.

you sit on your bed and you look at the empty jacket hook by the door.

you lie down on top of your covers still wearing your shoes.

you stare at the ceiling.

you wait.

the first night is exactly as bad as you remember.

you lie there with your eyes open and your hands clenched into fists at your sides. you try to slow your breathing. you try to relax your jaw. you try to think about nothing.

but your brain won't turn off. it keeps circling back to the same thought. bear is gone. bear is gone. bear is gone.

you get up at midnight and search your room again. under the bed. in the closet. in your laundry hamper even though you know you already checked. you go to the living room and look behind the couch cushions. you check the bathroom, the kitchen, the hallway outside your door.

you know he's not there. you knew before you looked. but you can't stop yourself from checking.

by two am you're back in bed and your heart is racing like you've been running. you press your hand against your chest and feel it thumping against your ribs.

you don't sleep.

the sun comes up and you haven't closed your eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. your body feels wired and heavy at the same time. your eyes burn. your head aches in a low constant throb behind your temples.

sarah knocks on your door at eight. "i'm heading to class," she calls through the wood. "are you up?"

you don't answer. you can't make your voice work.

you hear her hesitate. "y/n?" she calls again. "you in there?"

"i'm sick," you manage. your voice sounds like gravel. "calling in sick."

there's a pause. "do you need anything?"

you close your eyes and shake your head even though she can't see you. "no," you say. "just sleep."

you hear her walk away.

you spend the day in a fog. you lie on the couch and stare at the wall. sarah comes back at four and finds you there in the same position she left you.

she sets her bag down and comes over to you. "you still haven't slept?" she asks.

you don't answer.

she sits down on the edge of the couch and puts her hand on your forehead like she's checking for a fever. "you're burning up," she says. "but you don't feel sick. what's going on?"

"just can't sleep," you whisper.

"since when?"

you close your eyes. "since i lost something."

she waits for you to say more. when you don't, she asks, "what did you lose?"

you shake your head. you can't say it out loud.

sarah sighs and stands up. "i'm making soup," she says. "you're eating something."

you don't eat. you drink half the broth she brings you and your stomach cramps around it.

you go back to your room when the sun starts to set. you lie down and you wait for the second night.

the second night is worse.

now your body knows what's coming. it starts to panic before you even get into bed. your hands shake as you brush your teeth. your stomach twists as you pull back the covers.

you lie down and your whole body is tense, waiting for the sleeplessness to start.

it doesn't disappoint.

you spend hours staring at the ceiling. you try counting backwards from one thousand. you try naming every state in alphabetical order. you try to remember the lyrics to every song you learned in elementary school.

nothing works.

your thoughts race in circles. where is he right now? is he cold? is he scared? does he think you abandoned him? the thoughts are ridiculous and you know they're ridiculous but you can't stop them.

at four am you get up and throw up in the bathroom. there's nothing in your stomach but bile. you rinse your mouth and look at yourself in the mirror. your eyes are red and swollen. your skin is gray. you look like you've been sick for weeks.

sarah finds you there. she's in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes. "you're up?" she asks, then she sees your face. "oh my god. y/n. what's happening to you?"

"nothing," you say. "go back to bed."

"you've been throwing up," she says. "and you look terrible. i'm taking you to the hospital."

"no," you say, too fast. "i'm fine. i just can't sleep."

"for two nights?" she asks. "that's not normal. something is wrong."

you lean against the sink and close your eyes. "i just need to find him," you whisper.

"find who?" sarah asks.

you shake your head. you can't say it.

sarah puts her hand on your arm. "you're scaring me," she says quietly. "please tell me what's wrong."

you open your eyes and look at her. she looks scared. you hate that you're doing this to her. but you can't explain. it's too embarrassing

"i'm sorry," you say. "i just need to find something i lost. then i'll be fine. i promise."

she stares at you for a long moment. "what did you lose?" she asks again.

you push past her and go back to your room. you close the door and lean against it and slide down to the floor.

"i'm sorry," you call through the wood. "just please let me handle this."

you hear her hesitate. then you hear her walk away.

you get back in bed.

you lie there and watch the sky outside your window turn from black to gray to pink.

you don't sleep.

by the third day you're unraveling.

you try to go to work because you need the money and you can't afford to lose another day. you stand at the coffee shop counter and you can't remember what buttons to press. you stare at the register for thirty seconds while a customer waits and you can't make your brain work.

your manager sends you home.

"are you on something?" she asks quietly in the back room. "if you need help, we can get you help."

"i'm just tired," you say. "i haven't slept."

she looks at you and her expression softens into pity. "go home," she says. "get some rest. come back when you're better."

you walk back to the laundromat. you check the lost and found box. you ask the blue haired girl if anyone has turned anything in. she recognizes you now and her sympathy has started to turn into something else, something wary.

"no," she says. "nothing."

you put up a sign on the bulletin board.

lost. navy blue denim jacket. no questions asked. reward.

you put your phone number at the bottom.

you wait.

no one calls.

the third night is the worst yet.

now you're afraid to even try to sleep. the bed feels like a battlefield. you lie down and your whole body is rigid with dread. you know what's coming. the long hours of darkness. the racing thoughts. the way your mind turns against you.

you start to cry at eleven pm and you don't stop.

you cry until your throat is raw and your eyes feel like they've been scrubbed with sandpaper. you cry until your chest hurts and you can't catch your breath.

sarah finds you at two in the morning sitting on the kitchen floor with your knees pulled to your chest and your face wet and your whole body shaking.

she sits down on the floor with you. she puts her arm around your shoulders. she doesn't ask what's wrong. she just stays there.

"i'm sorry," you whisper. "i'm so sorry."

"shh," she says. "it's okay. whatever it is, it's okay."

you lean your head against her shoulder and you cry quieter, then, exhausted and empty.

she helps you to bed. she tucks the covers around you like you're a child. she sits on the edge of the mattress and strokes your hair until your breathing slows.

"do you want to tell me now?" she asks softly.

you shake your head against the pillow. "i can't," you whisper.

she sighs. "okay," she says. "but i'm here when you're ready."

she stays until you pretend to fall asleep. then she slips out and closes the door.

you lie there with your eyes open in the dark.

you don't sleep.

the fourth day you don't get out of bed at all.

sarah brings you water. she brings you toast. she sits on the edge of your bed and tries to get you to eat.

"just a bite," she says. "please."

you eat half a slice and your stomach cramps around it.

you stare at the wall and you think about bear. you think about his soft fur. you think about his smell. you think about the way he fit in your hand just right, the perfect size to hold against your heart.

you wonder if you'll ever sleep again.

the fifth night comes.

you've been awake for so long that time has stopped making sense. hours blur together. you can't remember if you ate today. you can't remember what day it is.

you lie in bed and you stare at the ceiling and you wait for morning.

your body is screaming for rest. your eyes burn constantly. your head feels like it's full of static, white noise that never stops.

but your mind won't let you go.

it keeps you awake like a punishment. like a curse.

you start to think that maybe this is just your life now. that you lost the one thing that let you rest and now you'll never rest again. you'll spend the rest of your existence exhausted and hollow and reaching for something that isn't there.

you get up and walk to the window.

you look out at the street below, empty and dark, and you wonder if he's out there somewhere. if he's cold. if he's alone.

you press your forehead against the glass and you close your eyes.

you don't sleep.

you don't sleep on the sixth night either.

or the seventh.

by the eighth day you're a ghost. you move through your apartment like you're haunting it. you don't eat. you don't speak. sarah has stopped asking if you're okay because she knows you're not.

she just brings you water and sits with you and waits.

she doesn't ask again what you lost. she just stays with you, her presence steady and warm, until the afternoon light fades and your room grows dark.

on the ninth day, sarah knocks on your door earlier than usual.

"i'm having some people over tonight," she says through the wood. "just a few friends. dinner. nothing crazy."

you don't answer. you're staring at the ceiling and counting the cracks in the plaster. there are eleven. you've counted them a hundred times.

"it would mean a lot to me if you came out," she continues. "just for an hour. please."

you close your eyes. the thought of being around people makes your skin crawl. you're so tired. you're so empty. you don't have the energy to pretend to be normal.

but sarah has been so patient. she has brought you water and toast and sat with you in silence. she hasn't pushed you to explain. she has just been there.

you owe her this.

"okay," you say. your voice sounds like rust.

you hear her exhale. "really?" she asks. "you'll come out?"

"yeah," you say. "i'll try."

you hear her smile. you can hear it in her voice. "thank you," she says. "just an hour. that's all."

she walks away and you lie there and wonder if you can do this.

you get up at six. you haven't slept in nine days and your body feels like it's made of glass, fragile and ready to shatter.

you go to the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror.

you look terrible. your eyes are sunken and red rimmed. your skin is pale and splotchy. your hair is a tangled mess.

you try to make yourself look presentable.

you splash cold water on your face until your cheeks have some color. you brush your hair and pull it back into a low ponytail. you put on makeup for the first time in over a week, covering the dark circles under your eyes with concealer that's slightly too light.

you change out of the sweatpants you've been wearing for three days and put on jeans and a sweater.

you look in the mirror again.

you still look tired. you still look hollow. but you look like a person again. not a ghost.

you take a deep breath and open your bedroom door.

the apartment smells like garlic and rosemary. sarah is cooking pasta. music plays softly from her phone, something upbeat and indie.

she turns when she hears you and her face breaks into a smile.

"you look great," she says. she means it.

"thanks," you say.

she crosses the room and hugs you. she squeezes tight and you feel tears prick your eyes but you blink them back. you've cried enough.

"seriously," she whispers. "thank you for trying."

you nod against her shoulder.

the doorbell rings at seven.

sarah pulls away and wipes her hands on her apron. "that's probably maya and leo," she says. "can you get the door?"

you walk to the door on legs that feel unsteady. you open it.

maya and leo stand there holding wine and bread. they smile when they see you.

"hey," maya says. "long time no see. sarah said you've been sick."

"yeah," you say. "stomach thing. getting better now."

they come in and you take their coats and hang them on the hook by the door.

the hook is empty where your jacket should be.

you look away.

more people arrive. sarahs friends from class. a girl named priya who brings brownies. a guy named tom who talks loudly about his internship.

you stand in the kitchen and hold a glass of wine you don't drink. you smile when people look at you. you nod when they talk. you're performing being a person and you're not sure how convincing you are.

the doorbell rings again.

"i'll get it," sarah calls from the stove.

you stay in the kitchen and listen to the door open.

"hey," you hear sarah say. "i'm so glad you could make it."

"wouldn't miss it," a voice answers. male. soft. slightly rough. deep.

you don't think anything of it until they walk into the kitchen.

sarah enters first. then a boy.

he is tall. blonde hair. he's wearing a gray hoodie under a jacket that makes you stop breathing.

your jacket.

navy blue denim. oversized. frayed hem.

your jacket.

on his body.

you stare at him and the glass in your hand starts to shake.

"y/n," sarah says, "this is riki. he's in my art history class. riki, this is my roommate y/n."

riki looks at you and smiles. his eyes are warm and dark brown and he has full lips.

"hey," he says. "nice to meet you."

you force yourself to smile. "nice to meet you too."

you don't say anything about the jacket. your throat closed up. your heart starts hammering against your ribs.

when riki shrugged off the jacket to hang it by the door, you noticed he folded it carefully, smoothing the collar with his palm before stepping away. not the careless toss most people gave their coats, but something deliberate, almost tender. 

you watch him from the corner of your eye all night. you watch him talk to maya about some movie. you watch him help sarah carry plates to the table. you watch the way the jacket moves on his shoulders, the way the front pocket bulges slightly with nothing in it now.

bear is not there.

you feel sick.

but you don't confront him. you can't. not in front of everyone. not when you're barely holding yourself together.

you make it through dinner. you laugh at the right times. you push food around your plate and pretend to eat.

when riki leaves, he shrugs into the jacket and zips it up and you watch him walk out the door and you feel like you're losing bear all over again.

but now you know who has him.

or at least who has your jacket.

you go to bed that night and you don't sleep. but now there's something else mixed with the exhaustion. hope.

the next week, sarah has people over again.

"rikis coming," she mentions casually while chopping vegetables. "he asked about you. said you seemed nice."

you freeze. "oh?"

"yeah. he's really into thrifting. you should see his apartment. it's like a vintage store exploded."

you nod and try to act normal.

when the doorbell rings, your stomach flips.

riki walks in wearing your jacket again. this time with a different hoodie underneath. he smiles when he sees you.

he looked at you differently this time, his eyes lingering on your face like he was looking for something. 

"sarah said you've been sick," he said, and there was a note of suspicion in it, or confusion. "yeah," you said. "stomach thing." he nodded, but his brow stayed furrowed, like he knew you were lying but couldn't figure out about what. 

he hangs the jacket on the coat rack by the door and you have to stop yourself from staring at it.

all night, your eyes drift to that jacket. you wonder if bear is still in the pocket. you wonder if he took bear out. you wonder where bear is now.

you don't sleep that night either. but you spend less time crying and more time thinking.

riki comes over again three days later. sarah invites him for movie night. he brings popcorn and wears your jacket again.

this time you sit next to him on the couch. you can smell the jacket from here. you can smell the musk, amber, and something warm.

it smells like bear.

it smells like home.

your eyes start to close during the movie. just for a second. the scent is so familiar. so comforting.

you jerk awake and riki is looking at you.

"you okay?" he whispers.

"yeah," you say. "just tired."

he nods and looks back at the screen. but after a minute, he shifts slightly and the jacket sleeve brushes against your arm.

you don't pull away.

the fourth time he comes over, you're ready.

sarah is in the kitchen making tea. the others haven't arrived yet. it's just you and riki in the living room.

he's wearing your jacket again. he wears it every time. it must be his favorite now.

you sit down next to him on the couch and your hands are sweating and your heart is racing but you have to ask.

"can i ask you something?" you say.

he looks at you. "yeah. of course."

