k smut society

The rest of the campus, meanwhile, bustles around you like nothing happened. Like it never happens. Like there isn't a floating narration box following you from birth and plotting your eventual fall from grace. You really should start looking into those therapy services offered by the mental health office. You know they can't help you with "being narrated since birth," but it's probably the next best thing, right?

Anyway, it's spring and, frankly, you're very tired.

You, Y/N, are the notorious campus queen: the stunning daughter of an affluent political family and the presumed villainous antagonistic force in Kim Mingyu's, your childhood friend, star-crossed love story. For three volumes and counting, you, Mingyu and Lee Ara have fallen into a rhythmic dance of misunderstandings, relationship dramas, and flashy battles all leading to one, inevitable conclusion: Mingyu and Ara will fall in love and live happily ever after.

Or that's how it's supposed to work.

Except none of that happens in the shadows, the white spaces that the Writer's pen never quite fills in. Those are the places where characters come to life in ways even the omnipotent Writer can't see coming. Like when Mingyu saved you from a car last spring. Or that night you snuck into the school pool together and splashed around instead of studying. When it was just the two of you, when no one could see, no one was writing. When everything seemed perfectly scripted without a script.

In those moments, when the narration box couldn't reach you, nothing else seemed quite as important as his smile.

Until the next scene began, that was.

You don't remember when you and Mingyu became aware of the fact that none of this was real. You always thought that you were losing your memory, wondering how you ended up at home when you were just in class seconds ago, how so much time seemed to pass without your realizing it. It didn't click until you were aimlessly roaming the school halls one afternoon and noticed the air fluttering unnaturally around you, things moving floating out of place in the corner of your vision and an unsettling feeling of something. A presence? A monster? A force beyond your knowing and naming trying to reach out to you.

When you talked to people, they'd be confused or dismissive, thinking you're joking. And when you'd ask them again some time later, they wouldn't know what you meant and keep repeating the same responses over and over, no matter how many times you would try and ask, hoping it'd finally ilicit a different response.

Finally, you tried talking to Mingyu about what was happening to you, only to find Mingyu was feeling exactly the same way. That things were happening without his express conscious will, and he felt the presence of something vaguely sinister outside of his direct sphere.

That's when you both realized the absurd, nonsensical reality that you're living in a webtoon, in a narrative world crafted by someone who felt very little need or concern for either of your agency. That something, a presence beyond human knowledge and imagination, was dictating and guiding you along towards an end goal: an inevitable romance between Kim Mingyu, the male lead, and Lee Ara, the female lead, and you're left to be the evil side character who had to be defeated for Mingyu and Ara to obtain their Happy Ever After.

Which sucks ass because you really like Mingyu. Maybe even a little too much. And you know, deep down, that the feeling is mutual. The Writer might make you do whatever she wants to further the plot, like flirt with Mingyu against your will during scripted love tropes. But whenever the writer isn't actively intervening, you get to be just you and Mingyu, and not the fictional, plot-dictated versions of you two that are forced together by the writer. You wonder sometimes, if it wasn't for this damned world, if you'd be happily dating each other.

You feel the narration box wriggling in your pocket, desperate to escape and comment. To announce loudly, obviously that you'll do whatever you can to disrupt Kim Mingyu and Lee Ara from meeting, but ultimately end up helping the course of fate along because the Writer makes it so. Because the narrative demands a twist at the very last second, and Kim Mingyu can't end up with you.

With a sigh, you take the now much smaller narration box out and unfold it, letting its words be absorbed back into reality:

NARRATION: ...and the villainess plots her next loser plan to keep our golden boy and pure maiden away from each other.

"I fucking hate you," you mutter under your breath.

Just then, a slim figure rounds the corner: Lee Ara in all of her oblivious perfection, wearing a fluffy dress that no college student would survive in, looking very much like she is running towards you.

PANEL 3 — BUST SHOT: YOU, GLOWERING.

Your lips curl up into your default, scheming smile. You really wish it didn't feel so natural.

PANEL 4 — EXTREME CLOSE UP ON LEE ARA.

Her hair blows dramatically out of the way as she stares determinedly ahead like this isn't a typical, daily interaction for the two of you. You can't tell if it's supposed to look brave or goofy, but it sure isn't intimidating.

"Ara, you look absolutely stunning today," you feel your eye twitch as the words leave your mouth, words you didn't choose, didn't want to say, words that materialized on your tongue like someone else is operating your vocal cords.

Which, technically, someone was.

Ara blinks up at you with those impossibly wide doe eyes. "Oh! Um, thank you? That's... really nice of you to say."

No, it fucking isn't, you thought viciously, even as your face arranges itself into what you know is a calculated, mean-girl smirk.

"I just wanted to say," your mouth continues without your permission, and you feel the familiar horror of a scripted scene taking over, "that dress is so brave. Not everyone could pull off that... particular shade of yellow."

There it is. The backhanded compliment. Right on schedule.

Ara's face falls slightly, and you want to scream. You helped her pick out that dress last week during your actual, off-page friendship that the Writer conveniently ignores. You told her the sunshine yellow made her look like bottled happiness.

"Oh," Ara says softly. "I... thank you?"

"If you like looking like you're blocking traffic, then feel free to keep wearing it," you snort and then the scene releases you like a puppet with cut strings, and you immediately grab Ara's arm. "Wait, that came out wrong—"

PANEL 5 — ARA TURNS.

She's already walking away, and you know why. The Writer has got what they wanted: another moment of you being terrible to the heroine. Another panel of the villainess doing villainess things.

You stand there in the middle of the quad, students flowing around you like water around a stone, and contemplate the very real possibility of screaming until your throat bleeds.

"Rough scene?"

You don't have to turn around to know who it is. You recognize that voice anywhere. It's the voice that makes your stomach do complicated acrobatic routines, the one that belongs to your best friend since childhood, the one that's supposed to fall in love with Ara and definitely not with you.

"Mingyu," you say, turning to face him. "I just told Ara her dress makes her look like a jaundiced traffic cone. How do you think it went?"

Mingyu winces, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. He's wearing his usual off-scene outfit: an oversized hoodie that's seen better days, glasses slightly askew, hair unstyled and falling into his eyes. He looks nothing like the chiseled, perfectly-coiffed golden boy who appeared in the actual comic panels.

"Ouch," he says. "Did you at least get to apologize before the scene ended?"

"Tried. She walked away. The Writer probably needed her to be sad for the next panel where you comfort her and she realizes she has feelings for you for the millionth time," you make a gagging noise. "I hate this. I hate all of this."

"I know," Mingyu falls into step beside you as you start walking toward your next class. "I had a scene this morning where I had to flex at the gym for fifteen minutes while Ara watched from the doorway. Fifteen minutes, Y/N. Do you know how long fifteen minutes of flexing is?"

Despite everything, you snort. "Did you at least get a good pump?"

"I got a cramp in my left bicep and the overwhelming desire to go home and read my economics textbook," he pauses. "Which I did, by the way. Chapter twelve is fascinating. Did you know that—"

"Mingyu, I love you, but if you start explaining supply and demand curves right now, I will push you into that trash can."

The words hung in the air for a moment. I love you. You said it all the time, had said it for years, best friends who'd grown up together and know each other's every secret.

But lately, the words felt heavier.

Mingyu's ears turned red, they always did when you said it, even casually, and he clears his throat. "Right. No economics. Got it."

You reach your classroom and stop, turning to face him fully. He's tall, he'd always been tall, but he hunches slightly, like he's trying to take up less space. It's such a contrast to his on-page persona, where he stands with the confidence of someone who'd never doubted himself a day in his life.

"Same time tonight?" you ask. "My place? We can finish studying for that chem mid."

His face splits into a grin, a wide, boyish one that makes his glasses slide down to the tip of his nose. "Definitely," he agrees. "Maybe without the interruption this time."

PANEL 6 — ARA WALKING TOWARDS MINGYU

"And here I go," you mutter, "back to fading into the background so these two can have their meet-cute."

"I'm really sorry," Mingyu says again, "and I know that doesn't mean anything. I hope I can—"

NARRATION: ...Kim Mingyu notices his true love standing alone in the corner, a beautiful flower ready to bloom into...

"You changed into your jock gear," you note, sounding unimpressed, as Mingyu looks down and realizes that yes, he's wearing the clothes his character usually wears to work out instead of the sweater he wore before.

"Fuck," he sighs, "Here I go, I guess."

"You want me to text you after?" you ask him.

He nods, giving you a strained smile, and says, "Please."

PANEL 7 — SLOW ZOOM-IN ON ARA'S FLAWLESS SKIN AS SHE LOOKS UP AND ATTENDS MINGYU'S DAZZLING SMILE, HEARTS POPPING AROUND HER AS WE DRAMATICALLY FOCUS IN ON MINGYU.

"Ara! Just the girl I wanted to see."

You let out a long sigh, before turning away from the pair. Your story might be stuck in this linear route, but you really don't have to stick around and watch the love of your life play his part in this tale.

PANEL 8 — Y/N WALKS AWAY, SHOULDERS HUNCHED, BACKGROUND BLURRING INTO SOFT PASTELS AS THE ROMANTIC SCENE CONTINUES BEHIND HER

Each step away feels like wading through honey. You can hear Ara's delighted laugh behind you, that genuine, sweet sound that makes you hate yourself for being scripted to hurt her. You can hear Mingyu's voice doing that thing: that confident, flirty thing that isn't him at all.

The real Mingyu stutters when he's nervous. The real Mingyu talks about economic theory at 2AM and falls asleep with his glasses on.

But the Writer doesn't care about the real Mingyu.

PANEL 9 — CLOSE-UP ON Y/N'S FACE, EXPRESSION CAREFULLY NEUTRAL, BUT EYES BETRAYING PAIN

NARRATION: Meanwhile, the villainess retreats to lick her wounds, knowing she can never compete with—

"Oh, fuck off," you snap, reaching up to grab the narration box again. It's vibrating indignantly, trying to narrate your heartbreak into something convenient for the plot.

You squeeze it harder.

"You don't get to narrate this. This part is mine."

You track down Jeon Wonwoo, the webtoon's dark, brooding second male lead, in the library—specifically, on one of the beanbag chairs near the back. Wonwoo's sprawled out like an overly pretentious Renaissance statue, head titled to the sky, eyes closed, reading glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose, a heavy, glossy book perched precariously on his chest.

"What happened this time?" He mumbles. "Faded into the back like usual before the scene started?"

Wonwoo became self-aware just like you and Mingyu; about five episodes ago. And also like you and Mingyu, he didn't come into his new reality prepared. He hadn't realized it at first. He was too busy brooding and contemplating life's meaning, so it wasn't until he was speaking to Mingyu about his memory blackouts. That was when Mingyu called you over, and the three of you had had the worst meeting you could've imagined.

Wonwoo wasn't particularly enthused to find out he was a love interest. He wasn't really interested in the romantic side of things in general. Not when he was made out to be the mysterious, dark bad boy who sulks in corners, glares at people, and spends too much money on poetry books that aren't actually worth their cost.

"Fuck me," you drop yourself into the bean bag beside him, throwing your backpack across the table and letting out the loudest, most exasperated sigh of frustration known to mankind.

"You can let Mingyu do that once he's back in the shadows," Wonwoo chuckles softly as he flips a page of the book.

"And then what will happen when we have sex and a scene between him and Ara happens?" You glare at him. "He vanishes from my bed, to confess to a woman he doesn't even like? You want that to happen? I sure as hell don't."

"Then don't have sex." Wonwoo doesn't look up from his book.

"...That's your answer?"

"Don't have sex and become canon."

"I..." you let out an incredulous laugh, reaching for the nearest object near you to throw. You grab a discarded highlighter and throw it at his forehead, causing him to shut his book and finally glance over at you. "If only it were that easy, asshole."

"Can I go back to my book, or have you finally broken?" Wonwoo looks bored out of his mind as he speaks.

"We're talking about my and Mingyu's relationship. Mingyu and mine's. I hate being the villain. I'm the most popular fucking girl on campus. I'm nice to everyone, and I somehow still get treated like an evil piece of shit when a scene starts." You kick your leg up for dramatic effect, which causes a few students around you to shift uncomfortably. "This is bullshit!"

Wonwoo picks up the highlighter you threw at him and examines it like it's a particularly uninteresting specimen. "You done?"

"No, I'm not—"

"Good. Because you're making a scene, and the last thing either of us needs is to trigger another scripted moment." He tosses the highlighter back to you. "Go study with your boyfriend. At least off-page you can pretend you have free will."

You catch the highlighter reflexively, your anger deflating into something closer to exhaustion. He's right, of course. He's always right in the most infuriating way possible.

"He's not my boyfriend," you mutter, but it sounds hollow even to your own ears.

"Semantics." Wonwoo reopens his book. "Now get out of here before the Writer decides we're having a moment and I have to brood attractively at you."

Your apartment is blessedly, perfectly normal.

No cherry blossoms. No golden hour lighting. No background music swelling as you open the door. Just your slightly messy living room with Mingyu already sprawled on your couch, his laptop open, surrounded by a frankly alarming number of economics textbooks.

He's wearing his glasses, the ones that never appear on-page because apparently the Writer thinks they make him look "too nerdy" for a male lead. His hair is unstyled, falling into his eyes. He's wearing a hoodie that's two sizes too big and sweatpants with a hole in the knee.

This is the real Kim Mingyu.

"You're late," he says without looking up from his screen, but there's no accusation in his voice. Just familiarity.

"Wonwoo was being useless." You drop your bag by the door and collapse onto the couch next to him, close enough that your thigh presses against his. "How was the rest of your day? Did the Writer make you do anything else humiliating?"

"Define humiliating." Mingyu finally glances at you, and his expression softens. "I had to carry Ara's books to her next class. My hands were full, so I couldn't even text you to complain about it in real-time."

"Tragic."

"It really was." He shifts his laptop to the coffee table and turns to face you properly. "She kept talking about how strong I must be. I'm not even that strong. I'm just tall. There's a difference."

You can't help but smile. "You're a little strong."

"I have the upper body strength of a particularly determined pool noodle." He pushes his glasses up his nose, a nervous habit he's had since you were kids. "How was your scene with her? The dress thing?"

Your smile fades. "I told her she looked like a sad banana."

"You didn't—"

"I did. Well, the Writer did. Through my mouth." You lean your head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. "We picked out that dress together last weekend. She was so excited about it. And then I had to stand there and watch my own mouth form words about how it washed her out."

Mingyu is quiet for a moment. Then his hand finds yours, fingers interlacing with a practiced ease that comes from years of this, this thing between you that has no name because the Writer won't allow it one.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"Not your fault."

"Still sorry."

This is what you love about him. Not the on-page version with the perfect smile and the athletic build and the confident swagger. This Mingyu, who apologizes for things he can't control and stutters when he's nervous and gets genuinely excited about fiscal policy.

This Mingyu, who has held your hand through every forced scene and every narrative violation and every moment where you've both felt like puppets with cut strings.

"Did you finish the problem sets?" you ask, because if you keep thinking about how much you love him, you might do something stupid. Like kiss him. And if you kiss him off-page, there's no telling what the Writer might do to punish you for it.

"Most of them." He reaches for his laptop again, but doesn't let go of your hand. "I got stuck on number seven. The one about market equilibrium."

"Let me see."

You spend the next two hours like this, working through economics problems, your head eventually finding its way to his shoulder, his thumb tracing absent patterns on your knuckles. He explains supply curves with the kind of enthusiasm most people reserve for their favorite movies. You argue about elasticity and make him laugh so hard he snorts.

No narration box appears to comment on the "comfortable silence" or the "unspoken tension." No background music swells. No cherry blossoms drift past your window.

It's just you and Mingyu, existing in the spaces between the story.

"I wish it could always be like this," you murmur at some point, when the sky outside has gone dark and you've both abandoned any pretense of studying.

Mingyu's arm is around your shoulders now. You're not sure when that happened, but it feels right. Natural. Like this is how you're supposed to fit together.

"Me too," he says, pressing a light, half-awake kiss against the crown of your head. "Just like this."

You lean into his warmth, your eyelids fluttering closed as you memorize the weight and shape of his arm against you, his head resting against yours, the steadiness of his breathing as he begins to drift off. You memorize it all.

You memorize every last detail.

Because when you open your eyes, you're alone again.

PANEL 1 — MEDIUM CLOSE-UP ON KIM MINGYU, RUNNING ON A TREADMILL AND CONSIDERING THE THOUGHTS IN HIS GORGEOUS HANDSOME BRAIN

"Damn," Mingyu mutters as he treads, "I can't even sleep peacefully on the couch with the woman I'm hopelessly in love with."

PANEL 2 — WONWOO, EXHAUSTED AND DEBATING LEAVING MINGYU TRAINING TO WALLOW IN HIS MELANCHOLY MUSINGS BY HIMSELF

"I fucking hate my life." Wonwoo groans out his displeasure. He wonders how much trouble he'd get in if he "accidentally" hit the speed button and watches Mingyu flail off the treadmill.

NARRATION: Back on campus, the handsome male lead dwells on the true love he so sorely misses.

Mingyu grabs the narration box and flings it into the nearest corner of the gym, where it blinks weakly and powers itself off to spare itself any further humiliation.

"You done?" Wonwoo asks, the picture of composure and zen.

"No, I'm still fucking pissed off!" Mingyu hops off the treadmill and heads straight for the boxing station, grabbing some tape and bandages and wrapping up his fists in record time.

"Do you wanna tell me why you're pissed off this time, or are we just gonna keep going back and forth like this forever?"

"Y/N and I were just working on the homework, and it was... perfect. It felt perfect. Right. It was good—real good. But then, before I could realize what had happened, the Writer snatched me and now here we are."

Wonwoo nods along like the therapist that his character and personality have inexplicably deemed him, and sighs deeply.

"Happens to me all the time." Wonwoo goes about packing up his belongings for his trip back home. "One moment I'm helping one of the female side characters with a jammed door lock and the next moment I'm staring at Ara for four pages straight wondering if I want her to be my first or last kiss. Every. Damn. Time."

"You poor thing," Mingyu mumbles condescendingly as he furiously punches the boxing bag.

Wonwoo steps away as he watched the narration box slowly creep over to join the two men. "A scene is starting soon, just warning you now."

PANEL 3 — MINGYU CONTINUES TO HIT THE BOXING BAG, UNTIL HE HEARS A SUDDEN CRACK.

NARRATION: He swings and it hits. His fists continue, his speed increasing as he repeats a simple question in his head: why is Y/N messing with Ara?

PANEL 4 — MINGYU STILL BEATING THE HELL OUT OF THE BOXING BAG.

NARRATION: Something has gone terribly, terribly wrong. His anger is spilling out like a broken kettle, and its burning, stinging him.

"STOP!" Mingyu shouts to no one in particular, punching the narration box instead of the bag.

"And this is why I wanted to stay home," Wonwoo murmurs out loud. "I hate these things."

"Why can't someone else be the main character?" Mingyu whines. "It doesn't have to be me."

"Because you're the one with huge muscles, you're tall, and you've got the best abs in the entire school?" Wonwoo offers bluntly.

Mingyu doesn't answer and turns his attention to the boxing bag again, throwing several more powerful punches until suddenly, the narration box begins to hover, drawing both men's attention as a new caption begins to write itself:

NARRATION: As his heart screams and his fists bleed, the only image that flashes through Mingyu's mind is Ara.

Mingyu screeches, throwing the gloves at the boxing bag this time. "LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU EVIL BOX. STOP SHOVING ME BACK INTO THE CAST OF THIS DUMBASS STORY."

PANEL 5 — KIM MINGYU IS PISSED

NARRATION: An irrational urge seeps into him. An urge to reach his hand into his own heart, find Ara, and...

Wonwoo narrows his eyes suspiciously at the box and waves a finger in Mingyu's direction, directing his attention. "Stop."

"It's not going to work!" He screams at the narration box. "LEAVE MY HEART ALONE YOU STUPID BOX!"

But the narration continues to hover, circling Mingyu like the ring leader of a very messed up circus. Mingyu swings for it with his bare hands, punching at the thin air before it moves out of the way, now standing closer to him than it was a moment ago, the writing appearing faster. The text is bold and demanding now.

NARRATION: The urge is too powerful. He sees Ara's face, and all he can think about is her.

"NO!" Mingyu screams, tears of pure, unfiltered rage welling in the corners of his eyes as he punches the wall beside him, putting a hole through it. "I DON'T LOVE ARA. I DON'T."

The wall patches itself instantly, the hole vanishing as if it were never there. But the crack in Mingyu's composure remains, spiderwebbing across the surface of the Writer's perfect narrative.

"It's trying to rewrite you," Wonwoo says, suddenly serious. "Pushing you into the corner where you have no choice but to think about her. It's rewriting your thoughts, Mingyu."

The narration box pulses with an almost smug satisfaction. The new words appear, glowing with an unsettling light.

NARRATION: His heart belongs to Ara. It has always been Ara. It will always be Ara.

"It's not true," Mingyu whispers, his anger deflating into a desperate plea. He's looking at Wonwoo now, really looking at him. His knuckles are bleeding from the punch. "It's not true, is it?"

Wonwoo sets down his bag and crosses the distance between them. For once, he doesn't look bored or annoyed. He looks like a soldier assessing battlefield damage.

"You know the answer to that," Wonwoo says quietly, so quietly that the narration box might not catch it. "The question is, how much of you is still left for you?" He glances at the hovering box. "The Writer is getting more aggressive. This is new. This is... invasive."

They've fought scenes before. They've tried to walk the other way, to mumble their lines until the scene reset, to trip over conveniently placed props. They've tried everything, but it's always been external. Pushing against the boundaries of their world, not the boundaries of their minds.

This feels different. This feels like a violation.

"I can't..." Mingyu staggers back, leaning against the now-perfect wall. "I feel it. Trying to get in. Like... like static in my head. A thought that's not my thought."

Wonwoo's face is grim. He's read every book in this godforsaken library, including the ones on psychology he never wanted to read. He knows what gaslighting looks like. He knows what brainwashing feels like. And this has all the hallmarks of both.

"It wants you to break," Wonwoo states, his voice flat. "It wants you to give in and accept the role. If it can't control your actions, it'll try to control your mind."

PANEL 6 — Y/N WALKING INTO THE GYM DRESSED IN TOO TIGHT WORKOUT CLOTHES TO TURN ANY MAN'S HEAD.

"What kind of scene is this?" You mutter to yourself as you pass the two men and head towards the cycling machine in the other room.

NARRATION: As Y/N crosses the room, a flash of anger illuminates the depths of Mingyu's soul.

"Huh?" You stop short, one leg forward as the narration begins to morph again.

NARRATION: As she crosses the room, Mingyu can't take it anymore. Just the sight of her makes Mingyu burn with hatred.

"Well, fuck you too, buddy," you murmur at the box now trying to smack you in the face. You don't even need to stick around to know where this scene is headed, and you aren't going to stick around when Ara bounces through the doors in her pink sports attire to try and talk Mingyu down from his fury.

"Ugh," you groan as you walk into the cycling room and find that this is already the set up for a scene. "Oh, this is just perfect."

"Y/N!" Someone calls you, and it's Seungcheol, a supporting character in this shitfest who's written to have a crush on you. His smile is easy, and so is he, because in this dumb universe, Seungcheol is so much less important than the main character and you're allowed to trample all over his heart, though he somehow continues to pine for you.

"Oh, hey there," you offer a grin and head over to the spin bike next to him, joining him and his row of friends from the track team. The nameless ones. All of them here to serve a single purpose—and yet none of them are aware enough to break out of it.

