kriin

Mingyu had been lying on his back, holding a book in one hand as his other hand rested behind his head, the image of relaxation, and he was absolutely ridiculous.

And by absolutely ridiculous, you meant mouth-watering handsome.

Mingyu was tall and broad, with muscles that were created by all the sports he played growing up as a kid and dedicated hours in the gym as an adult. He was a big boy, tall enough that his feet hung over the edge of the full mattress he lay on, and big enough to have you daydream about him in class when you were bored out of your mind.

He was also the second sweetest person you’ve ever met. (Dokyeom would always beat him in the first-place spot, but you'd never admit that to your boyfriend.)

And that’s why it was more than easy to roll into bed with him. Your boyfriend didn’t even flinch as you took up the rest of the space in his small bed; if anything, he welcomed it. You huffed and dramatically puffed while flopping half your body over his, and he just flipped to the next page of his book, happy to lie next to you.

It was very sweet, wholesome even, the type of mood that fell upon both of you. It would usually end up with you taking a nap, squishing your boyfriend between you and the wall, but your brain wouldn’t shut up enough to do that.

Your eyes flickered from the sunlight streaming through the blinds to the ceiling fan circling the air in the room. You avoided your laptop sitting on the desk and instead focused on listening as your ears perked up when you heard Mingyu’s roommates through the thin walls.

Mingyu has three roommates: Seungcheol, Jihoon, and Vernon. They had been his roommates since the beginning of the year and practically best friends five minutes after meeting. They were always going to the mess hall, pulling all-nighters, and all but one was a daily gym rat, much like your boyfriend. He honestly hit the roommate lottery compared to others, and you weren’t surprised that they all became close friends in response.

You could find at least one roommate always hanging out with another in their free time, and when you came over to Mingyu’s to study, you weren’t surprised that Vernon and Seungcheol were in the living room, intensely watching the latest football game. They had barely given you a wave when you gave them a greeting, while Mingyu followed inside after you, and it was Vernon who kept his eyes glued to the TV like a zombie when he begged you to make him snacks later when you would ultimately quit studying.

The boys knew you well by now, and they knew you'd hit your limit on studying soon enough. (They would take anything you stressed baked in their kitchen and were betting on it, actually.) But before you could agree, Mingyu was already steering you in the direction of his room, tossing over his shoulder a quick, “No. She has a test soon; she needs to focus.”

You sigh and slide your sock-covered foot down Mingyu’s shin as you think back on the cookies you could be baking right now. You would eat them with Vernon and contemplate the best-case scenario of how you could imprint all the information in the world in your brain without staring at a blue screen.

Was there a reason for any of this? What were you but a small ant on a giant rock that spins through the galaxy?

Okay, maybe you were going too deep- but that confirmed you planned not to open your laptop for the rest of the evening. Clearly, your brain was mush, but you needed something that would distract your boyfriend from giving you his famous pleading round eyes to try to convince you to keep studying. He truly was your biggest cheerleader, but your brain would surely melt if you continued to think any more than you already did today.

And that’s when you have an idea.

You move slowly, not looking at Mingyu as you slide your hand across his torso, feeling his soft stomach over his shirt until you reach the end of it. Your fingers slip down and skate across his warm skin, feeling his breath hitch as you toy with the top of his sweatpants.

You listen to the way his throat clears, his body tensing partially as he shifts under you. “What’re you doing?” He's not mean or rude, just curious with the way he speaks to you, because now you’re mapping out the elastic of the waistband of his sweatpants, and it makes Mingyu hold back a shiver.

“M’touching you.”

Duh.

Your fingertips wiggle at his boxer shorts, and you can see his cock twitch at the idea of your hand moving more south, but you don’t. You stay at the elastic band, playing with his boxer shorts like his roommates weren't twenty feet away, barely separated by a thin wall.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask and have to bite your lip from smiling at how fast he shakes his head.

“No! I- fuck,” his cock is getting harder, and your fingers are now trapped between the elastic band of his boxers and his pelvis. Your fingernails scratch lightly, a horizontal line that makes him suck in air through clenched teeth before he groans quietly, “Please.”

You aren’t sure if this plea for mercy is because he wants you to stop or continue, but the desperation laced in his tone sends a flutter low in your stomach, and your smile is growing as you teasingly ask him. “Please, what? What do you want?”

The book is forgotten the moment Mingyu rolls to his side and forces you to do the same. Your eyes flicker to his bedroom door, it's open, and you can hear Seungcheol grumbling to Vernon on the game playing on the television, but all that disappears when Mingyu’s warm hand slides over your upper thigh.

He hooks your leg back over his, his chest pressing into your back as he huffs against your ear. “Your roommates-“ you mumble, and Mingyu places a warm kiss on the nape of your neck. At the same time, his hand slides down your sweatpants, finding your panties already wet for him.

“Gotta be quiet then,” he murmurs, and your eyes close as he finds your clit over your damp panties. His lips brush the shell of your ear as he circles the little nub, his hips flush against your ass, reminding you he’s hard and wanting just like you are wet and ready. “Be good for me, Baby. Let me feel you-“

He kisses your neck slowly, just like how his fingers rub your clit, building you up in little time that it makes you grit your teeth, your hips rolling back against him. With each jolt of pleasure, he creates a little whimper that is pulled from you like you can't help yourself. Your head tilts back onto his shoulder, your mouth parting as the familiar knot in your stomach twists.

When he slides your panties to the side to sink two fingers into your wet heat, his other arm wraps around you, pulling you back until you’re half draped over his chest. He spreads your legs with his, his palm covering your mouth as his other hand works between your legs in earnest. It makes your eyes roll, your groan muffled as he stuffs you with his thick fingers.

“Need you to cum, need you nice n’ wet f’me.” He whispers the words in your ear as he curls his fingers deep inside you. His fingertips graze your gummy walls until he strokes the soft, spongy spot inside you that makes you thrash. Then you feel him grin against your ear, focusing on it like his roommates couldn't walk by any minute. “That’s it, let me feel how good it feels when I play with you.”

When you cum, his hand still covers your mouth, and your eyes roll back as your internal walls pulse around his digits. He keeps pumping them, in and out, over and over again until you’re shivering, and the squelch of your pretty pussy can be heard over the pounding of your heartbeat rushing in your ears.

You barely recover from your first orgasm before you’re finding yourself on your stomach. Your head is at the foot of the bed, angled to look at the open door as Mingyu pulls your sweatpants and panties down to your knees. His body drapes over yours, caging you between him and the mattress as he cups your chin, pulling your head up as his warm chest covers your back entirely. You can feel the fat head of his cock drag along your wet slit as your eyes begin to gloss over.

“You did so well for me." His legs straddle yours, and he’s so big you feel yourself clench in anticipation, a molten warmth beginning to form in your lower stomach again as he guides his cock to your sopping entrance. “You can give me one more, right? But you gotta keep quiet- you don’t want them to hear you, right? Don’t want them to know how well you take me, right?”

Mingyu isn’t dumb, and you are unable to see the way his teeth flash in the smile he displays. His eyes flicker from the open door to your laptop and then back down at you. You're so cute, wanting a little break, needing your brain to turn off for a little while.

But no worries, he's got you. His pupils dilate as he feeds you the first few inches of his cock, watching the way your pretty pussy stretches to take him in.

Your moan is drowned out by his hand covering your mouth again, and the fact that the TV cheered loudly. Huh, we must have scored. But you can't dwell on that, not when Mingyu's bullying his cock deeper into your drooling cunt, his words low and soft in your ear. "That’s it, open up for me.“

He makes you feel every inch of his cock, slowly. He makes you feel how the veins that run down his shaft drag through your velvety walls and makes your toes curl in response, a whine pushed from the back of your throat as he keeps your pretty mouth covered by his palm. His other hand clutches the edge of the bed right beside your head, his knees bracketing yours, keeping your legs closed and your pussy snug around his cock.

Both of your eyes roll when he bottoms out. His hips are pressed against your soft ass, and every time your walls flutter around him, his cock twitches deep inside. "You're fucking perfect."

You barely register what Mingyu is saying before he's moving his hips back, watching the way your pussy clings to his cock, trying to keep him from leaving. Another muffled whimper comes from you as your arousal seeps and coats Mingyu's dick with a creamy mess, and then Mingyu pushes back in. He stuffs you full, it feels like you can feel him in your stomach, and it's like he knows your eyes threaten to close because he's pulling your head back up with a soft grunt.

"Don't close your eyes, you gotta make sure no one walks by- or do you want them to hear you?" The question doesn't get answered when his hand moves from your mouth to your throat, holding you in place as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. The mushroom tip of his cock smacks into your soft cervix with a mean accuracy, jumbling all of your thoughts and making it hard to speak. But Mingyu already knows; he can feel it with the way you squeeze around him, soaking him with another wave of your slick. "Yeah, I think you want them to see. See how good you are for me, how well you take my cock."

Your pussy throbs wantonly while your teeth bite your bottom lip to hold in any screams of agreement. He feels so good, you know you're going to cum soon, and Mingyu knows it too. He angles his hips, and the next time he pushes forward, the tip of his cock is rubbing your G-spot until you're forgetting how to breathe. You gasp, and Mingyu groans under his breath, keeping the same pace that makes you squeeze him tighter and tighter.

"Mingyu-" You can barely slur out his name, stars bursting down your spine and down to the tips of your toes as you try to warn him. Your stomach tenses, your vision whitens, and Mingyu's grip on your throat tightens just enough to make your jaw slacken.

You cum with a silent scream. Your eyes rolling back as your drooling cunt gushes hot and wet all over Mingyu's cock. And the feeling of it makes Mingyu suck in a shaky breath, feeling you tremble underneath him, your walls sucking him deeper, trying to milk his cock as he fucks you through it.

He praises you the entire time, mumbling about how good you are for him. How well you did. How your pretty pussy is meant for him. And by the time you come down from your high, your body feels like jello - you can only give him little noises in agreement as he chases after his release with low groans in your ear.

And it's only a few minutes after Mingyu slipped from you, moving to his side as you blink up at him with glossy eyes, that Vernon and Seungcheol are cheering from the living room, reminding you that you weren't entirely alone. Mingyu instinctively covers you with his body when Vernon calls out your name in excitement, but thankfully, he doesn't appear in the door. Instead, he just yells from the living room, "Are you done studying yet? Can you take a break? I want cookies!"

대박 - you made it to the end!

Tell me about it.

You assumed that when you moved to the city, that notion would be like finding a needle in a haystack. New York City was bustling with life. Everyone moved here from all walks of life, looking to find another purpose, a deeper meaning. That’s how everyone became a New Yorker, one way or another. But live music existed in this city around every corner. You couldn’t go into a bar nowadays without seeing some new-age indie singer who looked like he hadn’t trimmed his beard in years and probably wasn’t wearing deodorant at the mic stand. Even on campus, where you were attending you final year of grad school, there was someone practicing their guitar in a dining hall.

Perhaps it was a cruel twist of fate that the only place that would hire you part-time was a record store. But you needed the cash and a job was a job. You were utterly unhelpful to customers who were looking for a certain artist or genre, but you were organized and did what you were told. No one kept the store as spotless as you did. Your boss, Aileen, might’ve even considered bumping you to manager status if you at least tried to learn a thing about the records you were selling. There wasn’t enough time in the day though. Your mind was almost entirely booked up by school work that you couldn’t even begin to think about learning the cultural significance of the Velvet Underground & Nico.

As the saying goes though: if you won’t do it, someone else will.

After a long day of classes, you ran from campus to the record store. It was only about a mile, but the autumn chill was coming fast and of course, the bus wasn’t working today. Which meant you had to sprint just to make your 4 PM to close shift. You busted through the doors, hair disheveled and your face halfway buried in a faux fur coat, only to see your boss handing over a key to some man by the cash register. Actually, not just a key. The key. To a man you didn’t know.

Was Aileen on some kind of new drug she didn’t tell you or the other employees about?

Your cheeks were red from running as you approached the counter, one eyebrow already cocked in confusion. Stuffing your hands inside your pockets to warm them up, you asked, “Um … what’s going on here?”

The man with Aileen turned around and you almost buckled. Almost. There wasn’t anything all that special about him. He was just … handsome. And truthfully, not many handsome people came into this record store, so it threw you off just a little. He didn’t notice though. You had learned to school your expression since undergrad, warding off any frat guy that tried to step within two feet of you.

“Oh, right on time,” Aileen said, gesturing between you two. “Meet Hansol, your new manager.”

You looked to where your coworker, Mingyu, was putting up new posters in the back of the store. He shrugged before going back to work, almost shoving a pin through the corner of his thumb by accident.

When you turned back to your new manager – apparently – his hand was out for you to shake. “You can just call me Vernon,” he said in a voice much deeper than you assumed.

You only had to take one look at him to know everything about him. Vernon thought he was special. Vernon wanted to be interesting. Vernon probably listened to artists that only had less than one thousand monthly listeners. The kind of person that made your teeth grind.

His brown hair was cropped and gelled into a few spikes, mimicking a look one of your ex-boyfriends had in high school. Probably. One hoop earring dangled from his ear and he smiled at you almost cat-like, both sides of his lips curling and looking like an upside down three. A small scar was near his mouth, right where a previous lip ring would be. He was wearing an oversized black tee with a washed-out picture of Green Day and baggy cargo pants.

Not management material. Incredibly pretentious. Even for a record store.

Eventually, you slipped your palm from your jacket pockets and shook his hand, telling him your name. He nodded and turned back to Aileen, who continued to give him the lowdown on everything in the store. You took that moment as your reprieve and hurried to the backroom, throwing your jacket and backpack in a locker. Pinning your name badge to your chest, you walked out and approached Mingyu, still pinning posters to the wall. He swore under his breath when he thought he got a paper cut.

“Hey,” you whispered up at him on the small step ladder. Your eyes never left where Vernon stood with Aileen, until he looked over at you and you felt your stomach curdle. “Mingyu,” you called, tugging on the bottom of his ripped jeans.

“I don’t have time to gossip with you about your Art History professor,” he whispered back, rather loudly. “My shift ends in 20 and I have to finish decorating or Aileen is gonna kill me.”

You ignored him and yanked on his jeans again. “Since when was she hiring a new manager?”

“Oh, him?” Mingyu looked back to the register before shrugging. “Beats me.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “He looks pretentious.”

“I don’t know. He’s kinda hot though.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked up at him. “You think with your dick.”

“Most men do.” He jutted his chin towards the counter again. “I’d head over there before our new manager yells at you.”

Rolling your eyes, you headed to the register where Vernon was bringing a crate of vintage records behind the checkout. A lot of these were purchased for display purposes only, but you guessed that anyone could be bought, given the right price. His arms were kind of skinny, but he was able to lift up the crate without protest. Mingyu was built like a god and he didn’t go a second without complaining.

“Aileen told me you were really good with organizing. It’s half the reason why the store looks as put together as it does,” he said, hands on his hips as he surveyed the area. Turning back to you, he referred to the crate with one hand. “I was asked to go over inventory in the back. So as you man the register, I need you to display these records on the wall here in release date order.”

You glanced from the stack of records, and then back to him. You did this about three times until he realized he lost you somewhere. There would a few covers you recognized, a few you didn’t – you had never seen Surrealistic Pillow before – but this couldn’t be that hard.

“Of course,” you replied, surprising him. “I just need to use my phone to Google the release dates.”

“You don’t know them from the top of your head?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, a good handful of them.” He picked up one from the crate. “Bleed American from Jimmy Eat World was released in … 2001, I think.”

You took your phone out, searched the release date, and … holy shit, he was right.

Meeting his eyes again, you replied, “How the hell do you know that? I can’t remember stuff like that.”

“I just like music a lot,” he shrugged, placing the record back in the stack. “You can’t even remember when Dookie was released?”

You narrowed your eyes. Was he trying to make you look stupid? Of course, you didn’t know this off the top of your head. You had a life. This was part-time.

He blinked, not waiting for you to answer. “You work at a record store.”

“I’m in a grad program,” you clarified, crossing your arms again. “I needed a job, and Aileen needed an employee that was type A. It was a match made in heaven.”

“I just don’t understand why you would wanna work somewhere when you’re not passionate about it –”

Your hands clenched. “Not everyone is passionate about their job, Vernon –”

“No one is really passionate about records anymore though,” he added, brushing past you, and your arms lowered to your sides. “I mean, look at this store. Reverb Records was one of a kind in the 70s, a staple in the New York music scene. To work here is like walking through history. And now it’s been reduced to … a fraction of the store dedicated to vintage comics and POP figures.”

“We needed to venture outside of music to stay in business,” you defended, remembering the day Aileen broke the news that they almost lost the property. “If we didn’t, none of us would even be working here.”

Vernon nodded, but you could tell he was struggling to not roll his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll be in the back if you need me. Feel free to use your phone for those dates.” 

You watched him as he headed to the backroom, walking past Mingyu, who was finally getting down from the step ladder. He put out his fist, which your coworker gladly bumped his own against. When Vernon disappeared into the backroom, Mingyu turned to you with a thumbs up.

You frowned. He never learned.

It was a particularly dead night at the record store, especially for a Friday. Reverb was located on a pretty popular shopping area in the city, surrounded by thrift stores and a chic coffee shop that a niche Fashion Week model went to once so now it was filled everyday with students. You had your notebook out for Medieval Art History next to the register, your eyes skimming over the barely legible writing. You supposed you could simply print out the slides Professor Lee made, which were far easier to read than your own handwriting, but copying down his notes helped you study better. 

Mingyu’s hand smacked down on the counter, startling you. Your head snapped up and you placed a hand on your chest. He giggled at your expense. “Not funny,” you chastised, looking back down at the page.

“It’s a Friday,” he whined. “Why are you concerning yourself with homework?”

“Maybe because I have a test Monday morning and I’m working every day this weekend.”

He tapped a finger against the counter, but you were steadfast, continuing to ignore him. Did that actually say Lindisfarne Gospels or was your handwriting really that bad?

Suddenly, Mingyu whipped the notebook closed and you viewed up at him with an aggravated expression. “What could you possibly want from me?”

“I have a free ticket to the DJ set at the Blitz Club tonight,” he said, picking up his backpack that you didn’t notice had been at his feet. “I’m heading out now, but I could meet you at the club tonight. You know you want to.”

Your nose scrunched up. “Too loud.”

“You had a blast the last time though.”

“I was drunk out of mind,” you recalled, “and I made out with said DJ.”

Mingyu shrugged. “Sounds like a normal Friday to me.”

You shook your head and opened your notebook back up. “I can’t. My shift doesn’t end until 10 PM anyway. The line for the Blitz Club is so long if you don’t get there right at 9:50.”

“Your loss,” he scoffed before heading for the door.

Your head tilted up again, and with a grin plastered on your face, you called out, “Try not to almost kiss your roommate like last time.”

Mingyu’s hand partially pushed open the entrance, making the bell chime as he sneered at you. “You’re hilarious. He’s hanging out with that girl he met at the office anyway.” He lifted his hand in a mock wave. “I’ll find someone to lock lips with. Trust me. See you!”

A sigh escaped your lips as your favorite coworker left. You busied yourself for a moment, finding Chan’s name badge that he’d been looking for near the cup of pens. You put in your reminders app to give it back when you shared a shift with him next week. Picking up your notebook, you said out loud to yourself, “Okay, Insular Art. The Book of Kells. Allegedly created in 800 AD. 340 folios –”

The store’s music volume immediately went up.

Your head shot up, jaw shifting, and you smacked the notebook back down on the counter. The store was deserted and you couldn’t even be left alone to study for a test that you were so terrified of failing. You turned on your heel, striding to the backroom as you wondered why you decided to go to grad school in the first place.

Vernon was sitting in the small office he shared with Aileen when she wasn’t working. The desk was made of metal and was probably as old as the store, with cabinets that creaked when opened. The computer, thankfully, was updated, but their internet went in and out sometimes when Aileen forgot to pay the bill. Currently, Vernon was leaning back in the chair, feet up on the desk, going through their long inventory list and checking off what needed to be restocked. (A project Aileen constantly abandoned.) He drummed his fingers on the tabletop while chewing on the end of a pen.

You leaned against the doorframe, crossing you arms over your chest. “You know, if you keep chewing on those, you’ll get ink in your mouth.”

His gaze lifted, a smirk playing at his lips. “Not the first time I’ve ingested it.”

Your nose wrinkled. “Anyway,” your arms released to your sides, “did you turn up the music? I can’t focus.”

“I figured our customers would enjoy a little bit of Blink this evening.”

You leaned forward to where the monitor with the security camera footage was displayed, showing no one inside the store. Your eyes flickered back to his. “We haven’t had a single customer since 5,” you informed him. “And I’m trying to study.”

“I think you’re just trying to kill my vibe.”

“I think you’re trying to kill my vibe.”

You were both competing in a staring contest that you were desperate to win, until you realized that it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, especially this argument. Shoulders sinking, you sulked. “Can you please just turn down the volume a little?”

“Sure,” he replied in a tone much more friendly than anticipated. He sat up straight, leaning towards the computer, and adjusted the store volume. You tried to ignore the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed when he smiled, how his earring glinted in the shitty lights of the office. Turning around, he gestured to you with the pen. “Please is such a pretty word. You should use it more often.”

Your eyes narrowed. It was your turn to drum your fingers on the doorframe, afraid they would form into fists. “What is your problem? You’ve had a vendetta against me ever since your first day.”

He raised a single brow. “Name three things I’ve done.”

“One,” you lifted a finger, “you chastised me on that first day for not knowing the release dates of vintage LPs. Two …” Another finger. “You’re constantly turning the music up and down. Pretty sure just to annoy me or it’s when you really like a song because I can see you playing air guitar on the security cameras.” Your third finger went up. “And three, you practically pop quizzed me on our new release stock as soon as you entered the store last week.”

He exhaled heavily, finally standing from the chair and at his full height. “Honestly,” he shrugged, “I just think you’re pretentious.”

Your jaw nearly dropped. This man … this Vernon … was seriously calling you pretentious just because you didn’t know release dates off the top of your head. He was insane. Where did he get off?

“Well, I think you’re pretentious,” you snapped back.

“Shocker.”

After a long moment of silence, he let his head fall back and groaned with frustration. For a second, your mind wandered. Just for a second. But you didn’t even let yourself entertain that thought because this was your manager and he just insulted you.

“Listen,” he continued, rounding the desk and holding a hand out. “Let’s call it a truce. Working together is going to be hell if we don’t.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and studied him. “I’m not agreeing to anything until you admit that you were being a dick to me –”

“I was being a dick.”

Your lips pursed, not expecting that. He looked down at you, almost leaning into your space, and you felt your cheeks warm. Shaking your head, you clicked your tongue before letting your hand meet his. “Fine,” you said evenly, “truce.”

You felt your hands start to get clammy already, so you pulled it away. He tried to wipe his palm on the back of his pants, but you noticed. You always noticed. Bowing your head slightly, you muttered, “I’ll get back to it. Thanks for turning the volume down.” You spun around and walked towards the exit, hoping you didn’t find a teenager behind the register with a wad of cash in their hands. (Happened on a Chan-only shift, which meant he definitely nodded off in the backroom for an hour.)

Vernon called your name as you had one foot out of the backroom, and you turned your head. He was now leaning against the door frame, a smile tugging at his lips, and he stuck a hand in his front pocket. Your breath stilled for a moment. Only a moment. 

Maybe you should’ve agreed to go with Mingyu tonight. Obviously, you needed another drunk make out if you were starting to fawn over your shitbag manager.

“Who’s your favorite artist?” He asked.

You didn’t expect that question. “I … I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’m almost always listening to the same couple of albums for the nostalgia. Maybe Avril Lavigne?”

“Interesting.” He nodded, amused. Why was he smiling at you? “You should let me show you some music sometime.”

You snorted. “What? So you can chastise me again?”

“Nooo,” he quipped, dragging out the word as he stepped closer to you. “We made a truce, remember?”

“R–Right …” Your voice got smaller the closer he was. Even just a foot away from you felt a little suffocating, but maybe that was because he was wearing a heavy cologne.

“I’m not going to chastise you. I promise.” He put his hands up in surrender. “I just want us to chill out, listen to music, and maybe you’ll be able to see why I appreciate working here so much. Why I’m so pretentious in your eyes. And I’m not saying that’s not a fair assessment, but I just want to show you some music and you can decide for yourself. Simple as that.”

You hummed then, almost wanting to laugh that he wanted to prove himself to you. It was … sweet. Somehow. Something about his voice here made you forget why you didn’t like him in the first place. “Sounds like something friends would do,” you muttered.

He smacked a hand on his head, feigning surprise. “I totally didn’t tell you,” he exclaimed before grinning down at you. “In the fine print of our truce, it said we had to become friends.”

In a shocking turn of events, you gave Vernon your number, but maybe that should’ve been a given since he was your manager. Even worse, you were currently spending your single day off this week by taking the subway to his apartment in Bushwick. You buried your face in the collar of your jacket, trying not to inhale the stench of cigarettes from the person next to you. This was an exquisite form of torture. You were being set up. Why else would you be doing this in the first place?

Maybe because your conversation over text went a little like this –

Vernon (Manager): you’re off today, right? want to spend it on your first music lesson, or is your brain too fried from school? You: he has jokes. hilarious. You: I can come over a little after 3.  Vernon (Manager): see you then!

You shook your head when your voice of reason fought against you. This was so dumb. Why were you doing this? So he could prove a point? You might’ve called a truce, but this was stepping out of bounds for work ethics. And he was still pretentious. So were you. Kind of.

Despite your reservations, you still got off at the right stop, walking up the stairs and into the cold autumn air. You pulled out your phone, struggling to bring up walking instructions, even with your screen-friendly gloves on. In the time span it took you to walk to his apartment and wait for him to let you in, you could’ve turned around and immediately took the subway back home, simply see him at work later that week. But you didn’t. And that was something for you to dwell on another day.

“You’re a fast walker.”

You turned, seeing him hold open the door to his building. Your cheeks were red from the chill – not for any other reason – and you squeezed past him just to feel the warmth of the old, rickety brownstone. “Yeah, well,” you said, already beginning to climb the stairs because you assumed he lived on the second floor. “I’m all legs anyway.”

He didn’t agree, just chuckled at your reply and followed behind you. Once you were both on the second story, he took the lead, gesturing for you to come inside apartment 202. Unwrapping the scarf from your neck, you let your gaze flit around the room. His studio looked the same as every other one in Bushwick, right down the peeling white wallpaper in the tiny kitchen. Where he differed, though, was the large record player in front of the couch, in lieu of a flatscreen TV. You walked over to it immediately, pulling at the sleeves of your sweater, and investigated the soft hum of whatever was playing. Oasis. Time Flies… Your dad liked to listen to Oasis when you were a kid.

“You ever heard that one before?” Vernon asked from behind you, crinkling some kind of paper.

“I’m … not sure. But my dad really liked this band,” you explained, not bothering to look back as you studied the large bookcase next to the player. Instead of novels, he filled these shelves to the brim with records. They weren’t organized, and some had more wear than others, but the collection was impressive.

Vernon noticed you admiring the shelves. “I’m not made of money. I get a lot of these as gifts or from yard sales.”

“Oh, I wasn’t assuming –”

You whirled, noticing the silver tray and ground weed on the coffee table before your eyes fixed on the joint he was rolling in his hands. Blinking slow, your gaze flicked up to his as he sealed the end of the joint with his tongue, wrapping his lips around it slightly. You swallowed, and he smiled. 

“Have you not smoked a joint before?” He lifted a brow. “I just thought – I can put it away –”

You tsked. “Oh, my god. Yes, I’ve smoked a joint before. I’m not a prude, Vernon.” You walked forward and opened the window slightly, allowing fresh air when he finally lit the end. “Truthfully, I was just surprised that you could roll one yourself. Bet you used to smoke cigarettes and hand-roll those too, right?”

“Now, that I take offense to. You really think I’m that pretentious?” He shook his head as you took a seat on the carpet beside him. After a moment, he smirked at you. “Yeah, I hand-rolled them in high school. You got me.”

You chuckled, hand over your mouth to hide your snort. When he smiled – really smiled – it was so wide that you could see his gums. His eyes even crinkled at the corners. For a moment, you wondered why you two ever disliked each other in the first place. It felt unfair to hate someone who beamed like that, who laughed with you as if you didn’t just tease him like a child.

He set down the joint to get to his feet, fingers brushing over the spines of his vinyls on the shelf. “I looked through some of the top sellers on Record Store Day this year. Figured that would be a cool place to start because you might recognize some of the album names,” he said, finally pulling out one in particular. “I really liked this one by the Cure. The Head On the Door.”

Your eyes squinted as he showed you the cover. “Oh, yeah, I recognize that one. I thought you might play something by – um … oh, Charli xcx. We sold out of that album of hers with the red cover in less than a few hours this year.”

He lifted the tonearm and looked back at you with a grin. “We can listen to that one next. I managed to snag that record a few years back on eBay.”

After lowering the stylus onto the spinning vinyl, the apartment was suddenly filled with the upbeat sounds of the first songs, slowly introducing a hyper-strummed acoustic guitar. Vernon lowered the volume slightly, and you weren’t sure if it was to cultivate a vibe or he was still cognizant of that time you stormed into the backroom to complain about the music inside the store. Sitting back down beside you on floor, he placed the joint in his mouth and lit the end with a lighter that had seen better days. Smoke wafted into the air before being pulled out the open window with the help of his overhead fan.

He held the joint out to you and you took it instantly. “What kind of strain is this?”

His shoulders sagged as he coughed softly. “Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” With the joint resting between two fingers, you brought it to your lips and inhaled. It was a little harsh, but not bad. You couldn’t remember the last time you smoked weed; it had to be a while though. Maybe you actually needed this just to chill the fuck out finally. If you kept worrying so much about your thesis, your head would surely explode.

He propped one elbow on the edge of the couch, facing you, as you handed the joint back to him. “Is this what you do when you’re not at the store?” You asked in a slightly hoarse voice.

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t just work at a record store and smoke weed all day. Do you really think I’m a walking stereotype?”

“None of those words just came out of my mouth.”

“Well, you sound a little judgey.”

“I’m not being judgey.”

“You sure?”

“Just answer the question.”

He laughed after taking a drag, and then another. You focused on the way smoked billowed from his nostrils, until he started speaking again. “I also do photography on the side. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to afford to live in this city.”

“I get it,” you nodded, playing with the joint between your fingers when he passed it over. “Reverb is for extra cash. Student services for my grad program pays half of my living expenses. Thank god.”

He adjusted his stance, his chin resting on his fist as he studied you. The record transitioned into the third song, but he barely noticed in that moment. He let you smoke the joint for as long as your heart desired. Something told him that you needed it. With one finger tracing his lips, he said, “You never told me what you study.”

He was smiling at you. Again. All cat-like.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“You gotta stop assuming things about me.” He tapped your arm jokingly. “Tell me. I’m interested.”

When you felt your insides start to turn to mush, you couldn’t help but mimic his posture: one elbow propped on the couch, the side of your head pressing into the heel of your palm. Your eyes were hazy now, a dull pink entering the whites. His words were swirling around in your head, haunting you like a ghost.

Tell me.

You breathed in another drag.

I’m interested.

You exhaled.

“I’m studying European History,” you finally replied, handing the joint back to him. Your fingers brushed, but only for a moment. “I want to become a professor.”

“A professor,” he nodded, his brow shooting up as he inhaled. Coughing away from her direction, he added, “That’s … oddly fitting. Are you almost done with the program?”

You nodded, unable stop looking at him as he flicked the end of the joint against an ash tray. “I’m working on my thesis while taking a few concurrent classes in my fall semester only. It makes things a little harder, but the courses are relevant and do help with research. I could do without having to take tests, though.” You shrugged. “I’m managing.”

“That’s a lot on your plate, on top of work,” he mused. One knee curled up to his chest and he rested his arm on top, the joint in his fingers halfway gone already. “You’re kind of a superhero.”

Your gaze flickered up to his again, breath stilling for a moment. The air was so warm, despite the open window, and your body was starting to feel fuzzy. He turned his head to yours, that grin on his lips so dangerous that it sent a shiver through you. Maybe it was the weed, but he looked like he was moving closer to you, invading your space. 

Not that you wanted that. No, you couldn’t want that. Because if you wanted that, it would ruin everything in the carefully crafted plan you made in your head long ago. 

Vernon’s eyes squinted then, and he finally replayed his words over. “Well,” he paused, “a superhero in the sense that you’re taking on a lot with probably no ‘thank you.’”

Blinking, you realized he was making a joke. You snorted and hit his arm, but he captured your hand before it could fall on your lap. For a moment, you wondered if time had stopped – it was the weed; it had to be the weed – because he was slipping the joint back into your palm so smoothly while saying the dorkiest line possible: “For you, my lady.”

He stood, walking over to the record player, leaving you with a half-lit joint in your open palm while your head was far too in the clouds to comprehend anything. You were so high that you didn’t even realize the album ended, and he was now switching it over to something different – Charli xcx, the red album. A melodic symphony hummed through the speakers, followed by a woman’s voice harmonizing, “I’m a dreamer … Step, step out the Beemer …”

When he came back to sit next to you, he noticed you still staring at the joint in your hand. His gaze flickered from your face, to the joint, before he started laughing. “You’re probably done, right?” He tried not to snicker, but it was hard not to when you were giving him this far-off look in your eyes. Plucking the joint from your hand, he put it between his lips and relit it.

It took you a whole minute to realize it wasn’t in your hand anymore, and you viewed up at him sheepishly. “I’m so sorry,” you whined. “I got … I think I got too high.”

He couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore. “It’s okay. Think you needed this more than I did.”

“My brain feels like slop. But in a good way.” Gravity got the upper hand as you let your whole head fall onto the cushion now. “How are you comprehending anything right now?”

Vernon smiled, all cocky. “My tolerance is infinitely better than yours.”

“Whatever. Dick.”

You flipped forward, letting your spine press into the edge of the couch as the back of your head rested on the cushion, which was just hard enough to ground you in this state of mind.  Neither of you said a word. The record played another song, and another, as Vernon finally ashed what was left of the joint. He let his head fall too, your gazes pinned to the ceiling. The overhead fan started to swirl in his vision, and he grinned to himself.

“Vernon?”

“Yeah?”

“You know a lot about music.”

He turned his head and dramatically held a hand to his chest. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said. I’m touched.”

You chuckled under your breath, hitting his forearm again. “No, I’m serious. I … This is nice.” You paused, listening to the song playing. All over … Deep under my skin … You got me so emotional … Your lips pursed. “I really like this album.”

He raised a brow. “Not just the weed talking?”

“No. Surprisingly,” you added. “We should keep doing this. Until you tire of me.”

“It’s a plan.”

You were beginning to realize that Vernon was true to his word. Almost every day – even after work, closing shifts and all – the two of you got together to listen to a few of his favorite records while he rambled on about the artist. Sometimes you got high, sometimes you didn’t. You simply liked being there besides a calming presence, listening to another person talk about their favorite subjects. A complete contrast to the hustle of grad school work, but you liked it.

There was a certain comfort that came to being around him, one you hadn’t experienced before. His voice was deep, yet soft, and he spoke about music with confidence. Like it was his favorite thing in the world. He could go on tangents without taking a breath, and you’d notice the way he’d sometimes pause when he talked for far too long. You didn’t stop him though. You only  smiled, let your head fall back against the couch, and listened.

What had you let yourself become?

Perhaps, it all started on the day you both met up in Central Park. Neither of you had a shift that day and you had managed to get done a good chunk of thesis research in the morning. Around 2 PM, you found him lying on a flannel blanket near the edge of Central Park, carrying two Italian subs from the pizza joint near your apartment that you swore had the best in the city. Vernon didn’t hear you approach; his eyes were closed as he listened to the music blasting through his headphones with one arm behind his head. A sliver of his stomach peeked out from underneath his grey hoodie, making you stumble – for what reason, you weren’t sure – and almost drop the tightly-wrapped sandwiches.

Vernon sat up then, finally hearing the rustle of your sneakers on the fallen leaves, and chuckled. “Woah, no need to rush.” He stood and grabbed the subs from your grasp. “You’re holding precious cargo.”

Your laughter was awkward, tense. You were simply not understanding why the mere sight of  his exposed skin had your stomach in knots, even though you knew the truth. Of course, you did. But you were going to sit there and pretend you didn’t because that was easier than confronting what was real. 

After demolishing both your sandwiches – “These actually might be the best in the city,” Vernon had agreed – you sat back on the blanket as he handed you one of his headphones. He hadn’t upgraded to Bluetooth ones yet, said he was going to use these until they died, but you did notice that the sound on right bud he gave you might be softer than the left. He asked if you wanted an edible and after all the schoolwork you did this morning, you took it before even answering him. 

“I’ve always thought that music sounds better on a record,” he said, scrolling through his library to find one artist in particular. “Besides this album. Maybe it’s because this is the first album I ever listened to and it was through headphones. Something about the nostalgia factor of it all.” He turned his head to yours and smiled. “But I want you to hear it this way.”

Intimacy, closeness, was always laced in his tone. Little statements like, “This is for you,” or “I’m interested,” or “I want you to hear it this way,” meant so much more when they came from his lips. Words lost meaning. Just a simple “hello” as he passed you at the register blurred into, “Do you want to hang out later?”

You managed to see the album cover before he turned off his phone. That blue album by the Smiths. You’d seen it before. Every douchebag with a mullet that came into Reverb bought it. But as you laid back and let the edible take over, you began to appreciate the music in a whole new way. Maybe you were becoming one of those douchebags with a mullet, but there was something about the melody of these songs, how some were recorded acoustic while others were with a full band. Everything blended into a kaleidoscope of powerful vocals and lyrics that made your brain melt.

Vernon would cut in at some parts to tell you fun facts about the song, and other times he would just stay quiet. Neither of you were comprehending much anyway, focused solely on the pretty words pouring into your ears. As the album finally hit the last song, you realized Vernon was singing under his breath. Your head slowly turned, watching the way his lips moved to form the words, “So please, please, please … Let me, let me, let me … Let me get what I want …” It helped that your earbud wasn’t as loud, letting you tune into more of his voice.

You were staring at him now. Nothing could tear your eyes away. He was drumming his fingers on his stomach, that small sliver of skin poking out yet again as he bent his arm behind his head. He was in his own world, singing softly, while the autumn leaves started to fall around his head. It was the last week of November. Leaves shouldn’t be falling, especially when it was forecasted to snow next week. But fate had a funny way of doing things, and the red and yellow cascading around his spiked hair looked like a painting. 

Maybe it was the edible hitting the home stretch, but you were noticing things about him that you didn’t before. His nose scrunched when he sang. His fingers tapped to the beat of the drum, the pads calloused and cold. His other ear was pierced once, but he only wore an earring on his right one. His skin was pretty, and yet, you liked that he still had some acne scars littered around his cheekbones. He needed chapstick – bad – but his lips were still pink and nice and –

What if you kissed him?

Jesus. That had to be the edible. Because no way in your right mind would you ever consider kissing Vernon. Just a couple months ago you were fighting the urge to wring his neck. But now you were … staring at his lips again, learning the way he mouthed, Please, remembering when he told you that itwas such a pretty word. It was even prettier when he sang it. 

Kissing him would be so easy. You could kiss him, and then get it all out of your system.  You could lick the smile off his lips, taste whatever made him secretly ache. Every lingering thought that you had about him would vanish. You didn’t have to worry about accidentally holding his hand when he passed you a joint, or hope that you wouldn’t moan his name the next time you touched yourself. You could kiss him right now and everything could go back to normal –

His eyes opened as soon as the song finished and he looked over at you. For a moment, you assumed he was going to ask why you were staring at him. Instead, he moved to his side and propped himself up on one elbow. “Do you even know who the Smiths are?”

Moment ruined. His inner douchebag with a mullet made a triumphant return. Thank god, you didn’t kiss him.

You frowned. “I might not know as much as you do about music, but I know who the fucking Smiths are, Vernon.”

His grin widened. “Just making sure you’ve been paying attention.”

Time seemed to blur. Autumn faded into the first frost, and snow started to gather on the streets of New York City. The air got even colder, making you revisit memories of stubbed-out joints and sharing headphones in nicer weather. If you tried hard enough, you didn’t think about kissing Vernon ever again, but most days, you found it too difficult to put in the effort. It was wrong, icky, harboring feelings for your friend and manager. But you told yourself that they weren’t deep; they were just a product of your yearning for intimacy, for the quick press of another’s lips against yours.

That’s all that it was. That’s all that it would be. It might take a few months, maybe a year, but feelings falter and you had more important things to worry about.

Was this what ego death felt like?

Mingyu had called out today because of the snow, saying that his “bike was frozen solid to the ground.” Thankfully, Chan had been available for his shift, and you watched him from the register as he helped a customer look through your stock of records from the 90s. He was truly a guru for all things 90s pop. And he could sing too, a mini Timberlake in the flesh.

“I was thinking …” Vernon started.

You stood up straight, looking away from your laptop. The store wasn’t so busy today because of the snow, so your delightful manager had given you permission to work on your thesis while manning the register. He was sitting on the edge of the counter behind the checkout, dangling his feet slightly while he studied one of the new releases they got in stock a few days ago. For a moment, you let your eyes follow his two fingers that skimmed down the track listing.

Finally, you blinked, leaning against the register and crossing your arms. “That isn’t good.”

He lifted his head, glaring at you. “Funny.” Setting the record back in the box, he bent forward and gripped the edge of the table. “Are you opposed to playlists?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Second question: are you opposed to someone making you a playlist?” He asked, and when you simply tilted your head, not understanding what he was getting at, he sighed. “I was attempting to build up suspense. I made you a playlist.”

“Oh.” You released your arms, letting them fall at your sides. “Why?”

He was looking at anything but you now. “Because I …” His back was tense as he pulled out his phone. “I don’t know. I just thought it would be a nice way to share all the music we’ve listened together so far.” He lifted his head again. “Don’t read into it.”

Before you could reply, he slipped off the counter while pulling up your texts. You looked down at your own phone, seeing a new text from him on the lock screen.

Vernon (Manager Friend): [Spotify Link: Your New Favorite Playlist]

“It seemed almost wrong to make it on Spotify.”

You lifted your head up and met his eyes, brow furrowing.

“Burning music onto CDs is a lost art,” he explained, and just that one sentence completely killed every romanticization you had about him. “I’m simply too lazy to do all of that now.”

“Well, that’s good then,” you said, turning back to your laptop when you still felt your cheeks start to heat. Why were you blushing? This was unlike you; this didn’t mean anything. You reminded yourself this as you turned your head, finding him over your shoulder. “I don’t own a CD player. Most people don’t nowadays.”

He thought for a moment, and then flicked your arm. “Right.”

Despite yourself, despite what he told you – you read into it. There was no way to not when he told you it consisted of songs that he always wanted to show someone like you. You kept the playlist on repeat, wondering if it could be burned into your brain like a CD. Most were songs you’d heard before, but there were some that stood out, some that you wanted injected into your veins to be a part of you forever. Was this how he felt? Hearing a song so beautiful that you never wanted to part from it? You listened to the playlist more times than you liked to admit, allowing the last one in particular to replay until you got tired of it: Night Drive by Jimmy Eat World.

Come alive on the driver’s side … So close I taste your breath … Your lips go dry, but there’s sweet inside … Wine must go right to your head …

The lyrics were pouring through your right AirPod when Mingyu started waving a hand in front of your face. You had begun to listen to the playlist during shifts, distracting yourself from whatever album Aileen had plugged into the speakers to repeat throughout the day. Pausing the song, you took out your AirPod and asked, “Do you need me to yell at you again for your shitty organizational skills?”

“No,” he quipped, “and I find it rude that you would assume I would change my ways. I’m leaving now anyway. My bike is still frozen outside, so Wonwoo is picking me up.” He pondered, and then added, “Well, him and his girlfriend are picking me up in her car. But at least I don’t need to take public transit.”

Your brow lifted. “Your nerdy roommate finally bagged that girl from his office?”

“He is not important.” Mingyu tapped his fingers on your screen, noticing the album cover to the song you’re listening to pop up. “What the hell? Since when do you listen to anything other than Avril Lavigne?”

“Excuse you, I listen to more than just her. I just keep my favorites in rotation.” You then shrugged. “I’ve been trying to venture outside of my bubble.”

“You? Outside of your bubble?” He almost wanted to laugh, but that would earn him the kind of look that made him feel like knives were piercing his stomach. Instead, he smirked a little. “That seems like a song Vernon would listen to.”

You didn’t look at him, knowing you’d been caught redhanded. Mingyu could be such a gossip; telling him things meant the entire city knew. Busying yourself with cleaning up around the register, you replied, “Not sure what that could mean.”

“Well, you two have been hanging out after Reverb closes.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps still visible even underneath his ripped denim jacket. “Oh, come on. I see your Instagram stories. You would never willingly be in Bushwick, unless …”

You shot him that signature glare. Already, he felt a pain in his gut. “What are you trying to suggest?”

He narrowed his eyes, and then said, “You guys are hooking up.”

“Can you lower your voice?” You whispered back harshly. “We do still have those security cameras, you know.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No!”

“I thought we were lowering our voices.” His grin widened. “Honestly, he was the last person I expected you to go after, but I am kinda into the whole manager and employee thing.”

You frowned. “I am not hooking up with Vernon.”

Mingyu realized you were serious. His expression fell. “Then, what is it?”

“We’re just friends,” you scoffed, opening up your phone to check the time. It was then, as you were staring down at your screen, reading the title of the Spotify playlist, that you realized Mingyu was probably looking at the same thing. He saw it, noticed Vernon’s name as the creator, and you felt every bone in your body freeze as if you were standing outside.

Both of your heads lifted at the same time. Mingyu was the first to say, “He made you a playlist.”

There was no way out of this one, not even as you locked your screen again. “Um –” You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“And you’re not fucking?”

“No, Mingyu, we’re not fucking,” you grumbled. “He told me not to read into it.”

Suddenly, it dawned on him, and Mingyu damn near giggled with how innocent both of you were being. Something about this was so pure, despite the obvious tension between you and Vernon. “So he likes you,” he stated confidently, “and you like him.”

“No,” you replied so quick he almost didn’t finish speaking. “We’ve been just hanging out for a couple months. He’s been showing me music on the off days I’m not at school and after work. That’s all.”

He chuckled under his breath. “A guy would never do all that unless he liked someone.”

“We’re just friends –”

“And you would never willingly go out of your comfort zone unless …” He scrunched up his nose, trying to think. “Well, unless you had a crush. I’ve known you for over a year now. This isn’t that hard to figure out.”

You blinked at him. “I resent that statement. I don’t have a crush.”

“Maybe I’m wrong.” Mingyu put his hands up in surrender, and then immediately lowered them. “But I’m not though.”

Your mouth opened to retort, but the bell above the door was chiming as a tall, lanky man sprinted through it. Wonwoo, Mingyu’s roommate, stopped short by the entrance, his glasses fogging from the heat inside the store. His voice was slightly muffled by the scarf wrapped around his neck, “Mingyu, come on. She has the car running outside and with our luck, she could get a ticket.”

“A tragedy,” Mingyu muttered, adjusting the strap of his backpack and heading for the door. Wonwoo sighed, stepping back into the cold air, and as Mingyu reached the door frame, he looked back at you. His expression was smug, and you felt every hair on the back of your neck stand up. “See you tomorrow, lover girl.”

So maybe you did have a crush.

But that didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything, and you simply didn’t have the balls to approach the conversation otherwise.

Mingyu had to be full of it. A guy would never do all that unless he liked someone, was such bullshit. You had been friends with men before, and you were sick of the assumption that the opposite sex couldn’t be friends. Just because you were defying your own rule with your crush meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. You knew that Vernon saw you as a friend anyway.

You didn’t want to ruin this. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this relaxed in your two years of grad school. The last thing you wanted was this to slip from your fingertips.

You needed a distraction – anything to not think about the stupid feelings growing inside you, the kind that made you want to claw at your stomach to stop the butterflies. For the first time, you were working the closing shift on a Saturday with Mingyu because Vernon had taken the day off. You were trying to focus on writing your thesis behind the register, but the store had been swamped today, leaving you with your racing thoughts and the best customer service smile you could muster. Mingyu was in the backroom doing god knows what, but you did notice that the music throughout the store had changed to club songs when he was in charge.

When you finally had a moment of reprieve, you slouched against the back counter and scrolled through your phone. You stopped when you noticed an ad for a local band Vernon had recommended to you a couple weeks ago called Broken Antenna. They were playing a show in Queens tonight, conveniently right after your shift ended at Reverb. Tapping your fingers on the counter behind you, you wondered if this was crazy, impulsive even. You were never like this, making spur of the moment plans, but something was telling you to live a little.

If not for yourself, just to get these thoughts about Vernon out of your head. At least for one night.

After looking around to make sure no one was in the store, you walked to the back and found Mingyu spinning in the office chair that Aileen or Vernon typically occupied. He stopped the second you knocked a fist on the doorframe, looking up at you with wide eyes. “Having fun?” You said with a brow raise.

“We all need a break every once in a while,” he quipped, standing up and sliding his phone in his back pocket.

“Speaking of breaks,” you replied, and now he was lifting a brow, “you got any plans tonight? There’s a band playing in Queens and I don’t want to go alone.”

Mingyu grinned big.

It didn’t take much convincing. You definitely could’ve texted one of your friends from school to go, but truthfully, you knew Mingyu was dying for another night out with you. Despite how drunk you got the last time you both went to a club, you could admit that it was still fun and he was one of the few people that could get you to let loose for a few hours. 

Once your shift was over, you hid your belongings in the backroom, bringing only your jackets, before locking up the store and heading to the subway. It didn’t take long to get there, and you probably arrived at the bar-turned-venue only forty minutes after the set started. After showing the bouncer both your IDs, hands shaking from the cold, you were let inside the packed bar. Mingyu was tall, so he took the lead with pushing through the crowd. The band was loud and slightly off pitch, but the crowd was lively and made the experience all the more fun. Tugging you towards the bar, Mingyu order four tequila shots and two beers.

It was going to be one of those nights with him.

You both downed your shots immediately, and by the time Mingyu was pulling you into the crowd, you felt your vision start to blur. Maybe it was because you drank almost half of your beer now too. Or maybe you were simply a lightweight. Both could be true. As the band shouted at the crowd, Mingyu hollered back, angling his phone over the throng of people to capture someone crowd surfing on video. How someone could be crowd surfing in this packed bar, you had no idea, but you clutched Mingyu just to get out of the way. 

Looking up at your coworker, you couldn’t fathom how he wasn’t tripping over himself right now. His height allowed him to tower over everyone and his muscle mass was extensive, but it was like the two shots hadn’t effective him in the slightest. This was your sign to start going to the gym more often, build up some muscle, because you couldn’t keep getting this tipsy after just a couple shots. 

He pulled out a nip of whiskey from one of the pockets in his cargo pants, and then offered it to you. “Want some?” He asked, going up to your ear to yell over the music. Your eyes squinted, and even he looked confused why the nip was on him. Everything inside you told you to slow down, but if you didn’t, you’d have to be burdened with the aching realization that you liked fucking Vernon.

So you took the nip and drank half of it.

You were swaying now, hands in the air as the music rang through your eardrums. You couldn’t even hear your own thoughts at this point. Which, honestly, had been your goal. Lacing one of your arms with Mingyu’s, you both began bouncing up and down to the band together, screaming when the singer pointed to you two in the crowd. 

The next time you jumped up, your ankle twisted on the ground, almost making your knees buckle. You clutched onto Mingyu hard, but he didn’t really notice you fall. The alcohol was getting to you, and you had now just spilt the ounce left of your beer all over your favorite work sweater. You hissed at the soreness in your ankle, not realizing as you started to stand that another person was pushing through the crowd. There was a new pair of shoes next to you, and you tilted your head up to meet a familiar face.

“Are you okay?” Vernon asked over the guitar blaring through your ears.

He didn’t look surprised to see you, but you were blinking, trying to get your vision to cooperate. “I – yes,” you shouted back. Your eyes couldn’t focus on anything right now, especially with the alcohol coursing through your body. “What – what are you doing here? I didn’t – didn’t expect …”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence, your mouth just deciding not to move anymore. Vernon searched your eyes, pupils wide from intoxication, and he plucked the beer glass out of your hands before you could pull away. “Hey!” You snarled, but he held his arm back, even in this packed crowd.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here?’ I showed you this band!” He replied, hostility laced in his tone. “I’m taking you home.”

“But I came here with –” You looked to your left, seeing Mingyu’s arm not intertwined with yours anymore. Confused, you looked over the swarm of people and saw him now bumping shoulders with the small pit that formed in the middle of the floor. Your jaw dropped – when did he leave your side? You hadn’t even felt it.

Before you could register it, Vernon tucked your fingers through his and began pulling you out of the densely packed crowd of drunk adults. Even through the fog of tequila and whiskey, a small flutter rose in your stomach when you realized your hand was locked around his. His palm was warmer than you expected, nothing like your cold skin, constantly pricked with goosebumps.

The December air was so cold that it burned your skin, making your cheeks flush even more than alcohol. Vernon’s hand was still in yours, still tugging you, the wind whipping back your hair and almost taking your feet off the ground. But he guided you, kept you upright. Only about a block later and he was ushering you towards his old Chevy parked on the street, helping you into the passenger seat. You huffed when he reached over you to grab your seatbelt, “I can just –”

“Please, shut up,” he muttered, locking the seatbelt in place.

Your lips sealed immediately.

He rounded the car quickly before jumping inside and starting the engine. He held his hands out, waiting for the heat to crank on. After a minute, he started blowing into his hands and glanced over at you, watching you shiver as you forced your head to stay up. Grabbing your freezing palms, he placed them over his mouth and blew his own hot breath into them. Your eyes were wide now, unsure of what to do. 

Something about sharing his warmth with you felt so intimate. More intimate than kissing, even sex.

Once heat began to sputter out of the vents, he let go of your hands and pulled into the deserted city street. Your looked at your palms, now face up on your lap, and wondered if this was one of those daydreams you had when you were blackout drunk. It had only happened twice, but it was enough to become a pattern. A buzzing sound emerged beside you, and it took you a long moment before you realized Vernon was talking to you.

“H-Huh?” You hiccuped, shoving your hands in the pockets of your jacket.

“I asked what your address is.”

“Oooooh,” you nodded, a line forming between your brows as you concentrated. “I … hmm, I can’t remember right now. I think it’s … jeez.”

Vernon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where’s your wallet?”

“Uhhhhh …” Your words slurred, trailing off as you pulled your wallet from your pocket.

He grabbed it immediately, filtering through the cards with his eyes still on the road. You watched his fingers flip through your wallet, trying to ignore the warmth brewing inside you, until he located your license. Looking down for a quick moment, he found your address and nodded, throwing the wallet back to you. “Ow,” you murmured.

As you leaned your head against the seat rest, you noticed that he was rolling his eyes at you, white knuckling the steering wheel. You were so drunk that you considering prying his fingers off, holding one of his hands to release the tension inside of him. But your brain felt like goo and you couldn’t make sense of a damn thing.

“You’re … you’re b-being m … mean,” you stuttered, and then poked him in the arm. 

He made an annoyed sound under his breath. “I’m not being mean. I’m literally driving you home.”

You studied him for a moment, as much as an intoxicated person could. Your eyes narrowed. “Iffffff you’re not being m-mean, then what … what are you? Jealooooooous?”

The car halted at a stop light and he looked over at you immediately. His stare was blank, serious and critical. “Yeah,” he stated, no hesitation. 

You chuckled for a moment, your breath tainted with the stench of cheap whiskey, until you realized that he wasn’t joking. His gaze was still locked on yours, until the light turned green  and he was pressing on the gas again. Your laughter died instantly as you faced the road with him, playing with your hands on your lap.

Silence echoed throughout the car.

The fog in your head was telling you to close your eyes, but you willed yourself to keep them open. “Is t-this …” Your throat was suddenly dry. “Is this about Mingyu?”

Vernon sighed. “Fuck, it’s – it’s not about Mingyu.”

A dull pain emerged in your forehead. How could this be happening already? Rubbing at your temples, you whined, “Then whaaaaaat could it possibly be about?”

“I’m going to sound like a dick.”

You snickered, “Never stopped you before.”

He didn’t even register your words, because he was shaking his head and rubbing a finger over his top lip, frustration clawing at him. “I thought …” He paused, and somehow, having to look at the road and not into your drunken gaze made this so much harder. “I just thought you would’ve asked me. To go see the band, I mean. I didn’t even know you were interested in going. If I had known, I would’ve asked you or hoped you would ask me.”

“B-But I … I only went because I saw an ad for the c-concert. And I wanted a distraction from …” Your voice got quiet as you wrinkled your nose. “I still don’t understand  … hoooow you’re … y-you’re jealous.”

“I’m jealous that someone else got to spend this time with you when it should’ve been me.”

You were staring at him again, his words almost suffocating you, compressing into your head and matching the throb between your temples. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to hurl yourself right out of this vehicle. Tonight was about freedom and not coming to terms with whatever was happening inside you. Not a confession.

Vernon licked his lips, meeting your eyes for a split second. “I thought listening to music was our thing.”

Your breathing stilled, your lips falling open in shock. Fingers digging into the seems of your pants, you felt the bile rise up in your throat, and you desperately tried to shove it down. This was sick. This was twisted. Why the fuck was he telling you this right now? Why couldn’t he just pretend that he wasn’t mad, drop you off, and be on his merry way?