"that jacket," you say. "where did you get it?"

riki looks down at himself. then back at you. "thrift store," he says. "downtown. why?"

you take a breath. "i think it might be mine," you say. "i lost a jacket just like that at the laundromat on fourth."

rikis eyes widen. "oh," he says. "oh wow. i'm sorry. i didn't know."

"it's okay," you say. "you didn't know. but... there was something in the pocket. when i lost it. something important."

riki stares at you. "something important?" he repeats.

"a stuffed animal," you say. your voice cracks. "a bear. he was in the front pocket. did you... did you find anything like that? when you bought the jacket?"

riki is quiet for a long moment, his brow furrows.

"there was something," he says slowly. "when i got home and checked the pockets. a bear. yeah. i remember."

your whole body goes weak. "you have him?"

riki looks at you. "i have him at my apartment," he says. "i didn't know what to do with him. i kept meaning to bring him back to the thrift store but i kept forgetting. i'm sorry. i should have turned him in."

you're crying. you can't help it. tears are streaming down your face and you don't care.

"can i have him?" you whisper. "please? he... he's really important to me."

riki stares at you. he looks confused but not judgmental. just curious. concerned.

"of course," he says. "i'm so sorry. i didn't realize. i can go get him right now. my apartment is only ten minutes away."

you shake your head. "no," you say. "you don't have to. just... next time you come over. please. bring him."

"i will," riki says. "i promise. tomorrow. i'll bring him tomorrow."

you nod and wipe your face. "thank you," you say. "thank you so much."

sarah comes out of the kitchen with two mugs. she sees your face and stops.

"...everything okay?" she asks.

"yeah," riki says before you can answer. "we were just talking about the jacket. turns out i accidentally bought y/ns lost jacket."

sarah looks between you two. "seriously?"

"yeah," you say. "small world."

sarah sits down and the conversation moves on. but riki keeps looking at you. not with pity. with something else. something gentle.

the next day, he texts sarah that he's running late but he'll be there soon.

you sit on the couch and wait. you haven't slept in twelve days now. you're beyond exhausted. you're running on fumes and hope.

the doorbell rings.

you answer it.

riki stands there holding a small plastic bag. inside is bear.

you make a sound. a sob. you reach out and take the bag with both hands.

"i'm sorry i kept him so long," riki says. "i really didn't know."

you open the bag and pull bear out and press him against your face.

but something was wrong. underneath the familiar notes of amber and musk, there was something else, something chemical and sharp. the thrift store, maybe, or someone else's detergent. 

you pressed harder, trying to find the original smell, the one that had lived in his fur for years, but it was muffled, distant, like trying to hear a song through a wall. 

but underneath bears familiar scent, there is something else. something that smells like musk and amber and warmth.

you look up at riki.

"you smell like him," you say.

riki blinks. "what?"

"like bear," you say. "like home."

riki stares at you. then he smiles slightly. "thats a weird thing to say," he says.

"i know," you say. "im sorry. i just... i havent slept in twelve days. and you smell like sleep. you smell like the only thing that lets me sleep."

riki steps closer. he looks at your face. at your red eyes and your pale skin.

"twelve days?" he asks quietly.

"not since i lost him," you say.

he is quiet for a moment. then he says, ""why do i smell like him?" he asks. "like the bear?"

you look at him. really look at him. at his warm eyes and his messy hair.

"i dont know, maybe its the jacket?" you say. "but you do. you smell exactly like him. like amber and musk."

riki smiles. "amber and musk," he repeats. "thats funny."

"why?"

"because thats what my soap smells like," he says. "my grandmother makes it. she sends me bars every month."

you stare at him.

"amber and musk," you whisper.

"yeah," he says. "weird coincidence, right?"

you look down at bear. at his faded white shirt.

riki is quiet. then he says, "so i smell like your childhood."

you look up at him. "yeah," you say. "you do."

he smiles again. this time it reaches his eyes. "thats not a bad thing to smell like," he says.

that night you sleep for fourteen hours straight.

you woke up once at 3 am, reaching for bear automatically. you pressed your face to his stomach and inhaled, but the sleep did not come back as fast as it used to. 

the scent was there, but faint, like the last bit of perfume on a shirt. you had to bury your whole face in his fur to find it, and even then, it slipped away faster than it used to. 

you wake up with bear pressed against your face and your pillow soaked with tears that you do not remember crying.

the sun is streaming through your window at an angle that suggests it is late afternoon. you check your phone. 3:47 pm.

you've slept through your alarm. through sarah leaving for class. through the morning and into the afternoon.

you don't care.

you bury your face in bears fur and inhale. amber and musk. home.

but underneath that familiar scent, you catch something else. something that makes your chest tighten with a different kind of comfort.

riki.

he smells like this too.

you lie there for another hour, just breathing. just existing in the softness of finally being able to rest.

when you finally get up, you feel like a person again. your eyes are still heavy but they do not burn anymore. your head feels clear for the first time in weeks.

sarah is in the living room when you emerge. she looks up from her laptop and her face breaks into a smile.

"you slept," she says. it is not a question.

"yeah," you say. your voice is rough but steady. "i slept."

she stands up and hugs you. she smells like lavender shampoo and coffee.

"im so glad," she whispers.

you hug her back and you realize you have not told her yet. you haven't explained about riki and the jacket and the soap that smells like your childhood.

"theres something i should tell you," you say.

she pulls back and looks at you. "about the bear?"

"yeah," you say. "and other things."

you sit down on the couch and she sits next to you and you tell her everything. about bear. about the laundromat. about the insomnia. about riki buying your jacket. about the amber and musk.

when you finish, sarah is quiet for a long moment.

"thats why you couldnt sleep," she says finally. "thats what you lost."

"yeah," you say.

"and riki... riki smells like the bear."

"his soap," you say. "his grandmother makes it."

sarah stares at you. then she laughs. not a mean laugh. a disbelieving laugh.

"thats insane," she says. "thats actually insane."

"i know," you say.

she shakes her head. "im glad you told me," she says. "i was so worried. i thought you were having a breakdown."

"i kind of was," you admit.

she reaches out and takes your hand. "next time," she says, "just tell me. even if it sounds crazy. especially if it sounds crazy."

"okay," you say.

she squeezes your hand. "and riki... hes a good guy. he was really worried about you too. after he saw you that night. he texted me asking if you were okay."

your stomach does something soft and warm. "he did?"

"yeah," she says. "he seemed really concerned. more than just polite concerned. like actually worried."

you look down at bear, who you are still holding.

there's a pause before sarah speaks again.

"..does he still smell like it? riki? does he still smell like... home?"

you think about yesterday. about standing in the doorway with riki in front of you. about how even with bear in your hands, you had wanted to lean closer to him. to breathe him in.

"yeah," you say quietly. "he does."

sarah smiles. "interesting," she says.

three days later, riki texts you.

you're surprised when your phone buzzes with an unknown number and a message

hey its riki. got your number from sarah. hope thats okay.

you stare at the screen for a full minute before you answer.

yeah of course. hi.

he texts back immediately.

hey. i was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee sometime. or if thats weird. since i technically stole your jacket and your bear.

you smile.

It wasn't weird until you said that.

his reply comes with a laughing emoji.

fair. but seriously. coffee?

sure, you type. when?

how about saturday?

saturday works.

you put your phone down and you feel something flutter in your chest. it is not anxiety. it is something lighter.

saturday comes and you meet him at a coffee shop downtown. not the one by the laundromat. a different one. quieter. with velvet chairs and exposed brick walls.

he is already there when you arrive. he stands up when he sees you and waves. he's wearing a different jacket today. a brown corduroy one. but you can still smell it when you get close. amber and musk. drifting from his skin.

you order a latte. he gets an americano. you sit at a small table by the window.

you learned he was gentle in small ways. when the barista called out your name wrong 

riki didn't laugh or correct her loudly. he simply took your cup when it came out and said, "here you go, y/n" handing it to you with your actual name, soft and private, like it belonged only between you. 

he stirred his coffee exactly three times, always clockwise. 

"my mom used to say it made the sugar happier," he explained when he caught you watching, cheeks pinking. "stupid, I know." you thought it wasn't stupid at all. 

"so," he says. "how are you sleeping?"

it's such a direct question. such an intimate question from someone who is practically a stranger.

"better," you say. "since you brought bear back."

"good," he says. "im glad."

he tells you about his classes. about his grandmother who makes the soap. about how he grew up in a small town upstate and moved to the city for school.

you tell him about your job at the coffee shop. about sarah being your roommate for two years. about how you’re studying graphic design online.

the conversation flows easier than you expected. he asks questions and actually listens to the answers. he remembers details. he laughs at your jokes.

then he set his cup down and looked at you seriously. "can i be honest?" he asked. 

you nodded, stomach tight. "when i found that bear in the jacket pocket, i thought about throwing it away," he said. "i thought it was trash, or like, a weird mistake. and then when you asked about it, i thought maybe you were... i don’t know.. unstable." he said the word carefully. 

"im telling you this because i want you to know that im trying to understand. but i don’t totally get it yet. is that okay?" you felt tears prick your eyes, but they were relief tears, or something close. 

"that is okay," you said. "i don’t totally get it either." 

when you finish your coffee, he walks you home. it is only six blocks but it takes twenty minutes because you keep stopping to look at things. a street performer playing violin. a cat in a window. a mural that is half finished.

he points things out to you. things you would not have noticed. the way the light hits a particular building at this time of day. the sound of a bird that should not be in the city.

"youre observant," you say.

"i like paying attention," he says.

at your door, he stops. "this was nice," he says. "we should do it again."

"yeah," you say. "id like that."

he smiles. "ill text you."

he does. the next day. and the day after that.

he starts coming over to your apartment more often. not just when sarah invites him. he texts you first. asks if you’re home. asks if you want to hang out.

the first time he shows up unannounced, you’re in your pajamas at two in the afternoon on a sunday. you open the door and he is standing there with a bag of bagels.

"sarah said you like everything bagels," he says. "and shes not here but i thought... maybe you'd want to share them."

you stare at him. "im in my pajamas," you say.

"i dont care," he says. "im wearing sweatpants."

he is. gray ones. with paint stains on the knee.

you let him in.

you eat bagels on the couch and watch a documentary about octopuses. he sits close enough that you can smell him. amber and musk. it mixes with the smell of your apartment. your candles. your shampoo. it starts to feel like he belongs here.

after that, he comes over all the time.

sometimes he brings food. sometimes he brings movies. sometimes he just brings himself and his presence.

you start to notice things about him. the way he runs his hand through his hair when he is thinking. the way he hums under his breath when he is focused on something. the way he always asks if you’re sleeping okay.

"and how is bear?" he asked casually, stirring his coffee. you looked at him, surprised. 

"you never talk about him anymore," he said. "you used to carry him everywhere, secretly. now i never see him." you realized he was right. bear sat on your pillow now, untouched most days. 

"his smell is fading," you admitted. "i think... i think he's getting too old." riki nodded, not judgmental, just observing. 

"that must be scary," he said. "losing your safety net." 

you nodded, throat tight. "but you’ve been sleeping anyway," he said. "without him, sometimes. i notice." you hadn’t realized he had noticed, or that you had been doing it. "yeah," you said. "i guess i have." 

bear is back in his place on your pillow. but sometimes, when riki is over late and the three of you’re  watching movies, you find yourself getting sleepy on the couch. your head drifting toward him. your body relaxing in a way that usually only happens with bear in your arms.

one night, sarah falls asleep first. she is in the armchair, snoring softly, her phone still in her hand.

riki looks at you. "shes out," he whispers.

"yeah," you whisper back.

you’re sitting close on the couch. closer than you were at the beginning of the movie. your thighs almost touching.

"does it bother you?" he asks. "that i smell like... like your thing? like your comfort thing?"

you look at him. his face is serious. his eyes are soft.

"no," you say honestly. "it doesn't bother me."

"does it help?" he asks. "when im around. does it actually help you feel better?"

you think about it. about the way your shoulders drop when he walks in the room. about the way your breathing slows when he sits next to you.

"yeah," you say. "it does."

he smiles. it is a small smile. private. just for you.

"good," he says. "im glad."

he reaches out and takes your hand. his fingers are warm. his palm is slightly rough.

you let him hold your hand until the movie ends.

after that, things shift.

he touches you more. casual touches. his hand on your shoulder when he walks past. his fingers brushing yours when he hands you something. his thigh pressed against yours when you sit together.

but one night, when you had leaned into him particularly hard, burying your face in his neck without thinking, he pulled back. 

"hey," he said gently. "can you tell me when you’re doing that because you want to be close to me, versus when you just need the smell? i want to be here for you, but i also want to know if i am just... a pillow to you. or if im a person." 

you froze, mortified. "you’re a person," you said quickly. "im sorry. i didn’t realize i was doing that." he softened, but his eyes were serious. "just check in with me," he said. "that is all i ask." 

you start to need him there. not just for the scent. for him.

you text him when you’re having a bad day. he comes over. he doesn’t ask questions. he just sits with you. lets you lean against him.

one night, three months after he returned bear to you, you have a nightmare.

you wake up gasping. your heart is racing. the dream is already fading but the fear remains. you reach for bear and clutch him tight but the comfort is not coming. your body is still in panic mode. your mind is still spinning.

you lie there for an hour. two hours. staring at the ceiling.

you held him to your face until your nose hurt from pressing. you inhaled until you were dizzy. but the smell was gone, or nearly gone, replaced by something stale and empty. just cotton. 

just old fabric. the magic had evaporated somewhere between the laundromat and riki's apartment, or maybe it had been dying for months and you had been too dependent to notice. 

bear is not working.

you hold him to your face and inhale. amber and musk. but it is not reaching the place inside you that needs soothing. it is like the scent has lost its power. or your ability to receive it has broken.

you get up and walk to the kitchen. you get a glass of water. you stand in the dark and try to slow your breathing.

it does not work.

you go back to bed. you try again. you hold bear and you close your eyes and you will yourself to sleep.

nothing.

the sun comes up and you have not slept. your eyes burn. your head aches.

sarah finds you in the kitchen making coffee that you do not plan to drink. just something to do with your hands.