You know when a scene starts because suddenly, you're having a casual conversation. Everything about your posture is suddenly just slightly more interesting—your lips redder, your cheeks rounder, the cut of your collarbones subtly highlighted by the shine from the lights above you. Everything is suddenly for show, but this time, so are you. You're not speaking the lines you want.

PANEL 7 — YOU INSIDE THE CYCLE ROOM, ON YOUR BIKE AND TALKING TO SEUNGCHEOL.

NARRATION: Y/N tries desperately to seduce a certain boy. She teases him in her sickly sweet tone.

"Cheol!" You greet, laughing at one of his jokes. You know what's coming next, and you know that you aren't saying this and yet the words escape anyway, as if they belong to someone else. You hate it. You hate this.

NARRATION: Seungcheol teases her right back, not knowing that Mingyu is watching their every move.

"Maybe you could give me some more advanced lessons," you bat your eyelashes and flash Seungcheol that sweet smile. You hope you don't throw up.

NARRATION: So distracted, she didn't notice Ara right behind her.

You glance down as you begin to cycle, glancing behind you for a split second. There are too many characters in here, and there's no guarantee that the story won't make an extra scene out of your path crossing with any of them, and your luck really does run out, because right there, in pink workout gear to match Mingyu's blue, is Ara, pretending not to watch you and Seungcheol.

PANEL 8 — Y/N FINALLY NOTICING ARA.

"So much for privacy." You scowl, your voice pitched higher to catch the attention of the one-woman audience that's suddenly in this scene. You know it's just a scene, you don't mean what you're saying and you definitely did not mean to flirt with Seungcheol. You get angry thinking about how fake this entire world is. "What?" You turn to look at Ara, tilting your head and smirking. "You've never seen a man and a woman flirting before?"

"I-" Ara starts, but suddenly looks downright uncomfortable. "It's not like that, Y/N."

You sigh and turn forward, meeting the screen again and shaking your head at how utterly useless it is to try and even change things. No one's in this scene to notice what you say, so why does the story even care? The story is stupid, and pointless, and written entirely around Ara and you don't care who's on board. "Why should you care who I flirt with anyway? You got Mingyu wrapped around your pretty little fingers, don't you?"

"I would never," Ara tries again. "He's-"

"He's what? Something else I can never have?" You're a villain through and through, apparently, and the Writer wants this kind of drama. "It's cute how you think I'll stay away, just because of a little warning." You smirk and wait a beat, just to watch the discomfort bloom across Ara's face. "We both know you don't have the stomach to threaten me back."

PANEL 9 — MINGYU STEPS IN

You can see the look in Mingyu's eyes. He doesn't care about what the narration is doing, apparently, and in the midst of this disaster of a story, you suddenly realize it.

"Mingyu," Ara almost sighs. "I- please don't-"

"You." He points to you, and for a brief second, you can see how Mingyu clenches his fist, trying to fight against the word that's already forming on his lips. "Watch it."

"Mm, and if I don't?" You shrug, innocently pouting and getting off the bike. You ran your fingers down his chest, making sure to keep eye contact. "What are you going to do to me, Kim Mingyu?" You lick your lips and don't stop touching him, running your fingers down his torso and the planes of his muscles, one hand over his arm and the other curled up to grip at his chest. "Don't you think you and I have more fun ways to play, or have you forgotten about the night we-"

Mingyu holds on to your wrist tightly, holding your touch away from him. "Shut your mouth."

You look up at him and bite your lip, shrugging again. "Or what?"

"Please stop, Mingyu!" Ara tugs at the side of his t-shirt, begging Mingyu, who barely notices.

He was there, during that one weekend, when the story took a vacation and let your real selves drive. Neither of you were ready to stop. Neither of you were ready to be written and puppeteered as the main characters. There's so much Mingyu wants to say right now. Instead, the Writer uses his mouth to spit vitriol and spite.

"Stay the fuck out of my life, and off my girl," Mingyu hisses. "Do whatever the fuck you want, but stay the hell away from her."

"Oh wow." You roll your eyes and pull away from him, wiping his hand down your skirt. "Protective, aren't we?" You cross your arms and lean into his personal space. "Wouldn't want me to show her how much better I could fuck you, huh?"

Ara gasps, backing away and covering her mouth with her hands. "Why would you say such a thing!" She screeches at you, and you shrug it off.

"That's not happening." Mingyu narrows his eyes at you, fists curling into themselves.

PANEL 10 — INTENSION OF RAGE HANGING AROUND MINGYU.

"Now that just sounds like a challenge, handsome," you tap the tip of his nose and flash him that perfect smirk, the kind designed to bring even the biggest, baddest, male characters to their knees. You turn away, and head to leave the gym. "Your girlfriend can keep playing house, but you and me?" You blow him a kiss as you walk to the changing rooms. "I'm always down to play rough."

And as you walk away, you can hear the familiar sound of fists punching a bag, Mingyu screaming, and a heartbreaking "I hate her!" that makes the Writer grin in delight.

When the door to the changing rooms close, you sink to the ground, pulling your knees up to your chest and fighting back the tears in the corner of your eyes. You hate this. You don't want to be a villain. You just want to love him and be loved, and the Writer just refuses to let that happen.

For the next thirty minutes, the Writer leaves you alone, and you're curled up against the bench as you cry. The last thing you really needed was Mingyu to actually hate you.

And you hate the thought of being anyone's villain. Especially his.

Mingyu finds you curled up in your bed. Not just a lump under a mound of pillows. In your bed, buried underneath the blankets and nursing a tub of ice cream.

"You okay?" he asks gently.

"Not really," you mutter and take another spoonful of ice cream, avoiding eye contact. You're being grumpy and pathetic, but you don't really care.

Mingyu grabs the tub of ice cream and places it on your nightstand, not caring if it'll melt, as he gathers you into his arms, letting you wrap your own around his torso.

"I don't like doing it," Mingyu whispers. "It was-" He takes a deep breath and holds you a little tighter. "God, saying those things to you, I hate that the Writer made me do it. Even the visual of... of-" He doesn't need to finish his sentence.

"Me and Seungcheol," you mumble, and let him lift your chin.

Mingyu nods. "But Y/N-" He searches your face and taps your forehead. "I didn't mean a single bit of it. None of it. Never. Okay? I would never ever treat you like that, okay?"

Your eyes tear up, and you nod, biting your lip and trying to get rid of the sting of the Writer's manipulations.

"And I hate myself for hurting you like that," he admits softly. "Even if I didn't mean it, I still said it, and that hurts. But... but at least we're self-aware?" He gives you an awkward grin.

You manage a laugh through the tears. It was a crap day, and maybe Mingyu wasn't helping, but your favorite thing about your best friend has always been that you feel understood when you're with him.

"This is hard," Mingyu groans, flopping backward on your bed. He hugs you close to him, so you don't flail around. "Can't we just," he moves one hand, gesturing wildly "I dunno, rewrite this stupid thing so we're happy?"

"If only that was a possibility," you giggle.

"Wait," Mingyu props himself up on an elbow. His eyes sparkle. "Wait. Y/N, what if we do exactly that."

"What," you roll your eyes and give Mingyu a blank look, not trusting his tone.

"Seriously! Let's rewrite this ourselves," Mingyu exclaims. "You and I, Wonwoo too, are self-aware. Why don't we work together to change things? It could work, don't you think?"

"What would we change, Gyu?" You ask him, a tiny glint of hope lighting up behind your irises.

"Well, to start," Mingyu grimaces. "Maybe, uh, have the Writer stop trying to make you kiss the entire university population, yikes."

You grimace and lift your hands up to the sky as if you're going to fight the Writer's pen with your bare hands. "That's a damn start. My god, we need a human resources department for this shit."

"It's more like human rewrite department and I'll file a complaint," Mingyu deadpans and the two of you share a quick look before bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, needing this moment of levity after the exhausting scenes you're usually roped into.

"Wait, wait," you can't believe how many brilliant ideas come to you once you give yourself an afternoon to wallow. "Wonwoo!" You glance around as you grab Mingyu's phone from the floor, quickly dialing Wonwoo's number and grinning mischievously when it picks up. "We're forming a union. Bring beer. See you later." And then you hang up.

Mingyu is beside himself in a fit of laughter. "Oh man, won't the writer be pissed when they find out three of their characters are rebelling against the plot line."

"I hate this stupid plotline," you groan. "I'm the most popular girl in school but what does the narrative care about?! Me kissing a different character every week. I swear, we're literally nothing more than tropes used just to create more drama for the narrative, and it's annoying and pointless and I've had enough!" You let out a long, loud sigh and Mingyu grins.

"Damn, you're hot when you're angry," Mingyu mutters and when you give him a look, he looks away with flushed cheeks.

"Gross." Wonwoo let's himself into your apartment and holds up the beers. "Union time, but please. Can you not flirt with each other. I've dealt with enough forced bullshit today."

"What happened?" You look over the couch and see a distressed looking Wonwoo, your confusion and Mingyu's morphing into that same glare the two of you shared mere hours ago. "Did you just get some scene thrown into your storyline as well?"

Wonwoo winces and rubs the back of his neck. "I was forced out of the comfort of my own apartment to walk around the campus with Ara, the words spewing from my own tongue saying how she's everything I want and more, and how her personality is so cute, I can't get her off my mind, bla bla bla..."

The two of you just sit there, horror written on your face as the thought of a love sick Wonwoo has your brain nearly short circuiting.

"Dude, what the hell," Mingyu gags and shudders. "Was this scene like-" he pauses, horrified with the thought that passes through his mind. "Don't tell me. I don't want to imagine it."

"Neither did I, believe me, Mingyu. Please don't say anything else. I had to go through five showers with nearly boiling hot water to rid the thoughts of even holding her hand." Wonwoo winces as the memory makes his skin crawl. "Okay. So." Wonwoo nods. "Union time!"

As the sun dips low beyond the horizon and night overtakes the room, the three of you drink and dream and plan for the world that's promised. It's been far too long, since you've allowed yourself to dream. But with Mingyu and Wonwoo? It might actually work.

"Holy shit, guys." You stare up at the building looming overhead and then at the sign next to the door, squinting and reading out loud. "'Humanity Rewrite Agency. The world's solution to author control.'"

"I was kidding about it," Mingyu starts as he looks between his co-conspirators. "But there's really a HR building in the shadows? Do you think the Writer knows about this place?"

"Dude, if it's in the shadows then they won't be able to see it," Wonwoo shakes his head, almost wanting to laugh at the three of you standing outside of the building. It was a spur of the moment decision to go into the HR building, and though the three of you were pretty serious about the whole union thing, it all seems a bit far-fetched.

"Alright, let's go," You shrug and make your way up to the sliding doors, pushing in and finding the empty reception desk. "Um. Excuse us?"

A person pops out from beneath the desk, glasses askew and jacket slightly messed up. "Y-yes, how can I help you today?"

"We're thinking about forming a union? And thought a place like this might help, given it's hidden in the shadows." Wonwoo comments casually, leaning on the counter.

The receptionist's mouth opens, surprised. "A union?" Their eyes drift from Mingyu, to Wonwoo, and settle on your gaze. Their eyes soften, lips parting a moment later as a few memories spark in their mind. "Oh. Oh, dear. You three really are self-aware, huh." The receptionist, who's name tag reads Joshua, snaps out of his thoughts and offers a kind smile. "You're not the only self-aware characters working through an issue. Follow me." Joshua spins around the desk, flicking off the switch to the light above and disappearing into the hallway behind him, beckoning the three of you to follow. "You must know about Danoh and Haru, right? What happens to them in Secrets? What happens after?"

"Secrets?" Your brow furrows as your try to connect the dots, knowing very little about the book in question.

"I see you three really haven't done your due diligence then." Joshua laughs a moment later, voice light and cheerful. "Secrets is a comic about the typical high school romance. But in their case, our spunky Danoh was a supporting extra with a heart disease and Haru was a faceless extra." Joshua stops at his office door and gestures to the chairs across from him.

"Is there a reason why they're important?" Mingyu asks, clearly perplexed with the idea of side characters rebelling in their own way.

"Oh yes. I'll let Seungkwan tell you. He's like your mediator or something, I dunno. But he can help you find some answers at the very least."

You trail behind, your mouth moving faster than your brain as you pepper Joshua with questions. Wonwoo and Mingyu shake their heads but listen just as intently to Joshua's ramblings. You know there's a whole world here, out there in the shadows, and now that you've tasted self-awareness you're hungry for every detail you can find.

"In here," Joshua calls over his shoulder. "Everyone. These are our newest clients."

"New clients?!" A male's voice practically squeals, followed by a swift punch to the arm.

"More self-aware folk who don't know enough?" A second male's voice pipes up, amusement glinting in his eyes as a slow smile pulls across his lips. "Well, we can fix that. Hi, everyone! Welcome to Human Rewrite Agency, located conveniently in the shadows, where we'll do anything within our power to help."

"It's great to be here," you nod, stepping forward. "I'm Y/N." You tilt your head to your two conspirators, a shy smile on Mingyu's lips. "This is my best friend, Mingyu. And that brooding, tired-looking beanpole, is Jeon Wonwoo."

"Flattering," Wonwoo smirks, shaking his head as he pushes his glasses up his nose.

"I'm Boo Seungkwan," the bright male who's eyes sparkled from the moment you stepped through the doors bounces over and pulls you and Mingyu into a tight embrace before doing the same to Wonwoo. "This is Vernon. A few of the others are working with clients so you can't meet them right now, but it'll probably be a long time before anyone else does, especially if your situation is even half as strange as a love pentagram." Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

"Love pentagram?" Wonwoo murmurs.

"Another comic where the female lead falls for four men and she can't chooses between them," Vernon shakes his head. "All the four men ended up self-aware because her dilemma and they have yet to figure out how to resolve their issue."

"Wow," you shake your head. "Who has the time and energy to think of this mess of a love story."

"The Writer of that comic does, and they're enjoying the pain," Seungkwan chirps. "Our agency does what we can to resolve their issues without erasing their awareness, so they can live their lives as they truly want to."

"How do you guys fix the issue?" Mingyu wonders aloud.

"Depends," Seungkwan tilts his head in thought. "Sometimes their comic becomes too unstable and they have to go through a series of major rewrites for them to fall into the correct timelines or character placements, etc. I assume Joshua has mentioned Danoh and Haru?" He catches your nod. "There were lots of up and downs with those two and their comic. Secrets came to an end and even though Danoh and Haru weren't end-game there, they became extras in a new comic and have the agency to choose each other, finally."

"So you're saying..."Mingyu begins as his brow furrows in thought. "We're fucked no matter what we do? No matter how hard we try to change the narrative, the Writer can always rewrite whatever happens? If we create a glitch, the Writer will just delete it? There's no winning in that."

Seungkwan grins and nods at the question. "Correct, for the most part," He agrees, not willing to dismiss any fears the three of you are harboring. "Which is why, a lot of these couples learn to focus on their lives in the shadow while still fighting to get to a happy ending. Because happy endings are for every character, even a background one."

Mingyu reaches for your hand, squeezing it in his palm. "So what should we focus on?"

"Do your part. Flirt in scenes, take the kisses when scripted and try not to gag...too much." Seungkwan laughs brightly, noticing the distasteful expressions on the three's faces at the thought. "Just because it's written one way doesn't mean you're doomed. Hell, our main clients in the Love Pentagon have to act out this drama where they basically hate the shit out of each other but in the shadows, they're all friends and bond over their scenes at their local bar." He laughs, his face glowing at the fond memory. "All because they're learning to balance both. The shadow and the world beyond." Seungkwan comes forward and places a reassuring hand on both Mingyu's shoulder and your hand.

"Don't forget, you can always visit. We're open seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. I encourage the glitching and breaking the fourth wall, but do keep in mind, a sudden plot twist will never sit well in the comic so sometimes the Writer's hand will get involved. But don't give up." He squeezes again, pulling his hand away. "At the end of the day, the three of you are still you. Self-aware doesn't change that and the Writer can't remove that fact either. They might be able to rip the self-awareness right from under your noses, but what they can't do is control the you you've created for yourself in the shadows."

Your entire being hums from his words, Seungkwan's melodic voice full of genuine kindness. You let Seungkwan's gentle reassurances sweep the worry from your brow, even as your mind continues to swirl. You've found an ally, one with endless optimism. You let out a sigh and your gaze settles on the grin dancing at the corners of Mingyu's mouth, the hope you always feel blooming whenever you're close, blossoming behind your ribs. "Shall we?"

Mingyu squeezes your hand once more. "You bet."

Another day, another scene. This time you're staring at an unrealistically happy Wonwoo as he looks down at Ara, his fingers brushing a lock of her hair from her eyes. Mingyu stands beside you, a look of disgust on his face as he tries not to vomit from Wonwoo's forced expressions.

"Is this how you feel when you look at me and Ara during our scenes together?" Mingyu asks out of the blue and you laugh.

"Now you know my pain," you pat his cheek with your palm. "Tough to watch?"

"Painful," he admits. "Happy Wonwoo is hard to watch. I'm so used to him being broody and aloof, it's just strange seeing him like this."

"And that's coming from a nerd who's forced to flex his muscles every day," you chuckle. "He's all brawn and brains and still scared of horror movies."

"To be fair," Mingyu pouts slightly. "Horror movies are terrifying."

"I love you Gyu, but you're just a big baby."

"Your big baby," he counters, pout growing. "Right?"

"C'mere, baby," you laugh, cupping his chin as you stand on the tips of your toes and plant a firm kiss on his cheek. Mingyu flushes a shade of pink that spreads up his neck and blooms across his ears as a stupid grin flashes across his face.

"Eww, gross." The sudden exclamation catches your attention, spinning you around. Wonwoo stands a few feet away, shaking his head in mild disgust and faked annoyance. "Ugh. Get a room."

"Done with your scene? Ready to go back and brood like your normal self?" You smirk.

Wonwoo glowers. "Shut up." He tucks his hands into his pockets as he falls into step beside the two of you. "I am the model of happiness."

"What a lie," you laugh. "Wonwoo, no. Your true self is brooding. Being happy is not your forte. But it's okay. We still like you."

"That's kind of cruel but not untrue," Mingyu adds. Wonwoo heaves an exasperated sigh but says nothing.

The three of you stroll off the campus grounds, heading downtown toward Mingyu's favorite bakery. When your thighs begin to ache, Mingyu gallantly offers you a piggyback ride. "Took you long enough," you mumble, but a grin breaks free the minute your arms are looped around Mingyu's neck and his arms are linked under your knees, his palms curled snugly around the curve of your thighs. You're cackling the entire way.

When you arrive at Mingyu's favorite bakery, Wonwoo slows to a stop. "Sorry to skip out," he sighs. "I'm tired and I need to wash whatever happened in my scene today off of me. But text me the plan, alright?" He leans in and steals a pastry from the box Mingyu just purchased, much to the latter's protest.

"Dude, that was my favorite," Mingyu frowns, watching him run off with the pastry clenched tightly in his fist, looking smug as he turns the corner.

"So dramatic," You shake your head and steal the next pastry from the box before darting away, laughter erupting from behind you.

"Why do I even bother?" Mingyu rolls his eyes in jest, racing after you, easily catching up. "You really gonna make me run when I'm holding a box of goodies?"

"You'd anything for me, dummy," you tease with an arched brow.

"Can't say no to that," Mingyu laughs brightly, letting his fingers intertwine with yours, a feeling that makes your entire body glow.

He'd walk through fire for you. And, you suppose, you'd walk through fire for him too. Even if it was scripted and the flame was all special effects. Still, you'd do it. The whole thing could crash and burn, literally, but it'd be worth it. He's always worth it.

You two collapse onto a picnic table, watching a gaggle of young children chase each other, swinging wildly at their pinwheels. Their joy echoes across the grass and you feel your body relax as you and Mingyu devour another pastry in seconds.

"These are the moments I really want," he finally admits after an extended moment of silence. "To sit with you, be in the moment and have the ability to laugh at stupid shit like those kids or something serious. It's just peaceful."

"Agreed," you tilt your head with a smile, content and free as a stray curl whips across your eye and Mingyu leans across the picnic table to brush it aside. "We deserve better than what the Writer has in store for us," you muse. "Not sure what that better is, but we deserve better."

"This," he breathes suddenly, looking nervous despite the calm, easy atmosphere of the park. "Us. Together." He gestures, an awkward fumbling of long arms and large hands that makes you want to cry-laugh, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth betraying the shy tone his voice has.

"Mingyu." He smiles at you softly as you lean across the table and press a soft kiss to the very corner of his mouth. He sighs in content, pulling you against him so you were sprawled across his lap as he buries his nose into your hair. "I really do love you. You know that right? Nothing the Writer creates is going to stop me from loving you."

"Oh god," Mingyu pretends to gag playfully. "Such a fucking sap. I've rubbed off on you."

You reach up and pinch his jawline before swiping his nose with your palm. "Silly, dorky himbo of mine." He groans but doesn't deny the affection, a shy smile hiding behind his lashes.

"Can't deny the truth."

"Knew you loved it."

"Love you more." Mingyu bumps your noses together as he presses his lips to yours, sighing the minute your lips slot into his perfectly as he tightens his grip around you. The pair of you sigh blissfully into the kiss and you grin, unable to help yourself as you bring the back of your hand to your forehead.

"God," you say, rolling your eyes. "Could this sunset and the taste of the chocolate filling of Mingyu's favorite bread be any better?"

"Shhh," he chuckles softly against your lips. "Stop ruining the moment, Y/N."

"One, never. Two, never," you insist, smiling at the ridiculous look on his face as you press one final kiss to his pouting lips. "Y'know, I like that smile of yours best."

"The one I reserve for you alone," he whispers, eyes shut. You can feel the light breeze tossing Mingyu's hair about as you bask in the peace he brought you, the feel of his strong body pressing against yours, holding you impossibly closer, keeping the nightmares and chaos of the comics at bay. For now.

That night, you have a dream. A weird dream. In that dream, you’re with Mingyu. That part isn't unusual. But it feels different, familiar, somehow. Almost like a past life where you and Mingyu were free. Truly free. But when you wake up, your memory of the dream fades fast, the dream dissolving like a mirage in the desert. You fall back asleep, remembering only the comfort of your dreams, and Mingyu's strong arms.

The next morning, you make your way to HR, knocking before sliding your head in to find Seungkwan there, smiling up at you and gesturing for you to come inside and have a seat in his office.

"Hey Seungkwan. Good to see you again, thanks for giving me your time." You begin, having wanted to ask him a few questions. "I've been having some weird dreams recently, a past life it felt like. I couldn't really remember them all when I'd wake up but..." You trail, hoping you were making sense to Seungkwan.

"Glad you're here," He gestures to the empty seat directly across his desk, inviting you to make yourself comfortable while you have a little chat. Seungkwan slides a few files your way before folding his hands on his desk. "I actually managed to procure these after our last chat. it seems like you were the main character in the writer's last piece. If this helps jog your memories, that'd be a real win-win."

You let the pages slip beneath your fingertips, curiosity boiling behind your lashes as the scenes came back to you, the very dreams you were having all were on this very sheet of paper. It makes you want to laugh as you look at the very scene of Mingyu walking toward the girl who was the perfect mirror of you.

You flip through the pages and notice you were in a bookstore and had even dreamed a few nights prior about it. All of this is true, these aren't scripts...they’re the past. "You found all of this after my last visit?" You ask in awe.

"Yes!" he says proudly, unable to hide the glint in his eyes. "There were a few snags here and there. From what I researched, you and Mingyu's story wasn't supposed to end in such a tragic way."

Your smile falls from your face as you realize his words aren't ones of encouragement, but almost pity. "Tragic ending? What do you mean?"