“That’s it?” He added, turning down the heat slightly. “You’re gonna say nothing –”

God, you actually were going to puke.

“Can you pull over? I think I’m gonna vomit.”

His brow furrowed, startled, but he pulled onto the side of the road without saying a word. He had parked on the bridge, just as small flurries of snow started to fall. You practically punched the door open, stepping out, and not even being able to make it to the edge of the bridge. Vomiting all over the sidewalk, you were surprised when another pair of shoes materialize beside you and a hand began to rest on your back. But you supposed this was his thing: appearing when you needed him most. You coughed and looked up at Vernon, the anger vanishing from his expression. 

You hacked again, phlegm dribbling on your chin. “You’re gonna get puke on your shoes.”

“I know,” he exhaled heavily, before swiping away the drool on your lips.

He let you continue to hurl your guts out as snow gathered in your knotted hair. Vernon refused to move away, kept a firm hand on your back as you extracted all the alcohol left in your body. When you were finally done, you straightened your back and he tucked hair behind your ears. You wiped your mouth, looking up at him all doe-eyed, and his resolve almost crumbled. He ushered you back inside the warm car before you could start shivering, intent on getting you home more than ever.

You weren’t sure how long it took you to fall asleep in his passenger seat. But when you woke up the next morning with no recollection of the conversation from the night before, the single thing you did remembered was someone tucking you in.

At some point in every adult’s life, you learn that you’re just not as young as you used to be. When you went through the entire weekend and realized you had gotten blackout drunk at that concert, you came to the conclusion that you shouldn’t go that hard ever again. The body you had in undergrad could handle things that you simply couldn’t today.

Your memory of that night ended when Vernon appeared beside you in the crowd, after you almost fell on the dirty ground of that bar. Mingyu had been at your side. Or had he gone away around then? Again, you couldn’t remember. But at some point, Mingyu was with you, and then Vernon had helped you to your feet. The rest was a tequila and whiskey-induced blur. When you swallowed, you still got a tinge of it on your breath, no matter how many times you mouthwashed.

Your next shift with him was on Tuesday evening. Running from your last class of the day, you slipped and fell on a patch of ice, not taking a moment to collect yourself before you were sprinting to Reverb again. Your ass was already hurting and there would surely be a bruise, but you couldn’t worry about that right now. The wind bit at your cheeks and you stuffed your frozen hands in your pockets, until you reached the door of the store –

At the same time as Vernon.

You both stopped short, your hands reaching for the handle. His cheeks were red, and something told you it wasn’t from the winter air. Averting his gaze, he held the door open and said, “After you.”

You nodded, “Thanks.” Your tongue darted out as you passed him, licking your lips, and he noticed. (Of course, he noticed.) He entered into the store after you, brushing snowflakes from his cropped hair. You spotted Mingyu talking to Aileen at the front before you turned to Vernon beside you. 

Despite the rush you’d been in, both of you lingered by the doorway, kicking the snow off your shoes. Vernon was looking at his boots, refusing to meet your eyes, and you didn’t want to beat around the bush. Lowering your head slightly, you said, “You haven’t texted me in few days. Is something wrong?”

Finally, his eyes flicked up. Instead of answering your question, he replied, “I didn’t … I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“You don’t remember anything from Saturday?”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “Not exactly,” you muttered, a red flush creeping onto your cheek. “I might’ve had a bit too much to drink. I think Mingyu drove me home. Or we took the subway back. It’s kind of a blur.”

Hurt flashed across his face for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “Oh, yeah, he did,” he nodded, scratching behind his ear. “I’m glad you got home safe.”

You felt the tension between you dissipate, the air suddenly feeling cleaner, relaxed. A smile made it’s way to your lips as you both began to walk towards the backroom. You waved to Aileen and mentioned, “I’m pretty sure I saw you there, right? Everything kind of gets hazy after you appeared next to me. But it was cool to see some of those songs live after listening to them together.”

“Yeah,” Vernon exhaled heavily, “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Aileen held you up all day,” you said while still staring at your laptop behind the counter. 

Mingyu paused by register, adjusting the strap of his backpack, and nodded. “We’re trying to figure out what shipment this week got held up at the port. I don’t know. I guess her husband is gonna help her figure it out.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Way out of my pay grade.”

You finally glanced up and shut your computer, making sure to save your thesis document first. There were lines under Mingyu’s eyes that hadn’t always been there. He was always in pristine condition, a partier that never sacrificed his beauty sleep. Rather than talking around the subject, you were blunt: “No sleep this weekend?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Got my first proper night on Monday. On Saturday, I almost stayed up for a full 24 hours.”

“That’s not like you,” you replied, and he agreed with a chuckle under his breath. Leaning your hip against the checkout, you played with the buttons on the computer and added, “Speaking of Saturday, thanks for taking me home after the concert. I know I can be very annoying when I’m drunk. Next shift, I’ll bring you Shake Shack for lunch.”

“You really do know the key to my heart.” He placed a hand on his chest and pouted. He looked so much like a puppy sometimes. And then, his expression fell. “I didn’t take you home though.”

Your eyes darted around, confused. He was probably too tired to remember right now. “I was so sure you did. Even Vernon confirmed it.”

Mingyu’s brow knitted. He was pausing by the register, not caring that Wonwoo was most likely waiting in the freezing cold to pick him up from his shift. Tapping three fingers on the counter, Mingyu huffed out a short laugh. “Well,” he clicked his tongue, “I don’t know why he would say that. Because he drove you home.”

You blinked, making sure you were understanding him. Your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, assessing his answer. No, he was telling the truth. Mingyu was the worst liar on the planet; you could tell by his stance. The last time he tried lying to Aileen, his back hunched so much you thought he had an underlying medical condition.

“Then why would he tell me the opposite?” You asked, agitation laced in your tone.

Mingyu shrugged. “Beats me. Do you think he said something to you while you were drunk that he’s glad you forgot? You guys are basically in love.”

“You are so fucking dramatic,” you scoffed. “He did ask me if I remembered anything from Saturday. Maybe he –”

“You know I’d love to stay and chat about your emo boy struggles,” Mingyu cut in, already walking away from the register and wrapping a scarf around his neck. “But Wonwoo definitely has the car running. Just text me. I’ll answer. Don’t give me that look. I promise.”

The bell above the door rang as it closed behind him, leaving you with the question still on the edge of your tongue. What the fuck did Vernon say to you when you were drunk?

After a long week of classes, thesis writing, and your weird manager-turned-friend kind of icing you out, you were surprised to receive a text from said friend on Sunday evening. You had spent the majority of the weekend reading through a portion of research for your thesis, the words so mind numbing that they began to blend together. You found this study interesting, honesty, but research writing had a way of making just about anything boring sometimes. There was only so many times you could read about the impact of the printing press on the Protestant Reformation. 

When you finally looked down at your phone – twenty minutes after it lit up – you saw the preview of Vernon’s text and straightened up. You had been sitting in the same position on your couch for so long that your back cracked.

Vernon (Manager Friend): are you doing anything tonight? You: thesis Vernon (Manager Friend): let me rephrase: are you doing anything important tonight? You: this is important. rude. Vernon (Manager Friend): I want to see you tonight You: that’s all you had to say, vernon. no need to beat around the bush Vernon (Manager Friend): who am I if not beating the bush? Vernon (Manager Friend): that came out weird Vernon (Manager Friend): meet me at the borough exchange in bushwick around 9. there’s a show I want you to see You: can I bring some friends? promise I hang out with not just mingyu Vernon (Manager Friend): I’ll believe it when I see it

You texted your friends, tried not to get offended when they acted surprised that you wanted to go out on a Sunday night, and then ransacked your closet for something to wear. Nothing was right. It was either too casual or too fancy. The jeans you liked didn’t hug your waist the same just out of the dryer and your favorite going-out top didn’t fit your chest like it used to. Eventually, you decided on your favorite pair of jeans – the ones that fit perfectly but were a little ratty at the bottom – and a tight, white thermal long-sleeve that was casual enough but made your boobs look good, even without an open neckline. There was no reason to overthink this. It was a Sunday, and this was just Vernon.

Just. Vernon.

After throwing on your parka, you met up with your friends, Hana and Seungkwan, at the subway. Hana had been one of your classmates since undergrad, while you met Seungkwan a few years ago at an art gallery and you both quickly bonded over medieval art and thrift shopping. The three of you saw each other when you could, during planned dinner reservations made weeks in advance or nights like these when you were going out of your small bubble and needed some company. 

A missed train or so later, your group finally managed to get off at the right stop and headed for the Borough Exchange. It was a dive bar near Vernon’s apartment that you maybe visited once before. (Mingyu was right. You didn’t typically go out of your way to see Bushwick.) You shivered as soon as the warm air hit you when you entered the small pub, music blaring from the back where a live band was playing. You could only guess that was where Vernon wanted to meet.

Pushing through the bodies of tipsy patrons, you vowed to not have a drop of alcohol tonight after last weekend. Even the thought of whiskey made your head throb. As you guys settled near the wall of the dance floor, Hana shouted over the loud guitar solo, “Where’s you friend?”

“Not sure,” you shrugged, and then checked the time on your phone. “It’s past nine. Maybe he’s running late?”

“Uh, based on your description of him,” Seungkwan called out, pointing towards the front, “I think that’s him on the stage.”

Your head whipped around, gaze meeting Vernon's immediately as he sang into the mic. His fingers danced across the strings of the red electric guitar in his hands, calloused and dry, but  he was so talented you almost didn’t believe it. He was backed by a band behind him, who you remembered from a picture he showed you once. His best friend, Minghao, played the base, while Seokmin was on the drums and Jihoon commanded a keyboard. They sounded great. They sounded professional. Vernon’s singing was out of this world, reminding you of all the old bands he spent showing you, but so authentically him. When did he start possessing such raw talent?

Your voice was unrecognizable, almost in awe, as you said, “Wow, he’s so –”

“Hot,” Seungkwan finished, and you turned to him with wide eyes. “Oh, come on, I knew you were going to say it.”

“Of course, she was,” Hana said, bumping her hip against yours. “He’s the one she’s been spending so much time with. She even came to see him at the drop of a hat.”

Seungkwan’s cheeks were so big as he poke you in the arm. “This is so fun! Almost like high school all over again, just without all the trauma. You liiiiiiike him.”

“Shhhhhhhh!” You scoffed, tugging on both their sleeves, your attention back on the stage. Your lips widened into a huge smile. “There’s a concert in front of us. Pay attention.”

Vernon and his band were only allowed to play for fifteen more minutes, until the bar manager came near the stage during one of their songs and started twirling his finger for them to wrap it up. They finished their covered of Complicated by Avril Lavigne before Vernon grabbed the mic and thanked the small crowd for listening. “Feel free to pick up our EP at the door,” he added, lifting up one hand. “We’re Awkward High-Five.”

Seokmin came up from behind the drums to slap his hand against Vernon’s. Minghao bumped his shoulder as they all jumped off stage, muttering, “We have to change the name. I was busy when you guys voted on it. It’s terrible. Even Woozi agrees with me.”

Jihoon pinched the bridge of his nose, already walking off to the bar for a drink.

“You’ll get over it, Hao,” Vernon replied, his stare completely focused on you. Minghao rolled his eyes before heading outside to have a cigarette, Seokmin quickly following behind. You were so nervous that you weren’t sure how to unclench your fists. It felt like it was only you two in the room as he walked over, your gazes unwavering. Even your friends stepped off to the side to give you privacy, or maybe Hana just wanted to talk to Jihoon. It didn’t matter, because you couldn’t focus on anything but the way Vernon was smiling at you. And now you were grinning even bigger. And the world felt like it was so small, fit for only you and him.

“Hi,” you murmured.

“Hey.” One of his hands reached out to caress your wrist. Just barely, only for a second. But enough to make your cheeks heat. “You came.”

“You called.”

He nodded, “Indeed. I knew it’d be tough to tear you away from your computer though.”

“It was, but …” You tried stopping yourself, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, and he noticed, eyes flickering just for a moment. They softened for you. And finally, you admitted, “I missed you.”

His mouth formed into that cat-like smile again, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Let me buy you a drink.”

He bought you a Shirley Temple because you expressed that you didn’t want alcohol tonight, and he joined you. The drink was sweet and syrupy, and gave you a quick glimpse of him being able to tie a cherry stem with his tongue. He didn’t let you dwell on it though – that’d be too dangerous – and he tugged on your hand to force you to introduce him to your friends. He spent an hour chatting with all of you, making an effort to tease Seungkwan because he noticed the way your friend laughed when he did. All the while, you felt his free hand skim the small of your back. Hardly there, a ghost of a touch. You felt it though. You always felt him.

When both of your glasses were empty, he turned to your friends instead of you and asked, “Would you guys mind if I drove her home?”

You shook your head. “Do I have a say in this?”

“No,” they said in unison, and then Seungkwan added, “You should drive her home, Vernon.”

“Better than taking the subway,” Hana added. “Not many people have a warm car in this city.”

You rolled your eyes before you gaze locked with his, allowing him to lead you out of the bar with a firm hand on your back this time. Minghao and Seokmin were tossing their instruments back of a van while Jihoon smoked what was left of the joint in his pocket. He offered it to Vernon as he said goodbye to all of them, but he simply waved his hand. “Nah,” he answered, “gotta drive home.”

He never turned down a joint before.

Blasting the heat as soon as you both got inside his car, the memories of Saturday night became a little more clear. You didn’t voice it, but you suddenly remembered the plushness of his passenger seat, the way his glove box didn’t close fully, the stench of weed and cologne that lingered in the fabric walls. You gave him your address, wondering if he’d give himself up, but he simply nodded and pulled out of his spot on the curb. 

He handed you his phone with Spotify open. You looked at him with confusion, pushing the aux cord in when it tried to pop out. “Show me an album you like,” he said with a jut of his chin. 

“Really?” 

He nodded eagerly. “Really.” His eyes flickered over to you quickly, noticing the way you lit up as you scrolled through his phone. Your tongue stuck out slightly from the corner of your mouth when you concentrated, and he hated that he had to tear his eyes away from you to drive. You had no idea, and how could you have know, how much it meant for you to show him music you liked. How you were engaging in a love language he never realized was there.

After much deliberation, you set his phone down and the familiar sound of Katy Perry’s voice filled his old speakers. He recognized this song from somewhere – Hackensack? – but it was acoustic. He’d never heard any of Katy’s softer work. Flicking his phone screen on for a moment, he saw an album cover that said, Katy Perry: MTV Unplugged 2009.

“I realize how random this is,” you began when his eyes met yours before turning back to the stop sign ahead. A smirk played at his lips. “Don’t laugh. I’ve listened to this album at least every week since I was a kid. I just really love it.”

The songs faded into each other – from Lost to Waking Up in Vegas – taking him back to his childhood too. He remembered when his sister used to sing these songs into her hairbrush, screaming in his ear just to piss him off. Did you experience them a different way? Or did you, too, jump around your room with your hairbrush pressed against your mouth as you belted? He wondered how much this album meant to you, if you listened to it in times of distress, if you had your first car make out to a song as silly as I Kissed a Girl. There were a million memories that you probably had with this album and he was now hearing it for the first time, through your eyes.

He slowed down at a red light as the chorus to Thinking of You picked up, and you sunk into the passenger seat, watching the streetlights twinkle outside as you warmed your hands inside your jacket sleeves. Vernon had never heard this song like this before, had never taken the time to hear the lyrics or how the guitar riff slowed: Cause when I’m with him, I am thinking of you … What you would do … If you were the one who was spending the night …

Vernon was looking at you now – really looking at you – and he wondered if the world had stopped because all he could hear was white noise in his ears. The way your lips tugged into a smile made your cheeks dip. The way your eyes lit up at the smallest of things. How proud you got when you did something right. When you got excited to talk about your studies. Everything hit him in that moment and he realized how icing you out this week because he was being an awkward asshole made him miss you. Miss this. Just you and him.

The ringing stopped, and the song filtered through.

Oh, I wish that I was looking into your eyes …

Vernon pursed his lips. “Do you want to go somewhere else instead of your apartment right now?”

You turned to him, beaming, all warm like the shit heating system in his car. “Sure.”

He nodded, finally looking back as the light turned green. Instead of going straight, he took a right, heading for one of the parks in Brooklyn. Pulling into the parking lot, you were greeted with the sight of Prospect Park Lake at night, something you hadn’t considered seeing before. The lake was man-made, sure, but the stars shined down on it just right, making the water glitter like diamonds.

Vernon parked right in front of the snow piles, but you both could still see the lake from here. He leaned back in his seat, his elbow resting on the edge of the window while his cheek pressed onto his fist. “I used to practice guitar here when I was a teenager,” he mused, watching the water. “I didn’t have the money for lessons, so I had to teach myself. The lake was the only place where I found peace and quiet in the city. Usually, it would just be me here and someone’s dad fishing.”

“How did you afford a guitar back then if you couldn’t get lessons?”

He sneered. “I have always been a yard sale fiend.”

Settling into a comfortable silence, the Katy Perry album ended and transitioned into his liked songs. You could tell because the Cure was now playing, a song he had showed you months ago. Your hands twitched, and you eventually turned on your side in the passenger seat to face him. He was still staring at the water lick against the rocks, running a hand over his spiked hair. “Did you bring me here to kill me?” You asked, brows narrowing.

“What?” His head whipped to yours. “Why would you ask me that?”

You tilted your head. Was he that oblivious, or did he want you to say it? This had to be one of your worst nightmares. “You’ve been acting so strange around me recently,” you answered, now playing with the broken zipper dangling by your waist. “I mean, for instance … why didn’t you tell me about your band before?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“Tell me,” you said quickly, your mouth forming in a soft smile “I’m interested.”

You made his words more beautiful, like wind chimes on the first day of spring.

So he told you. Turning in the driver’s seat, he spoke about when he met his friends, how they decided to make music. It had been Jihoon’s idea; he was the mastermind behind everything. When they weren’t practicing covers of songs they all grew up listening to, Jihoon was writing their music or putting together melodies. He would get home from his 9 to 5 accounting job and immediately open his notebook to write, finding joy in this as much as his other friends. They had only been doing this for a year as a hobby, and just recently decided on a name, but he wondered if maybe, just maybe, if they applied themselves … “I don’t want to get my hopes up though,” Vernon waved his hand. "Especially with Hao’s bad attitude about the name.”

“He’ll get used to it. Hopefully,” you snickered. “The name is … well –”

“Not you too,” he sighed. 

He was looking at you again, and suddenly, it felt like you were the Mona Lisa. Like you were an LP being ogled by a customer chasing a deal. His eyes were intimate, almost hungry, and his words were slightly laced with the impulse to be closer: “I missed talking to you this week. I know we didn’t share a lot of shifts, but I didn’t text you. I know I was being weird.”

His palm was open and resting on the center console. You couldn’t help but reach out and coast your fingertip over one of the lines. Without looking at him, you asked, “Why did you lie about driving me home after the concert last weekend?”

“Caught red-handed,” he muttered, closing his fingers around yours, but only for a moment. Your gaze flicked up and met his. “I was embarrassed.”

“Because …?”

“Because I was jealous that you didn’t ask me to go with you,” he admitted, running a hand down his face. “Because I was being possessive over your time when … well, when that’s not for me to dictate.”

“You can be possessive over my time, Vernon. Just ask me first.” You flicked his arm, and he opened two fingers over his eyes to look at you. “And no more lying.”

He let the hand fall from his pretty brown eyes, grinning so big that he was showing his perfect teeth. You were almost jealous of him now, his nice, straight teeth, not one out of place. But he was staring at you like your smile lines didn’t mean a thing, like your front teeth weren’t stained from years of black coffee or that stress zit near your chin didn’t exist. His hand closed around your wrist again, thumb running over your pulse point. It was so intimate and yet so far away and oh, my god – you were finally going to say it –

“Vernon.” Your voice was so quiet you almost didn’t recognize it. “What are we doing?”

He stifled a laugh. “I’m not sure.” 

You didn’t respond, unsure how to take it, but his thumb was still caressing your wrist and sending shivers up your spine that you hadn’t felt in years. When was the last time someone touched you this way? With reverence, with actual desire?

“Pretty certain you can’t go back to being friends after admitting I got jealous over you,” he clicked his tongue, and then tilted his head up. Brow furrowing and his other palm out on the console, he added, “It was never about Mingyu, FYI. But did you really have to go with him? I mean, like, the guy’s a god.”

You giggled. Actually giggled. The sound was unfamiliar, but never with him. “I don’t like Mingyu in that way.”

He squinted one of his eyes, a snarky reply on the tip of his tongue. But he wanted for you to continue; too scared to admit more of the truth. Rejection was fleeting, not painless, and he could see that you were fighting the same battle with the way you were biting your lip. God, did that make him want to kiss you more –

“I like you,” you whispered back, resting your palm over his other one. “And I’ve just been … too scared to ruin this. But I know I can’t be anymore. So if you didn’t bring me here to kill me, the least you could do is –”

He didn’t let you finish your sentence, leaning over the center console to crash his lips onto yours. Noses bumped, teeth gnashed, but when his hand came up to cradle your jaw, you let yourself melt into it. His kiss was slow, despite all the pent-up tension that had been riddling inside him. Morrissey’s voice filtered through the speakers – And you never knew … How much I really liked you … Because I never even told you … – as Vernon licked into your mouth in a way that had your thighs pressing together in the cramped passenger seat.

He tugged on your bottom lip, and then let go. He pushed himself back against his seat, realizing he’d gotten a little more excited than planned. But he’d finally got to kiss you, and your lips were so soft, and the way your soft sounds filtered into his mouth made him undoubtedly hard –

He noticed you bring a hand to your bottom lip, swiping a droplet of blood, and that was all it took.

Cranking his seat back, you let him pick you up as if you were nothing but a doll, sliding you over the console until your hips were flush against his. You had to lean forward to prevent your head from bumping against the roof of the car and your legs were even more cramped as you kneeled on his lap, but you were doing this. How could you not when his hands were so slow, precise? They trembled slightly from pure excitement as he unzipped your jacket, letting them glide up the tight thermal you were thankful you chose to wear.

The windows began to fog up from the heat, but he didn’t notice a damn thing except for the way you were sitting so perfectly on his lap. He sat up a little, and you guided his hand to cup the swell of your breast. “Christ,” he muttered, now against your lips, “you have no idea …”

“About what?” Your hot breath fanned his cheek. His touch was barely there as he ran his thumb over your nipple, feeling it harden underneath your shirt. It felt like he was ripping you open and putting you back together just from a graze of his finger.

“How much … how much I’ve wanted to touch you,” he confessed, nibbling on your lower lip for a brief second. You pushed yourself more against him, and he almost moaned from the weight of your breasts in his palms. “I held myself back because we were friends and I didn’t want to become one of those guys. But every time we were alone, I couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to kiss you, especially when your eyes got all glassy after we smoked a joint, and sometimes I’d have to excuse myself to go to the bathroom because just being near you got me fucking hard. And it was so pathetic and needy, and so unlike me, but I started thinking about you when I jerked off –”

“I thought about you when I touched myself too.”

“Oh, fuck.”

You kissed each other like it was pure instinct, and it was rough, desperate, but needed. So needed. It was like watching the Discovery Channel, even Animal Planet – two mammals surviving on basic intuition and barbaric bliss. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for centuries, one hand pulling your hips against his while the other squeezed your breast. You pressed down on him, waiting until you heard that – oh, there it was – groan of his enter your mouth and his cock hardened in his jeans. You chased it, feeling it strain against his zipper, grinding down on it as he kissed you without trying to pathetically moan into your mouth. But it was hard – he was fucking hard – and you were so pretty on his lap that he could almost cum without being touched.

He needed to distract himself from his impending doom of cumming too early, so he  took off his jacket – quite haphazardly, enough to make you chuckle – before he peeled off your thermal top, leaving you in just a lace bralette you threw on, not even thinking another soul would see it tonight. But here you were, and now he was swallowing hard, drinking in the sight of your hard nipples pressed against the flimsy fabric. And he simply couldn’t help himself, leaning forward and yanking down the lace, dragging his tongue around one nipple. You shivered in his hold, nails raking through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Vernon,” you whined. 

“Hansol,” he corrected, looking up at you as he shifted, tongue flicking against the other nipple.

“Huh?”

“Hansol tonight. Please.”

“Okay,” you whispered, the need in his voice making the hair on your arms stand up. Or maybe it was just his tongue, switching between both breasts as he lathered them with his spit. He wouldn’t stop, like he couldn’t get enough of you, like the goosebumps rising on your sensitive skin was the only thing keeping him alive. Eventually, you cut in, “But, Vern – Hansol –”

He chuckled, low and husky. “Yeah?”

“How the hell am I going to get my pants off?”

“Oh.” He leaned back, seeing the zipper on your jeans just halfway undone, hardly any room for you to move around. “That would be helpful.”

You practically snorted, pecking his lips before sliding off his lap and back into the passenger seat. Having you leave his lap was torture, but he tried to divert his attention away from his aching cock by struggling to take off his long-sleeve tee. Even you were grappling with kicking off your pants in the small vehicle, your panties so soaked just from dry humping that you had to shuck them off.

Vernon didn’t think this moment would ever come: you, sitting in his passenger seat, fully naked. It was something out of one of those wet dreams – and he had many about you – but he knew this was real because you were already climbing over the console and perching yourself right back on his lap, bare pussy pressed against his clothed erection. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, sitting up again as he watched your arousal seep into his jeans.

He was never washing these again.

Actually, he didn’t want to be gross. He would wash these.

(Theoretically, he wasn’t washing these jeans again.)

“I’ve never called you Hansol before,” you mused, pushing back his hair. “Why tonight?”

He grinned, all teeth. “I like the way you say it.”

“What if I mistakenly call you Vernon at one point?”

“That’s okay.” His hands skimmed up your sides again. “I just want to touch you.”

“Your pants are still on though.”

“Emphasis on touch,” he quipped. “We can worry about that after this.”

Holding onto your waist, he looked down and let one of his fingers trail over your folds, smearing the wetness. You breathed out a sigh, leaning back against the steering wheel, opening yourself up to him as much as you could in this confined space. It occurred to you then that if you guys had simply gone back to your apartment, he could’ve fucked you into the mattress, but it seemed fate simply wanted you both to have sex in a car at Prospect Park Lake. 

As he watched you leak onto the pads of his fingers, you couldn’t help but blurt out, “It can become like Niagara Falls down there. You’re in the splash zone.”

He immediately let out the loudest laugh, leaning back in the seat as his nose scrunched up. The way he laughed made more butterflies rise in your stomach, igniting a fire in you that not even his fingers could do. You were unable to contain yourself, smiling from ear to ear. “Holy shit,” he breathed out when his amusement subsided, and then subtly tasted you on his fingers when he thought you didn’t notice. He had to fight the urge to groan at the flavor. “Good to know. Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” you joked, lifting up a hand.

He reached down again, but before he went any further, he met your gaze. “You still want to do this?”

“Yeah, Hansol,” you replied, and his eyes fucking lit up when he heard that name come from your lips. “I want to.”

“Okay,” he smiled, straightening his back and lifting his dominant hand up. Before you could ask what he was doing, he said, “Open up.”

Your brow furrowed, but you opened your mouth anyway.

He placed three fingers on your tongue, and you closed your lips around them automatically. No hesitation needed. He watched you, felt your tongue swirl around his digits, transfixed and fantasizing what else you could fit in your mouth. But that was for another time. And if he didn’t get his fingers inside you soon, he just might die.

A trail of salvia connected your mouth to his fingers as he slipped them out, but he made sure to wipe it away with his thumb. Snaking his hand between your bodies, both of you practically folded like pretzels, he tested the waters by dipping a single finger inside your tight channel, looking up to check if you were okay. You arched slightly against the steering wheel,  careful not to hit the car horn and ruin the entire moment. He swirled that finger deeper, and you keened, pushing against him. 

You cracked one eye open. “I can take more than one finger, you know.”

“Well,” he huffed playfully, “now you’re just sounding ungrateful.”

“I’m not –”

He shoved three fingers inside of you and curled. You gasped like the wind had been knocked out of you. “Fucking Christ, Hansol –”

“Not so ungrateful anymore, huh?”

You opened both eyes, seeing him smile at you, and your own expression reflected his. Grabbing the interior handle above your head, you rocked you hips into his hand. He let out a ragged, heartbreaking breath as he began to piston those three fingers inside you. His gaze was laser focused, watching your essence drip onto his palm. The sounds you made only spurred him on, wanting to go deeper, to find that spot that made you see stars. You were still a little tense, and that might have to do with the limited space you were in. So he pressed his thumb down, flicking your clit like it was the only thing he knew how to do, and viewed up when he heard you whine.

“Like that?” He asked, and your response came in the form of another mewl. “Okay, I got you. Come closer.”

Before you could shift, he was wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you forward. He sat up, letting your chest become flushed with his, leaving no room for you to escape his long fingers. He shoved them back inside, crooked them even deeper, and your hips jumped in a way that told him he found it. That place. And now, you were whispering his name just as pathetically as he did with yours when he jerked off. “Hansol, please –”

“I know,” he cooed, tilting his head to graze his lips against yours. “Lemme make you cum. Soak my fingers.”

You nodded weakly, pressing your cheek against his as he fucked those three fingers into you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him, as your hips began to roll in time with his hand. His praise was like a soothing rhythm in your ear, but you could tell he was desperate. He was so hard underneath you that you felt his precum soak through his jeans. His fingers moved faster, pressing down on your clit while you heaved out his name. And then you were letting go, stars exploding behind your eyes when his fingers curled just right inside of you, his thumb rubbing harshly on your swollen clit at the same time. You gushed around his fingers and he was huffing like it was his first time all over again, and god, if this is how you felt around his fingers, he didn’t want to imagine how you were going to feel wrapped around his cock –

“Hansol?”

He lifted his head up again, meeting your half-lidded eyes. It took everything in him to pull his fingers out of you, to lick your release off his fingers and try not to moan loud enough to scare you off. Your stare was already so fucked out and there was sweat at your hairline and holy shit, your lips – parted with just a tiny bit of drool lingering at the corner. Fuck, he was – “I’m so fucking obsessed with you,” he murmured, and then his face twisted. “I’m sorry. I sound like such a loser.”

“No, you don’t,” you chuckled softly. “You’re usually so confident. Where did all that go?”

“I think I turned to mush when you came on my fingers.”

Your brow shot up.

“I just …” He struggled to find the words, eyes darting around the car. “I didn’t really expect this to happen. Like ever. And the last place you’ve probably ever wanted to be is in my car, and –”

“Hansol,” you said, grabbing his face so he would look at you. “This is the only place I want to be. Do you want to have sex?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I kind of need to be inside you.”

You both laughed together, sitting back on his lap as he unzipped his jeans and wrestled with shucking them down enough. Your eyes raked down him then, finally noticing just how toned he was without a shirt. His skin was soft, but almost had a pearly hue in the moonlight streaming through the foggy windows. His chest was wide and his arms were slender, yet toned. His collarbones were pronounced, and you realized there was a silver chain dangling on his neck. You reached out, playing with it, as he eventually pulled his cock out.

He was longer than you assumed – at least, longer than average – with not a lot of girth, but enough to make you gawk a little. A few veins ran up the shaft, and a pretty pink head with precum running down his knuckles now. His erection, once neglected, was now demanding attention, and Vernon held it as if he was scared of being inside you, as if the mere thought of you wrapped around him was too much of a fantasy to bear. He met your eyes and you slid forward, his cologne beckoning you closer.

At one point, it was that very cologne that made you want to move further away. How the tables had turned.

You reached out, hesitated, until he realized what you were doing and allowed you to wrap your nimble fingers around him. You gave an experimental stroke, and then another, and another. His cock was hard and throbbing, but the skin was as soft and delicate. Vernon’s breath hitched, making you whisper, “Hansol …” Your thumb rubbed circles on the tip and more precum drooled out. “I thought … thought about doing this … when I touched myself,” you mewled for him, and his head fell forward.

“Jesus Christ,” he moaned, his warm breath hitting your nipples in the best way possible.  Your strokes were lazy, but enough to make his balls ache. “If you … if you keep touching me like that, I’m not gonna fucking last.”

You chuckled. “Okay, I won’t torture you any longer.”

“You can. Some other time,” he promised with a grin. “But don’t expect to get nothing in return. I think I need to spend a few hours with my face between your legs.”

The giggle you released turned into a snort, and you flicked his nose before aligning his cock with your entrance. “I can agree to those terms, if you survive tonight.” You hovered above him, your head bent over the roof of the car in perhaps the most uncomfortable position possible. You made it work though, allowing your lips to just barely graze his tip, the friction making you both keen.

Vernon sighed heavily. “Fuck, I might not.”

Slowly, reverently, you sank down on Vernon’s cock, taking him inch by inch. You let out a deep whimper as he filled you, the angle making you feel the length of him almost in your stomach. The moment he was seated fully inside, he let out a groan that was unrecognizable. A pathetic tilt resounded at the end, his breathing getting heavier and heavier the longer you simply didn’t move. He swallowed hard and demanded, “You need to move.”

“Are you going to cum just from that?” You asked, nearly out of breath.

“I might,” he confessed. “I wasn’t joking that I’ve been thinking about this forever. If you don’t move, I’m going to move you.”

You lifted your head to give him a look. “You’re so –”

His hands seized your hips, kneading hard, as he lifted you slightly off his cock before slamming you back down. You practically choked on your own spit, looking at him underneath you. He was smirking, and your jaw was unhinging. You didn’t have to say it; he could tell from your eyes that they were saying, Do it again. So his grip on you got firmer, and he began fucking you onto his cock.

Your hips ground against his, not wanting to be separated from him, and your arms wound around his neck. His moans turned louder, tongue lapping at one of your nipples again as you writhed on top of him. “Hansol,” dripped from your mouth like honey, causing his fingers  to dig into your hips deeper with each pass. His breathing was so heavy, so pretty, close to a whine and making him sound absolutely ruined even though he was the one wrecking you like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. Because you were trembling and drenching his cock in your essence and fuck, you felt like a vice around him. 

“I want –” He hit a spot inside you that made you almost double over. You met his eyes as he tweaked your nipple with his teeth. “I want you to cum inside me.”

He leaned back releasing your nipple that was now red and coated in his spit. “Probably not a good idea.”

“I’m on the pill.”

“Fuck, oh my god,” he murmured – anguished, desperate. “Why did you tell me that?”

It was like you flipped a switch inside him. He bounced you on his cock with renewed vigor, not even giving you the room to rock against him. There was a finish line now; there was a reason to keep touching you and a reason to have you gripping his hair like this was a ride you wouldn’t survive. He was panting now in your ear, taking a few moments in between to bite on the lobe, and when he felt his balls draw up, he somehow was able to snake a hand in between you without you noticing. His thumb was back on your clit, rubbing hard circles, and you whined and moaned, feeling like melted ice cream on a hot summer day.

Sparks blotted your vision. You saw white, and then realized what was happening. You were clenching around him so taut that you both moaned in unison. You soaked his entire shaft, and he was still fucking you through it, pinching your clit just right to prolong your orgasm. Your body was reeling, tears pricking at your eyes, not sure how much more you could take and wondering if you’d been cumming for hours. His voice sounded gruff and distant in your ear. 

“Oh, my fucking – you’re so tight when you cum. I think I’m gonna die – shit,” he muttered, a whine echoing at the end. “When was the last time you got f–”

“A while,” you huffed, forehead falling into the crook of his neck as his movements slowed a little. He was rocking you into him now, trying not to cum so quick, but you knew he’d been at the edge for a while now, and Christ, you just wanted him to fill you so badly. “So make this worth it, Vernon.”

He snickered, “Yes, ma’am.”

You gasped when you felt him fuck up into you, thrusting his hips somehow in this cramped space. Teeth biting into his shoulder, you cried out his name. You were overstimulated and fucked out, but he needed to cum. So you clenched around him again, making him breathe hard and then – there it was. That groan again. So desperate and loud and whiney as his release spilled into you. Your fingers were in his hair now, tugging, and his head fell back enough so your lips could connect. His moans poured into your mouth and they tasted sweet like grenadine. Warmth filled you, dripping between your legs when he finally stopped bucking up into you. 

Mouths detached then, hot breath fanning both your faces. Your hands now cradled his face as your lips barely ghosted over his. It took all your strength to finally sit up, feeling his softening cock begin to slip out of you, and he laid back in the seat to give you a better angle. When you were finally free, you slid over the center console and fell into the passenger seat. Neither of you bothered to put your clothes back on. The car was warm enough, the windows completely fogged, and you agreed that the only thing you wanted to do right now was just lie back. 

Eventually, you both began to laugh, tickled at the absurdity of what just happened. Vernon flipped open his glove box in front of you and pulled out a small metal tin. He flicked the lid open, revealing two hand rolled joints and a quarter of one left. He took one of the full ones and lit the end with a lighter he conveniently had in one of his cupholders. After taking a heavy drag, he handed it over to you.

Bending your seat back all the way like his, you took the joint and let the smoke fill your lungs. You opened the window a crack, just to flick a few ashes out. The leather of the seat became sticky as some of your combined releases trickled out, but neither of you, not even him, cared enough to do anything but smoke this joint and giggle.

As you relit the end, he turned to you, his lips tugging up. “So,” he began, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, “since I survived tonight, mind if I take you home to do as I promised?”

You inhaled and choked at the same time, passing the joint back to him as you coughed. He patted your back, concerned, until you started laughing uncontrollably. “We finally have hook up,” you said in between snorts, “and that’s the first thing you say?”

“Do you not want to then?” He asked with the joint hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“I would be a fool to say no, Hansol.” You made an effort to call him his chosen name even when you weren’t being intimate, and that, above all, was what made his cheeks flush. The thought of his face spending hours between your thighs made your skin prick. Your pinky slowly found his on the console. “I’ll agree to your terms, if … if you promise to take me on a real date. Not some listening party in your apartment, although those are fun. Even if it’s just pizza at Tony’s. I want it to be real.”

With the joint still in between his teeth, he held up your locked pinky fingers and smiled. “You got yourself a deal.”

Mingyu doesn't leave the speakeasy right after his friends do, buying himself another shot as he watches Hyuna on the stage, forcing a smile whenever she looks his way. She has a nice voice, and the longer he listens the more he thinks she was made to do exactly this — sing on a stage. It's nice when something like this happens, when people find their calling. A part of him wonders if his friends looks at him and think the same — that what he does is something he was made for, that being in the air truly is what he is meant to do. He hopes so.

The watch on his hand clearly says two in the morning. He didn't mean to stay for so long but he just couldn't find it in himself to leave. Once he did, it was only because Hyuna was getting off the stage and he was scared she's want to talk to him again. It's pathetic really. He is pathetic. He spends all his time thinking about what it'd be like if he had someone's company, if he wasn't just alone all the time, and yet the moment a woman is interested in him, he can't even talk to her properly.

Maybe he should have tried. He should have talked to her more, get to know her before writing her off and labeling her as someone who wouldn't look his way if it wasn't for the fact all his other friends were already spoken for. A part of him debates turning around and seeing her again, but he quickly snaps out of it, reminding himself how that conversation would go and that he isn't wrong for wanting more than she has to offer.

"Please! I'm sorry! I won't—"

"Quiet!"

Mingyu's eyes snap up when the argument reaches his ears, freezing when he sees a group of officers from the sheriff department holding a lady and trying to drag her to their car. It takes a mere second for his feet to move again, this time faster than before, trying to get to the scene as quickly as possible. "What's going on here?" He yells loud enough for them to hear, catching the attention of two of them.

"This doesn't concern you!" One of them yells. By the starting wrinkles on his face and the color of his hair, he'd guess he is in his late forties. Why on Earth is a grown man like this holding a lady who couldn't be any older than twenty-three in a way that could easily break her arm if he doesn't control his strength properly.

"I think it does," he argues. "You're going to hurt her!" He points out, hoping to get them to back off. He presses further, asking them to let her go and explain why they are arresting her. It doesn't seem to go like he wishes for it to, though, the officers' anger only growing.

"Please," you interrupt, avoiding the strangers eyes as you beg for forgiveness. "I know what I did was wrong. I know. Please, just let me go this once, I promise I won't show up here again," you quickly shake your head, your pleading eyes flickering between all four officers around you. "I have a daughter waiting for me. I can't— she needs me."

Mingyu's eyes widen at your pleas, something in him snapping as he listens to you. "How much for letting her off?" It's a risk. He can't know if he's using the right method, if it won't just rile them up more and he won't end up in a cell right beside you, but at the moment, it is a risk he is willing to take.

He watches the officers hesitate, exchanging a look before slowly dropping their arms to their sides. He doesn't wait for them to name their price, reaching into his pocket and taking a handful of cash. Handing it to the eldest of them, he finally looks at you too, looking for any bruises they could have left with their hold. "Is that good?" By the gawking eyes of theirs, he guesses it is. Well then, he doesn't need to bother himself with them anymore then. "Are you okay?"

"Thank you," you mumble without meeting his eyes, staying still until the group drives off.

"Do you need a ride home?" He asks, his head tilted as he watches you.

It's then that you finally meet his eyes, caught of guard when you see the brown orbs, watching you as if you were something fragile. You quickly shake your head at his offer, the idea of having a stranger drive you home and find out where you live doesn't sound too appealing. His eyes stay on you even after you refuse, making you sigh. "I didn't lie before. I need to get back home. Can you come back tomorrow? I can do something for you then I just—"

"That's not why I helped," he quickly shakes his head, stopping you before you can finish. "I don't want anything in return. I just want to know you're okay."

"It's never just out of a good heart," you mumble as you walk past him. He turns with you, keeping his eyes on your figure. He hesitates, watching you move further away from him. He can't get his feet to move, to catch up onto you and ask you once more if you're okay. With your earlier implication, he is scared you'll take it the wrong way again, and he'll just end up bothering you the same way the officers did.

"Wait!" He calls once you're at the end of the alley, ready to walk away and never see him again. "What's your name?"

You stop mid step when his voice reaches you, your shoulders visibly tense no matter how he looks at it. Closing his mouth again, he regrets calling after you. He should have just left you alone, let you get back home to your daughter and pretend he never saw you.

You glance over your shoulder, taking in the sight of him — nervous and hesitant despite your first impression of him being completely different thanks to the muscles and height he carries. "Neve," you tell him your work name, not giving him a chance to say anything back before disappearing into the night.

perm taglist: @beomiracles @adel222 @liaatiny @cherrylovescheol @bamgeutsz @codeinebelle @livelaughloveseventeen @xylatox @cristy-101 @assoulacaratassil @ladytree @nonuverse @fairyprincesslvr21 @cheolcheolieee008 @yvampyr @bramos91 @amisuh @lunaxgyu @livmarauder @evemds

Still mid-call, you marched straight toward your office, listening to your warehouse officer explain that the warehouse was well-stocked and ready for the holiday rush and that everything would be fine. “I’m not asking for some words of affirmation, Joe. Show me that this confidence is not unfounded. I need updated numbers by lunchtime.”

It wasn’t until you pushed open the glass door that you finally ended the call, pinching the bridge of your nose for half a second before refocusing.

“Morning!” Becca said brightly, already there, already holding out your iced coffee like an offering.

You took it without slowing down. She fell into step beside you, launching into your schedule like she always did—meetings, contracts, things that needed signing before lunch, and ones that could wait until after. You dropped into your chair, skimmed the first page of the file she handed you. 

You were halfway through skimming the file when you noticed something in your periphery. You looked up and saw that there was a man standing just behind Becca. Tall. Good-looking. Broad-shouldered. Hands in his pockets. He was staring around your office like he had time to admire the view, eyes flicking over the shelves, the windows, the framed awards.

For a second, you wondered if you’d forgotten you were supposed to have a meeting with some model for your brand’s campaign.

You frowned. “Who’s your friend, Becca?”

“Oh—right! Sorry. This is—” She paused, then quickly nudged the man with her elbow

“I’m Vernon,” he said, smiling at you before Becca could finish. He gave a lazy little wave. “The intern.”

You blinked. The intern. He said it like this was a college club meeting. Or orientation. Or literally anywhere but here, where interns usually tried desperately not to be noticed. You stared at him. Then back at Becca. “Why is the intern in my office?”

Becca cleared her throat. “He’s the temp I told you about. He’ll be covering for me while I’m on maternity leave. Assisting you directly.”

You glanced back at him, unimpressed. “Is he ready for that?” you asked Becca.

“Yes. I walked him through everything,” she said quickly. “He’s picked it up really fast.”

 “So he knows this isn’t a light workload? Long hours, hectic schedules, all that?”

Before you could respond, Vernon leaned forward slightly.

“You can ask me, you know,” he said. “I’m right here.”

The room went very still.

You stared at him, more surprised than offended. Most interns shrank under eye contact. Apologized. Overexplained. This one had the audacity to interrupt you, like he wasn’t face-to-face with the person everyone else avoided before coffee. For a second, you couldn’t tell if he was clueless or if he just didn’t scare easily.

You didn’t like either option. “I won’t be needing you yet,” you said flatly. “You can go.”

Vernon didn’t argue. He simply nodded once, hands dropping from his pockets as he turned toward the door. “Alright.”

And then he left. The door clicked shut behind him. You and Becca stared at it for a moment.

You exhaled through your nose and picked up your pen. “What kind of temp did you get me?”

“He’s very competent. Just a little tactless at times. And he was once…” She hesitated. “…reported to HR for insubordination.”

“Insubordination?”

“Yeah, he was. But it was all a misunderstanding.” She paused for a second and then added, “Apparently, the way he talks pissed some people off. Which was why I thought he’d be perfect for this role.”

You slowly looked up from your paperwork. “What’s that supposed to mean?

Becca grimaced, then covered her mouth. “Okay. That—yeah. That was supposed to be an inside thought.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you went back to signing. “You’ve been working for me too long.”

She cleared her throat, tapping her tablet like she needed something to do with her hands. “Mr. Zhou just stepped into the lobby. Should we… um… go wait for him in the conference room?” she asked, already smiling.

“Fine,” you said, signing your name a little harder on the last paperwork. “But we’re unpacking that later.”

You were puzzled to see Vernon waiting by the car as soon as you stepped out of your office at noon. He looked out of place there, standing in a crisp set of suit and coat, looking like he was shooting an ad for Ralph Lauren. You were realizing in real time that he was unnecessarily too good-looking and too well-dressed to be someone’s errand boy.

He was holding Becca’s work tablet and the leather briefcase she’d usually brought to meetings.

“Where’s Becca?” you asked, not slowing down as you watched him open the car door for you.

“She’s gone,” he said, watching you settle onto the backseat. “Told me my secretary duties start today.”

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

Vernon blinked, confused. “Oh, you didn’t know? I thought she discussed this with you beforehand.”

You sighed, waved him off, and leaned back on the seat. As Vernon closed the door and rounded the car, you took your phone out and typed out an urgent message to Becca.

You: I’m docking your pay.

Vernon took the driver’s seat without ceremony, adjusted the mirror, and pulled into traffic. 

“Read the documents carefully,” you said without looking up. “And pay attention during the meeting.”

“I will,” he said. “To both.”

The car ride was quiet. You reviewed the agenda on your tablet while the city slid past the windows, aware of him in your periphery—too relaxed, but not sloppy. 

Your phone rang not even ten minutes into the ride and you sighed when you saw the caller ID. But answered anyway. “Hi, Grandma.”

“I just wanna remind you that you have a date this evening,” she said immediately. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

“No,” you replied. “I’m working.”

“You said that last week.”

“I was working last week too. I’m busy, Grandma. Right now, I’m heading out for a lunch meeting with suppliers.”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re always working. You can’t keep postponing your life like this. Why do you always put that damn company first?”

You pressed your lips together. “Grandma, this was your company. You put me here.”

“Excuses. When will you have a husband?” she shot back. “Or children? I’m old and dying. Do you think time is gonna wait for me? I just want to see you settle down and be happy. Is that too much to ask?”

You looked out the window. “You’re healthy. You’re strong. You’re not going anywhere.”

You heard her exhale sharply on the other line, clearly annoyed now. “If you don’t come tonight, I’ll erase your name from my will. You won’t get a single penny from me.”

“You’ve been saying that for years,” you said evenly. “Need I remind you that you only have one living relative and it’s me?”

She huffed. “Don’t test me. I might just donate my whole fortune to charity. You must go this time. I swear this one is better than the previous dates. His name is Pa—”

“I love you,” you said, cutting her off. “I’ll call you later.”

You ended the call before she could respond.

For a moment, the only sound in the car was the hum of the engine and the soft click of the turn signal. You slipped your phone back into your bag and leaned farther into the seat, already compartmentalizing the conversation the way you always did.

You caught movement in the rearview mirror. Vernon was looking at you. “Persistent grandma?” he asked when your gazes met.

You sighed, unimpressed. “Eyes on the road.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, tone mild enough to be irritating.

You let the silence stretch after that, your attention returning to the tablet in your hands. You scrolled through the agenda, noting the points you wanted addressed, the concessions you were willing to make, and the ones you absolutely were not. Vernon drove without comment, smooth and calm, like he wasn’t ferrying someone who could fire him on a whim.

You glanced up again, studying his reflection this time with intention. The angle of his jaw. The familiarity you hadn’t been able to put a finger on ever since you saw his face.

“Have we met before?” you asked.

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “We went to the same university. And met once at a freshman party.”

That checked out. You’d seen enough of him around campus for his face to register, even now. You hummed, “Knew you looked familiar. You have an unforgettable face.”

That slipped out unintentionally, making you pause. You considered taking it back, but you ultimately just decided to roll with it. You cleared your throat. “I mean—well… Have you seen yourself?”

“Sorry, what?” he asked, glancing briefly at you. “I didn’t catch that.”

But the slight smirk on his lips told you that was a lie. You rolled your eyes, then watched him for another second. “If we went to uni at the same time,” you asked, “how are you still interning? At this age?”

He grinned. “Are you discriminating?"

“I’m just asking.”

“As my boss or as someone who knew me from college?”

You exhaled through your nose, realizing now that Becca wasn’t exaggerating when she said Vernon can be annoying for some. “Forget it,” you said.

He just smiled, focusing on driving. But a few moments later, he said, “I just got out of a slave contract with my previous employer.”

You looked up. “I assume that’s an exaggeration.”

“It could be,” he replied, shrugging. 

You didn’t comment. Some jobs did feel like that. You knew it, even if you’d never experienced it firsthand. You’d never been employed under someone, except when you interned for your Grandma, but even that was hardly employment. You’d always been your own boss.

The car slowed as the restaurant came into view. Vernon found a parking space easily. “We’re here,” he said as soon as the engine stopped.

You straightened, already stepping out of the vehicle. “They’re gonna give us the revised version of the contract from last time. Remember to go over it very, very carefully.”

“Got it,” he replied, gathering his things and fixing his coat as he stepped out of the car.

You paused, looked at him once with furrowed brows, then said, “Lose the coat.”

He blinked. “What? Why?”

“Just lose it,” you said, waving your hand dismissively. “You’re gonna make these people think I brought a date to this meeting.”

The realization hit him a second later. “Oh.”

His ears turned red almost immediately, the color creeping up fast enough that it caught you off guard. He looked away, cleared his throat, and shrugged out of the coat with noticeably less confidence than he’d had five seconds ago.

“Right,” he said. “Okay.”

You didn’t respond. You were already walking.

He followed a step behind. You noticed the way he kept tugging at his sleeves, the way his shoulders squared like he was suddenly conscious about his posture. It didn’t slow him down, but it made him seem less casual and more shy.

You filed that thought in the far back of your mind and pushed open the restaurant door.

Vernon settled into his role faster than you’d anticipated. He learned your schedule within days, memorizing the gaps between meetings, the calls you always took walking, the ones you preferred, seated and uninterrupted. By the first week, he stopped asking what you needed and started having it ready before you spoke. Coffee appeared when you’d skipped breakfast. Documents were summarized and tabbed—never highlighted, because you hated highlights.

He remembered dates without reminders. Flagged clauses you would’ve circled anyway. Anticipated questions before clients finished asking them. He spoke only when necessary in meetings, and when he did, it was concise enough that no one dared interrupt him. 

“Your two o’clock wanted to move to three,” he said one morning, falling into step beside you as you walked down the hall. “Mr. Lee begged. Said something about traffic and divine intervention.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That divine intervention doesn’t outrank your calendar.”

You didn’t break stride. “Good.”

By the end of the second week, you—and everyone around you—had realized that you now have a second Becca, a more merciless one at that. People stopped going to you first. They went to Vernon. He filtered what mattered and killed what didn’t. When he brought you something, it was because it deserved your time. He filtered your calls ruthlessly. If something reached you, it mattered. If it didn’t, it never existed. People learned quickly that arguing with him was pointless; if Vernon said you were unavailable, then you were.

Occasionally, he tested his boundaries. Not in ways that interfered with work, but in tone.

“Do you always look like this when you’re thinking?” he asked once, watching you review a document.

You didn’t look up. “Like what.”

“Like you’re about to ruin someone’s life.”

You slid the folder toward him. “Page twelve.”

He glanced down, eyes scanning. “Ah,” he said. “There it is. I knew something was odd with this.”

In meetings, he was quiet, efficient, present without being intrusive. He passed notes when necessary, caught errors before they reached the table, and never spoke unless spoken to or unless you were about to walk into something avoidable.

“Clause eighteen,” he murmured once, sliding you a note.

You corrected the issue mid-sentence and moved on. Afterward, in the elevator, you said, “Good catch.”

His brows lifted in surprise. “Was that praise?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t,” he said, grinning. “But I will cherish it.”

By the third week, he stopped flinching when you corrected him. By the fourth, he started correcting other people before you had to. He learned quickly what earned silence versus what earned a look. Silence meant he was safe. The look meant he had exactly one more word before his internship became a cautionary tale.

He respected that. Mostly.

“So,” he said once, handing you a folder, “do you want the bad news first or the worse news?”

You took the folder. “If you ever phrase it like that again, you’re fired.”

“Noted,” he said calmly. “Then I’ll just say this contract is trash.”

You looked up slowly. He met your gaze without flinching. “Respectfully.”

You skimmed the page. Then the next. Then the clause he’d marked with a single tab. It was, in fact, trash.

You closed the folder. “Schedule a call.”

“I already did.”

He had an irritating habit of leaning where he wasn’t supposed to. Doorframes. Desks. The back of chairs that did not belong to him. He never slouched in meetings, never interrupted, but outside of them, he carried himself like he wasn’t intimidated by anyone in the building.

Including you. Especially you.

“Do you actually read all of these,” he asked once, eyeing the stack of reports on your desk.

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

He paused. “I guess you’re not like those other nepo babies who—um… nevermind.”

You lifted your pen. “Finish that sentence, Secretary Chwe.”

“Nope,” he said, chuckling nervously and retreating a step. “I’m quite attached to my paycheck, you see.”

You rolled your eyes, but Vernon kept his grin. “When will you call me by my first name?”

Your brows furrowed. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, there’s Becca. You address her not only by her first name but by her nickname.”

You tutted, shaking your head and deciding to ignore his question entirely. “Go. I don’t need you right now,” you said, waving him away. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he chimed, walking away. You returned to your screen. You didn’t fire him.By the end of the month, Vernon no longer felt like a temporary replacement to your intuitive and reliable Becca. He felt like his own fixture. An irritating, unnecessarily good-looking, deeply unserious, but very competent fixture.

“Is that Armani?” you asked, just as Vernon turned the engine off. 

He glanced back at you, then at his coat. “I think so? I got this as a gift for my birthday.”

You chuckled, reaching for the door. “Your clothes are too expensive for an intern.”

You stepped out of the car, eyes blinking at the blinding building right in front of you. Vernon fell into step beside you not 30 seconds later, and you noticed that he’d taken off his coat.

“You should keep it on,” you said.

He tilted his head. “But wouldn’t it make them think you brought a date to the meeting?”

You shrugged. “Maybe, but these people are worth impressing. I’m heading inside first. You go get your coat and make yourself look good.”

You were inside the building for less than two minutes when you ran into someone that made your eyes twitch. He called your name from across the lobby, his voice ringing out annoyingly.

“Is that you?” he asked when he approached you. “Well, damn. It is you.”

“Carlo,” you acknowledged, offering a curt smile.

“Oh, so you remember me,” he grinned, his eyes roving from your head to your foot, then back up to your face again, not without pausing briefly on your chest. “It’s been a while, huh?”

You nodded once, polite and brief, already angling your body toward the other direction. “It has. If you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way to a meeting.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always busy,” he said, waving it off. “But who isn’t?” he added, laughing out loud.

He then launched into a recap of his life since the last time you’d seen him—his job, his connections, the people he knew, the Dubai prince he was chummy with, the places he’d been. It was all very impressive, apparently. You tried to interject twice. Both attempts failed. He spoke over you like it was muscle memory.

You remembered, dimly, the disastrous blind date your Grandmother had set you up on last year. Apparently Carlo was a friend’s son who was intelligent and sweet. You gave it a chance because you’d run out of excuses to decline. But Carlo was downright obnoxious. He was preposterous, talked only about himself, and after the date, he told every mutual acquaintance you both had that you were the reason why it never worked out after the first date—as if he didn’t blow up your phone asking for another chance after you refused to go on another date with him. He’d framed your refusal like a misunderstanding, and acted like persistence was a charm.

“So anyway,” he said, finally pausing just long enough to inhale, “I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner sometime. Catch up properly.”