"you look tired," she says.

"didnt sleep," you say.

"bear not working?"

you shake your head. "not tonight."

she frowns. "thats weird."

"yeah," you say.

you go to work. you come home. you try again the second night.

the same thing happens.

you lie in bed with bear pressed against your heart and you cannot find the switch that lets you turn off. your mind will not stop. your body will not relax.

you get up at three am and sit on the floor. you press your forehead against your knees.

you do not understand. bear is here. bear is back. why is he not working?

the third night, you do not even try to sleep. you sit on the couch with all the lights on and you watch tv with the volume low. infomercials. cooking shows. anything to fill the silence.

riki texts you at midnight.

you up?

yeah, you reply.

can i come over?

you stare at the message. you don't want him to see you like this. exhausted. unraveling. but you need him. you need to know if it is just bear that is broken, or if you are broken.

please

you text back.

he is there in fifteen minutes. he is wearing a hoodie and his hair is messy like he rolled out of bed.

"couldnt sleep?" he asks when you open the door.

"no," you say. "three nights now."

he steps inside and closes the door behind him. he looks at you. really looks at you. at your red eyes and your shaking hands.

"bear not helping?" he asks quietly.

"no," you say. your voice breaks. "i dont know whats wrong with me."

"hey," he says. he steps closer. he puts his hands on your shoulders. "nothing is wrong with you."

"then why cant i sleep?" you ask. "i have him back. i have everything back. why isnt it working?"

he pulls you into a hug. you bury your face in his neck and inhale.

amber and musk.

and something else. something that is just him. skin and warmth and something clean underneath.

you breathe him in and you feel your shoulders drop. just slightly. just enough.

"do you want to try something?" he asks against your hair.

"what?"

"come to my place," he says. "tonight. just to sleep. my bed is bigger than yours. and... and maybe it will help. being somewhere different. with me there."

you pull back and look at him. "you want me to sleep at your house?"

"just to try," he says. "if it doesnt work, we can figure something else out. but... i want to help. and this is the only thing i know to offer."

you think about it. about going to his apartment. about sleeping in his space. about waking up with his scent all around you instead of just on bear.

"okay," you say.

his place is ten minutes away. you pack a bag with your toothbrush and a change of clothes and bear. you follow him in an uber because you’re too tired to walk.

the uber ride was too bright, the streetlights strobing across your tired vision in harsh yellow flashes.

you sat pressed against the door, your bag clutched to your chest, bear stuffed somewhere in the top where you could feel his soft bulk against your ribs.

riki sat in the middle seat, he'd insisted, saying he didn't mind, so he was close enough that every time the car turned, his knee bumped yours, warm and solid through the denim.

"almost there," he said, and his voice was pitched low, aware that loud noises felt like physical blows to your sleepless brain.

you nodded, not trusting your voice.

three nights without sleep had turned you into something raw and humming, a live wire dressed in sweatpants. your hands wouldn't stop shaking. you'd taken to pressing them between your thighs to still them, but then they'd start again the moment you released the pressure.

riki noticed. of course he did. he reached over and covered your closest hand with his own, pressing down gently. his palm was warm, slightly calloused, he'd mentioned once that he worked at a pottery studio on weekends, and now you could feel the evidence, the roughness of clay and stone against your skin.

"count the streetlights with me," he said.

"what?"

"count them. out loud. one, two, three. just until we get there."

"riki, i'm not a child,"

"i know," he said, and there was no pity in it, only steadiness. "but your brain is loud right now, isn't it? give it something else to say."

so you did. your voice came out rasped, broken, but he nodded along with each number, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of your hand, and by the time you reached seventeen, you realized you'd stopped shaking.

his apartment building was narrow, sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a closed bakery.

the stairs creaked, old wood, old building, but he went slowly, turning every few steps to make sure you were still following, still there.

at the top, he unlocked three separate locks, the ritual of someone who valued the boundary of inside versus outside.

"welcome to my chaos," he said, pushing the door open.

it wasn't chaos. it was curated warmth.

the living room was small, dominated by a couch that looked soft from across the room, draped with a blanket that had been knitted in uneven rows, homemade, you thought. books stacked on the floor, not haphazardly but in towers, organized by color.

plants in every window, their leaves touching the glass, reaching for moonlight.

but it was the smell that made your knees weak.

amber and musk, yes, but layered with coffee grounds and old paper and the green, growing scent of the plants.

it smelled like a forest floor in a library. it smelled like him, amplified, concentrated, wrapped around you like a physical thing.

"you okay?" he asked, taking your bag and setting it by the door.

"yeah," you breathed. "it smells like..."

"like what?"

you shook your head, unable to explain that it smelled like the concept of sanctuary.

he showed you the bathroom first, clean, white tiles, a towel hung ready for you that was fluffier than anything you owned. then the kitchen, small but organized, a kettle on the stove. then the bedroom.

you hesitated at the threshold.

it was simple.

a queen bed with gray sheets that looked like clouds, a nightstand with a lamp that had a warm, low-wattage bulb already glowing.

more books. a window with curtains that looked thick enough to block out the sun. on the dresser, a small dish with loose change and a single, smooth stone.

"the bed is new," he said suddenly, and you turned to look at him.

he was standing in the doorway, giving you space, his hands in his pockets.

"i bought it last month. the old one was a twin from my childhood. i kept it too long. this one..." he gestured vaguely. "i wanted something that felt like a real place to rest. for when i was ready to rest."

you understood, then, that he was offering you not just his space, but something he'd built for himself. something he was still learning to use.

"i should change," you said, your voice small.

he nodded and pulled a t-shirt from his dresser, soft, worn gray, the collar stretched from use. "for sleeping," he said, handing it over. "it'll smell like me. if that helps."

you took it and went to the bathroom. changed out of your clothes, which felt dirty with exhaustion and anxiety, and pulled his shirt over your head.

it fell to mid-thigh, huge on you, and when you inhaled, it was like burying your face in his neck. you emerged with your own clothes folded in your hands, feeling vulnerable, exposed, but also wrapped in something that felt like safety.

he was in the bedroom, having changed into sweatpants and a thin white t-shirt. he'd turned down the lamp so the room glowed amber, matching the scent. he'd also, you noticed, placed bear on the pillow on the left side of the bed, propped up like he was waiting for you.

"i wasn't sure which side you preferred," riki said, gesturing to the bed. "i sleep on the right, usually, but i can move,"

"left is good," you said. "i sleep on the left."

"okay." he pulled back the covers. "do you need... i mean, is there anything? water? the window open or closed? i have a white noise app on my phone if the street is too loud."

you stood there, suddenly overwhelmed by his care, by the specificity of it. tears pricked your eyes, hot and embarrassing.

"i don't know," you whispered. "i don't know what i need. i've never... i've never done this. slept next to someone. not since i was small."

he nodded like this made perfect sense. "then we'll figure it out together," he said. "come here."

you climbed into the bed. it was firm but giving, the sheets cool against your overheated skin.

you pulled bear into your arms, clutching him tight, but you knew already that he wasn't enough tonight. the magic was thin, worn away by time and washing machines.

riki climbed in on the other side, keeping space between you. respectful. he lay on his back, his hands folded on his stomach, staring at the ceiling.

"tell me about the pottery," you said suddenly. you needed to hear his voice. needed something to follow into the dark.

"what about it?"

"anything. just... talk."

he did. his voice was soft, rhythmic, telling you about the wheel, about the way clay felt when it centered properly, smooth, responsive, like it wanted to become something.

he told you about the first mug he made that didn't leak, the first bowl that was actually round. he told you about his grandmother's soap, how she made it in her kitchen with lye and oils, how she'd send him bars wrapped in wax paper with little notes about the weather back home.

as he talked, you turned on your side to face him.

the lamp was still on, casting his profile in gold. you watched his mouth move, the way his adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, the way his hands gestured slightly even though they were resting on his stomach.

"you're staring," he said, not looking at you, but smiling.

"sorry."

"don't be. i like it." he turned his head. his eyes were dark, soft.

there was a pause, the two of you just staring at each other.

"can i hold your hand?" riki spoke cautiously

the question was so gentle, so permission-seeking, that your chest ached. you nodded.

he reached across the space between you, still respectable, still careful, and found your hand where it clutched bear.

he didn't try to move the stuffed animal. he simply laced his fingers through yours, his palm warm and dry against your clammy skin.

"is this okay?" he asked.

"yeah," you whispered.

"and this?" he shifted, moving closer, slowly, giving you time to pull away. he settled on his side too, facing you, so that your knees were almost touching, so that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

close enough that the amber and musk wrapped around you like a blanket.

"yeah," you said again.

he reached out with his other hand, the one not holding yours, and touched your hair. just the ends, where it lay on the pillow.

"your hair is pretty," he said, and it was such a simple observation, delivered without expectation, that you felt something inside you crack open, something that had been clenched tight for years.

"riki?"

"mm?"

"will you... will you tell me if i'm too much? if this is too weird? i don't want to be a burden."

his hand stopped playing with your hair. he looked serious, intent.

"you could never be too much," he said. "and you're not a burden. you're..." he paused, searching.

"you're the person i want to give my best self to. the careful self. i haven't... i haven't wanted to be that person for anyone in a long time. it feels good. it feels like remembering."

you felt tears spill over, tracking down your temple into the pillow.

"i'm scared," you admitted. "i'm scared i won't sleep and i'll waste your night and you'll regret letting me come here."

"hey," he said, and his voice was firmer now, but still soft. still safe. he released your hand and reached up to wipe your tears with his thumb, a slow, careful stroke. "look at me."

you did.

"you're safe here," he said.

"whether you sleep or not. whether you sleep for five minutes or five hours or not at all. you are safe. i'm here. i am not going anywhere. i will be here when the sun comes up, and i'll make you coffee, and we will figure it out. okay? there's no failing here. there is only you, resting, however you can."

you nodded, sniffling, feeling foolish and cared for in equal measure.

he settled back down, but he didn't retreat.

he stayed close, close enough that you could feel his breath on your forehead.

he took your hand again, and with his other hand, he began to stroke your hair, slow and rhythmic, from temple to the nape of your neck, over and over.

"close your eyes," he whispered.

you did. the darkness was immediate but not frightening. his hand in your hair was anchoring.

his breathing was steady, a metronome.

time became liquid. you didn't know if minutes passed or hours.

you drifted in a half-state, aware of his presence, of the softness of the bed, of bear clutched against your chest, but also of riki's hand, still stroking, still present.

at some point, you realized you were crying again, but silently, tears leaking from closed eyes.

"hey," riki whispered, stopping his hand. "what's wrong?"

"nothing," you whispered back.

"i'm just... i'm relieved. i'm so relieved. i didn't know i could feel like this. safe, with someone else."

he made a small sound, something wounded and tender, and then he moved.

he shifted closer, closing the last few inches of space, and carefully, so carefully, he wrapped his arm around your waist. he didn't pull you against him, he asked with his body, and you answered by curling into him, tucking your head under his chin, pressing your face to the hollow of his throat where the scent was strongest.

his arm tightened, just enough. you could hear his heartbeat, steady and slow.

you could feel the rise and fall of his chest. you held bear between you, a soft barrier, but also a bridge.

"sleep," riki whispered into your hair. "i've got you. just sleep."

and because he was there, because the smell of home surrounded you, because his hand had resumed its slow stroke down your back, you did.

it wasn't immediate.

your mind still skittered, still tried to panic, still reached for the familiar spiral of thoughts. but every time it did, riki was there.

he hummed sometimes, wordless melodies that vibrated in his chest against your cheek.

he adjusted his arm when your shoulder twitched. he breathed slow and deep, and eventually, your breathing matched his.

you fell asleep to the sound of his heart, to the smell of amber and musk, to the feeling of being held like something precious.

when you woke, it was to golden afternoon light and the sound of rain against the window.

you were still curled against him, but sometime in the night, you'd shifted so that your leg was thrown over his, possessive and intimate.

bear had fallen to the side, nestled between your pillows, no longer needed as a shield.

riki was awake. you could tell by the way his chest moved differently, by the way his hand, still on your back, was tracing patterns now, letters maybe, or just shapes.

"hey," he said, his voice morning-rough.

"hey," you mumbled, not moving. not wanting to break the spell.

"you slept," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

"yeah," you said, and then, because you needed him to know, "i slept because you were here. not just the smell. you."

he was quiet for a moment. then he pressed a kiss to your forehead, soft and lingering. "i know," he said. "i felt it. when you let go. i felt you decide to trust me."

you looked up at him. his eyes were soft, crinkled at the corners, his hair a mess from sleep. he looked beautiful.

"thank you," you said.

"thank you," he replied, "for letting me be the one."

you stayed there, wrapped in his arms, listening to the rain, breathing him in, knowing that you'd found something better than a childhood toy.

you'd found a person who smelled like home, who felt like safety, who would hold you through the dark until the light came back.

and for the first time in years, you weren't afraid of the night. because you knew where you'd be when it came.

⋆˚✿˖°

INSPIRED BY : What You Need - The Weeknd

(+ Slow It Down - Ty Dolla $ign)

What could be worse than going to the restaurant with your boyfriend a week after you found out that he’s been cheating on you? Oh right, you don’t know. Ethan orders for himself without asking what you're having first, catches himself halfway through, and asks you anyway. You already know what you want because you always know what you want here.

His phone sits face up next to his water glass. It lights up twice in the first ten minutes. Both times he glances down, thumb hovering, before setting it back exactly where it was. "Sorry," he says, not looking up from the screen the third time. "Work thing."

You nod like that made sense. You've heard about Heeseung's terrible taste in restaurants, about his coworker’s dog, about traffic on the way here ; three separate stories he's started and abandoned mid-sentence because his attention keeps sliding sideways toward that phone.

"You could put it away," you say, tired enough that it comes out flat.