"Well," Seungkwan sinks a little further into the leather of his chair and rubs the back of his neck, eyes focusing intently on his notes as if he wishes that he hadn't uttered the last few words. "It's sad. You were arranged to marry, he was drafted for the war. He never returned."

"Oh," you manage as the words hit you, and your head is screaming, begging for something. "So why was it put on hold?" You ask the only logical question left.

"The Writer abandoned it." He slides you a copy of the draft you were just looking at. "It wasn't getting the traction because of the heavy story, apparently," Seungkwan winces at the idea that he may have said too much, but you just nod at him. "The Writer decided that the current comic that you're in is getting more readership."

"Great, so glad to hear she gave up and moved to a new storyline instead." You seethe, not realizing how harsh the words were as you grit your teeth. "But why was Ara chosen as the main character instead of me?"

"She's naive, innocent," he offers, sliding a piece of gum into his mouth. "Pretty." Seungkwan wrinkles his nose as if it was unavoidable, a sad fact. "What?"

"And I'm not? That doesn't seem fair," you groan, arms crossing over your chest as a pout works it's way over your lip. "That is a real blow." You huff out a sarcastic laugh.

"You're the bombshell that's relagated to the background. Not that you're a background character by any means. You're the villainess."

"Don't say it," you roll your eyes. You know it. Everyone knows it. That you were the supposed villainess. But the fact that someone, especially Seungkwan, has admitted it out loud? Well, you don't want to admit the truth, but it stings like a motherfucker.

"You're self-aware," he states quietly. "Can we focus on that?"

"Fine," you grumble, before forcing yourself to calm down. It's not Seungkwan's fault. "But why Mingyu? The Writer could have written another male character that isn't Kim Mingyu."

"Maybe the Writer felt bad for him in the last draft, and thought she'd give him a chance as the main character of a new romance series."

"By turning him into the ultimate, white knuckled himbo who flexes his abs whenever?" You groan, "The poor boy."

"He may be the male lead of the comic and geared for Ara," He leans forward. "But he will always choose you and you him. It's fate, even for characters written into existence." Seungkwan chuckles before standing and dusting his suit pants off. "Alright, thank you again for chatting with me. That is all I wanted to talk about. Stay self-aware and keep your focus on the real goal, Y/N."

"And what's that?"

Seungkwan flashes you a bright smile as he ushers you from his office, "Getting out of this shit comic, duh!"

From your corner of the dancefloor, you watch Mingyu lean in closely to whisper something into Ara's ear. Whatever he is saying makes her erupt into giggles as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ears. As the music plays and they spin together, your heart breaks into pieces.

You really want to smack the Writer for making you see this.

Wonwoo sidles up to you, shaking his head at the sight before him as the pair looks ridiculous as they stand on the dance floor and the scripted splash panel. "You can vomit in my shoes later if you need," Wonwoo offers, trying his best not to make this anymore miserable for you. "Want a drink?"

"Fuck yes," you snap, looking for a moment before shaking your head. "I've got this, stay. Enjoy the dance, look pretty for the crowd and try not to burst into flames from boredom."

"What am I, an ornament? Because I've gotta say, this bowtie is uncomfortable." Wonwoo wrinkles his nose at the feeling of the tie wrapped around his neck as you chuckle and take your leave, heading for the bar.

"A shot. Top shelf, please." You watch as the bartender grabs a bottle and lines the small glasses up in front of you, grabbing a pack of salt as he sets up. After the glasses were filled, you look up to find Mingyu looking directly at you as you lick a long strip across your wrist before downing the glass of tequila. The way he bites his lip is undeniably hot, and the slight daze in his eye is doing wonders.

Worth it.

"You're good," Seokmin, the bartender, comments as you blink your way back, slamming the tiny glass back on the bar counter. "Lookin' to impress anyone?"

"Someone, but he's too preoccupied at the moment," you sigh, gesturing to the man and woman currently on the dance floor as they sway back and forth.

"Ah," Seokmin purses his lips sympathetically. "Want another one?"

"Keep them coming." The next shot goes down easy, just like the other glasses you had poured down your throat in the hopes you could avoid Mingyu for the rest of the night.

Mingyu could've easily left her side and spent the remainder of the evening with you. You sigh wistfully, you had dreamed that this party would end differently. And not with him twirling another woman around the ballroom like this was some sort of poorly-written romance flick.

As the night drags on, the tequila keeps pouring down your throat until you can barely tell which Mingyu is the real Mingyu. Or is Ara real? You can't seem to care because when she disappears and the lights dim, he's suddenly right in front of you. "I think that's enough drinking for tonight, Y/N. Please?"

You look up at him drunkenly, anger brewing deep within you as you bite your lip, tears blurring your vision before you wipe angrily, angry, not that he would understand because, at the end of the day, it was Mingyu. Your Mingyu. "I hate this, Mingyu."

"Me, too."

"It feels like my insides have been crushed. It hurts to see you with her, and know that the entire evening the Writer kept pushing you two together, again, and again, and again." Your voice cracks and Mingyu reaches out to gently catch one of the tears that spilled down your cheek.

"C'mon." His hand is warm against yours. The two of you shuffle back to his apartment. "It's late," he mumbles as he shuts the door and throws his car keys into the tray on the counter, bending over to shrug his dress shoes off, and you stumble backwards until you feel your knees bump against the sofa and you let yourself fall against the soft cushions. "Are you just going to sleep with your dress on?" Mingyu asks, and you scoff.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Oh, right. Forgot who I'm talking to." He laughs and it sounds bitter and broken. He rubs a hand down the side of his face, shaking his head. "Anyway, you want to get out of those clothes? Here. Let me help you. Don't want you falling and hurting yourself."

"I'm not five, Mingyu."

"No," Mingyu pauses, gaze boring into yours, "But you sure can act like it."

"So, I can be a brat and you can treat me like you’re my Daddy, yeah?" You don't mean to laugh, but you are. You are fucking delirious, and so, so inebriated. But you're drunk and can't hold back the words tumbling out your mouth. "I'm such a fucking mess," you moan, hands flying to cover your face. "Just…just leave me here."

"Let's get you sober and then we can talk about that kinky side of yours." Mingyu holds out his hand, but the angle of the overhead light creates a glare. He's haloed in white light, like an angel or a figment of your imagination, you aren't quite sure. He taps your nose lightly, smile pulling at his lips, the slightest bit smug. "Take my hand and let's get you some fresh air. You smell like tequila."

"Mhm," You reach forward and slap your hand against his palm, sighing as Mingyu pulls you towards him and loops a supportive arm around your waist. "You like it, don't lie," you mumble. He rolls his eyes at that as your head dips back onto his shoulder and your feet stumble slightly before you are righted.

"Whatever you say, you drunk," he murmurs as he leads you to the balcony and dumps you on a lounge chair, reaching a hand out to press against your back. "Stay. I'll get you something to sober up before we get you showered and ready for bed. Okay?"

"Okay." Your voice comes out muffled since you bury your face in the pillow. "Mingyu?" you ask as a cool breeze chills your face.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for looking out for me."

"I'd do anything for you."

After a while of comfortable silence, and a cup of hot coffee in your hands, you both were looking out towards the street and were enjoying each others silent company. "You know we used to be in another series together?" you speak as you look over.

"Really?" he asks.

"Yea," you say wistfully.

"What was it about?" he inquires further.

"Not sure. But you and I were..." your lips pull up into a sad smile and your eyes slide back to the city street, "We were in love. Well, at least the Y/N and Mingyu from that series were." You smile sadly. "How we danced around each other in secret meetings during the war, and had to act like we were not madly in love once daylight hit. Even though I knew we'd always be safe no matter what because we loved each other."

"What happened, then? With us?" he asks.

"I was arranged to get married...to someone that's not you," you admit and it hurt like a stab to the gut. "And you were drafted, and I never saw you again." You turn back towards the view. "Can you imagine? How you loved someone with all your heart, but the narrative made sure you never had your happy ever after. No matter how badly you wanted it? The Writer just abandoned that series, never brought that story to an ending because it was so heavy and tragic. Wrote our lives off, just to throw us into something less heavy."

"Hey, come here." Mingyu sits up, pulling you into his arms. "We can't dwell on things in our past, even though the story may have hurt us, this time, things will be different."

"Will they, though?" you question with a sad shrug of the shoulder, wrapping your arms around his waist. Mingyu tilts your head towards his. "I'm not the main character this time. Just the villainess in this particular comic, forced to watch someone else get the happy ending. The happy ending the Writer robbed you and I out of."

"Shh," he hushes as he kisses your forehead.

"Promise you'll stay true and never abandon me? No matter what?" your voice wavers a bit as the threat of a sob remains close. Mingyu's big and warm hands gently tilt your head back to look up at him. He's got the most gorgeous face you've ever seen, with eyes so deep they put the night sky to shame and hair that gleams bronze in the sunlight.

"I'd do anything to keep you close," Mingyu says. "I promise."

"Pinky swear?" you sniff.

"Pinky swear." He links his pinky finger with yours. You breathe a small laugh. Mingyu had a smile to rival the sun, you always thought. All teeth, a bit lopsided and big and warm. Even in your current state of distress.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" your gaze darts down to where the two of you are connected by a finger.

"More often than necessary."

"I really, really love you, Kim Mingyu," you smile up at him.

"Love you, too." He presses his forehead against yours.

"Like, super duper, you don't even have a clue," you mumble into his chest. He only snorts.

"Sure I don't, dummy." He pats your head.

"Then maybe I should show you?" The words sound suggestive to Mingyu as you wrap your arms around his torso tightly, your hot breath tickling his ear.

"Y/N, come on," Mingyu says, wriggling away, cheeks going crimson.

You squint up at him, mischief in the creases in the corners of your eyes. "Why not?" you pout.

"Well, because," Mingyu ruffles the back of his hair. "You're drunk."

"I'm so damn sober right now that I could paint you a picture of the ocean."

"No, no, no." Mingyu pushes the hair out of his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Maybe I should prove to you I am a very willing participant?" you begin to say as he closes his eyes for a split second. Before he can do or say anything to prevent it, your hands have snaked themselves behind his neck. The scent of cologne and detergent fill your nose as he stiffens slightly and groans against your skin.

"You drive a hard bargain," Mingyu finally murmurs. "But first, you need a shower."

"Join me?" you suggest and you grin up at him with a mischievous waggle of the eyebrows. "There's plenty of room for two." You see the way Mingyu bites his lip, then sighs.

"Fine. Lead the way," he says, and when you squeak happily and pull him towards the bathroom.

Moments later, the bathroom is thick with steam, blurring the clean lines of the tiled walls until the world outside feels entirely locked away. The water drums a steady, heavy rhythm against the porcelain, a barrier of noise that no scripted dialogue or intrusive narration box could pierce.

"You're still clumsy," Mingyu murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, rid of the booming, confident cadence the Writer always forced into his throat on-page. Here, he sounds rough around the edges, grounded, and entirely yours.

"I am perfectly balanced," you retorted, though your hands gripped his shoulders for support as you stepped under the spray. The heavy silk of your party dress clings to your skin, soaked through in an instant, but neither of you care about the clothes.

Mingyu reaches behind you, his large palms warm against the small of your back as his fingers find the zipper. With a slow, deliberate slide, the wet fabric parts. He peels the dress away, letting it pool heavily at your feet. When his gaze meets yours, there’s none of the scripted, aggressive arrogance he was forced to display at the gym. His eyes are dark, intense, and filled with a fierce, protective reverence.

"You look beautiful, Y/N," he whispers, his thumbs tracing the line of your hip bones, wiping away the lingering traces of the comic’s forced aesthetic. "The real you. Not the villainess."

"Then stop looking and do something about it," you challenge, leaning up until your lips are inches from his.

Mingyu doesn't hesitate. He pulls you flush against his chest, the spray of the shower slicking his hair back, exposing the sharp, handsome angles of his face. His mouth comes down on yours with a desperate, hungry heat, a stark contrast to the polite, hesitant kisses the script dictated for him and Ara. This is raw, heavy with years of unspoken longing and the terrifying knowledge that your time in the dark is always limited.

His hands slide down to lift you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. You gasp into the kiss as he presses you back against the warm tiled wall, the friction of his skin against yours sending a sharp jolt through your chest.

"I'm not letting them take this," Mingyu groans against your neck, his lips tracing a burning path down to your collarbone, his teeth grazing the skin just hard enough to leave a mark, claiming every bit of you that he could.

You grab at the nape of his neck, fisting your fingers in his wet, raven black hair. "Shut up and fuck me, Mingyu."

The slick tile of the shower wall is hot against your back, but it’s nothing compared to the blistering heat of Mingyu's skin. He holds you pinned, one massive hand anchoring your hip while the other cups the back of your head, his fingers tangled deeply in your wet hair.

Every kiss is a bruising, desperate reclamation. On the page, the Writer made him tentative, full of scripted hesitations and soft, clean glances meant for Ara. But here, in the heavy steam of the shadows, Mingyu is ravenous. He drinks the small, broken sounds from your throat, his tongue tangling with yours in a rhythm that’s entirely unscripted, chaotic, and real.

"Y/N," he growls against your lips, his chest heaving against your breasts. The water cascades over his broad shoulders, slicking down the heavy planes of his muscles. "Tell me you're here. Tell me it's you."

"It's me," you gasp, arching into his touch as his hand slides down the curve of your thigh, lifting your leg to hook over his hip. "It's always been me, Gyu."

He groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates against your collarbone as he buries his face in your neck. His teeth graze the sensitive skin right above your shoulder blade, biting just hard enough to anchor you to the reality of the moment. You cry out, your fingers digging into the thick muscles of his back, your nails leaving pale tracks in their wake.

When he shifts, guiding your hips back against the wall, the friction is unbearable. He pauses for a single, agonizing heartbeat, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes completely dark, pupils blown wide with a fierce, protective hunger.

"Look at me," he whispers, his voice rough and laced with a desperate edge. "Don't close your eyes. I want you to see me when I..."

He doesn't finish the sentence. He drives into you in one smooth, heavy push.

A sharp, breathless sob escapes your lips, your hands flying to clutch at his wet shoulders as the sheer intensity of the fullness ripples through you. Mingyu lets out a ragged breath, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that feels like a physical weight. He begins to move, slow and agonizingly deep at first, before the rhythm catches fire.

The sound of the rushing water drowns out the rest of the world, creating a sanctuary where no narration boxes could grow. Every thrust is a declaration of war against the script. You grip his shoulders, throwing your head back as he hits the exact spot that makes your mind fracture into pure, unadulterated sensation.

"Mingyu. Gyu—" you whimper, your internal walls tightening around him as the friction builds an unbearable, sweet agony behind your ribs.

"I've got you," he pants, his pace turning fast and punishing, his muscles bunching under your hands as he lifts you completely off the floor. Your other leg wraps around his waist, locking him close. "I'm right here."

"Mingyu," you begged against the corner of his jaw. "Gyu. Yes, yes, yes, please, don't stop."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He groans the words into the tender flesh below your ear as his lips and teeth trace a burning line from your jaw down the side of your throat. The water blurs between you, but he refuses to shut his eyes or drop his gaze. Every breath is shared, every inch of contact heated.

And every thrust is a silent cry. Fuck the script. Fuck Ara. Fuck everything but us.

The Writer's commands can't reach the shadows. Mingyu doesn't give her a chance to command him here, where the camera could only capture their silhouettes and the reader can't see beyond the steamy haze.

"Mingyu. Mingyu. Please, I need..." You shudder, a violent, blinding release cascading through your lower abdomen as you clamp down around him. The sight of your undone expression throws Mingyu over the precipice. With a low, ragged shout, he buries himself deep inside you one last time, his body stiffening as he spends himself completely, his pulse throbbing forcefully against your own.

For a long time, the only sound is the heavy thrumming of the water and your synchronized, ragged breathing. Mingyu holds you tight, his arms wrapped around you like a vice, refusing to let your feet touch the cold ground just yet. He kisses you again—long, tender, slow—as he turns the knob of the shower off. With your legs still wrapped around his hips and his arms still supporting your full weight, he carries you both towards the bed.

"We're still wet," you murmur, lips moving against his collarbone.

"Does it matter?" he grunts. Mingyu settles atop of the pillows, the mattress squeaking beneath him as he pulls you to sit astride his lap. His damp hair falls over his forehead in wild, messy tendrils, but he doesn't seem to mind. "You're just gonna get wet again, anyways."

"Is that so?" You rest your forehead against his, brushing the fallen strands away. Mingyu nods, hands gripping your thighs tight as his thumbs brush in circles on the exposed flesh of your skin.

"Definitely."

The peace shatters at exactly 7:15 a.m.

One moment, you’re tangled in Mingyu's sheets, the faint scent of his laundry detergent and the lingering warmth of his body enveloping you in perfect, drowsy comfort. Your hand is resting flat against his bare, broad chest, feeling the steady, calming beat of his heart.

The next moment, a violent, neon-pink static snaps through your brain.

Your eyes fly open. The cozy, dimly lit bedroom is gone. The soft cotton sheets beneath you instantly morph into the stiff, scratchy fabric of a public bench. The smell of detergent is replaced by the overwhelming scent of chlorine and expensive perfume.

"No," you whisper, your throat tight. "No, please, not yet."

You look down. You’re no longer wearing Mingyu's oversized t-shirt. Instead, you’re clad in a stunning, albeit incredibly impractical, designer tweed skirt suit with pristine white heels.

Directly across from you stands Ara, holding a tray of iced coffees, looking utterly defenseless and doe-eyed. And standing right next to her, looking polished, perfectly coiffed, and completely devoid of his glasses, is Mingyu. He’s wearing his varsity jacket, his posture rigid and towering.

The transition is so violent it makes you nauseous. The physical memory of his touch is still burning on your skin, but your body is already moving against your will. Your spine straightens into a haughty, elegant posture. Your lips curl into a sharp, poisonous smirk.

Above your heads, a massive, glittery pink narration box materializes with a smug hum.

NARRATION: The next morning at the campus cafe, the villainess lays her trap, determined to humiliate Ara in front of the boy she desperately covets...

You try to swallow, but your vocal cords tighten as the Writer takes the reins, violently forcing the script into your mouth.

"Oh, Ara," your voice chimes out, dripping with sickly-sweet venom. "Did you personally brew those coffees, or did you just pick them up from the trash? Because honestly, the aroma matches your outfit today."

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, your mind screams at Ara, but your face remains a mask of flawless, cruel arrogance.

Ara flinches, her eyes immediately welling with tears as she looks up at Mingyu. "I... I just wanted to bring everyone drinks..."

Mingyu's jaw clenches. You see the brief, agonizing flicker of horror in his eyes, the real Mingyu trying to scream through the cracks of his character's programming. He knows exactly what you had just shared hours prior. He doesn't want to do this.

But the Writer's grip is ruthless.

Mingyu steps forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over you. He grabs the iced coffee from Ara's tray and, with a harsh, aggressive movement, slams it down on the table right in front of you, splashing a few drops onto your pristine tweed jacket.

"Keep your mouth shut, Y/N," Mingyu spits, his voice booming with a cold, scripted hatred that makes your stomach violently churn. "Ara has a heart of gold, which is something you wouldn't understand if it bought your family's entire political empire. Stay away from her. You disgust me."

The words feel like a physical blow to your chest. You disgust me. Even knowing it’s the script, the sheer force of his dictated anger cuts through you like a knife.

Your character merely laughs, a sharp, tinkling, villainous sound. "We'll see about that, Mingyu," your mouth drawls, tilting your head up to flash him a mocking wink.

PANEL 1 — CLOSE UP ON MINGYU'S FURIOUS EXPRESSION AS HE TURNS HIS BACK ON THE VILLAINESS, GUIDING A WEEPING ARA AWAY INTO THE SUNLIGHT.

The moment the imaginary camera shifts focus to follow them walking away, the invisible strings snap.

Your smirk collapses. You slump against the cafe bench, trembling violently as you clutch your stomach, dry-heaving from the sheer emotional whiplash. Across the courtyard, you can see Mingyu walking with Ara, his shoulders tightly hunched in that familiar, real-world telltale sign of pure, unadulterated distress.

He can’t look back at you. If he did, the Writer would freeze the panel.

You dig your nails into the wooden bench, staring at the pink narration box as it slowly dissolves into air. The battle for your freedom isn't just a union meeting anymore—it’s survival.

NARRATION: With the dramatic exit of the campus golden boy, the villainess is left alone to stew in her own bitter defeat, unaware that her cruel games are pushing her further into isolation...

"Oh, eat glass," you hiss under your breath, waiting exactly three seconds until the glowing text fully dissolves into the morning air.

The moment the script completely lets go of your muscles, you practically collapse onto the iron table. Your hands are shaking so hard, you almost knock over the remaining iced coffee. The emotional whiplash is a physical ache in your chest. Just hours ago, his hands were warm against your waist under the heavy steam of the shower, pulling you close, whispering that he would never let them take you away. Now, the phantom sting of his scripted words—You disgust me—echoes in your ears like a slap.

You need a drink, a sanctuary, or a very large blunt object to swing at the sky. Lacking all three, you grab your designer bag, haul your aching body out of the cafe courtyard, and head straight for the one place on campus where the shadows were thickest: the back rows of the university library.

"You look like shit." Wonwoo doesn't even look up from his massive, leather-bound textbook as you slide into the beanbag chair next to him, burying your face in your hands.

"Don't start, Wonwoo," you groan, your voice muffled. "I just got violently ripped out of Mingyu's bed at seven in the morning to be dropped into a 'cafeteria confrontation' scene. I told Ara her coffee smelled like garbage and Mingyu told me I was disgusting. My soul has officially left my body."

Wonwoo leans his cheek on his hand, flipping the page. "I know you have feelings for the musclehead, but can you get over yourself for three seconds?"

"Wow. Excuse me for having emotions," you grumble into your hands, flopping backwards into the plush beanbag chair with an undignified huff. "Remind me why I put up with you again?"

"My pretty face," Wonwoo recites by rote, the edges of his lips curling into a trademark smirk that made the characters around you swoon. "It's all the rage."

"Go back to brooding," you grumble, leaning forward again to scan the titles of his mountain of library books.

The library is an oasis of darkness: a cramped, shabby space nestled deep between the science shelves in the most remote corner of campus. Only a couple flickering lamps provide light, barely cutting through the densely packed bookshelves to reach the faded carpet. It’s impossible to spot the back rows from anywhere else in the library, which is exactly how you two like it. The deeper you sink into the stacks, the longer your ability to stay outside of the script lasts, giving you an easy break from being written into the same overused confrontations week after week.

This far from the spotlight of the heroine and the main characters, the university is nothing but a cheap backdrop and a cheap trope. No flashy love triangles or manufactured plot twists can find you here, no matter how brightly the script shines. Just stacks upon stacks of books, no endings necessary. It’s exactly what you need right now.

Wonwoo stares pointedly at your rumpled jacket and messy hair, his fingers absently playing with a ballpoint pen. "So are you going to sit there moping, or are you going to finally address the massive, tooth-rotting sexual tension hanging between us right now?"

You smack his arm hard. "Gross, dude. Not with Mingyu on the brain."

Wonwoo ignores the bruise already blooming on his bicep, cocking an eyebrow. "Are you done lamenting your tragic inability to seduce our token jock? You're crushing my study vibe with that kind of energy."

"Fu–"

"Don't curse in my sacred reading corner."

You close your mouth mid-curse, narrowing your eyes. "Fine, Shakespeare," you say, crossing your arms. "Remind me, why am I even talking to you about this?"

"Because you think I can actually fix it." His eyes flick up towards the dusty fluorescent lights, watching the grime-coated glass buzz with low electricity. After several seconds, his dark gaze shifts towards your face.