You spotted Vernon a few steps away. “There you are, my love,” you called out with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Vernon looked up at the sound of your voice, just as you crossed the distance and slipped your arm around his without asking, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. For a moment, you thought he might ask what was happening. But he looked at you and at the puzzled Carlo just nearby and seemed to understand the situation right away.

“Sorry,” you said, turning back to Carlo with an apologetic smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “What were you saying?”

Carlo took a step back, posture stiffening, his grin faltering as his eyes moved from Vernon’s face to his tailored clothes, then back to you. Whatever confidence he’d walked into the lobby with seemed to deflate all at once.

“Oh, by the way,” you began, turning to Vernon. “Have you met Carlo? He’s in the export business. And the son of Grandmama’s friend.”

Vernon didn’t miss a beat. He offered his hand. “Vernon,” he said pleasantly.

Carlo stared, shaking his hand. You smiled and said, “My fiancee.”

“Oh,” Carlo said. “Fiancée.”

“Yes,” you replied simply. You could already imagine how this little lie would spread among your mutual acquaintances and business spaces you shared with Carlo, given how loose-lipped he was. But all you could care about right now was getting him to leave you alone.

“Well—uh,” Carlo said, shaking Vernon’s hand a little too quickly. “Nice to meet you. You two look… great.” He stepped back, already glancing at his phone. “I should get going. Busy day. You know how it is.”

You watched him retreat without comment, hurrying through the lobby until he disappeared entirely. Only then did you exhale.

You loosened your grip on Vernon’s arm, turning toward him. “Thank you,” you began.

“Your fiancée?” said someone from behind you.

You immediately froze, recognizing the timbre, the authority, and the unmistakable tone of your Grandmother’s voice. 

You turned slowly and found her standing a few feet away, handbag tucked neatly under her arm, eyes sharp and clearly amused.

“Did I hear that right,” she said, her smile widening as her gaze flicked between you and Vernon, “or am I finally losing my hearing?”

Vernon, to his credit, didn’t move. Neither did you. And somewhere between the impulsive little lie and her grin, you realized that things were about to blow out of proportion.

“OMG, Grammy. You heard that? I’m sorry. This is my assistant. I only said he was my fiancée to get that obnoxious Carlo off my back.” 

You could have said that and gotten it over with. But you couldn’t. The delight on your grandmother’s face was too precious for you to shatter with the truth.  So here you were, sitting across from her for an impromptu family dinner, Vernon holding your hand beside you. 

You were usually the most intimidating person in any room you walked into. Boardrooms, negotiations, crowded halls full of people waiting for you to speak—none of it ever rattled you. But at that dinner table, you were painfully aware of your posture, your hands, the way your expression changed with every interaction.

Your grandmother had that effect on you. She was the only person who could ever make you nervous, especially when it involved major life decisions like this.

It didn’t help that she was beaming like she’d just won the lottery. Vernon, as it turned out, was the grandson of an old friend of hers.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew my Grandma?” you had discreetly asked him earlier during the meeting with an investor, while your Grandmother watched from a few tables away.

She had insisted she’d wait until you finished the business meeting, and that was how you found yourselves trapped in this ‘family’ dinner.

“So,” she said, eyes bright as she looked between you and Vernon, “how did the two of you meet?”

You stiffened slightly, already bracing yourself. Vernon answered easily. “Oh, we met in college,” he said, reaching for his water. “We reconnected only recently when I started working for her.”

Your grandmother’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? And when did you start dating?”

You kept your gaze on your plate, listening. “About a month ago,” Vernon replied smoothly.

A month ago. You did the math immediately, your mind racing ahead of your body. That was the exact week he’d started working as your temporary assistant.

“And engaged already?” your grandmother said, delighted rather than suspicious.

Vernon nodded. “We didn’t see the point in waiting.”

She laughed, clapping her hands softly. “Oh, I love that. Life is too short to hesitate.” She turned to you then, eyes sharp and delighted. “So you mean to tell me you got engaged without telling me you were dating my best friend’s grandson?”

You opened your mouth, only to just close it again. Vernon cleared his throat. “It all happened rather quickly.”

“That’s what I love about it,” she said, waving a hand. “Destiny waits for no one,” she added, laughing.

You laughed too—awkwardly enough that you were sure you’d given it all away. You stared at the food on the table, suddenly finding your favorite dish from the best chef in the city unappetizing and dry.

“Does your family know?” she asked Vernon again.

Vernon hesitated, glancing at you for an answer. You had absolutely nothing to offer him. Not even a lie half-formed. So you lifted one shoulder, the smallest shrug you could manage.

He turned back to her and smiled. “Not yet. We wanted to keep it quiet for a while,” he said, shrugging lightly. “It hasn’t been very long. But I guess the secret’s out now that you know.”

Your grandmother looked like she might burst from excitement. “Oh, this is wonderful,” she said, already reaching for her phone. “They’ll be thrilled.”

You sat up straighter. “Grandma—”

“Wait,” Vernon said at the same time.

She waved both of you off, already dialing. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll just tell them quickly.”

You watched in horror as she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?” she said brightly. “Yes, yes, it’s me. You’ll never guess what I just found out.”

You sank back into your chair, heart thudding.

She spoke excitedly, voice warm and loud enough that you caught pieces of the conversation—laughter, delighted exclaims, repeated congratulations. You could hear someone else speaking on the other end, just as excited.

You didn’t catch the names, but you didn’t need to. Whoever was on the other end was laughing too. Your grandmother kept nodding along, with soft mm-hmms and delighted sighs.

“I know. I couldn’t believe it either.” She glanced at the two of you, eyes shining. “They’re here with me right now.”

Vernon didn’t move. His hand was still resting near yours on the table, close enough but not quite touching. He looked composed, if a little too still, like he’d decided that reacting would only make things worse.

Your grandmother laughed again. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. Of course it makes sense. Haven’t you always said fate has terrible timing?”

She listened for a moment, then hummed approvingly. “Yes. I’ll tell them.”

She ended the call with a satisfied tap of her finger against the screen and set her phone down carefully, as if savoring the moment. “There,” she said, pleased. “They are over the moon.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose. “Grandma—”

“You never even told them that you were seeing someone, Vernon,” she added. “They’re insisting on dinner soon. All of us.”

“That might be difficult,” he said carefully. “With work and—”

“Oh, nonsense,” she interrupted. “You’ll make time. You always do for family.”

She smiled at you then, softer and fonder. “And you,” she said, “I’m gonna excuse the fact that you kept this a secret from me.”

You pressed your lips together, offering something that might have passed for a smile.

Across the table, your grandmother reached for her glass, perfectly satisfied. Beside you, Vernon shifted just enough that his knee brushed yours under the table. Neither of you commented on it. But you both understood the same thing at the exact same time.

This had officially gone too far to undo politely.

By the time you finally parted with your grandmother outside the restaurant, you were exhausted. Not the kind of tired you felt after negotiations or long meetings, but the slow, creeping kind that sank into your bones and stayed there.

You slid into the backseat as soon as Vernon opened the door for you, barely waiting for it to close before sinking back against the leather. The city lights blurred past the windows as the car pulled away from the curb.

“That,” you said, staring at the ceiling, “went so wrong so fast.”

Vernon huffed a small laugh from the driver’s seat. “That’s one way to put it.”

You dragged a hand down your face. “I just wanted Carlo to leave me alone. I didn’t plan on my grandmother calling half the city to announce my engagement.”

“She seemed… enthusiastic.”

“Oh, trust me. That was her being restrained,” you muttered. You straightened slightly, folding your arms. “You’ve been with me long enough to know how she takes my love life very, very seriously.”

The car stopped at a red light. Vernon glanced at you through the rearview mirror. “You could let her have it for a few days,” he said casually. “Then tell her it didn’t work out. People break up all the time. We haven’t been dating long anyway. It’ll be believable.”

You sighed, nodding. “That’s the plan.”

The light turned green, and he eased back into traffic. You watched the city slide past again, your reflection faint in the glass.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a moment. “For dragging you into this. For the phone call with your folks. For—” You waved a hand vaguely. “All of it.”

Vernon shrugged, eyes on the road. “It’s fine.”

You looked at him. “You don’t have to say that.”

“No really,” he replied. “I don’t mind. I’ll just consider it part of the job.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’d hate the job if I were you.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Well,” he said, “it’s not the strangest thing I’ve been dragged into for work.”

You snorted despite yourself. The car slowed in front of your apartment building. Vernon parked and turned the engine off. You stepped out of the car, the night air cool against your skin. Behind you, Vernon followed, just another assistant at your side.

That was all it was supposed to be.

“See you in the morning, boss,” he said, handing you your bag as you both stopped in front of the elevator.

You nodded. “See you in the morning, Secretary Chwe.”

He nodded back, then stepped closer—so suddenly that you barely had time to register it before he was right there, warmth and presence crowding your space. 

You froze, surprised by the proximity. For a split-second your mind was racing to process so many things at once—the closeness, the clean scent of his cologne, his steady breathing, and the way you’d been holding yours without realizing it.

Then his arm lifted past your shoulder. The elevator button clicked softly behind you.

“Oh,” you breathed, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

Vernon pulled back, his expression unreadable for a second, before his mouth curved into a smile—one that made you pause. You’d seen that smile every day for the last few weeks, but this was the first time you’d found yourself completely disarmed by it.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open, and air rushed back into your lungs like you’d been underwater. You looked away first, stepping inside without a word. 

Vernon remained outside, one hand lifting in a wave. “Good night,” he said.

The doors closed between you, sealing him out, and the last thing you saw was that damn smile.

The very next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone ringing on the nightstand. You squinted at the screen. Grandma.

“Oh my god, what now?” you grumbled, sitting up before answering. “Good morning,” you croaked, rubbing your eyes.

“Pack your bags,” she said immediately, skipping any niceties. “We’re going away for the holidays.”

“It’s still two weeks before Christmas, Grandmama.”

“Oh, honey,” she gushed. “We’ll be spending the holidays with Vernon’s family.”

You straightened up, swiping at the alarm that had somehow joined the chaos. “Excuse me?”

“Yes. For a week. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“A WEEK?!” you echoed loudly, standing up on your bed now, clutching a fistful of your hair. “Grandma, what do you mean a week? What… Where—WITH WHOM?”

“Okay, young lady. Calm down. I can’t understand you when you’re rambling like this.”

“Grandma, I can’t—I have work. There’s the holiday promos, the rush, meetings and deals. I literally can’t even disappear for a day, let alone a whole week.”

“You have competent employees for that. I’m sure they can handle it,” she said casually. “Besides, I checked your calendar and you don’t have anything major that requires your immediate attention. Surely you can pause your micromanaging for a few days?”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, offended. “I don’t micromanage—ugh. Not the point,” you muttered, more to yourself.

You took a deep breath and sat back on the bed. “Listen, Grandma. I haven’t met his family yet. I haven’t even been introduced as his girlfriend yet. I can’t just show up as his fiancee out of nowhere.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said, waving the thought away like dust. “But this is exactly the right moment. It’s the holidays.”

You paused, genuinely bewildered. “How did this even happen?”

“Oh, my dear, this wasn’t my idea,” she replied, her voice lighting up. “Vernon’s grandmother insisted.”

You let out a long, shaky breath. “Grandma—”

“Pack your bags,” she said cheerfully. “Don’t argue with me. I’ve already told them you’re coming and I already took care of everything.”

Now here you were, sitting in your office, heels tapping impatiently on the marble floor, fingers drumming against the wood of your desk. Every five seconds, you checked the clock, willing Vernon to appear.

Finally, the office door slid open, and there he was, smiling so calmly like things hadn’t blown out of proportion already. “Oh, there you are!” You exhaled sharply. “I need you to act as my fiancée. Again.”

His brows furrowed, confused. “Why?”

“Surely your family’s told you by now that I am to spend the holidays with you?” you snapped, exasperation leaking into your tone.

He shrugged. “I’ve been told. But… you don’t have to. I can get you out of it if you really hate the idea.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “I don’t like the idea. But you know as well as I do that dissuading my grandmother is impossible.”

He chuckled lightly. “You’ve never let anyone tell you what to do.”

You snorted, leaning forward. “I’ll have you know that my grandmother can—and will—tell me what to do. Ghosting blind dates is a walk in the park, but things like this? Yeah. No way.”

Vernon hummed in acknowledgment. “She does seem like the formidable type.”

There was a moment of silence between you, one so comical you could hear the crickets in your head. “So?” you prompted. “Will you do it, or not?”

Vernon just shrugged, eyes still playful. “Do I get a raise?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated, but also relieved. “I’ll even make you a regular while I’m at it, Intern Chwe.”

Being the meticulous person you were, you drafted a contract days before the trip. Not a legal one, of course, but a set of rules you and Vernon both agreed to follow while pretending to be engaged. You and Vernon made it together and agreed to both of your conditions, especially involving physical intimacy.

You made a point to make sure holding hands and displays of affection were strictly in front of the family only. And of course no hugging unless absolutely necessary. There were clauses about sticking to an agreed context and backstory, and never answering major or intrusive questions without the other.

“How do you feel about sharing a bedroom?” he asked.

“Do we have to? Can’t I get my own guest room?”

Vernon shook his head. “You clearly don’t know my family at all. An engaged couple staying in separate bedrooms? They’re gonna be suspicious.”

That made sense. “Alright. But I’m taking the bed. You can have the couch. Or the floor. Whatever works.”

“Come on,” he said, mock-protesting. “It’s my house. I should get the bed.”

“And I’m your boss,” you countered. “Rule number five will be, I always win.”

“Now you’re just power tripping.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Fifth clause. Very important.”

Vernon raised an eyebrow at said clause about ‘no kissing or hugging’. “Exceptions?” he asked casually. “Christmas games, dances, mistletoe… maybe a moment of festive goodwill?”

“Absolutely not,” you said firmly. “Exceptions are only if the world is literally ending. Or someone dies. Or—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were overexplaining. “Just don’t ask for exceptions.”

Vernon nodded, taking that in stride. “But the situation could call for a hug, you know?”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just not.”

“Fine. But I’m telling you, my family will notice.”

“Just what kind of family do you have?”

Apparently, the kind who were affectionate and close, and took Christmas very seriously.

Days later, you boarded a plane with your grandmother practically vibrating with excitement beside you. She chatted the entire time—about the food, about the weather, about how nice it was that you were finally dating and thinking of marriage—while you nodded along, occasionally exchanging looks with Vernon over the divider between your seats. Thankfully, first class gave you just enough privacy that you didn’t have to perform more than absolutely necessary.

When you landed, the cold winter air hit you first, stinging your cheek. You’d barely stepped outside the terminal when a pickup truck rolled to a stop in front of you, horn honking cheerfully.

A jolly older man hopped out, grinning wide. “You must be exhausted,” he said warmly, eyes immediately landing on your grandmother. “It’s been too long.”

Her face lit up in a way you didn’t see very often these days. “Look at you,” she said, holding his arm affectionately. “All grown up.”

They hugged like no time had passed at all. Behind you, Vernon carefully placed a coat over your shoulder, its warmth engulfing you almost immediately. Then he leaned in slightly, one hand still on your shoulder. “That’s my uncle.”

Vernon introduced you and you offered a hand for a shake. “Lovely to meet you.”

The entire drive into town was filled with laughter and reminiscing, stories bouncing back and forth like they’d only seen each other yesterday instead of decades ago. Apparently, his uncle had spent a good portion of his childhood around your grandmother, running around while the adults talked business and dreams and things far too big for children to understand.

You watched your grandmother from the backseat, her smile so soft and sweet, and felt something warm settle in your chest.

“Just how long have you known this family?” you asked her, half-teasing.

Vernon’s uncle laughed before she could answer. “Oh, longer than me,” he said easily. “Her and my Ma go way back. Back when I wasn’t even born yet.”

She nodded fondly. “We were already friends when we both had nothing,” she said. “We used to talk about what we’d do one day, when life finally got easier. Now, we have money. But we’re both too busy to see each other.”

You hummed, thoughtful, eyes drifting out the window. A moment later, curiosity got the better of you. You turned slightly toward Vernon. “I don’t think you’ve told me what your family does?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Merchandising.”

That was vague. You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could press further, his uncle laughed and pointed ahead, where a tall building rose proudly in the middle of the city square. It stretched for blocks, glass gleaming even under the sky.

“That,” he said, clearly pleased, “is what my dear mother—Vernon’s grandma—built from the ground up.”

Your breath caught. It was a shopping mall. Not just any mall, either. You recognized the name immediately. You’d seen more than a few of them back home, even had business with them!

Slowly, you turned to look at Vernon, scanning him from head to toe like you were seeing him for the first time.

He noticed. “What?”

“Merchandising?” you said flatly.

He shrugged again, entirely unapologetic. You leaned back in your seat, stunned, eyes flicking back to the building as it disappeared behind you.

Great. Of course you’d accidentally gotten fake-engaged into another powerful family.

When the truck finally came to a stop, you stepped down onto solid ground and immediately turned to Vernon, catching him by the sleeve before he could move too far ahead.

“Wait,” you said under your breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you were rich?”

He blinked, genuinely taken aback. “What?”

“That mall,” you said flatly. “The one your family runs. You don’t just forget to mention that, not when you know we’re retail partners with them.”

Vernon huffed a laugh. “You never asked. And besides, I’m not rich. My family is.”

You stared at him. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” he said mildly. “Just not one you like.”

You scoffed, lowering your voice even further. “Then why are you working as an intern? In my company. For—” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “minimum pay and maximum suffering?”

His mouth opened, like he was about to say something but his uncle’s voice came booming from a few steps away. “Vernon!”

He looked over his shoulder. “Coming,” he replied easily, then glanced back at you. “Come on.”

You followed them down the pier, heels clicking against weathered wood as the sea air wrapped around you. Only when you reached the edge did you finally understand why everyone had stopped.

A sailboat waited at the dock, white and pristine, bobbing gently against the water. You slowed to a stop. “Why are we getting on a boat?”

Vernon glanced at the sailboat, then back at you, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “My family thinks we’re better than everyone else,” he said, “so they bought a whole island and decided to live far away from the commoners.”

You stopped walking altogether. “I’m sorry—what?”

His uncle let out a bark of laughter, clapping a hand on Vernon’s shoulder. “That’s not true at all,” he said. “We didn’t move there. It’s just for family gatherings. Holidays. Reunions. That sort of thing.”

“And no, we don’t own the whole island,” his uncle added, looking out into the horizon, one hand on his hip. “Only half of it.”

Like that made it less unreasonable.

You’d spent years thinking your grandmother was extravagant—buying properties she rarely stayed in, collecting things simply because she could. But apparently, somewhere two thousand miles away, another woman had been doing the exact same thing.

No wonder they’re friends.

Vernon hovered beside you now, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence without looking at him. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

You opened your eyes. “I’m fine.”

He smiled at that, then held a hand out toward you. You hesitated for half a second, narrowing your eyes at him, then just as quickly, remembered the whole happily in love act had officially begun. So you took his hand and let him help you aboard the boat. 

You had a feeling this week is going to be a lot harder than you’d anticipated.

The ride out to the island was mercifully short. The boat cut smoothly across the water, cold wind biting at your cheeks until your eyes watered. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, breath fogging faintly in front of you.

Someone was already waiting there. A girl stood at the edge of the dock, bundled in a thick coat and scarf, waving with both arms like she didn’t feel the cold at all.

“That’s my sister,” Vernon said beside you. “Sofia.”

The moment your feet hit the dock, Sofia made a beeline for him, throwing her arms around his neck without hesitation. “You’re alive,” she said dramatically. “I was starting to think you’d fallen off the face of the earth.”

Vernon laughed, hugging her back. “You facetimed me three days ago.”

“Three days is a long time,” she shot back, then said something else under her breath that made him groan and flick her forehead lightly. You didn’t catch the words, but the sight of their teasing and laughter made your chest feel oddly warm.

Then Vernon turned slightly and gestured toward you. “This is—” He paused for half a second, then continued smoothly. “My girlfriend.”

Sofia’s eyes snapped to you, sharp and curious, then widened with unmistakable delight. “Girlfriend,” she said slowly, grinning mischievously. “That’s not what I heard,” she added in a sing-song.

Vernon sighed. “Please be normal. Don’t embarrass me.”

“Welcome,” Sofia said cheerfully, offering a hug which you returned awkwardly. Then she pulled back just enough to study your face. “Wow. You’re very pretty. Why would you wanna marry that guy?”

“Alright,” Vernon interjected, tugging Sofia  from behind by her jacket collar. “That’s enough. Go away.”

“What? I think she’s too good for you.” She turned to you. “You sure you don’t wanna change your mind?”

“Stop,” he chided softly, chuckling, “Don’t discourage her. She might just change her mind. Nothing’s decided yet.”

“Oh, what nonsense.”

The voice came from behind Sofia—calm, amused, unmistakably unimpressed. A woman stepped forward, elegant in every sense of the word, eyes narrowing playfully as she looked Vernon over.

“You left a perfectly good position in the family business saying you wanted to fend for yourself,” she continued, “and now you come home with a fiancée?” Her lips curved into a smile. “You didn’t even wait a year before crawling back.”

You were taken aback, instinctively scooting closer to Vernon after what you heard. In your mind, you were wondering who this was and why she seemed to dislike him.

But beside you, Vernon merely sighed, shook his head in exasperation, and told you, “This is my mom.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off-guard. Then it immediately clicked that this might be how they normally talked to each other, and all in good fun, you assumed.

His mother didn’t give you much time to dwell on it. Her attention shifted to you immediately, her expression softening as she stepped closer and pulled you into a hug before you could react.

“Oh,” you exclaimed. Behind her, you mouthed to Vernon, ’Is this normal?’

He just shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. “Welcome,” she said warmly. “We’re so happy you’re here.”

You laughed softly, a little breathless, returning the hug despite the nerves curling in your stomach. And then everything moved at once.

You were ushered forward, names thrown at you faster than you could catch them—aunts, cousins, someone’s partner, someone else’s child—smiles and greetings blurring together as you were guided further into the property. The words ‘Vernon’s fiancee’ kept echoing in your ears, and you felt a little lightheaded as you realized that lie felt bigger by the second, ballooning with every new face and every fond look directed your way.

Warm air hit you the moment you stepped inside the house, carrying the smell of food and something sweet. It was massive, but you barely had time to take it in before you heard someone call out your grandmother’s nickname.

“Oh my goodness,” a voice exclaimed, followed by hurried footsteps.

An elderly woman appeared with her arms already open, and your grandmother’s face lit up like a sunrise. They met in the middle of the room, hugging tightly, laughing, talking over each other all at once.

You watched them fondly, feeling warm all over and knowing it wasn’t because of the central heating. Then the noise swelled again around you, and you were being pulled into a hug by Vernon’s grandmother who had affectionately asked you to call her ‘Nana’.

Eventually—somehow—you and Vernon finally escaped everybody’s attention and you found yourself trailing behind him aas he led you down a quieter hallway. You passed through wide corridors, went up several flights of staircases, before he finally stopped in front of a wooden door that looked like every other one in the hall.

“Come on in,” he said, pushing the door open and letting you step inside first.

The room was spacious, sunlight spilling through tall windowsr. A queen-sized bed sat at the center, dressed in crisp white linens under fluffy navy blue duvets. A thick rug covered the hardwood floor, and a small writing desk sat neatly in the corner. A fireplace along one wall had a few framed family photos on its mantle. There was also a couch just in front of the fireplace, and you noticed a subtle scent of pine and cinnamon lingering faintly in the room.

“How big is your family?” you asked, your gaze drifting around, taking in the comfort and scale of the space.

“Not very,” he said, hauling the last of your luggage over to the corner and setting it down with ease. “Nana has five kids, all married with kids. And most of my older cousins are married too, so I’ve got eight nieces and nephews.”

“Wow. Are there like, thirty of you?”

“Almost thirty,” he said, shrugging, a small smile tugging at his lips. “If everyone comes home for the holidays this year, you’re looking at twenty-eight Chwes under one roof.”

“That’s a lot of people,” you murmured, scanning the room.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Well, my dad was an only child who had only one kid,” you replied, leaning slightly against the desk. “So, no aunts and uncles for me. No horde of cousins either.”

Vernon glanced at you from the doorway, tilting his head slightly. “Right, why didn’t your parents come here with you? I assume they’re thrilled that their only child is engaged.”

You froze, realizing in that moment that you’d never actually told him your parents had passed. Before you could answer, a sharp knock came at the door, swinging open just as quickly without really waiting for anyone to respond.

“Hello! I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” a warm, lively voice called out. Vernon’s mother stepped inside, carrying a tray laden with small snacks and a thermos of tea.

“No. We were just settling in,” you answered, trying to sound normal.

“I figured you’d be hungry after that long journey,” she said brightly, setting the tray down. She turned her gaze on you, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “How are you feeling? You’ve traveled so far! Are you comfortable? Did you eat enough on the plane? Oh, do you like sweets?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, blinking at the rapid-fire questions, completely overwhelmed.

“Oh, and I’m so sorry about the chaos,” she said, smiling as she poured tea into the teacup. “Our family tends to overreact. Especially with Vernon being the only man in the family who hasn’t married yet. Everyone’s just excited to meet you.”

You felt a genuine warmth spread through your chest. “Thank you,” you said softly, taking a small step closer to accept the cup she was offering.

“And how is my son? Is he good to you? Does he treat you well?”

“Oh, he’s… wonderful. He takes care of everything for me,” you replied, and in a way, what you said was true.

“As he should,” she chimed, looking proud. “He must have been really good to you for you to decide to get married shortly after dating. OH!” She exclaimed, practically jumping in her seat. “You haven’t shown us your engagement ring yet!”

You froze, eyes flitting to Vernon across the room. He too looked surprised. You were both realizing in real-time that you had forgotten one, if not the most important thing about this whole engagement thing.

The damn ring!

“Is this it?” his mother asked, reaching for your hand where your default favorite ring to wear wrapped daintily on your finger.

You glanced sideways at Vernon, your expression screaming Help me.

“Alright, Mom, we’re tired. We need some rest. Please give us some space,” said Vernon, walking over and gently tugging her mom away from you.

“Oh, fine,” she said, still beaming as her son dragged her all the way out of the door. “But you need to tell me everything later!”

“Okay, bye-bye,” Vernon said before closing the door to her face.

The silence that followed was like a breath of fresh air. You slumped onto the couch, exhaling a long, tired breath. “I can’t believe you forgot about the ring.”

“Nah, I think that’s on you,” he said casually, sitting on the edge of the bed. “This whole thing was your idea. You should have known getting engaged includes getting a ring.”

“Are you saying you didn’t know that?”

Vernon paused, head tilting, deep in thought. You sighed and waved a hand dismissively. “Forget it. Where’s the contract? Let’s go over it one more time.”

Vernon laid it out on the desk and went through the rules you’d carefully set up—holding hands only in front of family, no hugging, no kissing, agreed backstory, a clear understanding of what questions could be answered and which ones required a unanimous decision, and most importantly, telling everyone after the holidays that things didn’t work out and you had to break up.

You came to the clause about the bed, and after a short discussion, agreed to alternate each night between the bed and the couch. 

“Alright, get some rest,” he said after, standing up and walking toward the door. “maybe a shower if you’d like.”

You raised a hand. “Wait, where are you going? You’re not allowed to leave me alone. It’s in the contract. Rule number eight.”

His brows furrowed. “You okay about me being in the room while you shower and get dressed?”

Your cheeks heat up instantly. “Okay. You can go,” you said calmly.

He chuckled softly, hands in his pockets, turning to the door again. “I’ll just check out the field, see what’s there to expect. Don’t worry. I won’t be long,” he beamed, giving a small wave before closing the door.

By the end of that night, the engagement ring situation had been settled. You’d stared down at the ring already on your finger and said, “We can just say this is it.”

Vernon had squinted at it, thoughtful. “It doesn’t look like an engagement ring.”

You lifted your chin. “It does. The rock is a diamond. Just smaller than what engagement rings usually have. Do you have a better idea?” you shot back.

He didn’t. So that was that. The ring was promoted on the spot, its significance upgraded without its consent, and you both agreed never to question it again unless absolutely necessary. Preferably never.

And then the week began and nothing could have prepared you for what the holidays looked like in his family.

It was loud. Doors were always opening, someone was always calling out from another room, laughter echoing down hallways. There were meals that turned into three-hour affairs, dishes clattering, voices overlapping, debates breaking out over the most insignificant things. Someone was always touching someone else—an arm around a shoulder, fingers laced together, hair ruffled in passing. Affection here wasn’t saved for special moments. It was everywhere.

It was nothing like the holidays you knew.

Christmas, to you, had always been quiet. A peaceful dinner with your grandmother. Soft music playing in the background. Catching up, exchanging gifts, sitting side by side on the couch with wine glasses until you both got sleepy and called it a night.

Here, Christmas started days early and showed no signs of slowing down.

You were fed constantly. Asked questions constantly. Complimented, hugged, pulled into conversations you barely understood, handed drinks you didn’t ask for. At some point, someone insisted you had to try a dessert because it was “Vernon’s favorite growing up,” and suddenly he was there beside you, watching your reaction.

That was another problem entirely. Vernon was a little too good at this.

He held your hand casually, like it was second nature. Thumb brushing over your knuckles without thinking. He leaned in when people spoke to you, an arm slipping around your waist like muscle memory. He remembered to pull out your chair, to pass you food first, to check if you were cold before grabbing you a sweater.

None of it felt forced. If anything, you were the awkward one. “How are you so good at this?”

He glanced at you, amused. “Good at what?”

“This,” you said vaguely, gesturing between the two of you. “The loving boyfriend thing. It’s weird!”

His mouth twitched. “Would you rather I be awkward and obvious like you?”

You scoffed. “I am not obvious.”

“You flinch every time I touch you.”

“That’s because you don’t give me a heads up,” you hissed.

He just smiled, infuriatingly smug, and reached for your hand again as someone walked past. “Real couples don’t need a heads up for something like this,” he said, lifting your joined hands, then pressing a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“What are you doing?” you deadpanned, but the smile on his lips remained.

“Nana and your grandma are looking right at us,” he said.

You turned your head to said direction, and found that they were, in fact, not looking. You scoffed, pulled your hand back and glared at him. “I’m docking your pay for this month.”

“You really think I need it?” he asked smugly, spreading his arms in a grand gesture.

You grimaced, taken aback by an arrogance you’d never seen in him before. “Stop. It’s your family’s, not yours.”

“Well, I’m part of this family, so…” he replied, shrugging arrogantly. You snorted, rolling your eyes but not denying your laugh.

Vernon has always been popular in your company. You noticed that much after weeks of having him beside you everyday. People were always ogling him, heads turned whenever he passed by, followed by giggles and dreamy sighs. It was different from when it was just you. Most of the time, people tried to avoid eye contact with you and turned the other way when they saw you coming.

Of course you knew why he was popular—it has all to do with his good-looks. You tried, but you could never deny that his appearance was, in fact, out of this world. Not to mention he’s tall, has good genes, and is intelligent. But other than that, there wasn’t much you could say about him as a person. You didn’t really know what he was like outside of work, after all. You never paid him that much attention unless he was giving you a rundown of the day’s agenda.

But here, in his home, surrounded by his family, you started noticing him more—not as your assistant, not even as your fake fiancée—but as someone in his own world. You saw the way he laughed freely here, all toothy and loud. The way he let his nieces climb all over him, how he listened when his grandmother spoke, how his mother scolded him and kissed his cheek in the same breath.

He was warm here. Soft and gentle in a way you’d never seen at work. And he was always close to you. His hand would find the small of your back in crowded rooms. He’d tuck you in beside him on couches, offer you food before himself, glance at you like he was checking if you were still okay. Sometimes you caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking, his eyes gentle and unreadable.

You told yourself it was part of the act. But as the days passed, surrounded by noise and laughter and far too much affection, you started feeling like you were the one pretending the hardest.

“You ready?” he asked on the morning of the 23rd.

You’d just finished touching up your makeup. “Yes.”

“Okay good. Let’s go. Everyone’s waiting.”

You hesitated, retracting your hand when he reached for it. Vernon looked at you like he was over it. “Well? Come on then.”

“It’s just…” you huffed, gesturing vaguely. “It’s a family pictorial. I’m not exactly… family.”

Vernon chuckled, reaching for your hand again. “We’ve talked about this. It’s not that deep.”

Except it was. You couldn’t fathom how Vernon could be so calm about this whole thing. Not just the family pictorial, but the whole sham of an engagement you two were in. 

“I can hear you thinking. Stop that,” he prompted, tugging you by the hand, all the way out of the bedroom.

The house was full. Not metaphorically—literally full. Every bedroom was occupied, couches were claimed, extra chairs pulled out from storage, voices overlapping in every corner of the house. The entire family had arrived, cousins and partners and children. You’d naturally been absorbed into it, everyone’s basically been treating you like family.

They had a tradition, apparently. A family photo every Christmas. Same spot, same arrangement, different years. It was said to always happen every morning of the 23rd, two days before Christmas. And everyone took it seriously, dressing up with intent and looking their best.

“You can’t not join,” Vernon reminded you, steering you toward the center of the room. “That’d be weird. Am I supposed to tell everyone, ‘this is a fake engagement so she’s skipping out’?”

You lowered your voice as people shuffled around you, calling names, arguing about height order. “That’s the thing. This is fake and temporary, but the photo we’re taking is gonna live forever in your family albums. Immortalized and revisited every year.”

He laughed softly, like it hadn’t even occurred to him that this could be a problem. “If you really feel that bad about it,” he said, shrugging, “you could always marry me for real. Clear your conscience.”

You gave him a deadpan look. He simply grinned, completely unrepentant, then gently nudged you forward as someone called his name again. 

By then, it was too late to back out. You let yourself be placed beside him, his arm slipping easily around your back like it belonged there.

The camera flashed.And just like that, this Christmas was immortalized as the year Vernon brought home a girl. If you didn’t get caught in the lie, then it would be the year he brought home a fiancée and things didn’t work out. If you did get caught, then it would still be the year he brought home a fiancée, but a fake one.Either way. It would be humiliating for him.

You thought that would be the end of it. But later, after breakfast, when the living room had devolved into noise and laughter and people sprawled across every available surface, Sofia pulled out a Polaroid camera.

“Oh, we’re doing couples,” she announced. “This is non-negotiable.”

Groans followed, and some cheers. You felt Vernon’s hand find yours before you’d even fully processed what was happening, his fingers lacing with yours like muscle memory.

“You weren’t kidding,” you muttered under your breath. “Your family really does love each other.”

“You love us too,” he murmured back, grinning.

“I’ve known you people for a week,” you retorted, scoffing. But then, looking around, you added, “But yeah. You guys are cool.”

You were herded onto the couch together, shoulders pressed close. Sofia crouched in front of you, aiming the camera. She looked into the camera, then at the two of you, brows furrowed.

“Are you guys really dating?” she asked, and you felt your heart drop to the floor. For a second, you wondered if you got caught, but then she added, “Scoot closer. This isn’t the 1800s.”

You chuckled and it came out strained. Vernon’s arm snaked around your waist, making you stiffen and glance at him. He gave it a gentle squeeze, urging you to relax. So you tried.

“Kiss!” someone shouted from behind, followed by a chorus of hoots and whistles.

“That’s enough,” Vernon said lightly, but firmly. “You’re not getting a show.”

There were groans. Booing. Someone yelled that he was no fun. He just shrugged like none of it bothered him.

“Smile!” Sofia prompted.

You smiled without thinking. Then the camera clicked, and the photo slid out with a soft whirr.

Vernon didn’t move right away. Neither did you. When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you. You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, eyes gleaming, a smile playing on his lips. You stared back, brows furrowing, confused at the attention he was giving you.

You waited a second. Then another. The smile on his lips didn’t change, it just stayed there, sweet and knowing, like he was in on something you weren’t.

Heat crept up your neck. You shifted slightly on the couch, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting, of his arm still resting behind you. “Why are you staring at me?”

He hummed softly, like he was thinking about it. But he still didn’t answer. So you stopped looking away. If he was going to stare, then fine. You could stare too.

But that was a bad idea. The noise around you slowly faded while you held his gaze, your heart thudding louder and louder with every passing second. His expression changed then, and you couldn’t tell what it meant. It was something between amusement and surprise.

Click!

You both broke at the sound, turning toward his sister.

“Oh,” Sofia said, already sprinting toward the tree just across the room. “This one’s going on the tree!”

Everyone eventually drifted off to do their own thing. The kids bundled themselves up and tore out into the snow, their shrieks of laughter muffled by scarves and knit hats. You stayed inside, lounging on one of the couches near the wide living room windows, a warm mug cradled between your palms as you watched them tumble and recover and tumble again.

Nana sat beside you with a knitted blanket over her lap, while your grandma sat across from you, glasses perched low on her nose.

“They used to do that too,” your grandma said fondly, nodding toward the window. “Run around like little monsters until we had to drag them back inside.”

You smiled. “Who?”

“Your father,” Nana replied with a smile. “And my kids. Every summer, without fail. They’d come stay here for weeks. This place was a rental at the time. We didn’t have enough money yet to purchase it.”

Your attention sharpened. You hadn’t heard much about that time—just fragments, half-remembered anecdotes your grandmother would mention in passing.

“Oh yes,” your grandmother chimed in. “We saved up a few months of salary just to rent this out for summer,” she added, laughing heartily.

Nana nodded, looking outside. “They were inseparable. Always muddy, always hungry. Your father was so polite, though. Even as a boy.”

Grandma chuckled. “Polite until he got comfortable.”

You laughed softly, the sound surprising you. “That sounds like him.”

“They were happy summers,” Nana continued, her voice warm with memory. “Those were good days. This place witnessed those kids grow up. Your mom and dad got engaged here.”

The room fell into a gentle hush, that subtle heaviness creeping in. You knew it all too well. It always happened whenever your parents were brought into the conversation. Nana reached out and patted your knee, her touch gentle and affectionate.

“You must miss them very much,” she said softly.

You swallowed, then nodded. “I do. But it’s okay. Really.” You managed a small smile. “I was young. I barely remember some things.”

That wasn’t entirely true—but it was the version you’d learned to give people, the one that made them stop looking at you like you might shatter.

Nana studied you for a moment, eyes kind but knowing. “Still,” she said, “we’re glad you’re here. You’re family too, you know.”

You blinked, throat tightening unexpectedly. “Thank you,” you said, meaning it more than you could explain.

Then, as if sensing the mood had sunk too low, your grandma straightened a little and clapped her hands together lightly. “Well! Speaking of family,” she said brightly, “have you two thought about where you’ll get married?”

“I—what?” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” your grandma laughed. “This is not an unexpected subject.”

You chuckled awkwardly. “No. No, it’s not. I just—we… Vernon and I haven’t discussed it yet.”

“But you’re gonna get married anyway, aren’t you?” Nana asked, placing a hand on your arm. “Why wait? You could do it here. After Christmas. The snow would be beautiful.”

“Oh, I love winter weddings,” your grandma gushed.

“I do too!” Nana agreed, also gushing. “My youngest had one and it was majestic!”

Your mind scrambled, panic blooming fast. After Christmas? Here? You could practically feel the lie ballooning again, threatening to burst.

“I think that might be a little—” you started, glancing desperately around the room, looking for Vernon.

“Oh, of course we’ll leave that up to you two,” said Nana, giggling. “But think about it and let us know. I know a good organizer who can give us an amazing event in short notice.”

Right on cue, the front door opened. Cold air rushed in along with laughter, Vernon’s uncle stomping snow off his boots as Vernon followed behind him, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Perfect conditions out there,” his uncle announced cheerfully. “Snow uphill is just right. We can go sledding today!”

The kids immediately erupted, cheers echoing through the house. Vernon’s gaze flicked to you, taking you in—your posture, your pallid face and horrified expression—and quickly understood that you needed him.

“Hello, ladies,” he greeted, kissing his Nana on the cheek and your grandma too. “I hope you’re not bullying my fiancee.”

They both chuckled, waving their hands. “Oh, we’re just talking,” Nana said, smiling. 

Vernon turned to you. “Wanna go sledding?”

“Yes,” you exclaimed with enthusiasm, not because you wanted to go but because you couldn’t wait to get out of there. “I love sledding.”

“Then we should go before they destroy the hill,” he smiled, offering a hand.

Nana laughed, waving a hand. “Go on, go. We’ll talk weddings later.”

You nearly tripped over your own feet standing up. Vernon fell into step beside you as you walked toward the main door, leaning in just enough to murmur, “You okay?”

“Pretty sure I was this close to spontaneously combusting,” you whispered back. “But yeah. I’m okay.”

Outside, the cold bit through your coat immediately. The sky was pale and endless, the snow untouched and glittering. Laughter was echoing from the hill as kids dragged sleds uphill.

Vernon handed you a pair of gloves without comment. You took them automatically, slipping them on. “Our grandmas suggested we get married here, just after Christmas. Apparently they both love winter weddings.”

“Oh, wow. What did you say to that?” he asked, walking over to fix your bonnet.

You scoffed, then rolled your eyes, letting him tie the laces of your bonnet under your chin. “What do you think? Couldn’t even get a word in. They were taking a mile a minute.”

He chuckled softly, patting your head after he was done with the laces. “Don’t mind them. Ultimately, the decision would be up to us. They can’t force us to do anything.”

You hummed to that, agreeing. Then you looked up at his hand, still sitting on your head. “You’re getting comfortable, Secretary Chwe.”

He grinned, defiant, not moving his hand away as he leaned down to say, “Except I’m not Secretary Chwe right now. I’m your baby.”

You grimaced, swatting his hand away. “Ew. As if.”

“Ah, it wasn’t ‘baby’. What was it, again?” he teased, walking backward. “My love, was it?”

You scowled, running after him to hit him. But he dodged easily. “You’re so annoying. I’m firing you first thing when we get back.”

“No, you won’t,” he grinned, holding out a hand. “You’re not gonna find a secretary who can do better than me.”

You scoffed, but you knew he was right. “Only for now,” you retorted. “As soon as Becca’s back, you’re out,” you added, then took his hand and followed him into the snow.

Sledding, apparently, was a two-person activity. You found that out only after everyone had already scattered across the hill, pairs forming naturally.

“Oh, I’m good,” you said quickly, hanging back near the fence. “I’ll just… watch.”

Vernon turned toward you, breath fogging in the cold. “You don’t wanna try?”

“I’m perfectly content being moral support,” you replied, hands tucked into your coat sleeves. “Very enthusiastic moral support.”

“Come on. It’s fun. You’re gonna love it,” he offered, smiling. Then he held a hand out to you, palm up.

“C’mon,” he said again. “One ride.”

You hesitated. You really did. You even glanced back toward the house, like the contract might physically manifest and slap his hand away for you. But then he tilted his head slightly, arm still extended, that stupid smile on his lips, and you sighed.

“Fine,” you muttered, stepping forward. “But hands around me is against the rules.”

He lifted a brow. “We’re sledding. I have to hold you.”

You considered that for a second, then nodded. “Alright. Compromise.”

You followed him, letting him guide you toward one of the sleds waiting at the top of the hill. The snow was packed down from use. You sat down first, legs tucked in, bracing yourself.

Vernon climbed on behind you and you stiffened immediately as his knees bracketed your hips, your back pressing flush against his chest through layers of winter coats.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice too close to your ear that it made the hair on your neck rise.

“I am relaxed,” you blurted, which was a blatant lie.

His hands hovered for a second, like he was giving you time to object. When you didn’t, he placed them carefully at your sides instead of fully around you, fingers gripping the edge of the sled.

“See?” he whispered in your ear, and you felt that in the way your heart started racing. “No rules broken.”

Your heart was already pounding like you were halfway down the hill. “Just… don’t move them,” you warned.

“I won’t.”

The sled jerked forward. Snow rushed past in a blur as gravity took over, the world tilting, the cold air biting at your cheeks. You gasped, half-laughing, half-panicking as the speed picked up.

Behind you, Vernon laughed too, his breath warm where it brushed your ear. The sled hit a small bump, and you jolted back instinctively. His arm tightened at your side—not wrapping, but close enough that you felt it anyway.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah!” you replied, grinning so hard as the wind whipped against your face.

When the sled finally slowed at the bottom of the hill, snow spraying up around you, you were both still laughing, breathless, a little unsteady.

Then the laughter faded. You looked up at him at the same time he looked down at you, and suddenly the space between your faces felt too small. Small enough that you could feel his warm breath against your cheek.

You blinked a few times, surprised and frozen in place. Vernon’s gaze dropped to your mouth, just for a second. When it lifted again, he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing once. Seeing that and the intent in his eyes made your heart kick painfully against your ribs, like it was trying to escape.

Laughter and cheering exploded behind you as another sled barreled to a stop nearby.

You moved instantly, standing too fast, stepping away before your body could do something stupid. Cold air rushed back in like a shock as you brushed snow from your coat, cheeks burning despite the winter air.

Vernon cleared his throat. “That was fun,” he said, smiling like nothing happened.

You swallowed, looking away. “Yeah.”

Behind you, you could feel his gaze linger. You told yourself it was just adrenaline. Still, when he reached for the sled again and asked, “One more?” you didn’t say no.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. You drifted between rooms, between conversations—helping in the kitchen, sitting in on half-finished card games, watching kids chase each other until someone inevitably cried over a stolen candy cane. 

Somewhere in the middle of it all, you realized you’d stopped keeping track of where Vernon was at all times. Not because you didn’t care, but because you didn’t need to.

He was there when you glanced up from a conversation, leaning against a doorway, already looking at you. He was there beside you when someone handed out mugs of something warm, your shoulders brushing as you accepted yours. There were looks shared across the room, quick whispered comments that made you laugh under your breath, inside jokes forming without effort.

For once since you got here, there was no pressure to perform. No constant mental checklist. No fear that you’d look too distant for two people who were supposedly engaged. You were just genuinely enjoying yourself.

By nightfall, after a movie that half the room slept through, you found yourself walking back down the hall beside him, the house was quieter now, voices fading behind closed doors.

You were still laughing about a scene from the movie neither of you could take seriously. Your steps slowed naturally as you reached the door to the bedroom.

Vernon lingered in the hallway, hands in his pockets, watching you with a thoughtful expression. “You know,” he said casually, “you’re a really good person.”

You snorted, already turning toward the door. “Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

That made you pause. You glanced back at him, brows lifting. “Right. Sure you are.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, really. People at work call you Medusa, but I think they’re wrong about you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Oh, I don’t call you that,” he added quickly. “It’s just them.” 

You stared at him, genuinely caught off guard. “Medusa?”

“Like I said, they’re wrong. Please forgive them,” he said, smiling. “It’s just that they’ve never met someone so hardworking and intelligent. So sharp. So… wonderful. I think they figured there’s no way a real person could be that amazing, so they called you Medusa.”

Your stomach fluttered, completely against your will. But then you scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “Or,” you said, recovering, “it’s because people freeze when they see me. Like Medusa turns them into stone.”

He laughed. “That too.”

You laughed too, the sound echoing softly down the quiet hallway. And then for a moment, neither of you said anything. You were just staring at each other. When he leaned on the wall adjacent to the door, you mirrored him by leaning on his bedroom door.

Crossing your arms, you said, “It’s my turn on the bed tonight.”

Vernon chuckled softly, eyes glimmering, shaking his head. “No, it’s not.”

“It’s not?” you asked, feigning ignorance.

He opened his mouth—probably to argue, like always—then stopped. His gaze was still on you, that soft glow in his eyes was still there.

“…Fine,” he sighed, pushing himself away from the wall and walking toward you. He stopped just a breath away. “You can have it.”

You frowned, caught off guard. “That was too easy.”

He shrugged, reaching for the door knob behind you, leaning in so close. “Don’t get used to it,” he murmured, still not moving away even after he had pushed the door open.

You smiled, shaking your head lightly, and walked in. You took your cardigan off, reached the bed, arranged the blanket—you counted the steps in your head, not because you needed to, but because your chest was doing this ridiculous fluttering thing.

Vernon followed quietly, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips, and you watched as he picked up his blanket and headed to the couch. Then he gave you a small wave before disappearing behind the backrest. 

You lay down, smiling to yourself, staring up at the ceiling, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest.

This is bad, you whispered in your thoughts. This is so bad. You were smiling like an idiot. Because of Vernon Chwe! 

You exhaled through your nose. Okay. So maybe you were enjoying this holiday. A little too much. And yes. Fine. Vernon likes you. You weren’t imagining that. You’d spent your entire career reading people; you weren’t about to pretend you couldn’t read this.

But the more troubling realization was: you might be starting to like him back.

And that was bad because you had no idea how to tread this territory. This wasn’t in the agreement. There was no clause for catching feelings, no protocol for what to do if that ever happened.

“Hey,” Vernon’s voice carried from across the room, making your head snap that way, quieting your thoughts.

“Hey…” you murmured back.

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

You didn’t answer right away. You let yourself breathe. Then you exhaled softly, trying to get some control back, and making a decision right then and there. “Goodnight, Secretary Chwe,” you murmured.

You knew what it meant to call him that, knew how that sounded. But the words weren’t exactly for him. Not really. They were for you—a reminder to draw a line, to keep your head straight and not get distracted.

Because it turns out that the most dangerous thing about fake dating is not getting caught; it’s when things start to feel real.

The house was already awake when you stirred the next morning. You could tell before you even opened the door—voices overlapping downstairs, footsteps on the stairs, laughter that was louder than usual. Vernon noticed it too the second he stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, sleeves rolled as he buttoned his shirt.

“Is it just me or is the house noisier than usual?” he asked, voice light.

You huffed a laugh. “Maybe your family multiplied in their sleep.”

You didn’t get far down the stairs before his mother intercepted the both of you, beaming, hands clasped together like she’d been waiting all morning for this exact moment.

“Surprise!” she said brightly.

Behind her, the living room was packed. Not just relatives—new faces. Older couples you didn’t recognize, younger people clustered near the windows, a few men Vernon vaguely waved at in recognition. Someone had already put music on. Someone else had brought food. There were flowers on the table that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday.

Vernon blinked once. “Mom, what’s going on?”

His mother laughed, waving him off. “Oh, we thought it would be nice to surprise you with an engagement party and invite our family friends, and your friends of course.”

“Your friends?” you asked, looking at Vernon.

“Yes, dear,” his mom answered. “Kids he grew up with and went to school with.”

She looped an arm through yours before you could take a step back. “I know it’s a lot, and you two have a penchant for keeping things lowkey. But don’t worry, this is just a small function. We won’t put you in too much spotlight, so no pressure.”

“Hah,” you exclaimed, then chuckled awkwardly. “Of course. No pressure,” you echoed, glancing sideways at Vernon.

“Mom,” he said, “you really didn’t have to—”

“Oh hush,” she said, already steering you further into the hall. “Everyone’s been dying to meet you properly.”

And just like that, the lie wasn’t a snowball anymore. It’s an avalanche.

You endured. That was the only way to describe it. Endurance. You smiled when people congratulated you. You nodded when they said you were beautiful together. You accepted hugs from women who smelled like perfume and winter coats and cinnamon.

Someone pressed a drink into your hand. Someone else asked how you met. You answered automatically, muscle memory carrying you through a story you’d told often enough that it no longer snagged.

Vernon stayed close. A hand at your back, a glance across the room when the noise spiked. Every so often, he’d hold your hand and give it a light squeeze, as if he was apologizing and asking you to power through.

His friends were easier than you expected. They were polite, warm, and a little teasing, the kind that only comes from a long shared history.

One of them clapped Vernon on the shoulder. “Good for you man. Moving away, starting over, meeting someone you wanted to marry.”

“Jealous, Gyu?” another guy scoffed. “Maybe if you stopped sleeping around like a menace—”

“Oh, shut up, Seungcheol,” Mingyu shot back. “You’re the one flirting with sad married women.”

“For the last time,” Seungcheol sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like this argument had worn him thin, “she’s not married. She’s divorced.”

You watched Vernon through it all—relaxed, carefree, amused, completely at ease in the presence of friends who knew him best.

“So,” Wonwoo cut in, eyes flicking between the two of you. “What are you doing these days, Vernon?”

“Yeah,” someone else added. “What happened after you left the company?”

That caught your attention. You glanced at Vernon. “The slave contract you were talking about,” you said slowly, “that was with your family?”

He grinned, entirely unapologetic. You scowled. “The hell? So you were a nepo baby too. How dare you call me one.”

Vernon laughed, head lolling back. You just stared at him, unimpressed. His friends too, apparently. They were just staring like they had no idea what was so funny. 

Vernon eventually noticed it, so he stopped, cleared his throat, and straightened up. “I’m working as a secretary,” he said, and then, with visible pride, slid an arm around your shoulder. “In her cosmetics company.”

The pause was immediate. “…Wait,” Seungcheol said. “You work for her?”

“She’s the CEO?” Mingyu asked, and Vernon nodded again.

“So you’re—” Wonwoo pointed at you, then back at Vernon. “—his boss?”

“Yeah,” Vernon said proudly. “She’s very cool.”

There was a second where you braced yourself, afraid they might judge him for it. But then Mingyu barked out a laugh. Then suddenly, everyone else was laughing.

“No way,” Seungcheol said, shaking his head. “You? Taking orders?”

Mingyu followed, grinning wide. “Do you have any idea how insane that is? This man has never worked under anyone.”

“Ever,” Wonwoo added. “He used to boss entire departments around like it was a sport.”

Vernon rolled his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“That’s extremely true,” Mingyu shot back. He turned to you, “He’s so annoying. And he doesn’t even realize it. He once made a manager wait because he ‘wasn’t done talking.’”

You blinked, surprised, then laughed before you could stop yourself. Nodding, you said, “He is kinda annoying. And tactless sometimes.”

Seungcheol pointed at you, delighted. “See? Imagine that kind of guy working under someone?”

Mingyu asked you, “Bet you’re always on the verge of firing him every day, huh?”

You shrugged. “Not really. He is annoying but I can keep him in line. And he’s pretty good at his job. There are only two people who can keep up with me, and he’s one of them.”

“Figures,” Wonwoo said, nodding like it all made sense now. “Leaves the family business, ends up working for someone smarter than him.”

“And marries her,” Mingyu added, grinning. “How poetic.”

Vernon didn’t deny it. If anything, he looked pleased, standing there beside you like this arrangement wasn’t something to be embarrassed about, but something he’d chosen.

You felt something warm settle in your chest at that. 

“So,” Mingyu said, dragging a chair closer and plopping down like he was settling in for a story. “I gotta ask. How did this happen?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You two,” Mingyu clarified, gesturing between you. “From boss and secretary to engaged and getting married soon.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, eyes bright. “Yeah. Did he seduce you with his wiles while pretending to work as your secretary?”

Vernon scoffed. “I did not seduce her.”

“You absolutely did,” Mingyu said. “Look at him. That’s a man who knows how to weaponize his good looks.”

You snorted. “That’s slander.”

“Oh, come on,” Seungcheol said. “You’re telling me he didn’t pull the whole competent, always-there, remembers-your-coffee-order routine?”

Vernon opened his mouth to protest again, but you beat him to it. “It’s not hard to fall for Vernon,” you said.

The table went quiet. You hadn’t planned to say that. It just slipped out.

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of the way Vernon had turned fully toward you. “I mean—he is,” you continued. “He’s thoughtful. He pays attention. He notices things most people don’t bother with. He anticipates what needs to be done without making a show of it.”

Vernon didn’t interrupt. He just watched you, expression unreadable, eyes steady.

“He’s… considerate. And patient. And surprisingly kind. Of course, he’s sarcastic and all but even that is excusable because those little arguments are fun and makes every day less dull,” you added, smiling absently. “And he’s the sweetest. Which is annoying, actually, because it makes it hard to stay mad at him.”

You finally looked at Vernon.

He was smiling—but not the smug one, not the teasing one. This was softer, the same smile he had been giving you these last few days. The kind that looked like he was grateful for the existence of you. He looked like he hadn’t expected to hear all that, but he was holding it carefully now that it existed.

You gave him the same smile. Or as best as you could reflect it, hoping, and knowing, that he knew exactly what it meant. And you realized now that you had just crossed a line. 

Straight up just stepped over it without hesitation, after telling yourself very clearly the night before where it was.

Mingyu stood abruptly. “Okay. Nope. I’m too single for this.” He waved a hand between the two of you. “You’re both being disgustingly in love. Kissing in front of me would’ve been less damaging.”

Wonwoo laughed. “Agreed. Let’s move on before I start believing in love again.”

You huffed a laugh, but it came out weaker than you meant it to. Your chest was heavy with warmth and feelings and… and love.

But you had no time to dwell on it. Someone suggested games. Someone else brought snacks. Chairs were pulled, conversations restarted, the day rolling forward like nothing had almost happened.

But when Vernon held your hand under the table later, not for show because no one would’ve seen it, you didn’t move away. And for the rest of the day, you didn’t bring up the line you’d drawn. You just quietly stood on the other side of it.

The engagement party thing was over by noon. Guests left one by one, and the family resumed preparations for Christmas Eve dinner. You were gathered in the kitchen with the adults, helping out with the cookies.

Vernon was sitting in a chair beside you, casually chatting with you and his mom about holiday traditions.

“Your parents actually used to host the winter bonfires,” said Vernon’s mom, smiling fondly at you. 

“They did?” you asked, delighted to hear another anecdote about your parents.

She nodded. “Yes. Every year. And then your mom got pregnant with you, so they skipped a year. After that, the whole tradition just stopped,” she added, sighing. “They’d always made it so magical. We simply could not recreate it.”