"I know. I will." He actually doesn't.

The waiter brings your food and Ethan eats fast, he’s already somewhere else in his mind. You ask about his sister's move to Daegu and get half an answer before his phone buzzes again and he actually picks it up this time, thumb moving across the screen, brow furrowed like the message requires real concentration.

You watch him read it. You watch his jaw do a small tightening, and you already know before he opens his mouth. "I have to go in," he says. "They need someone to cover a shift. I'm really sorry, I know we just got here."

Work doesn't call people in at 9:47 at night for office emergencies. You've known things like this for months now, small inconsistencies that don't line up if you actually stack them next to each other, which is why you stopped stacking them.

"Now?" you ask anyway, knowing how it will end up.

"I wouldn't if I didn't have to." He's already reaching for his wallet, already half out of his seat. "I'll make it up to you. Promise."

You tell him it's fine and to go, that you'll finish eating and head home. He kisses the top of your head, distracted, already checking his phone again as he walks toward the door, and you sit there with a plate you've lost interest in and a boyfriend-shaped absence across the table.

Your phone buzzes. Heeseung.

Heeseung [9:54 PM]

you good?

saw ethan's location just switched to "downtown" lol at 9pm

You stare at the message for a second too long before you type back.

Y/N [9:54 PM]

he had a work thing apparently

Heeseung [9:55 PM]

mhm. sure he did

You almost put the phone down.

Y/N [9:55 PM]

please don’t start

Heeseung [9:57 PM]

wasn't gonna say anything. i'm very good at not saying things

Y/N [9:57 PM]

you're the worst at not saying things btw

Heeseung [9:58 PM]

rude.

i've been holding back SO much tonight and this is the thanks i get

You find yourself smiling at your phone, alone at a table for two, food going cold in front of you. Even though you couldn’t care less.

The waiter comes by to clear Ethan's plate and asks if you need anything else, and you're halfway through saying no when your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung [10:05 PM]

where are you?

sending someone to get you before you sit there being sad and pathetic

Y/N [10:05 PM]

wdym I’m not sad and pathetic

Heeseung [10:06 PM]

you're eating alone at a restaurant your boyfriend just ditched. what else could it be?

address please.

You give him the name of the place mostly because arguing about whether you're pathetic or not would take more energy than you have left right now. Fifteen minutes later Heeseung walks in wearing a jacket you’ve seen plenty of times, scanning the room until he finds you, and drops into the seat across from you like he's been there the whole time.

"You didn't have to come, you know." you state.

"I know that very well. I wanted to see you sad and pathetic in person." He picks up the menu even though you're clearly done eating, flips through it without really looking. "Also I was bored."

"Comforting."

"I try." He waves the waiter over before you can stop him, orders a drink for himself, and when the bill comes a few minutes later he reaches over and takes it before you can even move your hand toward it.

"Heeseung."

"Yeah?"

"Give me that."

"No." He's already pulling out his card, not even glancing at the total.

"I can pay for my own food."

"Never said you couldn't." He hands the card to the waiter without looking at you, and something about how easy it is for him : he acts like it costs him nothing and like it’s something he has to do but does it naturally. The inside of your stomach is tingling and obviously not because of the food you had earlier.

"I'm being serious, I don't need you to—"

"I know you don't need me to." He lifts his gaze and looks at you with less joking in it than a second ago. "I want to. Learn how it’s not the same."

"That's not the point."

"What's the point, then?"

You freezes, not an answer or a talk back could reach your mind, and he grins like he's won something.

"Aw, look at that," he says. "I missed that face."

"I fucking hate you."

"You don't. You're just annoyed you can't win an argument about who gets to pay for your dinner, which, by the way, is a very weird thing to be stubborn about."

"It's called having self-respect."

"It's called being difficult for no reason, but sure, we can call it self-respect if that makes you feel better." The card comes back and he signs without checking the receipt, tucks it away, and stands up casually. "Come on. I'm parked badly and I will get towed."

"You fucking asshole."

"You keep saying that like it's news." He holds his hand out, not really an offer so much as an assumption you'll take it, and you do.

He gets in to start the car, and has a cigarette lit before you've even got your seatbelt on. The window cracks an inch, cold air cutting through the smoke smell that's already filling the small space.

"You know those are terrible for you," you say.

"Groundbreaking information. Thank you." He takes a drag, one hand on the wheel, not pulling out of the spot yet.

"I'm dead serious. You should stop."

"I should do a lot of things." He glances at you sideways, smoke curling out the window. "You should stop pretending you don't know your boyfriend's cheating on you. We're both just walking around not doing things we should, I guess."

The car goes quiet except for the engine idling. You look straight ahead at the brick wall of the restaurant, at nothing. "I don't know what you're talking about," you say in a breathy tone.

"Sure you don't." He's not looking at you now either, tapping ash out the window, voice even, done pretending along with you. "His location switches off every other night. He checks his phone at dinner like it's gonna bite him if he doesn't. Tonight he left you at a restaurant for a 'work thing' that doesn't exist, and you didn't even ask him to explain it properly. You just let him go."

"That's not—" You stop and start again. "It's complicated."

"It's really not." He finally pulls out of the spot, one hand on the wheel, cigarette still between two fingers. "You don't want to deal with it. Which, fine, your business. But don't sit there and tell me you don't know, because I’m aware for the phone thing tonight too, and you didn't look surprised. You looked like someone who's done the math already."

There isn't a version of an answer that isn't just agreeing with him. So silence is the best option you could have at this moment.

"I'm not trying to make it worse, okay?" he says, softer, some of the edge gone out of his voice. "I just don't really feel like watching you sit through dinners like that and pretend it's normal."

"Why do you even care?"

He takes another drag and lets it out slow.

"Good question," he says finally without elaborating further, yet you don’t want to know more of it, because you're not sure you want to hear the answer any more than he seems to want to give it.

He drives you around the city for a while then turns left instead of right at the light that would've led back toward your apartment. The road opens up eventually, streetlights getting sparser, and then there's the smell of salt before you see the water. He parks in a mostly empty lot facing the beach, cuts the engine, and the quiet that follows feels different from the quiet in the restaurant parking lot. It’s less loaded.

"Why are we here?" you ask.

"I needed air that doesn't smell like your ex's cologne." He's already pulling his jacket off, tossing it into the back seat. Underneath he's just in a black tank top, and it's warm enough out that it makes sense, summer nights here never really cooling off the way you'd expect. "Also I like it here. Don't make it a big deal."

"He's not my ex."

"Give it time." He says it lightly, already opening his door, not wanting to hear you argue back. "Come."

You get out as sitting in the car alone would feel worse than following him. The sand is cool yet the air isn't, and he walks ahead of you toward the water without checking if you're behind him, hands in his pockets and shoulders loose.

"You could've warned me we were going to the beach," you say, catching up. "I'm in the wrong shoes for this."

"You're in shoes. That's more preparation than I did."

"You're wearing actual sneakers."

"Correct. Preparation." He glances back at you, the corner of his mouth pulling up. "Take them off if you're gonna complain the whole time."

"I'm not complaining, it was just a statement."

"Same thing, coming from you."

You shove his shoulder, and he barely moves as he laughs, low and light, as your annoyance is the most entertaining thing that's happened to him all week. The water's dark ahead of you, waves you can hear more than see, you can feel the knot in your belly loosening up.

"So this is the fresh air you talked about," you say, kicking your heels off like he told you to, sand cold between your toes. "Very noble of you, considering your lungs are probably black at this point."

"They're totally fine."

"You just smoked an entire cigarette in a closed car ten minutes ago."

"The window was cracked."

"Barely an inch."

He stops walking. He turns to look at you, and there's a specific kind of offense on his face, you can see that’s it’s fake. "Okay, you don't get to smoke-shame me and then act like you weren't the one who wanted to eat a hundred tons of sugar last week."

"That has nothing to do with your lungs."

"It's about hypocrisy, Y/N." He's already crossing his arms, which should've been your first warning. "You wanna talk about people ruining their bodies, we can talk about those candies."

"That's not remotely the same thing, and you know it."

"I don't know anything. I'm just a guy with fucked up lungs, apparently, standing here, getting attacked—"

"I didn't attack you, I made a freaking statement—"

"—run," he says, it's not really a warning and it's already happening, he's moving toward you before the word's even fully out. You don't think and you just run, already laughing three steps away, sand slowing you down and you probably look embarrassing and isn't because he's not much faster, both of you stumbling across the beach. He's close behind you, close enough that you can hear him laughing too, breathless, yet you don't look back and just keep going toward nothing in particular, the water loud beside you and your own heartbeat louder, making you forget why you were sad in the first place.

"Slow down!" you yell back at him, though you're the one speeding up. "Your lungs can't take this!"

"They're taking it fine, actually—" He's gaining on you, voice rougher now from the running, the laughing, both. "Better than yours, probably, all that complaining you do about stairs—"

"I don't even complain about stairs—"

"You complained about stairs yesterday. To my face."

"That building has no elevator, that's a legitimate—" You don't get to finish, because his hand catches your arm, hard enough to throw your balance off, and you're laughing too much to fight it anyway.

"Got you—"

"You didn't—"

He did. Your feet tangle in the sand and his do too trying to compensate, and there's a second where it could've gone fine, where you both could've just stopped, but now you're both going down, and he twists at the last second so he hits the sand first and you land half on top of him, knocking whatever air he had left in those apparently terrible lungs straight out of him.

"Okay," he wheezes, staring up at the sky, chest moving fast under you. "Okay, that one's on me."

You're still laughing, you can't stop, face pressed near his shoulder, sand in your hair, in your clothes, everywhere. "You caught me on purpose."

"I caught you very badly on purpose."

"Your lungs are so fucked."

"Please stop talking about my lungs." He's laughing too, you can feel it more than hear it, his chest shaking under where you're braced against him, and neither of you moves to get up right away, and it takes a second before either of you remembers there's a reason you're supposed to pull away from this.

"Great," you say, still not moving off him. "Now I'm covered in sand. This was a bad idea."

"It was my favorite plan I've had all week."

"You've had bad judgment all week, then." You finally push yourself up, brushing sand off your arms, off your legs, a losing battle. He sits up slower, still catching his breath, watching you try to fix your hair with zero success.

"I'm also thirsty," you add.

"There's water in the car."

"Warm water in a car that smells like cigarettes doesn't count."

He stands, holds a hand out to pull you up, and doesn't let go right away once you're on your feet. He looks at you for a second, he seems like he's deciding something. "Come to mine. Shower, water, whatever you need. It’s better than dropping you off covered in sand at eleven at night."

"Heeseung, I don't need—"

"You keep saying that word like it changes anything about what I'm gonna do anyway." He's already walking back toward the car, keys spinning once around his finger. "Come on."

His apartment turns out to be nothing like you expected, which annoys you a little, because you'd built some idea of his place in your head ; messy, small ; and instead the elevator opens straight into something enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows facing the city, furniture that looks like it costs a hundred racks, which does.

"This is insane," you say, standing in the doorway, still not fully inside. "You live here? Alone?"

"Don't sound so betrayed about it."

"I pictured you in, like, a studio apartment with a mattress on the floor."

"Wow. Thank you for that image of me." He drops his keys on the counter, shrugging like the apartment doesn't warrant comment. "Bathroom's down the hall, second door. There's towels in there. I'll find you something to change into that isn't full of sand."

You still haven't moved from the doorway, taking in the size of it, the quietness of a place too clean to belong to someone who bickers the way he does. "How do you even afford this?"

"Very boring answer. Ask me another time." He's already disappearing down the hall, calling back over his shoulder. "Towels. Bathroom. Go before you track sand into my very expensive rug."

You linger by the counter instead of heading for the bathroom yet, arms crossed, sand still clinging to your ankles. "Okay, but—when am I getting home tonight? I have work in the morning."

He reappears from the hallway with a folded shirt and shorts in hand, tossing them onto the couch for you. "Never. You live here now. I've decided."

"Heeseung."

"It's already, what, eleven thirty? You're covered in sand, your options are a shower here or a shower at home in forty-five minutes of traffic smelling like a beach." He shrugs, entirely too pleased with his own logic. "I'll drive you back whenever. Or you sleep on the world's most comfortable couch and I take you home before work. Very generous offer, considering my lungs are apparently on their way out."

"That's not what I asked."

"Yeah, and I answered better questions in my life." He nods toward the hallway, unbothered. "Go shower. I'm not driving anywhere until you stop smelling like low tide."

You get out of the shower first, dressed in the shirt and shorts he left you, both too big, sleeves falling past your hands. When you find him in the kitchen he's just in sweatpants, no shirt, hair still wet, and you stop in the doorway far too long before catching yourself.

"What?" he says, not even looking up from the glass of water he's pouring.

"Nothing. Put a shirt on, it's weird."

"It's my apartment, and it's hot. I'm not putting a shirt on for you." He slides the glass across the counter toward you, finally glancing over, and whatever's on your face makes something shift in his. "Are you flustered right now?"

"No."

"You're a little flustered."

"I'm annoyed." You grab the glass just to have something to do with your hands, and drink half of it too fast. "Some warning would've been nice."

"A warning for what, my own kitchen?"

"For the— " you point directly at him, at the general fact of him, "—situation."

"There's no situation. This is just what I look like." A shit eating grin appears on his face, fully enjoying this, leaning against the counter. "You can look away if it's that distressing."

"I'm not even looking."

"You're looking right now."

"I'm looking at you to argue with you, and you look so dumb right now."

"Sure it is." He pushes off the counter, grabs a pack of cigarettes off the counter, and heads for the balcony door without the will to talk back. You follow, mostly out of spite, and the air outside is warm, the city spread out below, making the apartment's size make a little more sense. He lights up, leaning on the railing, and you stand a few feet away, arms crossed against a chill that isn't really there.

The smoke drifts toward you on the next breath of wind and you cough slightly, covering the lower half of you face with your hand.