"Look," Wonwoo sighs, resting his elbows on top of his piles of reference books. "If there's anyone who understands this shitty situation, it's me. I know you two are dying to break free and bang each other against the nearest wall, but the Writer doesn't care. To her, our misery is hilarious, and she doesn't care what she has to tear apart or write-off to keep making us dance to her tune."

You stare at Wonwoo, his words cutting through the leftover haze of the morning's whiplash. The harsh reality of what Seungkwan had shown you at the Human Rewrite Agency flashes in your mind—the tragic, abandoned draft where you and Mingyu were torn apart by war. The Writer didn't care about your heartbreak then, and she certainly doesn't care now.

"She already tore us apart once," you whisper, the anger in your voice giving way to a hollow, echoing fear. "Seungkwan showed me an old draft. In another story, Mingyu and I were in love, and she just... left us to rot in a tragic ending because it wasn't pulling in enough views."

Wonwoo stops twirling his pen. His boredom completely evaporates, replaced by a sharp, calculating focus. "Wait, seriously?"

"I read all of it." You fidget with your pearl ring, "We never even got a happy ending. And now I'm watching him be the main character again with someone that's not me and get his happy ending. What about me? What about my happy ending?"

He reaches out and squeezes your arm gently. "You will," he promises, and there's something softer and kinder than the Writer's edge in his words.

"I'm not so sure," you whisper. You have to keep swallowing the bitter lump that seems to have taken residence in your throat.

The heavy scent of old paper and dust does little to soothe the burning in your throat. Wonwoo’s hand is still a reassuring weight on your forearm, his usually detached eyes sharp with a quiet, protective anger.

Before he can offer another word of cynical comfort, the heavy wooden doors of the library’s back wing creak open.

Footsteps shatter the silence, heavy, hurried, and completely lacking the synchronized, rhythmic grace the Writer usually forced onto the male lead. A tall figure rounds the corner of the chemistry stacks, nearly tripping over a low-profile stool.

It’s Mingyu.

He has frantically shoved his thick, black-rimmed reading glasses back onto his face, though he’s still wearing the stupidly pristine varsity jacket from the cafe scene. His hair is a wild, unstyled nest from where he had clearly been ripping his hands through it in frustration. The moment his eyes lock onto you huddled in the beanbag chair, the rigid, arrogant mask of his character crumbles entirely.

"Y/N," he pants, stumbling into the narrow aisle. He drops to his knees right in front of your beanbag, not caring about the dust coating his expensive scripted jeans. "Y/N, I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry." His large hands fly to cup your face, his palms warm and trembling violently against your cheeks. "I didn't mean it," he rushes out, his voice cracking, entirely stripped of the booming, confident cadence from the cafe. "The words…the Writer just slammed them into my throat. I tried to swallow them down, I swear to God I tried to choke on them, but the static was too loud. When I said those things to you... when I looked at you like that..." Tears of genuine, unadulterated rage well in his eyes, threatening to spill over his lashes. "I wanted to tear my own tongue out."

Wonwoo slowly retracts his hand from your arm, leaning back into his own chair and crossing his arms. "Take a breath, muscle-head. You're going to trigger a 'jealous outburst' panel if you vibrate any harder."

Mingyu ignores him entirely, his thumbs gently wiping at the stray tear that has finally escaped your eye. "Please tell me you know it wasn't me, Y/N. After last night... after everything... I could never look at you and feel anything but..." He chokes on the word, his ears turning a bright, furious crimson, but he forces himself to look directly into your eyes. "I love you. The real you. I don't care what she writes on the page."

You look at his flushed face, the messy hair, the desperate, unscripted honesty bleeding through his every pore. The phantom sting of 'You disgust me' finally begins to dissolve, replaced by the grounding weight of the boy who belongs to you in the dark.

"I know, Gyu," you whisper, reaching up to wrap your smaller hands around his wrists. "I know it was the script. It just... it gets harder to separate the two when the Writer starts messing with our heads."

Mingyu leans forward, resting his forehead against yours, letting out a long, shuddering breath that fans across your lips. "We're going to break this comic," he swears fiercely against your skin. "I don't care if we have to glitch the entire university into a black screen. We are not letting her rewrite us."

Wonwoo lets out a sharp, rhythmic tapping sound as he collapses his heavy book shut. "If you two are done staging an unscripted melodrama in my designated hiding spot, we actually have a massive problem to deal with."

Mingyu doesn't pull away immediately, giving your hand one final, protective squeeze before shifting to sit cross-legged on the faded carpet. He pushes his glasses up his nose, his broad shoulders slouching into that familiar, un-jock-like posture that belonged strictly to the shadows. "What do you mean, Wonwoo? Besides the fact that the Writer almost turned my brain into mush this morning?"

"Think about it," Wonwoo says, leaning forward and resting his chin on his steepled fingers. "Y/N just found out from Seungkwan that the Writer has a history of abandoning entire universes when they don't get enough traction. She scraps characters. She leaves them to rot in tragic endings." His sharp eyes dart between the two of you. "Right now, the Writer is getting aggressive because we are making the plot unstable. If Mingyu keeps punching narration boxes and glitching out of scripted gym sessions, she’s not just going to keep pushing. She’s going to notice the narrative structure is broken. And what happens when a webtoon creator realizes their project is glitched beyond repair?"

The air in the narrow aisle suddenly feels incredibly cold.

"She deletes the file," you whisper, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your designer tweed skirt. "She scraps the comic and starts a new one."

"Exactly," Wonwoo points at you with his pen. "Except this time, we’re self-aware. If she hits delete, do we just wake up in a new story with our memories wiped, or do we fade into the white space permanently?"

Mingyu’s jaw sets, his gaze hardening as he looks up at the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. "So Seungkwan was right. We can't just blatantly refuse to play our roles. We have to walk the line. We act out the scenes, we take the stupid scripted dialogue, but we use the shadows to build something she can't touch." He reaches out, his massive palm covering yours entirely. "We play along just enough to keep the comic alive, while we figure out a way to break the fourth wall completely from the inside."

Before you can respond, a low, ominous vibration thrums through the soles of your feet. The library shelves seems to flicker, the titles on the spines blurring into illegible streaks of color for a fraction of a second.

A neon-pink glow begins to manifest near the ceiling of the aisle, pulsing like a dying star.

"Fuck," Wonwoo mutters, instantly scrambling to his feet and shoving his textbook into his bag. "Spoke too soon. Stage lights are coming up. Must be a heroine spotlight."

The pink glow intensifies, bathing the dusty library aisle in an artificial, sickly light that makes the air feel thick and pressurized. You, Mingyu, and Wonwoo scramble as the scene begins to materialize around you, the reality of the library walls warping like melting wax.

PANEL 1 — THE LIBRARY AISLE, SUDDENLY OVERFLOWING WITH SOFT, ROMANTIC FILTERING.

Lee Ara appears at the far end of the row, holding a stack of books and looking around with an expression of "lost and adorable" perfection. She catches sight of the three of you, her eyes widening in a scripted, dramatic reveal.

NARRATION: A quiet moment of study turns into a chance encounter, as Ara discovers the trio in their secret, brooding corner...

"Oh!" Ara exclaims, her voice unnaturally bright and rehearsed. "I didn't know you guys were all back here together!"

You feel the familiar, sickening lurch in your chest as the Writer takes hold of your internal monologue, turning your genuine affection for your friends into a sharp, jagged envy.

"Well, it's a library, Ara," you say, your voice dripping with an acid-tongued condescension that makes your skin crawl. "It’s supposed to be for studying, not for wandering around like a lost puppy looking for attention."

Ara’s lower lip trembles—the perfect, predictable response. Beside you, Mingyu stiffens, his fingers digging into his knees to keep from lunging toward her to apologize. His face, however, is forced into a mask of cold, dismissive indifference that mirrors your own.

"Y/N, leave her alone," Mingyu says, his voice flat and monotone, devoid of his usual warmth. "She’s just trying to find a quiet place to read."

"Oh, please," you roll your eyes, a gesture that feels heavy and robotic. "Don't tell me you're actually falling for the 'innocent, studious heroine' routine, Mingyu? We both know she couldn't tell the difference between a textbook and a magazine if her life depended on it."

Ara gasps, clutching the books to her chest as if you'd physically struck her. You want to scream, to reach out and tell her that you actually like her, that you’ve helped her study before, but your mouth is locked in its scripted cruelty.

"I... I really just wanted to return these," Ara whispers, her gaze darting to Mingyu for salvation.

NARRATION: The tension crackles as the hero steps forward to defend the maiden, his eyes burning with a sudden, intense fury.

Mingyu stands up, his movements stiff as he performs the role of the knight in shining armor. "I said, that's enough," he hisses, stepping directly into your personal space. "Go back to your little clique of sycophants and leave her out of your drama."

You meet his gaze, and for one desperate, fleeting second, the Writer's hold falters. In the depths of his eyes, you see the real Mingyu—the one who spent the night in your bed, the one who promised to protect you. He’s terrified for you, pleading with you to play along before the Writer notices the glitch and tries to delete you entirely.

You force a sharp, cold laugh, stepping back and brushing past him with deliberate, insulting intent. "You’re right, Mingyu," you snap, your voice echoing with a synthetic bitterness that makes your stomach churn. "I’m wasting my time here. It’s hard to have a conversation when the room is being occupied by, well, this." You gesture vaguely toward Ara with a hand that is shaking, though the narration box hovering above you works overtime to frame your tremor as a sign of haughty impatience.

PANEL 2 — MINGYU, ARA, AND YOU STARING EACH OTHER DOWN

Ara looks hurt, her lip wobbling just enough to satisfy the panel's requirements. Mingyu stands motionless, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides. The narration box pulses a violent shade of fuchsia, hungry for the conflict to escalate.

NARRATION: The villainess turns on her heel, her heart cold and empty, unaware that her cruel words have finally pushed the golden boy past his breaking point.

"Don't you dare walk away," Mingyu barks. He grabs your arm, his fingers dig into your skin, hard. "You think you’re so much better than everyone, don't you? Always plotting, always hiding."

You spin back around, your face arranging itself into a sneer that you despise, but your eyes meet his, and you transmit every ounce of your reality into that look. Play the game, you idiot. Just play the game.

"And what if I am?" you hiss, pulling your arm away with a sharp, calculated motion. "At least I know what I am, Mingyu. I know what I want. Do you?"

PANEL 3 — CLOSE UP ON MINGYU'S FACE

His expression is a masterpiece of conflicting emotions—the mask of the "angry lead" clashing with the raw, terrified honesty in his eyes. He looks like he’s trying to swallow a scream.

"You don't know a damn thing," Mingyu growls, but the cadence is off—strained and jagged. He steps closer, closing the distance until his chest brushes your shoulder. The smell of his laundry detergent—a scent that belongs to your apartment, not this scripted reality—wafts off him, a sharp reminder of the night before.

NARRATION: The air thickens with unspoken malice as the hero confronts the villainess, his heart firmly tethered to the heroine’s purity.

"Is that so?" you retort, your voice perfectly, hatefully smooth. You reach out, your fingers hovering over the lapel of his varsity jacket, tracing the embroidered school crest. "Because it looks to me like you're just playing house, Mingyu. Pretending this—" you gesture vaguely toward Ara, who is hovering in the background like a confused prop—"pretending this is your whole world."

Ara lets out a small, high-pitched noise of distress. "Mingyu, please... she's not worth it."

"See?" You tilt your head, a saccharine, patronizing smile plastered on your lips. "She's worried about your reputation. How noble."

PANEL 4 — WIDE SHOT: THE THREE OF YOU IN THE AISLE

The library shelves seem to press inward, the lighting turning a harsh, over-saturated studio white. Wonwoo is still sitting in the beanbag chair, his back turned, studiously ignoring the scene. He’s the only smart one here. He knows better than to break character when the narration is this aggressive.

Mingyu’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist again.

PANEL 5 — CLOSE-UP ON MINGYU’S GRIP.

His fingers wrap tightly around your wrist, executing the exact visual cue the script demands. But beneath the forced, white-knuckled aggression, you feel his thumb press twice against your pulse point—a quiet, unscripted reassurance meant only for you.

"You think you can just trample over everyone because of who your family is?" Mingyu barks, his voice laced with that booming, heroic resonance that makes your stomach turn. "You don't own this campus, Y/N. And you certainly don't own her."

The words sting, but Seungkwan's advice echoes in your mind: Do your part. Take the dialogue and try not to gag. You have to keep the plot moving, or the Writer will realize the file is glitched and scrap your entire universe.

PANEL 6 — PROFILE SHOT: YOU, LEANING IN.

Your body moves on autopilot, tilting your chin up with elegant, villainous haughtiness. You lean directly into his personal space, your nose inches from his varsity jacket, smelling the real-world scent of his laundry detergent beneath the fake studio lights. "Oh, is that a threat, Mingyu? Because you know how much I love it when you get all big and protective."

Ara lets out a soft, scripted gasp in the background, her doe eyes wide with predictable horror.

PANEL 7 — EXTRA WIDE: THE LIBRARY AISLE GLITCHES.

A violent wave of neon-pink static ripples through the air, causing the wooden bookshelves to warp and blur like melting digital wax. The Writer is pushing back, furious at the underlying friction of your true feelings breaking through the rigid script.

NARRATION: Fed up with her pathetic, desperate games, the golden boy casts her aside, completely severing the toxic ties of their childhood...

Mingyu’s arm jerks violently under the Writer's command. He is forced to throw your hand back, but as the invisible strings yank his muscles, he fights the momentum, letting go with a desperate gentleness that completely contradicts the narration's harsh script. A tiny spark of pink electricity pops between your palms as your fingers slip apart.

"Let's go, Ara," Mingyu mutters. His voice is heavy, carrying a deep, real-world exhaustion that the text bubbles try to disguise as righteous anger. He turns on his heel, guiding a trembling Ara out of the dimly lit aisle and back toward the safety of the main campus floor.

You watch as he leaves, sinking to the floor with a sick sense of relief when the footsteps fade. This scene is over. At least for now.

PANEL 1 — WIDE SHOT: THE CAMPUS BALLROOM

A massive banner overhead reads: ANNUAL CARAT U FOUNDER’S DAY GALA. Students are scurrying around carrying towers of pastel boxes, flower arrangements, and expensive silk ribbons. The lighting is an aggressive, over-saturated pink.

NARRATION: As the highly anticipated Founder’s Day Gala approaches, the campus is alive with romantic tension and sparkling anticipation...

PANEL 2 — CLOSE UP ON YOU.

You're leaning against a wall, elegantly dressed in a long form fitting gown, the slit climbing scandalously high. Your arms are crossed, but your fingers are restlessly spinning the pearl ring on your hand.

“A gala,” you whisper under your breath, your eyes tracking a floating pink narration box hovering near a pile of stage props. “Of course there's a gala. Because what's a cheap rom-com without a dramatic ballroom confrontation?”

The narration box twitches, sending a tiny jolt of pink static through the air.

NARRATION: ...and our scheming villainess can already smell the sweet scent of a perfectly orchestrated sabotage.

“Keep dreaming, you neon eyesore,” you mutter, stepping into the shadow of a large marble pillar to get out of the spotlight before your mouth is hijacked again.

The physical toll of the library scene from yesterday still lingers like a deep bruise. Every time you or Mingyu fight the invisible puppet strings, the static gets louder, threatening to tear the fabric of your reality apart at the seams.

Mingyu approaches you, completely in his "on-page" element, wearing a tailored navy suit that highlights his broad shoulders, his dark hair slicked back perfectly. But as he steps into the shade of the pillar next to you, his posture slumps into a familiar, exhausted slouch.

"Tell me you brought snacks," Mingyu mumbles, the booming confidence of his male-lead voice dropping into a tired, rough-around-the-edges whisper. "The Writer made me carry three ice sculptures across the plaza for the Gala committee. My hands are literally numb."

You can't help but smile, your fingers instantly reaching out to catch his cold hands. "No snacks, Gyu. Just a whole lot of scripted doom." You nod toward the hovering pink narration box. "It’s already setting me up to ruin the Gala."

Mingyu squeezes your hands, his dark eyes softening behind his invisible programming. "We play along just enough to keep the file from being deleted, remember? We take the dialogue. But the moment the panel freezes..." He leans down, his forehead briefly resting against yours, sending a wave of genuine warmth through the freezing morning air. "The shadows are ours."

The room is a sickeningly opulent display of crystal chandeliers, cascading white roses, and soft pastel lighting. Couples are gliding across the dance floor in perfect, symmetrical harmony.

NARRATION: The night of nights! Under the shimmering chandeliers of the Founder's Gala, destiny takes the floor...

PANEL 3 — CLOSE UP ON ARA.

She is wearing a massive, glitter-drenched ballgown that looks completely impossible to walk in. She stands near the punch bowl, looking beautifully overwhelmed.

PANEL 4 — YOU STEP INTO THE FRAME.

Your body suddenly locks into a rigid, elegant posture. Your lips curl into a poisonous, calculating smirk as the Writer violently takes the reins of your jaw.

"Oh, Ara," your mouth chimes out, dripping with venomous condescension. "Did you dress up as a literal disco ball tonight, or are you just trying to ensure the security guards can track you when you inevitably spill punch on yourself?"

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, your mind screams, but your face remains a mask of flawless, aristocratic cruelty.

Ara flinches, her doe eyes instantly welling with tears. "Y/N... I just wanted to dress up for the school..."

PANEL 5 — MINGYU INTERVENES.

Mingyu strides into the panel, his chest puffed out, stepping directly between you and Ara. His jaw is clenched so tightly a vein pulses at his temple. The real Mingyu trying to fight the static screaming in his brain.

"That's enough, Y/N," Mingyu barks, his scripted voice booming with cold, righteous anger. "Your family's money can't buy a single drop of the grace Ara has in her pinky finger. Leave her alone, or I'll personally have security throw you out."

The words sting like a physical slap, but beneath the table line, where the panel cuts off, Mingyu’s hand blindly reaches out, his thumb pressing twice against your thigh in the dark, the quiet, unscripted code you shared in the library. I'm here. I love you.

"We'll see who gets thrown out, Mingyu," your character drawls, tilting your head to flash him a haughty, mocking wink before turning on your heel.

PANEL 6 — EXTRA WIDE: THE BALLROOM LIGHTS SUDDENLY FLICKER.

A violent, jagged wave of neon-pink static rips through the chandeliers. The crystal ornaments warp into pixelated blocks, and a low, digital hum vibrates through the floorboards. The Writer is panicking; the underlying friction of your true feelings is destabilizing the scene.

NARRATION: Driven to the edge by the villainess's relentless malice, the golden boy sweeps the pure maiden into a dramatic waltz, completely erasing the shadow of his past...

The moment the imaginary camera shifts to focus on Mingyu and Ara's waltz, you make your way to the back rooms. You collapse against the backstage vanity mirror, gasping for air as you clutch your stomach, trembling from the sheer emotional whiplash. The door clicks open, and Wonwoo slips inside, his bowtie completely undone, carrying a pair of flat sneakers and a stolen plate of pastries.

"The chandeliers almost turned into literal missing-texture blocks out there," Wonwoo says flatly, tossing the sneakers at your feet. "You and the muscle-head are vibrating at a frequency that's going to get us all format-clipped."

"I know," you whisper, wiping a genuine tear of frustration from your eye. "But we kept the scene moving. We gave her the confrontation she wanted."

The door bursts open again. Mingyu stumbles in, completely out of breath. He doesn't say a word; he just strides across the room, drops to his knees, and buries his face in your lap, his massive arms wrapping around your waist like a vice.

"I hated it," he chokes out, his voice rough and stripped of all comic-book arrogance. "I hated every word."

You run your fingers through his messy, unstyled hair, leaning down to press a soft, fierce kiss against his crown. "Shadows," you whisper, and his arms tighten, his nails digging into the skin of your back with a desperate urgency. "In the shadows, it's just us."

"Okay lovebirds." Wonwoo places the plate of food on top of the vanity and quickly turns to leave. "Enjoy the physical expressions of love or whatever. I'll keep an eye out on things outside."

You gently scratch your fingers across Mingyu's scalp. "Gyu, get something in your stomach," you gently urge. "You're gonna be numb again if you don't eat."

"I hate this stupid webcomic," Mingyu mumbles, his nose buried in the satin of your gown.

"I hate this stupid story just as much," you mutter. "But hey, at least we're trapped together." You pick up a macaron off the plate and offer it to him. He obediently lifts his head and takes a bite, chewing while his arms are still stubbornly clamped around your waist.

"Marry me when all this is over," Mingyu says in his rough-around-the-edges delivery, only halfway kidding as he wraps his mouth around the dessert.

You laugh. "Why me? Why not the bubbly protagonist who's guaranteed to give you a happy ending?"

"Baby," Mingyu chuckles, resting his chin on your knee, his big, earnest eyes staring up at you. "You and I already know what the ending looks like."

"And what's that?" you ask, absentmindedly twisting the ring around your finger.

"This," Mingyu whispers, sitting upright and pulling you into his lap to steal a kiss, his lips sweetly smiling against your mouth. "This and everything else that comes with it."

"Yeah? And what does everything else consist of? Inquiring minds want to know," you say with a playful quirk of your eyebrow.

Mingyu slides his hand down from your shoulder to the soft curve of your hip, "Hmm...in bed. The shower. In our actual homes. Everywhere. Everyday."

"Anywhere, huh?"

Mingyu smiles again, warm and perfect and unafraid. "Anywhere. Anytime."

"And if I said right now?" you whisper.

His fingers tangle in your hair. "Baby," he teases, nipping at your lower lip. "Right here?" Mingyu murmured, his voice dropping into that rough, unfiltered register that the Writer never let the audience hear. "With Wonwoo playing look-out outside, and the entire digital universe vibrating like a faulty circuit board?"

"Especially right now," you breathed, your fingers hooking into the lapel of his tailored navy suit jacket, tugging it off his broad shoulders. "Because every time she forces you to tell me I disgust you out there, I need a reminder of what the truth feels like in here."

Mingyu drops to his knees on the floor, his fingers sliding along the slit of your long, tailored gown. "And what does the truth feel like, love?" he whispered, kissing the side of your knee through the fabric.

"It feels like this," you manage, moving his hand up higher under the shimmering satin. "Here..." you gently guided the tip of his fingers where you needed them. "Like this, Gyu."

"Fuck, Y/N," he groans, his warm breath against your skin. "You drive me crazy every damn time."

You gasp when he pushes your dress up higher, lips dragging across your skin as his mouth makes a path to where you needed him most. "Gyu..." you shudder out his name, your hands gripping his soft hair tightly, encouraging him closer.

"Every day," he rasped. "For as long as this webtoon runs and even after, Y/N, I'll make you feel like this. Love or not, script or not, I'm yours. Got it?."

"Got it. Understood," you murmur, tugging on the ends of his hair again. Mingyu's teeth nip at the flesh of your inner thigh, the light sting sending a jolt of heat up through your core. "Now stop teasing me, please," you whisper. "Show me what that talented tongue does. Show me."

Mingyu obeys, dragging your silky black underwear down and then placing an open-mouthed, hungry kiss where you want him the most, the flat of his tongue tasting you eagerly, the low groan from his throat making your breath catch.

"Mingyu," you moan, feeling him lift one of your legs, settling it over his broad shoulder.

His teeth scrape lightly on the bundle of nerves, your mouth dropping open, a high, wanton sigh escaping your lips as he dips a finger, sliding in gently. You tug again at the strands of his soft hair, desperately rocking against his face, and you can feel him smile.

"More, baby, please," you begged, lost in how good it felt. You wanted to make you lose yourself, forget about the damn story and the Writer and Ara and everything.