Vernon leaned forward, gesturing with his mug. “I remember when I met her parents. Incredible people. And her mom’s so beautiful.”

The room froze. Adults exchanged sharp glances, eyebrows raised. His mom looked at him, brows furrowed. “You met her parents?”

“Yeah. I—” You nudged Vernon’s leg under the table, stopping him.

“But that’s impossible, dear,” Nana said, her voice laced with sympathy, “you couldn’t have. Her parents passed away a long time ago.”

You felt Vernon freeze beside you. Quick on your feet, you leaned slightly toward him, your tone casual as if nothing unusual had happened, as if your heart didn’t just sink to your stomach. 

“Oh, I took him to their graves,” you said smoothly. “He met them there.”

Vernon blinked at you, clearly realizing he’d made a mistake.

“I wanted to introduce him to them first,” you added, smiling, channeling your best acting yet. “I didn’t know our connection yet at the time, but they were probably thrilled to know I’m marrying their close friend’s son.”

“Aw,” Vernon’s mom sighed. “That’s very thoughtful of you, isn’t it?”

The tension in the room melted almost instantly, replaced by murmurs and soft chuckles from the other adults. Conversation resumed around you, with only a few glances exchanged—reminders of the near slip, and of just how good you were at thinking on your feet.

Vernon reached for your hand, so you glanced at him. He looked apologetic, and you could tell it wasn’t because he nearly revealed that you weren’t in a real relationship. You smiled at him, patting his hand and mouthing, ‘It’s okay.’

By the time dinner preparations were done, you were exhausted. Exhausted from the engagement party, from socializing with people who were basically strangers to you, and exhausted from helping out in the kitchen.

“This is nice and all, but I think I prefer our boring Christmas dinners, Grandma,” you told your Grandma while getting dressed for dinner.

She chuckled heartily, sitting in front of her vanity and trying on a different shade of lipstick. “Being surrounded by people you love on Christmas is how it’s supposed to be, my dear. It’s a shame I couldn’t give you this kind of warmth growing up.”

“Hey,” you chided, walking toward her and wrapping your arms around her shoulder. “I have no complaints, so you shouldn’t talk like that. You raised me as best as you can and taught me everything I know.”

Your Grandma melted in your embrace, sighing as she put the lipstick down. “Yeah, you’re a wonderful kid, alright. I just wished you were a little sweeter.”

“Please,” you chuckled, pulling away. “My lack of sweetness and my attitude in general is thanks to you, as well.”

“I know that, but couldn’t you be more affectionate? Or expressive?” she sighed, gaze following you across the room. “Learn a thing or two about expressing yourself from Vernon.”

“Too late for that,” you quipped, checking your reflection in the mirror once more.

Your Grandma sighed in defeat. “I guess I should be glad you’re marrying him then. He can express affection for both of you.”

Then came a series of knocks on the door. You quickly walked toward it, yanking it open knowing Vernon would be on the other side. 

“Hi,” he beamed, taking you in with his eyes. “You look amazing.”

You shrugged. “You don’t look so bad yourself, my love,” you replied, using your endearment, not because your grandma was there, but because… just because.

“Shall we?”

The dining room was warm, the scent of roasted meat and cinnamon filling the air. Dinner was loud like always in this house—chairs scraping, someone always talking over someone else, Nana shushing nobody in particular.

You ended up seated beside Vernon, mostly because every time you tried to move, someone asked you to stay. He passed you food without asking. You corrected his grip on the serving spoon once. He fixed it without comment.

At some point, his Nana leaned over.  “Is now the best time to talk weddings?”

Vernon chuckled lightly. “Nana, it’s Christmas eve. We’ll have time for that later.”

Nana tried to insist, but eventually gave up when you both refused adamantly. Later, when some cousins got up to chase the kids outside for an impromptu snowball fight, Vernon leaned closer. 

After dishes were cleared and the family settled around the living room for a low-volume carol playlist, you both slipped out to the balcony, leaving the laughter and chatter behind. The night was cold, and snowflakes drifted lazily downward, coating the garden below in soft white. Vernon wrapped a blanket around himself, then stood behind you.

“Is this okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms and the blanket around you.

You chuckled, feeling the warmth seep in immediately. “Are people watching?”

“Yeah. About a dozen of them,” he replied briskly. “I think I need to hold you closer. Make it more believable, you know?” he added, already tightening his arms around you.

You could tell he was lying, but you didn’t bother confirming. “You should, or we’d get caught,” you said, leaning your head against his chest.

“Your family has a lot of stamina,” you said after a pause. “I would’ve tapped out after day one.”

“You did better than I expected,” he replied, chuckling. “Everyone likes you. Nana adores you.”

“That’s terrifying,” you said, looking up at him. “She’s very perceptive.”

Vernon smiled, shifting a little and pressing his chin on top of your head. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Day.”

“I know. One more day and this is all over,” you replied, taking a long relieved breath. “We can finally go back to how things were.”

You felt him stiffen behind you, recovering almost as quickly. He laughed slowly. “I was actually thinking the same thing. When this is over, we could go back to our hectic, caffeinated daily routine, closing deals like champs, terrorizing the marketing head, pressuring manufacturers, calling the lab day in and day out for new and improved formulas.”

“You’re making us sound like bad capitalists,” you quipped, grinning. “I mean we’re capitalists but we're not that bad.”

Vernon chuckled, his chest vibrating against your back. “And I was also thinking…” he paused, loosened his arms, and turned you around so you could face him fully.

He braced his hands on the railing, caging you in as he stared into your eyes. You held your breath and looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“I was thinking maybe we could go out on nice dinners sometimes. After work,” he continued. “Go on a road trip on weekends. Maybe catch a movie if you’re into that.”

“Like bosses and secretaries do?”

He huffed a laugh. “I’m pretty sure they don’t do that.”

You shrugged, still looking anywhere but his eyes. “They might. If they’re… dating.”

The word lingered between you, more meaningful than you meant it to be. Vernon stayed quiet for a few moments, then, softly, carefully, he said your name, the word rolling beautifully on his tongue.

You looked up, finally meeting his gaze. “Yes? Vernon?”

Something changed in his expression. Like you’d tapped something only he could feel. “That’s three times,” he said softly.

“What?”

“Three times you’ve called me by my name since we met.”

You blinked, surprised he’d even noticed. “You’re counting?”

He shrugged. “If you’re Secretary Chwe every minute of the day, you just can’t help but keep count.”

Neither of you moved. He didn’t step closer, diidn’t touch you, he just stayed there, giving you space and somehow still holding you in place.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, almost in a whisper.

“That would be breaking the rules,” you said, automatically. Not because you actually cared about the rules, but because  you were too nervous. Your heart was kicking hard against your ribs. Your breathing was getting unsteady. And your skin was pricking not from the cold, but from anticipation.

“I knew you’d say that,” he chuckled, already leaning in.

You met him halfway. In a kiss that was soft and careful, growing firmer with every breath. His hand found your waist, warm through the layers, steadying you as your lips pressed back with more certainty.

For a moment, you couldn’t hear or see anything. You could only feel. Feel his hand around you, his lips against yours, his warmth, your warmth, his heartbeat against your own. Snow fell. Laughter drifted faintly from inside. The world continued on, unaware. Or maybe they were aware. You didn’t care. Right now, nothing else mattered but this moment right here.

Even after you pulled away, you stayed close, foreheads touching, breaths fogging, cheeks flushed, and grinning. Vernon’s hands lingered at your waist, firm but gentle, the warmth through the layers of your coats seeping into you like it was meant to.

“God, it’s freezing out here,” he murmured, voice low.

“You don’t say,” you whispered back, and the words were a laugh and a shiver at the same time.

He tilted his head slightly, nudging yours so your noses brushed. “I—” He stopped, exhaling sharply.

You tilted your chin up, meeting his eyes. “I know,” you said softly.

He let out a small laugh, almost a sigh, pressing a little closer. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Neither do I,” you admitted, and it came out softer than you expected, a confession you hadn’t planned to give aloud.

There was a pause, long enough that you could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, long enough that the wind seemed to hush around you. Your hands found his neck, and he leaned into your touch, eyes closing for just a fraction of a second before reopening, searching yours.

“I can’t pretend anymore.”

“Then let’s not,” you replied softly, and before you knew it, Vernon was scooping you up again for another kiss.

You were used to being in control.

Boardrooms fell silent whenever you walked in. People listened when you spoke. Decisions were set the moment you made them. Even now, in Vernon’s bedroom with the door closed and the city humming somewhere across the sea, you expected that familiar balance to tilt in your favor.

But it didn’t.

“What are you doing?” you asked, eyes wide and brows furrowed at Vernon who just stopped kissing you out of nowhere.

He shrugged, infuriatingly nonchalant and relaxed. “We need to slow down.”

“What?” you demanded, thoroughly confused. “What do you mean? This was your idea.”

“It is, but I need to know we’re on the same page here,” he said, smiling casually, but the firm grip of his hands on your hips told you he was restraining himself hard.

“I thought we made that clear?”

“No. What we did was stare into each other’s eyes and use vague words,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling over. “Vernon Chwe, I swear to God if you don’t kiss me right no—”

He crashed his lips into yours, shutting you up completely. Your body reacted immediately, heat and need shooting up through your core. Vernon’s long fingers tangled into your hair, tugging firmly until a moan escaped from your lips. He took this chance to shove his tongue into your open mouth. You pulled him even closer, breasts pressing against his broad chest.

His kisses trailed to your jaw, one hand slipping under your shirt to touch the skin of your waist. You gasped when his mouth latched to your neck, sucking and nipping.

“Vernon,” you said, tapping his shoulders. “Take me to the bed.”

Vernon pulled away just enough to press his forehead against you, smirking. “Is that an order?” he rasped, his hand underneath your shirt now moving to slip past your bra.

“No?” you breathed, holding back a moan when he gave your nipple a gentle squeeze. “Is it?”

“It better not be,” he whispered into your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin. He took your wrists  “I’ll allow that at work, but don’t think for one second that I’m gonna let you tell me what to do in my room…”

He kissed your neck, making your skin shiver in the best way. “Or on my bed,” he added, licking your throat.

You moaned out his name, but he was quick to press a finger on your lips. “Shush, love. This may be a big house, but the walls here are thin.”

“Vernon…” you purred, and he cupped your cheek gently, then pressed a long, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Be quiet, alright?” he said, smiling before disappearing from your line of sight.

You were confused for a fraction of a second. Then you felt your skirt being lifted, followed by something pressing on your clothed cunt without warning.

You gasped, realizing belatedly that it was Vernon’s nose. You felt him take a long sniff, hand wrapping around your thigh. You grabbed a fistful of his hair and he let out a growl the likes of which you’d never heard before.

A second later, he was devouring you, relentless and insatiable, leaving you trembling under his touch. Your grip on his hair tightened, your knees were threatening to give out with every lick. If it wasn’t for his tight hold around your legs, you would have collapsed on the floor already.

Vernon slipped a finger into you, without warning, making you gasp. He rose to his feet, finger still inside you, his other hand pushing loose hair behind your ear as he shushed you gently. 

“The entire house is gonna hear you, and they’re gonna know exactly what’s going on in here,” he said, as if it wasn’t his fingering that was making you make all these noises.

But you listened anyway, biting down your lower lip, tears pricking at your eyelids when he pushed a second finger in. You buried your face on his chest, fingers digging into his shoulders as he pushed you closer to the edge

Vernon pressed his lips on the side of your head, shushing you gently while still brutally ramming his fingers in and out of your sex.

Then you felt that familiar knot twisting low in your belly, threatening to come undone. Your breathing turned erratic, breasts falling and rising rapidly as you braced for an orgasm. Vernon saw that, kissed your cheek, and moved harder amd faster. 

His fingers were cramping, but the delightful look on your face was spurring him on. He couldn’t wait to see the beautiful face you’d make when it’s finally him drilling into your sweet cunt. Just thinking about it was making his cock throb—hard and hot, still trapped in his pants.

“Vernon, I’m—” you cut yourself off, gasping, body jerking, hands on his shoulders gripping tighter as a wave of orgasmm surged through you.

Then you fell limp against Vernon, who held you steadily. He kissed you again because… well because he just couldn’t stop himself from kissing you, could he? His head was clouded, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to fuck your brains out.

So he lifted your thighs, wrapped your legs around his legs and carried you over to the bed.

You fell on the mattress with a bounce, still out of breath from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Vernon crawled over you, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Still wanna tell me what to do?” he asked, mouth hovering just above yours.

You hesitated. That hesitation made him smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, kissing you again. 

His hand pinned your wrist above your head, the other tracing down your side like he was rewriting the rules you lived by. He gathered the hem of your sweater, yanking it up and over your head, before crashing his lips back to yours.

Your skirt and stockings followed immediately after, his hands settling on your thighs, spreading them wide enough for him to marvel at the sight of your wet pussy.

“Like what you’re seeing?” you asked, confidence spiking because Vernon was looking at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world.

He huffed an amused laugh, hand tracing your thigh. “Oh, I love it. You have no idea.”

When was the last time you felt this kind of intense desire and uninhibited pleasure? You couldn’t even remember. Not that it mattered. Vernon was here to rock your entire world tonight, with that rock-hard, standing tall, deliciously girthy manhood that had just sprang free from the confines of his boxers.

You held your breath when he positioned himself between your legs, licking a stripe on his hands and coating his cock with the slick. Your fingers curled into the sheets as he pressed into you slowly, the earlier orgasm making him slide smoothly, but the stretch made you whimper.

“Don’t make me cover that mouth myself,” he warned, grinning so sweetly, unaware of the surge of pleasure that just shot through you when he said those words.

He bottomed out with a groan, his body settling over yours as he collected himself. His hair brushed your face as he moaned against your chest, muttering curses under his breath.

Meanwhile, you were catching your breath, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Vernon, I need you to move. Please. Please. Please,” you’d basically pleaded.

Vernon exhaled sharply, lifting his head to meet your gaze and plant a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ll allow it because you asked nicely,” he quipped, pulling out for a second just before thrusting into you.

Your chest rose and fell against his, nerves dancing in sensations his every move was sending through your body. Your fingers tangled, your breaths mingled, heat lingered in every glance, and every brush of skin. You clung to him, losing track of everything except his touch and the way he held you close.

The world had narrowed to the feeling of him against you, the pull and the push—especially the push. Your lower lip stung from biting too hard to keep yourself quiet. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, echoing in his.

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, lips grazing your temple, and the shiver that ran down your spine was delightful and hot. 

“You are most beautiful,” he whispered, eyes locked with yours, filled with sincerity and something tender… something that looked a lot like love.

Snow kept falling outside, and somewhere between the haze of lust and warmth, you were sure that whatever came next would leave both of you ruined in the best possible way. But at the same time, you realized you wouldn’t have wanted to stop even if you could.

You woke up to Vernon’s arms wrapped around you, his warmth seeping through the blankets, his scent lingering in your hair and on your clothes. He was awake, head propped on one hand, watching you with that half-smile that made your chest tighten.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, embarrassed, burying your face against his shoulder.

“Keeping my eyes on you in case this turns out to be a dream and you disappear,” he said in one breath, brushing loose strands of hair behind your ear.

You grinned, snuggling closer. “That’s so corny.”

You stayed like that for a few more minutes, savoring the warmth and the way his hand traced idle patterns along your side. But the inevitability of the morning eventually caught up with you. It’s Christmas Day. By now, the rest of the family would be gathered downstairs, waiting to open gifts and celebrate some more.

“Come on. You should see what I got you,” he said, sitting up. “It’s in a red box with a shiny green ribbon on it.”

“You got me something?” you asked, genuinely surprised.

Vernon looked at you like the answer should have been obvious. “Of course, I got you something. It’s Christmas. You’re supposed to— wait…” he paused, narrowing his eyes at you. “You didn’t get me anything, did you?”

You smiled sheepishly, and Vernon’s jaw dropped. But then he shrugged, reached to cup your face, and grinned.

“It’s okay. I think I received my best Christmas gift yet,” he chimed, leaning in to kiss you.

You ended up cuddling in bed again. Vernon was relentless, kissing the back of your neck, tugging your hands, soft murmurs of promises that made your heart flutter and your cheeks burn. Getting up after that was slow. Clothes, brushing teeth, and somehow, through a haze of laughter, stolen kisses, and whispers, you managed to get ready.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, standing behind you in front of the mirror and wrapping his arms around.

“Thanks. I figured I should try harder if I’m gonna date someone so handsome,” you replied, turning to face him, arms finding their way around his neck.

Vernon grinned, clearly pleased with what he just heard. “You don’t need to. You’re already too beautiful for someone like me.”

You rolled your eyes, not buying it. “You clearly don’t understand just how beautiful you are, Vernon Chwe.”

He kissed you again, and you had to squirm out of his hold and walk out of the room first or you’d spend the whole morning locked in the bedroom with him.

The first thing you noticed when you reached the bottom of the stairs was the silence. The usual mayhem of children squealing and zooming around, adults chattering, holiday music in the background—it was all gone. Only the adults were there, standing rigidly, staring at the two of you.

Your stomach dropped. Something was wrong, you could feel it in your bones.

Vernon stepped closer, taking your hand in his. “What’s going on?”

No one answered. Then his mom stepped forward, her smile tight, eyes not quite meeting his. She shoved a piece of paper into his hands, and you immediately recognized your carefully constructed contract even before reading the words.

“What is the meaning of that?” his mom asked, her voice small and hesitant. “Vernon, tell us right now. Why is there a document like that in your bedroom?”

The words didn’t register at first. The paper in his hands felt heavy, like it had gravity all its own. You tried to breathe but your chest felt hollow.

Vernon opened his mouth, searching for the right words, and your heart hammered in sympathy and panic. “We… I can explain…”

Voices erupted around you, overlapping, frantic and sharp. Someone asked why he did this. Another said this was unnecessary and that he didn’t have to deceive everyone. One voice asked if he had any motive. Another asked if he thought of this family as a joke.

You barely made sense of it, caught between the tidal wave of accusations, most of them being directed at Vernon. He kept his hand around yours, holding you tight and shielding you with his body as his family demanded answers from him. The rest of the room seemed to tilt and spin. You barely heard him try to speak again; his words were drowned out by questions, accusations, demands—all of it directed at him.

Finally, you found your voice, loud and firm, “It’s my fault.”

All eyes turned toward you, stunned at your words. You took in their confused faces, then exhaled sharply. 

“I made him do this,” you added, tugging your hand away from Vernon’s grasp. “There was a… a situation,” you began to explain, choosing your words carefully. 

“A supposedly one-off situation that unexpectedly spiraled out of control. And I know, we could have avoided this by being honest from the get-go but…” Your gaze swept the room and settled on your grandma in the corner. You thought she’d look angry, but all you could see on her face was sympathy. “But we didn’t. We couldn’t.”

You flattened your lips into a smile, still directed at your grandmother. “Not when it was the first time in a long time that I saw someone smile as brightly as she did when she heard I had a fiancee.”

Your Grandma’s hand flew to her mouth, his brows furrowing, and she looked away. You turned to the rest of Vernon’s family. To his Nana, to his parents, his aunts and uncles—the very people who welcomed you warmly into their home.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I have my reasons, but they’re all just excuses. Selfish excuses. I shouldn’t have dragged your entire family into this. I wouldn’t have,” you paused, taking a deep breath and turning to Vernon. “I wouldn’t have if I had known just how much you loved Vernon.”

You turned to everyone again. Nana’s hand was on her chest, Vernon’s mom was covering her mouth in shock.

“So don’t blame him. It’s not his fault. He’s a really good man,” you added, smiling bitterly. “He just couldn’t say no to his Medusa of a boss who promised him a raise and regularization if he agreed to do this.” 

“Stop,” Vernon said, taking your hand. “I didn’t agree to this because of that—”

“It’s okay, Secretary Chwe,” you interrupted, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry for ruining your Christmas. I’ll leave,” you said, voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. You glanced at Nana, and the words escaped almost like a prayer: “You have a wonderful family. I’m sorry. I wish we didn’t have to meet like this.”

And with that, you walked out, leaving Vernon rooted in place, the paper still in his hand, the room swirling with stunned silence.

Before you knew it, you were sinking into your seat on the plane, the engines vibrating softly beneath you. Beside you, your grandma was perfectly composed, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she stared out the window at the receding tarmac.

Vernon’s family had tried to make you stay. Gentle pleas, promises to table the matter of your deceit and unpack it properly. But you knew they were only being polite. That was just the kind of family they were, too nice for their own good.

You stared at the screen in front of you, counting the buttons, the logos stamped into the leather, your thoughts spinning in circles. Finally, you broke the quiet.

“Grandma…” Your voice was small, tentative. “Why aren’t you mad?”

Her calm eyes met yours. “Why would I be mad?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “I knew everything from the beginning.”

Your chest tightened. “You did?”

She nodded serenely. “Of course. You thought you were so clever, but you forgot that I taught you how to use that intelligent brain of yours.”

You blinked. “Wait… what? How?”

Grandma leaned back, unbothered by your wide-eyed stare. “My dear, with whom do you think I set you up with on that last blind date I begged you to go to?”

Your stomach dropped. “That… that was… No way.” You chuckled, in denial. “It can’t have been Vernon.”

“Oh, but it was,” she said, as if it were the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. “I kept telling you I knew his family. But you wouldn’t even give a second to hear me out. Imagine my surprise when I saw you in that hotel lobby, calling Vernon Chwe your fiancee.”

At this point, your heart beat has turned erratic. “If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was trying to see how far you were willing to take this charade. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but Vernon asked me to play along, so I did,” she explained.

You turned sharply to face her, incredulous. “Vernon knew that you knew?”

“Yes. He was confident he could make you fall in love and turn this pseudorelationship into a real thing. Sunhee and I had so much fun watching you struggle to maintain a face all week.”

Your jaw dropped. “Who else knows?”

“No one else, as far as I know.” Her hand rested gently over yours. “My dear, you’re clearly overwhelmed right now. Let’s talk about this later.”

You slumped back in your seat, staring out the window at the clouds streaked with gold from the rising sun, your mind buzzing. She knew. Nana knew. Vernon knew they knew. And somehow, that knowledge made the entire avalanche of the past twenty-four hours feel both heavier and… a little lighter.

Vernon first met you when he was ten.

It was summer, hot and loud and bright in the way summers only feel when you’re a kid. His kite had gotten stuck in a tree at the park, and he’d decided that climbing it himself was a good idea. 

But he was wrong. He slipped on the way down, scraped his knee, and sat there sniffing quietly, holding back his tears, more embarrassed than hurt.

Then you appeared out of nowhere, crouched in front of him, asked if he could stand, and when he said no, you sighed like an adult who’d already dealt with worse problems than a bleeding knee. 

After covering his knee with a cartoon Band Aid from your purse, you climbed the tree yourself and brought the kite down like it was nothing.

You were taller than him back then. Probably smarter, and more mature. And when you handed the kite to him and smiled, all he could think was that you were pretty. Like an angel.

He never saw you again after that day. Life moved on, as it does. He went to school, made friends, and had growth spurts. The memory of you drifted to the back of his mind, filed away with other half-remembered moments from childhood.

Until college.

He didn’t recognize you at first. Years had a way of blurring faces, and he almost walked past you at the freshman welcome party until you laughed. Suddenly he was ten again, at the park with a scraped knee and a kite in his hands.

You’d grown prettier, smarter, and more graceful. He was much much taller than you now, but the difference in height only made Vernon think you were cute.

He hadn’t even wanted to attend this party. He’d only gone because his cousin promised to cover his chores for a month if he showed up. Vernon wasn’t naïve—he knew his cousin wanted him there as decoration. He’d grown into his looks by then, and he was ‘handsome’, something people never let him forget, even when he wished they would.

But that night, for the first time in his life, he thought maybe he could use his looks for something other than being stared at. Maybe he could use it to charm his way into your contacts.

He planned to talk to you. Just to say ‘hi’. Maybe ask if you remembered him from all those summers ago. Or maybe he didn’t need to bring up the past at all. He could just talk to you. Say something normal. Ask for your number.

He stood near the drinks table, psyching himself up. But when the moment came, his nerves got the better of him. So he took a shot of soju.

Liquid courage, he told himself.

Then another. Then a third, because his heart was still beating too fast and you were laughing again and seeing that was making it hard for him to breathe.

By the fourth, his cousin was asking if he was okay. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, eyes locked on you a few tables away. 

His cousin poured a shot for himself, and Vernon snatched it away, downing it straight just to see if it would make him less nervous.

Before he knew it, he was already wasted, slumped over a table, cheek pressed to cold plastic. Someone had drawn something obscene on his hand. The party was over, and you were gone. He lay there for a long moment, staring at a bottle, wondering how he’d managed to mess it up without ever actually trying.

After that, he saw you everywhere. The library, the quad, the cafeteria line. Sometimes alone, sometimes surrounded by people. You never noticed him, and he never pushed himself into your space.

Then one afternoon, he saw you holding hands with someone. Apparently, you’d started seeing this guy from the Liberal Arts department. That night, he went back to his dorm, shut the door, lay on his bed, and stared at the ceiling.

His cousin glanced over. “What’s up with you? You look like you just got dumped”

“I might as well have been,” Vernon said, voice flat. He turned his face into his pillow and let himself feel stupid for exactly five minutes.

Then he moved on because that was just life. He was happy that you were happy.

He dipped his own toes in the dating pool. Dated seriously, even. He laughed, fell in and out of love, learned what he liked and didn’t. You became a fond thought in the back of his head, not a fixation. And also something his friends teased him about every now and then.

Then senior year came. He heard you’d broken up, and realized he still liked you. So he thought about trying again.

He did the same thing without realizing: took shots for liquid courage. One too many shots, obviously. And passed out on a couch before he could say your name, obviously.

Senior year came and went. Graduation followed. He figured that was that. Some people were just meant to be memories.

And his life after college had already been mapped out for him. Vernon worked long hours in his family’s corporation. He learned how to sit through meetings without showing boredom, how to be sharp without being cruel. He dated when he had time, stopped when he didn’t. He built a reputation he hadn’t asked for but carried well enough.

Every once in a while, your name surfaced not from memory, but from screens. LinkedIn updates. A promotion. An article shared by someone else. Your company’s name appeared frequently in industry chatter. You weren’t loud online. You had Instagram but didn’t post much.

He nodded at those updates like they were news about someone he once knew well.

Years later, when he heard about a potential partnership with your company, he volunteered to handle it without hesitation. It wasn’t even his division, but he argued his case until he won. 

He told everyone else that it was professional curiosity. Strategic interest. Nothing else. In reality, he thought maybe this would finally put him in the same room as you again.

But it didn’t. Nana collapsed. That family emergency pulled him away the day of the meeting, and the opportunity slipped through his fingers. Life, once again, had other plans. He never made it to the meeting. Someone else took over. The partnership went through anyway, handled efficiently, just not by him.

You stayed untouchable and unseen. And of course, he moved on again.

Years passed. Nana recovered and became sharper than ever. She mentioned your name casually over tea.

“Her grandma’s worried,” she said. “She thinks that brilliant granddaughter of hers works too much. She called, asking if I knew someone suitable.”

“Someone suitable? A husband?” Vernon’s mom asked.

He froze in his seat, hand hovering as he reached for his teacup.

“Yes,” Nana continued, watching him carefully over the rim of her cup. “I told her I might know someone, but I don’t approve of arranged marriages.”

Vernon’s mom glanced at him too, the only man in the family who hasn’t married yet. “It would be nice. I heard she’s very intelligent and pretty. But I’m a fan of true love too, mama. These days they call it ‘organic encounter’.”

That night, Vernon stared at his ceiling for a long time and made a decision.

He left his job, much to his family’s dismay. They managed to reel him in with his contract, but as soon as that was over, Vernon was out. He moved cities. Applied to your company hoping he’d get closer to you through work. But te only position open was an internship. He took it anyway.

It was a humbling position. Educational. Occasionally ridiculous, and nowhere near you. Apparently interns didn’t meet CEOs on the reg.

So for months, you were just a name, a presence on another floor. Interns and other employees often talked about you—brilliant, dedicated, but formidable and terrifying. Medusa, they called you. 

Vernon would find himself standing up for you against men in his department who uttered inappropriate comments. Especially those who questioned your right to sit in the CEO’s office.

And then one Tuesday morning, Vernon was at the reception desk, sorting documents he wasn’t technically supposed to touch yet, when the elevators chimed.

He didn’t look up. He didn’t really need to. But then he heard a familiar voice calling him by name.

“Vernon Chwe?” the voice repeated, making him look up and freeze.

Your grandmother stood at the front desk, elegant as always. She looked exactly the way Vernon remembered her from childhood. She leaned on her cane more out of habit than necessity, eyes sharp as they swept his face. “Is that you, dear boy?”

Vernon straightened instinctively, unsure why his heart had started beating faster. He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

A pleased smile spread across her face. “Well,” she said lightly, tapping her cane against the floor once. “I thought so. My, how much you’re grown.”

His mouth went dry. “You remember me?”

She laughed softly. “Of course I do. What are you doing here? Last I heard you were Executive Director at your family’s company.”

Vernon hesitated. Then he sighed, knowing full well how hard it was gonna be to lie to your grandma. “I think we’re gonna need to sit down if I’m to answer that question.”

Your Grandma seemed to understand something. “Come to tea this Sunday. Let’s unpack whatever that is.”

And Vernon did meet with your grandma that Sunday. And he confessed that he was there because of you. After hours of talking about you, your grandma decided to set him up on a blind date with you.

To say he was thrilled was an understatement. Vernon was over the moon. He couldn’t wait for the day to come. Though Grandma did warn him that she had a habit of not showing up to these dates. He was still looking forward to it, hoping your grandma stayed true to her words when she said she would try to convince you.

Then Becca came by the intern lounge, asking if anyone wanted to be your temporary secretary while she was on maternity leave.

“For Medusa?” someone murmured quietly.

Silence followed, and interns exchanged nervous glances. Vernon was the only one who raised his hand.

Becca stared at him. “I need to know if you’re serious about this.”

“Yes.”

“You’re gonna be paid a regular’s rate, but it’s not gonna be an easy task.”

“I know. I can handle it.”

She sighed. “Fine. No backing out at the last minute, alright?” she said, pointing her pen at him. “Follow me. Training starts now.”

Vernon trained for a week, learning schedules and systems, familiarizing himself with important names and contacts, copying the cadence of your emails. All this while stealing glances into your office, or staring a little too long whenever you passed by.  

He reminded himself to be normal. To not let the past—or the crush—color the present. Even though it had clearly already taken over his entire world.

And then came the day Vernon was finally getting introduced to you. Becca had given him the head’s up the day before, and he took an extra hour getting ready the next day.

He stood with Becca in your office, patiently waiting for you to walk into those heavy glass doors. When you did, Vernon straightened up. Luckily that time, he didn’t get drunk or pass out anymore. Everything after that was an experience Vernon would never forget.

And now, over a month later, there he was, standing just inside your office, asking you to take him back.

It was the 29th. Just two days before New Year’s Day and four days since the whole fiasco at the Chwe Estate. Grandma and Nana had invited you out on a brunch where you apologized—more than once. For the lies. For leaving. For ruining Christmas. 

Nana waved it all off with a soft laugh, insisting none of it mattered as much as you thought it did. “We’ve seen worse.”

She said the family wasn’t really angry, just shocked. Said that if you’d stayed, things wou;d’ve been resolved over breakfast and hot cocoa, the way they always did.

“What’s done is done,” your grandma had said simply, stirring her coffee. “At least you learned a lesson from this experience.”

You didn’t bring up Vernon. You couldn’t, not after how vague things were left between you. The grandmas seemed to understand that the subject was touchy and decided not to bring it up either.

After brunch, you told them you had something for Nana—and for everyone back home. It had arrived at the office that morning, and that was how the three of you ended up there instead of going straight home.You drove back to the office with the city humming around you, hands steady on the wheel despite everything sitting heavy in your chest.

They followed you into the building where employees greeted your grandma at every turn, surprised to see THE big boss parading the halls. You heard Nana quip about your grandma building an empire through inflicting fear upon her people, and laughed along when they did.

But that laughter died down the moment you stepped out of the elevator and found Vernon Chwe standing near reception, hands clasped loosely in front of him, jacket still on like he hadn’t been sure whether to stay or leave. He looked up the moment the elevator opened, like he’d been waiting for it.

For a second, no one moved. Your brows furrowed, relief and confusion washing over you. Relief because four days felt too long and you’d missed him the whole time. Confusion because what was he doing there? And why did he wait until now to come see you?

“What are you doing here?” you finally asked.

He picked up a clear bag from the floor and lifted it for you to see. “You didn’t get to see what I got you,” he said and your eyes locked on the red giftbox with a green ribbon inside the clear bag.

Your grandma squeezed your arm gently. “We’ll give you two a moment.”

Nana was already nodding, amused. “Yes. Let’s let the kids sort it out.”

You didn’t protest, letting them walk back into the elevator, muttering and giggling. The office fell quiet. You and Vernon were staring at each other while the rest of the people on that floor held their breath. You could feel their eyes, watching and waiting for whatever was about to go down.

You exhaled and started walking toward your office. Vernon followed silently behind. You didn’t say anything until you were inside your office, the door clicking shut behind you. It was quieter here, insulated from the rest of the floor.

You turned to face him. “My grandma told me something about you,” you said, not elaborating because he probably already knows what you mean. “Is it true?

“It is,” he answered quickly.

You let out a slow breath. “So you liked me even before I asked you to be my fake fiancee?”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Oh, I liked you longer than that.” 

Your heart stuttered, just before beating wildly in your chest.

“When we were kids, when we were in college… I liked you in different ways, at different stages of my life.” He met your eyes fully. “And now… Now I’m in love with you.”

You kept your voice steady, hands clenching at your sides as you tried your best not to just go ahead and jump in his arms. “Why didn’t you come see me sooner?”

“I tried, but I didn’t really get a chance. You were in a relationship with this dude in college—”

“No, I meant after we left the island on Christmas day,” you interrupted.

Vernon paused, realization dawning on him. “Oh. Oh, I wanted to,” he said. “But no one was allowed to leave the island until the holidays were over. That’s not negotiable in my family. And I needed to sort things out. With them. With myself. I didn’t want to come to you half-done.”

You laughed under your breath. “Do you always have to do things properly?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to do this one right.”

Silence fell between you. You crossed your arms, still unsure what to do, how to navigate this. “I’m sorry,” you said first, because you had to. He deserved it. “For leaving like that. For not letting you say anything.”

He shook his head. “I would’ve followed you anyway.”

“So?” you asked, heat creeping up your neck. “What now?”

Vernon took one tentative step closer. “Well, my new year’s resolution is to kiss you everyday for the rest of my life.”

You huffed a laugh, caught off guard. “That’s a… very specific commitment.”

“I’m very committed to it.”

You laughed despite yourself, and Vernon watched with a fond smile, just before silence came again. You were both standing at the edge of something you didn’t want to rush or ruin.

“Well?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you just gonna stand there all day or do I have to kiss you myself?”

Vernon’s mouth stretched into the biggest, happiest smile you’d ever seen on a man. He crossed the distance between you in one step, then wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back just as tightly, instinctively, like it was something your body had been waiting for longer than your mind wanted to admit.

Then he kissed you. A kiss that answered everything, one that didn’t ask questions anymore. For a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you. But only for a moment because three seconds later, the sound of clapping, cheers, and hooting erupted around the office.

Startled, you pulled back just enough to see past his shoulder and realized that the entire floor had been watching from outside the clear glass walls of your office.

“Oh my god,” you exclaimed, looking at Vernon and then laughing. “Do you think they heard you confess your love for me?” you teased.

Vernon glanced around, then back at you, utterly unbothered. “I don’t care,” he said, scooping you up and kissing you again.

The office erupted all over again, a whole floor of employees witnessing the day you and Vernon made a scene professing love like you were in cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie.

And honestly? You didn’t care either.

He should be used to that kind of welcoming from people like her. Still, he stuttered and stumbled over his words right there on the threshold, one arm still outstretched, the other clutching a couple of his books. When she rose a questioning brow, he finally snapped out of it, pushing his glasses up with his free hand. "I- I'm tutoring y/n." He stared down at his watch. "We set to meet at 4:30. This is her dorm, right?"

That seemed to have piqued her interest, before she grimaced and brushed him off. "Second door on the left. Her room." Without another glance, she walked past him and left, closing the door behind her.

He stood by the entryway lamely for a couple minutes, nervously looking around and clutching the class' books in his arm. It wasn't a big deal. He'd just be in the same room alone with the girl he had a slight crush on since first year. Emphasis on slight, okay? Her room that's filled with everything her, and her smell is bound to be everywhere overwhelming his senses. Totally fine. He gave a last glance around the small living room before walking over towards the second door to the left.

It was open, able to see inside only through a tiny gap. And for the second time in less than 10 minutes, his hand froze on its way to push it open, eyes blown wide behind his glasses.

You were on your bed, damp panties pushed down, a pillow between your legs as you grinded over it lazily. He swallowed, though his mouth had gone really dry. He really should've looked away instantly, but he couldn't move, eyes zeroed in on the scene in front of him. The only sounds he could hear were the tiny puffs of air coming out of your mouth turning into gasps whenever the pillow beneath you caused a delicious friction against your clit, the rustle of your bed sheets. When you bent slightly forward and your skirt riled up your ass, it gave him a complete view of your pussy.

"Fuck". He mouthed, still unable to tear his eyes away, voice lost and face growing hotter. It wasn't the only thing growing. He bit his lip hard, an almost painful expression in his face at how his pants were starting to feel really uncomfortable. At the same time, he was thankful he'd chosen to dress up a little more and wear jeans instead of his usual sweats.

You picked up a more desperate pace, and he could see the way your poor pussy clenched over nothing, wet and glistening with your slick, dripping down your thighs and onto the pillow.

"I want to come, I want to come." he heard your soft pleading whines and he swore he was going to cum in his pants when you also decided to bring the hand that wasn't toying with your nipples down, pushing a finger in. A sound alike a choked sob left your mouth, mixing with the lewd noise of you moving your finger in and out of your pussy. That's when he decided it was tortuous enough without adding the picture of you making yourself cum and hurried down the hall back to the living room, almost dropping his books and giving himself away as a total pervert in the process.

He plopped down on the sofa throwing his books beside him, unable to brush away the image of what you were doing a couple rooms away, and he closed his eyes for a beat in an attempt to calm himself down. His breathing was coming in quick and he felt hot all over. He shifted in his seat, making futile attempts to adjust his pants so they didn't bother him.

He probably should leave. How was he going to go through tutoring with a hard on after he'd seen you like that? Better to look as irresponsible and make an excuse saying he couldn't make it.

But your roommate. She'd tell you he'd been here, and it would be weird that he suddenly decided to leave. What if you figure out that he'd seen you?

He brushed a hand down his face very frustratedly, and decided to text you letting you know he was there. He should've done that from the beginning and he'd saved himself from this but it had totally slipped that you'd exchanged numbers earlier in the week after your professor set you two up for your lessons. He heard a thud and clatter from your room, and a couple minutes later he heard your light steps heading to the living room.

"Did you just get here?" In your haste, you skipped the greetings fearing he might've heard what you were up to, smoothing down your hair nervously. Time had passed by you, and you didn't notice he'd arrive any minute now, too busy trying to get off for the past half an hour unsuccessfully. It's already mortifying enough to think your roommate might've heard you when she suddenly came back looking for something she left behind.

His big, round eyes stared up at you, taking the sight of you in. The slight color on your cheeks, your perky nipples showing under your shirt. His mind wandered as his eyes kept traveling down to your skirt now fixed down, thinking about how you'd soaked your panties, the sight of your ass as you rolled your hips- "Hi," His voice came out breathy. He cleared his throat, "Yeah."

"You good?" You looked at him curiously, and if he wasn't mistaken, the slight curve of your lip was a tell of you trying to hold back a smirk. "Your face is a little red."

"Really? No- I mean, yes I'm great! I just, ran here." He lied. "Sorry for being late."

"You're okay." you brushed him off, turning towards the kitchen, "Do you want some water?"

"That would be nice. Thank you." And a cold shower too, came as an afterthought.

You handed him his glass of water and instead of sitting down, you offered, "Maybe we should study in my room. It'd be more comfortable there." Crossing your arms over your middle as you shifted in place waiting for his response.

He was thankful he managed to drink his water without choking, playing it off like all was good, grabbing his books before standing up and following you. Once inside, you walked over to your desk, grabbing your notebook, book, and pencil pouch, before plopping down on the bed crossed legged and looking over where he was standing dumbly staring at you like a lost puppy.

To his surprise, you laughed. "You're going to take that bookbag off sometime today and sit down?" You tapped a spot on the bed in front of you.

He gulped, shrugging his bag off. He sat down, one leg crossed, the other stretched over the edge of the bed.

"Okay, what should we start with?"

For a while, you both worked in silence. He caught you up again with what the current topic was and what you were working on and from that, you did most on your own, barely asking him anything. You seemed to be fairing well by yourself. That should've given him time to work on his own homework and papers too, but he had caught himself staring at you more than anything else during that time, and when he wasn't, his mind kept replaying how he'd found you earlier, and threatening to make its own script of fantasies.

Your hand reaching out to rest over his thigh stopped his knee from bouncing, making him tense and his breath stop short. "Listen, I know I bitched out before when the professor paired us up. I'm sorry for that, and thank you for still showing up and agreeing to help me."

He looked at you, befuddled. He was not expecting an apology. The way you'd snapped at him and stormed out of the classroom had given him the impression that you didn't want anything to do with him. He'd felt dejected to say the least given his fat ass crush on you, but ever since you'd received him, you'd been nothing but nice to him and he'd known he'd been right in the first place, you were actually really sweet. And now you were mistaking his fidgeting for him being uncomfortable around you. Thus, you kept speaking. "It's just, I really can manage on my own. I don't want to burden you with this or for you to feel obliged to just because our professor made you. I've never had problems with my classes before. Guess I was just distracted with …" Your face fell a little, "It doesn't matter now anyway. We can just tell the professor we're meeting up but we don't actually have to so you still get paid." You finished.

He totally knew that you did okay on your own. You were smart, top of most your classes except this one because it was him. Only when you started to surround yourself with some not-so-smart people and your not-so-smart boyfriend it was that you started to fall behind, skip classes when you never in your life did so before. He couldn't understand what were you doing with a guy like that. His guess about you saying you'd been distracted was that you meant by him. He'd been surprised to recently hear you two had broken up near the end of last term. He was dying to know more. You totally had to have been the one to dump him. But instead, he said something more wise, "It's not a burden. I know you're good without me." Pushing himself to be a bit bolder and take his chance, he said, "And actually, I-I like… this. So we can just have study sessions like these whenever you want. Only if you'd like to of course!"

He was rewarded with bright laughter bubbling up from you. "Sorry. You're cute. But sure, I'd like that too. You have my number." You winked at him, squeezing his thigh before pulling your hand away.

His nose scrunched up, but still he smiled back. He'd take it you calling him cute if it meant hanging out with you again.

\\\

"Cheol, I want to cum. Please make me cum, Cheol." You keep chanting along with his name, words slurring when he hits that spot that turns you into putty in his hands. He's got you bent over that same pillow you were using earlier, face smushed against the mattress now that your arms have given up as he drives his cock in and of you hard from the back. You move in time to meet his thrusts, desperate to reach your high, your hole greedily sucking him in and making a mess all over him. He knows that he might be too much to take, but you're taking him like a champ, his hip bone smacking the fat of your ass with each deep thrust, light red blooming on the tender skin as he kneads it and lands a few spanks.

"Go ahead, baby. Soak my cock with your cum." He encourages, "I'm going to cum inside your pretty pussy, Fill it up even more."

It doesn't take much longer for you both to cum.

Except that when he does, he's alone in his room sitting on his bed with his jeans and underwear pushed down, head thrown back against the headboard as he cums on your panties that are wrapped around his cock as he jerks his hand up and down. The same panties you'd ruined when you were touching yourself that he'd spotted lying under your bed. They'd probably ended there in your rush of you changing and receiving him. He wouldn't have seen them if the ink of the pen you were using hadn't run out, you standing up to get another from your desk complaining about not finding your favorite and making due with a trashy one that you hated. That's when you accidentally dropped something, and bending to pick it up you flashed him. In the second that'd taken him to avert his gaze down, he'd noticed they were different ones, only to find the other pair lying on the floor. He'd reached and pocketed them, telling himself he did it to save you from wondering if he'd seen your underwear lying there the whole time he'd been over.

As his breathing calmed down and post orgasm clarity hit, he was sure of two things: he really was a perv. And pathetic. He heaved out a deep sigh, "This is so wrong."

2: Heartbreaker

It's a few days later when he sees you again after his first lesson of the morning. You're walking out of a lecture hall talking to a classmate when you look forward and wave at him with a smile. He waves back, face heating up. He's not able to hold eye contact for long, guilt bubbling up from the mouth of his stomach at the thoughts and things he's done thinking about you. He hears someone call out your name and looks over to find your ex coming up from the opposite direction walking towards you.

He tenses, jaw clenched as he watches you two talk. He knows he's unreasonably jealous. You're not his. He's not sure if he can even call himself your friend. But he's nothing to you either. The guy's a loser for fumbling you. What do you two even have to talk about?

He's stuck in this circle of thoughts, frowning at nothing when someone walks up to him. A girl he recognizes from one of his classes.

You brush your ex off as quick as you can, telling him to leave you alone and putting on a distance before he can lay a hand on you like you fear he intended to when you saw him reaching over, thinking it much better to go say hi to Seungcheol. But then you notice he's engaged in a far more pleasant conversation compared to yours. He's chatting with a girl, and for once he's not the one looking more nervous. You watch curiously, catching a few words like 'studying sometime together', walking slower than necessary making people skip past you annoyed. The last you get to see is the slight disappointment on the girl's face when Seungcheol seemingly turns the offer down.

The cafeteria is packed like it usually is past midday. You spot him already at a table, and go up to tease him, a lilt in your voice,"You heartbreaker!"

At the sound of your voice, Seungcheol looks up from his sandwich. Flustered, he sputters, "What do you mean?"

"I mean you turning down that poor girl earlier." You elaborate, pointing to a chair with the hand that's not holding your tray and pulling it out to sit in front of him when he nods it's okay.

"She just asked me if I needed a study partner." He tells you, still at a loss at how you came to your conclusions.

"Mmhm." you hum knowingly. "Bet you've been approached by lots of girls asking to "study" with you. Boys too." You grin.

"A few, yeah. How'd you know that?" He asks even more confused.

"You really don't know?" you let out an incredulous laugh. So he's really that oblivious. "You're handsome, smart. People like that. "

He blushes furiously, deciding to look down while taking another bite of his sandwich. You start on your own food as well.

"Do you?" He asks a few beats later.

"What?"

"I mean, do you like that?" He clarifies.

It's your turned to be stunned into silence, before you recover and answer with a slight color on your cheeks. "Yeah. I like that." you say it looking right into his eyes, an alluring look on your own.

Seungcheol's fighting off the huge smile about to take over his features, trying to keep cool. He nods, looking directly into your eyes too, "I already have my study partner."

You eat lunch together, chatting here and there and sitting in comfortable silence when you're not. A while later, you ask him what time is it. When he looks at his watch and tells you, you curse. It's almost time for your next lecture already. You hurry to grab your things and stand up, kissing his cheek goodbye like it's the most natural thing for you to do.

\\\

Mingyu's lying on Seungcheol's bed like it's his own, talking to him while he sits by his desk absentmindedly spinning a pencil in his hand, note-taking forgotten.

He notices Seungcheol spacing out for the nth time. He's let it slide all the other times before, but he's endured enough of not getting attention. He throws his empty water bottle at him. It further proves it's really bad when Seungcheol doesn't even flinch nor throws him a threatening look. "Dude, what's up with you? You've been smiling at the wall for 5 minutes. It's creeping me out."

"I talked to y/n today."

Ah. That makes sense.

"She had lunch with me. Kissed me on the cheek." He says, allowing for a dopey smile to take over. "She thinks I'm handsome too."

"Ugh." Mingyu fakes disgust at his friend's display of lovesickness. He's actually happy for him. You're a nice girl and Seungcheol's been admiring you from afar for a long time. It's great to hear hes had the opportunity to talk to you. He teases,"Great for you. It's good to have someone other than your grandma called you that for once, isn't it?"

Now Mingyu's the victim when an empty can is thrown his way. "I'm feeling very unwelcomed right now. So I'm going to leave you to daydream about how you're going to ask her out and eventually get laid."

3: Movie

Next time you plan your study session you meet at the library one late afternoon. It had been raining for a while, and he's running late for almost fifteen minutes. In the meantime, you'd been working ahead on your own homework. The cool air from the air conditioning, the silence and the misty gray from outside, with droplets of rain racing down the foggy window panes are making you sleepy. You wonder if in the end he thought better of what you told him and chose he didn't really need to come. A text letting you know would've been nice if that's the case.

When Seungcheol finally arrives, he's drenched enough for the librarian to glare at him, already thinking of him leaving puddles on the carpet. It was windy, so his umbrella could only do much to cover him; this resulted in the lower part of his jeans and his shoes to take the brunt of it. While he closed said umbrella right at the door, a light spray had fallen over his head and shoulders. He looks around and doesn't see you. Oh God you left thinking he bailed on you, it's what he starts to think cursing himself as his eyes roam desperately for you until he sees what's definitely your bag on one of the four chairs at a table with papers and stationery spread over it further in the back, the row next to the windows. He turns his head away when he hears light murmuring and laughter. A couple of guys are pointing at something, and as he follows their line of sight there you are, putting back some of the books you were using. The problem is, you're wearing one of those tiny skirts you like - and well, he likes them on you too probably more than you do. You keep wearing them despite the weather getting chillier but he knows better than to question a girl's outfit choice. - and are bending slightly, giving them too much of a good view than what they deserve. He drops his bag on your table and walks over, standing right behind you to shield you from their prying eyes, going as far as to throw daggers at them, who are quick to look away sensing they'd pissed him off.

You gasp, faltering to a stop when you feel something, or well someone right behind you. It's then when he realizes that he might be standing a little too close, his front practically pressed to your back, and he takes a step backwards. Tilting your head and seeing it's him you let out a relieved breath, straightening up and turning. "Seungcheol, you scared me."

"Sorry. I was just- you were crouching down and a couple of idiots were staring." He stutters an explanation, his face warming up while he pushes away the images his brain is bringing up of having you bent over in front of him. God, he has a problem.

Your eyes shoot open when you catch on to what he's saying, and you try to look past him to see which guys is he referring to. You catch them looking over again and they quickly turn away. "Thanks, Cheol. I think it's thanks to you I still have faith that some boys were raised right."

Right. He's awful. I mean, he thinks he's a decent guy. It's just that when it comes to you, most of that decency flies out the window. His poor mom would be so disappointed.

So he gives you what he hopes looks at least close to a genuine smile and chooses to remain silent. You speak again when you take in the state he's in. "Oh my god, your clothes are soaked." You looked at him with concern.

"It's not that bad." Even as he says it he immediately thinks of the librarian's glare.

"It's pretty cold in here already and with your clothes like that…" You shake your head, and he notices how you rub your arms, seeking for warmth. "We should go to your place. Don't want you to get sick. What are you..? No, you need it too! I just said I don't want you to get sick" you frown, arguing as you watch him shrug his jacket off, leaving him in a graphic t-shirt, gently placing it over your shoulders instead.

"We'll go once the rain lets up then. I'll be fine for a bit like this."

As you walk back to your table, you notice the way his shirt molds to his body over broad shoulders, fit on his arms. Meanwhile, he can't help but throw another mean look at the two assholes that were looking at you. You fix his jacket on you. The fabric practically swallows you up, he's several sizes bigger than you. It's so comfortable and warm, and it smells like him. You feel bad but can't help yourself as you snuggle up in it, giving him a grateful look.

You catch up with him about what you'd been working on. He looks it over, and gives you a couple pointers on how to continue. You listen to him closely and in turn help him with his own work. You finish earlier than him since you had a head start, and partly because he keeps stealing not so subtle glances at you, but thankfully for him you're sleepy enough not to notice. You must be tired, but he thinks you look cute regardless, wearing his jacket that's too big for you.

Your head falls on his shoulder and his grip on his mechanical pencil loosens, stopping everything he's doing altogether. Did you just fell asleep on him?

Your groggy voice comes as an answer, "Are you sure you're not cold? You feel cold." He is very much cold but he's not about to let you in on that. And then you're pressing yourself to him on a side hug. "Is it okay if I do this?" You look up at him. His hair's still a little damp. You think it's almost unfair how great he looks.

He looks into your doe eyes. You're so close. Then his gaze travels lower. He really wants to kiss you right now. "Yeah. It's okay." You nod, and nuzzle contentedly into him. He continues to work like that for a while more, or well, more like he pretends to because you're practically cuddling him, in public, and he likes how your hair smells. "I think the rain's letting up." He says regretfully. He really doesn't want to move away from you. Slowly, you straighten up and you both start gathering your things.

When you step outside, you take hold of his arm, cautious of the wet sidewalk. "I'll walk you to your place. We're done with classwork already and you must be tired." He says. You were hoping to hang out a little longer. He notices as you deflate a little. "Unless you want to come over anyways? We could um, watch a movie." He offers and instantly regrets it. That phrase usually is an euphemism. What if you think he's trying to get on your pants- or well, skirt? "Or something."

You brighten up, a glint in your eye."Sure. I'm up for a movie. Or something." You laugh.

His place is nice, surprisingly tidy and organized but with hints that it's lived in, like a forgotten mug on the living room's coffee table, the game controllers on the couch or the things on the kitchen waiting to be put away into the cupboards. In his room, the closet door is open, a pair of shoes sticking out, another jacket hanging from the backrest of his desk chair,the desk is cluttered, a tee shirt thrown over a full body mirror and another bunched on the floor besides the hamper instead of inside. You notice there are a few posters on the walls of bands and artists he likes. Shelves stacked with action figures, lego sets, videogame cases, cds, vinyls, different books and graphic novels.

He drops his bag on the floor by the door and you follow suit. "I just need a minute to get out of these. You can get comfortable." He tells you as he walks over to his drawers and gets what he needs, heading back out to change in the bathroom. You sit on his neatly made bed with your back against the headboard, shifting nervously while you keep looking around his room. He's quick to come back, now wearing black shorts. He looks over for something, the remote control on his night stand for the TV mounted on the wall facing the bed. "Oh shit, my bad. Didn't offer you anything. Would you like something?" Can you blame him for being nervous?

You smile up at him,"I'm okay, thanks."

He nods, sitting down beside you on the bed. "So, what do you feel like watching?"

This time though, you don't answer him. At least not with words. You just look at him and he thinks you're thinking it over. Then your gaze falls to his lips, or did he imagine it? He's still wondering if it is his imagination when you lean in and press a chaste kiss to his lips, and still when you raise yourself, swinging one of your legs over his so you're straddling his thick thighs. He doesn't have but a beat to look up at you with wide, starry eyes before you're cupping his cheeks leaning back down to kiss him. You kiss him slowly, taking your time, trying to memorize how his plump lips feel against your own. They are slightly chapped because of his habit of running his tongue over them but still soft. He tastes your lipgloss in his mouth, something faintly sweet about it, and he'd be glad to wipe it off you and get it smudged all over his face anytime. His hands that were resting on the bed lift just to stay hovering by your sides, twitching unsure where to put them and partly fearing that if he tries to touch you he'll wake up from a dream. As if reading his mind and reassuring him that this is indeed happening, you bite down softly on his bottom lip, making him groan, then you suck on it lightly to relief the sting. One of your hands move up to the back of his neck, threading your fingers through his hair as you tilt your head to deepen the kiss, letting your tongue slip inside his mouth. Your mixed puffs of breath and the sound of your spit covered lips echo in his ears and threaten to drown him but he still forces himself to the surface. "Wai-Wait."

"What's wrong?" You ask him, breath fanning his face. His eyes try to rake all over you at once in case this is all he gets; how your chest rises and falls in time with his, your lips now swollen and shiny. You look him over as well. His skin feels hot to the touch under your palm, where you can see a blush has taken over his fair skin, the deep shade of pink of his lips covered in the light glittery shade of your lipgloss, his glasses askew. He looks too good like this you can't wait to kiss him more but he has yet to answer. The longer he takes to talk though, you start to think you jumped to conclusions, "Wait, is this not what you wanted when you said- You were serious about the movie." You let out a breathy, uncomfortable laugh, totally embarrassed now, eyes downcast to avoid meeting his. You can't believe yourself, starting to move off him,"Fuck, I'm so sorry."

His hands finally find their place on your waist, making you sit back down on him gruffly. If you don't know the effect you have on him you might as well feel it. Your eyes widen when you do, something definitely big pressed right between your legs."No, no. Nothing's wrong." To hell with the movie. Nothing has ever been more right in his eyes. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay with this."

You look more shy than a moment before, but you're back to looking at him, "What do you think?" then you admit in a whisper like you're letting him in on a secret, your lips a breath away from his. "I've actually been thinking about kissing your pretty lips for a while." You kiss the corner of his lips. "Unless maybe this is too fast."