His eyes stay on the city while a silent chuckle almost escapes him. He shifts slowly, moving to stand on your left instead, angling himself so the smoke pulls away from you and out over the railing. A quietness installs itself between you.

He flicks ash over the railing, and glances at you. "You want a drink or something? I've got wine, I think there's soju somewhere too."

"Wine would be good."

He disappears inside for a minute, comes back with two glasses and the bottle tucked under his arm, he sets everything down on the small table between the balcony chairs. You sit, and he drops into the chair across from you, pouring without measuring, more in yours than his.

"How did we even meet?" you say, mostly to fill the silence, turning the glass by its stem. "Like, before Ethan and I were even together. I feel like I always just knew you as his friend."

"You did. That's exactly what happened." He takes a sip to give himself time to recoil on the memory. "We met at that party his roommate threw, where it had the terrible speaker system. You spilled something on my shoes and apologized for like ten minutes straight."

"I did not apologize for ten minutes."

"You did. I still remember the shoes, they were new."

"You're exaggerating."

"I'm really not, I still have them." He leans back, glass balanced on his knee. "Then Ethan started talking about you nonstop for like a month before he actually got the balls to ask you out. It was unbearable. I heard about your laugh before I heard you laugh."

You laugh a little despite yourself. "That's embarrassing," you say.

"For him, mostly. I didn't say anything." He swirls the wine, not quite looking at you now. "You were different back then. I mean—Not different-different. I just think that you were, like, less careful about everything."

"Careful how?"

"You used to argue with me for fun. Now half the time you're arguing with me because you're arguing with something else and I'm just the nearest target." He says in a chuckle. "I liked the fun version better. Not that this version's bad, though."

You take your time before replying. Your fingers slowly roll the glass between your palms as you watch the wine reflect the light, letting the silence fill the space while you think.

"I didn't notice it happening," you say finally.

"Fair enough. That's usually how it goes."

He gives you time. He sits beside you in comfortable silence, his glass resting against his knee while the distant sounds of the city soften the moment.

"You know he doesn't deserve the amount of patience you're giving him, right?" he says eventually, not looking at you when he says it, trying to make it easier for both of you. "Whatever he's doing, wherever he's going at nine at night—you're sitting there making excuses for him. I watched you do it tonight."

"It's not that simple."

"It’s obviously not simple, we both know that. I'm saying you deserve someone who doesn't make you rehearse excuses for him in your head before he's even said anything." He looks over at you, his gaze serious. "You're smart. You're funny, when you're not exhausted, which lately is rare. You shouldn't be spending this much of yourself on someone who’s always checking his phone at a dinner with you."

"You don't know everything that's going on, so stop—"

"I don't need to know everything. I already know enough." He sets his glass down, leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "I'm not trying to convince you to do anything, okay? I just don't think you hear it enough, so I'm saying it. You deserve better than what he's giving you. That's it."

You look down at your glass instead of at him, throat tight from what you’ve been holding since you found out.

"Like it matters to you, anyway." you mumble quietly.

He lets the silence settle between you once more. Taking a deep breath, he seems to consider his next words carefully, revealing nothing before he's ready.

"It does," he declares finally. "I'm not gonna make it more complicated than that tonight."

You let the subject rest, and he doesn't volunteer anything more. Together, you sit quietly, listening to the muted sounds of the city while the wine slowly warms in your hands. Somehow, the silence says more than words you could find.

After some time, you both decided to watch a movie to ease everything out. Now, you’re curled up on the couch, the bottle of wine you two polished off leaving a soft warmth in your veins. The TV flickers with some late-night drama that you couldn't force yourself to be invested in even if you wanted to. Your head feels pleasantly light, and whatever usually fuels your arguments has faded, leaving behind nothing more than lazy teasing.

A new scene unfolds on screen : dark lighting, tangled sheets, the actors lost in a heated and sensual moment. The woman arches under her partner’s touch as his hands glide slowly over her body ; caressing, teasing, worshipping. The sounds are low and breathy, filling the room.

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and the wine makes you bold. You glance at Heeseung beside you. "I…I’ve never done that with Ethan," you murmur, voice coming out as a whisper. "Not like that, at least."

Heeseung’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide with real shock. "Wait—what? Never? Not even close?"

You shake your head, biting your lip as embarrassment and frustration mix with the alcohol. "No. It’s always been…rushed. He enever wanted to explore things or try new things. Like he doesn’t have the patience for it." Your gaze lingers on the screen for another second before returning to him. "Do you…know how to do that? Like, really touch someone like that?"

Heeseung keeps his eyes on you, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. Something unspoken passes between you. "Y/N…" he starts, voice low and careful, a flicker of heat in his eyes.

You shift slightly, scooting an inch closer on the couch. "Show me? I want to know everything. Touch me the way he’s touching her. Please?"

He swallows, and finally slowly nods, setting his empty glass aside. "Alright. But tell me when it's too much, okay?" His voice has dropped, rougher now. He reaches out, starting gentle. His fingers brush along your arm, tracing slow lines from your wrist up to your shoulder. "Like this," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "Pay attention to how your skin feels under my hand." His palm flattens against your collarbone, sliding down your side in one smooth caress, mapping the curve of your waist through your shirt.

You shiver, the wine amplifying every touch. Emboldened, you lean into him, and he scoots closer too, until your thighs press together. His other hand joins in, fingertips grazing your neck, then trailing down your chest with feather-light pressure.

"Tell me what feels good," he instructs softly, his hand venturing lower, stroking along your hip and the top of your thigh. "Here?" He squeezes gently, then lets his palm glide back up, bolder now.

The space between you disappears as you both shift nearer, bodies turning toward each other. Your hand finds his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat, and slide up to his neck. His breath grows heavier. His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, caressing bare skin ; warm, exploratory, following the line of your ribs.

You look up at him, lips parted. He meets your gaze for half a second before closing the distance. Tongues meet, slow and deep at first, turning more insistent as your fingers thread into his hair. He pulls you closer, one hand firm on your lower back while the other continues its caress, sliding higher under your shirt.

His kisses grow fiercer, nipping at your lower lip before soothing it, bodies pressing together on the couch as the moment spirals deeper.

You automatically swing your leg over, straddling Heeseung’s lap as the kiss deepens. Your knees sink into the couch on either side of him, bodies aligning perfectly. He groans softly into your mouth, his hands finding your waist instantly, gripping you to steady the sudden movement. "Y/N…" he breathes against your lips, pulling you closer.

His fingers dig in a little too hard at first ; eager, hungry from the built-up tension ; and you yelp sharply against his mouth, a quick flash of pain cutting through the haze of wine and heat. He pulls back immediately, eyes wide with concern, his grip loosening right away. "Shit—sorry," he murmurs. One hand gently rubs the spot on your waist where he’d gripped too tightly. "Didn’t mean to. You okay?"

You nod quickly, still breathing hard, the sting already fading into the warmth. "Yeah…I’m fine. Don’t stop."

Relief flashes across his face, quickly renewed by that same heated look. He leans in again, capturing your lips in another urgent kiss. his time, there's a new caution in the way he touches you. His hands glide slowly along your sides, lingering as though giving you every chance to pull away before one drifts lower. He cups your ass firmly, squeezing with just the right pressure ; possessive, appreciative ; as he pulls you tighter against him.

You moan softly into the kiss, rolling your hips instinctively. His tongue slides against yours, deeper and more demanding now, while his fingers knead your ass, encouraging the movement. The kiss turns messy, breathless, both of you lost in the heat as his other hand stays anchored at your waist, guiding you closer. The undeniable spark between you push everything else away.

You’re both breathing heavily when Heeseung pulls back just enough to speak, his voice low and gentle against your ear. "Come off my lap for a second, baby," he murmurs, hands sliding soothingly along your thighs. "Turn around for me."

You nod, a little dazed from the wine and the intensity, and shift off him. He helps guide you, turning you so your back is to his chest. He settles back against the couch, spreading his legs and pulling you between them until you’re nestled against him, your back flush to his front. His arms wrap around you from behind, one hand resting on your stomach while the other strokes your thigh.

"Spread your legs for me," he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "As far as you can. Let me see you."

You obey, parting your thighs wider, heat flooding your face as the position leaves you open and exposed. Heeseung hums approvingly, his fingers teasing lightly along the inside of your thigh, drawing slow circles that inch higher but never quite touch where you’re starting to ache.

"My pretty girl," he whispers, the praise making you shiver. His hand keeps stroking closer and closer until you’re squirming. "Has he ever fingered you?" he asks almost hesitantly, he already suspects the answer.

You shake your head, voice small. "No…He never did. He only ever made me suck his dick and...he was so rushed to put it in."

Heeseung exhales sharply, a mix of disbelief and irritation flashing through him. "Fuck…alright. I’ve got you."

He’s careful ; painfully so. His fingers slide under your clothes, gently parting you before one fingertip circles your entrance, gathering wetness. "Tell me if it hurts or if you want me to stop," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

Slowly, he eases one finger inside you, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch. He moves gently, curling carefully, his other arm holding you against his chest. "Breathe, Y/N. I’ll make it good for you."

He adds a second finger only when you start rocking back against his hand, still cautious, focusing entirely on your reactions as he begins to pump them in a sluggish rhythm. His thumb finds your clit, teasing light circles while he fingers you with patient strokes.

You gasp sharply as Heeseung’s fingers suddenly hit harder, the angle shifting and sending a jolt of pain through you. Your body tenses, a small cry escaping your lips.

He freezes instantly, eyes widening in panic. "Shit—sorry, sorry," he blurts, quickly easing his fingers out of you. "I didn’t mean to—fuck, are you okay? I’m so sorry, Y/N." He repeats the apology under his breath, one hand gently rubbing your thigh while the other hovers uncertainly, clearly rattled.

You catch your breath, the sting fading fast in the haze of alcohol. A smirk slowly tugs at your lips as you look back at him over your shoulder. "Are you really sorry?"

"Yes," he says immediately, voice earnest. "Of course I am."

You turn around fully to face him, still sitting between his legs. "Then get on your knees in front of me."

He blinks, then lets out a short disbelieving scoff, assuming you’re joking. "What? Right now?"

Your expression stays serious, eyes locked on his. "I said get on your knees."

The smirk on his face fades when he realizes you mean it. After a beat of hesitation, he slides off the couch and drops to his knees on the floor in front of you, looking up at you with surprise and growing desire.

"Come closer," you order softly.

He shifts forward on his knees until he’s right between your spread legs, hands resting tentatively on your thighs as he waits for your next instruction, breath a little uneven.

You lean back slightly, looking down at him. "Lick it."

Heeseung’s eyes darken instantly. Without another word, he leans in, pressing his mouth to you. His tongue drags slowly through your folds at first ; warm and soaked ; before he settles into long hungry strokes, focusing on your clit with just the right pressure. His hands grip your thighs to hold you open as he licks you with focused intent, the earlier apology shifted by eager obedience.

You let the pleasure build for a few moments, your hand threading into his hair as his tongue works you over with growing confidence. But then you tug gently, pulling him back.

"Stop." you say, voice breathy yet firm.

Heeseung pulls away immediately, lips glistening, looking up at you with hooded eyes and a hint of confusion. His chest rises and falls quickly.

You smirk down at him, still holding his hair. "You’re not going to continue until you say sorry…while you’re eating me out."

He blinks once, processing the command, then an almost amused smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You’re serious?"

You raise an eyebrow, waiting.

He leans back in without further protest. His tongue returns to you before he murmurs the words right against your core, the vibrations sending sparks through you. "I’m sorry," he breathes, licking a long stripe up your folds. "Sorry for being too rough…" Another slow swirl around your clit. "I won’t hurt you again."

He keeps going, alternating between soft apologies and dedicated licks, his voice low and muffled as he eats you out. "Sorry, baby…fuck, you taste so good." His hands grip your thighs a little tighter as he buries his tongue deeper, still repeating quiet "sorry"s between every lick and suck, the blend of submission and hunger making the moment even more intense.

You lean back further, letting him worship you like that ; his apologies vibrating against you with every stroke of his tongue.

You slide your fingers deeper into his hair, gripping it firmly as you pull him closer against you. Heeseung’s eyes flutter half-closed ; sleepy and hazy with lust ; his ears flushed a pretty shade of pink from the heat and the wine. The sight makes something wicked twist in your lower belly.

"Well, would you look at yourself," you tease, voice breathy but filled with amusement. "On your knees, ears all pink, eyes looking half-asleep like a fucking loser."

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and swollen, a lazy smirk spreading across his face despite the grip you have on his hair. His sleepy eyes narrow playfully. "Loser?" he scoffs, breath hot against your skin. "Says the one who’s been missing out for months and is now dripping all over my face. If I’m such a loser, why are you pulling my hair like you never want me to stop?"

You tug his hair a little harder in response, and he lets out a low, amused chuckle, vibrating right where you need it.

"Keep talking shit and I might actually stop," you warn, though your hips roll forward, chasing his mouth.

Heeseung’s smirk only widens, pink ears burning brighter. "Yeah? Then I guess this loser better shut up and keep saying sorry…" He dives back in with renewed energy, tongue pressing flat and slow, murmuring one last muffled "Sorry, baby" against you before focusing entirely on making your teasing backfire.

You feel it building fast ; the tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core while his tongue works you relentlessly. His sleepy eyes stay locked on yours whenever he pulls back for air, pink ears still burning, that smug little smirk never fully leaving his face even while he’s buried between your thighs.

Your grip in his hair tightens, hips rolling against his mouth as your breathing turns ragged. "Heeseung—fuck, I’m—"

Right as the orgasm crests, right as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls back completely. His mouth leaves you with one last slow, teasing lick before he sits back on his heels, lips glistening, looking far too pleased with himself.

You let out a frustrated whine, thighs trembling. "What the hell—"

He chuckles lowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are sleepy-lidded, but sparkling with mischief. "Not yet," he murmurs, voice rough. One finger lazily traces up your inner thigh, barely brushing where you need him. "You were talking so much shit earlier about me being a loser…thought you could handle a little teasing."