Mingyu slides a second finger into you, curving them at the precise angle that he knows drives you crazy, and you start to see stars, your spine arching, mouth forming a silent moan. He goes faster, deeper, his mouth devouring every inch, and he fucks you perfectly with his fingers until you feel nothing but euphoria.

"Please," you beg, your fingers grasping his hair roughly, tugging insistently. Mingyu leans in again, his tongue curling against your clit, and your thighs quake as the heat pools in your lower belly and then snaps in a wave. You come against his mouth with a hoarse, barely-muted cry, the feeling rippling through you, eyes rolling to the ceiling, mouth open in ecstasy. "Oh god. Yes!" you gasp as Mingyu slows his pace, sliding his fingers out and sucking the tip of his fingers clean, licking his lips, because fuck it, Mingyu can have dessert twice if he wants.

"Jesus," he breathes as your mind blanks momentarily from the intensity of your climax. He wraps his arm around your waist again, tugging you even closer. He rests his head against your belly, fingers curling possessively around your hip. "Baby, do you feel better now?"

You smirk, holding him close, gently raking your fingers through his silky locks, inhaling sharply. "As if I could feel bad with a tongue like yours working magic down there."

"It's not just my tongue, sweetheart," Mingyu teased. "There's this, too." He looks down at his very prominent erection that you could see straining against his perfectly tailored pants and wiggles his eyebrows.

"Hmm...now how did that get there," you smirk, sliding the tip of your finger along his bottom lip. "You have an extra, extra appendage. Gyu."

"I always carry it with me wherever I go," he says, getting up to his feet again, wrapping his arm tighter around your waist. "Just in case my girlfriend needs a reminder that her boyfriend loves her."

You lean up to press your mouth against his, kissing him passionately, humming softly into it. "Always." you murmured before cupping his cheeks and smiling up at him. "Now, show me what your extra, extra appendage does. Gyu. Please."

Before he can reach for his belt, Wonwoo knocks on the door, yelling, "Hey lovebirds, the narration box is zooming around, looking for one of you. Chop-chop! This isn't the time."

You untangled your arms from around him, smoothing a hand down his jaw and giving it a tender pat, grinning. "Let's save that for later."

He grabs the back of your head and gives you another searing kiss before growling, "To be continued, sweetheart."

"Love you," you smiled, linking your hand into his as you head back to the ballroom to face your fated moment again.

Mingyu looks over his shoulder, lips forming the same words silently, "I love you, too, baby."

PANEL 1 — MEDIUM SHOT: THE BALLROOM THRESHOLD.

The studio lights hitting the edge of the door frame are an aggressive, glittering gold. The air pressure changes instantly as the heavy oak door opens. The heavy scent of rain and soap from the backstage floor evaporates, replaced by the suffocating smell of expensive champagne and rosewater.

Your posture snaps straight like a steel rod being bent back into place. Your hand slips from Mingyu's warm grip just a millisecond before the invisible camera lens pans over to find you.

NARRATION: Driven by bitter resentment, the disgraced queen returns to the floor, her eyes searching for the perfect weapon to mend her broken pride...

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings," you whisper out of the very side of your mouth, the real you desperately trying to warn the boy beside you before your vocal cords lock up completely.

Mingyu’s jaw hitches. His eyes flash with that terrifying, real-world panic, but his body is already turning away from you, his shoulders broadening into the stiff, unnatural stance of the defensive male lead. "Do it. Just make it look real so she doesn't freeze the canvas."

PANEL 2 — CLOSE UP ON YOU.

Your face twists into a flawless, venomous sneer that feels entirely alien on your skin.

"Oh, look who decided to rejoin the living," your voice chimes out, loud enough to turn heads near the VIP lounges. "Did you finally finish playing white knight, Mingyu, or is your little charity case still crying in the restroom?"

Ara is standing just past the fountain, clutching a silk shawl. Her eyes go wide, perfectly timed tears gathering right on her lower lashes.

"Y/N, please," Ara stammers, her script forcing her to sound small and defenseless. "Why do you have to be so cruel?"

"Because someone has to keep this campus realistic, sweetie," your mouth sneers, your hand lifting to dismissively wave her away. "This entire event is high society. You look like you stumbled in from a local thrift bazaar."

PANEL 3 — MINGYU STEPS IN, FURIOUS.

Mingyu plants himself right in your path. The sheer size of his scripted frame blocks out the light, casting a long shadow across your designer gown.

"I told you to watch your mouth, Y/N," he roars, the text bubble cutting sharply across the top of the panel. He grabs your wrist, his grip visually harsh, mimicking the exact toxic trope the Writer loves.

But against the hidden skin of your inner wrist, his thumb presses down firmly twice. I've got you. Hold on.

"Ara belongs here more than you ever will," Mingyu snarls, his eyes burning with an artificial fury. "Get out of our sight before I show you exactly how meaningless your family's influence is to me."

PANEL 4 — EXTRA WIDE SHOT: THE COMIC GLITCHES.

The entire ballroom floor shudders. The edges of the panel begin to fray, the pristine marble texture dissolving into digital white space for a terrifying, split second. The neon-pink narration box hovers directly between your faces, vibrating violently as if it can taste the immense friction of your true feelings tearing at the script.

NARRATION: With one final, devastating rejection, the golden boy completely shatters the villainess's illusions, leaving her utterly—

The text suddenly halts. The glowing pink letters begin to scramble into nonsensical digital noise.

Error 404: Narrative Flow Disrupted.

"What the..." Wonwoo’s voice cuts through the static from the edge of the frame. He isn't supposed to speak in this panel, but he’s standing near the punch bowl, his reading glasses on, staring up at the ceiling as the digital sky of the webtoon begins to crack like glass.

"Mingyu," you gasp, and this time, it’s your voice. The puppet strings have gone completely slack. Your wrist is free.

The entire student body—the faceless extras, the track team, even Ara—freezes mid-motion, their expressions locked into rigid, unblinking stasis. The music stops dead.

PANEL 5 — THE SHADOWS EXPAND.

Mingyu doesn't hesitate. The second the script breaks, he grabs your hand for real, pulling you toward the edge of the collapsing ballroom floor where the white space is actively swallowing the pastel decorations.

"The Writer lost control," Mingyu pants, his varsity jacket instantly vanishing, replaced by his oversized, threadbare hoodie as reality completely destabilizes. "Wonwoo! Move!"

"Way ahead of you, muscle-head," Wonwoo grunts, sprinting past the frozen, statue-like form of Ara and diving straight into the expanding darkness of the unwritten pages.

You look back one last time as the neon-pink narration box shatters into a million harmless, glittering shards. The clichéd university, the forced love triangles, the malicious dialogues—they are all dissolving into blank canvas.

"We did it," you breathe, your heart hammering against your ribs as Mingyu pulls you flush against his chest in the pitch-black safety of the void. "We actually broke the plot."

Mingyu looks down at you, his glasses sliding down his nose, a brilliant, lopsided, unscripted smile taking over his face.

"I told you," he whispers, his lips finding yours in the quiet, absolute freedom of the white space. "Everywhere. Anytime. From now on, we write our own story."

An endless, blindingly pristine field of pure white extends in every direction. There are no walls, no floors, and no horizons. Floating randomly in the distance are discarded sketches of coffee cups, fragmented lines of dialogue bubbles, and half-rendered cherry blossom petals frozen mid-air.

You and Mingyu are sitting cross-legged on the nonexistent floor, your hands still tightly intertwined. A few feet away, Wonwoo is lying flat on his back, using a stack of unwritten text boxes as a makeshift pillow.

"So," Wonwoo says, his voice echoing in the vast emptiness. "We successfully glitched the file into a total system crash. Congratulations, team. We are officially unemployed."

"Shut up, Wonwoo," you laugh, leaning your head against Mingyu's shoulder. The sheer relief of not having a script forced into your throat is intoxicating. Your jaw doesn't ache. Your smile doesn't feel like a weapon. You are just you.

"He's right, though," Mingyu murmurs, his large fingers gently tracing the knuckles of your hand. He looks down at you through his black-rimmed glasses, his eyes completely soft and grounded. "The Writer is definitely trying to reboot the program right now. I can feel the static humming in the back of my neck. It’s faint, but it’s there."

The pristine white space beneath your feet vibrates violently. A jagged line of neon-pink code tears through the emptiness, splitting the void right down the middle like a glowing neon scar. The faint hum at the back of Mingyu’s neck suddenly turns into an aggressive, crackling roar of static.

"She's rebooting," Wonwoo barks, his calm demeanor snapping instantly. He scrambles off his stack of text boxes as the tear in the white space began to flicker wildly. "The backup save is initializing! If that code closes around us, we’re going right back to the chandeliers and the damn waltz!"

"Not happening," Mingyu growls. He doesn’t wait for the script to claim his muscles. He lunges forward, throwing his massive arm around your waist and scooping you up against his chest, his other hand locking firmly onto Wonwoo’s jacket. "Hold on!"

The white space around you begins to warp, trying to force the textures of the Founder's Gala back into existence. For a terrifying fraction of a second, the tailored gown manifests over your skin, and the phantom smell of rosewater fills your nose. Your jaw begins to stiffen, a scripted, arrogant laugh bubbling up in your throat.

No. You won't say it. You bite your lip until the taste of iron breaks the illusion.

With a roaring effort, Mingyu throws all three of you forward, diving headfirst into the flickering, dark tear in the canvas just as a massive, neon-pink command prompt filled the sky:

RESTORING CORRUPTED FILE: VOLUME 4_FINAL.

You plummet through the darkness, the sensation of falling giving way to a sudden, hard impact against a surprisingly plush carpet.

"Oof—muscle-head, get your knee out of my ribs," Wonwoo groans from somewhere beneath a pile of limbs.

"Sorry, sorry!" Mingyu pants, frantically scrambling up and immediately pulling you to your feet. He cups your face, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Y/N! Are you back? Are you you?"

You blink, shaking the last remnants of the pink static from your head. You look down. You’re wearing your favorite oversized hoodie and a pair of worn-out sweatpants. Your face is entirely yours. Your jaw is loose, completely free of the Writer’s venomous strings.

"I'm here," you breathe, throwing your arms around his neck. "I'm entirely here."

"Ahem." A polite, cheerful throat-clearing cuts through your frantic breathing. You turn your head to see Boo Seungkwan leaning over a sleek mahogany desk, a mug of hot coffee in his hand and a brilliant, knowing smirk on his face. Behind him, Joshua and Vernon are frantically typing on glowing, transparent keyboards, routing lines of blue code away from a localized server. "Right on time, Union Team," Seungkwan cheers, setting his mug down. "We just intercepted your data packets before the Writer's backup save could overwrite your awareness nodes. Welcome to the permanent grid of the Human Rewrite Agency."

Wonwoo stands up, dusting off his pants and pushing his glasses up his nose. "So we're safe? The file can't reach us here?"

"The Writer thinks your characters were permanently corrupted and deleted from the save file," Vernon chimes in without looking up from his screen. "She's currently drawing a new villainess with a bob cut and a generic mean-girl backstory to replace you in her rewrite for Volume 4. You three are officially off the registry."

A profound, breathtaking silence settles over you. Off the registry. No more floating narration boxes. No more forced backhanded compliments. No more watching the love of your life play a role meant for someone else.

Mingyu lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob, burying his face into the crook of your neck, his massive frame shaking with pure relief. "We did it," he whispers against your skin, his hands gripping the fabric of your hoodie as if he still couldn't believe you wouldn't vanish into a panel shift. "We actually did it, baby."

You comb your fingers through his messy, unstyled hair, looking over his shoulder at the vast, bustling network of the shadows. In the distance, characters from a dozen different genres are laughing, drinking at a local bar, and writing their own unscripted lives.

"Yeah, we did," you murmur, a genuine, radiant smile breaking across your face as you leaned up to press your lips against his. "Now, come on, Gyu. I believe you promised me a very specific, completely unscripted continuation to a certain conversation backstage."

Mingyu pulls back, his crimson ears perfectly matching the brilliant, lopsided, boyish grin that belongs entirely to you. "Anywhere," he promises, his eyes deep and full of a quiet, everlasting warmth. "Anytime."

"But first, you'll need to find a new home here and meet other self-aware characters," Joshua pipes up, "You can always make this place a new home and help others like you, but—"

Seungkwan swats Joshua's arm, a huge smile on his face. "What Joshua is trying to say," Seungkwan proclaimed, "is you can stay here at HRA with us."

"There's more to the HRA than this building," Vernon speaks up. "There is a whole world you can discover."

You take the information with open arms. It may be unfamiliar, and maybe you'll have to rewrite an entirely new existence, but with Mingyu at your side, there's no fear in taking a step forward with confidence. With his fingers intertwined with yours, it feels like there's nothing the two of you can't do.

"Alright. Where do we go from here?" Mingyu asks as if he can read your mind.

"That is the million won question," You joke. Mingyu snickers, knowing what you mean. You can't afford a million won, that's what is hilarious about it. You still feel like living here for free and meeting new characters might be something you like. Not because you have to, because it is actually exciting.

Maybe things are starting to look up? You just hope The Writer has more drama planned. Maybe they'll go on hiatus and the world will shift towards an existence you want.

There is something freeing about being a character without a script. It takes more energy than living your life following the order of a Writer, but you're less miserable, and you think Mingyu agrees because even with his usual distaste for exercise and work, his smile is brighter.

Mingyu swings your hand in his grasp playfully, his shoulders less slouched and he stands taller. "What next then?"

"What next? You tell me," You challenge playfully. "After all, you are my male lead. You were written with great ideas, weren't you?"

Hyunjin grinned bashfully at him.

‘I just wanna see who’s got Changbin’s balls in a twist like that. By the way, why did you say it’s not the case?’

Seungmin rolled his eyes as Hyunjin jumped back to the previous topic again.

‘Look, half of the girls in here would gladly spend the night with you. Don’t bother normal people who have standards with your bullshit. As far as I know, she’s rejected everyone who has ever tried hitting on her. I guess she doesn’t want to date someone from uni. Or at all. Either way, peace out.’

Hyunjin didn’t care much about his friend leaving as his mind was occupied with something else entirely. He was genuinely curious what kind of a unicorn you were, and Seungmin’s annoyed reaction to his inquiries only made it more enticing.

Deep in his thoughts, he returned to the counter to get another drink.

A familiar voice called after him.

‘Oppa!’

He turned around, and someone dressed as a forest nymph almost ran into his chest. He quickly realized that the smaller figure belonged to Ryujin, whom he had known from the dance classes he took back in high school.

‘Cool outfit,’ she praised, biting her lower lip. ‘You look hot, oppa.’ She added, playing coy.

He didn’t have much of an outfit going on, just a pair of black jeans, a loose burgundy shirt he unbuttoned quite generously, some jewelry and red contacts on top of that. He didn’t need much to pull off a vampire look tonight.

‘Thanks,’ he murmured, ignoring her flirtatious presence. ‘What’s up?’

‘Not much,’ she followed him to the bar and made an order. ‘Just trying to have some fun.’

Hyunjin nodded, barely registering her voice.

‘Ah, Ryujin-ah…’ He suddenly jumped out of his thoughts. ‘You’re majoring in psychology, aren’t you?’

‘I am. Why?’ She leaned in, misunderstanding his premise.

‘Do you know that sunbae... the one who used to be in economics?’ He asked, taking his lollipop out of his mouth and rolling the stick between his fingers.

She froze, surprised by his random question.

‘You mean… Y/N eonni?’

Y/N. Hyunjin repeated your name in his mind to commit it to memory.

‘Have you seen her around?’

‘Uh, yeah,’ she replied, still confused. ‘She’s over there.’

Hyunjin’s eyes flicked to where she was pointing immediately. He searched the area, taking in the females in his line of vision.

‘The one wearing the crazy ass stilettos?’

‘No… That’s Seoyeon eonni, the friend who probably dragged her here. The other one is Y/N eonni.’

The vampire-like eyes swept across your figure intently.

‘The tiny one wearing platformed sneakers?’

‘She’s not tiny, it’s just ‘cause Seoyeon eonni is super tall in those shoes… Why are you asking about her all of a sudden, oppa?’

‘No reason,’ Hyunjin murmured.

There was something interesting about you, and he could not pin it down. Maybe it was the fact that everyone was so pointedly perplexed by his curiosity about you that was intriguing him even more.

‘See you around,’ he muttered, noticing that you drifted away from your friend group to renew your drink.

It was a great opportunity to see the noona who rejected Changbin so coldly up close.

‘Oppa, wait!’ Ryujin caught him by the sleeve. ‘Weren’t you getting a drink?’

‘You can have it,’ he shrugged, popping his candy back into his mouth before turning around and continuing to stride in the direction where you’d just disappeared.

He soon located you at another bar counter, which looked a bit deserted. Waltzing there as nonchalantly as he could, he took the bar stool right next to you, not caring for a second that there were at least half a dozen empty spots at this counter. You stopped rubbing your ankle and looked up at the person who disturbed you by almost bumping his knees into yours.

‘That must hurt… Mrs Addams?’ He assumed from your black outfit.

You gave him a slow onceover before your eyes reached his face. Hyunjin licked his lips, not seeing the usual spark of interest there at all.

‘Maleficent.’

‘Oh, that’s a nasty one. But you didn’t make it obvious with the lack of horns and wings… Well, horns at least,’ he smirked in the most charming way he could.

But you… rolled your eyes.

‘You’re right. Came in too cheesy.’ He quickly recovered, offering a bashful, ‘Let’s start over. I’m Hyunjin, by the way.’

‘And… who might you be, Hyunjin?’ You asked, looking him straight in his red irises.

‘I, uh- A vampire?’ He replied, sounding a bit less confident than he planned.

‘You don’t seem too sure about that.’

He swallowed, almost panicking at the thought that you might give him the harsh refusal just like you did to Changbin earlier. This was truthfully not part of his plan for tonight.

‘It’s Y/N. And you might want to lay off the candy before your teeth start to rot,’ you chuckled, getting off your chair.

‘It’s nice to meet yo-’

‘Hyunjin? Don’t talk to me.’ You turned away again, walking back to your friends.

He was just kicked to the curb. But why did it feel so exciting?

***

Hyunjin could not stop smirking all night. He wasn’t sure why it was, but he was sure of one thing – he did not repeat his friend’s unfortunate fate. Yes, you sort of turned him down. Yes, you walked away and told him to quit talking to you.

But that was different. The way he saw it, that was just playful banter, some push-and-pull, if you will. He definitely had your attention there, even if for a fleeting moment. And now he was determined to have it again, when the timing was right.

It wasn’t usual for Hyunjin to be so eager though. Yes, he’d had opportunities to put his ‘hunter’ nature to the test when he wanted to woo certain girls. But he clocked his goal from the very beginning and went for it without hesitation, as it was a short-term one anyway. This time… he hadn’t a clue of what his end goal was. But the act of play you only engaged with him in for a minute had him excited for more. All of a sudden, tonight of all nights, you became the most interesting person in his proximity.

So he spent it replaying your dialogue in his head, while rolling the lollipop on his tongue and ditching boring conversations with other fellow students. He wasn’t in the mood for their advances. He was a man on a mission, despite seemingly chilling atop of a bar stool.

‘Y/N-aaaah!’

Hyunjin turned his attention to the source of the obnoxiously loud exclamation.

His eyes slowly glided down a tall figure, which definitely belonged to your friend, Seoyeon, who seemed so drunk that she couldn’t even stand up straight. You held her by the waist, while scolding her. Hyunjin couldn’t hear the words, but your face expression gave it away from afar.

Without thinking for too long, he slipped off of his chair with lazy grace. He caught up with you just in time to grab Seoyeon’s elbow and prevent both of you from toppling over.

‘Let me lend you a hand,’ he offered good-naturedly.

‘It’s okay…’ You tried to refuse, but he already noticed the way you struggled to walk with your much taller friend latched onto you.

‘I’ll grab you a taxi home.’

He helped you get outside from the crowded party hall, and you seemed relieved to finally breathe in some cold night air.

Hyunjin glanced at you as you stretched your neck, looking around. For a moment he lost his train of thought, imagining sketching the lines of your silhouette, but then you pointed at the yellow car parked nearby.

He took a quick look at the driver and decided it would be safer to just get in with you.

‘You don’t have to come with,’ you assured him as soon as he occupied the front seat.

‘It’s no problem. We’ll drop you off first and be on our way.’

You didn’t respond.

The drive wasn’t too long, but Hyunjin was itching to turn his head and see what was up in the back seat. He was cursing himself out for being a decent human being and giving you some space. And still, when you arrived at the apartment you shared with Seoyeon, he got out of the car. As you struggled to drag your intoxicated friend out of the vehicle, he stepped closer.

‘Do you want me to take over?’

You sighed.

‘And what would you do that I can’t?’

‘Hm, let’s see… Carry her on my back? How about that?’

‘Not in this dress.’ You declined, tugging at her short outfit to cover her modesty.

‘I can carry her in my arms too. Or throw her over my shoulder. Something she deserves for getting shitfaced.’

‘You can. If you want her to puke all over you.’

Hyunjin poked his cheek with his tongue. You were right in your sarcasm, and despite being unwilling to do this, he knew this was the only thing he could offer to assist you.

‘Duly noted. Now step aside, please.’

He moved you slightly to the side and got to Seoyeon. The alcohol on her breath almost made him dizzy.

‘Whoa, did she drink half a liquor store?’ He grumbled, struggling to get her out of the car.

You hurried up and fixed her dress after he picked her up. He couldn’t believe that you were so concerned with her flashing her panties to the entire… empty street, while she had zero care in the world judging by her current possum-like state.

‘After you,’ he murmured, urging you to lead the way.

Getting into the building and onto your floor was a breeze. But as you arrived at the doorstep and you started beeping in the passcode, Seoyeon suddenly awakened. She started thrashing in Hyunjin’s arms, almost causing him to drop her while you opened the door.

‘Seoyeon-ah, it’s fine, we’re just helping you get ho-’ You tried to soothe her, but this angry demon wiggled out of Hyunjin’s hold and used you to get away from him.

By throwing you right at him and bolting into the shutting door of your apartment.

‘Helping me? You better help yourself!’ She yelled, and the door clicked shut behind her.

Overcome by the state of shock for a moment, Hyunjin didn’t realize that he was holding you by the shoulders with your back to his chest. You were stunned as well, so you didn’t notice either.

‘Wow… Oh, sorry!’ You finally jumped out of his accidental embrace and bowed. ‘Sorry. And thanks… for the help.’

‘Are you sure you can handle the rest? She seems… a little aggressive?’

‘She… I can deal with her. Thanks anyway.’

You opened the door again.

‘Just “thanks”? After all the trouble?’ He chuckled, drawing your attention again.

‘Is there something else I can do?’ You asked in earnest.

He thought for a moment.

‘You owe me. A wish.’

You huffed.

‘I don’t trust you to make a reasonable wish.’

‘Ouch. I’ll try to make it reasonable, but no promises there,’ he shrugged.

‘Goodnight, Hyunjin,’ you said, and he gathered from your tone that you’d accepted your fate.

‘Night, noona.’

You chewed on your lip for a moment, but did not correct him. A thud from the inside of the bathroom broke the extended silence, and you nodded him a quick goodbye before shutting the door.

Hyunjin sighed. Nothing was going the way he anticipated, yet he didn’t feel disappointed or impatient.

Or maybe he was a little disappointed, but this time, it was because he didn’t want to leave. Not because he wanted to make advances at you; rather, he wanted to be more helpful.

And he wouldn’t usually go out of his way like this.

***

Hyunjin couldn’t handle it.