He shakes his head vigorously, "I don't mind fast." And this time he kisses you. You smile into the kiss, and he's on cloud nine. He's really got you sitting on top of him, your mouth ravishing his own. What started as making out sweetly is turning into hot, feverish kisses that have you both gasping heavily against each other's lips, you grinding your clothed core over the bulge in his pants. You move to pepper kisses along his jaw, his neck, your hands tracing his body over his t-shirt; up his torso where they rest a moment on his defined chest, caressing his shoulders then going back down over the muscles in his arms. His hands get the message at last and they release their tight hold on your waist, fingertips sneaking under the hem of your top feeling the warmth emanating from your skin, up, stopping just at the underside of your breasts feeling the delicate lace of your bra. You pull away just for a moment to get rid of your shirt, and he takes in the newly exposed skin with hungry eyes. But it's unfair, you want to touch him, feel him with nothing in between so you pull at his shirt wanting to get rid of it and he appeases you when he does. You admire him as well, surprised to find that under those big sweaters he likes to wear he's toned in all the right places, firm under soft skin. He shivers as you sink your nails on it from his chest down to his abs leaving light red marks on their wake, and you smile. You leave kisses all over his bare skin, teeth biting and nipping softly, teasing. You proudly look over your artwork, marks blooming on his skin.

His own hands smooth over your thighs up until he's cupping your ass under your skirt pressing you impossibly closer, hips bucking up into you as you keep kissing him."We're- We're just making- hah out?"

"Mmm- How far do you wanna go?"

He wants to feel you wrapped around him so badly, eyes threatening to flutter shut with every grind of your hips. He's already so far gone between now and thinking back to that day he'd accidentally seen you getting off all by yourself, your sorry little hole pulsing over nothing asking to be filled up while you begged to cum. He wanted to help you back then, and he surely can do so now. "I want to be inside you. Please." He gasps. He's the one begging now.

You whimper, nodding. He watches as you raise yourself off him so you can shimmy out of your skirt and he gets just a peek of how damp your underwear is before you're sliding it down too and kicking it off somewhere in his room. You might not find those again. You smile bashfully, but the hazy look in his eyes as he looks at you, the hunger you see in them give you a boost of confidence. You deliberately take your time making your way back to him while he fumbles to take his shorts off. You straddle his thighs, pulling his boxers down yourself. He sighs in relief and you watch,stunned, as his big cock springs up and hits his tummy, its tip leaking with precum.

An involuntary whine escapes you,"You're just big everywhere, aren't you?" you say, almost as if speaking to yourself. He gives you a dazed smile, seeing how satisfied you are with the view in front of you. You're tempted to slide down and lean over him for a taste, the lust swirling in your lower belly that shines in your eyes pushing back the thought that he's going to tear you apart when you try to take him. You're torn on where do you want him more. But you'll get a chance to do anything you want together another day, right? So, you swallow the spit gathering in your mouth at the mouthwatering sight. "Condom?"

His smile falters, and vanishes. A word. Just a simple, 6 letter word was threatening to bring crashing down everything that build up to this moment. There was no way this was happening to him. You were half naked and eager in front of him, and he was so hard it was starting to make him hurt and dizzy. You'll hate him if you have to stop everything now. "I don't- I don't have any." And he waits for the worse. Everything stops for a beat.

Okay, maybe your mind was clouded with thoughts about sex, and you wouldn't be able to stand leaving all hot and bothered and frustrated. The need is too much. You want him bad. It's not your proudest moment nor your best suggestion when you speak, "You can pull out."

He stares at you, thinking he might've heard wrong but sees you're being serious."Yeah, yes." He nods eagerly, bringing you forwards. You stumble clumsily over him due to his strength, and laugh, surprised. It turns you on even more when you think of him manhandling you any way he wants.

You lower yourself gently on him so his cock is nuzzled in the warmth between your legs, your puffy lips dragging all over his length with the tantalizing roll of your hips. "Oh fuck." He curses, lips parting as you continue moving, covering him in your slick. He stops you when he grips your waist. He can't allow himself cumming right now when things are just starting. So, he lifts you again before he's aligning his cock to your entrance, bringing you back down. His moans and curses are drowned out by your loud ones as he makes you sit on him balls deep in one go. It knocks the air out of your lungs. Your walls flutter around him, your pussy holding his big, fat cock in a tight grip. He drags out another curse,"You feel so good."

"So full." It's all you can manage to whine. You haven't even moved yet and you're already ruined. You could've really used his fingers first.

"Yeah?" He smirks, "I'm giving you all of it."

"Mhmm." you answer in a whimper, "I'm going to take all of it."

You start moving slowly while you get used to the stretch, to the feeling of his cock, every ridge and vein dragging along your warm, velvety walls. Raising yourself up from him until only the tip is in, then sink back down, then you do it again, and again, until you're bouncing on him. The room fills with your moans, the wet sounds of skin slapping on skin every time his balls smack against your puffy lips, his cock covered on his precum and your glistening slick that's dripping down making a mess all over him. You switch to a roll of your hips to give yourself respite. His big brown eyes look up at you,"You're beautiful." He tells you before he gets cut off by his moans. You've both worked up a sweat, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. You smile at the compliment, cheeks rosy, and push his glasses that had slid down back up the bridge of his nose. He hadn't taken them off because he wanted to see your every expression, every inch of your skin as clearly as possible. They suit him so well and he looks so sexy, you tell him, which makes his skin flush more as well in turn. He's struggling to unclasp your bra, wanting to see your tits bounce freely all over his face while you move. You giggle, helping him out. "Someone might need some tutoring." You tease but a sweet roll of his hips is quick to shut you up.

You're growing tired, thighs trembling as you resume your pace from earlier, but your climax is just at reach and you won't stop. His hips thrust up, meeting your own movements and hitting deep. Next thing he knows, you're cumming all over his cock, your pussy squeezing him tight, trying to milk him for all he's worth. Your moans are loud. He's in love with the sounds you're making. He should've known, he loves to hear your voice. Your orgasm threatens to trigger his own but he doesn't want this moment to end yet.

You gasp when he turns you both over, caging you under him with his arms at his sides holding him up keeping him from crushing you. He slides himself back in, easier this time around with your wetness and cum serving as lubrication but it's still rough, a tight squeeze. You spread your legs wider, trying your best to accommodate to him, before he lifts one up encouraging you to wrap them around his waist, the heels of your feet digging into the flesh of his asscheeks. He rolls his hips with purpose, drunk on the sound of your moans and the filthy squelch your pussy makes with each of his thrusts. He's hiding his face in the juncture between your shoulder and neck, trying to muffle his own moans against your skin but they're just falling right into your ear, making arousal zip down your spine and pool on your lower belly. Your body jostles up the bed with the force. You feel like you're sinking into the mattress, and the headboard of his twin bed is smacking loudly against the wall, most likely letting anyone on the room next door know what's going on.

You thread your fingers through the soft, damp strands of his hair, your other hand clawing down his back, making him groan, your head thrown back against the pillows. You call his name, and when he lifts his head, your lips meet his in wet, heated, open mouthed kisses. His thrusts become sloppy and he's breathing hard.

"Cheol." you try to tell him but his name just comes out in a moan. He's making you feel so good your brain is turning to mush. "Mmmph! Cheol." Your eyes roll back as you cum again, soaking his cock for a second time and clamping down around him making it hard for him to keep moving. A couple stray tears make their way down to your hairline. You're spent, eyes threatening to fall shut, your last warnings dying in your throat when he gives a few deep, punctuated thrusts and you gasp when you feel him swell inside of you before he's filling you with his hot cum.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He curses, burying himself to the hilt, stilling, and you take in the sight of him as he cums. The pure bliss irradiating from his face, eyes screwed shut while his mouth hangs open, the veins on his neck straining. You whimper at the feeling of his cock throbbing inside you as he empties his balls and fills you up with spurt after spurt of his cum.

You remain like that, chest to chest and unmoving, catching your breaths. Your fingers brush through the short strands on his nape softly, making his eyelids droop while he leaves kisses on your shoulders here and there.

After a while, he raises himself up before his arms give out and he puts all his weight on you. But before he separates entirely from you, he can't help but to teasingly roll his hips one more time, making you whine. He chuckles and you smack his arm. With a hiss from both of you he pulls out.

You gasp, a hand going to sneak down between your legs to cover yourself when you feel thick globs of cum dripping out, before you're whining his name in a reprimanding tone "Seungcheol!"

He's on his knees, leaning back and moving your hand to stare shamelessly at your stretched out pussy dripping with his cum, face hot as he bites his lip trying to hold back a smile in case you're mad. But staring up at your face, you don't look mad, just bashful under his stare.

You yelped as he leaned over and hooked his arms under your thighs pulling you down the bed so his face was right between your legs. "What are you doing?" You raised yourself on your elbows.

His hot breath fans over your spent cunt as he answers, making you shiver, "Just have to clean you up."

\\\

Seungcheol reluctantly and carefully leaves your side on the bed, disentangling himself from you to grab his glasses from his nightstand and getting up, wearing only his boxers. He looks back at you, relaxed and still sound asleep, bunched up sheets covering your naked body, messy hair on his pillows like a twisted halo. He's still smiling at the sight of you as he leaves the room to the bathroom across the hall. When he sees his reflection in the mirror above the sink, his eyebrows shoot up. He looks like he had a good fuck, which he did. There's marks peppered along his chest, bite marks, scratch marks, red tiny half moons on his shoulders and arms. Turning around slightly and tilting his head, he sees more scratches on his back. He doesn't know how he's going to hide the ones on his neck.

"Damn, bro" comes Mingyu's loud voice as he walks into the kitchen for a glass of water, looking at the state he's in and the bad case of bed/sex hair he's sporting. Seems like he just got back. "Either you were fucking or you were a victim of attempted murder."

"Shut up." He hisses, thinking of you still sleeping in his room.

"She's still here?" He asks nosily. He walks over to him to get a closer look of all the marks from you adorning his otherwise porcelain skin, but Seungcheol tries to cover himself with one arm, shoving him away with other letting out a, "Get off me." mirth in his tone yet still flustered. "Need to give her my congratulations on finally popping your cherry. We have to celebrate! Where are you going?" He asks as Seungcheol finishes drinking his water and starts to walk toward the hall.

"To put some clothes on."

"Aw, don't be shy."

"Fuck off, dude. I need to go get something." He tries to defend but ends up digging himself further.

"Now? What are you getting?"

"Just… Something."

"Why are you being so mysterious all of a sudden? I'm just asking why would you want to leave when you have-" He cuts himself off as he notices the deep blush on his friend's face and how he brushes his hand over his already messy hair nervously. He laughs, a big grin stretching on his face when he catches on "Oh, you mean something from the pharmacy two blocks down the street?"

"You're the worst."

"Apparently you are."

After Mingyu, he still has to deal with the slightly judging stare from the pharmacist he stutteringly asks help from, taking in the sight of him similarly like his friend did.

You stir in bed, coming to. Opening your eyes, you take in your surroundings, remembering what happened earlier. You shake your head with a lovesick smile, sighing as you sit up and begin looking for your clothes. You hear voices from outside the door, Seungcheol and someone else's. His roommate, you figure. Forgetting about your clothes for a moment, you walk over towards the door, pressing your ear to it curious to hear what's all the fuss about.

"-her my congratulations for popping your cherry. We have to celebrate!" Your frown morphs into utter surprise as you slap a hand to your mouth.

You were Seungcheol's first time?

The rest of the conversation is tuned out. His footsteps coming down the hall alert you, and you rush back into bed, pretending you're asleep. You feel one of his hands cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek affectionately, and the soft press of lips to your forehead.

4: Distracted

Your eyes search for him at his usual spot in the front. You arrived before he did. You step into a row, shifting until you reach the seat around the middle , at the center of the lecture hall. You pull the desk in front of you and start setting up your things.

Seungcheol arrives, the professor walking in right behind so once his eyes meet yours all you can do is wave at each other. Something catches your eye. A deep red mark peeking just over the collar of his shirt. He hadn't even bothered to cover them up. He straightens up in his seat and you think he wasn't able to catch the blush on your cheeks.

Class goes on as usual for the most part, until your focus starts to shift elsewhere. Seungcheol sits to the side, so you have a clear view of his profile. You start to map every detail: from his hair, to his thick eyebrows, big brown eyes with long eyelashes, the bridge of his nose, full lips, strong jawline. And he's turning to look at you expectantly. Wait. Shit, he's looking over. You avert your gaze quick though it's too late, he already caught you staring. Someone's calling your name. The professor. "I'm sorry, what?" You ask sheepishly.

He gives you an unimpressed look, telling of how this is not the first time you've done this and you grimace. He repeats the question for you and now you answer, eyes downcast while your face burns. You miss the grin on Seungcheol's face.

When the lecture's over, you all but run for the exit. He's hot on your heels, calling out after you. You stop, grimacing again, before you turn around, finding the cracks between the floor tiles very interesting. Your sway from side to side on the spot, arms wrapped around you not knowing what to do with yourself, and Seungcheol is enjoying how flustered this has gotten you. Between the two of you, you've always been more cheeky, which is a lot to say because you're still pretty shy.

"Have you heard that it's not nice to stare?"

"I don't know. Something tells me you liked it." you answer back.

"I did." He admits, dropping the banter before picking it up again, "I just don't want you to start getting distracted again by your friend." He almost gets too carried away nearly calling himself your boyfriend, thinking back to the first proper conversation you had with him. Seems that thinking about that day whatever way it may be is dangerous. "As your tutor, I have to disapprove." But he thinks he made a good enough safe.

"I think my tutor is putting as much work to distract me too. Might have to speak to the professor about looking for another one."

"You wouldn't." As you make it to circle past him back to the classroom, he wraps his arms around you pulling you to him, your back against his chest uncaring of being in the middle of a crowded hallway. "You're stuck with me." That makes you laugh. He smiles against your hair at the sound.

You turn in his hold, staring up at him. There's a boyish smile on his face for you. You bring up a hand to poke at his cute dimple, and then you're distracted again by the marks on his skin. Your fingers trace down and over the tender spot. "You know, people can see these."

Seungcheol shrugs. One of his hands comes up to wrap around your wrist, holding your hand in place as he kisses your palm, then he's making you wrap your arms around his neck. "I like them." He says, wearing them proudly, "You think I should've worn a turtleneck?"

"Mmm", you pretend to think it over, "I think they'd also look so good on you."

"Fine. I'll wear one then." You smile at him, and open your mouth like you're about to say something else. Sensing your hesitation, he encourages you to speak, "What is it?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you about something but I'm not sure this is a good place for it." You tell him, looking around at the other students hurrying to get to their to their next class, which you two also should be doing. He raised a brow, wondering what you want to talk about that you can't tell him right now. Was it bad? You notice him worrying his bottom lip and you speak up again to try and stop him from overthinking, "Don't worry, it's not bad. It's about what happened the other day."

"Oh." He nods sheepishly. You could get whiplash from how he can go from being this cute to being such a freak.

But wait, his mind refuses to not think more about it, what was your definition of "not bad'? What if you were going to tell him it had just been a one time thing? What if you wanted to call off your studying sessions and everything altogether? It plants a seed of doubt in him, invasive, one that sprouts and weaves all around trying to squeeze his heart and lungs making it hard to breathe.

Before he can pry further, you speak again."We're going to be late. Meet later?"

"Sure, okay." He nods, but it feels awkward when he smiles at you. Yours is pretty before you kiss his cheek and start walking away to your next class. He turns to look at you and sees you turning to wave at him one more time.

And now he has to go through the rest of the day trying not to go mad about every single possible outcome of your upcoming conversation. He hates the suspense.

\\\

Needless to say, he struggles to focus during the rest of the class day, his mind spinning all sorts of scenarios, most of them leading to a bad ending. The clock on the wall marks the end of his last lecture and he's the first to cross out the door, heading towards the front of the building where he waits only a few minutes before you're walking over to him. "Your place?" Does he really want you to dump him at his place where it would be even easier for his mind to bring it up and grief him any time? Well, practically you can't dump him, right? You're not together. Which brings no comfort. It's actually worse. And he's taking too long to give you an answer, so regardless of his feelings he finds himself nodding under your expectant gaze. Then you're grabbing one of his fidgeting hands in yours, intertwining your fingers and leading the way. It gets his thoughts to quiet down.

Mingyu's not back yet, so it's just the two of you. He moves slowly, shrugging off his bag and moving in autopilot. If this is it, he might as well make it last even if it eats him from the inside. You're merciful in making you both sit in the living room couch so he doesn't attach the memory to his room, where some of his best moments with you have happened. His hand's still in yours.

You don't make him wait any longer, "So, I heard something." You wince. Not because of what you're going to say, but because you're about to confess you eavesdropped on him and Mingyu by asking, "Was I really your first time?"

His eyes go comically wide while his face burns. This? He's been going crazy all day about this conversation happening and you're telling him this? It's far better than all he managed to come up with but it's still mortifying enough. He's going to kill Mingyu as soon as he sees him.

His lips part and close making him resemble a fish, and he looks away and at the coffee table in front of him instead while he nods.

You groan, your hand releasing his so both can come up to hide your face. Your voice comes out muffled, "Why didn't you say anything! I practically jumped you."

Now apart from embarrassed, he's also confused about why you're embarrassed. He turns back to you, gently pulling your hands away so he can see you, "What for? I happily let you, didn't I?"

You stare at him, surprised, a matching blush on your face. Then you're throwing yourself at him and burying your face in his chest instead. He hears your muffled voice against his hoodie as you start talking again "We should've done this differently. It was meant to be special for you but I had to rush everything-"

He grabs your waist and you gasp as he brings you onto his lap. Then he's cupping your face to keep you from hiding, "Hey, listen to me. You didn't do anything I didn't want you to. It was special. You know why?" You shake your head,"Because it was with you. I really liked it. Wouldn't change a thing. Understood?" Liking it doesn't even begin to cover it. He actually loved it but he was afraid that would come off as too much and scare you off.

If you weren't stunned to silence, you are now. So you do the most sure thing and you kiss him. He's quick to follow, pressing his lips sweetly against yours."Understood." You tell him when you pull away.

"Smart." He's giving you a cheeky smile, "I really wanted you to jump me."

"Yeah? Want me to jump you now?" You ask him biting your lip. It directs his attention to them, and between that, the look you're giving him and having you on top of him again it's enough to have him ready to go.

Just as he's about to answer, the front door swings open. Your heads turn and you see Mingyu stepping inside. He sees you two and stops, a hand still on the doorknob. "Oh. What's up?" Then, even though it's not a clear view with his friend craning his neck to look back at him, he notices there's that familiar, scary threat in Seungcheol's glare. He has a feeling it has nothing to do with him walking in on you.

"Would you give me a minute?" Seungcheol's eyes turn soft when he looks back at you. You nod curiously. As soon as you're off him, he stalking towards Mingyu. Instinctively, he runs for it.

"Wait! Hold on! Wai- What did I do?!"

5: Jealousy

Time keeps moving. Things between you and Seungcheol have definitely changed; you keep studying together, have lunch together whenever you can (sometimes joined by Mingyu), hang out at each other's place which often ends in a heated make out session. But he's not just the tutor your professor assigned you anymore. Hasn't been for a while ever since you slept with him. Maybe you were already falling before that. You don't know. But you're just friends, right? Friends that fucked once and would be fucking a lot more if you didn't put every ounce of self-control you could muster to use. Because what if he doesn't want anything serious? Does he even see you as someone he would like to date? He thinks you're pretty, has told you so many times. Enjoys touching you and kissing you, but what if that's the extent of it? You think back to your last relationship and feel that uncomfortable pang in your chest. But your ex was an idiot. Seungcheol's nothing like that. He can be very shy though. Maybe that's why he hasn't said anything? Should you be the one to ask him out?

You're thinking too much it must be showing on your face. You shake your head, trying to keep your spirits high, but seems like today's not your day. You hear him calling out your name before you see him. He's too close already for you to try and dodge him, so you close your eyes, take a deep breath and turn to face him and tell him to get lost.

Seungcheol thinks life is good. He's doing well at school, makes money with his tutoring job while at it, has good friends, spends time with the girl he likes any chance he gets. It could get better, Mingyu agrees, if he finally stopped chickening out from asking you out properly.

"What if she turns me down?" He worries throwing his arms out defeatedly, turning his body slightly towards Mingyu as they walk down the halls.

"Does those heart eyes she gives you mean nothing to you?" Mingyu gives him a look before continuing, "That's the worse thing she could do though, and it wouldn't be the end of the world-" So much for his pep talk, "but she won't." They turn a corner.

It's as far as the conversation goes, because he's not listening anymore. He's now looking at the person talking to you. His eyes swirl with contempt, body locking in with tension. Mingyu takes a few more strides before he realizes Seungcheol fell to a stop behind him. "What? What is it?" He looks from to Seungcheol to where his gaze is fixed on, to find you talking with your ex, "That guy again? Seriously, he needs to take a hint."

Unless you actually consider getting back with him, an annoying voice in his head taunts him. He doesn't have more time to stand there and brood because Mingyu's pulling him forward trying to listen to the conversation.

"I've already told you I'm sorry. What else do you want?"

"I'm sorry I put you through that." You say sarcastically. Seungcheol doubts if he can even catch that, "I never asked you to do it. In fact, I never asked anything from you besides respect." Seungcheol frowns. He still doesn't know what happened to put an end to things between you, wonders what did he do to make you say that.

Something you said must've been funny for him, because he gives you an amused look,"You're just acting difficult."

"And you're wasting my time. Again." You grit out and try to turn to leave.

He grabs your arm harshly, forcing you to face him again. "We're not done."

"We've been done for a long time. I don't want anything to do with you." You repeat, "Let go." You say, uneasy, wincing when he does the opposite, his grip getting tighter. "You're hurting me."

The moment Seungcheol sees your ex cross the line, he's walking over and taking hold of his arm, making him let go of you. "Don't ever touch her again." he says, rigid with anger.

He shrugs off Seungcheol's hold roughly. Something flickers in his eyes as he takes a close look at him, recognition and something more unpleasant. You know that you won't like whatever he chooses to do next, "Got yourself a good lap dog by letting him hit?" He says and dares to scoff like he has any right to reproach anything about your life, "You've become so easy."

It happens fast. Seungcheol throws a punch, your ex narrowly dodging it and connecting his own fist right over Seungcheol's lip. You shout, the chatter around you stopping before resuming more intensely when the rest of the students standing close by caught on to what's happening. A trickle of blood stains Seungcheol's skin and the front of his sweater. His glasses clatter on the floor, but when he goes for another punch it lands and your ex is going to be sporting a black eye later. You try to get in between them to stop the fight but Mingyu comes up from behind you right on time to steady you when your ex almost knocks you back. Some other students try to help to break them apart.

\\\

By the time Seungcheol sees you again, you're way less upset but still worried. Mingyu stuck with you waiting for Seungcheol as well, helping you calm down and getting you to stop crying until he had to leave for class. Thankfully, someone from faculty had stepped in and they didn't report the matter of the fight over to campus security, which would've risked getting the local police involved. Still, if something like that ever happened again on campus grounds they wouldn't be so forgiving. They also knew Seungcheol, that he was a great student and it wasn't normal for him to exhibit violent behaviour.

Sure enough, when both boys walk out of the professor's office, you see the area around your ex's right eye beginning to redden and darken, while Seungcheol's got a busted lip. You run over to him, "What happened? Are you okay?" One of your hands hovers unsurely over his mouth, and your eyes threaten to well up with tears again. Your ex walks past you silently observing you and glaring at you both. He fills you in and assures you he's not in trouble, that's he's okay. "You shouldn't have done that. You got hurt, and you could've gotten in trouble with the police or expelled!"

He frowns. "I was supposed to let him get away with doing and saying those things about you without paying for it?"

"He was obviously trying to provoke you."

"I don't care about that. He was hurting you. I won't let it slide for anyone to touch you or speak to you that way." He shoots back. He thinks back to how he was gripping your wrist and feels himself getting angry again. You sniffle, and he sees a tear that manages to escape before you hug him. He gets this deep, unpleasant feeling in his chest at the sight. He doesn't think he's ever felt something like it. He panics. "Wait, no, I'm sorry." He's definitely not sorry for punching that idiot but he scrambles for anything that'd make you feel better. "Please don't cry."

He stops briefly at his dorm before he's meeting you back at your place again later in the evening. He probably shouldn't, given that he just managed to slip free of trouble for starting a physical fight and now he's risking it by coming into your dorm. Curfew's still not in place but he knows well he's always still there when the time comes. You tell him so, but it betrays you how you brighten up at the sight of him nonetheless, just wanting him close. There's still a redness in the corner of your eyes from earlier.

None of you are thinking about homework or exams right now. You're lying in your bed, he's got his back against the headboard while you rest your head on his lap. One of his hands threads through your hair affectionately. It's just the two of you enjoying each other's company.

"You know, I think I have a great idea of how my lip could heal faster." He starts to say. You turn slightly to look up at him with a questioning look. "Kiss is better?" And he juts his lip out, mustering the most disarming pout he can. He's so cute you could start punching the air. And it really works, because you're about to fall right into his trap.

You sit up, resting a hand on his thigh for support, and can't help but giggle at how excited he looks that you're actually going to do it. You lean in to softly press your lips against his own over the small gash. Just a feathery brush being careful not to hurt him and then you're trying to pull back. But he's bringing up a hand to cup the back of your neck and chasing your lips again with more intention. "Cheol- Wait I don't- I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not hurting me." He mumbles, eyes barely open, not letting the space between you widen more than a breath, "Your kiss would never hurt me. It already feels better."

"It's going to start bleeding again." You say more seriously and pull away.

"I'm not going to be able to kiss you now because of the stupid cut?" He's pouting again, but he really looks upset now. You laugh.

"You should've known better than getting into a fight." You take the opportunity to lightly scold him again. He sulks even more, looking away. You're not going to agree regarding the topic. It's not easy for you either, you think. You love kissing his luscious lips and it doesn't help that he's really good at it. Your own self control is starting to fray until it comes undone.

"But I can make you feel better some other way." You offer, biting your lip. He's still being petty and not looking over. So you decide to go ahead.

You move back to your previous position. When it was all but innocent earlier, now you nuzzle your face right over him, making his dick jump in his pants. You hear a deep intake of air from above you and smile to yourself. His hand goes back to your hair when you do it again, more to ground himself than anything. Your name leaves his lips, voice unsteady. You raise yourself up only so you can slide his pants down, then you're lowering yourself again to leave kisses and suck teasingly over where's he's already straining in his boxers, helping him get completely there by bringing a hand to stroke him over the fabric. A moan slips from his lips, and you look up at his face through your lashes. There's already a hazy look in his eyes, his breathing hard, splotches of red blooming on his face down to his neck. You're faring no better, and you feel it in the ache between your legs. His eyes follow your every move as you're back up, brushing your thumb over his lower lip to free it from where he'd caught it between his teeth to stop more sounds from tumbling out. You tut, "You're going to hurt yourself."

"Sorry, it's just- You…" he trails off, not really knowing what he was going for in the first place, mind shutting off with nothing but you in it.

"Has anyone given you a blowjob before?" You ask straightforwardly. His face turns even more red as he shakes his head. It's not of importance if there was someone before, but you still get a thrill hearing you're his first. You pull the elastic of his boxers and let it snap lightly against his skin again before you go to take them off.

"You don't- You don't have to." He barely has the restraint to say.

"I know I don't. I want to. " He has no idea how much you've wanted it. "I want to suck you off. Make you feel really good. Can I?" You ask to make sure he's okay with this.

He gulps. "Yes. Please." He'll let you do anything you asked.

"Good." You smile, "But no biting these or I stop." you place your index finger to his lips. "Let me hear you."

You get rid of what's left of his clothes and start leaving a path of kisses from his chest down to his tummy, following his happy trail until you're right over him. Puckering your lips, you let the spit that's been gathering in your mouth drip over his cock. You close your hand around him as best as you can, giving it a few wet jerks. The tips of your fingers don't touch. He's fully hard already, leaking with precum. The first press of your lips makes him moan as you leave a few kisses. You dart out your tongue and flatten it to lick the underside from base to tip, feeling the thick vein there before you switch to kitten lick his tip where he's more sensitive. You pay attention to it, his salty taste hitting your tongue, loving how he responds and instinctively bucks his hips up, starting to get restless. Finally, you close your lips around him and slowly sink down, taking everything you can. When you swallow around him he curses, hands bunching the sheets so tight his knuckles turn white. His head hits the headboard with a soft thud when he screws his eyes shut and throws it back, letting out the prettiest of moans without a care in the world. You moan and feel your underwear starting to get uncomfortably wet. You swirl your tongue around him, he's hot and heavy against it, before you come up to breath, a string of your saliva connecting from his cock to your lips.

You sink back down, paying some attention to his balls, licking and sucking, his whole body jolting involuntarily. You sooth with both your hands smoothing up and down his thighs sweetly and one of his hands returns to the top of your head, brushing your hair softly and holding it back for you. You take his cock back in your mouth, quickly finding your rhythm now bobbing your head up and down, working your tongue around him. His breathing becomes more shallow and you can feel him twitch in your mouth. You redouble your efforts, your jaw starting to feel numb but you focus on him, on keeping him making those pretty sounds for as long as you can. He looks down at you with half lidded eyelids, beads of sweat building over his temple, his chest glistening. Stars swim around his eyesight threatening to burst at any moment for how you're making him feel and more seeing how you're also relishing in it. A couple tears have streaked down your cheeks, but the sight of them like this don't upset him like when you were crying earlier. A few loose strands of your hair stick to your forehead, and your chin is shiny with your spit with the mess you've made all over his cock down to his balls. It's everything about you like this that brings him dangerously to the edge with barely no warning, "Fuck, I'm gonna- I'm gonna-"

You only moan in response, pulling back slightly but never taking him out of your mouth and he can only just give in to the wave of pleasure washing over him when he cums. Strings of hot, thick, white cum hit your tongue and you swallow every drop. He thrusts into your mouth a couple of times, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag, before he stills and slumps into the bed. You release him from your mouth with a pop, going to give a few teasing licks as he starts to grow softer. He hisses, sensitive now and you stop, switching to leave kisses on his thighs, going up to his tummy and chest that rises and falls fast as he tries to catch his breath from the intensity of his high. When you're face to face, he gives you a tired smile, eyes swirling with affection. You smile at him and kiss the corner of his lips.

Again, he pulls you into him so you're kissing him properly and you gasp in his mouth. He can taste himself in you, before you're pulling away to chide him one more time. It's clear he doesn't care though as he just nods and looks at you like you're the most precious thing in his life. He really wants to ask you out. Maybe he should do it another time when he's not entirely naked in front of you, sticky and sweaty after he just came in your mouth to save himself from further embarrassment if you say no. He also thinks you might hate him for asking while you're also a total mess but he adores how messy you get for him. Before he can overthink it longer and this sudden courage wears out, he's letting the words tumble out of his mouth, "Go out with me? On a date?"

Your eyes widen and go rounder with surprise, and he braces himself. But then you're smiling bashfully, trying to smooth down your hair staring at his lips, before you meet his big, bright, warm brown eyes. "You want to date me?"

"Yes." He says firmly, nodding for emphasis.

"I thought you'd never ask. Yes, I want to go out on a date with you."

He falls asleep shortly after having to drag himself under your bed when someone knocks on your front door (He pulled his boxers back on and kicked the rest of his clothes under it before ducking and hiding himself. You can't help yourself and give him a little slap on his perfectly round ass under the disguise of hurrying him and have to hold back your laughter when he jolts with a yelp and throws you a look before getting out of sight. It's not much of an easy task given that the space under your bed is narrow and he's a big guy so it's a very uncomfortable fit. Your roommate who got back some time before curfew started beats you to the door and opens it, letting the student that makes the rounds come in. She greets you kindly, making small talk while walking around the place and you open the doors to your rooms. Soon, she's back out without a single clue of Seungcheol being there.). You're sitting on your desk with his tee shirt on typing away on your laptop finishing a paper for one of your classes, but the sight of him like that, so relaxed, soft yet sinful has you stealing glances at him more often than not. He's splayed on his back on your bed taking most of the space, one arm folded under his head, legs spread, one of them slightly bent. wearing only his boxers while he snoozes softly, serene look in his face as his chest rises and falls slowly. He'd fallen asleep with his glasses on but you took them off to make him comfortable. You smile, your eyes twinkling brightly thinking about moments ago. Your heart flutters; you can't wait for your -

6: Date

Seungcheol checks his appearance on the full body mirror in his room for the nth time. He's nervous but excitement thrums steadily in his veins, glowing on his face. Mingyu walked into the room a few minutes ago to tease him as he finishes getting ready. Seungcheol gets he means well, and it's actually helping him relax.

"Don't want to rush you or anything but you're going to be late if you keep checking yourself out." Mingyu tells him, making him glance at the time. He hurries one last look, fixing his already styled hair.

"Do you think she'll like it though?" He meets his eyes in the mirror's reflection.

"She told you she'd like it, right? She'll love it." Then he adds, "Though I'm not sure if she'll choose it best after she's seen what's underneath."

"Do you really have to say those things?"

"You're the same or even worse than me." Silence. No argument, and Mingyu smiles triumphantly.

You'd insisted to meet there when he told you he'd pick you up. He invited you to the winter festival going on on the town's square. He gets there on time, before sundown, and looks around for you amongst the throng of people already there.

"Cheol?" He hears your voice calling for him. You're close. He turns towards it and he sees you standing up from a bench, smiling and waving at him. He walks over.

"Hi." He breaths out, nerves creeping back in.

"Hi." you stand on tip toe and kiss his cheek. It's cold, so the color on his cheeks could be because of that. You take in his appearance. "You're wearing a turtleneck." And your smile growing bigger makes your eyes shine brighter.

"I told you I would. So, what do you think?"

"I love it." You state, and he looks down in an attempt to hide his bashful smile from you. That four little word keeps going in circles in his mind. "What's that?" you point curiously at a small box in his hand.

"It's a gift. For you. I- I actually bought you something else but I didn't want you to have to carry it around all night." He rambles, beginning to undo his hairstyle by brushing his hand through the soft strands. He's doing so well. If only he could shut up.

"Great minds think alike." you smile brightly at him, and that's when he notices the bag you're holding behind your back. "I got something for you too."

You sit down, and hand him his gift. He takes out the contents from the bag: there's a new lego set, a book and a small box that holds a thin gold chain. You watch, excited for his reactions. When he looks up at you, there's a sparkle in his eyes. You're incredible. "I love them, thank you. You didn't have to do all of this."

"Shut up. Then why did you bring me something?"

"Because- Because I wanted to."

"Well, there you have it. I wanted to too." You say firmly.

He laughs, shaking his head before urging, "Open yours."

You open the small box to find a dainty gold bracelet inside. You gasp, "It's beautiful." He smiles, pleased that you liked it and helps you put it on. "You didn't need to get me anything else."

Now it's his turn to tell you to shut up. "We should find a good spot to watch when they turn on the lights." You nod, and grab his hand when he offers it.

There's lots to do, but first you watch as the square fills color with Christmas lights. A giant Christmas tree, with a shining star on the top, and covered in ornaments with enough space in it left for the people to decorate it too. Stands of food vendors to cater visitors with something warm - except that you actually go for an ice cream stand first and Seungcheol thinks you're insane. "Some people crave ice cream when it's cold." is what you tell him. -, live music, attractions and rides for the kids - you still drag him onto the carousel-, an ice rink, souvenir stands, a photo booth.

You grab your photo strips, and smile staring at them.You're making silly faces on the first one, he'd hugged you from the back on the second one and you're not even looking at the camera, you slightly turned towards him while he looks at you, but there's big smiles on your faces that made your eyes crinkle. The third one you're poking his cheeks where his dimples show, and the last one he meant to kiss your cheek but you turn at the last moment and he kissed your lips instead. It caught how his brows lifted in surprise while you smile into the kiss.

Seungcheol's cheeks hurt from how much he's smiling. The date has gone great, better than he'd imagined. He knows that it's mostly because you're the one he's with. Sure, he's getting cold as fuck the later it gets but it doesn't matter when he's holding you, your hands.

"Oh! I'll get us some more hot chocolate." It's probably your third cup, but you're off before he can get it for you anyway.

He stays right where you left him by the great water fountain, staring after you and already thinking of your next date. That's why he doesn't notice when a couple of chuckling kids come barreling through chasing each other, accidentally knocking him over. He's brought back from his daydreaming, caught off guard. The back of his legs hit the edge, hands shooting from where they were in his coat pockets trying to regain his balance in vain. He falls backwards into the freezing water.

"Oh my God, Seungcheol! Are you okay?" And you're back. You forget the two cups in your hands, leaving them on the edge and going to help him out. His teeth are chattering when he answers yes, clothes and hair soaked and dripping all over where he now stands. "What happened?" He explains still befuddled himself shivering through all the recount. He can also tell you're doing your best not to laugh at him because seriously, how ridiculous can his luck be, but you also feel bad and are worried he might get sick. "We should call it a night."

\\\

Seungcheol comes out of the shower, and when he's done toweling his damp hair, he beelines for his bed, burying under the sheets right next to where you're sitting. You laugh, poking his side. "What is it?" He just groans. You try to yank the sheets off him so you can see him but he doesn't relent. When he turns to avoid you, you end up toppling over him. You squeal, more laughter bubbling up. Finally, you wrench the sheets from him, revealing his face, eyes screw shut as he complains. "C'mon, talk to me."

"Fuck! I'm so sorry. Everything was going so well and I had to screw it all up taking a dive in the fountain." It's really hard not to laugh but you'd make it worse if you do, so you force it down.

"Hey, you didn't ruin everything. I had a really good time, enjoyed every second of it."

"It's just- I really like you and I don't want to mess things up." He confesses, opening his eyes and looking straight up at you. His hair's a mess from rolling all over the bed, and he looks really upset about it, his words sincere.

"I really like you too." You say, and his sulky expression splinters, a tentative smile shining through.

"You do?"

"Mmhm. I like you this much." And you open your arms as wide as you can. Seungcheol really laughs this time. That seems to do it. He sits up and wraps his arms around you. You hug him back just as tight. "Now can we cuddle?"

Later before you inevitably have to leave, he hands you your other present. When you tear off the wrap paper from it, you find a journal and a set of pens. Good ones. He rambles on about the details, what type they are, how the ink dries fast so you don't have to worry about smudges on your notes. And maybe you shut him up with a kiss and stay a little longer.

"I still can't believe they managed to drop you into the fountain."

"I was distracted!" By you. "You're laughing. I could've been seriously hurt! I could've drowned!"

"That's a little too far fetched."

"There's a bruise on my ass."

"We can't have that." And you sound really worried this time.

7: PDA

Finals are coming up, and with it the end of the semester and the beginning of the holidays. That's why Mingyu, Seungcheol and you find yourselves in the library late one night getting in some extra studying. It's more like Seungcheol's helping Mingyu at this point. There's a topic he's struggling with, and Seungcheol has tried to explain it several times already in different ways. He's starting to lose his patience but you know he won't drop it until he gets it. You watch amused as his eyes go a little wider the more it goes on, Mingyu looking like there's not a single thought getting through his head. You let out a quiet laugh while you review your notes again.

"I get it now. Can we please take a break?" Mingyu says after a while. He's saying he finally grasped it, but something tells you he's lying so he can get over it and finish up. Seungcheol and you share a look. He's thinking the same thing. "You heard about the party this weekend?"

"What party?" You ask.

"A friend of Mingyu's throwing a huge end of the semester party. It's kinda like a Christmas thing too. Basically he invited everyone." Seungcheol tells you.

Instead of wondering where this guy's planning to fit the whole campus in a way that's safe and how can he afford it, you say, "We still have finals left. Don't you think he's a little ahead?"

"We finished classes already. Can't you let him take a win?" He nudges you playfully."I'm going. We should all go."

After a while, Mingyu takes his leave. You ask Seungcheol if he thinks he's going to be okay. He tells you he'll be alright and that whatever he doesn't know he has confidence to make up for it. You aren't sure how can you measure confidence on a written evaluation but you don't doubt he's right. "You want to go to that party?" He asks you.

"Only if you want to." you say, "Mingyu wants us to go." Seungcheol nods. You're going then. "Let's review this again so we can go."

Now, he groans, resting his head on the table with his arms stretched in front of him defeatedly. He whines out, "Again? We've been here for hours. You've read those a hundred times already."

"No, I haven't." You have, "Just once and we'll go." And as if hearing you, the bright overhead lights go off, only leaving the warm lights from the lamps on each occupied desk. There's only a few other students scattered around since it's nearing closing time. He begrudgingly takes the stack of flashcards you hand him to test you first.

Like he said, you do great, but he knows that you always worry about not doing well during the actual test so he goes along with it as long as it helps you. He fuels you on and smiles at you. "I told you."

You smile back, preening under his praise. "Your turn." you gesture for his flashcards.

"We don't need to." But you're stubborn and insist. "Fine. But I get a kiss for every answer right." He bargains.

You raise your brow at him knowingly. You know better than that but still you find yourself agreeing. "Okay. Let's see how you do."

Hint: He gets every answer right, happily claiming his reward each time. The first kiss is a peck, ends as quickly as it began. You don't think much of it, not even when his gaze stays fixed on the movement of your lips as you go on to read the next card. Maybe he actually intends to behave this time. But as you continue, his kisses linger, each one lasting more than the other, then he's pulling back leaving you breathless and chasing after his lips. There's still a few cards left in your hand when he decides he's had enough, insatiable with your lips still moving against his own after his latest answer. He grabs your waist, lifting you over the armrests of your chair onto his lap. The cards slip from your hands and spill on the floor. You gasp his name against his lips, but he just kisses you again, his hands still on your waist making you rock against him. "Seungcheol, we're in the library." you whisper. It sounds loud in the quiet space, no doubt as it also does the smack of your lips together, and as his kisses travel lower to your jaw, your neck, and back up so he can nip at your ear playfully.

"I want to kiss you." It's like he's been bewitched by them. His only thoughts being about kissing your already swollen, shiny lips. Touching you and hold you closer until there's no space left.

"You're doing more than that." You call out but you don't do anything to stop him.

The couple of students that were closer to your usual table had left a few minutes a go. The only one in your field of vision is at a table way at the front, partially hidden from view by a tall set of bookshelves. The librarian's shift's been long over and the student in charge at the desk is nodding off with her headphones on.

You lose yourselves in each other with each grind of your hips, kisses only broken for your need to breathe. You don't care that it's uncomfortable, with the armrests of the chair digging into your thighs. You're more worried about how damp your underwear's getting, molding to your puffy lips and leaving a damp spot on Seungcheol's dress pants when it soaks through. He had a presentation for his last class just before you met here, so he'd been more particular with his outfit today. You, for one, had appreciated it and you're sure more than one person other than you had checked out his ass in those pants. You'd be jealous if you had to, but you're the one sitting on top of him now, undoing the first buttons of his shirt so you can kiss, lick, and mark his skin. You're lying you were still jealous only thinking about someone else staring but you don't blame them.

Seungcheol's hands move from your waist to the back of your thighs, up until they're fondling your asscheeks. He's still aiding your movements as he spreads you for him when one of his hands gets dangerously close to where you're aching for him. Then it's slipping under your panties, feeling the wetness pooling there. He bites his lip, "You're so wet." Spreading your puffy lips with two of his thick fingers, collecting your slick. He sinks his middle one into your heat and kisses you again to swallow any sounds that may threaten to fall from your lips. Your walls pulse, pussy sucking his finger in every time he pulls it back just to thrust it back in. His palm rubs deliciously against your clit, making more of your slick drip out all over his finger down his hand. Then you're taking another. Fuck, he wishes it was his cock stretching your little pussy instead of his fingers.

And he realizes he said his wish aloud. You only get wetter when he voices his fantasies, the sticky sound of his fingers going in and out of you loud in his ears. Your jaw goes slack, lips parting prettily in a silent moan as his fingers hit a sweet spot. He reaches deeper than you ever could, but he's right. His cock would feel so much better. Without any other thought, you grab his wrist to stop him. He pulls his hand away and from under your skirt, watches as you bring it to your mouth and suck his digits. He's going to bust in his pants. He's licking his own fingers and hand clean when you're done and start unbuttoning his pants. It's tight, difficult to move cramped together in the uncomfortable chair, but you manage to pull them down along with underwear low enough to free him. He lets out a loud gasp when you wrap one manicured hand around his cock and start moving it up and down his shaft, your underwear pushed to the side and digging onto your skin as you guide him to your entrance. "We have to be quiet." you whisper into his lips, voice unsteady. You don't want to get banned from the library though that's not even remotely close to the worse thing that could happen if you get caught. He nods his head impatiently, breaths coming quick.

Your lips barely leave his the whole time. Slowly, the tip goes in and he forces himself to keep still even when you take your time to keep moving lower, your hand, still working around him. He tries not to think too hard about the lewd image below your skirt. A shaky sigh leaves him when you sit fully on him. Your nails dig into his shoulders crumpling the fabric of his shirt. You stay like that for a moment, getting used to the feeling of him inside of you again before you start rolling your hips lazily. His own thrusts are shallow, his cock barely leaving your pussy to plunge back in deep. It's the best you can do to avoid alerting anybody of what's going on, while you also refuse to leave even a sliver of space between you, pressed together stealing each other's breath, kissing, touching and moving in sync.

In the dim light, Seungcheol takes everything in; the expanse of your chest visible over the neckline of your shirt glistening. He can feel beads of sweat building on his own skin, seeping onto the back of his shirt. He could stare up at you like this forever, but neither of you are going to last any longer. He can feel it in the way your thighs start trembling, and when your release hits you and you're creaming all over him, he's following right after you. Your lips meet one last time, eyes screwed shut. It's more to muffle any sound than a proper kiss, a little clumsy, before you have to pull away to be able catch your breaths.

You rest your forehead against his, wrapping your arms around his neck, an airy laugh sneaking into your little bubble, "We have to stop doing this."

And he smiles. You can try. He's brings his hands up from your thighs to your hair, feeling the damp strands around your face trying to fix them."You look so fucked out."

You raise a brow, eyes filled with mirth. "Back at you." And you start doing the same for him, fixing his glasses, his hair, buttoning up his shirt. But there's no hiding the afterglow. There's a blush on his face, his lips are swollen from all the kissing. He kisses your palm when your hand lingers on his cheek. It makes your heart skip a beat.

He pulls out, helping you fix your underwear right before you can feel his cum start to drip out of you. You then have to swat his hand away when he starts brushing his fingers over the ruined fabric, the way he bites his lip doing nothing to hide his smile. He's been spoiled beyond repair.

You gather your things, and when you're ready, he's holding your hand to head out. He has to walk closely behind you to hide the ruined front of his pants because even though you were so good to take his cum, there was no saving them from the mess you'd both made. You wish goodnight to the student working the desk, which they return with a tired smile. What you never did notice was the poor boy a few tables to the right. A first year. He'd accidentally dozed off with his head over his folded arms after stressing out over his first university finals for hours. But when he'd come to, he's caught wind of what was happening between the couple in the room. He'd looked away, flustered, burying his face back into his books, shaking his head.

Always the quiet ones, or so they say.

8 : Broken

"Hi."

"Hi." Seungcheol smiles into the kiss you give him in greeting when he opens the door of his dorm.

"You have no idea how sexy you look right now." You say, eyeing his outfit, hands on his sides.

He raises a brow but there's still an unmistakable blush on his cheeks at the compliment, "I'm wearing the ugliest ugly sweater you were able to get your hands on." You're actually matching too, your idea. He won't say but he loves that fact, his possessive side being unintentionally nurtured. Were you thinking the same when you suggested it? The thought drives him even more crazy.

You laugh, "That makes it even sexier."

This time he kisses you. You return it happily, and that encourages him to push you against the nearest wall, hiking up one of your legs around his waist. You press your hands softly to his chest and he gets the hint, pulling back, "Seungcheol, we have to make it to the party."

He sounds as breathless as you when he replies, "Do we really have to?" and it's real hard to resist him when he keeps staring at your lips. He looks right into your eyes before he utters his next words, "I'd rather stay here with you." If you're being honest, you too. But you already told Mingyu you'd go. "Mingyu won't care. He's seeing someone, they'll be there too." It's like he's read your mind and knows he's close to convincing you.

"We should spend time with our friends, otherwise they'd think I'm trying to keep you all to myself."

"What if I want you to?" He wouldn't mind. "We could eat and drink these ourselves." He says, eyeing to the side at the chocolates and cheap bottle of wine you brought along refusing to show up empty handed.

You stare at him and open your mouth like you're about to say something. Nothing but a breath comes out and the shit eating grin he's giving you tells you he's enjoying having left you at a loss for words. "I'm being serious." Is what you say when you regain your voice.

"So am I."

"They'll hate me."

"No they won't. That's ridiculous."

"Seungcheol!"

Unfortunately, despite all his efforts, you end up going. And you're surprised to find it's not some nearly unbearably loud house party with students dancing and drunk everywhere. You arrive at a mansion-like house. There's beautiful Christmas decorations in the garden,a group of people chattering lightly while they have a drink outside in the porch. Inside, more people are sitting down around a big living room, conversation and laughter filling the air. There's a big Christmas tree on the far corner, presents for the Secret Santa game under and around it. On the patio, there's tables set for when it's time for dinner. You see familiar faces and you greet them, others you're not so glad to see.

You walk into the kitchen, where a few other people are lingering around. There you find Mingyu. He's with his date, both talking to who he introduces to you as the host of the party. "You made it!" He beams. When he introduces you two as his favorite couple, you almost die on the spot, cheeks burning. But when Seungcheol's hand in yours only gives you a gentle squeeze and you look over at him, you allow yourself to smile when you see that he doesn't seem to mind. And he doesn't at all. His cheeks could start hurting by how wide he's smiling.

You elbow Mingyu and pull him to the side while Seungcheol and his friend talk. He protests but you shut him up. "Why did you say that?"

"What?" He asks confused, seeing as you fidget and pull at your sleeves until they cover half your hands.

"Seungcheol and I aren't a couple." you hiss back.

"You're wearing matching sweaters." He deadpans. "Labels. But trust me, that'll change soon. He's head over heels for you. You two can't be more obvious."And he sees you smile.

A projector's set and the group in the living room watch a movie. You sit on a bean bag and Seungcheol grabs a cushion to sit on the floor in front of you. One of his hands brushes up and down one your legs where they rest at either side of him absentmindedly. He's seemingly paying attention to the movie, until at one point he's not. Resting his head on your thigh he can't stop himself from nipping your soft flesh playfully, making you yelp. A few people around give you a look,"Sorry, that-really startled me." It's your lame excuse. It's not like there's any jumpscares. Seungcheol snorts and you're very tempted to whack the back of his head. He behaves for the rest of the movie though, almost falling asleep with his head cushioned by your thigh. You eat, and after, you gather once again in the living room to exchange gifts before the group scatters to do different things. You're doing karaoke now, someone giving their own rendition of a Christmas song classic while the rest hype them up as they half nail it until their voice breaks and cracks. You have a turn too, and though he puts up a fight at first, Mingyu manages to drag Seungcheol to the center to sing as well. The few drinks he's had helped him let loose.

He plops down beside you after his performance. Someone else steps up and starts looking for a song. You laugh as he buries his face into your neck. "Did you like it?" He murmurs, his hot breath smelling faintly of alcohol tickles you.

You hum affirmatively, "Loved it." You can't see it but you feel him smile. He's practically clinging to you, leaving kisses on your neck. "Cheol, there's people around." You glance around the room, while the song starts. They're doing pretty good.

"Don't care."

"I do. And you're drunk."

"Am not." He is. He can handle it well, but he's buzzed. And getting a little too handsy. There's a high note and the person singing butchers it. "We've been here for enough time already so we can leave."

"Sure. We'll leave soon." But first you'll get him to sober up a little. "Give me a moment. I'll be right back."

He only wraps his hands around you tighter. "Where are you going?"

"I'm just going to get you some water. Wait here." and reluctantly, he lets go.

You try to make your way around to the kitchen in the big house, only entering one wrong room in the process. Meanwhile, Seungcheol stands up and walks out. The living room was beginning to get stuffy. His skin feels hot, face slightly red, and his sweater itches. He welcomes the cold air outside, taking a seat on an outdoor couch nearby. He doesn't notice when someone slips out after him, leaned back with his eyes closed, but when they sit in top of him, he's smiling when they lean in to kiss him. He kisses back.

You frown when you head back to the living room and Seungcheol's nowhere to be seen. You start to walk back out and come across Mingyu, almost stumbling into him and knocking over the drink in his hand. "Shit, sorry. Have you seen Cheol?"

He shakes his head and offers to help you look for him. Worried he might have sneaked outside while it's cold, you start there. You're quick to find him but you stop right under the threshold, the sliding door having been left open. A chill gust of wind hits your face. It's nothing compared to the scene unfolding right before your eyes that has you stumbling back like you've been slapped on the face.

What he sees when he opens his eyes doesn't make sense. It's not you in front of him, but your roommate. It's like someone drops a bucket of ice cold water over him when he hears a noise, like someone taking a sharp breath, and he looks over to find you and Mingyu standing by the door. He's fully sober now. Mingyu looks the most confused he's ever been. But you. There's a look in your eyes. Something more than disappointment, betrayal, while silent tears roll down your face. You snap out of it, and the last he sees is how you're face crumples up with so much hurt before you spin around in a hurry to leave. Mingyu calls your name, starting after you but he doesn't know what to do.

No.

"Oops. Guess she saw that." Your roommate says faking innocence. But when she turns back to him, but she's smiling, uncaring. All her attention is on him, while he's still struggling to grasp what's happened. "I always wondered what she saw in such a dork like you but now I get it. Bet you really know how to use this too." When she tries to touch him, he grips her wrist and pushes her hand away.

"Don't you ever come closer to me again." He spits out furiously pushing her off him, with nothing but aversion in his eyes.

She scoffs indignantly, straightening up, "I wouldn't bother going after her. Do you think she'd want anything to do with you now?" He's just about to head back inside when she speaks again, making him stop "Do you know what happened with her last boyfriend?" He waits for her to finish off. "He cheated on her."

You tune out Mingyu's calls, otherwise almost drowned under the voices from where karaoke's still going on, about to slip out of the house when you knock onto someone walking in. The water bottle you were still holding drops to the ground. You let out a hurried apology, bringing a trembling hand to hide your tear streaked face. You didn't even notice when you'd started crying.

"Your new boy already let you down?" And the owner of the voice is none other than your ex. Great. He's still blocking the front door."It's bad, isn't it?" Taking a guess by the state you're in. "Guess he just needed someone to stroke his ego. You did too much of a good job, and now he's moved on to the next one."

"Is that what happened with you?" You bite back, shoving him out of the way and stepping outside. Usually you're good ignoring his comments, but right now when everything hurts and you're already down his words land like a final blow. Your mind can't help but break down and spin his words around until you start to believe he might actually be right about it. You'd just happened to be there, he saw you were interested and you turned into option number one. A good time, until you weren't even worth that anymore. He didn't see what you saw in him. Maybe you weren't made to have more, mean something to someone, be important in their lives, in his life. You were so naïve, giving so much of yourself for someone to only take and not match. Why did you always took it too far?

Mingyu sees Seungcheol hurrying over not a moment later, "Where is she?" He looks around desperately, urgency in his voice. He's as shaken as he saw you earlier. Everything's gone wrong, like the ground is crumbling under his feet; but life keeps moving on around him, the music, the laughs, the animated conversation. It's driving him insane. He shouldn't have come, he was so close to convincing you to stay back. His mind keeps repeating that over and over.

"She left. Wait- You can't go after her right now. Not like this." Mingyu has to struggle to hold him back. He's about to ask what the fuck does he mean when he catches his reflection on the round mirror above a small table near the front door. He doesn't look any better than he feels. He wipes the red lipstick off harshly and thinks he's going to be sick, the warm and fuzzy feeling from the alcohol before now making his stomach churn dangerously.

It must show on his face, because Mingyu makes him lean on him and begins hauling him to the nearest bathroom. "I have to tell her it's not what it looked like." He's aware of how that sounds. Like a poor excuse. He should've known something was off. You wouldn't have been all over him while he'd been drinking. Your weight on his, your perfume, your lips, all that he knew so well. And now he was risking missing them for good.

9: Now

Your phone had been ringing to the point of exhaust. You put it on silent, throwing it away letting yourself be swallowed by your sheets. Last night when you got to your dorm, you'd sent an email to the student affairs' office requesting for a dorm change. Either you got that, or you'd put a complain on your roommate and get her out. You don't think she'd be opposed to leave, not after you'd run into her this morning. It was more out of impulse than anything, but you'd raised your hand and slapped her across the face so hard she'd only gaped at you, speechless, not daring to hit back. You didn't regret it. She deserved it. The dorm has been silent since she'd walked out the door in the minutes that followed. That is until you hear a knock on the door and someone calling your name. You won't open it. Hopefully he'd leave. But he doesn't. You hesitate near the door whether to tell him to go away or not.

"Can we please talk?" Seungcheol's voice sounds raspy from lack of use or like he'd been crying. If you answered the door, you'll see he mirrors you by how wrecked he really is. His hairs disheveled from how many times he's pulled and stressed his hands through it. He got no sleep last night, dark circles under his eyes.

Silence. He starts to doubt if you're really there, but he'd asked at the desk before coming upstairs and they said they hadn't seen you leave."If you don't want to you can just listen."