You glare down at him, still panting, the denied orgasm leaving you aching and frustrated. He leans in again, pressing the softest, almost innocent kiss right above your clit, then another on your thigh ; carefully avoiding where you’re throbbing.

"What is it?" he teases, voice low and amused. "All worked up and squirming. Were you really about to cum that fast on my tongue? Cute."

He blows a gentle stream of cool air against your wet folds, making you jolt, then gives you one torturously light lick before pulling away again.

"Beg a little nicer and maybe I’ll let you finish," he says with a smirk, pink ears still flushed as he watches your reaction, clearly enjoying edging you way too much.

Your hand tightens in his hair again, torn between wanting to pull him back in and wanting to throttle him for stopping.

You’re still catching your breath on the couch, legs shaky from the cruel edge, when Heeseung rises from his knees. He climbs over you, hovering above your body with his hands braced on either side of your head. His face is flushed, those sleepy eyes dark with want as he looks down at you.

You bite your lip, heart racing. Slowly, you lift one leg and slide your foot up between his thighs, pressing the sole against the obviously hard bulge straining through his sweatpants. You rub it teasingly with your toes, pressing on it with gentle pressure, feeling him twitch under your foot.

His breath hitches sharply, hips jerking forward into your touch. "Y/N," he warns, voice low and strained.

You look up at him with soft, fakely innocent eyes, a sweet little smile playing on your lips even as your foot continues its lazy; pressing, rubbing, tracing the outline of his cock through the soft fabric.

"What?" you murmur softly, batting your lashes. “You edged me…seems only fair I play with you a little."

He lets out a shaky laugh, forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder for a moment. His arms tremble slightly as he holds himself up, clearly fighting the urge to grind harder against your foot.

"Fuck, you’re evil," he breathes, with only affection and raw desire. His eyes flutter half-closed again as you keep rubbing him so gently, the contrast between your soft gaze and the teasing pressure of your foot making him groan quietly above you.

The air between you crackles, thick with tension as he hovers there, letting you toy with him.

You’re still looking up at him with those soft eyes when he suddenly pulls back. He stands just long enough to shove his sweatpants and boxers down in one motion, kicking them aside. His cock springs free, hard and flushed. Before you can fully process, he’s back on the couch, gently turning you around again so your back is pressed to his chest ; just like earlier.

You blink in confusion, still wobbly. "Heeseung, what are you—?"

While staying silent, he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against him. With his free hand, he guides his cock, rubbing the thick head slowly up and down your soaked core. The pressure is heavy and hot as he glides it between your folds, coating himself in your wetness, letting you feel every inch of his length sliding against your sensitive skin.

"Just feel it," he murmurs against your ear. "Gotta get you used to me first."

The grind makes you whimper, your body tensing as the blunt head nudges at your entrance. Then he pushes in ; slow and gentle. The stretch is intense. You yell out at the burn, your hands flying back to grip his thighs.

Heeseung stops instantly, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "I know, baby, I know," he whispers soothingly, voice dull and tender. "You’re doing so good." One of his hands slides down to caress your lower stomach in comforting circles, trying to ease the discomfort. "I’ve got you, Y/N. I’m right here."

He stays still inside you, whispering sweet nothings against your skin while his fingers keep gently rubbing your stomach. Gradually, the pain starts to melt into a deep ache. When your breathing evens out a little, he begins to move. His thrusts are slothful at first but quickly turn sloppy, messy and uncoordinated from the alcohol and the overwhelming heat of the moment. Wet sounds fill the room as he rocks into you from behind, one arm banded around your waist while the other continues caressing your lower belly.

"Fuck…sorry, it’s—shit, you feel too good," he groans, the pace erratic and desperate, hips snapping up into you with needy and imperfect strokes.

His thrusts are getting sloppier, hips stuttering as the dizziness makes his pace messy and desperate. Next, on one particularly eager push, his cock slips out completely with a wet pop, loud enough to be heard in the entire living room.

You squirm hard in his lap, a needy whimper escaping you at the sudden empty feeling. Your body instinctively rocks back, searching for him again.

Heeseung lets out a breathy chuckle against your neck. "Easy, baby…"

He grips the base of his cock and gives it a couple of lazy slaps against your soaked cunt; wet smacks making you jolt and moan. The head nudges your clit with each tap, fooling you until you’re trembling.

And without warning, he lines himself up and pushes back in with one thrust, burying himself deep into you cunt. You gasp at the sudden fullness, your back arching against his chest as he groans deeply.

"Shit…that sound," he mutters, voice rough. His arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place while his other hand returns to caress your lower stomach. He starts moving again, still sloppy and uncoordinated, but deeper now ; each thrust punctuated by the wet sounds of skin meeting skin.

He kisses along your shoulder, whispering hotly, "You’re so fucking wet…hear how you take me?"

His hips snap up messily, cock sliding in and out as he keeps you pressed tight against him, lost in the pleasure of it all. You’re lost in the flow of his cock sliding in and out of you, the filthy sounds of your pussy filling the room with every sloppy thrust, when your phone starts ringing on the coffee table. The screen lights up with Ethan’s name.

You notice that it doesn't stop Heeseung from doing his work. If anything, his hips snap up harder, driving deeper as he reaches over and grabs your phone. You try to protest through a moan, but he answers the call and puts it on speaker, setting it down nearby.

"Hey, man," he says casually, voice only slightly strained as he keeps fucking you tirelessly from behind. The squelching sounds are loud and clear.

Ethan’s voice comes through, sounding worried. "Heeseung? Where’s Y/N? She’s not home yet and she’s not answering her phone. Is she with you?"

"Yeah, she’s right here," Heeseung replies, one hand gripping your hip tighter as he thrusts up into you again, making you bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. "She’s a little busy though."

You squirm in his lap, embarrassed heat flooding your face even as pleasure keeps building. Heeseung leans closer to your ear and whispers, "Let him hear how wet you are," before picking up the pace.

The obscene, slick sounds of his cock plunging into your soaked pussy echo clearly through the speaker.

Ethan pauses. "What the fuck is that sound? Is she okay?"

Heeseung lets out a low chuckle, still thrusting deeper. "She’s more than okay. I’m fucking her right now, bro. That’s the sound of her pussy taking my cock."

You moan despite yourself as he hits a particularly good spot, unable to stay quiet.

"Can you hear that?" Heeseung asks tauntingly, angling his hips so the wet noises get even louder. "Hear how soaked she is? Those are her moans too. She’s been missing this for a long time."

Ethan’s voice cracks with shock and anger. "What the hell, Heeseung?! Y/N—!"

Before Ethan can finish, Heeseung cuts him off, still buried deep inside you, voice low and possessive as he speaks directly into the phone :

"You might be what she wants…but I’m clearly what she needs."

He hangs up quickly, tossing the phone aside. His arms wrap around you tighter as he resumes fucking you with intensity, mouth pressed to your neck.

"Focus on me, baby," he murmurs hotly. "Just feel how full you are."

The sounds continue as he drives into you, the interruption only making him more eager. You barely have time to process the call ending before your phone starts buzzing repeatedly on the table. Message after message from Ethan lights up the screen ; vibrating angrily one after another.

Heeseung glances at it but doesn’t stop. His hips keep rolling up into you in that same relentless pounding, cock stretching you open with every wet thrust.

"Damn…he’s blowing up your phone," he mutters with a dark chuckle. One arm stays banded around your waist, holding you firmly in place on his lap while his other hand reaches down to rub slow circles over your clit.

He keeps fucking you through the mess. Your phone vibrates again and again ; texts popping up rapidly.

You moan helplessly, eyes fluttering as pleasure overrides everything else. "Heeseung…he’s—"

"I don't fucking care," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. "Let him text. You’re mine right now."

He angles his hips and thrusts up hard, making you cry out as the head of his cock hits that perfect spot over and over. The phone keeps buzzing but Heeseung only fucks you harder, the sounds of your bodies utterly drowning out the vibrations.

His hand on your lower stomach presses down gently, making you feel every inch of him sliding in and out. "Hear how loud your pussy is for me?" he groans, voice rough. "Keep taking it, baby. Just like that."

You’re a mess ; moaning, squirming, gripping his thighs as he continues pounding into you from behind, unbothered by the nonstop stream of notifications. The phone eventually goes silent for a few seconds only to start vibrating again. Both of you wouldn't care less. Heeseung’s only focus is the way your walls clench around him as he fucks you through it all.

So that's what you've been missing out all this time.

---

a/n: based on a true story (i'm ovulating). if u saw my first post no u didnt

the uber drops you off at the curb and you nearly forget to close the door behind you, giggling at your own clumsiness as you wave goodbye to the driver who definitely thinks you're a mess.

you are a mess. a happy, warm, spinning mess.

your heels click unevenly against the pavement as you make your way to the front door, fumbling with your keys for a solid three minutes before realizing you never actually locked it this morning.

jungwon is going to lecture you about that tomorrow, you think, but right now you can't bring yourself to care because the door swings open and there he is.

he's on the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, glasses sliding down his nose, hair sticking up in seven different directions from where he's been running his hands through it.

he looks up when you enter, and his face does that thing it always does when you come home, this soft rearranging of features into something like relief, like love.

"hey," he says, closing the laptop. "i was getting worried. it's almost two."

"sorry," you sing song, kicking off your shoes and almost falling over in the process. "lost track of time. soojin kept buying shots."

he stands, approaching you with the kind of caution usually reserved for wild animals, and you realize you must look as disheveled as you feel. your hair is probably escaping its clips and your lipstick is definitely smeared.

"how many shots?" he asks, taking your purse from your shoulder and setting it on the entry table.

"enough," you say, throwing your arms around his neck and burying your face in his collarbone. he smells like fabric softener and the vanilla candle you keep in the bedroom and something uniquely him, something warm and grounding.

"enough to miss you a lot."

his hands settle on your waist, steadying you. "you saw me this morning."

"still missed you," you mumble against his skin. "missed you every second. kept thinking about your face. your stupid pretty face."

he laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest against yours. "come on, let's get you to bed."

"no," you protest, tightening your grip. "want to stay here. want to hold you."

"you can hold me in bed," he reasons, but he's already giving in, wrapping his arms around your back and swaying slightly with you in the entryway "you're going to have a headache tomorrow."

"worth it," you declare, pulling back to look at him. the room tilts a little, so you grip his shoulders harder. "you're so pretty. did i tell you you're pretty?"

"you mentioned my stupid pretty face, yes."

"no but like," you cup his cheeks in your hands, squishing his face until his lips pucker. "you're the prettiest. the prettiest boy. i'm so lucky. how did i get so lucky?"

he tries to speak but your thumbs are pressing against his mouth, so he just makes a muffled sound that you interpret as agreement.

"exactly," you say, nodding solemnly. "exactly. i'm lucky. you're lucky. we're lucky together."

"okay, lightweight," he says, gently extracting your hands from his face and bringing them to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

"let's get you some water and medicine before you declare your undying love to the coat rack."

"the coat rack wishes," you sniff, but you let him guide you toward the kitchen, leaning heavily against his side.

he settles you at the kitchen island and you watch him move around the space, filling a glass with water, finding the ibuprofen in the cabinet, wetting a paper towel. he moves with such intention, such care, and you feel your chest ache with the sheer volume of your affection for him.

"here," he says, pressing the glass into your hands. "drink all of it."

"yes sir," you salute, spilling a little on your shirt.

he sighs, but he's smiling, that gummy smile that makes your heart stutter.

you drink the water because he asked you to, because you would probably drink poison if he looked at you like that, all soft and fond and patient.

"medicine," he says, holding out two pills.

"don't need it," you argue. "feel fine. feel great. feel like i could run a marathon."

"you could barely walk to the kitchen," he points out. "take the medicine. future you will thank me."

you take the pills, chasing them with the rest of your water, and then he's there with the paper towel, wiping at your mouth with the kind of tenderness that makes you want to cry.

"love you," you say, catching his wrist. "love you so much. like, so much. like if love was a thing you could measure, i would have the most. i would win. gold medal in loving jungwon."

"that's very impressive," he says, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "you're definitely winning."

"really?"

"really. no contest."

you beam at him, all loose and happy and full of feelings that the alcohol has made impossible to filter. "good. because you're my favorite. my favorite person. my favorite everything."

he takes your hand, lacing your fingers together, and starts walking toward the bedroom. you follow, unsteady but unwilling to let go of him, your anchor in the spinning room.

"you're going to regret this in the morning," he warns, pulling back the covers and helping you sit on the edge of the bed.

"never," you say, watching him unbutton your jeans and slide them down your legs. "could never regret you."

he pauses, hands on your calves, and looks up at you. his eyes are dark in the dim light of the bedroom, serious in a way that sobers you slightly.

"you say the nicest things when you're drunk," he murmurs.

"mean them," you insist. "mean them all the time. just say them more when i'm tipsy."

he finishes helping you out of your clothes, replacing them with one of his oversized tshirts that smells like him, and then he's guiding you under the covers, tucking you in like you're something precious.

"stay," you say, catching his hand as he moves to stand. "please. want to sleep with you holding me."

he doesn't hesitate, just kicks off his sweatpants and climbs in beside you, pulling you against his chest. you curl into him immediately, leg thrown over his hip, arm draped across his waist, face buried in the hollow of his throat.

"this okay?" he asks, stroking your hair.

"perfect," you sigh. "you're perfect. did i say that? you're perfect."

"you might have mentioned it."

"good. because you are. take such good care of me. always taking care of me."

"want to," he says quietly, lips brushing your hairline. "love taking care of you."

"even when i'm messy?"

"especially when you're messy," he admits, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "you're cute when you're messy. all soft and honest. tell me everything you're thinking."

"embarrassing," you groan.

"never," he promises. "never embarrassing. i like knowing what you're feeling. even if it's just that you think i'm pretty."

"stupid pretty," you correct, yawning.