It had been two weeks since the party, and he hadn’t talked to you since. It bothered him to no end. He was also equally disturbed by the fact that it affected him so much. Yes, he’d experienced this “flirting phase” excitement before. But the stakes were always low for him. They were pretty girls that he wanted to spend some time with, and he was always upfront about it. He wasn’t interested in anything else. He didn’t want to know what their favorite color was, or what they had for breakfast on a particular day, or what was going on in their lives in general. He wasn’t in it to build anything with them, and he made it known right away.

That was also the reason he always ignored any attempts to get closer by someone he considered his friends. He knew there would be no friendship had he crossed that line. Girls always had this idealistic image in their head. They thought they could change his mind. That he’d merely never met the right person, and if they just get to be with him for a short while, he’d know. He’d settle down.

For Hyunjin, it wasn’t the hypothesis that was wrong. He agreed with that notion wholeheartedly. But he also knew that he wouldn’t change for any of them. He knew what he wanted, and even if, for now, he settled for less than that, it couldn’t become something he’d accept as a permanent solution.

He wanted more, even if he had to wait for it. And he was greedy about it too.

That was the first thing everyone got wrong about him. They thought he was all talent, the god-given impeccable physique and a pretty face. That he was soft and mellow, and women just melted in front of him, while he only had to make the minimal effort of eating them with a dessert spoon.

But it wasn’t like that at all. Hyunjin was always very competitive, to his own detriment at times. He built himself up in all aspects he deemed valuable, all by his own hard work. And although he realized that he had to thank his parents for making it a little easier for him to open some doors, he was still the one opening them. No, he was the one barging in through all of them.

This wasn’t the case with whatever he had going on with you though. What started as a little game to him, out of idle curiosity, just to fool around and maybe drive Changbin nuts for a second, quickly morphed into something else. He didn’t follow you around like a puppy, but he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to make a move had it presented itself. He was pensive about what it actually was about you that made him so enthralled, and he didn’t have an answer so far. What he had was confidence and intent.

It didn’t hurt that you were always hot and cold with him either. You didn’t flirt with him openly and didn’t even seem that happy to interact with him. But he could tell that you didn’t dislike his playfulness with you at all. You always drew the line, making it known that you didn’t want to engage in anything, and yet, it always felt like you’d known each other for ages and were on familiar terms. So, he became even more intrigued.

He didn’t anticipate that, although it was hardly surprising, but the feeling became more crystallized the day he stumbled upon you in your natural habitat, otherwise known as the campus library.

Hyunjin hesitated for a moment when he saw you glued to the bookshelf he was looking for. What were the odds? You were skimming through a book, completely unaware of his presence behind your back. But the urge to make it work somehow got the best of him.

‘I had no idea you were into impressionism,’ he muttered, his voice betraying him and sounding a lot hoarser than he intended.

You swirled around to face him, and he cleared his throat.

‘Are you following me?’ Was the first thing you asked, raising your eyebrows at him.

He chuckled at your question. Might as well follow you at this point. You were not easy to track down for a casual chat.

‘I got a GPS tracker on you,’ he shrugged, quickly adding after noticing your unamused glare, ‘I’m just kidding! Came here for some books on art, and here you are.’

‘Right,’ you rolled your eyes. ‘What do you know about art?’

Hyunjin huffed, taking this question as a grave insult. He tongued his cheek, the level of sass in his tone spiking in that millisecond.

‘Just that you conveniently have your book open on one of my favorite artists.’

‘You like…’ You looked down at the page. ‘Claude Monet?’

‘Who doesn’t?’ Hyunjin replied, eyebrows raised and arms crossed defensively. ‘He is only one of the most famous artists of all time.’

‘You’re right,’ You suddenly agreed. ‘That doesn’t prove anything.’

Hyunjin hurriedly continued making his point.

‘But I studied him a lot. I like the way he was obsessed with light and played with it in his works. I also use some of his techniques in my paintings, it helps convey the emotions I want t-’

‘You paint??’

His rant came to a hold, and he stared at you for a moment, taking in your genuine surprise and curiosity.

‘Yeah?’ He cleared his throat again, not particularly happy with how unsure he sounded the first time. ‘Yeah, I paint a lot.’

‘That’s… cool,’ you reply, scrutinizing him as if it was the first time you saw him.

Hyunjin didn’t move or breathe for a long moment, observing you as well.

‘Do you know any Dutch artists though?’

‘I, uh- sure. Van Gogh is another favorite of mine. There’s also Rembrandt and Vermeer. Piet Mondrian, if you prefer something more colorful and geometric.’

You nodded.

Then you suddenly shoved the book in his arms.

‘You can, uh- you can have it then.’

Hyunjin gaped at you, startled by the abrupt twist of your conversation.

‘But-’

‘It’s fine. You came here for it, and I got other things to research. Bye, Hyunjin.’

You quickly made yourself scarce, as per usual letting him know that you were not planning to continue interacting with him.

Hyunjin sighed, leaning on the bookshelf with his back. It wasn’t even that crazy of an interaction. You were just having a basic conversation about art he likes and can recommend. What was so burdensome about this discussion that you had decided to flee so hastily?

He picked up another book and walked into the library hall. But instead of leaving, he sat down in the vacant corner, right across from you. He wasn’t trying to be obvious, rather, his ego compelled him to stay and pretend like he didn’t care about another blatant rejection from you. He flipped through the pages of his books, not paying too much attention; then he sighed and got out his sketchbook.

It didn’t take him long to go from random scribbles to sketches of female figures. Hyunjin missed the moment he stopped paying attention to his materials, watching you writing something down in your notebook, and starting using you as reference for his quick drawings. He didn’t catch himself noticing how pouty your lips looked while you concentrated, or how silky your hair seemed even from so far away. His pencil stopped as he grasped that he was sketching your chest, and his eyes kept going back to reconcile the lines on paper with the real deal.

Hyunjin closed his sketchbook and quickly gathered his things, realizing that he was more fucked than he thought.

***

It was an excruciating week of internal turmoil, when his thoughts went back to you whenever he was working out, painting, attending class, going out, staying home… Basically around the clock. And he tried, he really did try to talk himself out of continuing to make a fool out of himself in front of you, but life decided it was time to make your paths cross again.

In a more substantial way this time.

Hyunjin stood there for a moment, watching you destroy your chicken drumstick. He was surprised to see you so passionate about your simple dinner, but it was kinda cute. Up until your eyes languidly swiped across the café and accidentally locked with his. You froze, and Hyunjin started walking towards you, ignoring the way you dropped the bone you cleaned seconds prior and frowned.

‘You seem to have a good appetite at this late hour,’ he teased, reaching your table.

‘I did. Until you decided to spoil it by showing up,’ you grumbled, wiping your fingers with a tissue.

‘Something I… have never been accused of, actually.’ Hyunjin smirked.

‘There’s a first time for everything.’

‘That seat’s not taken, is it?’ He asked, sitting down across from you before you replied.

‘It was.’

‘By?’

‘A friendly ghost.’

Hyunjin chuckled. He found your exaggerated annoyance with him amusing. And maybe a little sexy.

‘Imo, can I have one plain soju here, please?’ You called out to the owner of the joint.

‘Of course,’ the owner replied affably, earning a quick “thank you” from you.

‘Make it two!’ Hyunjin interjected, then turned back to you. ‘Imo? Do you come here often, or is that actually your auntie?’

You rolled your eyes.

‘I’ve been here before. She was nice to me.’

‘Strange how I haven’t bumped into you earlier. I’m a regular. I live just down the street.’

‘TMI.’

He huffed at your disinterested expression as two bottles of soju appeared on the table.

‘Hello! Do you want the usual?’ The owner asked, a lot more pleased to see Hyunjin than you were.

‘No, I’ll help this one with her-’

‘No.’ You raised your palm, looking slightly menacing with that serious face of yours. ‘Don’t even think about it. That’s for me.’

Hyunjin coughed.

‘You cannot possibly finish this alone…’

‘Watch me.’

Half-impressed, half-threatened by you, he turned back to announce his order.

‘Just the usual ramyeon for me. Thanks, imo-nim.’

As the happy owner disappeared to sort out his order, he peered down at you again. You already got back to your chicken, so, the gentleman that he – sometimes – was, he took it upon himself to pour you a shot of soju.

You threw it down before he put down the bottle.

‘Whoa, aren’t you thirsty,’ he huffed, pouring you some more. ‘Not even going to reciprocate?’

Sighing, you took the bottle from his hand and filled up his glass. His beer glass, actually.

‘Haven’t been here for 5 minutes, and you’re already trying to get me drunk. I see what you’re doing, you sly fox.’

‘That’s to avoid serving you a drink every-’

You didn’t finish, as he emptied his glass in one go.

‘Are you kidding me?’

‘The things a man would do to be served by you.’ Hyunjin murmured, feeling the warmth travel down his esophagus and pool in his stomach.

You sighed again, filling up his glass.

‘Don’t,’ you warned as soon as his fingers touched it. ‘I will break this bottle over your head.’

‘You’re vicious.’ Hyunjin smiled, tilting his head to the side. ‘That’s kinda hot.’

‘Stop flirting with me.’ You cut him off, downing your shot of soju. ‘And open the second bottle.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

***

You’d spent the next three hours at the café, and Hyunjin was not tipsy at this point. You were tipsy, and he… He was actually drunk.

So drunk, in fact, that he insisted that he would not go home under any circumstances unless you walked him there. On foot. Which wasn’t the craziest amount of nighttime exercise per se, but a ridiculous demand nevertheless.

But you apparently ruled that it was not the hill to die on as it only took you a 20-something-minute stroll to get to his apartment. And get him in his apartment. And Hyunjin had to be honest… He didn’t even need as much help as he requested. He wasn’t as drunk after breathing some chilly night air, but there was also a strange thrill of having you in his den.

Oh, there was also the fact that he had spilled someone else’s beer all over you. So now you were in his bathroom cleaning up. Right after he used his practical 3-minute shower to sober up enough to feel the weight of his actions.

He recounted all of it again. He was drunk and obnoxious, soiled your clothes, had you walk him home and… Now you were in his bathroom, possibly naked. Why did he allow all this to take place? How? This was not the way to win points with you, and he knew it.

Hyunjin decided to reclaim his status (which wasn’t great to begin with, to be completely honest) and at least make an effort to be a decent host. He busied himself in the kitchen, getting the coffee machine running. His head was still buzzed up from the bottles of soju he had consumed earlier, and it was definitely a good idea to kickstart his brain with caffeine in order to come up with a better strategy.

He did not have time to do so. Somehow you had finished your shower super quickly and walked out of the bathroom, making him jump as you approached him soundlessly.

‘Uh, sorry- I just wanted to ask if you had shorts by any chance? Your pants are way too long for me…’

Hyunjin malfunctioned for a second, taking in the sight of you wearing his baggy clothes. Yes, his sweatpants were pooling at your feet in the most comedic way, but the thought of you wearing shorts at his home nearly drove him nuts. He had to slowly exhale, reminding himself that his shorts would probably be pretty long on you as well, so it was fine. He was fine.

But he wasn’t at all fine.

When you sat across from him, your legs crossed and up on the sofa, he had to remind himself not to stare at you as he set down a mug for you at the coffee table. He tried to control his impulses, but failed spectacularly.

‘You’re so pretty…’ was his only thought.

When you pierced him with your eyes, he realized that he must have said it out loud.

He swallowed, caught off guard by his own lack of game, and suddenly felt a strong urge to be a man and own it. So, he doubled down.

‘You are really pretty.’

You seemed surprised still, then chuckled softly.

‘Thanks?’

He cocked his head to the side, questioning why you replied as if you weren’t sure about his statement. As far as he was concerned, it was an obvious fact that he recited.

‘Are you still drunk?’ You inquired casually, taking a sip of coffee before setting the cup back on the table.

Hyunjin brushed his hair back, clearing his throat to sound more stable.

‘No. I washed up and had coffee. I’m fresh and ready for round two.’ He almost didn’t slur any of his words.

You pursed your lips to contain a smile. Even he was aware that it was not in the cards for him, unless he planned on having a massive hangover for the next three days.

‘Ready for round two?’ You asked, smirking as you nodded. ‘Yours should only be in bed.’

He didn’t know he had enough agility left in him to turn his head as swiftly as he did.

‘I meant sleeping, Hyunjin!’ You quickly clarified.

As he kept staring at you, making you self-conscious, you added another nail in your coffin.

‘Not as in fucking, just plain old sleep-’

‘I see how quickly your mind went there, noona,’ Hyunjin murmured, sliding a bit closer to you on the sofa. ‘Just be real about it.’

‘Real? About what?’

‘Your desire to be fucked. By me.’

His heart raced as the words left his mouth, and he looked down at his knee, which was only an inch away from yours. He was ready for anything, for you laughing, slapping him, storming out…

But not for the silence.

He turned to you again, his heartbeat loud in his ears. Saw you swallow, muttering something nonsensical. His slow brain finally caught up.

‘You do want that, don’t you?’ He pressed, suddenly brave enough to make a bolder move on you. ‘Just say the word, noona…’

He mumbled his last words, too mesmerized by the proximity of your lips. They seemed so soft and inviting that he couldn’t stay away.

As he started to lean in, you suddenly blurted your answer.

‘Let’s do it.’

Hyunjin wanted to be a display of astonishment. He would’ve loved to tease you a bit further if it were any other time. But he was not in his prime tonight, so he couldn’t afford to splurge his energy on taunting you. He just wanted to have you while he could, so he leaned in.

Your mouth was pliant.

He didn’t expect you to allow him passage so easily, but felt a slight shove in the chest as soon as he got too carried away. He smiled at your pushiness, cupping your face to prevent you from even thinking about escaping, and spoke, his lips brushing yours.

‘Stop making me even more excited,’ he scolded you, giving you a peck.

‘Don’t act like your tongue belongs in there,’ you retorted.

‘Don’t act like it doesn’t.’

You didn’t resist when his tongue slipped into your mouth again. His hand left your cheek to rest on the side of your neck before sliding further down your shoulder. He rubbed your arm up and down for a few moments, and you jumped when he suddenly brushed his thumb against your breast.

Hyunjin exhaled, barely pulling back.

‘What?’ He managed to ask, scrambling his muddled thoughts together.

‘On the bed,’ you whispered, and it took him at least three seconds to process your words.

He then got up, putting his all into walking firmly to his bedroom while holding your hand. He ripped the duvet off and threw it to the side of the bed. There was nothing he would’ve loved more than to stop acting like an overexcited teenager, who wanted to bang his girlfriend while his parents were at work.

But he couldn’t bring himself to slow down. His currently lacking impulse control times your hot-and-cold behavior with him in the past weeks divided by your sudden reciprocation of his interest equaled…

‘Fuck, you’re the toughest equation to figure out…’ Hyunjin grumbled, finding your lips again.

The kiss was less one-sided this time, and there was a small battle taking place up until he growled, turning you around and pushing you onto the bed.

‘I’m taking these off,’ he announced, tugging at your pants.

You didn’t protest, only pulled the hem of the shirt down to cover your panties.

Hyunjin found this… extremely adorable? He slowly dragged his fingertips across your bare legs, watching closely as you squirmed. He could swear your cheeks acquired this dusty rose color that every girl tried to achieve with makeup.

‘Are you trying to make me go crazy?’ He asked, pushing you down on your back.

You bit your lower lip, shifting slightly underneath him.

‘What did I do?’

Hyunjin sighed, too buzzed on the remaining alcohol in his system – and you – to muster a coherent answer.

‘You’re doing too much.’ He groaned, noticing the pink of your revealed panties again. ‘Fuck, you’re just cute, aren’t you?’

As he moved your thigh to the side with a gentle push of his palm, he saw it.

‘Shit, and you’re soaking through them…’ He pressed his fingers to the wet patch of cotton.

‘Mm- Jinnie!’ You yelped, causing him to look up. ‘Don’t-’

‘Don’t what?’

‘Stop…’

He squinted his eyes, making a significant effort to interpret what you were saying, because he couldn’t actually move away. Your hand was holding onto his wrist so tightly it was about to cut out circulation.

‘D-don’t stop…’ You repeated, and he finally caught onto your meaning.

‘You don’t want me to stop?’ He asked, confirming his understanding, and you nodded, although your belly shifted with a nervous breath.

Hyunjin pressed his finger a bit harder and moved it in a circular motion, eliciting a delicious little yelp from you. He continued rubbing you through the cotton until you were chasing his fingers with your pelvis yourself.

He wanted desperately to get rid of those and touch you directly, but decided to torment you some more. He quickly took off his own pants and shirt, giving you no time to adjust to it, and sat on top of you, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. As his bulge pressed into your wet spot, you both sighed. Hyunjin skin felt like it was caught on fire, and judging by the peaks of your nipples that were visible through your shirt, you were equally as affected.

Without hesitation, he gently rolled his hips. It was extremely slow in the beginning, as if he was testing the waters. He could feel his cock pulse in his underwear as he grinded it against your pussy. All of this felt like a wet dream that he did not intend to snap out of.

He kept the roll of his hips slow, but the friction was becoming more and more intense with each one. So much so, that you kept making those tiny noises every time he grinded against your nub. He wanted to fuck you so bad.

‘Jinnie… fuck-’

He paused, finally grasping that you’d used this nickname for the second time. Before it was “Hyunjin”, or “Bye, Hyunjin!”, or “Don’t talk to me, Hyunjin!”, or “Get out of my face, Hyunjin!”

And now he was excited from you simply calling his name like that.

He rolled his pelvis deeper into you, causing you to gasp.

‘You like that, noona?’ He asked, already knowing the answer that was a blunt moist stain on his underwear.

‘Feels… good.’ You muttered, watching his hips move.

‘Do you want me to stick it into your panties?’ He asked, feeling numb as the blood rushed away from his head at the mere suggestion.

‘Yes…’

Hyunjin’s vision was a blur after that, and he only grazed reality when his hard length glided smoothly against your slick, sensitive skin. He exhaled, feeling the cotton of your panties against his leaking tip, and repeated his movement. You whimpered, and he did it again, many times over. He carried on until you became so wet that it was clearly audible. He licked his lips, finally focusing his eyes on you. He realized the blurriness of his vision was now caused by the sweat dripping into his eyes and wiped them with the back of his hand.

‘I’ll take them off,’ he stated hoarsely, knowing that you wouldn’t back out now.

He could tell that you were feeling the same craving for him that he did for you. So he closed your knees and rid you easily of your underwear, then fully discarded his own as well, hissing as he squeezed his cock with one hand. It was heavy and covered in your joint lubrication, so he couldn’t refrain from giving it a tight pump or two.

‘Shit…’ Hyunjin closed his eyes, breathing in and out slowly, trying to balance out his arousal.

He wanted you, he wanted to be inside you without any more delay, but this desire was just too intense for his already hazy mind. While he tried to compose himself, you sat up on your knees and placed your palms on his shoulders. Hyunjin opened his eyes, flexing his arms instantly, as if he was trying to impress you with his muscles.

You threw your leg over him and straddled his hips. As he used one of his arms to support you with a firm grip on your waist, the other one started tracing patterns on your knee that nearly made you jolt.

‘Give me another moment,’ you muttered, kissing him again.

Hyunjin was confused as to what your request was actually about. But when you gently pushed him to lie on his back and slowly found a comfortable position on top of him, he realized.

‘You want to-’

‘Yes. Don’t slip it inside.’

It was too much for him to watch you adjust your swollen wet folds right above his raging cock.

‘Fu-uck. You’re asking too much of me, noona.’

‘Shut up.’

He chuckled. You somehow sounded gentle even when you told him off.

When you lowered your butt, straddling him fully, he knew it was going to end in something beautiful. He opened his eyes, watching your round hips move, trapping his length between your pussy lips.

‘Fuck.’

You started swaying, slowly, tentatively, like you were also trying to keep your balance while figuring things out. Hyunjin closed his eyes again, holding himself back from taking the lead, and allowing you to do your thing. If you wanted to ride him like this, he wasn’t the one to complain. But he couldn’t hold back for too long, and as soon as he opened his eyes and saw you, disheveled and focused, breathing heavily…

‘You’re fucking cute like this, noona…’ He murmured, rolling his hips slightly.

Your body immediately responded to this, and you frowned, containing your own reaction. Hyunjin swallowed. This was… a lot. For a second, he felt so overwhelmed that he simply did the first thing that appeared in his mind. He wrapped his arm around your waist tighter, seizing you in place, and grinded against you.

The way you moaned had his skin break out in goosebumps.

It felt tight, and he was already covered in slick, so his cock glided between your slippery lips with no effort at all. Hyunjin was becoming frustrated from being in this position. He wanted to go one step further, he wanted to fill you with him. Not just explore, rather, he needed to be inside you and he’d definitely die if he wasn’t allowed to.

As if on cue, you leaned in, pressing kisses against his neck up to his ear. You lifted yourself above him, and latched onto his shoulder with one hand before reaching to the side of the bed to turn off the light completely.

‘No, why?’ Hyunjin protested hoarsely, palms on your waist as you returned to your previous position.

But you simply kissed him.

‘Condom…’ You murmured between kisses, and his hand found the drawer blindly.

Your make-out session continued as he fumbled with the rubber, and he felt almost embarrassed to be so fussy about this. His eagerness and impaired coordination made for a strange combination.

‘Inside,’ you told him as soon as he was done, and his palm was momentarily on his fully hard cock, guiding it inside you.

He must’ve blacked out again after that. Because the only thing that was pulsing in his mind was how tight you were. You trapped him inside and held onto him for dear life. Your movements were hectic, your breaths turned ragged, and Hyunjin could barely keep up with this dynamic.

As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom, your silhouette became more prominent. His eyes focused on tracing the outline of your body as his hips rolled slowly, reaching just a little deeper inside you. Hyunjin wasn’t sure what was making his mind so jarred, the remaining alcohol in his system, the tight grip you had on him with your entire body, the little sounds you were making… or all of that and everything in between.

‘Noona…’ He gritted his teeth, feeling the dangerous jolt of pleasure with his entire girth.

Hyunjin didn’t plan to finish soon, although he couldn’t be sure how long it had been by now. But he wanted more. He wanted to show you everything he’d got, to impress you, to make it your new craving. And yet, he abandoned his agenda without a second thought when you wrapped your arms around his neck, humming weakly.

‘Please... H-Hyunjin…’

Your voice sounded strained, and he didn’t tease you for using his full name again. His lips found your cheek and slowly made their way to your mouth, his tongue ready to occupy it. You were so enthusiastic that you initiated the kiss before he could, and Hyunjin could only hold you closer to him. This was absolute torture, to be inside you, feel your muscles so incredibly tense around him, and not being in the right state to absolutely ravage you.

He took a second to adjust your hips before he pushed them back slightly, breaking the kiss.

‘Ride me,’ he told you, sounding rough and croaky.

He tugged your pelvis forward, feeling every inch slip back into your depths. He couldn’t breathe properly, yet he didn’t deem it enough of a reason to take a break. You picked up the movement, and his hands on your hips made them smoother. Until you found your flow, slamming yourself onto him.

The room filled with your shaky breaths, soft squelches and whiny moans. And Hyunjin wasn’t certain about anything in his life, save for one thing… He knew for a fact that he was done for. He was so crazy about each of your tiny little whimpers that his whole body shuddered.

At some point he took over, lying flat on his back and holding you close to his chest in a lock of his inescapable arms, fucking into you in deep languid strokes. You were wet, so wet that he didn’t even think to use his hands on you. He focused on increasing his pace gradually, until you reacted to each and every thrust. Hyunjin was in ruin from just hearing you fall apart for him, he wanted to see it, but it seemed like darkness had doubled the input from his other senses, leaving him greedy for release.