"I don't want things to end like this. Fuck, they haven't even started." he lets out a humorless laugh and sniffles when a fresh wave of tears comes, "I'm so sorry, I never meant to hurt you. Last night it was all her. She wanted to pull us apart and I fell for it. I… I know what you saw, that I kissed her too. I never would've done that if I hadn't thought it was you. Never. When I saw it wasn't you I'd kissed I literally got sick and I've been beating myself up all night for how stupid I was. Please believe me." He rests his forehead against the door. "You're the only one I want. I've liked you for so long, you have no idea how much. You spending time with me has made me feel like the luckiest guy ever. I'd never throw that away fooling around." A sigh, "Still, I managed to mess it up."

There's silence for a while. You're thinking he's gone when you're startled by the sound of his voice again, broken."I understand if you need space- Or if you already made up your mind and you can't forgive me… Please tell me, curse me out, whatever you need to do, and I won't bother you ever again."

Nothing breaks the dreadful silence that follows. He really left now. Your own tears haven't stopped flowing and you keep crying leaning against the door.

Later, you force yourself up off the floor and grab your phone. There's countless missed calls and unopened texts from him since last night, a bunch from Mingyu. The ones from Seungcheol stopped coming not too long ago, probably because he was on his way over.

You open the the thread of Mingyu's messages first,

M: Pardon my unfeminist language, but your roommate's a bitch. If I was a girl, I'd slap the shit out of her.

M: It was her! It's all her scheming! You know Seungcheol wouldn't hurt you, he only has eyes for you.

M: You're my friend too and I hate that you're hurting. Please at least let me know you got home okay.

M: Please hear him out. I can't get him to calm down it's bad.

M: The guy's in love with you you know that. He's so pathetic without you.

M: Don't let that girl get away with this.

There's a voicemail too from moments after you ran out of the party. His voice comes rushed at first, knowing he only has a couple minutes and a lot he wants to get in.

"Hey! Please let me know when you get back to your place so I know you're okay. I mean I know you're not- fuck! I saw it too but I know Seungcheol, you know him and he's not like that. He's buzzed even I could get away with kissing him right now." There's a silence. Like he realized that last bit wasn't exactly helpful. You can picture his face of disgust from even saying it. "What I'm trying to say is that that girl took advantage of him. This is exactly what she wanted. Don't rush to conclusions, he's serious about you. I know you two are going to be oka-" he gets caught off.

Now that you read his messages you hope he gets you're okay, all things considered. You only reply to one message directly:

M: Pardon my unfeminist language, but your roommate's a bitch. If I was a girl, I'd slap the shit out of her.

You: I did.

You get a reply almost instantly.

M: That's my girl. I'm so proud of you.

A tiny smile peeks through your tears. He knows not to push you further. All he wanted was to know you were okay. Or alive, at least.

Then you move on to Seungcheol's messages from last night.

Cheol: We need to talk.

Cheol: Answer the phone, please.

Cheol: please pick up

Cheol: I'm so sorry. I don't know why she kissed me. I didn't want her to.

Cheol: It wasn't you. I only want you.

Cheol: You know that, right?

Cheol: Are you back at your dorm? Did you get there alright?

Cheol: I'm coming over.

Cheol: I'm at the lobby they won't let me up. I don't have much time before they kick me out.

Cheol: Let's talk it out please. I know I hurt you and I hate myself for it but we can get past this.

Cheol: Are you asleep?

Cheol: They told me I have to leave. I'll come back tomorrow so we can talk?

Cheol: Please say something. anything.

Cheol: I'm sorry.

He also left a voicemail after none of his calls went through.

"Don't think for even a second that I can like another girl that isn't you. Please, talk to me? Let me know you're safe at least. Fuck, we shouldn't have gone to that stupid party. I would've rather stay back with you. I don't care about anyone else. I love you, alright? Before you even noticed me, it was just you. Then you gave me a chance and I got to know you better. So sweet, smart, kind, funny, irresistible like I knew you'd be. You drive me crazy it was impossible not to fall for you. I don't want this to be it. I want to be with you."

You can tell he'd been crying then too just like you are now. His voice shaky and wet, catching in some parts. It was so raw and honest. He was baring his heart for you. You doubt he could be faking any of it.

You know he isn't.

But the image of him kissing someone else had hurt so much. Your brain kept trying to protect you telling you to run away from the pain before it could cut you open further, that the story was repeating itself. But your heart is telling you to go back to him. You can't let one relationship gone wrong for reasons beyond you sabotage you. Are you going to allow someone else and their malicious intentions to drive you away from whom your heart calls for? So you decide to take one step. You don't feel ready, but you go for it nevertheless.

You: I'm sorry too. We can talk.

Seungcheol goes through exams robotically. Only his lack of focus could cost him a few points from what would otherwise be perfect scores. Even if that were the case, he does not care - at least not at the moment. He'd have the entire holiday break to wallow in self-pity if he wanted to afterwards. - But it's nothing that'd affect his general grade anyway. He's talking to you right after this test, the one from the class you have together. You're only a few rows behind him and it's the closest you'd been the whole week, only catching brief glimpses of each other around campus. The toughest part has been seeing you so retreated into yourself, so dull, and knowing he'd been the cause. He feared you weren't taking care of yourself, but he was no better of an example.

He finishes before most of the rest of the class, but he deliberately stays back until the end of the hour. You're the last two to hand in your papers, then it's only the two of you in the middle of the lecture hall. There's so much to say, but where to start? It's funny, he's been wanting to talk to you for days and now everything in his head's on disarray. His eyes search your face for hope that this won't go wrong.

"I…" you both stop.

"Can I go first?" you ask, figuring it's fair. He already said enough, it's your turn to try. Besides, if you're right, things would get settled quick. You have a feeling. When he nods, you take a deep breath and speak, "Did you mean all of the things you said?" you're pulling at your shirt sleeves. It makes you look smaller than you are already compared to him but you ask looking straight into his eyes.

Seungcheol doesn't miss a beat to answer, "All of it."

"Even when you said you loved me?"

"Not loved. Love." He corrects. "I didn't want the first time I tell you to be like that," It kinda slipped out, "but it's the truth. I love you."

And you're hugging him. This is not how he expected this conversation to go. Honestly he didn't dare to picture how it'd go down, whether they be good or bad outcomes. He was about ready to plead and beg, do whatever you asked of him. But he's wrapping his arms around you tightly like he's afraid if he lets go he'd never hold you again. He kisses the crown of your hair before he rests his head on top of yours "I'm so sorry."

"I am sorry too."

"What are you sorry for?" He's frowning.

"For how I reacted, for doubting you and running without hearing you out."

"I don't think neither of us were in a good state to talk." Then he pulls back. He has to ask, "Are you sure you're okay?" He sees a few stray tears on your face and wipes them off gently.

You nod, and smile at him. "Yeah, it's just- I was so scared."

"Me too." You could've left things like that, but you chose to believe in each other. That you were in it for the long run. He leans down, resting his forehead against yours, "Thank you for coming back."

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. So much."

"Cheol?"

"Mm?"

"I love you." And he's smiling, that big smile that makes his dimples show. You both feel much more lighter now, like you can breathe again.

"I love you."

And you're about to close the small gap between you, when the door opens. You both turn towards it to find the professor.

He stops, staring at your intertwined hands. You think you see a ghost of a smile. "I just came back for these." He walks over to the desk and takes a cellphone out of one of the drawers before he heads back out. "Enjoy your holidays."

"Thanks." "You too."

"Was it me or he smiled at us?"

"It's probably because you stopped spacing out in class because of me."

"Okay that's not what happened."

"Right. You actually spaced out more."

"You're a bad tutor."

"I could do worse."

"Oh I know."

And it’s what he was doing as he shoved you into the bathroom, making sure no one was already inside as he closed the door behind him, locking it shut. “Baby, what’re we doin-” Your words cut off in a gasp as Jeonghan takes the two strides it’s needed to cut the distance between you two. He’s wasting no time in licking his three fingers wet in one hand and using his other hand to bend you over the sink.

“Be good for me and spread those pretty legs,” He grunts, knocking his foot against yours and getting you exactly how he wants you. He easily bunches the dress up to your hips, pulling your panties to the side and smacking your clit with his saliva-coated fingers.

The spank has your entire body jolting, your jaw slacking open as you yelp in surprise. “Jeonghan!” Your eyes are wide in shock as you stare at him through the mirror before you. Your hands grip the bathroom counter, mind spinning as he repeats the action with a sneer.

“Why can’t people understand?” He hisses, and your face flushes as a wave of arousal splashes onto his hands as he rubs your clit meanly. Your body responds to his, and your thighs twitch as you arch prettily for him. “You’re mine.” Your sweet slick coats his fingers, and your head dips as he works your bundle of nerves with short, circled rubs as his other hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you at his mercy.

“What’re you talk- oh fuck, fuh-fuck!” Your words slur, stumbling from your lips as he uses the fingers he played against your clit to slip inside your wet hole. His digits are lean but long, stretching your gummy walls as he enters you roughly. The feeling of him stuffing you makes your eyes flutter, your ass jutting out for him more as your chest presses closer to the cold bathroom countertop. “Hannie!”

“You’re mine. This pussy’s mine. Your body is mine, and your pretty little head is mine.” Each word is accompanied by a thrust of his fingers, a deep curl of his fingertips rubbing the sweet spots he knows are there, and your stomach is fluttering as he growls in frustration in the end. “Don’t people know your pretty pussy is moulded to the shape of my cock? Do you think they just don’t know it’s me who gets you blushing like this?” His eyes are dark, swirling with chaos as he stares you down through the mirror. His fingers got your pussy singing with the music that plays lowly in the background, and he’s smirking condescendingly. “Do I have to mark you so they can get it through their thick skulls? Fuck you full of my cum so they can see it drip down your legs, and they can finally take the hint?”

His words only make your mind melt, a shiver running down your spine as you think about it. Your walls slurp his digits filthily, your arousal splashing and coating his hand down to his wrist as he opens you up. “Please, please-” you feel delirious, the heat warming your body as the small bathroom echoes with the lewd squelches of your pussy happily slurping his fingers.

Jeonghan’s laugh is bewildered and amused, his hand twisting, stretching you as his thumb strokes your clit. “Mm, you like that, huh? Want me to fuck you, dumb - show people how much you love me, my cock, that it’s all me who gets you this wet.” Your hand presses into the mirror, streaking the glass as your hips smack into the countertop. Each deep thrust of Jeonghan’s fingers winds the knot in your stomach tighter, and your whine is high-pitched as you squeeze your eyes closed.

“M’gonna cum, Hannie- m’gonna cum!” You’re crying out, and Jeonghan smirks, not letting up on his rough thrusts, making sure to smack into your sweet spot over and over again.

“Yeah, you gonna cum for me? Make a mess all over my hand and scream my name so everyone on the other side of the door knows who got you creaming this hard?” Jeonghan’s biceps flex, his wrist pumping his digits deeper until your eyes cross. He watches through the mirror as you seize, crying out his name as your orgasm takes over.

Your thighs try to clamp together, but he’s quick to move one of his legs in between and keep you spread open. His eyes watch with a glimmer in them as your pussy convulses around his fingers, your slick gushing onto his hand as you ride his digits through your climax.

Your thighs tremble, and your pretty, puffy clit gets rubbed at each peak to prolong the orgasm. “That’s it, soak my fingers, Pretty.” The squelches of your pussy only make you feel ten times hotter, your blush darkening as he praises you. “Always so pretty when you’re like this, head empty, just letting me make you feel good.”

Nothing prepares you for when Jeonghan moves his hand from your back and wraps it in your hair, pulling your head up as he slips his fingers from your sopping pussy. “Keep those pretty legs open for me, okay? Need you to keep being good for me and take this cock.”

Your drooling cunt throbs in anticipation, and you do as Jeonghan says, your legs quivering as you present your pussy for him. He makes quick work of lowering his black slacks low enough to get his aching cock free. The fingers he used to stuff you are still slicked with your sweet honey, and he uses your arousal to pump his cock with his fist. “Please, Hannie, want you inside - mm, want you so badly.” You sniffle, your eyes watery as he guides the fat tip of his cock through your puffy folds. You're already pushing your hips back to try to get him inside, and yelp when he smacks your ass.

His hand connects with your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. Jeonghan sees it bloom, a contrast to your skin, and he’s quick to smack his hand against your ass again. “Look at you, one little orgasm, and you’re begging for my cock.” He taunts, tapping the bulbous tip of his cock against your glittering clit. The stimulation has you preening, your back arching like a cat as he teases you. “So needy-”

Before you can even try and defend yourself, Jeonghan is feeding you the first few inches of his cock into your sopping pussy. Even with a fresh orgasm, your pussy still has to stretch to accommodate his size. His hips push forward slowly, taking his time to split you open, forcing you to feel every inch slip past the first gummy rings of your wet channel.

You can feel every curve and ridge of the veins that run down his shaft. They snag over areas inside you that you didn’t know existed. It’s a pleasure that tilts your mouth open wider, your head dropping only for Jeonghan to click his tongue on his teeth in a tut. His hand wraps in your hair, pulling your head up to watch him through the mirror as his other hand holds onto your hip. “No, no, don’t go hiding - watch yourself, Pretty. Watch how you take everything I give you.”

Your mouth gapes, inches from the mirror, your breath fogging little pants against the glass as you watch. You watch Jeonghan’s eyes hood, his tongue rolling along his lips, his teeth gritting as his eyes take in the pretty sight of your cunt stretching around his girth. He watches his cock disappear farther into your pussy and holds himself back from slamming the rest of the way in.

You felt so heavy with him sliding inside you. And your tongue feels glued to the roof of your mouth as you slur your words. “Ah- O-oh, Hannie, you’re in so d-deep.” You hiccup and shudder as he finally bottoms out inside you. His rotund tip smooches against your cervix, a few globs of his pre-cum spilling and filling your gummy walls and practically making your pupils dilate into hearts.

You could cum again just like this. Your slobbering cunt constricts and releases around Jeonghan’s length rapidly, and if Jeonghan reaches around to rub your clit you will cum. Oh fuck, oh fuck, you’re drooling. You can feel your saliva build at the corner of your mouth, and it slips down your lips when Jeonghan lets go of your hair to wrap all five of his long fingers around your throat, arching your back as he rolls his hips with a few shallow thrusts.

His cock swirls inside you, rearranging your guts, digging into your womb from how deep you feel him, and it’s got you releasing the nastiest noises from the back of your throat. You’re so cockdrunk you don’t have the opportunity to warn Jeonghan when you suddenly cum for the second time. Your pussy sucks on his cock while you soak his length with your syrupy slick. Your mouth drops open in a mewl that has Jeonghan cursing, his cock jerking inside your gummy walls as you climax. “Taking me so well, Pretty - making a big mess, huh? Such a slutty pussy getting all slippery wet for me.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and Jeonghan pulls you back onto his cock, picking up the pace of his thrusts as he fucks you through your orgasm. You’re sobbing at this point, your slick sploshing and dripping down your thighs as he fucks you deep and rough. “It’s too much! I-I can’t- oh, oh!” Your eyes cross, and Jeonghan squeezes your throat to keep you from running away from his cock. His eyes flicker to his left, your phone glowing with a current phone call. He reads the contact name, the reason Jeonghan had dragged you into this bathroom. And he knows that the person on the other end is still listening, hearing everything as he ruins you so thoroughly.

“Yes, yes, you can, Baby.” Jeonghan grunts, and his hips pound into your ass, the noise of skin smacking into skin resonating with the filthy squelches of your cunt. Jeonghan grabs your arm, folding it behind your back as he continues to rut into your sopping pussy. The hand around your throat holds you at Jeonghan’s mercy, and your body betrays you as a familiar heat burns in your lower stomach.

“Jeonghan, ah- ah-” Your mind short-circuits, your eyes gloss over, and Jeonghan’s body fucks you into the bathroom counter until you’re throbbing around his length again. His cock abuses your G-spot like it’s a bullseye and he’s an arrow. The bulbous tip smears pre-cum against your spongey walls heavily with each rut of his hips.

“You gonna cum again?” He lets go of your neck to bring your other arm behind your back, using one hand to keep both of your arms restrained as he slams into you again and again. “Gonna give me one more, jus’ one more, Pretty. Let me see that face you make when you cream on my cock. Show me how good you feel.”

Your moans become more throaty, your stomach sucking in as he pushes you closer to the edge. It builds, bigger and bigger than your previous ones, and you sob as you feel his cock reach deeper inside you. 

When Jeonghan wraps an arm around your waist to pinch your clit, you scream. It’s the loudest you’ve ever been, and your entire body shakes as you cum heavily. The orgasm is so powerful this time, you squirt, spraying your arousal onto his hand and the floor with a cry that has Jeonghan’s thrusts stuttering. Your pussy grips his cock so tightly that it’s difficult for him to move and triggers his own orgasm.

“Oh fuck, there we go,” He undulates his hips, grinding his cock as deep as he can as it swells and floods your cunt with his hot, sticky cum. He paints your pussy white, fucking his cum inside you as you take everything he gives with broken whimpers.

And when your head drops, he lets go of your arms, watching them fall limply to your sides as he discreetly ends the call. He makes sure the contact name “My Boss” disappears from your phone screen before he slips his softening cock from your cunt. His cum mixes with yours as it seeps from your puffy folds, dripping down your thighs as Jeonghan helps put your panties back in place and pulls your dress back down.

It actually takes a few moments before you can properly move, and the ringing in your ears subsides. Your brain is all mushy, your makeup a mess that Jeonghan does his best to fix as you lean heavily into him. It’s definitely time to take you home, but Jeonghan isn’t entirely done.

When you’re as presentable as he can get you after pulling three orgasms from you, he brings you back into the party seamlessly. He presses a kiss to the side of your head, enjoying the way your eyes are still glossy like your lips. “Let's say good-bye and then go home, okay?” You make a cute little noise with a nod of your head and let Jeonghan escort you.

Jeonghan sees him before you do. He stands tall, surrounded by people. Jeonghan can see a soft flush on his cheeks that could be mistaken for alcohol, but Jeonghan’s lips pull up into a smirk, knowing better. His dark hair falls to the sides and just touches the top of his ears as he catches Jeonghan and you coming closer.

“Just stopping by,” Jeonghan hums, staring at your boss evenly. He pulls you closer as he says your name, and your boss looks over to your flushed face and hazy eyes as Jeonghan continues to speak. “Feeling a little under the weather, so we’re going to head home.”

Jeonghan is already pulling you away before your boss can respond, but you look over your shoulder to give him one last shy smile, “Thanks for having us. The company party was great, Seungcheol, Sir.”

A/N: I may have had too much fun writing this - hehe okay it's like 4am I prolly made mistakes, but I am sleepy and will figure it out later

As always, comments, kudos, and interaction are appreciated!

The week crushes you with its merciless press of deadlines and demands that leave you feeling like a roadkill. By Friday, you're a hollowed-out shell and want nothing else but get obliviated with a few drinks. However, the idea of calling your friends to join you, of having to narrate the same soul-crushing story again, makes your skin crawl. You love them, but you simply cannot handle anyone else's shit on top of your own.

So you go alone.

The bar is a dim, humming sanctuary. You stake your claim on a bar stool, ordering the first cocktail with a gesture that hopefully reads as 'leave me the hell alone'. It's the second one, deceptively sweet on your tongue, that finally starts to loosen the knots in your shoulders. You're deep in the pleasant, buzzing void when a presence materializes beside you.

"Is this seat taken?"

The voice is low, a soft rumble that cuts through your haze. Two cocktails in, you couldn't give a shit. You shake your head without granting him a glance. In your periphery, you see him settle onto the stool, the movement easy. He orders a whiskey, neat. The clink of the glass as the bartender sets it down is unnaturally loud.

Of course, he talks. "Rough week?"

Annunciation flares, hot and immediate. You just want to get drunk in peace, to not be perceived. The irritation finally forces you to turn your head, a sharp retort dying on your lips.

Your tipsy brain takes a stumbling, syrupy second to process him. Gorgeous isn't the right word. It's insufficient. You blink, half expecting him to be an illusion that has to dissipate and reveal a mediocre Bob sitting by your side. But he remains, solid and real. Big, round eyes fringed with lashes you'd kill for, thick eyebrows that do most of the talking—one quirks up now as you stare, silent and stupid. His lips are distractingly full, and his features are soft and strong at the same time. A single, crystal clear thought cuts through the alcohol: You have been criminally underfucked. A man like this, for just one night, seems like a divine solution.

You signal the bartender for another drink. You know you shouldn't, but if you're going to survive this conversation without doing something truly unhinged, you need the liquid courage.

"That bad, huh?" he asks, a small smile playing on those lips.

"You have no idea," you murmur.

The longer you talk, the less you hear the actual words. You're distracted by the whole of him. His scent—something masculine like bergamot and cedar—messes with your head. The muted blue henley he wears stretches taut over what are clearly broad shoulders and strong arms; his jeans do nothing to hide the powerful thickness of his thighs. You can already imagine the solid weight of those arms around you, and your thighs press together of their own volition. You have to consciously wrench your mind back to the present, offering a non-committal hum in response to something he said.

His name is Seungcheol. You learn this when he offers it, his gaze steady and knowing, as if he can read every illicit thought scrolling behind your eyes.

Somehow, the conversation twists into a dare. A challenge in your tone, a spark in his.

"My place is closer," you say, the words out before you can reconsider. It's not a question. It's a statement. A decision.

"Then let's go," is all he says, his voice dropping an octave.

Now you're in the back of a taxi, the city lights streaking past the windows like liquid gold. The silence inside the car is an entity of its own. It's thick with the unspoken, charged with a static tension that makes the fine hairs on your arms stand up. He's not touching you, but you can feel the heat of his leg mere inches from yours. You stare straight ahead, your hands clenched in your lap, but your entire being is hyper-aware of him. The scent of his perfume is stronger in the enclosed space, and you can see the solid line of his thigh from the corner of your eye.

You could probably straddle him right here, and the driver wouldn't even blink. The thought is so vivid, so tempting, that a shiver runs down your spine. But you're not that insane. Not yet. You just watch the city blur, counting the seconds until you're alone with him.

All hell breaks loose the moment the apartment door clicks shut.

The sound of the lock engaging is a starting pistol. In one fluid motion, Seungcheol has you spun around and pinned against the solid wood. His big hands are everywhere at once—cupping your jaw, sliding down your spine, gripping your hips to grind you against the hard muscle of his thigh covered in the rough fabric of his jeans. His mouth crashes down on yours, and every coherent thought you've ever had evaporates.

Kissing him is exactly what you imagined—maybe even better. It's not gentle; it's all hungry lips and slick, hot pressure. You can't breathe, and you don't care. A broken sound, half-whimper, half-sigh, escapes you.

"So responsive," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a dark, rough thing that vibrates through your very bones. His teeth scrape your bottom lip. "Knew you would be."

"Just- just get on with it," you gasp out, tugging at his henley.

He chuckles, the sound low and wicked. "So impatient." He captures your mouth again, swallowing your next retort, his tongue tangling with yours until your knees go weak.

But you don't want to stay by the door. With a strength fueled by pure, frantic need, you push at his chest, backing him off. Your fingers lace with his, and you lead him into the darkness of your bedroom.

The impatience from the hallway explodes into a frenzy here. Clothes become the enemy. Your hands fumble with buttons and zippers, a tangled, breathless dance. When he finally pulls his henley over his head, your mouth actually waters and you catch yourself gulping at the sight. The dim light from the streetlamps outside cuts across his torso, revealing a build that is nothing short of devastating. Thick, defined muscle layered with a tantalizing softness—a body built for strength and comfort. You can swear this realisation pushes you to ovulate a week earlier than you're supposed to because suddenly, all you can think about is that you need this man to rail you into oblivion and fill you up real good. And as your eyes follow a thin happy trail leading to the waistband of his jeans, you find yourself swallowing thickly.

But when it's his turn to remove his underwear, the world tilts on its axis.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, disbelief wiping lust clean from your face. He's... small. Adorably, comically small. A short, cute fucking cock, resting innocently against a thatch of dark hair, a stark, almost hilarious contrast to the godlike miracle of the rest of him. A wild thought flashes: he was too perfect, so the universe had to balance him out. You press your lips together, a Herculean effort to keep from laughing or letting a truly stupid, tactless comment slip. Your face, you're sure, says it all despite your efforts. The sharp, clawing desire you felt moments ago recedes, not out of disgust, but sheer, baffled surprise. Your mood isn't ruined, just... recalibrated.

To your astonishment, Seungcheol isn't offended. If anything, his confidence seems to amplify, a lazy, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "See something you like?" he taunts, his voice a low purr.

You let out a disbelieving huff of a laugh. "It's... cute."

His smirk widens. "Go on. Play with it."

You laugh again, for real this time, but you comply. Why not? The guy is still ridiculously pretty. Your hand wraps around him easily, your fingers meeting with room to spare. A condescending, almost cooing comment slips out as you give a slow, experimental pump. "So tiny," you whisper, leaning down to kitten-lick the limited length of the underside.

Seungcheol just watches, utterly entertained, which strikes you as unusual. It rings a faint, distant bell in the back of your head, but you're too tipsy, too caught in the absurdity of the situation to do the math.

It's just a minute in, your movements becoming lazy and rhythmic, that you realize something is off. The sensation in your palm is changing. It feels less... contained. You stop, pulling back to observe, and your brain short-circuits.

You are watching a metamorphosis. His shaft is expanding, thickening, lengthening right before your eyes, transforming from a cute novelty into a weapon of mass destruction, no less. The understanding hits you like a physical blow: he's a grower. A huge fucking grower. At this point you're certain this is his little game, his secret power, and he probably gets off on the whiplash of reactions.

You swallow thickly, your throat dry. Now sitting in your hand is a solid, heavy eight inches of cock, the circumference so thick your fingertips strain to meet. The way the tip is narrower than the formidable shaft makes the rest of him look even more substantial—not that it makes that much of a difference, he's still obviously big without the visual illusion.

You are shocked into silence.

Now it's Seungcheol's turn to have fun. A deep, triumphant chuckle rumbles in his chest. "What's wrong?" he coos, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Cat got your tongue?" he taunts softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your jaw. "You were so talkative before."

You find your voice, a thin reedy sound. "You… you're…"

"I'm what?" he prompts, leaning in, his breath warm against your ear.

"A monster," you whisper, half in fear, half in reverence.

He genuinely laughs at that and you're mesmerised to see his dimples showing again. "Don't worry, I know how to use it."

From that point on, the night descends into the wildest, most primal experience of your life. But fear not—he is chivalrous, in his own way. He doesn't just plough into you. He preps you first, with a devastating expertise that leaves you sobbing. His fingers, thick and clever, find a rhythm inside you that has you coming apart with a broken scream, your back arching off the sheets. He stretches you with two, then three, then all four of his digits, scissoring them until you're panting and begging for something, anything more.

"Lube," he commands, his voice rough with his own restraint.

You can't move, your body a boneless, oversensitive puddle. "D-drawer," you manage to slur, pointing a limp hand towards the nightstand. "Top."

He retrieves it, and the sound of the cap snapping open is obscenely loud. He lubes himself up generously, the slick, sticky sound making you shiver, then applies more to your throbbing, already-drenched heat. He positions himself at your entrance, the narrow, blunt head of him a terrifying promise.

"Breathe," he orders, his eyes locked on yours.

He pushes inside.

To Seungcheol's credit, he wields his weapon with the skill of a master. Just like he promised. He doesn't rush, is painfully, exquisitely slow and patient, giving your body time to stretch and accept him. And still, when he finally sheathes himself fully in your tight heat, you feel ripped in two, stuffed so full you can't remember your own name.

A broken, continuous sound falls from your lips—a mix of a sob, a mewl, and a prayer. You realize he doesn't need to hunt for any specific spot; the relentless, thick pressure against every single inch of your inner walls is enough. You're ready to cum again immediately, every minuscule shift and rub against your assaulted nerves sending lightning through your veins.

It only destroys your brain more when he begins to thrust, slow and deep at first, smearing the lubrication, the wet, filthy sound squelching in the quiet room.

This is where the condescension returns, but it's laced with a dark, almost possessive heat that doesn't feel cruel. Maybe because you're already crying and drooling onto your own pillow, your mind turned to mush.

"Look at you," he grunts, his voice strained with effort. "So fucking tight. Taking me so well." His pace picks up, stealing your breath. "What were you saying before? Something about... cute?"

"N-no," you choke out, the word barely recognizable.

"No, what?" he demands, driving into you harder, nailing a spot that makes you see stars.

"Not- not cute," you stammer, your mind blanking. "Big... s'so big."

"I know," he breathes hotly against your ear. "Stop thinking. Just feel it."

And who are you to argue?

It matters even less when he decides to make a portable fleshlight out of you. He pulls out with a slick, obscene pop, leaving you feeling gaping and empty. Before you can protest, his hands are on you, manhandling you with effortless strength off the bed. He pulls you up, your limbs useless and shaky, and guides you into a full nelson, his arms hooking under your knees, his chest a solid wall against your back as he stands up straight by the bed.

From this impossible position, he sheathes his rock-hard cock back into your cunt, which now clenches around him even tighter, the new angle making everything feel brand new and more intense. A helpless, overstimulated keen is torn from your throat. You're lightheaded, but the dizziness triples when you catch your reflection in the dark window across the room. The visual is devastating: the powerful bulge of his muscles as he holds all your weight, the way his thick dick disappears into your body, the utterly wrecked expression on your face. You cum right then and there, a silent, seizing explosion that makes your vision tunnel.

The way your cunt violently milks his cock makes Seungcheol curse, a raw, guttural "Fuck!" that hotly hits the back of your neck. He falters for a single second, then resumes, hammering into you throughout your violent orgasm, not giving you a second of reprieve until you're oversensitive and babbling, "Too much, please, 's too much."

It is not the end, however.

With a grunt, he throws you back onto the bed, face down. He mounts you from behind, one hand angling your hips up for his use, and rams back into your well-used, thoroughly stretched cunt. There's no slowness this time; your body has already been molded to his shape. One of his thick arms snakes around your neck, not choking, but holding you in a firm headlock as he lays his full weight atop you, his muscles bulging with the effort of his punishing pace and cutting off your oxygen just enough. You feel dizzy, owned, completely and utterly conquered.

He batters your cervix like this, fucking into you with animalistic grunts, as you keen and whimper and whine, reduced to a mindless, pleasure-drunk creature. You feel the exact moment he loses control, his thrusts becoming erratic, stuttering. You feel his dick begin to pulse and jerk violently inside you.

"Gonna fill you up," he snarls, his voice ragged. "Take it. Take all of it."

He spills deep inside you with a long, low groan, flooding your abused opening with his release, giving a few final, harsh thrusts to make sure every drop is seated within you. Only then does he collapse, crushing you into the mattress with his spent weight, too tired to pull out and roll off.

And you are frankly glad for the crushing weight of him. It's surprisingly grounding when your soul threatens to leave your body. The pressure of him the only solid thing in a universe that has been reduced to the smell of sex and sweat, the sound of your ragged breaths mingling, the feel of his heart hammering against your back.

Your mind is still fogged and swimming in bliss, tiny spent mewls escaping you on exhales, but you already know for a fact you won't be able to walk straight tomorrow—and a few days after too—after being fucked this properly. And yet, you'd let Seungcheol ruin you all over again before you even get a chance to recover. If only he would want to.

And with the way Seungcheol's lips begin a slow, lazy trail from your shoulder to the sensitive skin of your neck, a low, appreciative hum vibrating through his chest and into yours, you think he's very, very willing.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.

James has you pressed against the wall before you can breathe, his body hot and solid against yours like he’s been dying to get his hands on you.

He pulls his shirt off in one swift motion. Muscles flexing, stomach tightening and the second he catches the way your eyes linger, his mouth curls into a dirty, knowing smirk.

“Yeah?”

His voice drops, low and cocky.

“You like that don’t you?”

Your thighs clench without permission. You nod, helpless. He slides a hand down your waist, fingers dipping under your waistband, brushing heat, barely there, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Fuck,” he laughs softly, lips dragging along your jaw. “Look at you—so pretty.”

His thumb presses against your clothed pussy, firm enough to make your hips jerk forward.

You gasp, a quiet, desperate sound, and he eats it from your mouth as he kisses you hard, tongue pushing past your lips like he owns the right. Your back hits the wall again.

His hips grind into you, slow and deliberate, the thick shape of his cock rubbing exactly against the spot that makes your knees buckle.

“Thought you’d break for me this easy,” he mutters against your mouth. His fingers slip lower “Let me hear it.”

“J-James.. I-“

You jolt so hard the pen flies out of your hand.

You’re instantly pulled back from your fantasy—heat to ice water in a heartbeat.

“Y/n?” your dad calls, voice muffled through your bedroom door. “Dinner will be ready in ten. Your sister will set the table today.”

You slap your palm over the letter like you’re hiding a crime scene. “I—I’ll be down in a sec!”

Your voice cracks. Horribly. Clearing your throat, you try again. “Yeah! Just—uh—finishing something!”

Footsteps retreat down the hallway. Silence drops. Then the fright hits you. You stare down at the paper. At the graphic, thirsty disaster you apparently wrote while possessed by a sex demon.

“Oh my fucking god.” You grab the paper in both hands, crumpling it so fast it practically crunches like aluminum foil.

“What is wrong with you, Y/n?” You fling the balled-up letter toward the overflowing trash can. It bounces off the rim and lands on the floor like it’s mocking you. Of course it misses. Even your garbage has better aim than your life. A waste of paper and your time. You bury your face in your hands and groan into your palms.

“He doesn’t even know you exist,” you mutter, pacing once, twice, like that might shake the embarrassment off. “How stupid do you have to be writing porn about James!”

James, the school’s most popular student who also happens to be in the soccer team. James who probably doesn’t know you exist and has a girlfriend. Or situationship. Or whatever the hell Amy counts as.

You drop back into your desk chair, heart still racing from the stupid fantasy. A mixture between wetness and heat still clings to your skin in places you wish it didn’t.

“This is insane,” you whisper to the ceiling. “Actually insane.”

You grab another sheet of paper, intending to write something normal. Something sane. Something not involving walls and grinding and his stupid smirk.

The page stays blank. Your hand trembles slightly. You shove it away and stand up.

“Dinner,” you tell yourself. “Food. Air. Brain reset. No… horny… writing.”

You take one step toward the door. Then stop. Then glance at the trash pile, the paper mountain you swore you’d never let anyone see.

One of them shifts from the movement of your fan. A small, sinking feeling hits your stomach. You really need to get a better trash can. Or maybe a shredder—no! Therapy. But first: dinner.

You yank open your bedroom door before you can psych yourself out again. And somewhere in the back of your head—the part you hate the most—James’s voice from your imagination lingers like smoke: Yeah? You like that?

You swallow hard.

“Shut UP,” you whisper to absolutely no one. You go downstairs anyway.

You drift down the stairs the minute the kitchen smells like something worth living for again. Your sister Annie is figuring out how her new phone works that she got for her thirteenth birthday recently. Your dad has his elbows on the counter, the kind of casual that says he’s trying to be chill but actually means business.

“You okay?” he asks between ladles of sauce. He always asks when you look a little too quiet. 

You shrug and grab a roll. “Yeah. Fine. Hungry.”

He’s stirring the pot and watching you like someone trying to read the news in a window reflection. “You’re eighteen, Y/n. That means you should try opening up to people a little. Join a club, meet someone new. Don’t close yourself off to the same circle forever.”

You give him the eyebrow. “You mean Bella?”

“Bella’s great,” he says, tone is deliberately even. “But reliable isn’t everything. You have this… tendency to tuck yourself away. Try something that rattles you.”

“Bella is the most reliable person one could ever know,” you scoff, crossing your arms in front of you. Suddenly, the words slide into the hollow place where your thoughts live and rattles something loose. Open up. Rattle. Shake. It’s stupid, obvious, and for reasons you can’t quite explain, it feels like the exact sentence you needed to hear.Before your dad can say anything else, you quickly get up from your seat.

“Honey- where’re you going?!” Your dad asks, your sister’s gaze following his. You don’t answer him. There’s no time for that. Sitting at your desk with your lamp low, you carefully grab another slip of paper.. You’ve always been the type to catalogue everything. Feelings, small humiliations, the way your chest tightens when you see James in the hallway, into the soft, safe pages of your diary. But you ran out of pages two days ago. You didn’t throw the journal away; you just taped the spine and pretended that was a solution. Now the spine is a Band-Aid and your life is still leaking.

So you do something slightly insane. You write a letter. A letter to James that you’re obviously not going to send. But you’re not going to send it—fuck no. You might be crazy but not to that extent. Instead, this letter will just fulfill your delusions, knowing you’re too much of a pussy to actually go talk to him. 

Plus, James as Amy. A girl that’s ten times prettier than you. Even if the letter was sent, it wouldn’t do anything but humiliate her. You sit down and you write like the instruction are pressed into your ribs. 

Dear James,

I don’t know what kind of courage is even required to put this into paper and not just into the soft pulp of my diary where it will sit forever and never hurt anyone but me. I’m out of pages. I like to pretend that’s why this is happening, but really it’s because your face keeps crowding the edges of the life I think I should lead and I am tired of pretending nothing has changed.

I’m writing this because my dad said something tonight about opening up, and for once his advice didn’t annoy me. It lit the part of my chest that likes to tell the truth. Usually, I tell myself the truth in tiny, private scribbles. I tuck things away in notebooks and call it safety. But safe is starting to feel smaller than the way my thoughts about you try to grow.

So here it is: I like you. Not the kind of like that’s polite and fits into a yearbook quote. The kind of like that rearranges the soundtrack in my head and makes dumb songs sound like they were written for mornings when you’re still asleep beside me. I like the way you laugh when someone says something stupid on the field. I like the way your that little pout you make when you miss your shot during your soccer practice. I like the scar on your thumb. I notice the ways you look at nothing and I wonder if you’re keeping a private joke with yourself.

I don’t expect anything. I’m not asking you to change your life, and I’m not asking you to break anything open to fit me inside. I’m just telling you the shape of my heart as honestly as I can. If you look back and you don’t feel anything close, that’s okay. I’ll make more pages. I’ll close my hands around the feeling and let it be pretty and lonely and mine.

If by some impossibility you feel even a fraction of this, if you ever want to talk in the quiet and not for show, I’d like that. If you want to laugh and make terrible jokes and steal fries off my plate, I’d like that too. If you want to touch me and find out how the rest of me holds together like how you do with Amy—well. I want that too, but more than anything I want you to be honest with me the way I’m trying to be honest with you now.

— Y/n

You read it back and feel twelve whole things at once — proud, mortified, relieved, as well as questioning your life decisions. You fold it carefully like it it’s an explosive and slide it into an envelope. You address it with your own hand: Zhao Yufan, his legal name. Under his name, you scribble the address you only learned after realizing he lives six houses down. You seal the flap, press it flat like a bandage, and set the envelope on your nightstand.

You think about putting it in the diary, or a secret drawer, or burning it in the tiny metal box you use to store old receipts, but something about the whole open up thing makes you stubborn. This one you want to feel like it could be sent. So you tuck it under a small stack of textbooks on the nightstand, slide a pen across it like you’re filing it into safety, and tell yourself you’ll shower, you’ll calm down, you’ll decide tomorrow whether you actually post it or not.

You strip and step into the shower, the hot water hitting your skin in a rhythm that slows the part of you that wants to panic. Steam climbs the glass and you lean your forehead against the wall and breathe. You imagine the envelope still on the nightstand where you left it, protected by the textbooks like a little fort.

You shampoo and rinse and think of nothing and everything and finally step out, towel-wrapped and lightheaded. You cross your room, expecting the envelope to be exactly where you left it. But you don’t see it.

You assume you put it somewhere else—under a different stack, in a drawer you forgot about, safe. That makes you breathe easier. You make a mental note to check after you put your hair up. Only thing is you don’t get the chance. As soon as you lay down on your bed, you’re fast asleep.

—

Morning punches you in the face the moment your alarm shrieks. You bolt upright with that weird post-shower fog still clinging to your brain, and then the memory hits you like a shovel: The letter.

“Shit—” You stumble out of bed, hair a disaster, sleep shirt twisted around your waist as you lunge toward the nightstand.

Textbooks: check. Pen you left on top: check. Envelope? Not check. You flip the books. Nothing. Just kill me.

You yank open the drawer. Receipts, scrunchies, a rogue stick of gum. Oh—there’s your favourite lip gloss you lost in eighth grade. No envelope.

You drop to your knees and check under the bed like the letter might be hiding out of spite. Nada. 

“Okay, no. No no no—” Your voice rises, scrapes, breaks. You tear through your desk. Under the lamp. Behind your laptop. In your laundry basket like you’re truly losing it.

It’s gone.

You freeze so hard your breath forgets what it’s supposed to be doing. For a full five seconds you just stand there, staring at the nightstand like it personally betrayed you.

“Y/N! You’re gonna make Annie late!” your dad yells from downstairs.

Jesus Christ. Of course the universe picks today to make you a missing-letter fugitive.

You slap on makeup with the precision of a maniac, yank on loose jeans, absolutely forget deodorant, and sprint out the door with Annie trailing behind you.

She’s eating a Pop-Tart like nothing is wrong in the world. “Can you walk faster?” you hiss.

“You woke me up late,” she mumbles around strawberry filling. “This is your fault.”

She’s not wrong, and it only makes you want to scream into a pillow. “Actually, you could have set an alarm on your phone,” you say defend yourself. “What’s the point of having a phone if you can’t put it to use?” Annie rolls her eyes. The whole walk to her school, your brain is doing a full Olympic-level panic routine.

You drop Annie off—barely hearing her bye—and then you’re speed-walking toward your school like your life depends on it. Which, honestly? It kind of does.

Inside the hallway, it’s the usual teenage circus. Lockers slamming. People laughing too loud. Someone aggressively spraying Axe body spray like they’re trying to fumigate the building.

And then, you see him. James. He’s leaning against his locker, talking to Jihoon and some really tall guy, hair falling over his forehead in that stupidly soft way that makes your chest squeeze. He wipes his bangs aside with his knuckles and you swear your soul leaves your body like you’re some Victorian child witnessing the beauty of art for the first time. 

Your feet keep walking but your eyes stay glued to him as you’re now walking backwards somehow—hey, is it just you or did he bleach his hair blondish orange?

“Ouch! Watch where you’re going.”

Your shoulder ricochets off a wall of person, and a sharp, irritated gasp snaps you back to reality. “Hi Amy.”

Believe it or not, you and Amy were best of friends back in middle school until popularity took over her. Her brown wavy hair is perfectly glossy. Her skin is so flawless it looks like someone airbrushed her in real time. She’s applying a swipe of lip gloss with one hand and glaring at you like you just stepped on her dog with the other.

“Oh, it’s just you,” she snaps, pursing her lips as she caps the gloss. “Some of us actually care about how we look in the morning.”

Heat floods your cheeks, crawling up your neck. You mutter, “Sorry,” but it comes out thin and squeaky—humiliating.

Her eyes flick over you, slow and critical, before she glances past your shoulder toward James—her whole expression softening instantly, like flipping a switch.

You try your hardest not to look. It would be very embarrassing to do so. But you do.

James is watching. Not glaring. Not smirking. Just watching with that unreadable, calm expression he always gets when he’s trying to figure something out. His friends are waving their hands in front of his face to catch his attention. 

Your stomach drops to your toes. Because for one terrible, dizzy moment, you wonder if that letter got somewhere it shouldn’t. You swallow tightly.

This day is already hell. And it’s only 8:07 AM. 

You don’t even get three steps down the hall before Bella materializes beside you like she teleported straight out of loyalty. Her ponytail bounces while her iced latte sloshes, eyebrows already raised. “I saw that, by the way,” she says.

You groan into your hands. “Please. Please, Bella. Don’t.” Bella wiggles her brows. “You full-on stared at him like he was Michelangelo’s David, and then you—what was that? Moonwalked into Amy?”

“Let’s. Not. Talk about it.” You want to crawl inside your hoodie and never come out. Bella laughs so hard she snorts. “Okay, fine. But holy crap, you’re lucky she didn’t claw your face off.”

You don’t tell her about the letter. God, no. Bella is your ride-or-die, but even she doesn’t deserve to carry that radioactive emotional grenade.

The day crawls by at the pace of a wounded snail. Class, class, pretend to take notes, class. After school, you follow your usual routine: cut through the side field, slip past the bleachers, and make your quiet little trail toward the soccer field.

It’s stupid. SO stupid. But watching the practices has always been… calming? Or maybe masochistic. Hard to tell. They’re already running drills. Cleats thudding. Shouts carrying. 

And there he is, James, wearing the neon-pinnied version of perfection. He’s quick. Controlled. Focused. The way his legs move is ridiculous. He spins the ball like it’s attached to him by secret magnets.

Usually Amy’s on the bleachers, cheering him on with her friends. But today there were no signs of her being no where near this field. Strange. You wonder where she is. That should make you feel relieved. It doesn’t.

For once, James isn’t playing like you’re invisible. Because suddenly, he sees you. Actually sees you. His brows knit. His chest rises, pauses. And before you can process what’s happening, he jogs off the field. Then he’s running. Running toward you.

Panic detonates in your ribcage.

No. No no no no—

He stops way too close. Close enough that you smell him—clean, sharp, expensive. Something like cedar and citrus and everything you absolutely should not like.

“Hey,” he says, breath still catching from the run. “Y/n? Is that your name?” You freeze. He rubs the back of his neck. Looks down for a second. Then back at you.

“I see you watching the games sometimes and I, uh… got your note.”

Your heart stops. Literally stops. If a doctor checked you right now, you’d be declared clinically dead. “I just—” he swallows hard. He’s awkward. He’s never awkward. “I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring it.”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. Not even a squeak. He shifts his weight, eyes flicking toward the field like he wishes someone would rescue him.

“Listen… I just got out of a breakup. Like. Recently.” He laughs once, dry and not very funny. “And… I don’t even know you. So I can’t—it wouldn’t be fair. Or right. You know?”

“Then get to know me.” That’s what you want to say. Instead you nod slowly. Or maybe you physically malfunction. Hard to tell. He gives you this tiny, apologetic half-smile that somehow hurts worse than being stabbed.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. And then he jogs back onto the field like he didn’t just smash your chest open with his bare hands. You stand there frozen long enough that a stray soccer ball rolls by your foot and you don’t even flinch.

James looks even better up close. And yeah he smells like something expensive. Something that makes your stomach twist. You were never supposed to know that. You swallow, throat tight. It’s the start of the new school year and this day was- well... You’re not sure there’s even a word for it.

The next few days are awkward as hell.

You avoid his locker like it’s a landmine. You walk a little faster in the halls. How the hell did he get his hands on your letter in the first place? If your brain had a mute switch, you would’ve used it. Bella notices and gives you the exact look that says tell me everythingwithout actually making you talk.

You don’t tell her anything. Not about the letter, and about how your stomach clenches when he passes.

One afternoon you cut across the field and freeze halfway, because there they are, the once infamous couple arguing in that tense whisper that looks loud from a distance. Amy’s hands are animated, her face flushed in that way people get when they think they’re right and are also angry. James is calm but tight; his jaw works like he’s chewing on something heavy. You don’t hear words. You only see the body language: Amy stepping closer, James stepping back. The rest of the team keeps practicing around them like it’s normal to be emotionally shredded in the middle of drills. Maybe this happens a lot? Expect this time, they’re arguing as exes, not as a couple.

Three days later, you’re sitting with Bella like every other lunch school-day—salad in front of you, two conversations happening at once. “Hey,” Bella starts, “you think that I could fit three French fries up one nostril?”

You barely get two fries into your mouth before a shadow falls over your lunch table. Bella freezes mid-sip of her iced latte. Her eyes go huge. “Um… incoming.” You turn slowly, like your neck is rusted, praying it isn’t who you think it is. 

James. Hands in pockets. Hair slightly damp from gym. Looking like a walking problem. You could recognize his cologne from miles away.

“Y/n,” he says, voice low. “Can we talk?” Bella nearly breaks her own neck nodding. You shoot her a warning look, but she just winks. Or tries to. It looks more like a seizure. You follow James out to the side courtyard, heart punching your ribs like it’s trying to escape. Did he see you eves dropping on him and Amy’s argument? Or even worse—he somehow got a hold of that piece of paper you wrote a whole entire smut scene of you and him on. No. There’s no way that’s possible. But the letter- shut up y/n.

Finally, he stops by a bench and shifts his body awkwardly. You brace yourself for whatever’s coming.

“Okay, so… about what I said a few days ago.” Deep breath. “I changed my mind,.”

You blink. Not once. Not twice. About twelve times. “I’m sorry—what?” He runs a hand through his hair, jaw tightening. “Amy found out I talked to you the other day.” His eyes flicker to you. “And she’s… not handling it well.” You say nothing. Your brain is buffering like bad Wi-Fi. “So,” he continues, “she’s convinced I’m into you. And she’s trying to make me jealous by flirting with every guy in our grade. Which is…” He grimaces. “Annoying.”You’re staring at him, blank-faced, because what else are you supposed to do? “So if she thinks you and I are together,” he finally says, “she’ll calm down. And maybe she’ll want to get back together. It’s just… easier this way.”

Ah. There it is.

It’s not because he suddenly sees you. It’s not because your face lives rent-free in his mind the way his does in yours. It’s because you’re convenient and somehow read the stupid love letter you were going to keep to yourself and through away after a few days. 

You swallow, throat scraping. “So you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend… so your get back together?” He nods, relieved you understand. “Yeah. Exactly.”

You take your time thinking—way longer than necessary, honestly. But you’re not stupid. Fake dating James? James, whose face makes your brain glitch? James, who already thinks you confessed some weird crush? Why the hell wouldn’t you?

“Fine,” you say eventually. “I’ll do it.” His whole body loosens like he’s been holding tension since August. “Thank you. Seriously. Okay, uh… we should follow each other on Instagram.”

Shit. 

He pulls his phone out. You do the same—hesitantly. “It’s @y_notn?” He repeats, typing the username into Instagram, then clicking onto your page. You see his lips form a smirk. “You’re already following me I see.” You cheeks match the color of his shoes.

He types fast. “I’ll tag you in my bio. You can tag me in yours too.” Your pulse jumps but you nod in agreement anyways.

He pockets his phone again. “Meet me after practice today. Same field as always.” He gives you a small smile that’s entirely too soft to be legal. “I assume you know what time that is.” Like you haven’t literally watched every practice he’s had since school started.

You nod, trying not to implode. “Yeah. I know.”

“Cool.” He steps back, gives you a once-over that feels like a warm hand on your spine. “See you then, Y/n.” When he walks away, you realize you’re not breathing. You’re not sure you’ll ever breathe normally again.

Bella ambushes you before you even sit down. She’s practically vibrating with questions, textbooks forgotten in her hand.

“So spill. What did you two even talk about? Why is he talking to you when he has a—what is she—Amy? What the freak is going on?” Her eyes are all sharp curiosity and that ridiculous, fierce-protective thing only best friends get. You do the only mature thing you can think of: play it cool. “It’s nothing,” you say, which is still a lie and also technically not. You haven’t explained anything to anyone, not even to yourself.

Bella doesn’t buy it for one second. “Nothing? Y/n. You’ve been crushing on that guy ever since I’ve known you. Do you know how dramatic that was? Spill.”

You fold your fork over your lips. “He said some stuff. Nothing huge.” You focus on making your voice flat, unimpressed, as though your heart didn’t vault into your throat and refuse to come down two hours ago. She leans in until her face invades your space. “Did he… break up with Amy?”

You stare at her. The question feels like a live wire. “Yeah,” you say before you can stop it. “They—he said they broke up.”

Bella’s jaw drops so hard you’d think she swallowed a stone. “And you didn’t tell me? Am I not your best friend anymore or what?” She half-pleads, half-accuses. You laugh because panic tastes weird and small. “I didn’t know until this week, B. Chill. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be the person who screams and jumps on him or whatever you do when you’re extremely dramatic.”

She pouts, not actually mad. “Wait—so was he talking to you because he likes you or something and wants to move from Amy?”

It takes you a moment to respond. “It’s… complicated,” you say, and she deflates into a theatrical sigh. “I’ll keep you updated for sure.”

Later, after classes pretend to move slower than molasses. You go to the side courtyard like you promised. He’s there early, hands in pockets, looking like he walked out of a billboard and then stole your ability to breathe. He waves you over like he’s practiced casualness in a mirror.

“So,” he says, hands folded like he’s bracing for feedback as you two settle down on a nearby bench. “About us.”

You swallow. “About us.” Something you thought you’d never hear come out of his mouth, This is ridiculous. Then you remind yourself why you’re here in the first place.

He exhales. “I should make—uh—parameters. Boundaries. Whatever you want to call them..” He looks earnest. Which is both disarming and scalding.

“Okay,” you say. “No kissing. No… anything farther.” You say it like you’re filing a restraining order against your hormones. Your cheeks heat up right after you say it, like you’ve exposed your soul in public.

He gives you a genuinely confused look. “What’s so wrong with kissing?” You look at him and feel stupid and stubborn and painfully sincere. “I want my first kiss to mean something. I don’t want my first kiss to be a prop in someone’s plan. I want it to be because of… feelings. Real ones.”

He studies your face. For a second you think he’s scoffing. Instead he looks surprised, like he expected something else out of you entirely. “So you’re saying you’ve never kissed anyone? You don’t seem like a first-kiss kind of person,” he says, like it’s an observation, not an accusation.

You don’t know if that’s supposed to be a compliment. “I’m not,” you say. “I just… want one that matters.”

He nods slowly, and shockingly, he takes it in. “Okay. No kissing,” he repeats. “No making out. No—anything. Got it. I was looking forward to that part though.” That last sentence makes you look up immediately. He lets out a “oh look at you, you feel for it,” laugh. Of course he didn’t mean it.

“And pet names? Like, are we team ‘babe’ or are we staying sane?”

You sigh. “Pet names are allowed but No PDA that crosses boundaries. Hand-holding okay. Quick pecks on the cheek—fine, but only if it’s not humiliatingly dramatic in front of Amy.”

He snorts at that, and for a moment the tension loosens. “Dates?” he asks. James going on a date with you? You want to poke yourself to make sure this isn’t all just a dream.

“Sure.”

You actually grin, and it feels like a defect in your usual composure. This is insane. You’re literally negotiating love like it’s a group project. He hesitates, then asks, “Can I—uh—pick you up to school? Like, to drive you? Make things look… convincing.”

Your brain short-circuits. “I walk my younger sister to school,” you say. “So no.” He brightens, thinking on his feet. “I can drive her too. Drop them both off. Make it seem legit.”

You gape. “You’d drive my twelve-year-old sister to school?” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Yeah. Less awkward than you explaining a fake boyfriend every morning.”

“Wow,” you say, simultaneously mortified and oddly touched. “That’s… actually kind. Okay, maybe.”

“And—if you want—I can drive you home now,” he adds. “Make it easier. Practical.” You almost laugh because this feels exactly like a dream for someone else and not like your actual life. But then you see his eyes dart—just for half a beat—toward the tree line at the edge of the parking lot. Amy. 

He looks back at you and, without missing a beat, pulls you closer. His hand rests on the small of your back, which feels equal parts possessive and protective. His other hand ghosts over your arm, fingers light, claiming. “Smile,” he whispers into your ear, breath hot and soft and ridiculous.

His hands wander like they’re memorizing the geography of you—over your shoulder, along your ribs—nothing obscene, just bordering on intimate enough to make your teeth ache.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you home.” He makes sure to emphasize on the baby part so it’s loud enough for Amy to hear. The pet name lands heavy in your chest.

He slides his fingers into yours and leads you toward the parking lot. Your sneakers scuff the concrete. Maybe the letter getting sent out wasn’t as bad after all. But then you remember this is all an act. James doesn’t actually like you. And once he’s back with Amy? You don’t even want to think about it.

You find the car before you recognize it. Low, polished, the kind of car that hums quietly like it was born rich. Leather seats. Chrome that catches sunlight like it’s showing off. You knew he was from money, but you’d never actually seen it up close like this.

He opens the passenger door for you with a theatrical little bow that somehow feels oddly considerate. “Hop in,” he says, and for a second the world narrows to leather and the faint plastic smell of air freshener and the rapid, stupid beating of your heart.

You climb in, and as the engine starts, you wonder which part of your life is a fever dream and which part, if any, is real.

James pulls up in front of your house like he’s done this a hundred times, like this is just routine for him now. The car quiets, he taps the steering wheel once, and turns toward you.

“Thanks for driving me,” you say, suddenly shy for no reason except he’s looking at you like that. You try to keep your smile contained, but it still slips out, tiny and embarrassing.

He catches it immediately. “Cute,” he says under his breath, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. He clears his throat, hoping you didn’t hear him slip. 

“So this is where y/n lives? Didn’t know you lived a couple houses down from me.” You smile and reach for the door handle, trying to act like a normal functioning human being, when he stops you with a soft, “Y/n—wait.”

You blink at him. “Yes?” He holds up his phone. “Can I take a picture of us holding hands? For my Insta so Amy can see.” You swear you felt something real between you two until he snapped you back to reality. “Like… right now?”

“Yeah.” He extends his hand, palm up, waiting. “C’mon.”

You place your hand in his because what else are you supposed to do? Say no? Die? Teleport? His fingers lace through yours, warm and soft, and your whole bloodstream turns into electricity. You feel your body heat up. This is your first ever physical contact with him.

He lifts his phone with the other hand and pulls your joined hands closer to the console where the lighting is better. Of course he knows his angles; he’s literally James.

“Look at me,” he murmurs. You do. He snaps the picture the moment you meet his eyes, like he wants you in the frame even if you’re only visible in the reflection of the screen. 