"stupid pretty," he agrees.

the room is still spinning but it's slower now, gentler, like you're floating on a lazy river instead of being tossed in waves. his hand is tracing patterns on your back, up and down, circles and figure eights, and you feel yourself drifting, anchored by his heartbeat against your palm.

"jungwon?" you whisper.

"yeah?"

"thank you for waiting up."

"nowhere else i'd be," he says simply.

"love you," you say again, because it bears repeating, because you want him to know it in every cell of his body, because you're tipsy and sentimental and he deserves to hear it a thousand times.

"love you too," he says, and you feel the words vibrate through his chest. "go to sleep, baby. i'll be right here."

"promise?"

"promise."

you believe him. you always believe him. he's never given you a reason not to.

⋆˚✿˖°

an: these is all 100% real life things that happen like sophomores being RAs (4da plot right?)

‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎© piercedjake july 2026 ‎‎ ⋆˙⟡

obsessive bsf!sunoo who only decides to finally talk to you when you start crying and clutching onto his shirt for him to stay. Smiling sickly and cooing at your tear-streaked face before pulling you into a warm hug. “You really upset me today y/n. But don’t worry, i’ll forgive you this time. You don’t need to cry anymore, pretty.” 

obsessive bsf!sunoo who loves to take a big whiff of your sweet scented perfume everytime you go in for a hug. Asking you about it and buying the very same one the next day, but not for himself. He’d spray it around his room and almost soak his bedsheets with it, now your signature scent surrounding him in the comfort of his room. 

obsessive bsf!sunoo who would sneak quick glances at your phone whenever you had to type in your password, mentally noting it down in the back of his mind and going through your messages and pictures when you’d leave your phone next to him after excusing yourself to the bathroom. Sending a bunch of your pictures that he found cute to himself so he could cherish them later that night. <3

obsessive bsf!sunoo who studies your handwriting down to the smallest details. Fixating on every little curve and line, the way you replace every dot with a small circle instead. Practicing it in his dimly lit bedroom just to feel closer to you, writing his own name the way you would with an almost lovesick grin on his face.

obsessive bsf!sunoo who feels territorial over you. His fingers twitching to be wrapped around your waist when another man’s got your attention. He’s right there next to you, what could possibly be more interesting about that loser? 

obsessive bsf!sunoo who settles on slinging his arm around your shoulders instead, startling you for a second and earning himself a questioning glance from you, but his eyes weren’t on you this time. He’d been glaring daggers at the poor guy the whole time you were busy talking, eventually making him bring up a quick excuse to scurry away from you two. 

obsessive bsf!sunoo who often makes you cry over the littlest things, putting the blame on you and making you think it’s your fault, just to coddle you a couple minutes later and wrap his arms around you. “I forgive you doll, everyone makes mistakes. It’s okay.” he whispers, his hand petting your hair while you try to suppress your tears and not make a fool of yourself any longer infront of him. 

obsessive bsf!sunoo who follows you in the dead of the night after finding out you were out late with your girlfriends even though it’s almost midnight, trying to teach you a lesson so you’d never be out this late again. His face covered by the hood of his jacket, his steps mimicking yours and noticing the way you start to realize you’re being followed before quickening your pace and subtly looking over your shoulder. 

obsessive bsf!sunoo who quickly gives up on his act and pulls his hood down as you make a sharp turn trying to lose your “stalker”. He knows what you’re doing, he knew you’d decide on that route. Choosing the long way through the neighborhood to your house instead of the alleyway which would be a shortcut. A sly smile plays on his lips as he walks through the alleyway and into the neighborhood, waiting exactly where you would eventually “bump into him” by pure coincidence. 

obsessive bsf!sunoo who acts clueless when he sees you noticing him there and running up to him, a worried expression painting his face when you start to explain what happened. Him reassuring you that he’s right there if anything happened, that he would never let anything happen to you, convincing you to always share your location with him from now on and update him about your whereabouts. 

obsessive bsf!sunoo who slowly turns himself into your safe space and sanctuary. embracing you and whispering sweetly about how you’re too fragile and precious to leave the house without him, how he’s the only one you need to lean onto, the only person you need to keep yourself safe. 

You're straddling him now, knees on either side of his thighs, the thin fabric of your stage skirt riding up your legs. His hands rest on your hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles through the material, but he's not gripping. Not guiding. He's waiting. He always waits for you.

"You're staring," you murmur, looping your arms around his neck.

"Can you blame me?" His voice is low, a little breathless. "You looked so good on stage tonight, noona."

There it is. That word. Delivered with a smile that's just shy of teasing, eyes glittering with amusement. He knows exactly what he's doing.

You roll your eyes. "Don't start."

"Start what?" His thumbs press a little deeper into your hips, while giving you puppy eyes. "I'm just complimenting you. You're older, you're wiser, you're sooo experienced. I should respect you."

"You're mocking me."

"I would never." He leans forward, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw. "Respect your elders, right, noona?"

Your fingers tighten in his hair. You should correct him. But his mouth is trailing down your neck now, soft and warm, and he's still murmuring that word against your skin like a prayer.

Noona. Noona. Noona.

"You're insufferable," you manage, but your voice comes out shakier than you intended.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and that teasing glint is still there, but underneath it is something hungrier. "You love it."

"I hate it."

"Liar." He nips at your bottom lip. "You get so wet every time I say it. I can feel you through your panties, noona."

Heat floods your cheeks. He's right. You hate how much you love it, hate the way your body reacts every single time that word leaves his mouth. But you'll never admit it. Not to him.

"You're so full of yourself."

"Stop acting like you don’t love it." His hands slide down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him. You can feel how hard he is through his pants, and the contact makes you both gasp. "See? You can't even pretend anymore."

"Shut up, Jake."

You crash your mouth against his, kissing him hard and deep, and he groans into it like he's been waiting. His tongue slides against yours, messy and desperate, and his hands roam your body like he's trying to memorize every curve. He's always like this sweet and obedient until you give him an inch, and then he's everywhere.

But you're still in control. You pull back first, leaving him chasing your lips with a whine.

"Take off your pants," you say.

He scrambles to obey, lifting his hips to shove his pants down his thighs, boxers following. His cock springs free, flushed and leaking, and you watch him squirm under your gaze.

"You're staring," he says mimicking you from earlier with a shaky laugh in his voice.

"Can you blame me?" You reach down and wrap your hand around him, watching his head fall back against the chair. "You're so pretty like this, Jake. All desperate and whiny."

"I'm not whiny-"

You squeeze gently. He whines.

"Not whiny at all," you agree, smiling. "You're gonna listen to what I say right?"

He nods, eyes blown wide.

You shift off his lap, only to reposition each other on a nearby couch. You climb over him again, swinging your leg over his head until you're facing his lower body and straddling his face. He gets the idea immediately. His hands grab your thighs, pulling you down until your center hovers just above his mouth.

"Wait," you say, and he freezes.

You lean forward, lowering yourself until your mouth is level with his cock. When your breath hits his skin he shudders beneath you.

"You eat me out. I'll suck you off. And if you're good-" you drag your tongue up the length of him just once, just enough to make him whimper " maybe I'll let you cum."

"Fuck," he breathes. "Noona, you're going to kill me."

"Probably." You wrap your lips around the tip and suck gently. "Now shut up and get to work."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

His mouth finds you immediately, tongue parting your folds with an eagerness that makes your hips buck forward. He's messy about it he always has been, too hungry to be neat but he knows exactly where to put his tongue. He laps at your clit in broad strokes, then sucks gently, then does it again, and you have to pull off his cock just to gasp for air.

"Fuck, Jakey-"

He hums against you in response, the vibration shooting up your spine, and you can feel him smiling. That smug little shit.

You retaliate by taking him deeper, swallowing him down until your nose presses against his pelvis. He chokes on a moan, his hips jerking up, and his rhythm falters for just a second before he doubles down.

But then he pauses. His mouth leaves you, and you feel his breath hot against your inner thigh.

"You know what would make this better?" he asks, voice thick.

You lift your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. "If you stopped talking?"

"If you admitted you love when I call you noona." You can hear the grin in his voice. "Say it. Just once. 'Jake, I love when you call me noona.'"

"I will bite you."

"That's not a no."

You drop your head back down and take him in your mouth again, hoping to shut him up. He groans, hips stuttering, but he's not done.

"That's not how this works, noona," he says, and the word is muffled because he's burying his face back between your legs, but you still hear it.

His tongue finds your clit again, and this time he's relentless fast and firm and exactly how you like it. Your legs start to shake. Your mouth goes slack around his cock.

"There she is," he murmurs against you. "There's my good girl. You gonna cum for me, noona? Gonna soak my face and pretend you hate me?"

You want to tell him to shut up. You want to pull his hair and remind him who's in charge. But you're so close, so fucking close, and his tongue is doing that thing and his hands are gripping your thighs so tight they'll bruise and he's still saying it, noona noona noona like a fucking mantra.

You cum with his name on your tongue, except it comes out wrong, comes out shaky and desperate and exactly what he wanted to hear.

He moans against you through it, drinking you down, and when you finally go limp above him he pulls his mouth away just long enough to say, "See? I knew you loved it."

You hate him. You hate him so much.

But he's still hard and leaking against your lips, and you took it upon yourself to finish what you started.

You crawl off him and he sits up. Both of you are a mess. His hair is sticking up in twenty directions. His chest is covered in sweat and spit. His eyes are glazed over, lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

You're not much better.

But you're also not done with him.

You settle back between his thighs, fingers tracing lazily along his hip, feeling the way his muscles jump under your touch. He's watching you with those desperate hazy eyes, already trembling again just from the anticipation.

You don't say anything. You just look at him really look at him and let the silence stretch until he can't take it anymore.

"Noona?" His voice cracks. It's small. Fragile. Nothing like the teasing tone from earlier. His lower lip trembles and his eyes are glassy, wet at the corners. He's holding back tears. "Noona, did I- did I not do good?"

Your heart falters.

"I did everything you said," he continues, voice wobbling. "I was good. I didn't complain. I let you- I let you do whatever you wanted. You said if I was good I could-" He stops, swallows hard, and a single tear slips down his cheek. "You said I could cum, noona. You promised."

He's whining now, high and desperate, hips twitching like he can't help chasing friction. His cock is still hard, flushed red, leaking against his stomach. He looks wrecked. Completely wrecked.

"Please," he whispers. "Please, noona. I'll be better. I'll be so much better. Just tell me what I did wrong and I'll fix it. I'll do anything. Just please don't- don't leave me like this."

His hands reach for you but stop halfway, remembering he's not allowed to touch without permission. Instead they fall back against the couch, fingers curling into the fabric like he needs something to hold onto.

"Did I not make you feel good?" His voice breaks on the last word. "I thought- I thought made you feel good. You made a mess all over me and you kept saying my name and I thought you were happy. I thought I was doing good."

Another tear falls. Then another.

He's not even trying to hide it anymore.

Your thumbs brush away his tears, slow and gentle, as you lean in until your forehead touches his.

"Hey," you whisper. "Hey, look at me."

His glassy eyes meet yours, wet and scared and so vulnerable it makes your chest ache.

"You did so good," you say softly, firmly, like you need him to hear it and understand. "So fucking good, Jake."

He sniffles, lower lip still trembling. "But I-"

"Shhh." You shake your head, thumbs still stroking his cheekbones. "You were perfect. You did everything I asked. You let me have you however I wanted. You're being good I like it a lot."

A shaky breath escapes him.

"I'm not leaving you like anything," you continue, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'm right here. I've got you. You're my good boy, okay? My good, pretty boy who did everything right."

He blinks, more tears spilling over. "Then why did you stop?"

You smile softly, kissing the other corner of his mouth. "Because I wanted to look at you. Because you're perfect everything about you is and I wanted to remember every second of it."

A broken sound leaves his throat.

"You want to cum, baby?" you ask, lips brushing against his.

He nods frantically, hands still fisted in the couch fabric, still obeying even now. "Please, noona. Please im so needy for you, just wanna feel you."

"You will," you promise, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes.

He gets shy at the thought of it and tries to hide his smile.

"That's my boy," you whisper, and you lean down to kiss him soft and slow and full of everything you can't say. He melts into it, tears wet against your cheeks, and when you finally pull away, his eyes are still glassy but the panic is gone.

He doesn't hesitate. "I need you so bad. I've been thinking about you all day. All week. Every time I see you I just want to -" He cuts himself off with a shuddering breath as you squeeze gently.

"You just want to what?"

"I want to be inside you," he admits, voice barely above a whisper. "I want- I want to make you feel good too. I want to make you cum so hard you forget your own name. Please, noona. Please let me."

You hold his wrists against the back of the couch. His hips buck up involuntarily, grinding against you and it's a mess. His leaking pre cum mixes with yours, both of you still slick and sticky from before, Jake's own spit still wet on your skin. The slide is filthy, and you can feel him growing hard again beneath you, pressing between your swollen folds.

You roll your hips slowly, watching his face contort with pleasure.

"Does that feel good?"

"Yes. Fuck, yes, noona it feels so fucking good," he gasps. "Noona, please-"

You keep moving, slow and torturous, and his eyes roll back. His fingers curl into fists above his head but he doesn't lower them, doesn't try to touch you. He's being so good. So obedient.

"You're going to cum like this just from a little grinding," you tell him. "Like a teenage boy. And you're going to thank me for it."

He moans, loud, and you press your hand over his mouth.

"Quiet. Someone could hear."

His eyes widen. His hips stutter. The thought of getting caught, of someone walking past and hearing him fall apart for you it pushes him closer. You can feel it in the way his body tenses, the way his breathing goes ragged against your palm.

"Imagine if a staff member walked in right now," you whisper in his ear. "Imagine if they saw you like this. Their precious Jake. Begging. Whining. About to cum because his noona told him to."

Thats all it takes.

His whole body goes rigid, his mouth opening in a silent cry against your hand, his hips jerking up into you as he spills in the space between the both of you. You watch his face the whole time, drinking in every expression, every twitch, every broken sound he can't quite hold back.