His hands took their sweet time roaming around your back and your sides right under your shirt, and then slowly slipped down to your lower back and then your butt. Holding your cheeks firmly in his palms, he growled. His thrusts were shallow now, but faster. Sharper.

‘Jinnie…’ You whined, unable to really move in any other way than the way he directed you to move.

‘Yeah?’

‘I-’

‘You?’ He nudged, knowing already what you were trying to say.

Struggling to make another sound, you opened your mouth and dug your nails into his chest. Hyunjin hissed, finding that he could’ve definitely gone harder on you if he were on top, but he realized one of you was about to get there, so it was too late to switch it up.

‘Wanna race me?’ He grunted, smile turning smug. ‘I bet you’re coming any second now, baby…’

Hyunjin was teasing you, but his own muscles were tense and ready. And it didn’t matter how hard he tried to hold back, it just hit him like a ton of bricks.

‘Fuck-’ he cursed through his teeth, delivering his final thrusts before stilling inside you.

You yelped loudly, jerking away, and he could feel how shaky you became in his hold. He still kept you close, and you rested your forehead against his chest.

‘Did you come?’ He asked, wanting to be completely sure.

You nodded weakly, still pressed against him.

‘Good,’ he muttered, content and satisfied.

He was sure he could get you to loosen up during round two. He just needed five minutes to rest.

Just five minutes.

***

When he woke up, you were long gone.

No trace of you in his apartment, and no cutely scribbled note with your number on his fridge. You were just gone.

It was quiet, and despite still being hungover from the alcohol consumed last night, Hyunjin didn’t welcome the absence of sound at all. He wished that you’d make your presence known by dropping something in the bathroom or stomping in the kitchen. But the hopes of finding another soul in his vicinity crumbled as soon as he threw himself off the bed and walked slowly to the fridge with eyes half-closed to get a sip of cold water.

He did find a note, but there was nothing cute about it. It was just a white napkin on the counter that read “thank you”. What did that even mean? Were you grateful for a good fuck? Was it any good, even? Hyunjin woke up with a giant headache and still couldn’t tell which parts of that night were real and which were mere figments of his imagination.

Still barely functioning, he decided to hop into the shower. He liked to ruminate there. Water helped him structure his thoughts, and now he wanted to regain some of the last night’s memories to understand what was going on. But the more he tried, the more his temples pulsed in pain.

He had to give up. For now.

Tried to, at least. He ordered his favorite hangover soup and crashed on the couch, contemplating whether he should just stalk you online or wait until he saw you around the campus. He decided to try his luck tomorrow, at least by then he’d get back to normal in order to approach you. Hyunjin desperately wanted to know what was happening between the two of you, but he was in no shape to take on this issue at the moment. And he didn’t want to get rejected.

In fact, he wasn’t really sure what he expected to get from you. By now he’d figured out that he wanted you. In a way, he was surprised by the fact that he wanted you even more now that he had a swift taste of what it was like to have you. He couldn’t remember most of it, but somehow it didn’t matter that much. Even now, while splayed out on his couch facing the ceiling, he had a big rush of dopamine as soon as he recalled the multiple grumpy reactions to him you’d displayed in the weeks past.

Hyunjin chuckled, finding it ridiculous how he couldn’t stop thinking about you all day, and you just left like this after your drunk shenanigans last night. Maybe you were embarrassed? In his opinion, you were not the type to be into one-night stands.

Or so he kept telling himself…

The thought of being a one-night stand for you made him uneasy. He’d had his fair share of short-term relations, however, there was never a moment that he longed for more. And he prided himself on always being upfront about his intentions. So, the thought of being left behind without a warning seemed unfair to him.

As his mind spiraled from all the cruel thoughts, he fell into restless sleep on his couch.

Thankfully, sleeping it off, along with breaking down the rest of the alcohol in his bloodstream, made his head clear up as well. He woke up determined to get himself cleaned up and ready to have the talk with you. He didn’t give much thought of what he wanted to say, or even to hear from you, he was just… dying to hear your voice. And to see you. He wanted to know that everything was fine between the two of you, even if you grumble at him in your usual fashion.

His mood was bright as he was getting ready to leave the apartment. Up until the moment he made a strange discovery. For no particular reason, he decided to spare a minute to finally make his bed and noticed that there were stains on the sheets.

‘What the fuck?’ he muttered to himself, taking a closer look.

Upon inspection, he realized that…

It was blood.

His sheets were stained with blood.

Hyunjin’s whole body froze and his mind went blank for a couple long seconds and then started spiraling.

Blood? Why would there be any?

His eyes went wide as a horrifying thought descended upon him.

He… didn’t hurt you like that, did he? What if he couldn’t remember doing something… terrible? What if he was too drunk to understand that you were not-

Hyunjin took a deep breath, trying to think it through logically.

If that were the case, why would you write him a “thank you” note? That didn’t make any sense.

He paced the room now, trying to soothe his instant anxiety. Maybe that was his blood, that was an option. Or maybe… maybe you were on your period? It could be the reason why you chose to leave quietly in the morning, mortified that you’d have to explain that to him? Right?

But what if it was something else?

Hyunjin took a shaky breath and turned around. He needed to see you right now, to get clarity on this, but he had no clue how to contact you. He recalled that one time he helped you get your drunk friend home, and decided to try looking for you at the apartment first.

As he arrived at his destination, all wound up, he sat in his car for at least 20 minutes, mustering up the courage to come up the stairs. There was no telling whether he was going to like what he heard in the conversation pending. He wasn’t feeling great about it at all.

He felt even worse as he rang the doorbell and stood there, anticipating what you would say or what he would say when you opened the door.

But you didn’t. It was Seoyeon.

‘Uh- Hyunjin?’ She asked, obviously surprised by him showing up unannounced. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Y/N-’ He cleared his dry throat to sound less hoarse. ‘Is Y/N home?’

‘Nope.’ She gave him a curious onceover, crossing her arms. ‘Damn, she was really just looking for a stud like you. Unbelievable.’

Hyunjin furrowed his eyebrows. His head became tense from the stress of not understanding shit at this point.

‘What?’

‘Don’t act all clueless. Didn’t you just pop her cherry?’

At this, Hyunjin malfunctioned.

Now that, that was not even on his list of versions of what happened last night.

Pop her- what? He did what? That couldn’t have been. She wasn’t- No, for sure, he would’ve noticed.

As he shook his head in disbelief, she asked again.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ Seoyeon rolled her eyes. ‘Talk about desperation. I told her to deal with it asap and start having fun in life, but she kept insisting that only “deep relationships” were worth her time. But… sure, you can always find yourself a Hwang Hyunjin to “get deep”, right?’

She smirked at him, crossing her arms, and he still stood there, dumbfounded by this piece of information. He realized she was not playing him as this was consistent with the stained sheets. Probably with your desire to have the lights off as well. It suddenly dawned on him now, with all the details of that night clicking into place.

‘Where… where is she now??’ He blurted out, ready to barge in or get himself anywhere else to find you and settle this with you properly.

Seoyeon was clearly taken aback by his outburst, but Hyunjin didn’t care how he looked right now.

‘What do you mean, where? Of course she’s left already, she’s got a flight to catch.’

‘A flight? Where?’

‘To Amsterdam. Finally off to make her dreams come true.’ She shrugged, as if he’d asked her the silliest thing in the entire universe.

Hyunjin’s heart dropped to his stomach.

‘To… Amsterdam!?’

Masterlist

“Dinner, tonight?” He asks, and before you have a chance to answer he's giving you an out, “unless you have plans, of course, then we can do it another time, you know, if you want to, and if you don't that's cool.”

You have to refrain from pinning him against the mirrored wall right then and there. When he’s nervous he has a way of making your core clench around nothing, especially as you watch his Adams apple bob against his collar when he swallows. You take a deep breath in through your nose, attempting to calm yourself.

“I would love to go to dinner, Jimin.”

He smiles, eyes widening with surprise, “Really? I mean, ok great. I'll come to your office at 5?”

Ordinarily, you'd want to go back home first and change, but you're worried he'd lose his nerve if you kept him waiting. You'll have to work with what you've got.

“Sounds good.” you reply with a broad smile, unable to hide the glee you feel.

The journey back to the office is fairly quiet, mostly discussing the next case the two of you will be working on. He already wants to start going over depositions, something that takes up a lot of time and often ends up continuing out of work hours, the only perk was spending more time with him.

You part ways, him giving you another devastating smile before heading back to your separate offices. Once that door is shut behind you, you let out a sigh of relief. Another case closed and another one to begin but all leading to spending more time with Jimin.

The last hour of work drags, you retouch your make-up, check your hair twice, and throw some gum in your mouth to freshen up before spitting it in your trash can. At five o’clock on the dot, a knock sounds on your door, always the punctual prince.

“Come in!” You call out and Jimin's face appears in the gap.

“Are you ready?”

“Sure, two minutes, let me just shut down.”

He steps in as you turn your computer off and the door clicks shut behind him. He moves nervously across the room to you as you grab your bag and round the desk.

He opens his mouth and closes it again.

“What's wrong?” You ask, worried he's changed his mind and just doesn't know how to tell you.

“I–” he pauses and takes a breath, “I want to be transparent with you, when I asked you to dinner I was actually asking you out on a date but then I started thinking I wasn't sure if you knew that or if you thought we were going out as colleagues,” he speaks very fast, eyes bouncing all over the room. “But I wanted to clarify because if you don't want this to be a date, I am absolutely fine with that and we can just go to dinner as colleagues, not a problem. Sorry if I'm making this weird, I just didn't want you to think that–”

You stride across the room, closing the space between you as he babbles on, and grabbing the lapels of his blazer you pull him into a desperate kiss. For a moment he freezes, enough to make you doubt yourself but when you break the kiss and start to pull away, he leans back in. One hand cups the side of your face and the other winds around your back, holding you in place. His lips touch yours again with a hunger so fierce it almost buckles you. You find yourself moving backwards without any thought until your calves hit the sofa, knocking you down and taking Jimin with you. In any other circumstance you would have laughed, but feeling his hands hesitantly traverse your body dissipates any humour and replaces it with a raw, consuming need for him.

“Wait,” he whispers against your mouth, “here? Are you sure?”

You chuckle and can't help rolling your eyes. “Do you always have to be such a good boy, Park Jimin?”

You're delighted to see a flush of red hue from under the collar of his shirt all the way up to his hair line.

“Don't worry,” you interject his embarrassment, “I like good boys.”

He bites his bottom lip and smiles, cheeks full of blush, “I just don't want you to think this is the only reason I asked you on a date.”

God, why does he have to be so damn sweet all the time. “How long have we known each other?”

“Three years, six months and fourteen days.” He says, so matter-of-factly your breath catches in your throat. For a moment you think he's kidding but the longer you stare at his serious expression you come to realise you are wrong.

“Do you know the hours, minutes and seconds too?” you tease.

He chuckles, looking away, “I could work it out.”

A low moan sounds in the back of your throat as you wrap your hands around the back of his neck and pull him down to you again, “You're so sexy,”

“Nerds turn you on then?” He jokes as his lips move down your cheek and find your jaw, but there's an insecurity there hiding beneath the surface you can hear it in his voice, a hope in his hesitation.

You cup his face and pull him up to look at you, “Not any nerd, just you.”

You notice the deep breath he takes, his eyes glittering with optimism, as he strokes the hair off your face.

“Jimin, I've wanted you for a long time and I really do want that date. I've been hoping you'd ask,” you pause and he begins to lift himself off you, you can see the slight panic as he misunderstands. You pin him back against you, wrapping your legs around his waist. “But please, if you don't fuck me right now, I may just loose my mind.”

A heat surges in his stare as his hungry gaze travels to your mouth, “If that is what you want, then I must obey.”

He purrs that last word so seductively your core throbs, gaining its own frantic heartbeat. Then, his lips are on you, making you gasp in surprise, his tongue slides smoothly into your mouth, dancing sensually with yours. But you can't focus when his hands skate gently along your body, sending ripples of pleasure through you.

Items of clothing are removed quickly and messily, as his mouth decorates your abdomen with invisible lip marks. He pushes your skirt up around your waist as he slides down until he's kneeling on the plush carpet, slotting his shoulders between your thighs. Hooking a finger into your lace underwear and pulling it aside, his perfect lips envelop your needy cunt, moving with such expert precision your back arches and your toes curl. The air feels like it's been sucked out of your lungs when you try to gasp for breath, and instead let out a loud moan that has him chuckling against you.

“Someone will hear you.” He says, his voice deeper than usual and thick with want, before licking a stripe up through your centre and flicking your clit at the end.

“I don't care.” You gasp, writhing beneath him, but he pins your hips down making you whine. You love this forceful side of him, taking charge and in command just like in the courtroom.

Your fingers find his hair, raking through them to get a better look at his face while he works wonders. His tongue swirls around your sensitive bud in a frenzy, and you can't catch your breath, and just as that band in your stomach begins to tighten he pulls away. His mouth glistening with your arousal stretches into a cocky smirk. Frustration leave you in the form of a growl and you sit up on your elbows, “I was just about to-”

“I know,” he cuts you off. “But I want to feel you come around me.”

He sits on his heels, pulls a foil wrapper out of his wallet and breaks it open with his teeth. Sliding it onto himself, he crawls slowly up your body, making your heart race as you lay back again. Lining himself up at your entryway, you feel him pause, begging to be permitted entry and you respond, leaning up to pull him into a heated kiss. Tasting yourself on him brings a fresh wave of arousal blossoming inside you like a flower opening up to the sun.

Gently, he slides himself inside you, your whole body feels electric, a heat rampaging through you enough to destroy an entire forest.

Unable to control yourself, you hook your legs around his waist and use your feet to push him deeper inside, encouraging him to move faster. You roll your hips to match his movements as he angles up sliding in and out of you, hitting that perfect spot.

Slipping your hands underneath his shirt, your fingernails rake along the skin of his back as you desperately chase that high. His lips explore the expanse of your throat as his hands massage your breasts and the flesh of your hips, he cannot get enough of you and you relish in it.

Your moans and his grunts fill the space, you should be worried about people hearing but you're not. Not at all.

That familiar build up starts again, expanding inside you like a balloon, your legs are tense and your toes curled. Suddenly, it pops and wave, upon wave of pleasure rush through you. Your core spasms wildly around him, milking him of his orgasm too. His thrusts turn sloppy as he returns from his high, collapsing on you and panting heavily.

“Fuck.” He says into your neck. “That was…” he struggles to find the words.

“Unexpected?” You interject giggling.

“Definitely.” He leans up to look at you, the heat and hunger sated and replaced with the usual sweet and gentle look you're used to. “But I am not complaining.”

He presses his lips to yours softly before sliding out of you and removing the condom.

You sit up, fix your underwear and straighten your skirt. While he re-adjusts himself you turn to give him some privacy, attempting to smooth down your wild hair in the reflection of one of the photographs in your office.

“I meant what I said,” you start, turning hesitantly to look at him. He watches, waiting for you to continue. “I really do want that date. I know colleagues technically aren't allowed to, but I'm up for figuring a way around it, if you are?”

He beams at you, his cheeks turning pink. “Ok, good, I was hoping you'd say that. Shall we, then?” He asks, holding his hand out for you to take.

“Kookie?” you say quietly as you stand and place your book back down on your table.

His beaming grin has you mirroring him with your own; he always had that effect on you.

“I can’t believe it's you!” he says, pulling you into a hug, and as soon as you squeeze your arms around his neck, he lifts you off the floor and spins you around. When he returns you to your feet, you're giggling and pinching his cheeks, making him blush a little, but he doesn’t pull away, just stares at you in the same wide-eyed manner as he always used to.

Oh, fuck. Is he with him? The sudden thought has you frozen in place as your eyes dart around, landing on everyone you can see, searching for that familiar blonde hair amongst them.

“It’s ok,” Jungkook starts, “he’s not here.”

You release a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, and just that sentence is enough to have you relaxing again.

You take him in, broader than the last time you saw him, his muscular arms particularly noticeable in his tight t-shirt. No longer afraid to have his tattoo on show, you notice appreciatively.

“Come, sit, join me,” you say, taking your seat again and pointing to the empty chair beside yours, glad when he takes you up on the offer. “What are you doing here?” you ask, leaning forward eagerly, wanting to hear about everything you've missed.

“We’re shooting a music video for the lead single on our new album,” he says proudly, the wood of his seat creaking as he leans back.

“I have heard about the highly anticipated new album.” You grin as you bring your coffee cup up to your lips to take a sip.

Raising an eyebrow at you, he tries to rein in his smile but fails miserably. “So, you've been keeping tabs on us, then?”

This makes you chuckle, what did he expect? “Of course. I loved your album too, I listen to it all the time.”

His eyes widen and mouth forms into a small ‘o’, and it makes you giggle. “You listened to Golden? What's your favourite song?”

Why did this feel like a test? No matter, you would pass with flying colours. “Easy, either ‘standing next to you’ or ‘Yes or no’.”

He smirks playfully. “Ok, well, don't I feel special.”

Shaking your head at him, a thought suddenly had a rock settling in the pit of your stomach. “If you're here for the new album, that means Jimin is here too?”

He grimaces awkwardly, and a seriousness falls over his face as he studies you. “Yes, but he’s back at our hotel, training. You won’t see him here, don’t worry,” he insists, putting his hands up in surrender, attempting to ease your concern.

You fly halfway across the world, picking somewhere completely random and yet you end up in the same city as the person you’ve been avoiding for the last four years. If you were honest, are you even surprised at this point? Soulmates are drawn to each other, after all.

“How long are you here for?” he asks, fiddling with your napkin, the habit of fidgeting clearly still very prominent. Not that you've ever minded it.

“Ten days, you?”

He smiles at you hesitantly. “Just a week.”

A week. A week of looking over your shoulder and searching for his face in every person you pass. “Great,” you mumble to yourself, but when you look up and see Jungkook's sad expression, you know he caught it, and it's as if someone punched you in the gut. Guilt consumes you and a large knot forms in your stomach. “I'm sorry, Kookie, I really am happy to see you.”

Placing your hand on top of his, he grabs it and squeezes your fingers, giving you a false smile. “There was a time when we were friends,” he starts, avoiding your eyes and staring at the napkin he's ripped up into small pieces. “Do you remember how close we were?”

You nod, your lower lip trembling with the thoughts of everything you miss. “I'm sorry, I should have stayed in contact with you. I wanted to - I just…” your voice trails off, not even sure what to say at this point. Four years is a long time, how can you justify that?

“Hey, it's ok,” he strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, “I understand, I do. I know how hard it was for you to walk away. I just…I miss you.”

His words slice into you like a fast knife, so quick you barely saw it coming, and without warning, a tear escapes and trails slowly down your cheek. He sits up, sliding his chair closer to you and wipes it away with the back of his hand. “I'm sorry, please don't cry, I'm not trying to upset you,” he panics.

“I know.” Squeezing his hand tighter, you admit, “I miss you, too.”

“Jungkook,” the security member with him steps in apologetically, “we should be getting back, you'll be late for the schedule.”

He nods before turning back to you and rolling his eyes. “The dreaded schedule.” He lets out a lengthy sigh and stretches his neck, making it click. “Meet me back here tomorrow morning? I'll have more time, and we can have a proper catch up?”

Thinking it over, you know the answer before you've had a chance to weigh up the pros and cons. You can't say no to him when he's looking at you so happy and hopeful. “Sure. That would be nice.”

When he stands, you join him, and he quickly pulls you into an embrace. “I'll be here at eight,” he says quietly, holding onto you for a moment longer.

You nod into his shoulder. “I'll be here.”

He pulls back, smiling at you and pressing his lips briefly to your forehead. “It's so good to see you.”

You cannot describe the overwhelming, safe, familiar feeling he brings you.

From the moment you and Jimin had started dating, and you met Jungkook, you had instantly clicked in a different way than with the other BTS members. You and Jungkook were as close as siblings; you teased him like a younger brother, and he looked up to you like an older sister, always confiding in each other and being that shoulder to cry on in your toughest times.

The night you'd had enough and made the impossible decision to leave Jimin, Jungkook was the one who ran to your side and cradled you in silence while you cried.

He stayed at your house for weeks, cooking to make sure you were eating, forcing you to get up and do things when you were catatonic. But the two of you remaining so close made it impossible to…there isn't a word for it. Move on? How can someone move on from their soulmate? They can't.

When you find them, everything clicks into place, you become bound to one another, your souls intertwined forever. When you were with Jimin, you could breathe, you felt whole, you were happy…until you weren't.

Being the soulmate of an idol comes with its own cost, one you were more than willing to pay, for a while anyway. But after three years living your life with him, you had left.

If someone had taken a knife and stabbed you in the heart, it would have been less painful than what you felt, and so many times you ended up back at his door. Each night, comforting each other in the darkness, lips on his, body to body, searching for answers you were never going to find. And each time you left, it was torture.

Jungkook had stayed because he was worried. He went between you and Jimin, consoling both any chance he got, until you realised how unfair it was for him to be stuck in the middle. He was exhausted, dark circles permanently under his eyes, no time for anything other than the two of you. He neglected his training, his work, himself. Once you realised that, it was a huge wake up call.

You found an apartment in another country and left. You said your goodbyes to Jungkook, a final nail in the coffin and didn't look back, knowing him and Jimin would be better off without your presence hindering their lives. You plunged head first into your new city, new career, and new life for yourself. An incomplete one but a life nonetheless.

To find yourself back in Jungkook's presence has reminded you, not only of everything you miss but of everything you left behind. And you were not ready to go anywhere near that world. But being around Jungkook felt safe, comforting and loving. Things you have not felt since you left four years ago. You could enjoy it for one day, right?

“I have to go. Sorry.” He gives you a beaming grin and heads off down the wooden steps and onto the beach.

“Kookie?” you call out as quietly as you can as you follow him to the steps.

He pauses and turns to you.

“Please don't tell Jimin I'm here.”

His face falls, and he looks off, a worried expression furrowing his brow. “I can't lie to him.”

You sigh, hating the position you're putting him in, but you have no other choice. “It's not lying, you're just not mentioning it.”

He gives you a curt nod, turns and jogs off along the beach with his security, leaving you with a rock in the pit of your stomach, having a feeling you won't be able to avoid seeing Jimin the whole week.

*

After a lovely meal in a restaurant on the seafront overlooking the ocean at sunset, you went back to your bed a little tipsy, enjoying your dinner with more than a couple glasses of wine. With your eyes heavy and begging for sleep, it wasn't long before you were pulled under its blanket and dreamt of Jimin. This was a regular occurrence, but the time between dreams of him has been growing longer recently, much to your relief and simultaneous disappointment.

When your eyes snap open to the bright morning light streaming through the thin curtains, a familiar ache in your chest makes you curl up into a ball and hug your knees.

Seeing his face behind your eyes every time you close them, and the feeling of his lips against yours felt so real, you could almost taste him. Licking your lips, you attempt to savour the moment before the fog of sleep completely dissipates, leaving nothing but the harsh reality of life without him.

Glancing at the time on your phone, you have an hour before you meet Jungkook. Maybe a morning swim in the ocean would start your day off nicely.

Throwing off the covers, you head into the bathroom to brush your teeth, shower and change into your swimming costume. Then, grabbing your towel, you rush off outside, trying to leave all thoughts of Jimin behind and back in that bed.

The whole stretch of sand as far as your eye can see is pretty empty, only a handful of people are already out. Finding a spot to leave your towel and belongings is easy on the vacant beach, then you race off into the water. As the tide laps over your feet, you give yourself a moment to adjust to the temperature; not freezing but not warm yet either, before heading further in. By the time the water’s up to your waist, it almost takes your breath away, but the bright sun, already fairly high in the sky, warms your skin. Diving in, you swim through the gentle current. There's something different about being in the ocean, something that makes you feel at peace. When you start to get really tired and out of breath, you turn on your back and float, staring up at the sky and searching for shapes in the clouds.