After the photo is taken, he stares at it for a quick second. Call yourself delusional but you swear you saw him holding back his smile. After tagging you, he uploads it instantly. Your heart legitimately forgets how to beat.

“Great,” he says, dropping your hand slowly, almost reluctantly. “Text me when you’re inside.”

“S-sure,” you mutter, stumbling over your own voice like a clown. You climb out of the car. He waits until you’re at the porch before he pulls away, tires rolling smooth and silent like he didn’t just flip your entire life upside down.

You walk in, still clutching the warmth of his hand like an idiot who’s never known happiness before. Your dad glances up from the kitchen, eyes narrowing with that suspicious dad-squint. “Someone’s smiling.” You almost choke. “I’m not—I’m literally—I wasn’t—”

He laughs. “Alright, alright. I’m not interrogating you. How’d you get home so fast?”

Panic rushes through your veins. “Uh. Bella’s brother drove us. We were going the same way.”

Lie. Instant lie. Horrible lie. Bella doesn’t even have a brother. You want to fistfight yourself.

“Huh,” your dad says, not looking convinced but not digging either. “Alright, well—oh! Before I forget.” He stands, wipes his hands on a dish towel, and smiles like he’s about to tell you something wholesome. Instead he says the single worst sentence you’ve heard in your entire life. “I forgot to tell you this but I saw that letter on your desk last week and helped mail it for you, honey.” Your stomach hits the floor. You swear your vision goes white around the edges.

“What—what letter?” You hear your own voice crack like a broken flute.

“The envelope under those textbooks on your desk thst was addressed to one of our neighbours? I figured it’d save you and I less time because I was stopping by the post office anyways,” He beams, proud of himself.

You cannot breathe. So that’s how James got your note. The letter that was literally your unhinged, handwritten, half-fantasy confession about James. The one you should have burned. “Thanks,” you whisper, voice tiny and hoarse. 

You bolt up the stairs the second you’re free, close your bedroom door with the gentlest click ever because of course tonight is the night you suddenly care about door volume, and just… collapse. Face-first into your bed. You don’t even bother turning the lights on.

Your body is still buzzing, like James’s handprint is burned into your skin. Your heart keeps replaying the whole car scene at 8K resolution, IMAX, Dolby Atmos, every upgrade possible.

James and Amy? Over. James talking to you? Actually real. James fake dating you? Also real. You? Completely malfunctioning.

You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling like it personally betrayed you. Because the thing is, it’s fake. He asked for to take the picture for Amy, not because he wanted it for himself. He’s James. He dates girls who look like they stepped out of a perfume commercial. You literally tripped over air in homeroom last week.

Still… your chest squeezes around this tiny, dangerous wish. You wish it wasn’t fake, how he meant the way he looked at you in the car, and the warmth in his hand wasn’t just acting. But whatever. That’s not your life. Guys like him don’t like girls like you. You know that. You’ve always known that.

Next morning starts off painfully normal, which is honestly rude given the way last night cracked your brain open. You drag yourself out of bed, brush your teeth while half-asleep, pull on a hoodie that still smells vaguely like laundry detergent and despair, and braid Annie’s hair while she wiggles like a caffeinated squirrel.

“Hold still,” you mutter, trying to tame the last strand. “I am holding still,” she says, not holding still. You finally get her ready, grab your bag, and step out of the building with her hand in yours. It’s quiet outside, cool enough to wake you up a little. The walk to her school is familiar, easy, predictable.

Your brain needs predictable right now. You’re three blocks down before a car honk breaks the morning calm—one sharp, deliberate beep.

You and Annie both turn at the same time.

James’s car is parked at the curb. Leaning slightly toward the window, one hand on the wheel, raising his eyebrows in a “Really? You forgot?” kind of way.

“Oh shit,” you whisper. Annie gasps dramatically and sprints toward the car like she’s starring in her own movie. “Did you just say a bad word?” she calls out over her shoulder. “Also who’s that?”

“My… uh…” You have nothing. No explanation. Just panic. “Just—wait—Annie!” But she’s already yanking open the passenger door. “Did you forget about stranger danger?!”

“Hiiiiii!” she beams at him. James grins back, all sunshine and dimples. “Good morning.” He looks cute when he smiles.  You stumble up behind her, cheeks burning. “Sorry—she just—uh—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “She’s cute.”

Annie giggles like he handed her a scholarship. “My sister thinks cute! Her face literally turned red when she—” You quickly slap your palm on top of her mouth, nearly choke on your own tongue. “Annie! You can’t just—say things—!”

James laughs. “I can see that.” Fuck you. He nods toward the backseat. “You riding or walking?” Right. The whole fake dating thing. You climb in, mumbling, “I totally forgot you were picking us up.”

He shoots you a look in the rearview. Teasing. “Kind of figured.” Annie, meanwhile, is already telling him her entire life story. “So my sister woke me up late again, and Y/N didn’t let me have candy in the morning, so can you convince her t—“

“Annie,” you hiss, “personal space!” James glances at you, amused. “Your sister’s very bubbly.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Runs in the family.” He raises an eyebrow. “Really? Haven’t noticed much of that in you.” You look out the window so he can’t see your face fall and combust at the same time. “Well… it takes me a while to open up.”

There’s a beat of silence—soft, not awkward. Then, quietly, he says, “I don’t mind that. Your breath trips.  Annie thankfully interrupts you before your brain melts. “Are you Y/N’s boyfriend?” You and James say entirely different things at the exact same time.

You: “NO—no no no—he’s not—don’t—” James: “Something like that.”

You whip your head toward him so fast your neck protests. “What?!” He smirks. “Relax. Just keeping the story consistent.” “That’s not consistent, that’s— that’s—”

“Convincing,” he finishes, winking. You swear your pulse jumps like it’s trying to break out of your body. By the time he pulls into the school parking lot, your nerves are shredded.

“Wait.” His voice stops you again. You freeze halfway out. He gets out too. Walks around the car. And then extends his hand. Palm up, a silver ring on his index finger. 

“Come on,” he says. “They’re already staring.” Your stomach drops to your knees. You place your hand in his, because apparently you’ve lost all brain function. His fingers lace through yours. Firm. Warm. Familiar already in a terrifying way. You wonder what if he uses hand cream—and if so, what kind?

You walk side by side, hands joined, through the courtyard. Every. Single. Person. Looks. Someone literally whispers, “Are you kidding me?” as you pass. Another girl stares like you committed a war crime. You try to keep your face blank, but your heart is doing parkour. Even his friends look at him weird. James leans toward you just slightly. “You good?”

“I’m—fine,” you lie. He squeezes your hand. A tiny squeeze. You nearly short-circuit. Then you turn down the hall. And there she is. Perfect hair. Perfect face. Perfect everything. Leaning against her locker with her friends, scrolling through her phone—Amy.

Until she sees you and James. Her entire expression freezes—then sharpens. Expression goes from neutral to knives-out in half a second.

It hits you so hard your stomach does a full gymnastics routine. You instantly look away, like you’re gonna be burned alive if you make eye contact for more than a microsecond. James actually glances. Quick, sharp, assessing—like he’s checking if she saw. And apparently she did, because he gives the smallest nod to himself and keeps walking.

Your palm is sweating in his, which is honestly humiliating, but he doesn’t comment. Doesn’t squeeze or slow down or look at you twice. He’s just walking. Playing the part. Cool. Unbothered. Like this is all just logistics. People are still staring, whispering, straight-up gawking as you pass.  You keep your face forward. Try not to shrink… or die. All three are failing.

When you reach his locker, he drops your hand casually like he’s turning off a light switch. He spins his combo, grabs a book, and says, completely normal, “I saw her staring.”

Your heart is still in your throat. “It’s progress, I guess.” He nods once, satisfied. “Think it’s working.”

James doesn’t look at you again—just shuts his locker with a quick clack and tosses his bag over his shoulder like he didn’t just nuke your nervous system in the hallway.

“See you later,” he says, already turning away. And you’re left standing there, trying not to look like you’re about to dissolve into mist.

The rest of the week doesn’t calm down — it just mutates into this weird fever dream where James keeps doing things that make your brain short-circuit.

Like Wednesday morning, when you’re trying to open your locker and the stupid thing jams for the eighth day in a row. You mutter under your breath, “I hate this place,” and kick the bottom corner. Out of nowhere, James appears behind you, lean and warm and annoyingly tall.

“Move,” he says, voice low like he’s about to break into a safe.

“I’ve tried that,” you snap, not even looking up. “It doesn’t—” He slams his palm against the top left edge with one clean, confident hit. The locker pops open like it’s scared of him. Hot. “Are you—what? How—?!”

He shrugs, smirking. “You’re welcome.”

You roll your eyes way too dramatically, but you’re pretty sure your soul floats out the back of your head when he taps the top of your hair and says, “I’ll be here if you need help with anything else.”

You stare after him like a malfunctioning Roomba as he walks off.

Then there’s Thursday, when you’re walking through the courtyard with James and trip over absolutely nothing. Like, genuinely nothing. A single leaf. A shadow. Air. You go stumbling forward like a newborn deer. Before you can fall, James catches the back of your hoodie and pulls you upright by the hood like you’re a cat being relocated.

“I swear to God,” you wheeze, face on absolute fire, “the ground attacked me.”

“Yeah,” he deadpans, “the ground looked really hostile.”

You shove his shoulder because you can’t come up with a good comeback and also because you’re mortified. He lets out a quiet chuckle and it unlocks something sweet and dangerous in your chest.

Next it’s Friday morning. You and Annie are waiting for him outside, and your sister is bouncing around talking about how she wants to get a hamster named Bean. James comes out of the car, leans over the passenger seat, and gives Annie an exaggerated thumbs-up.

“Bean’s a great name,” he says, like he’s taking her dead seriously. “Very strong. Very intimidating.”

Annie giggles like she’s met a celebrity. You can tell that your sister likes him a lot. Too bad it might all end soon. You’re standing there blinking because why is he being sweet when no one is watching? There’s no audience at 7:53 AM on a suburban sidewalk. No reason to impress anybody. He looks at you for a beat too long. “What?” you say, defensive because your nervous system is fried.

“Nothing,” he says, that tiny smile tugging at one corner. 

Later that same day, you’re at his soccer practice again, this time on mandatory fake-girlfriend attendance, apparently, but this time you don’t sit on the bleachers. You’re late, so you stand awkwardly by the fence, hugging your bag. 

James sees you. Mid-scrimmage. He’s literally making it past two guys and still looks over like you’re a lens flare he enjoys catching. Amy’s on the far side of the field glaring daggers, and that’s probably why he does it, why he pushes a bit harder. For some reason, she started showing up again. 

But then he smirks. And it’s not aimed at Amy. He jogs up after scoring, out of breath, flushed, hair sticking to his forehead. The kind of sweaty that shouldn’t be attractive but absolutely is.

Before you know it, his practice ends, the sun’s low, and the field looks like it’s glowing. You’re standing by the fence scrolling your phone, pretending you’re not waiting for him even though obviously you are.

They scrimmage one more play. James gets the ball. The field actually erupts. He slips past two defenders, cuts left, shoots—Goal. The boys yell and explode like he just cured cancer. And then he does something so stupidly cinematic you almost faint: He runs straight toward you. Like you’re his checkpoint.

He stops right by the fence, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, jersey sticking to him — black and green, drenched in sweat, clinging to every muscle that should not legally exist on an 20-year-old.

“Did you see that?” he breathes out, grinning like he’s half-drunk on adrenaline.

“I—I mean—yeah,” you say, but it comes out more like a squeak because you are absolutely staring. His hair is plastered to his forehead, his neck glistening, jaw sharp enough to slice your willpower in half. He smirks when he notices.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” he teases, voice low. You immediately snap your eyes away. “I wasn’t—looking. I was—blinking.”

“I didn’t know blinking took that long,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer to the fence. You nearly dissolve into the grass.

By the time he drops you off, your brain is a puddle. He taps the steering wheel, looks at you with that same unreadable-soft expression you’re starting to recognize. “Same time tomorrow?” 

Before you could answer, your dad comes out on the porch at the worst possible moment, holding a mug and squinting into the driveway. “Is that the handsome guy Annie keeps talking about?”

Why oh why. “Wha—dad—I—no—?” James, traitor that he is, just smiles and waves like this is a barbecue and not the crumbling of your sanity. “Yes I am!”

Your dad lights up. “Well! Why don’t you stay for dinner?” You see James glance at you like he’s asking for permission—like you’re the deciding vote before he says, “Sure. If that’s okay.” Okay?? You’re already having an out-of-body experience. Inside, Annie is THRIVING. She pats the couch between her and James like she’s the host of a reality show. You sit, fully preparing to be normal. You fail immediately.

Halfway through the movie, James shifts closer—casual, smooth, evil—and drapes an arm behind you on the couch, feeling himself at your home. Not even touching you yet, just… there. Warm. Heavy. Loud in your peripheral vision. Your heart is trying to escape your ribcage with a crowbar.

Then, out of nowhere, he reaches over and slides the scrunchie out of your ponytail. Slow. Deliberate. Like he’s unwrapping a present. Your hair falls down your shoulders and you swear the air temperature spikes 40 degrees.

“Looks better like this,” he murmurs, barely audible over the TV.

You’re going to combust. Annie is too invested in the movie to notice you dying.

He loops it around his wrist, then pulling out his phone to check something. You assume he’s going to post something on his Instagram for Amy to see, but he checks the time instead. Strange

Your dad comes in once to ask if you all want snacks. James answers politely. You stare at the wall like you’re seeing God. He grabs a piece and feeds it to you. Even morestrange.

Eventually it gets late, and he stands, gives Annie a little salute, thanks your dad for the evening, and looks at you with this unreadable softness that makes your stomach flip.

“See you tomorrow,” he says.

—

The night air is cold enough to bite, but he doesn’t feel it. His whole skin is still warm from your house, your couch, your hair brushing his shoulder. 

As he hopped into the car, shouldn’t be thinking about that. It wasn’t supposed to feel like that. Getting out, he walks up his front steps, keys halfway out of his pocket, when he freezes.

Amy is sitting on his porch. Arms crossed. Eyes sharp. Wearing that perfume he likes.

“James,” she says, chin tilted, voice honeyed she knows works on most people.

He exhales, slow. “Amy. What are you doing here?”

She stands up, taking a step closer. “I wanted to talk. We haven’t really—y’know—processed everything. And I…” She lets the sentence trail off, fingers brushing his arm like muscle memory. “I miss you. We were good together.”

He should want this. He knows that. This was the whole point, wasn’t it? Proving he could move on, making her jealous, getting her to come back.

“We were,” he says quietly. It comes out flat. Even he hears it.

Amy leans in, confidence flickering back. “I mean… moving on to someone like her?” She smirks. “Convincing. I’ll give you that.”

He doesn’t say anything. She slides her hand down his arm like she’s done it a thousand times — because she has. Her voice drops. “You could’ve just talked to me, James. You didn’t have to pretend.”

Her eyes glint. She steps closer again, enough that her breath hits his collarbone. “What do you say? Are you up for a redo?” Amy reaches for his wrist, then stops at a certain spot.

“Oh.” Her voice shifts — sweet turning sour. “What’s this?” Her fingers brush the scrunchie. Your scrunchie. Still warm from your hair. She looks up at him, eyebrows lifted like she’s caught him with a crime weapon.

“Is that Y/n’s?” she asks, sickly sweet. His voice is small, quieter than he expects. “It is.”

Amy lets out a low, humorless laugh. “Wow. You’re really committing to the bit.” He doesn’t correct her.

She slips it off his wrist and ties her hair with it, steps back, arms folding. “Well,” she says, lips curling, “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, James.”

She walks away without waiting for an answer. Her perfume lingers. But his wrist feels heavier than everything she tried to imply. He stands there a long time after she’s gone. And the scrunchie stays exactly where it is.

—

James picks you up like nothing happened, acting like he didn’t stand on his porch last night looking existential with your scrunchie on his wrist while his ex tried to crawl back into his life.

“Morning,” he says, voice warm, as you hop into the car. 

“Good Morning.”

He glances over, tapping the steering wheel. “Tired?” You scratch your neck, letting out a soft groan. “Not at all.”

He actually laughs under his breath. “Liar.” Ugh. Of course he knows.

He drives for a bit, a comfortable quiet settling between you — or, well… almost comfortable. Then he says it. Soft. Almost shy. “I really like spending time with you.”

You freeze. Brain: 404 error. “Why?” you say before your filter can save you. He looks over. “Why not?”

“No, like—” you wave a hand, “you don’t have to do the whole… nice boyfriend act right now. No one’s looking.” 

His brows pull together, confused, just a tiny bit hurt. “I know.” It’s nothing. It’s everything. You don’t know what to do with it, so you shove it into the mental junk drawer and slam it shut.

—

After your second class, Bella picks you up and you two walk to your lockers, minding your own business, when Amy appears like a horror movie jump scare, leaning against the lockers, arms crossed, eyes on you like target practice.

“You know James doesn’t actually like you?” She says sweetly.

It’s not like you didn’t know that. The thing going on between James and you is all for show. Bella stiffens beside you. You close your locker and keep walking. 

Amy clicks her tongue. “Y/n—you forgot something.”

You turn just in time to see her toss your scrunchie. It hits the floor at your feet like a punchline. Bella’s eyes go HUGE. “Um. What—?”

“I’ll explain later,” you mutter, scooping it up with fingers that are absolutely trembling.

You don’t go to his practice after that. Screw that. Screw all of it. You go home, burrow under your blanket, and try to convince yourself you don’t care even though you obviously care so much it feels like a bruise.

Around six, there’s a knock downstairs. Please don’t tell me it’s who I think it is.

You hear your dad open the door.

“Oh! Hi James!”

“Is Y/n home?” he asks, and his voice is nervous. Nervous? Since when does James get nervous? “Yes, she’s upstairs in her room, doing whatever you teenagers do.”

“Can I— uh— can I talk to her?”

“…Sure, come in.”

You want to sink into the floorboards. Your dad calls up the stairs, “Y/n! James is here!”

Yeah, you heard.

A moment later, there’s a soft knock on your door. “Can I come in?” You don’t answer, and quickly pull the cover over you. He opens just enough to peek inside. “Hey.” You sit up, knees tucked to your chest. “Hi”

He steps inside, closes the door behind him, runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to hit CTRL+ALT+DEL on his own life. “Why didn’t you show up to my game? You always show up.” 

You look at him for a long second, then ask the question that’s been chewing through your ribs all day.

“Did you… meet up with Amy last night? And then give her my favourite scrunchie?” 

His head snaps up fast. “No.”

“No?”

“I mean—yes and no. It’s not what you think.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Then what happened?”

He sighs, shoulders dropping. “She just spawned in front of my house as I was driving home. I never asked her to come” Your chest tightens, but you keep your voice steady. “Right. And when she took my scrunchie… you just let her take it?” He flinches a little — just barely, but you see it.

“Yeah, that’s my bad,” he says quietly. “But hey, at least you got it back.”

You stay quiet, jaw set as you look down at the scrunchie on your wrist.

“And it’s not a big deal,” he adds quickly. “It’s just a scrunchie y/n.” He stops himself. “Well — not just a scrunchie. Yours.” Your lungs betray you with a small inhale. He moves a little closer, hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “Really. And… I wanna make it up to you.”

You tilt your head “How?” And because he’s him — chaotic, dramatic, inexplicably confident — he smiles.

“You heard of ‘Ski Slopes Nation?” The ski trip party my friend hosts every year. It’s, uh, kinda big. And really fun. I want you to come with me.”

You look down at yojr hands, unsure what to say. Strange, wouldn’t he have asked Amy? “James, I don’t even know anyone there.”

“Okay,” he says, shrugging, taking one small step closer. “So what? You’ll know me.”

“That’s not enough. You’ll be distracted by you know who.”

He sighs, walking towards your bed as he puts his finger under your chin, turning your head to face him. He tilts his head, smirk creeping back. “You’re the only distraction I need.”

Your stomach flips so hard you have to look away again. How can he say this when he doesn’t even like you?

“Think about it,” he murmurs. He reaches for the doorknob, pauses, glances back at you with that soft half-smile. “And for the record, I’ll buy you snacks for the whole time we’re there.”

Then he leaves you alone with your heartbeat trying to set a new world record.

“Wait… it was fake?!” Bella’s voice is a cartoon of betrayal—half screech, half wounded martyr. You’re sitting across from her at your usual greasy-spoon table, regretting your life decisions, and she’s dramatically clutching her phone like you’ve personally stolen her childhood.

“I thought he actually liked you,” she adds, scandalized. “I mean, everything! His stories, the way he looked at you—God, I practically had a panic attack of joy.”

You shrug, because what else do you do when your life is embarrassing and baffling at the same time. “It was the plan. To make Amy jealous. To get her to get back with James.”

Bella pokes your forehead with the end of a fry. “So you were a pawn? That is actually a geniu—horrible!”

You let out a sigh and then tell her about the ski thing—James’s invitation that felt suspiciously like a peace offering. Bella immediately goes into PR mode.

“Why aren’t you going?” she asks, all business now. “This could be huge. Honestly, go. I’ll totally come with you if that’ll change your mind.”

You almost say no. You almost say yes. You do say, finally, “Okay, but you cannot leave my side for once.”

She claps and picks up your phone from the table. “Text him now.” She demands while handing you her phone. Slowly, you unlock your phone and type in: “Ok, Ski Slopes Nation it is.” Sent.

Weekend flies. Saturday morning, you stand by the curb, heels tapping like a metronome, expecting Bella’s overzealous face any second. Typical you overpacked for a three night trip. James pulls up right on time, engine purring luxury. You get in. You do a full inventory of your nerves.

Ten minutes later you notice Bella’s text: one-line replies. 

Bella: Sorry guys, mom lowkey got mad because I fumbled my test 🙁. Maybe next time?

You stare at the message like it physically hurt. She didn’t tell you before. This was her plan all along for you to go to the Ski Slopes Event alone with James. She was never going to come.

You turn to James, ready to explode with “where is she?” but the words scramble and bail right out of you. Your hand goes for the door handle. You’re doing the awkward petty-exit thing when he reaches over, still driving, and grabs your wrist gently.

“Wait,” he says. His voice is small, not demanding, just…earnest. “Please. Don’t go.”

You stare at his hand on yours. Your knee-jerk plan is to get out and walk, to reclaim dignity off the side of the highway, but the highway is suddenly very far away and his palm is somehow steadying.

“Why?” you ask, because why not make him explain himself.

He pulls into the next parking spot, kills the engine, and turns fully to you like it’s the thing he’s meant to do all day. The car becomes its own little island of breath.

“I wanted you to come,” he says, simple and flat, like it’s obvious and he’s been dying to say it. “Not because of Amy. Not to make her jealous. I… I actually like doing this with you. I like spending time with you.”

Your brain files that under “unreliable information” and simultaneously under “this actually matters.” You blink. “But—wasn’t this whole thing supposed to get Amy back?”

He hesitates, then answers honestly, the way people answer when the truth is awkward but necessary. “Yes that was the plan. At first. But I don’t know if I want to go back to that. I don’t know if I ever did. And the more time I spend with you—not pretending—it’s not the same. You’ve made me felt something no one else has ever made me feel. But what I know is that I like you. A lot.”

You roll your eyes because dramatic vulnerability is embarrassing even when it’s kind of endearing. And your body heats up. Your cheeks are probably tomato colored, but you try staying nonchalant. “So what, you just switched teams mid-game?”

He gives you one of those looks that’s half apology, half dare. “Sort of. Do you… do you wanna keep doing this? Not for Amy. For us. Keep this—whatever this is—going?”

You inhale, exhale, try to be sensible. “You know how this looks,” you say. “Welp, the love letter sure worked out—just now how I expected.”

He smiles, small and stubborn. “It sure did.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes—part incredulous, part hopeful. You tuck your hand back into yours under the dash. “Fine,” you say, because why be brave when you can be cautiously stupid instead. “But I’m watching you. One misstep and I will glare you into ashes.”

“Deal,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips that’s half triumphant, half relieved. “Also, I’m getting your scrunchie back. Properly next time.”

You look out at the highway ahead, and despite the chaos, despite the lying and the staging and the way your life currently reads like a badly edited montage, there’s a tiny part of you that answers before your brain can veto it.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s keep doing this—carefully.”

He squeezes your hand. The car pulls back onto the road, and the rest of the world sounds like muffled static for a second, just you and the hum of the engine and the very complicated possibility of something messy and real.

“Are you sure you have snow tires on?” You double check as more snow comes down while you guys drive up the mountain. The atmosphere in the car was not quiet, but soft. Not awkward anymore, not tense, just this gentle humming between you two—like the car has its own heartbeat now and it somehow synced to yours. James lets out a low chuckle, reaching for your hand, giving it a tight squeeze. 

“I’m sure y/n.” The way he spoke your name was so attractive yet reassuring. Snow lines the trees like powdered sugar and the sky is a blue so obnoxiously pretty it looks edited. James keeps flicking quick glances at you like he’s checking if you’re still real. You’re still trying to get over the fact that you’re seated in Jame’s car that actually has feelings for you.

When he parks outside the lodge, you hop out and the cold instantly punches your lungs. He grabs the bags before you can even protest because he’s a show-off with biceps, apparently. Inside, the place is gorgeous—warm lights, crackling fireplaces, couples everywhere wearing matching sweaters like they’re in a Pinterest board.

James leads you down a hallway lined with wooden doors and stops at one. Unlocks it, then opens the door. You follow him in. And freeze.

There are multiple reasons why you freeze. First and most obvious reason, the scenery. You knew James and his friends were filthy rich, but this is on a next level. The place was small, but it felt so cozy and expensive at the same time. Second reason, the bed. Notice how it’s bed and not beds plural? 

“…Hold on,” you say, voice thin. “Where’s—uh—the other bed?” There is one bed. One. Big, yes. Fluffy, absolutely. But still ONE BED.

James glances at it like it’s the weather. “Oh. Yeah. They ran out of doubles.” He looks at you over his shoulder. “Is that okay? It is pretty spacious so we can sleep on either ends.” 

Is that OK??

Your soul: NOPE. SOUND THE ALARMS. EVACUATE THE PREMISES.

Your mouth: “Yeah it’s fine.”

Typical y/n. Always lying out of your ass crack.

He tosses his duffel on the floor and starts unpacking, casual as ever, while your brain is mapping out emergency escape routes and calculating the surface area of the bed to figure out how far you can sleep from him without dying.

“We’ve got, like, four hours until the big event,” he says, kicking off his shoes. “It’s basically a party with drinks and games. Then we go skiing. People kinda go all out.”

Skiing? You? “Is it bad that I don’t know how to Ski?”

He snorts—soft, fond. “It’s okay. I’ll teach you if you’re down. I’m sure you’ll be able to manage.

He finishes unpacking and flops onto the bed, arms behind his head. “You can talk, y’know,” he says, teasing. “You’re doing that quiet-stressing face again.”

“I’m not”—

“You are.”

“Stop reading my mind.”

“Stop being readable.”

You grab your water bottle just to have something to do. He watches you, amused. The silence stretches—not awkward, but charged. Like static in the air before lightning strikes. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, rambling about something—how cold it is, how Bella tricked you, how the hallway smells weirdly like cinnamon. You don’t stop talking because if you stop, you’ll think, and if you think, you’ll panic.

Halfway through your rant about overpriced ski equipment, you notice he’s not responding. He’s just… staring. Not in a bored way. Or in a polite-listening way.

In a hungry way. In a memorizing-your-mouth-movements way. In a way no fake boyfriend should ever stare. No one has ever looked at you like that.

You clear your throat. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

James’s voice is low, a little rough. “I don’t know.”

You short-circuit. “I—what—you—you don’t know—?”

“Yeah.” He shifts closer—just enough for your knees to touch. 

You swallow. Loudly. “Cute.”

“Mm.” His eyes drop to your lips like gravity dragged them there. “And distracting.”

Your heart is doing backflips. Your hands start sweating. You are ninety percent sure you’re about to ascend straight off the bed.

“James…” you whisper, though you’re not sure if it’s a warning or an invitation. He moves closer, slow enough to give you time to pull back. You don’t. You couldn’t even if you tried. His forehead almost touches yours, breath warming your skin. “Tell me if you don’t want this,” he murmurs.

You don’t answer. You lean in. Never once in life were you expecting James to be your first kiss. Obviously in those little fantasies of yours, but never in real life.

His lips brush yours—barely, like a question he’s too scared to ask out loud—and your breath catches so hard your ribs ache. He tilts his head, closes the space, kisses you properly this time, soft but hungry, like he’s been holding this in for weeks.

He pulls back, breathless, eyes flashing with something you can’t quite name. Then suddenly he’s dragging you into his lap, steady hands guiding you, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear before pulling you in for another kiss. This one is hungrier—messy, frantic, almost starving.

A small moan slips out of you the second his tongue pushes into your mouth. He’s good—too good. And you were the complete opposite. Heat blooms low in your stomach, and you can feel him hardening beneath you, the realization sending a shiver through your whole body.

He chuckles against your lips, the vibration buzzing straight through you as his tongue keeps exploring your mouth.

“You like that?” he murmurs, fingers trailing up your thigh. You nod instantly, needy, like your body answered before your brain could catch up.

He leans in, breath brushing your ear. “Tell me what else you want,” he murmurs. You part your lips, but nothing comes out—you’re too wound up, too turned on from everything he’s already done.

“Tell me, baby.” The pet name makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“I—I don’t know,” you finally manage to whisper.

“You don’t know?” he repeats, eyebrow lifting in a teasing way. Embarrassment floods your cheeks as you shake your head and bring your hands up to hide your face.

“Hey,” he says softly, pulling your hands away. Your eyes meet, and he him unintentionally bitting his lower lips, his eyes now roaming all over your body.

Before you can even react, he’s kissing you again—deep, consuming, pulling you straight back into the heat of him.

“Do you know how to grind on me?” he asks when he pulls away again. You shake your head no.

“Here, let me guide you.”

His hands settle on your ass, gentle but sure, guiding your hips back and forth over his clothed cock as he pulls you back into the kiss. You both let out soft moans, the sound tangled between your mouths. It’s overwhelming, your fingers sliding into his hair, tugging just enough to pull another sound out of him.

“God, baby… you look so hot on top of me,” he whispers, his hands roaming over your ass again.

Before you know it, James’s hands slide down to the zipper of your jeans. He wants more—you can feel it in the way his breath catches, the way his fingers hesitate there like he’s waiting for permission. You stop him, catching his hands before he can go any further.

He looks up at you immediately, eyes searching your face.

“Something wrong?” he asks softly, tilting his head just a little.

“I—I don’t want to go further than that,” you say, your voice small but steady. “Not right now.”

James searches your face like he’s trying to read every micro-expression you’ve ever had in your whole life.

“Am I making you feel uncomfortable?” he asks quietly. You shake your head fast. “No, it’s not that. I just… don’t wanna do that right now.”

His shoulders loosen immediately. “Oh. Okay.” And the way he says it—soft, not offended, not disappointed—makes something warm twist in your chest.

He presses one last kiss to your forehead before sliding you gently off his lap. “I’m gonna go shower,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek, “then we’ll get ready for the party.”

When he disappears into the bathroom and the door clicks shut, the room feels too big. Too quiet. Too… loud inside your head. You flop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling again, because apparently that’s your hobby now. And, of course, your brain immediately starts being a menace.

Yeah, he used to do this with Amy. Plus, breakup wasn’t even that long ago. Maybe you’re just some transitional little detour while he untangles whatever is still left inside him.

You groan into a pillow. “Get it together,” you mumble at yourself. Your overthinking is doing parkour.

Then the bathroom door swings open—and your soul exits your body.

James steps out with a towel sitting dangerously low on his hips, droplets rolling down his chest like they were directed by a film crew. His torso? Toned. Defined. Absolutely from-the-cover-of-a-ski-lodge-soccer-player-romance-novel level sculpted.

His dyed dirty blonde hair is wet, dripping onto his shoulders, making him look unfairly good. You snap your gaze to the window like it personally offended you.

He grabs his bag and looks over at you. “You gonna get ready?” he asks casually, like he isn’t currently the hottest man alive standing half-naked five feet away.

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, I was just… thinking.” (About your sanity evaporating.)

You peel yourself off the bed and rummage through your bag, already annoyed at yourself because you did not pack for a fancy winter party. You pull out something normal, plain, safe—because of course you brought nothing special. James glances over with a soft smile. “Going casual?” You shrug. “I didn’t really bring, like… party clothes.”

His eyes drag over your outfit, then your face.

“You’ll look amazing,” he says simply.

The Ski Slopes Nation’s “big event” is already at full volume by the time you and James walk in. It’s loud. Like… loud-loud. Bass thumping through the floorboards, laughter coming from every corner, people yelling over each other like they’re competing for the Olympic gold medal in being obnoxious. James doesn’t even flinch. He’s been to a million of these. You on the other hand—feel like you just walked into a live-action TikTok POV.

James keeps a warm hand at the small of your back as he leads you through the crowd. “C’mon,” he says, leaning down so you can hear him, breath brushing your ear. “Gotta introduce you.”

His friends spot him immediately.

“AYYYY ZHAO YUFAN BOY!” A giant wasian guy—Martin—throws his arms up like James just scored a goal. He’s tall. Like… tree-level tall. The kind of tall that makes you physically tilt your head back to make eye contact. Next to him is Keonho—smaller, ridiculously handsome, annoyingly charming. Both of them stare at you for a beat, confused as hell.

James just grins. “Guys, this is Y/N.” Martin nods like he’s analyzing an alien species. “Ohhh… she’s the one.” Keonho elbows him. “Bro, don’t be weird.”

You want to evaporate. James squeezes your hand like he can tell. People around the room keep glancing. Whispering. Doing double-takes. James showing up with another girl this soon after Amy? Yeah. You can practically feel the gossip starting to ferment.

You clear your throat. “I’m, uh, gonna grab something to drink.” James nods, gentle. “I’ll be right here.” The second you leave, Martin leans in with that tall-guy nosiness. “Dude. She’s so different from Amy.”

James rolls his eyes. “Okay?”

“No, like… in a good way,” Martin says. “She’s calm. Doesn’t have that whole… I’m-influencing-the-room energy.”

Keonho smirks. “And you like her. It’s obvious.” James gives them a look but doesn’t deny it. Across the room, Amy is staring—hard. Snow-white expensive looking sweater that somehow makes her look like a judgmental snow angel. She watches James talk to his friends, then looks you up and down like you’re the clearance rack version of her.

You return with a drink—your first real drink ever—and try to pretend the room isn’t spinning from nerves. You take a sip. And another. And another. Warmth blooms in your chest, buzzing under your skin. James finds you instantly. “Hey.”

His brows pinch. “You good? You seem… off.”

You look at him. And your brain decides now is the perfect time to unhinge.

“You… used to have sex with Amy a lot, right?”

James chokes. Like, full cough-wheeze combo. “That’s what’s been bothering you?”

You shrug, trying to play it off. “It—doesn’t really matter. I mean… I know you’re with me right now, so that’s all that counts.”

James steps closer, hand cupping your jaw gently. “Y/N. She’s my past. You’re the one I’m choosing now. And every second with you feels… different. Better.”

Your chest squeezes so tight you forget how to swallow.

You look down at your shoes. “It’s just… I guess my first time with you would be your… I don’t know… however-many-th time with her.”

A breath leaves him—soft, understanding. “Hey. Look at me.”

“I’m not comparing you to her. I’m not thinking about her when I’m with you. I’m here, with you. And I like us. A lot.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Okay. You’re right.” And just like that, the tension melts a little.

The night blurs in the best way—laughter, games, James’s friends warming up to you, your drink going down way too easily. You’re not drunk, but definitely… pleasantly wobbly. James stays close the whole time, his arm brushing yours, hand grazing your lower back, fingers brushing your knuckles. Subtle, tiny things that keep your brain fried the entire night. 

At one point Martin challenges James to some stupid game that involves taking shots and hitting a mini soccer ball into a trash can, and you swear the cabin shakes when everyone screams after he makes it. You’re laughing. Actually laughing. And your cheeks hurt in the happiest way.

Eventually, when you’re both a little tipsy and the cold outside feels way too sharp, James wraps an arm around your waist and walks you back to the room.

Inside, you both stand awkwardly over the giant bed again.

“Uh… I’ll sleep on that side,” you say, pointing to the edge like it’s a danger zone.

James nods. “Yeah. Sure.”

You settle under the covers, facing away, trying to breathe normally. James climbs in on the opposite end, careful, respectful, leaving a canyon of space between you. As you close your eyes, the coldness of your body was stopping you from falling asleep. After laying there for a few minutes, you finally resort to your last option.

“James?”

He replies immediately. “Yeah?”

“I’m cold.”

There’s a beat. A quiet little inhale. You could practically hear him breathing from the other side of the bed. Then the mattress dips as he moves closer, sliding an arm around your waist and gently pulling you back into him. Warm. Solid. Safe. You exhale without meaning to, your body relaxing instantly into his.

His breath brushes your neck. “Better?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

And just like that, wrapped in him, heartbeat syncing with his, you fall asleep.

The next night creeps in faster than you expect. The final night of the trip—the big skiing day. The sky’s already going dark-blue, that weird shade where you can’t tell if it’s late afternoon or 11 p.m., and the cold is sharp enough to pinch your nose.

James helps you zip up your jacket, his fingers brushing your neck, sending chills that have nothing to do with the weather.

“You ready?” he asks, all smug confidence.

“No,” you answer instantly.

He laughs. “You’ll be fine. I’ll teach you.”

Outside, the slopes glow under tall floodlights, making the snow sparkle like someone dumped glitter everywhere. Kids and pros and show-offs are zooming down the hill like Olympic qualifiers. You’re already planning your funeral.

James clips your boots in for you because he doesn’t trust you with anything involving gravity.

“Okay,” he says, stepping behind you, hands gripping your arms gently. “Lean forward a tiny bit. Just enough to not fall backwards.”

“Okay,” you say, immediately leaning like a malfunctioning tower.

He steadies you. “Not that much—unless you wanna eat snow.”

“I’m gonna eat snow regardless.”

“That’s fair.”

He teaches you slowly, patiently—how to stop, how to turn, how not to accidentally kill yourself. And you… kinda get the hang of it? Ish? You manage to go five whole meters without face-planting.

Every time you wobble, he’s right there catching you by the waist. Every time you mess up, he laughs—not mean, but soft, fond, like he likes seeing you try. Eventually, you’re actually skiing—well, sliding down at the speed of an elderly turtle, but still.

James skis backwards in front of you, because of course he can. His eyes are warm, cheeks flushed red from the cold.

“You’re doing good!” he calls out.

“You’re lying to be nice!”

“I am,” he admits.

You finally stop at the bottom and nearly fall, but he lunges forward, catching you. Your helmet bumps into his chest.

“Hey,” he breathes, smiling down at you. “See? You didn’t die.”

“Yet,” you mutter.

After a while, you both sit in the snow, helmets off, catching your breath. Snow somehow gets down the back of your jacket and into your gloves and probably your soul.

You shriek. “OH MY GOD IT’S IN MY SHIRT—” James bursts out laughing. “You good?”

You do the most logical thing: grab a handful of snow and yeet it at his face.

He freezes. Then smirks. “Oh, it’s on.”

Next thing you know, you’re in a full snowball war—screaming, laughing, slipping everywhere, James chasing you around trees with perfect aim while you miss every single throw like you’re allergic to accuracy.

By the time you both stumble back toward the lodge, you’re breathless and soaked and ridiculously happy. Right outside the hallway to your room, James bumps your shoulder lightly. “Hey, uh… go ahead to the room. I need to tell Martin something real quick.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He kisses your cheek—quick, warm—before turning away.

You head inside. You shower, change, check your phone, sit on the bed, go through photos, scroll TikTok, stare at the ceiling, contemplate the meaning of life…

Forty-five minutes pass.

The door finally opens. James steps in, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s tired. “Sorry. Martin was being annoying.”

You smile. “It’s okay. I had fun these two days. Thank you for convincing me to come.”

His eyes soften. “I’m glad you did.”

—

The next morning is chaotic—bags everywhere, people rushing, doors slamming, winter air biting at your face. James looks exhausted, barely awake, stuffing clothes into his duffel like a zombie.

His other friend is waiting for him outside, yelling for him to hurry.

You zip your jacket and head into the hallway. Martin’s there, tying his boots.

“Hey, Martin?”

He looks up. “Hm?”

“What did you and James talk about last night?”

He blinks. “Last night? …We didn’t talk.”

Your stomach drops. “He didn’t see you?”

“No? I didn’t see him at all.”

Oh. Oh great. Fanfuckingtastic. A cold wave rolls through your chest harder than the mountain wind.

When you climb into the passenger seat of James’s car, he’s quiet—clearly tired. He yawns as he turns the engine on. The drive is silent for a long time. Like… too long.

Finally, he speaks. “Are you going to the match today?”

“No.”

He glances at you, confused. “Why not?”

You keep your eyes on the window. “Because I know you didn’t go see Martin.”

The air tightens.

“So who was it?” you ask. James doesn’t answer. Your heart beats loud enough to hurt. The coach starts calling him the second you guys pull into the parking lot.

“James! Let’s go! You’re 14 minutes late. Warm-ups!”

He’s still staring at the steering wheel.

“Tell me,” you whisper. “Did you go see Amy?”

“Look—” he starts, voice low, strained, “I can explain.”

The coach yells again. “FIVE MINUTES, JAMES!”

Your throat burns. “Am I just your second best?”

He winces—like the words physically hit him.

The coach yells again, sharper this time: “Last warning!”

James steps out of the car, but turns back, gripping the door.

“Please,” he says, eyes desperate. “Just come to the game. I promise I’ll explain everything after. Please.”

And then he’s gone, jogging off toward the field, leaving you sitting in the quiet car, heart pounding like it’s trying to break out.

—

The school library is quiet in that specific after-school way — soft humming lights, the vague smell of old pages, one kid coughing somewhere like he’s auditioning for a Victorian death scene. You’re still not sure about meeting up with James after his games. It has been a hell of a week,

You’ve been curled up in a corner armchair for about an hour or two with some random book you grabbed just to distract your brain from… everything. It’s working, sorta. 

Until you flip the page and land on a quote that hits you like a truck:

“If someone chooses silence when they owe you honesty, let them go.

But if your heart aches louder than your pride…

you’ll find your way back anyway.”

You stare at it like it personally slapped you across the face. Why does everywhere you go have to remind you of James. And then you glance at the clock.

You are one hour late to the end James’s game. 

Like — not fifteen minutes, not “oops my bad,”

but a FULL sixty minutes late.

“Shit.”

You jump up so fast the librarian gives you a death glare that could shatter glass.

You shove the book back on the shelf sideways (crime) and practically sprint out. It’s pouring outside — full dramatic movie thunderstorm pouring. The kind that soaks your socks instantly.

You take out your sad little umbrella and start the walk home, hugging your jacket to your chest like that’ll protect you from your own thoughts. But when you reach the edge of the outdoor courts—the ones the team cuts across after games—you pause,

Because there’s someone standing there. Alone. Soaked. Head down. Kicking at the gravel like he’s fighting ghosts. James.

He’s drenched top to bottom, rainwater mixed with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, jersey clinging to him. And he’s… waiting. Still. Just standing there like he refuses to leave until something changes. Your chest does something stupid and painful, a mixture of guilt and anger.

You walk up quietly, stepping behind him, lifting the umbrella up on your toes so it covers the both of you. One tiny circle of dryness in a whole world of rain.

He tenses first—then turns slowly. The moment he sees you, his expression crumples in this soft, relieved way that knocks the breath right out of you.

“…You came,” he says, voice low, almost disbelieving.

You swallow. “Yeah. I— I was late. And then it started raining, so I was just walking home but…”

Your eyes flick to him.

“But you’re still here.”

You lower the umbrella slightly so you can see his face better. Drops of rain slide down his cheek, and he looks exhausted — not physically, but in that “I’ve been stressing about losing you for hours” kind of way.

“What made you come?” he asks quietly. You shrug, breath fogging the air. “I… read something. And it made me realize I wasn’t done. With us.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks away for a second like he’s overwhelmed.

You take a small step closer. “Who were you with, James?”

He lets out a breath that’s practically a sigh of defeat. “Amy.”

Your stomach sinks — until he lifts his head, eyes sharp, honest.

“But not for what you think.”

You don’t say anything. You just hold the umbrella and wait.

“I went to tell her to stop,” he says. “To stop showing up everywhere. To stop spreading shit about you. About us. To stop acting like I owe her something.”

His voice strengthens, anger threading through it.

“I told her if she messed with you one more time, I’d—” He stops, shaking his head. “—I’d actually lose it. I didn’t want things to blow up in front of you, so I waited until later. That’s it. That’s all it was.”

Your eyes sting. And your voice comes out smaller than you want.

“…Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He steps closer, rain dripping off his jaw. “Because when you asked, you already looked like I’d punched a hole in your chest. And then the coach was yelling at me, and I panicked.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.”

The rain softens around you, or maybe you just stop noticing it.

You whisper, “I thought you were… choosing her again.”

His face twists — hurt, like the idea physically wounds him.

“Y/N.”

He reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist gently, like he’s asking permission.

“You were never my second best.” Your throat closes up.

“And I waited,” he adds. “For an hour. In the rain. Just in case there was even a 1% chance you’d show up.” You let out a tiny, shaky laugh. “That’s really dumb of you.”

He smiles, soft and crooked. “Yeah. But I’m yours, so… it tracks.”

You look at him—really look—soaked, shivering, but eyes warm like he never doubted you’d return.

You step forward and tuck yourself against him, arms looping around his waist. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole day and pulls you in, umbrella tilting awkwardly over both your heads.

His chest is warm even though his clothes are freezing. His chin rests on your hair. His heartbeat is steady and loud.

“Hey,” he murmurs into your ear.

“What?”

“Thanks for coming back.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Don’t make me chase you through a storm again,” you mumble.

He chuckles, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “Then don’t leave me behind.”

You shrug playfully. “No promises.”

He leans down, forehead touching yours, breaths mixing in the cold air.

Warm and close and full of everything you’ve been too scared to say.

“Let me walk you home,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Let’s go home.”

He takes the umbrella from you, threads his fingers through yours, and the two of you walk out of the storm together — matching steps, matching heartbeats — leaving every misunderstanding behind on the wet pavement.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

You don’t feel like you’re someone’s temporary choice. You feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. With him.

The wet squelches of your pussy echo in the dorm room as you slide down Seokmin's painfully hard cock. Your pussy welcomes the intrusion, slurping your gummy walls to his wide circumference, making the pretty boy underneath you whimper. His brain is melting, thighs shaking, as you sit all the way down to the thick base of his cock. He's never felt something so good. Your pussy renders him into a stuttering mess. "Oh my god, oh my god- s'too much-"

If you had told anyone you planned to ride Dokyeom's cock until he was a shaking mess. They wouldn't believe you. You're so popular around the college campus, in a highly acclaimed sorority, and Seokmin was the president of the drama club. In the hierarchy society seemed adamant to abide by, you were out of Dokyeom's league. And it was one of the many reasons why you liked him so much. He was the sweetest boy you came across one day while looking for a book in the library for your latest assignment.

And you knew, the moment he flashed you a smile that warmed you like the sun, that it would always end up like this.

Your walls squeeze around his shaft, sinfully. And he moans, wrecked and high-pitched, his cock jerking inside you for the nth time. Your gummy walls throb around his large girth, slurping his cock deep inside until Dokyeom’s jaw slacks open in awe. He doesn’t know how many times he’s cum now, filthy globs of his creamy seed stuffing farther into your wet channel, adding to the obscene squelches your pussy makes as you bounce in his lap.

You've been doing this for what feels like hours to Dokyeom. Swirling your hips in such an intoxicating way. Forcing his weeping bulbous tip to smooch your cervix with filthy kisses that made you see stars. You're so warm, so wet, squeezin' him so tightly his eyes gloss over. Pretty tears form on his long eyelashes, and his fingers dig into the bedsheets underneath him.

He whines, broken, hiccuping as the wet ‘plap plap plap’ of your addictive pussy smacks down onto his tender cock visciously. He sniffles, "P-please, shit-slow down - ngh - i’m gonna cum again-” His head tilts back, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his hips buck up into your drooling cunt. A filthy mixture of your combined cum pools from your puffy folds, coating his cock with the sweet slick until it forms a ring around his thick base.

So messy.

So wet.

And your lips curve into a smug grin, your hand moving up to cup Seokmin’s cheek softly as you swirl his cock inside you. You're grinding slowly and steadily, your thumb wiping away his tears that stream down his blushing cheeks. You pout with fake empathy. “Don’t you wanna cum inside? Paint my pussy white over and over again?” Honestly, he feels too good to stop. His fat cock is stirring your insides so deliciously that you can feel your mouth water.

And when you feel his cock twitch at your words, a whine slipping from his spit-slicked lips, you coo. He looked so pretty when he cried. Looking so fucked out, eyes squeezing shut as you ride him like your personal dildo. Your walls clamp around his length, milking the life outta him, forcing gooey hot sperm out of his weeping tip with each bounce you did on his thick cock.

And Dokyeom is fucked. Obsessed - it hurts so good that he doesn’t know if he can handle what happens if he’s pushed to the edge again. But he’ still blabbering between sniffles. “Yeah, grind on my cock..just like that…please, jus’ like that, jus’ like that!”

He cries out loudly, his arms straining, biceps flexing. His fingers clutched the pillow next to him as his other hand pushed on the headboard above him. The muscles in his thighs tensed, drool slipped past his lips, and he cums again, a raw sob shaking from his chest as you continue to rock up n’ down, up n’ down on his big cock.

He stuffs you full so well, filling you up so thoroughly, the veins that run down his length throb and rub all the sweet spots inside you. You can’t get enough, feeling his cum splurt rope after rope of his seed until it overflows from your pretty cunt. It’s filthy how the mixture of both of your previous orgasms seeps past your soaked folds, smearing on Dokyeom’s pelvis and dripping down to his heavy balls.

And Seokmin doesn’t know if he’s actually breathing; his body shakes under you as you still fuck him filthily. Your pussy slurps greedily on his cock, and more tears fall from Dk’s pretty eyes. “I-I can’t- nothin’-“ he sobs, and you cup his face with both hands as you roll your hips in stomach-clenching swivels. “Nothin’s left, given you ‘verything, no more, no more for you.”

But his body betrays him. His balls are still heavy, and they smack against your plush ass each time you slam down on his cock. He’s still rock hard, and you’re cooing at his cute sniffles. “You say you can’t? But why’re you still hard, Baby?” Your thumbs wipe his tears, your lips pressing into his for a loving but messy kiss. “Such a pretty slut crying while you fill my pussy up over and over.”

Dokyeom’s whine ends in a mewl, his head shaking back and forth, heat crawling up his neck until his ears burn red at the top. He tries to defend himself, his mind glitching with how good you're riding him, literally fucking him dumb. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, his tears staining his cheeks as the familiar knot in his stomach builds back up, and he can only babble. “Yes, yes, ngh- “

Through blurry vision, Dokyeom’s watches as you lean back, moving your hands from his face to slide over your soft body, sitting still on his twitching cock. His eyes are heart-shaped, burning intensely as you move one hand to your breast, pulling your nipple between your fingers as your other hand moves between your thighs. You rub your puffy clit, deciding to give him some mercy by pausing your delirious bounces to play with yourself.

But it just brings new tears sliding down his cheeks. With his orgasm halting, you make him watch while you play with yourself. Your breathy moans increase in tempo as you rub your clit faster, and the bundle of nerves pulsates against your fingertips as you knead your breasts with your other hand. You don’t have to move to cum on his cock and Dokyeom’s watches in awe as your body tenses up, your jaw slacking as you easily work yourself into an orgasm with a pleased whine.

It ruins him. Something snaps in his mind. And while your pussy convulses around his cock, gushing your sweet, slick juices around his length, he grabs your waist forcefully. Using strength that surprises you, he moves you sloppily up n’ down on his cock. He plants his feet on the bed and pushes his hips up to meet each one of your nasty bounces with a grunt.

His head falls farther into the pillow under him, exposing his pretty throat as he feels his cock swell one more time. “M’gonna cum, m’gonna cum, oh fuck, m'gonna cum!” His balls tighten up, and the gasp he exhales sends goosebumps down your entire body.

He cums with a wrecked sob echoing in the bedroom as he shoots blanks inside you. He had meant it when he said he had given you everything. His overstimulated cock jumps and jerks against your gummy walls and helps you ride your orgasm until you're slumping over Seokmin’s wrung-out body.

“You did so- wait, what’re you doin’?” You yelped when he rolled you both around, so you’re the one now lying on your back. Dokyeom’s eyes are glossed over, his tongue lolled out, drooling as he ruts his hips mindlessly into your pulsing cunt. His cock is oversensitive but still hard, and his mind is complete mush. He can’t stop even if he wanted to; it’s too good. It feels too good. And he grinds meanly into your pretty pussy as he babbles between tears.

“Can’t stop- don’ wanna- isn’t this what you wanted, right? Right?”

You knew loser dick was better.

A/N: As always, comments, kudos, and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Side note: I would like to say nothing is wrong with being in drama club lmao it was just for the little bit of plot hahaha

The beams of sunlight are glaring. The pop music grates on your nerves, too boppy and much too happy. You set your coffee in the cup holder, your hand suddenly smarting from the bite of cold.

Coincidental to the third date thing, you’ve been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years. Another embarrassing Ruby-and-thus-Mingyu-only tidbit.

“Stooo-ooppp,” you whine. “If you’re going to spend the whole time making it weird about him, I’m going to find a way back home! I will walk there, just try me!”

“Now, now,” she says again, mildly. Your dramatics are nothing new to her. “I’ll behave. But I keep telling you - it would be significantly less weird if you’d just tell him you have a thing for him.”

You narrow your eyes at her. A thing.

An every problem I’ve ever had melts away and my soul floats three feet above my body every time your smile crosses your face kind of thing. A hearing your laugh makes me laugh even if I didn’t hear the joke kind of thing. A finding your gaze across a loud room makes me feel like no one else is there but us kind of thing.

A he doesn’t feel the same way, and he never will kind of thing. He made that super clear, about seven months ago.

And it gets worse.

You’ve had a week to accept your fate on this trip - a week since she’d called to tell you that the original rental had fallen through. To tell you that the replacement place is almost better (closer to the beach! a huge deck! a private pool!) except for the number of rooms. That since the other four people attending are made up of two couples, you and Chan would have to share a room.

(“The rooms are huge,” she’d assured you. “And the third room’s got bunk-beds! I bet will Chan will let you have top bunk if you want it - he’s a nice guy.”

You didn’t say, even though it is very true, that bunk-beds are really only a selling point if you are ten years old. But there were more important arguments to make. “I know he’s a nice guy,” you’d bit out. “He’s the nicest fucking guy I’ve ever met in my life, actually!” Hence the thing.

She’d paused and then pointed out, “You’ve met Seokmin, though.”

And, yeah, maybe on paper Seokmin is nicer but looking at his smile doesn’t feel like being filled with sunshine, so the point is moot.)

Anyway. You’ve had time to accept the fact that you have to share a room with the guy you’ve been in love with for over a year and a half. You’ve had time to accept that he might hear you snore, will see that you’re messy, that you’ll have to get changed in the bathroom for the whole trip, that you’ll have to get really good at pretending not to moon over him every time he speaks.

“I think,” you tell Ruby mildly, “that telling him that I want to lick his body from top to bottom and then get married might actually make things more weird.”

“I would just like to say,” Ruby’s boyfriend Mingyu pipes up from the backseat, his voice weary and long-suffering, “that this is an incredibly uncomfortable conversation for me.”

In your defense, you’d thought he was asleep.

Ruby descends on him like a swarm of locusts. “Don’t you think she should tell him she’s in love with him?”

“I actually do,” Mingyu says, covering his eyes with his hands as if he can’t bear to see what a disaster you are. “But I would heavily advise against mentioning the licking. Or the marriage.”

“It’s hyperbole,” you defend, flapping a hand in his direction. But, yeah, noted.

Excitement bubbles in your stomach, despite the rooming situation, when Ruby flicks on her turn signal and moves to exit the highway. Already, the smell of the air through the open windows has turned salty, and the thick tree-line along the highway has given way to cloudless blue sky and the occasional palm tree. It had been almost hazy when you’d set off at the crack of dawn (Mingyu had taken the back seat so he could stretch out and sleep a little longer) but now the sunrise has burned away all of that haze and given way to a perfect morning.

It takes only minutes for Ruby to navigate through the small, coastal town and to a row of vacation homes. You lose yourself in a daydream of waking up to take coffee on a sunlit balcony, listening to waves crash in time below you. In your daydream, across the balcony someone stretches their arms above their head, a sliver of belly peeking out for only a second, then turns to give you a sleepy smile, thinly-wired glasses perched on his nose.

Someone.

You shake yourself free of the fantasy; part of you feels like Ruby can read your mind, like she’s seconds away from calling you out for placing Chan in your seaside fantasy life.

Ruby, however, is too focused on finding the house to read your mind, and she slows the car and turns into a driveway, chirping, “We’re here!”

You all start grabbing luggage to carry in; the sun feels amazing on your skin, the sea breeze cool almost to the point of chilly and so salty it makes your nose twitch. You three aren’t even done emptying your car when you’re startled by a beep-beep-beepbeep-beep from the road behind you.