When it's over, he slumps against the couch out of breath, wrists going limp in your grip. His face is flushed, his eyes are wet, and he looks completely wrecked.

Beautiful.

You release his wrists and cup his face in both hands, tilting his head up.

"You did so good," you murmur. "Such a good boy for me."

He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. "Noona..."

"I know." You kiss his forehead softly. "I know."

He's still hard. You can feel it. One orgasm isn't enough for him and you have no intention of stopping here.

"You can touch," you tell him.

His hands fly to your waist immediately, gripping tight, like he's afraid you'll disappear. But you grab his wrists and guide them higher, up to your chest, pressing his palms flat against your breasts.

"Here," you say softly. "I want you here."

He doesn't need to be told twice. His fingers curl around the soft flesh, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you shiver at the contact. He's learning by watching your face, paying attention to what makes your breath catch. When he circles his thumb around one nipple, your hips jerk forward involuntarily, grinding against his length again.

"Yeah," you breathe. "Just like that."

He gains confidence, squeezing and kneading, pinching lightly just to watch you gasp. Your head falls back and you let him play. Let him explore. His touch is worshipping, desperate, like he's trying to memorize every inch of you.

"Noona," he whines, hips bucking up. "Please. I need- I need you so bad."

You look down at him wrecked, hard, completely at your mercy and you feel a surge of affection so strong it almost hurts.

"I know, baby." You lean forward, bracing your hands on either side of his head, and let your tits brush against his chest. He tries to chase your mouth but you pull back just out of reach. "Tell me what you want."

"You," he gasps. "Just you. Always you."

"That's not specific enough."

His fingers dig into your hips, desperate. "I want you to ride me. I want to be inside you. I want to feel you cum around me. Please, noona. Please."

You reward him by lowering yourself just enough for the tip of him to press against your entrance. He moans, loud and broken, and his head falls back against the couch.

"Say it again," you whisper.

"Noona," he breathes. "My noona. Please tell me you love it. Please tell me you love when I call you that."

You sink down just an inch.

"I love it," you admit, voice barely above a whisper. "I love when you call me noona. I love the way it sounds coming from your mouth. I love how desperate you get.

A sob catches in his throat.

"I love it, Jake. I love when my good boy calls me noona."

You sink down fully, taking all of him in one slow, steady motion, and the sound he makes is inhuman. His back arches off the couch, mouth open in a silent scream, and you feel him throbbing inside you immediately.

You don't move at first. You just sit there, full of him, watching him come undone beneath you.

"Spit," you say suddenly.

His eyes flutter open, hazy with pleasure. "What?"

"Spit in my mouth."

Something dark flashes across his face. He reaches up, fingers trembling, and gathers saliva in his mouth. Then you lean down, lips parting, and he lets it fall from his lips to yours, warm and wet and obscene. You catch it on your tongue, moan at the taste of him, and then you lean back up and let it drip from your mouth down onto his chest.

"Again," you whisper.

He does it again. And again. Each time more desperate, more sloppy, until both of you are covered in spit and sweat and the evidence of how badly you want each other.

Then you start to move.

You ride him slow at first, which has him gasping your name. His hands find your tits again, playing with them, pinching and pulling until you're crying out above him. Every flick of his thumb sends a jolt through your body, makes you clench around him, makes him moan.

"Harder," he begs. "Please, noona, harder. I can take it. I'll take whatever you give me."

So you give him more. You bounce on his cock, fast and brutal, letting him watch the way your tits move with every thrust. His mouth waters. You can see it. He reaches up and spits directly onto your chest this time, watching his saliva drip down your skin, and you moan so loud you're sure someone could hear.

"Do you love it?" he gasps, thrusting up to meet you. "Do you love when I call you noona?"

"Yes," you cry out. "Yes, I love it, I love it so much-"

"Fuck- you're so fucking hot, say it again."

"I love it Jakey."

He grips your hips, flipping you both over so he's on top, and the sudden change in position makes you gasp. He doesn't enter you again, not yet. Instead he hovers over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other reaching down to guide himself through your soaked folds.

"You love being my noona," he says, and it's not a question anymore. It's a statement. "You love that I'm younger and you love that I make you feel this good."

"Yes." You're nodding frantically, beyond caring about pride. "Yes, Jake, yes-"

He pushes inside you in one sharp thrust and your vision goes white.

He fucks you hard no slow pace, no more teasing. Just desperate, animalistic rhythm, his hips slamming into yours, his mouth hovering over your chest. He spits on your nipples, watches the saliva glisten, then lowers his mouth to suck them clean. His tongue swirls around each peak, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and you're clawing at his back, leaving marks you know will last for days.

"Cum for me," he growls against your breast. "Cum on my cock, noona. Want to feel you squeeze me. Want you to soak me."

Your orgasm crashes over you without warning, your back arching off the couch, a scream tearing from your throat. You clamp down around him so tight he can barely move, but he keeps thrusting anyway chasing his own release, desperate and sloppy and perfect.

"Noona," he chants, thrusting erratically now. "Noona, noona, noona-"

His hips stutter, his eyes roll back, and he spills inside you with a broken cry of a mix of your name and noona.

He collapses onto your chest, both of you shaking, both of you soaked in sweat and spit and each other.

For a long moment, neither of you speak.

Then he lifts his head, chin resting on your chest, and gives you that familiar teasing smile but softer now, edges blurred by exhaustion and satisfaction.

"Love you, noona," he whispers.

You laugh, weak and breathless, and run your fingers through his sweaty hair.

"Love you too, loser."

You stand at the stove. The sizzle of vegetables in the pan fills the air, mingling with the savory aroma of garlic and spices. It’s late, the apartment pleasantly peaceful. You’ve been stirring absentmindedly, lost in the task of cooking after a long day.

The sound of the bathroom door opening reaches your ears, followed by soft footsteps padding across the floor. You’re about to turn when Jungwon’s arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling you gently back against his chest. His skin is still warm and slightly damp from the shower, the clean scent of his body wash enveloping you. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply as if he’s been waiting all day for this moment.

“Mmm, what’s for dinner?” he murmurs, his voice low and husky against your ear, lips brushing lightly along your temple. You smile, leaning into his embrace just a little, your free hand resting over one of his on your stomach. “You,” you joke lightly, the word slipping out with a teasing laugh as you tilt your head back toward him.

The effect is immediate.

Jungwon’s breath catches, his body tensing against yours. You feel it ; the subtle shift in his hips, the obvious hardness pressing against the curve of your ass through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. He’s always been like this with you, so responsive to even the smallest touch or the slightest suggestion. A simple joke, your body fitting so perfectly against his, and he’s already half-hard, growing firmer by the second.

“Fuck,” he whispers, a mix of embarrassment and desire thickening his voice. His arms tighten around you, one hand splaying across your abdomen as he rocks forward instinctively, seeking more contact. “You can’t just say that while I’m holding you like this.” His nose burrows deeper into your hair, and you feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the heat radiating from him.

You set the spatula down, turning your head enough to catch his flushed expression from the corner of your eye. His cheeks are tinged pink, eyes half-lidded, that known vulnerability mixed with want making your own pulse quicken. Without letting go, his fingers trace clumsy patterns on your waist, dipping just under the hem of your shirt, as if fighting the urge to go further right there against the counter.

“Dinner can wait,” he adds breathlessly, his erection now fully evident, throbbing gently with each subtle movement. “Unless you really meant that part about me…”

You feel his breath hitch against your neck, his body pressed flush to yours. One of his hands slides up from your waist, cupping your breast firmly through your shirt, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens under his touch. The other hand dips lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties without a second thought. His digits find your folds, stroking gently at first before pressing in, circling your clit and then sliding one finger inside you. He works you patiently, curling his finger just right while his palm grinds against your sensitive bundle of nerves. A second finger joins the first, pumping steadily as your breaths grow sharper. “That’s it,” he murmurs hotly into your hair, squeezing your breast in time with his thrusts. Soon you’re slick and dripping around his fingers, your hips rocking back against him involuntarily.

He spreads your wetness all over your core, coating his fingers thoroughly before pulling them free. The cool air hits your heated skin while he tugs your panties down just enough. You hear the soft rustle of fabric as he frees his cock, already rock-hard and throbbing from earlier. He taps the swollen head against your entrance teasingly ; once, twice ; rubbing it up and down your slit, making you ache with impatience. Then he slips his length along your pussy, gliding through your folds to coat himself in your slickness. The wet, obscene sounds fill the kitchen as he drags his cock back and forth, teasing your clit with every pass. Finally, with a low groan, he lines himself up and thrusts deep into you in a single smooth motion, burying himself to the hilt.

A filthy, wet squelch echoes from where your bodies meet, your arousal making the slide effortless and loud. Jungwon curses under his breath, his grip tightening on your breast as he holds still for a moment, savoring the way you clench around him. “So fucking wet for me,” he whispers, starting to move ; slow, deep thrusts that make that slick sound with every push and pull, his hips snapping forward against your ass while the dinner forgotten on the stove.

You grip the edge of the counter as Jungwon’s thrusts push you forward, your upper body bending over until your chest and arms rest against the cool kitchen surface. The position arches your back perfectly for him, offering deeper access. His hand slides up to press firmly on your lower back, holding you still as he adjusts his stance behind you. With a deep groan, he buries himself as far as possible inside you, his hips flush against your ass. After that, he starts to wiggle them in small circles, grinding deep without pulling out. The motion creates a loud wet noise ; lewd squelching that are filling the silence of the room. Your slickness coats him completely, making the sounds even wetter and lustier.

He chuckles breathlessly, the sound low and teasing against your ear as he leans over you slightly. “Hear that?” he murmurs, amusement coloring his voice even as he keeps wiggling, stirring inside you. “So fucking messy…Does it embarrass you, baby? Or does it turn you on more?”

His hand stays anchored on your lower back, keeping you pinned gently but securely against the counter while he continues those teasing, grinding movements. The wet noises don’t stop ; each wiggle draws out another slick, embarrassing squelch that makes your face heat up. He’s rock-hard and throbbing deep inside, clearly enjoying how your body reacts to him.

You stay bent over the kitchen counter, upper body pressed against the cool surface, ass presented to him. Jungwon’s hand leaves your lower back for a moment, then comes down with a sharp slap on your ass, the sound cracking through the kitchen as your skin stings and flushes under his palm. He groans in satisfaction and starts thrusting again ; deep and slow, dragging his thick length almost all the way out before sinking back in to the hilt with force. Each thrust makes your body jolt forward against the counter, the squelching sounds returning louder than before. “Fuck, look at you,” he says condescendingly as he keeps that torturously slow pace. “Bent over like a slut, taking me so well. You’re so wet it’s pathetic. I wish you could see how needy you look right now.”

He slaps your ass again, lighter this time, and rubs the spot soothingly as he grinds deep. “Can’t even talk, huh? Just moaning and clenching around me like you’ve never been fucked before.” His tone turns mockingly sweet. “Poor thing’s brain all empty. So cute when you’re this fucked out.”

You try to respond, but only a broken whimper escapes your lips, your fingers gripping the counter edge tighter as another deep thrust knocks the breath out of you. Jungwon chuckles darkly, leaning over you, his chest against your back. He grabs your hip with one hand while the other stays on your lower back, holding you in place. “Use your words, baby,” he coos, slowing his thrusts even more, making sure you feel every inch. “Tell me how it feels. Come on…don’t make me ask twice.”

He punctuates the demand with another firm slap on your ass, waiting with a smug smirk as he stays buried deep inside you. When he pushes himself even deeper, pressing his hips flush against your ass until you feel him bottom out completely. He stays there, buried to the hilt, and starts stirring his hips again in circles, grinding his cock against every sensitive spot inside you. The motion makes your toes curl and pulls another broken moan from your throat. He knows exactly what he’s doing, he loves to stir your slickness with his length.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, voice low and mocking. His hand smooths over the reddened skin of your ass where he slapped you earlier. “I can feel you fluttering around me… greedy little pussy trying to pull me in even deeper.”

He keeps up the stirring, rolling his hips in lazy figure-eights that press right against that perfect spot, making your legs tremble. Then his tone shifts, still condescending but now edged with warning. “Better start using your words, baby,” he says, slowing his movements until he’s barely moving, just keeping himself buried deep and grinding teasingly. “If you don’t say something right now…I’m not letting you cum at all. I’ll keep you right on this edge, stirring your cunt until you’re crying for it, and then I’ll pull out and leave you empty. Understand?”

His fingers dig into your hip as he waits, still buried inside you, the threat hanging in the air while your body clenches desperately around him. “Go on,” he coos, slapping your ass lightly again. “Tell me how my cock feels. Use your words like a big girl.”

You’re trembling against the counter, overwhelmed by the deep grinding and the threat in his voice, when the tears finally spill over. They slip down your cheeks as soft, overwhelmed sobs escape you, your body clenching hard around his cock from the intensity of it all.

Jungwon’s breath catches. You feel his cock twitch and swell even harder inside you, thickening noticeably as your crying seems to turn him on more. “Oh? Now you’re crying?” he mocks, voice echoing in fake sympathy. His hand presses firmer on your lower back, keeping you pinned down as he suddenly starts thrusting harder ; deeper, sharper strokes that make your hips jolt against the counter with every wet slap of skin on skin.

“Big girls don’t cry, baby,” he coos viciously, punctuating each word with a rough thrust. “You’re stronger than that.” He laughs softly as he picks up the pace, fucking you with hard strokes. “Crying only makes me harder, you know that?” He leans over you, lips brushing your ear while his hips snap forward. “Poor thing can’t even handle being stuffed full. But you’re still clenching so tight…you love it, don’t you?”

Another hard thrust rocks through you as fresh tears slide down your face. Jungwon groans in pleasure, clearly enjoying every second of your overwhelmed state. “Go on, keep crying for me. Big girls don’t cry…but it looks like my needy girl does.”