“That’s Soonyoung,” Mingyu says without even turning to look.

He’s right - it is. The second car, which carries Soonyoung, his girlfriend Lara, and Chan, pulls into the driveway next to you.

Chan greets you with a wide, happy grin (that, yes, makes you feel full of sunshine, whatever) and a quick, one-armed hug as he comes around the front of the parked car. Your moronic heart lifts, stupidly hopeful - until Soonyoung does the same thing. Your heart deflates again with the reminder that they’re just like this - nice, affectionate with their friends. It doesn’t mean anything. Chan’s attention to you is just as platonic as Soonyoung’s - which is to say, entirely.

You all manage to gather the luggage from both cars, and Mingyu follows the rental app’s directions to work the keypad at the front door. You all ooh and ahh as you step inside - the place is roomy, well-lit from sliding glass doors and windows that face the ocean, and decorated with (what else?) a kitschy, nautical theme.

You kick off your flip-flops onto a mat with an anchor on it (per the theme), and follow the others further into the house.

You head straight back through the house - the living room gives way into a dining room that ends with the sliding-glass doors. In tandem with Ruby, you press your face to the glass of the door and peer outside. You’re delighted to see that the ocean is right there, beckoning you to come play. Gulls swoop and call, loud enough that you can hear their cries from inside. Further down the beach you can see colorful umbrellas and tents that other beachgoers have set up. Below the deck, you can see just a strip of the private pool.

You pull yourself away from the back door and head into the adjoining kitchen, where Lara is standing at an open cupboard, examining its contents.

“We’re going to need to do a grocery run,” she muses, looking over at you. “I think all Soonyoung packed was ramen and soju.”

“What else could we possibly need?” he jokes from down the hall, his voice echoing.

“Coffee,” you say immediately.

“Beer,” Mingyu says seriously.

“Meat? Vegetables? Stuff for breakfast? Something to drink that isn’t alcohol?” Lara suggests.

“Who invited the Capricorn?” Soonyoung (the person who invited the Capricorn) grouses.

“Without me,” she tells him seriously, though the corner of her mouth twitches, “you’d be malnourished at best, and at worst? Dead.”

“Probably true,” you say, giving her a conspiratorial nod, and then you hear Ruby call your name from upstairs. Her voice sounds strained, and a little alarm bell goes off inside your head.

“Yes?” you answer loudly, hoping your voice will carry up to her.

“Can you come up here for a minute?” she calls down to you. Yes, there is definitely an edge to her voice that you don’t like. “Now?”

“Oh jeez,” you mutter, starting to make your way towards the stairs at the front of the house. You take the stairs quickly, calling Ruby’s name as you navigate the unfamiliar house.

She and Chan are both standing in the hallway, open doors all around them. Their faces mirror each other - disbelief, anxiety.

“What?” you ask, a little breathless both from the stairs and from anticipation. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s, uh,” Ruby stammers. It’s very unlike her to lose her confidence, and the unease in your gut churns again.

“What?” you say again, and when she doesn’t answer, you turn to Chan, who looks stricken. “What is it?”

“No bunk beds,” he manages, finishing Ruby’s sentence and gesturing to the room behind him.

You’re pressing forward without making the decision to move, without answering either of them, crowding Chan’s space so you’re chest to chest, peering over his shoulder. His hands hover near your elbows, like you might overbalance and he’s ready to steady you.

The room behind him is huge - as Ruby promised - complete with an ensuite bathroom and the balcony straight out of your daydream in the car. It also, as Chan pointed out, does not have bunk-beds. Instead, one king-sized bed is centered against the far wall, flanked by wicker nightstands with lamps on each and an old-school radio alarm clock on one.

You say nothing - you just back out of Chan’s personal space and swivel, heading for the other doors. Surely that was just the wrong room - one meant for one of the couples. Surely they just didn’t look hard enough, didn’t check the other doors, didn’t find the room with two beds that you’d been promised.

You find a full bathroom, a linen closet, one door that remains locked, and - to your dismay - two identical bedrooms, neither of which hosts more than one single bed.

Realization trickles through you slowly, building up higher and higher as you check the doors a second, and then a third, time. Ruby and Chan stay frozen in place in the dimly lit hallway, watching your frantic, pointless searching.

“Oh, my God,” you say hollowly. Then, turning, you narrow your eyes. “Ruby,” you growl. “You promised. Where is my top bunk?!”

“I don’t know!” she squeaks. “The listing said four beds!”

“Call them,” you demand flatly.

Beside Ruby, Chan’s eyebrows scrunch as he frowns. He says your name quietly, holding up a hand as if to calm you. “We don’t need to move houses,” he says gently. “I’ll take a couch. It’s not a big deal.”

You feel yourself shaking your head immediately. “I will feel like shit if you spend your vacation sleeping on the couch because of me,” you tell him.

He and Ruby exchange a long look (something that you don’t like very much, but no one is asking you) and then she tentatively says, “Could we work it out later? Maybe one of the couches pulls out into a bed or something? Or do you really want me to try and get us a different rental? This is already our second one, I’m not sure there are even other options still available…” She trails off, eyes wide.

You sigh, eyeing the ceiling above you as if it has answers. “Fine,” you say, because you can’t stand the thought of being the one who’s causing problems, ever the people-pleaser. “We’ll figure it out later.”

You head back down the hall, tromping down the stairs in silence to get your luggage.

Chan tries to take one of your bags for you, but you shrug him off and he lets you. You follow him back up the stairs, to the large room you’d looked at a few minutes ago. You both stand in the middle of it, looking around. You’re unsure if you should even unpack in here if there’s a chance you’ll end up moving to the couches.

“It’ll be okay,” Chan says, and it startles you out of your thoughts so badly that you flinch.

“Mhm,” you manage, because you don’t want to lie to him by agreeing.

“Hey,” he says, a little insistently, and you look up at him. He’s looking at you openly, his expression an impossible mix of concern and optimism. It disarms you immediately, in a way nothing else ever has.

There’s something always so earnest about Chan, one of your favorite things about him, and you can’t help but believe him when he continues to speak. “It will. We can, like, take turns with the bed or something. It’s not that big of a deal. Don’t let this ruin your trip. Okay?”

You nod silently, thinking about this. He’s right - there’ll be a solution. “Okay,” you say, managing to give him a little smile. “You’re right.”

The grin he gives you is mischievous. “I usually am,” he quips - and you love that about him, too: the way he’s playfully cocky, something ironic in the way he displays it, like you’re all in on the joke and he’s happily his own punchline. He disappears into the hallway, where you hear him heading down the stairs.

You wait for the tornado of butterflies in your belly to calm back down and then you look around the room. You finally decide to just leave your bags in a pile near the dresser, and head back down to find the others.

Everyone is standing around the kitchen table, where it seems like a grocery list is being split into Things That Can versus Things That Cannot be bought at the local liquor store.

“We can take one car and handle the drinks,” Mingyu is saying as you walk up and lean your chin on Ruby’s shoulder from behind. She absently reaches up to give your head an affectionate pat as you both listen. “Then the grocery team can take the second car, and whoever is handling the rental office can just walk.”

“Rental office?” you ask. “What for?”

“Just to grab our passes for the beach,” Lara answers you. “They’re like little tags. It’s part of what we paid for.”

“The rental’s under your name,” Soonyoung reminds her, “so we should probably handle that.”

“Yah, you just want the easy task,” Mingyu complains.

Soonyoung grins, guilty as charged not at all sorry about it. He grabs for Lara’s hand and heads for the front door. “If we aren’t here when you get back, we’ll leave your passes on the table!” he calls, and then the door slams shut.

“Asshole,” Mingyu grumbles affectionately.

The four of you look at each other in the resulting quiet. Then, Ruby asks, “Anything you want to add to our list?”

You lean further around her to read her phone screen, scanning what drinks had already been requested.

“Nope,” you tell her. “I’m good with that. Does this mean I’m on the grocery team?”

Chan looks up from his phone when you ask this, waiting to hear the answer.

Ruby and Mingyu meet gazes, seeming to have a silent conversation. Then, she gives you a sheepish look, almost a grimace. “Yeah - sorry, but I kind of wanted to go with Gyu on the drinks run, if that’s okay?”

You’ve been best friends with Ruby for a long time. You know her in and out, and you know this: she’s not like this, not sweet and apologetic. If it was just you two, she’d just say what she wanted. The act is for a reason.

You blink at her, trying to figure it out. “Of course it’s okay,” you say slowly. “If you and Mingyu are handling the drink run, then I’ll handle groceries with Chan.”

Ah. That was Ruby’s game - she paired you with Chan on purpose.

Meddler. Pain in the ass. Angel. Light of your life. She contains multitudes.

His eyes drop back to his phone. “You don’t have to,” he says, not looking at you. “If you want to go with them or catch up with Lara then I can handle it by myself.”

You frown. “It’s not really a one person job,” you observe. “And I don’t mind - really.”

“So it’s decided!” Ruby says brightly, moving to rest her hand on her boyfriend’s forearm. “We should beat you back, but we’ll wait for you guys so we can help unload the car.”

“Thanks,” you say, meaning it. For everything.

Ruby and Mingyu head out, and you meander closer to Chan. You’re not alone together very often - you’re pretty much always in a group setting.

You’d met through Ruby and Mingyu, years ago. You and Ruby were a very packaged deal, and Mingyu had a crew of friends that filtered in and out of your social events like they kept a scheduled rotation. When Soonyoung had settled into a serious relationship with Lara, the two of them became pretty permanent fixtures with Ruby and Mingyu, and Chan usually went where Soonyoung did. So then you were six.

How perfectly even. How serendipitous. How nearly fated.

If only he saw it that way.

But he doesn’t, he’s made that clear. It was Lara’s fault, actually. That night is burned into your brain, an unpleasant memory custom-made to slither into your brain when you’re trying to sleep before a big day.

The six of you had been bar-hopping on a Saturday night about seven months ago. It had been cool - late autumn teasing winter, and you’d been shivering as the six of you rowdily made your way up the block to your next stop. Laughing at something Soonyoung had said, Chan had reached around your shoulders sloppily, pulling you tight against him.

“Cold?” he’d asked you, as you tried to keep walking - a challenge because of both the alcohol in your system and the alarm bells going off in your head over his hand on your arm.

“Definitely chilly,” you’d managed to reply, looking up at him sideways. His profile was sharper than you’d realized before, and it sent a wave down your core, sinking like a weight through your stomach and into your lower belly and he grinned down at you.

You never wanted him to let go. Never, for the rest of your lives.

“You two are cute,” Lara had said drunkenly, the words a little slurred, as she leaned heavily on Soonyoung. You’d flushed, a little embarrassed, but Chan’s reaction had mortified you. His eyes had widened and he’d gone so far as to retract his arm from around you as quick as lightning, moving sideways to put inches between you again.

It left you frozen, a block of ice.

“No - we’re - we’re only friends,” he had said emphatically, and Lara had apologized, her hand over her mouth. Then, Ruby had tripped on the sidewalk and ripped the knees of her jeans, and the whole incident was forgotten.

Not by you, though. Never by you. This was the moment that floated up like the ghost of Christmas past whenever Ruby urged you to confess to Chan, which was more frequent than you’d like. The rush of cold in the absence of his arm, the way he’d stuttered in his hurry to refute the misunderstanding.

Message received, Lee Chan. Loud and fucking clear.

Didn’t change a thing about how you feel, though.

Presently, you try to push this out of your head - the fact that there’s no social buffer between you, no Ruby or Soonyoung to hide behind - before it can trip you up. “What’s on the list?” you ask. He hands you his phone, lets you scroll through everything he’d typed up.

“Okay,” you say, handing it back. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Yeah,” he says, a little absently, then starts patting at his pockets, eyes scanning the tabletop. “Yeah, I’m ready. Aish, Lee Chan, where did you put the keys?”

“They’re by the door,” you offer, remembering the small table you’d all dropped them on as you came in.

He shoots you a grateful smile. “Thanks. Let’s go?”

You nod, grabbing your sunglasses from the table and following him to the driveway out front.

It’s less than ten minutes to the nearest grocery, not even enough time for three whole songs to play through the car’s stereo, half-drowned by the roar of wind and sea through the open windows. Chan grins sideways at you as he parks, running a hand through his messy hair before unbuckling and stepping out of the car. You shake yourself from your daze and hurry to follow.

“What’s the game plan?” you ask, as you step out of the summer sun and into the fluorescents and air conditioning. Your skin prickles instantly upon the change. “Divide and conquer?”

He pulls out his phone and brings the list up. “I’d rather just stick together,” he says, looking at you sideways, his voice a bit thin - like he’s nervous you’ll reject the plan. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” you say, shrugging easily.. “I’m just following you. I’m the assistant. You’re in charge.”

Something flashes across his face - a shooting star of an expression, gone before you’re sure you saw it - and then he’s pushing the cart into the produce section, calling over his shoulder for you to go grab some peaches.

You wind your way together through the store. Each time he stops the cart, you each dart after something else from the nearby shelves then reconvene to look at the list again, shoulders pressed together as you squint at the small font.

It thrills you each time that he doesn’t pull away, each time that he doesn’t hurry to put space between you again as he had back in November.

Don’t make it weird, you beg yourself as you load a few cases of soda into the cart. Keep it in check.

A few rows over, the cart a third of the way full, you pause at a row of sauces. You step back, scanning the labels, then drop into a crouch to read those on the bottom shelf. Chan drops beside you, his knee gently bumping yours as he reaches for one of the jars, bringing it closer to scan the label.

“This one’s my favorite,” he says, and there’s something low in his voice that makes you look over at him. Your fingers overlap his for a second as you take the jar from him, turning it over so you can see which one it is. The moment feels staticky, charged with something.

You chicken out, shuffle back on your heels so your knees no longer touch. “It is a good one,” you agree, putting it back in his hand and pressing your palms to your knees as you rise again. “Get a few - I think Ruby likes that one too.”

He nods, looking away again, dutifully reaching to grab a second jar. You move on to the next aisle in silence. You almost feel like his energy seems… disappointed. But that wouldn’t make sense at all.

Turning the corner to the first row of freezers, you feel your body react instantly to the cold and you immediately fold in around yourself, goosebumps rising up your arms.

“Oh, it’s cold,” you complain. “Let’s hurry. Please.”

Chan doesn’t respond, but you can feel his eyes sweep over you, heavy, before he starts pushing the cart past you at, yes, a quicker speed. You shiver once, violently, before you hurry after him.

When you’re done, stepping outside into the sunlight feels like being released - like leaving school on the last day before summer break, like leaving work before a vacation, like stepping outside for the first time after rain has kept you inside for days on end. You let it warm you, happy, as you help Chan load the bags into the car.

You drive the few minutes back to the house in silence. As Chan makes the last turn, you wonder out loud, “Do you think Ruby and Mingyu finished before us?”

“Definitely,” Chan says, and he’s right - as the house comes into view, you can see that the second car is already parked.

True to their word, Ruby and Mingyu greet you at the door to help carry everything in and put it away.

“Lara grabbed us a spot down on the beach,” Ruby informs you, as you both stand at the back of the car, scanning for the lighter bags. “As soon as we’re ready we can head down.”

You let out a happy sigh. “I think an afternoon at the beach will cure me.”

“Nothing will cure you,” she deadpans, then literally stops mid-stride to correct herself. “Actually, something could. And it’s here, and available, and sharing your room.”

“I hate you a lot!” you tell her brightly, pushing past her with an armful of groceries and heading into the relative dark of the house, praying Chan hadn’t overheard her bullshit.

You hurry through the rest - getting the groceries away, getting changed for the beach, throwing the things you need to bring into a tote. Downstairs, the others wait for you by the back door. Chan is wearing Mingyu’s dumb-ass sunglasses and is clearly in the middle of an old-man bit, his voice reedy and sarcastic. Ruby cackles as Mingyu shoves Chan’s shoulder playfully, reaching to get his eyewear back. You can’t help the wave of affection you feel for them, your goofy friends.

You all step out into the sand, eyes adjusting to the sun. You follow Mingyu’s shadow on the ground as he makes his way towards the spot Soonyoung and Lara saved for you. You drop your tote in the sand and help Ruby spread out a blanket, using your shoes and bags to hold down the corners. Mingyu and Chan settle a small cooler off to one side, filled to the brim with ice and drinks.

You pull your cover-up over your head and toss it in the direction of your tote bag and stretch out, closing your eyes happily and letting your body relax under the warmth of the sun, the sound of breaking waves rhythmic and soothing. You’re startled by the sound of music and open your eyes again to find Ruby setting up a bluetooth speaker near the cooler. She looks at you sheepishly and hurries to lower the volume.

“Sorry,” she giggles. “Didn’t mean it to start so loud.”

To your left, Chan is pulling his white t-shirt over his head. Your eyes widen and you look away as fast as you can, catching Ruby react exactly the same, her eyes comically large.

You both turn your backs to the boys, and she mouths at you, what the fuck?

What the fuck is right. You’re used to being around Mingyu, who has an admittedly perfect body, and even Soonyoung is shockingly cut under those baggy t-shirts and cropped hoodies he sports. Chan’s always been the little one, the most normal, the most obtainable in his regular-ness.

Something’s changed since the last time you were all swimming together. He’d always had a nice body, but this…

You close your eyes against the bright summer sun, as if you can block out the curve of his pecs, the shadowed lines hinting at abs. None of those had been there last summer.

That motherfucker. First, he rejects you, then he gets hotter? You hope he gets eaten by a shark today.

You push yourself to stand.

“Where are you going?” Ruby hisses.

“I need a beer,” you tell her flatly. “Actually, maybe ten beers.”

“I’m not holding your hair today,” she warns you flatly, and you flip her off and make your way to the cooler. It’s going to be a long day.

You manage to get a few hours of peace and sanity by laying out with Ruby and Lara, just enjoying the music and occasional chitchat. Further down the beach, the guys run around with a volleyball but no net, making their own asinine rules.

“I still say you should tell him,” Ruby grumbles, after catching you watching Chan from behind your sunglasses for the ninth time, and you shoot her a warning look. But the damage is done - Lara latches on, her eyes sharp.

“Him… Chan?” she guesses. You feel your face heat.

“I’m that obvious, huh?” you murmur reproachfully.

“I mean,” she says uncertainly, looking to Ruby as if for backup, “I think you both are? If it helps?”

“Both?” you repeat flatly. “I wish.”

She exchanges a look with Ruby again, a silent conversation that you aren’t part of.

“He’s not into me,” you say, easy, like the words don’t cut at you. The salty air hits the wounds and makes them sting. “He’s been clear about that.”

Ruby’s brow furrows; you’ve never actually articulated this in front of her before.

“He has?” she asks, her voice suddenly gentle and almost sorrowful. “You never told me-”

“You were there,” you protest, then look over at the guys to make sure they hadn’t stopped yelling and running. “You both were, actually. That night when you tore your knee open outside of Ivy and Ivory?”

“Yeah,” Lara says slowly, her eyes on you, “I remember that night. That was… kind of the first time I thought he had a thing for you? Like, I know it was a while ago, but -”

“A thing for me?” you echo, working hard to keep your voice quiet. “When you called us out he was so horrified he couldn’t even touch me - he acted like it burned him -”

“Honey, no,” she says seriously, leaning forward. She looks incredulous at your perspective.

“Bestie,” Ruby says, giving you a please believe me, your best friend, who would never lead you astray look. “He was terrified that you’d get spooked.”

You press your mostly-empty beer can to your chin, eyes narrowing. “Explain.”

“He wasn’t embarrassed at the idea of being coupled with you,” Lara whispers, her eyes on the guys, whose game has drifted only minutely closer to your blanket. “It was one of those like, shut up or you’ll scare her away moments. He wanted to kill me.”

“Literally, if he’d had a cartoon thought bubble, it would have said shhhh, not so loud!” Ruby adds. She peers at you. “Did you really take it like that this whole time? You thought it was a rejection?”

“He practically pushed me into traffic!” you hiss defensively, and both girls explode into laughter.

“That is not what happened,” Lara insists, and then heads to the cooler, leaving you, Ruby, and your very confused thoughts.

You look at her. She looks at you.

“I thought you knew,” she says finally, holding up her hands in mock innocence. “I had no idea you took it that way.”

You can’t respond - the boys return at this exact moment, Mingyu flops dramatically next to Ruby, panting heavily, sweat running down his face.

“Jagiya,” he gasps like he’s dying. “Water. Please.”

Ruby rolls her eyes, but a water bottle lands next to Mingyu’s head before she can get up. You turn towards the cooler and see Soonyoung standing with his hands on his knees, also panting, while Chan digs around for presumably another water bottle.

“You need anything out of here?” he asks you over his shoulder.

You shake your head. “Thanks, though.”

You rise, brushing errant sand from the backs of your thighs, squinting at the water. The waves are breaking evenly, and there’s room to tread further out past the breaking point. “I think I’m gonna go in,” you announce to whoever is listening.

Lara shakes her head, reaching one hand up to tug at Soonyoung, obviously wanting him to sit by her. Ruby flaps her hand at you as if to tell you go on. She’s never been a big swimmer, more of a giant unicorn floatie kind of girl.

You stop when you’re ankle-deep, letting a few waves break and rush over the tops of your feet, adjusting to the temperature. You start to wade in, the water rushing around your shins, when you hear your name called breathlessly behind you.

Chan jogs up, his hair pushed back, a thin silver chain bouncing against his collarbones. You look away before you can get caught. Ruby and Lara’s words race through your brain. Have you been wrong about him this whole time? Have you misread every signal over the last three years, viewed it through the wrong lens?

“You can’t leave me alone with them,” he complains, face twisting in exaggerated suffering.

You laugh. “Can’t stand being the fifth wheel, huh?”

He shakes his head, smiling, still trying to catch his breath from volleyball and then the jog over here.

“You coming in?” you ask him. “I was gonna go out and tread for a while.”

He nods. “You don’t mind if I join?”

You look at him appraisingly, new information starting to process inside your mind, shifting the rules you’d followed for months. The sea air makes you bold. “You?” you say. “I would never mind.”

You don’t wait to see his reaction; you step further into the water, hitting just above your knees when you reach the spot where the waves are breaking. You stumble a little as a wave hits your thighs, and Chan’s hand finds your elbow, firm but unassuming, helping you steady yourself again.

When you reach waist-deep water, you eye the spot just ahead where the waves reach their tallest point as they gather on their way to shore.

“We’re gonna have to go under that,” you tell Chan. He actually looks nervous, which makes you laugh. “Want me to hold your hand?”

The smile he sends you is both self-deprecating and relieved, like he can’t believe his answer is yes, but yes, and he’s so glad you asked.

“Come on,” you say, laughing again. You hold out your hand and he takes it, and when the next ocean swell rises before you like a mighty wall you hold your breath and tug him under. It’s an act of faith, dipping below the roaring ocean, hoping you time it right. You keep his fingers tight between yours and let your body sink.

You surface on the other side, in an area of relative calm. Beside you, Chan wipes at his face with his spare hand, which makes you realize you’re still holding the other. You release it gently, treading water easily. Chan can probably just touch sand if he stretches.

You tread together quietly for a few minutes, less than six inches apart. The sun glints off the water around you, dancing and sparkling as the water moves. You wish you could ask him about that night, years ago, confirm Lara and Ruby’s interpretation of the events. You could - you just aren’t brave enough.

You look at him, familiar and beautiful and - until today - unobtainable. What if you swam closer, what if you pressed yourself close and kissed him, right here in the ocean?

If it ruined everything, you could just let yourself drown. And if it didn’t… well, you could let yourself drown a different way, then.

You chicken out. You chat about inconsequential things instead - his upcoming trip with his family, a work project you’d recently wrapped up that you’d been talking about for months, what the plan will be for dinner when you all get tired of the sunshine.

It’s easy to talk to Chan - it always has been. He’s quick with a joke or a bit, but always open and earnest. He watches you quietly when you talk, accentuates his stories with his hands when it’s his turn. Eventually, Ruby joins you. Mingyu stands at the edge of the water, one hand shielding his eyes, watching her go.

“He’s not coming in?” you ask.

She rolls her eyes. “Doesn’t want to get his hair wet. God, the water feels great. Anyway, we’re thinking of heading in soon, to get showers and stuff before we figure out dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Chan says.

“I’ll be right in,” you say, and beneath the water you grab at Ruby’s hand. Stay.

Chan gives you both a wave goodbye and heads towards the beach. You both watch as he steps onto land, approaches Mingyu, and shakes like a dog, spraying water all over his friend. You can hear Mingyu’s shout of protest even from here, and Ruby’s maniacal laughter echoes around you.

“How’s it going?” she asks you slyly, when she’s finished laughing at her man. Like she knows the answer already.

“Nice of you to ask!” you cry. “Actually! I’m kind of having a meltdown! Because for nearly eight months I thought he’d told me unequivocally, irrevocably no, and now I am finding out that he… I don’t even know. What does it mean? That was ages ago, surely even if he felt something then…”

“Only one way to find out,” Ruby says, way too sensibly.

“That’s not helpful,” you grumble.

“It is helpful, it’s just not easy,” she says sagely. You splash a handful of water towards her head and she shrieks, swimming further away from you.

“That’s enough of you,” you tell her, and start heading in towards the sand.

Back at the blanket, the boys and Lara have mostly packed up. You pull your rolled up towel out of your tote and dry off briskly. When everyone is accounted for, you all collect your things and head back up the walkway towards the house.

You put everything away - leftover drinks in the fridge, wet towels in the washing machine, etc - and the couples disappear into their rooms, doors closing and locking up and down the hallway.

Which just leaves you and Chan.

You follow him to the end of the hall and into the large room you’ll be somehow sharing. He turns on one of the bedside lamps and stops to plug his phone in, then looks over at you.

“You wanna shower?” he asks, tossing his phone lightly onto the bed. You can only stare at him, short-circuiting, until he clarifies. “Do you want to go first?”

“Oh,” you utter, quickly trying to recover. “Yeah, if you don’t mind?”

He waves his hand graciously towards the dark bathroom, as if to say, be my guest.

Showering turns into a reprieve - a locked door between you allowing you to jumpstart your brain again as you feel the hot water remove all the hidden bits of sand clinging to your legs and back.

While Chan takes his turn after you, you escape outside with a cold soda from the fridge. The beach beyond your rental’s deck is still pretty busy, but the crowd has thinned a bit since you all packed up. The sun descends behind the house, which means the sunrise tomorrow morning will come over the beach.

Mingyu seems to be preparing the grill, and Ruby bustles around, bringing out ingredients and setting them close to the grill. On one of the cushioned benches, Lara drapes her legs over Soonyoung’s legs and talks with him quietly, both of them giggling.

Since it seems like your help isn’t needed anywhere - you’ll help set the table when the food is almost ready, as is your usual job as a non-cook - you sit with your cold drink and watch the waves break, lost in thought.

Lara and Ruby seemed so sure that you’d misread Chan that autumn night. There’s a small part of you that’s still doubtful, but at the end of the day you do trust their judgement. So, assuming they’re right, Chan had been interested in you. That was over six months ago, though. It doesn’t mean anything now except that… well… if he was interested in you once, there’s a possibility he could be again. Or still.

Your move, it seems, is to figure out if that’s the case. Chan hasn’t done anything recently to indicate that he’s disinterested, but he also hasn’t done anything to indicate that he is. He - like you - has played it very safe. It isn’t until now that you’ve questioned if it’s because he actually sees you platonically, or if he thinks that’s what you want.

One of you is going to have to push the boundary, to test the waters.

When Chan emerges from the house, freshly showered and hair falling over his forehead nearly to his eyes, you look up from where you’re sitting and watch him thoughtfully. He pauses at the grill to ask Mingyu something, then passes by the mess of limbs that is Soonyoung and Lara, then drops onto the seat next to you.

“Mingyu says it’ll be another twenty minutes or so until everything’s done,” he informs you.

“Guess I should get the plates and stuff,” you sigh, leaning forward to set your drink on the table.

“I can help you,” he offers, and follows you inside, where you both open cabinets and drawers in the unfamiliar kitchen until you find everything you need.

He heads outside ahead of you, his hands loaded with utensils and condiments, and you pause, watching his dark silhouette against the evening sunlight. Your heart tumbles, and you jerk back into motion, following him into the light.

You all stay on the back deck until well after sunset. As the sky sinks into deeper and deeper blues, you rise and plug in the string of lights that weave through the beams above the deck, casting everyone in a nearly-orange glow. Mingyu sets up the tabletop fire pit, but you end up chilly anyway as night takes hold.

You shiver once, and you notice Chan looking sideways at you.

“Cold?” he asks, and the wave of deja vu you get is almost dizzying.

You shake your head instinctively, more against the memory than actually answering the question. “I’m fine,” you say, even though you do have goosebumps rising along your arms.

He gets up anyway, heading into the unlit house without a word. You rise a beat later and head across the deck.

Ruby calls your name like a question, and in answer you point at the cooler tucked behind the grill, where you’d all stashed beer and water bottles. She gives a quick “ah” of understanding.

“You need one?” you ask her, as you shuffle behind the grill and pull on the cooler’s lid.

“I’ll take a beer,” Mingyu answers for her, and you dig through the bottles and cans until you find his preferred brand, reaching to pass it to him over Soonyoung’s head. Then you turn back and look at your options, trying to decide if you want a can of spiked seltzer or if you want to go inside and mix something a little harder.

While you’re deciding, the glass door to your left slides open, and Chan steps quietly back onto the deck. He’s in a baby blue hoodie that he hadn’t been wearing before, and he carries a bundle of dark material in his hands.

“Here,” he says quietly, holding it out to you. “It felt weird to dig through your luggage, so I grabbed one of mine.”

You take his offering silently, fighting a tiny smile. “Thanks,” you say, equally quiet, like you’ve both agreed you want to keep this moment between you, not call the attention of the others. You shake the dark hoodie out and pull it over your head, slipping your arms into the sleeves and fixing the hood so it’s not inside-out. The hem falls almost past your shorts, and the sleeves reach past your fingers.

Chan bends to grab a beer from the cooler, then heads back to where he was sitting before. You reach for your own drink, settling on a seltzer after all, and when you turn to head back to your spot you can’t help but notice him watching you through the flickering fire pit, something unreadable on his face.

“You good?” you ask him as you settle back into your spot.

“Yeah,” he says, but there’s something tight in his voice that makes the goosebumps rise on your arms again despite the new layer of warmth you’re wearing. That smells like him. You tug on the edges of the sleeves to pull the shoulders tighter and curl up on your chair, tucking your legs into the baggy material and locking back into the conversation.

The night moves slowly, the constellations rotating centimeter by centimeter above you, everything made comfortably fuzzy by the drinks and the firelight. Sometime before midnight, Ruby suggests a walk along the beach.

You go in bare feet, the cool wood of the deck stairs giving way to sand as soft as silk. Mingyu and Ruby take the lead, the rest of you trailing behind. At some point - long after the house disappears from view - Lara stops, pointing up at the moon - a sliver above the undulating sea.

The four of you stop and look for a minute. Down the beach, you can hear Ruby and Mingyu but they’re out of sight in the dark.

“We should probably catch up with them,” you say, looking in the direction of their disembodied voices.

“I think we’re gonna head back to the house, actually,” Lara says, looking up at Soonyoung to gauge if he agrees. “We’ll leave the back door unlocked for you all?”

They say their goodbyes and head back hand in hand, leaving you alone with Chan and that sliver of moon. For a minute, the night seems to expand around you, growing bigger and bigger and leaving the two of you so small within it. Chan looks at you silently, as if he’s waiting for something, one side of his mouth quirked into an almost-smile that makes your stomach swim with the desire to cause a real smile, to push that little almost into something fully-formed.

Then, Ruby calls your names loudly from further up the beach, and the spell is broken.

“Guess we better catch up,” Chan says wryly. You both turn and start walking in silence, nearly shoulder to shoulder. As you walk, the back of your hand brushes the back of his just once, and your entire body prickles at the contact. You almost shift away, give him a little more space, but something urges you to hold the line. You want to see what he will do.

You keep walking, close enough that you can hear him breathing, hear the sand slide each time he takes a step. The back of his hands brushes yours again, warm. He doesn’t react, so neither do you.

You carry on, knuckles occasionally bumping his, until you find Ruby and Mingyu. They’re standing watching the moon, Mingyu wrapped around Ruby’s back like a giant, love-sick koala.

“Where’re Soonyoung and Lara?” Ruby asks, when she notices you.

“They headed back,” you say, stopping a few feet away.

“We should, too,” Ruby muses, eyes on the moon. “But it’s so pretty here.”

“It is,” Chan murmurs from beside you and you glance sideways at him, trying to read him. He’s staring out at the dark sea, the stars flickering in and out above it, giving you his profile. Ruby’s eyes flick to you, one eyebrow quirked. You look away, not wanting to get caught in this silent conversation, but you can feel the heat on your face, the smile tugging at your mouth.

The house is dark when you all return, and you let yourselves back in quietly, just in case Soonyoung and Lara are actually sleeping. You bid Ruby and Mingyu goodnight in whispers and head to the end of the hall. Chan closes the door and you flick on the bedside lamp, casting a low yellow light through the room.

Wordlessly, Chan begins to rummage through his suitcase, transferring items to a small pile - a pair of loose shorts, a toothbrush, his phone charger. It occurs to you, suddenly, that he’s gathering what he needs to leave - to go sleep on a couch.

“Chan,” you say. You don’t even know what you want to say next. You just know you don’t want him to go, don’t want him to sleep on a couch, don’t want to be here alone.

He pauses, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

What do you want to say? Stay? You balk, suddenly chicken again.

“I can take the couch tonight,” you say instead. He shakes his head, but you press on. “We can switch tomorrow.”

“Nope,” he says easily.

“Chan,” you say again. He keeps rummaging, his back to you.

“Chan,” you repeat, insistent. He turns fully, still crouching, and raises his eyebrows as if to say, yes?

“Do you want to just stay here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from shaking. It feels like a moment of great enormity.

He shakes his head, and the rejection stings enough that you feel your breath catch.

But then he says, “No, I’m not letting you sleep on a couch. I’m trying to be a gentleman - quit fighting me.”

You realize, slowly, that he misunderstood what you were offering.

“No,” you say. “I meant… like… no one on the couch.”

He stares at you blankly, his hands open like he forgot he was searching for something.

Embarrassment licks up the back of your neck like flames. “The bed isn’t that small,” you say, a little defensive. “We could just, like, stay on our own sides.”

The blank look on his face slowly transforms. His brows come together, his mouth tucking into a rare frown. He opens his mouth like he’s going to ask something, but nothing comes out. His eyes flick to the bed and then back to you.

“I don’t…” he says, and the heat of embarrassment heightens. He clears his throat and tries again, “I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” he says slowly.

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t okay with it,” you point out.

He nods slowly, then pushes himself to stand. “Are you extremely sure?” he asks, peering at you. “This isn’t a High Noon decision, is it?”

You laugh, the tension dissipating a little. “No,” you assure him. “I just… feel bad putting you on a couch… and I don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch either… and I think we can… not make it weird?”

“We can,” he says, like a promise.

You second-guess your decision the whole time you get ready for bed - as you brush your teeth, as you change into pajamas, as you settle into the side of the bed by the balcony and plug in your phone. You’re nervous you won’t be able to keep it not weird - nervous that you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself, that the magnetic pull to touch him will be too strong.

But when Chan climbs into the other side of the bed and clicks off the light, illuminated only by his phone screen, his warmth seeping into the blankets around you, it isn’t your hands that inch towards him. It’s your words. They claw their way out, desperate to reach across the six inches of darkness.

Chan, I’m actually really into you.

What really happened that night, when we were walking from bar to bar?

I’m in love with you, probably. I think.

Are you interested in me? At all?

You fight them all back, hold them all in. You don’t relax until Chan’s clicked his phone off and placed it on the nightstand, whispered goodnight to you, until you hear his breathing deepen. Just in case. Just in case the words get out the second you unclench - you need him to be asleep first so you can be sure he won’t hear them. You fall asleep with your face buried in the crook of your elbow, one last line of defense.

You wake up with your face buried in the crook of Chan’s neck instead of your own arm. You realize it instantly, body freezing like you’re about to get caught stealing, your whole body tight with panic. Like if you don’t move, you won’t wake him, and he won’t know that you cuddled him in your sleep.

Mortifying.

He’s mostly on his back but sort of tilted towards you, and you have one arm over his ribs, your nose pressed into the juncture of his shoulder. But, you realize as you stay frozen, his arms are around you. This was a mutual cuddle. Your legs are touching, too, one of your shins between his.

You try to breathe as shallowly as possible, fight the urge to stretch or roll or scoot away. You don’t want to alert him, pop this bubble, make the moment end. Chan is holding you as the sun rises over the ocean outside. It feels like another daydream, too good to be true. You never want it to end. You wish it was more real than this.

Slowly, you relax, one limb at a time, letting your muscles unclench and inhaling deeply. His skin, warm against your cheek, smells good - still a bit salty from the ocean, even after showering. But it’s only moments later that he stirs, his arms tightening around you and then loosening again as he makes a satisfied, low noise in his throat.

Then he goes still. You freeze back up, watching him for a reaction.

His mouth moves first, quirking sideways, and then he cracks one eye and peers down at you. A laugh bubbles from him and the cuddle is disintegrating around you as he shifts himself backwards and up on his elbows, still chuckling.

“Sorry,” he’s laughing, “sorry. I didn’t - that - I did not expect to do that in my sleep.”

You can’t help your own sheepish smile in return. “Me either, but it was actually comfy,” you admit. Now disentangled, you feel kind of cold and a little sad. But he’s acting like it was a funny goof, your bodies clinging to each other the second your brains turned off, so you’ll go along with the joke.

He rolls over and rummages on his nightstand, returning with his phone in hand and pushing thin-framed glasses up his nose. You look away, heart clenching. You love him in those; combined with the bedhead and his smell in your nose and the warmth of his skin not yet evaporated from yours and the feeling of his arms around you… it’s all a lot.

“I’m gonna… get dressed,” you say, reaching for your own phone. Chan hums a response and you vanish into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and getting ready as slowly as possible. When you come out, the bedroom is blessedly empty. You close your eyes and exhale. It’s going to be a long day.

When you finally head down to the kitchen, Lara and Chan are chatting easily at the table, steaming mugs in their hands. He’s still in those damn cute glasses.

“Good morning!” Lara greets you brightly. “There’s coffee!”

“God bless you,” you tell her seriously. You open a cabinet in search of a mug, but you’re faced with only plates and glassware instead. Chan appears at the cabinet next to you, reaching up and offering you a white mug with a cartoon seagull on it.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling weirdly shy considering you just woke up pressed against him. Once you fix the coffee how you like it, you take the seat next to Lara at the table. “Everyone else still asleep?” you ask.

“Soonyoung is, but I have to go wake him up in a minute,” Lara says, clicking on her phone screen to check the time. “We have a snorkeling thing at ten.”

“Ruby and Mingyu are out already,” Chan tells you. “Sunrise yoga. She texted us.”

“God,” you say, horrified. “Mingyu’s gonna hate that.” You realize at the mention of her text that you’ve left your phone upstairs.

Chan laughs. “Right?”

Lara rises, presumably to go wake up her boyfriend. “Her text said they’d be out until around four,” she tells you as she moves back into the kitchen to rinse out her mug. “I think they’ll beat us back, but not by much. Maybe we can go grab dinner when everyone’s back?”

“Sure,” you say, shooting a look at Chan to see if he has any opinions on this plan. He shrugs - no opinions to be found. You’ve always loved the way he could just go with the flow, happy to be along for the adventure.

You and Chan are still sitting at the table, coffees dwindling, when Lara pulls a bleary-eyed Soonyoung through the front door with a shouted goodbye, the sound of the car’s engine reaching you from outside. You look at each other, left alone together.

Again.

He gives you a flat, unamused look that he definitely picked up from Seungkwan or Vernon. “Are they doing this on purpose?” he asks, and a jolt goes through you. He’s said it. It’s like a curtain being pulled, shedding sunlight on something that had been shadowbound until now.

“Doing what?” you say, even though you know. “Leaving us by ourselves? Probably. Ruby likes to fuck with me.”

Chan laughs, and you’re filled with shaky relief that the moment isn’t weird. You both knew what this was, apparently, and facing it has put you on the same team against it.

“I thought it was to fuck with me,” he admits, still smiling.

“Two birds with one stone,” you muse. “For the sake of efficiency.”

But you wonder… why would it be fucking with him if he wasn’t interested in you? Is he admitting something?

“Well,” Chan says, stretching his arms above his head, fingers linked, “by all means, you can do your own thing today. You don’t have to babysit me. But it’s supposed to storm later, so I was thinking I’d use the pool a bit this morning while we still can, and then maybe go into town for lunch.”

You consider this. “That’s very pragmatic of you,” you observe lightly.

“That’s one of the first words I’d pick to describe myself,” he tries to deadpan, but the smile is too quick, telling on himself.

You let him get changed first, and when you make your way out back to the pool he’s already in the water up to his waist. You toss a towel onto one of the chaises.

“How’s the water?” you ask him, as you move to sit on the edge, preparing to let your legs dangle.

“It’s great,” he tells you, smiling easily, like he’s happy - happy you’re here, happy to be here with you.

You wonder if that’s the case, as you slowly lower your legs in, the water coming to lap a few inches below your knees.

“Feels cold,” you tell him. It doesn’t, really - way warmer than the ocean you played in yesterday, but you want to tease him a little.

Suddenly, his hands are on your ankles, holding you firmly. His hands are on your ankles.

“You should get in quickly,” he tells you, trying - again - to pretend to be serious, despite the smile he can’t combat. “Like ripping off a band-aid.”

“Lee Chan,” you warn, but a giggle rises up in you. “Don’t you dare. I will get in when I am good and ready!”

“I’m just trying to help,” he says, pretending to be hurt. His fingers are still pressing against your skin, your brain impossibly aware of the exact spot his thumb presses, as if there’s a beacon illuminating the place.

He gives your legs a playful tug, too lightly to actually move you. You squeal anyway, reaching down to splash water towards him. “Chan!”

He releases your ankles, taking a step back to avoid the splash, laughing. “Be careful,” he warns. “If it’s war you want -” He holds his hand like a knife above the water, ready to retaliate the splash.

“Oh my God, you menace. I’m getting in!” you cry, gripping the lip of the pool and sliding in, staying on your tippy-toes as your body adjusts to the temperature.

“Come on,” he goads, backing away from you, bobbing towards the shallow end. “You have to go under or it doesn’t count.”

“You’re a menace,” you repeat firmly, and he laughs, enjoying that his teasing has worked you up.

You eye the expanse of water between you - you’re at opposite ends of the pool now. “Do you think I could make it across in one go?” you ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “Like, underwater? I don’t know - how’s your lung capacity?”

You laugh. “Maybe not good enough,” you admit wryly. “But I’ll try.”

You take a deep breath of salty sea air, only minorly marred by chlorine, and slip down below the surface. You let the bottoms of your feet find the flat cement wall of the pool, and you give a hearty push. It’s hard without being able to see how much farther you have to go, but you hate getting chlorine in your eyes, so you kick and pull blindly until your lungs start to burn. When your natural buoyancy pulls you upward, you don’t fight it.

Your hands find something warm and solid before you surface. Surprise causes you to rear your head, fucking with your balance, and your feet find the floor of the pool. You stand up unsteadily, blinking water out of your eyes.

Chan comes into focus, his expression tight, and you realize that your hands had found his stomach, centimeters above his belly button.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, pulling away.

It’s like ever since last night, you can’t stop touching, your bodies fighting to come together even as you both dig in your heels and try to stop it.

“No worries,” he says just as quickly. You try to cover the moment by wiping water out of your face, but you feel warm all over, the cool water useless against your heated skin as you try to push away how his muscled stomach had felt under your fingertips.

You spend a good hour just floating and splashing around. Sometimes you chat and sometimes you lapse into comfortable silence. At one point you hear him singing lightly under his breath, his voice surprisingly clear but frustratingly quiet.

Eventually, your stomach growls. “I’m starting to get hungry,” you tell him. “You up for lunch in town, maybe? I’d just need to shower super quick first.”

“Sounds great,” he says easily, and you both head for the single runged ladder at the deep end. Chan climbs up first, standing by the ladder, dripping onto the concrete. You grip the metal handles firmly and find the bottom rung with one foot, pushing heavily to hoist yourself up.

And Chan helps you up - his fingers finding the dip of your waist and guiding you until you’re steadily on the pool deck, something protective in the touch.

Your entire body thrums, electric, cells vibrating. You hurry to your towel and wrap yourself up, hiding your face in the material - pretending you’re just chasing droplets away from your eyes, but actually smothering the urge to scream, if you’re going to touch me then get over here and do it properly!

“Did you know there’s a hot tub under the deck? Was that mentioned in the listing?” Chan asks, and you uncover your face.

“Huh?”

He’s pointing, and then you see that he’s right - tucked beneath the deck is a decently-sized jacuzzi, the lid on and straps fastened shut.

“Oh,” you say breathlessly. “Well, I know what I’m doing after dinner.”

Chan laughs, and you head inside, careful not to drip a trail of pool water through the house.

The rest of the morning passes pleasantly and without any touching; you shower and get changed and go on foot into the small beach town. You find a cute open-air cafe and order lunch, the iced coffee absolutely divine under the warm summer sun. The company’s not bad either.

After you’ve paid and left, Chan pauses on the sidewalk and gives you a mischievous smile. “Up for a little adventure?” he asks.

You frown. “What level of adventure?” you ask cautiously. “Like, on a scale of jumping out of a plane being ten to laying on my towel in the sand being one, what are we talking here?”

He laughs. “Like a three,” he assures you. “We just have a bit of a walk - maybe twenty minutes?”

The walk is pleasant - you don’t even get too warm, as there’s a constant breeze off the ocean and clouds pass overhead, pitching you momentarily into shade between longer bouts of sunshine. When you turn a bend and see the lighthouse rise against the sky in the distance, you actually gasp.

“Can we go up?” you ask, delighted.

“That’s the plan,” he tells you, and for once you can read his face perfectly - he’s pleased that he’s surprised you, pleased to have made you happy. Something warm simmers under your skin, affection and happiness and something else.

It takes forever to reach the top. You have to stop and rest more than once, your calves burning and protesting the many stairs. A few families pass you on their way down, one mother telling you cheerfully that you’re almost to the top. This motivates you to continue, and you press on until you reach the final landing and step through the metal doorway.

The view is absolutely worth it. The beach and the ocean stretch out before you, the town in the distance behind you. Alone at the top, you feel like you’re in your own little world, surrounded by sunlight and the calls of gulls, just you and Chan.

You stand, holding the railing, watching the waves undulate far below you for a long time. “Chan,” you say, and then falter. You don’t know what you were going to say. Some part of you thinks maybe you’d been about to confess, or to finally ask him something to shed light on his feelings.

When he looks at you, expectant, you say only, “Thanks for bringing me here.”

And maybe you did confess something, because he reaches over and squeezes your hand, just once.

And then, he looks over your shoulder and utters, “Uh oh.”

You spin, following his gaze, and echo, “Uh oh.”

Dark grey clouds gather to the west. You remember him saying it was supposed to storm later; it looks like rain will be rolling in soon, ushering in the storms behind it.

“We’d better head down,” he says regretfully, and you follow him back inside.

You make it down and outside before the rain comes, but the sunshine of the morning has gone and left gloomy grey in its wake.

“You think we can make it back to the house?” you ask breathlessly.

Chan checks the time on his phone, already walking brisky back towards the direction of town and your rental. “Maybe,” he says, but he sounds doubtful. “We’ve gotta be quick, though.”

You barely even make it into town; you aren’t even back at the cafe where you’d had lunch before the sky opens. It happens exactly like that - one second it’s not raining, the next second you’re drenched, hair plastered to your face, shirt sticking to your back, spluttering breaths through your mouth like you’re being sprayed with a hose.

You let out a cry of surprise, and then Chan is grabbing your hand and tugging, pulling you off of the sidewalk and into a nearby doorway. You don’t even manage to see what the doorway belongs to - Chan is already pulling it open, his hand still in yours as he leads you inside.

It’s dark, and it takes your eyes a minute to adjust as you wipe rain away from your eyes and shake droplets off of your arms. Beside you, Chan is doing the same, running a hand through his soaked hair and huffing out a noise of disbelief.

“That,” you say, “was bonkers.”

You seem to be in a dimly-lit dive bar, the kind that only locals go to. It’s pretty empty, since it’s early afternoon on a weekday, so when Chan raises a soggy, questioning eyebrow at you, you shrug and follow him towards the bar. Why not?

You take a seat wearily, and pull out your phone.

“We’ve got almost an hour until everyone is supposed to be back,” you inform him.

“In that case,” he says, and when the bartender meanders over, he orders you a row of shots to share.

You clink shot glasses for the first one, but after that you turn it into a game.

Chan narrows his eyes at you, mock-thoughtful. “What would you do if you woke up and your hands and feet had switched places?”

After answering (use my toes to order an Uber to the hospital), you volley with, “What would you do if aliens invaded tomorrow?”

Back and forth the game goes, punctuated by shot glasses being emptied and returned to the bar. What would you do if you woke up married in Vegas? … What would you do if you woke up one day and could only speak in rhyme? … What would you do if you were suddenly allergic to your favorite food? … What would you do if you were forced to join the circus?

You’re both laughing deliriously. Chan is wiping under his eyes in mirth, and you’ve hunched over so far that you find yourself with your hands on his knees, using him to stay upright on your barstool. Your surroundings have faded into colors and muted sounds with the alcohol in your system. All you can focus on is Chan, warm and solid under your palms, his eyes on you, the sound of his laugh cutting straight through the fog.

Then his next one isn’t so funny. “What would you do if you found out you only had a day to live?” he asks, and despite the seriousness, one last chuckle rumbles through his chest, like an aftershock.

Tell you. Tell you the truth.

You swallow. You take your hands off of his knees - you’re not sure he even noticed them there - and flex your fingers. And then, filter demolished by both alcohol and the sheer amount of time it’s been keeping you in check, you break.

Instead of answering, you fire back your own. “What would you do if I came onto you right now?”

Chan blinks at you, eyes as wide as you’ve ever seen them. He blinks twice more, and then his mouth opens. Your heart pounds.

“I’d - I - I guess, I’d probably kiss you,” he says, voice suddenly hushed, as if he’s a little unsure if he’s supposed to be honest or if the game is still a string of jokes.

You stare back. The two of you are frozen, both a bit wide-eyed, like neither of you is sure how you ended up like this.

Then, you breathe, “Okay, then do it.”

He nods immediately, breath coming sharply, and shifts closer on his seat. You feel like you’re holding your breath, waiting. Tentatively, he reaches up, brushes your jaw with his thumb.

Beside you, your phone blares to life on the bar. You both jump, startled out of the moment.

“Ruby,” you tell him hollowly. His hand still hovers near your face, but he nods, pulling it away. You feel like you can barely breathe as you slide your thumb to take the call.

“Hey,” you say into the phone, your eyes on Chan.

“Hey,” Ruby says, “where are you guys? Our thing ended early because of the rain so we’re back at the house.”

“Oh,” you say, trying hard to focus on her voice in her ear and not what just almost happened. “We’re in town. At… a bar? We came in to get out of the rain.”

“Perfect,” Ruby says. Across from you, Chan is rubbing his hands down the tops of his thighs, like they’re sweaty. You wonder if he’s nervous. “We’ll get changed and come get you guys in the car, and then we can go grab dinner together.”

You agree and hang up, then repeat the plan to Chan, who nods. He looks how you feel - a bit shell-shocked, a bit uncertain.

“We need to sober up,” you say. “Or, at least, I do.”

“No, me too,” he says, shaking his head. He sighs, and he might as well have said, goddamn Ruby. You hear it all. Then he seems to give himself a shake, orders you each a water, and asks to close his tab.

“They’re just up the street,” you tell him when Ruby’s text rolls in a bit later.

He nods, uncharacteristically quiet. You wish you could peek inside his brain and see what’s going on in there.

“Hey,” you say, and his eyes snap to you, that open look you know so well on his face. Your voice softens, and you resist the urge to reach out and touch his hand when you continue. “Here’s what I don’t want to happen - I don’t want Ruby to sniff out that something’s going on and interrogate me before we can… talk, ourselves. So let’s pull it together, and get through dinner, and then we can…”

We can what? Pick up where we left off?

He nods anyway, even though you’d left the thought unfinished. “You’re right,” he says.

And, somehow, you do. You both pull it together, rush through the pouring rain from the bar to the open car door. You smile and tease and laugh through dinner, like nothing had happened at all.

You feel relieved, in the back of Ruby’s car, as you all make your way back to the house. You did it - you got through dinner unscathed. Now you can go inside, and have some privacy, and talk and maybe figure out -

“Did you guys know the rental has a hot tub?” Chan asks, and you turn to look at him, baffled.

“It has a what?” Ruby gasps.

“Yep,” he says cheerfully, like he hasn’t just shattered your dream of getting a moment to yourselves. “It’s under the deck. Which means - hey! - it’s covered! We could totally go in, we wouldn’t even be in the rain.”

“That sounds great, actually,” Lara muses.

You say nothing, but when he catches you looking sideways at him, Chan sends you a wink, quick as lightning. You feel your face go puzzled, and he smiles and looks away, giving you no answers.

You’re somehow the first one to get changed and outside; it’s still pouring rain and you cover your head with your towel as you make your way down the steps and under the deck where some drips make it through, but you’re mostly out of the rain. A quick sweep of the area with your phone’s flashlight shows that there’s a string of the same lights down here as above on the deck, and you hurry to plug them in. Now that you can see, it’s actually kind of cute under here.

You unsnap the first strap for the lid, and jump when a pair of hands reaches next to you for the second one. You hadn’t heard Chan approach, but you silently accept his help as you push the lid up and off. You watch him out of the corners of your eyes to see if he’s going to say anything, address it at all. When it seems like he’s not, you turn to climb up the little set of steps, resigned.

His hand closes around your wrist, stilling you. He gives the tiniest of tugs and you relent, turning around. He gives you another tiny tug - you could resist if you wanted to, but you don’t, you don’t, you don’t. You let the tug pull you closer and look up at him, waiting. He kisses you quickly, firmly, close-mouthed for now but sure, his hands forming loose loops around each of your wrists as if he might want to tug you into place again.

The sliding glass door above you slides open and you step away, heart racing.

“Later,” he says quietly, and then you don’t get another second alone, Mingyu and Soonyoung’s voices bouncing through the space as they clamber down the deck stairs.

You climb into the warm water and choose a spot. Chan follows and sits a few solid feet away from you. You try not to look guilty when the other guys round the corner.

“Brought you a beer,” Mingyu says, reaching the extra can towards you.

“You are a legend,” you tell him gratefully.

Chan frowns, and for a crazed second you think maybe he’s jealous that Mingyu did something nice for you, but then he whines, “You didn’t bring me one? Hyung.”

“Calm your ass down,” Mingyu says, climbing into the water and finding a seat. You’re instantly more crowded, just from the sheer amount of space his long legs take up. “Soonyoung has yours.”

You snicker a little, and Chan gives you a light kick under the water. Above you, you hear the door slide open again, and a minute later Ruby and Lara appear beneath the deck, sheltered from the rain by Ruby’s towel.

“Oh,” Ruby says, surprised. “It’s not bad under here!”

“It’s cute, right?” you agree. “Still getting a few raindrops, though.”

“Eh, we’re in water anyway,” Soonyoung says easily, reaching up a hand to help steady Lara as she climbs in.

It’s crowded, and Chan’s two-feet-away doesn’t last. Instead, you’re crowded together, just inches apart. Ruby leans over the edge and turns on the jets, the top of the water creating a frothy layer.

“This is nice,” Lara says happily, closing her eyes and leaning against her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“It is,” you murmur, sipping at your beer. Under the cover of the jets’ bubbles, something touches your hand. Someone’s hand touches your hand. Chan’s hand touches your hand.

Your heart lurches. You beg your face to behave and give nothing away. And ever so slowly, you turn your hand over.

He doesn’t look at you, keeps his eyes on Soonyoung, who’s telling a story animatedly on the other side of the jacuzzi. But his fingers lace between yours, and his thumb brushes along the back of your hand, slow and tantalizing.

You’ve never been so undone by hand holding in your life.

You try to breathe. You sip casually at your beer and interject into the conversation when you can. You laugh at the jokes and look at whoever is speaking. You have no idea what the conversation is about. You hold onto Chan’s slender fingers like he’s a lifeline, like if you let go he’ll slip away, again and for good.

Later, he’d said, and his voice echoes in your head as you pray for later to be now. And finally, blessedly, Lara finally yawns, loud, and starts making moves to get out and head in. Which means so does Soonyoung. Then Mingyu lifts a hand from the water and examines his fingers, complaining, “I’m all pruny.” Chan gives your hand a squeeze and lets you go, reaching for his beer nonchalantly, watching Ruby and Mingyu carefully. You know you’re both waiting, impatiently, for them to leave you alone.

Leave, you silently beg, still trying to appear as casual as possible. Leaaaaave.

“You staying a little?” Ruby asks you, pausing halfway out of the hot tub.

“Yeah,” you say, trying to force your voice to stay casual. “I slept pretty late this morning - I’m not really tired yet.”

“Not all of us got up for sunrise yoga,” Chan says dryly, and Mingyu laughs, reaching for Ruby’s hand, clearly wanting to get inside.