“Care for company?” You recognise Jungkook's voice instantly and sit up to tread water as he glides towards you.

“You're early,” you reply with a grin.

He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “Are you still as good a swimmer as I remember?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head, “I'm better.”

He arches a brow at the challenge. “Alright, first one to touch that buoy wins.” He points to the bright orange marker ahead.

Grinning widely, you agree, “You're on. Three, two, one, go,” you countdown quickly, hoping for a headstart, but he's on your tail in an instant. You remain in the lead up until a metre from the finish, and he swoops past you. But determination takes over, and you find yourself grabbing his shoulders and clambering onto his back. He shouts out to you and tries to knock you off, but this only makes you cling on tighter as you burst out laughing. He chuckles as his head sinks below the surface until he finds his bearings and powers through the water with you on his back, leaning forward, legs tight around his waist. Just as he's a foot away from the buoy, you lunge forward at it, touching it a couple of seconds before he does.

You erupt into cheers, watching the grin on his face broaden further.

“You cheated, that doesn't count,” he argues, splashing you in the face with water, making you gasp.

“I beg to differ, all you said was ‘first one to touch the buoy’. There were no specifications or rules, therefore - technically, it was not cheating.”

He rolls his eyes, a silent admission of his defeat, but before you can say anything else, he lunges towards you, grabbing you around the waist, lifting you and throwing you back into the water.

After a few minutes of playing around in the water, you both begin to head back to the shore.

“I came here early hoping to catch you,” he says, still trying to catch his breath as you wade through the water together. “I can't join you for coffee anymore, sorry.” He winces.

Nudging his shoulder, you say, “Hey, that's ok, I know your schedule must be crazy. Playing around in the sea will have to suffice.”

He looks down at his feet as you walk slowly out of the water, his whole demeanor no longer relaxed and carefree like he was in the ocean. His shoulders are tense, and he won't meet your eyes. Your stomach sinks, a thought lurking deep in your mind that churns away inside. “What is it, Kookie?” you demand.

He sighs. “I wasn't going to say anything, I promise,” he starts rambling, “but they all knew something was going on. They thought I'd met my soulmate, so I had to tell them. I'm so sorry.”

And just like that, the niggling thought that had been troubling you since you saw Jungkook yesterday became a reality.

“And, well, Jimin really wants to see you.”

“No,” you say, staring at him flatly. “I can't.”

He grimaces then and looks up guiltily towards the beach. Following his gaze to where you left your belongings, the world around you seems to stand still as your eyes connect with Jimin, and my god, did he look even more beautiful than you remembered, your dreams had not done him justice. His shoulder-length blonde locks, much longer than when you last saw him, move in the gentle morning breeze and suit him in a way you couldn’t have imagined. His plump full lips pull up into a smile so devastating, your knees wobble slightly as you remember the way they felt against yours in the dream you had last night. But you can’t return it. You’re already in panic mode, fight or flight. Your legs are powering you forward against your will, feet slapping against the surf and sinking into the wet sand with each step. Your heart, pounding so hard it hurts, desperate to be reunited with its other half, but you can’t do it. You can’t go through it all again.

Jungkook tries grabbing your hand, but you pull away, even after he calls your name. You can’t stop, your feet charging forward with a purpose: to get you the hell out of here.

You glance at Jimin. His smile has vanished, replaced with a worrisome brow, even his security is watching you, full of concern. When you're a couple of metres away, Jimin says your name, and it makes you pause for just a moment. It's long enough for Jungkook to swoop in front of you, hands on both your arms, and his big, dark eyes searching yours.

“I'm sorry,” he says quietly, “but I couldn't keep this from him.” He pulls you against his chest and holds you so tight you almost feel like you're not falling apart.

“I care about both of you, and I know how much you are hurting,” he whispers. “I've seen how much he's hurting, every day, and how much he misses you. Please, just hear him out.”

Closing your eyes for a moment, you think about the love of your life standing only steps away from you. You think about when you left; you didn't even say a proper goodbye, you simply said everything in the form of a letter and were gone, shutting him out completely because you couldn't deal with more than that. Maybe you owe him that much, the chance to say goodbye, the chance for closure, even though it's impossible. But then you also think about Jungkook, how he's stuck in between you both, and after everything he's done for you, you would do anything for him.

And so you nod. “Fine,” you mumble against his chest, and he releases you, looking so relieved that he looks like he might cry.

“Thank you,” he says, kissing your forehead and waving Jimin over.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm your frantic heart, you watch as he hesitantly closes the distance between you. A shy smile on his face, reminding you of that boy you first met years ago, insecure and unsure of himself but so sweet and endearing all at once.

“You can walk me back to my apartment, which is just there.” You point a little way down the beach. “That's it, nothing else,” you insist.

He nods and puts his hands up in surrender. “I hear you, I just want to talk, that's all, then I'll leave you alone.”

You know you can trust him, but can you trust yourself? Are you strong enough to hold onto your decision? You didn't feel it at this moment, not with his sweet face staring back at you so full of love. But you push that aside and throw on a shirt over your bikini before grabbing the rest of your stuff you left on the sand.

“Do you want me to stay?” Jungkook asks, eyes flitting between you both.

You look to Jimin, who gives you an encouraging smile. “If it makes you feel better, I'm fine with it.”

You and Jimin alone — the thought terrified you, but you need to strap your big girl boots on and face this. Besides, you've put Jungkook through enough.

“No, it's ok. I'll see you later, maybe?”

He nods. “I'll call you.” He gives you a grin before running off down the beach with his security, and suddenly the atmosphere changes. The air around you becomes thick and heavy, and you're sure the sun has disappeared behind the clouds, leaving a grey cast across the beach that doesn't match the warmth in the air.

Jimin walks over to his security, looking on a stone’s throw away, and has a quiet word with him, sending him away before returning to you. “Shall we?”

Nodding, you lead the way back along the sand towards your apartment. The silence is so tense it's almost choking, and in a panic, the words are out before you've fully thought about them, “What is it you want, Jimin?”

He smiles sadly, staring down at his feet. “I came to find you, you know, after you left. Four times.”

His admission stuns you and makes your feet pause.

“What? When?”

He sighs, “Every year, around the anniversary of the day we met, I'd fly to the States.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly sheepish. “I contacted someone to track you down – sorry, now I'm hearing it out loud, I realise how stalkerish that sounds.”

You let out an amused breath through your nose, unable to do more than that while still reeling at this information.

“So, if you knew where I was this whole time, why didn't you…” Your thought trails off, trying to make sense of it.

He shrugs. “I was…scared. You had already left once. And I understand why, I really do, I never blamed you for that. But the thought of knowing it was really over, of not being able to hope that you'd come back, felt too much.”

“So, every year you came to find me and then what? You'd go home?”

His cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink, that makes your heart beat a little bit faster, and he gently moves the sand with his sandal. “Every year I came, it was with the intention to beg you to come home. I'd build myself up, so sure I could do it. I'd wait until I saw you; walking home from work, going to a coffee shop, taking a walk along the river. But as soon as I'd see you, more beautiful than ever, so light and free with this new life you created, I couldn't bear to come in and ruin it. I'd imagine you going home to someone who treats you good, someone who'll move heaven and earth just to see you smile. I'd think about your job, and how you dreamed of that long before we met and worked so hard to get it. I couldn't come in and ask you to stop your whole life just for me.”

You frown, confused and irritated. “Let me get this straight. You came all that way and ran off like a scared little boy?”

He flinches at that, looking uncomfortable, eyebrows turned up in confusion as this conversation clearly isn't going the way he thought it would.

“Instead of actually doing better and offering me a proper relationship, you just left again?” Your eyes search his desperately, looking for answers, but all he looks back at you with is anguish and helplessness. “You are so full of excuses, Jimin. You always have been.”

With that, you turn and begin walking again, but he grabs your hand. “No, wait, please.”

You stop, with your back to him and your eyes focused on your apartment, and give him a minute to continue, hoping and wishing he can get this right.

You want to come home to him, you always have. You want him to be there when you get home, but you deserve to be treated right, not tossed aside as if you don't matter.

“Please, it's different this time,” he pleads, and you let out a bitter laugh.

“I’ve lost count of how many times you've said that. It's never different, Jimin,” you sigh, pulling your hand out of his and stepping away, needing to put some distance between you as you can feel yourself being pulled back in. Just being in his presence is hard enough, but looking into his pleading eyes is almost too much to stay strong.

“Baby, please, I mean it this time.” He reaches out to you again, capturing your wrist and gently pulling it back towards him. “I can't live without you anymore.”

With his words, a dark cloud rolls across the sky, hiding the sun and covering the two of you in a grey cast. Your eyes dart to the water; suddenly, the waves are choppy, and the surf creeps faster up the sand than when you were just in it. The few people who had been on the beach were quickly vacating, giving you an uneasy feeling inside. The sand dances along the beach, making elegant patterns as it moves in the brisk breeze that's whipping your hair around your face.

A rumble in the distance draws both your attention upward, staring up at the gloomy sky, before he returns his focus back to you, stepping forward and leaving only a hair’s width of space between you.

“I will do whatever it takes to have you in my life,” he says, the words so intense you almost believe every single one. But you've been here before, and you know better. “I'm sorry,” he continues, taking your hands in his, and this time you don't pull away.

As you stare back into his desperate, pleading eyes, you feel your resolve start to falter. Something about the way he's staring at you and the need you see there that makes that wall you've built start to crumble.

“I'm sorry for all the times you felt like you weren't good enough.” He continues, “I'm sorry for not listening to your needs. I'm sorry for all those nights you waited up for me, and I didn't show. I'm sorry for hiding you and lying about you to everyone who asked, even other idols, when I knew how it hurt you. I'm sorry for not appreciating you enough because I expected you to always be there. I'm sorry for letting you walk out in the first place, I should have fought harder. But I have changed and I will continue to change, to be better, not just for you but myself.” He pauses to take a breath, eyes brimming with tears that yours surely mirror. “And I know that I don’t deserve another chance of you loving me, but I'm begging you,” he lands on his knees in the sand with a thud, “please, give me one last chance to prove things will be different and that I can be the man that you deserve.”

As he looks up at you, a tear finally breaks free from the dam and runs slowly down his cheek and as it does, a drop of rain lands on your head, then another and another. Suddenly, the drops are pelting down from the sky so hard around you, the landscape is but a hazy blur.

Collapsing to your knees, you can't help but reach out and wipe that tear away with your thumb. And as you do, he leans into your touch, closing his eyes and savouring the moment. The touch of his skin has your fingers tingling, a current running from him through to you, an invisible rope pulling you in again, just as his arms snake around your waist to keep you there. You can't deny how good it feels to be here, in his embrace, feeling all worries and concerns melt away into the background. Deciding to listen to your heart, pounding so loud it's practically screaming at you, instead of your head, full of questions you can't answer yet.

Water pours down your faces, but you don't care, all that matters at this moment is you and him. A flash of bright light across the dark sky is the green light you both need as he captures your lips in a fiery kiss so heated that even the devils at the gates of hell would be jealous. Thunder rumbles loudly around you, but all you can focus on is the way his hands feel against your back, holding you firmly against his hard body, and the way his lips feel exploring yours. You let yourself fall back into your bubble of love with him, even if it's only for tonight. Slowly, your guard comes down, and you find yourself exploring his mouth more fervently as if he could disappear at any moment, just like he did in your dream last night.

The taste of his lips is better than your memory has kept all these years, and when his tongue slides across yours, it lights a fire in you more powerful than a thousand suns. You're breaking the kiss and getting to your feet in an instant, pulling him up and leading him quickly to your apartment.

Shutting the door behind you, quelling some of the storm outside, you stare at each other fixed in place. The air around you is so charged you can practically hear the buzz of electricity between you, you can feel it pulling you closer, drawing you in. He moves towards you, every slow step deliberate and giving you an out, but you don't want it. You need him.

Both of you dripping, clothes see through and clinging to skin, now feeling too tight and uncomfortable. He fingers the buttons of your shirt before he peels it away from your skin and lets it drop with a slap on the wooden floor.

You follow his movements as he circles around behind you. When you feel him pull on the ties at the back of your bikini, your already pounding heart picks up pace. His fingers trace lightly across the skin of your back, sending a ripple of goosebumps down your spine, as he returns to you. He stares at you with a want so powerful you can feel it, a heat radiating from him that teases your skin. He pulls at your bikini top stuck to your breasts, and it joins your shirt on the floor. Your nipples harden instantly as the cool air hits your wet skin.

His fingers go to your hips, at the ties on your bikini bottoms. You're growing impatient to have him touch you, really touch you, to make you feel the way he used to, but at the same time, you can't take your eyes off him. He pulls at the strings on both sides and then tugs them down before taking a step back and marvelling at your naked body with an anguished brow, teeth finding anchorage in his plump bottom lip.

“God, I missed you, baby,” he sighs, closing the space between you both and pulling you against him. He kisses you, softly this time, savouring the moment.

His hands roam your body, tracing every curve and making you shiver with desire. You mould against him perfectly, but the layer of fabric between your flesh frustrates you.

Your fingers race to his buttons with none of the patience he displayed, but with your hands trembling, the task feels impossible. You growl to yourself and opt for ripping the shirt off him instead. The buttons splat out all over the room, clicking against anything they hit.

He pulls back, surprised. “This shirt cost me a lot of money, but that is so fucking hot.” His mouth captures yours again as he fumbles with his shorts, and you try to help as he pushes you towards the bed. A mess of hands and fabric, the desperation between you both so intense, you feel like you can't breathe.

As your back hits the cushioned mattress, he falls with you, his weight above you and his naked flesh against yours, taking you back to a time when you would get lost with him for hours, exploring every part of each other. Surprising how, in one moment, you can be back there again.

You feel his erection at your entryway, begging to be let in. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you use your feet to coax him inside you. You're so needy for him, he has no problem sliding inside. As he begins to move, each thrust sending a lightning bolt of pleasure straight to you that makes your heart swell each time, his lips move along your jaw, teeth grazing your earlobe. “Say you'll stay with me.”

Your moans echo in the quiet room, much louder than the rain beating against your windows.

“Please, baby, say it,” he groans against your throat.

You can't think, let alone speak. All you want is him, every day, for the rest of your life. You can't possibly live without him now.

He picks up his pace, hips angling at just that perfect way you like, reaching just the right spot that makes your toes curl.

“Say you're mine, please,” he breathes.

As your insides pull tight, your breath ragged and heart racing, you call out his name as you unravel around him and tell him what he's so desperate to hear. ‘I’m yours, Jimin, I'll stay.”

With that, he releases himself inside you as he peppers eager kisses down your neck, and as his movements slow, he collapses on top of you, holding you tightly. He slides out of you, settling between your breasts.

“I'll talk to the company about releasing a statement,” he says gently, but in your blissed out haze, you can't make sense of his words.

“What are you talking about?” you say as you stroke his hair.

He lifts his head up to look at you. “A statement announcing I've found my soulmate.”

Your recovering heart suddenly slams back into overdrive, pounding so hard, you know he can feel it as he leans his chin on your chest. “Jimin, you can't be serious.”

He smirks at you with a one sided smile that has your core clenching around nothing. “Let me show you how serious I am.” He replies as he begins a trail of kisses across your breasts and down your stomach.

After hours of endless leg shaking ecstasy, desperate pleas and calling out names, you fall curled up against him, leaving the worries of decisions as a problem for later.

*

Waking from the deepest sleep you've had in a while to orange sunlight streaming in through the window, flashes from this morning play behind your sleepy eyelids. Your lips swollen from kissing, your muscles aching and your core sore but in the best way possible, you reach out to the other side of the bed to pull Jimin close, but your searching fingertips find nothing.

Your eyes snap open and look frantically around your apartment, could he have left already? Did he mean anything he said?

Your stomach twists anxiously at the idea of having to start life again without him, but in the midst of your spiralling thoughts, you hear a murmur of a voice in the distance. Your eyes are drawn to the double doors overlooking the beach, left ajar. Through the thin white curtains, you can see a figure standing on the porch.

Climbing out of bed and covering your naked body with your long white shirt, you wrap it around yourself and step outside. This morning's thunderstorm is a distant memory, the sand is dry and the sun hot and setting below the horizon, and the calm sea lazily laps at the shore.

Jimin stands on the porch staring at the ocean, phone at his ear, leaning on the wooden railing, his open shirt billowing in the breeze, looking picture perfect.

“Yes, ok, thanks,” he says before hanging up. Your arms wrap around his waist, pressing your cheek to his back, and he instantly holds your hands tight to keep you there.

“Good evening, beautiful,” he says gently.

“Hi,” you reply, smiling against him. He turns in your grasp, giving you the opportunity to hook your fingers behind his neck and him an excuse to grab your rear.

“I thought you'd left,” you admit, feeling a warmth tint your cheeks.

He looks pained for a minute before hooking your chin up to meet his eyes. “Without saying goodbye?”

You smile sheepishly, a sadness beginning to creep in at the thought of him leaving. Any moment yet, he'll announce he needs to go or he has a schedule, some parting excuse.

“I take it you haven't checked your phone yet,” he says, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

This makes you frown, what on earth could he mean?

“No,” you reply, bewildered.

“Maybe you should,” he says, fighting a smirk.

Breaking the embrace, you head back into the bedroom, looking in the obvious places for it, and quite quickly, you become frantic. Where the hell is your phone?

Suddenly, you spot it on the floor, sticking out from under the bed, and make a dive for it. Unlocking it, you see a usual amount of notifications, but it was the news headline that sat at the top that had your entire focus:

“Global BTS superstar Park Jimin finds soulmate.”

Your heart swells like a balloon in your chest, fit to pop as you click on the story and read.

“He's officially off the market, army!”

The tagline makes you laugh as you skim through the words. You aren't mentioned by name, but you aren't a secret anymore.

“We've not been told what that means for Jimin specifically, but in the statement released by Hybe earlier today, they assure army all members of BTS will remain together and continue preparations for the upcoming album release and world tour.”

Jimin's hands find your hips and turn you to face him. He takes the phone gently from your grasp and throws it on the bed. “I love you,” he whispers, touching his forehead to yours. And for the first time in a long time, you feel completely at peace. Everything feels how it should be, and you can't wait to start your life with him, however that might look.

You had a speech. Or at least some fragments of a speech.

"You can't say that."

His slow-growing grin absolutely decimates you, and your self-control.

"I can't? I can't tell you that seeing your eyes all glassy from want, wanting me, didn't just whet my appetite for you?" He reaches out and pulls you close, hands on your upper arms, gentle but firm. "How knowing that you're probably still thinking about me, a room away while I'm at the bar made me want to let Kook handle the crowd and lock you and me in that office until we're both spent. Until we both are satisfied."

Can you combust from only his words? From the sheer amount of desire his words and his presence incite?

"You really can't say that."

He leans down so your noses touch. "Open that door and I'll do more than say it."

You can be firm, you can be strong. You can deny him because it's the right and proper thing to do.

You can. But you don't.

You key in the code to the back door of the pub and he ushers you in, letting the door slam shut behind him. There's only a few safety lights on and it's enough to see him, to see him bend down and lift you in his arms, mouth on yours before you can say anything. You cling to him like an oyster, arms round his neck, legs round his waist. He seems to have no trouble holding you, which triggers something in that primitive part of your brain, and your core quivers with anticipation.

It wasn't tentative early this evening, but it's blown past that now. He devours you, tongue playing yours like an erotic instrument. He's able to hold you with one hand under your ass (there's an unexpected squeeze that makes you yelp) and open your office door with the other.

You're ashamed of how you find whatever he does so attractive. It's sickening.

His mouth is at your neck as he sits on the edge of your beat-up desk. Your hands are tangled in his hair. He lets you slide down his legs to your own feet (dangerous, you're not sure you can stand right now) before pulling off his t-shirt and moving to help you off with yours.

"Uh, do you have a condom?"

He raises an eyebrow at you. "Don't you keep extras here for the men's bathroom?"

Of course you do. Along with sanitary napkins and tampons.

"I mean, I do, but if like, you had a brand or kind you preferred, I didn't want to assume that—" His lips are back on your throat, a suck that will leave a mark later.

"You're so fucking cute, baby," he says against your skin. "I want to eat you alive." He lifts his head and meets your gaze. His eyes are so dark, and he traces a knuckle down the middle of your chest, stopping at the clasp of your bra. He has to be able to see and feel the goosebumps all over your body. "Where are the condoms?"

"Bottom drawer of the desk." You don't recognize your voice, it's mostly air and maybe an octave higher than usual. He moves to grab the prophylactic while you stare and how his back moves doing something as simple as getting something out of a drawer. You try with shaking hands to undo the button of your jeans.

"Hey, let me do that." He sets the foil packet down, resuming his position between you and the desk. He undoes your button and zipper before pushing down your jeans all the way to the floor. You step out of them and he looks up from where he's hunkered down. He doesn't stand up, but after tossing your jeans to the side, slides his hands up your legs to stop at your hips. He kisses over your underwear, at your hip bone.

"Mingyu…" You don't know if you're protesting, pleading, or something else. He snaps the elastic.

"Should get rid of these." He smirks. "Wanna taste you."

You're sure at this point that nothing is actually real. That Kim Mingyu is not kneeling at your feet, looking up at you with hunger. You've gone full delusional, completely snapped. He's not pulling off your underwear, not licking you like your cunt is a delicacy at some posh restaurant. Your hands are not on his shoulders, or in his hair, trying to hold yourself up and not collapse when his tongue thrusts into you. His hands don't curve round to knead your ass, while still tongue-fucking you, then sucking on your aching clit. His finger isn't sliding into you, curling deliciously.

You don't come with a shuddering gasp, held up by his hands.

As he stands and kisses you again, you slump against him, overheated and blissed out. You feel more than hear him chuckle.

"Still with me?"

You attempt a slap at his arm, but there's no strength. He turns you around, so the desk is at your back before lifting you to sit on the edge.

He holds up the condom and looks like he might say something, but you answer him preemptively, undoing his jeans and shoving them down before doing the same with his underwear.

"Eager, aren't we?"

"I had no idea you'd be so talkative during sex," you grumble, hands (very eager) already touching him, stroking even though he's plenty hard. As you take care of putting the condom on, he lets his head drop to yours.

"So you have thought about it?" he whispers, letting out a tiny groan as your fingers take their time feeling the dips and curves of his cock. "You stare at me a little too long to be thinking anything else."

"Have you looked at you?" is all you say, tipping your head up to look at him. He chuckles, light and breathy while you continue giving him a lower massage. He kisses you, covering your hands to still your stroking.

"Well, same." He steps into the space between your thighs, nudging you right there. You choke at the tease. "I've thought about you like this," he admits, before hooking one arm under your leg to raise it as he carefully slides into you. He's gentle, despite the words he utters. "Okay?"

You nod, eyes closed. It's been longer than you care to think about since having sex. Honestly, you don't think you've ever wanted it so badly before. As his cock eases into you, it's almost satiating, but not. Full, your eyes shoot open to see him; jaw clenched, damp at the temples. You draw the back of your hand down the side of his face, pulling his attention from where you're joined to your face. He turns his head enough to kiss your hand before pulling out and thrusting back in. You jolt from it, a pathetic groan, and you grasp for him, hands on his arms, holding tight as he does it again.

"You think about me?" you get out the question, in between panting breaths.

He hums an affirmative, one hand returning to your clit with a little pinch. He lifts your leg higher, changing the angle and when he thrusts this time, you feel it; the spongy spot that's even elusive to you (and every prior lover). "On the bar," he bites out the words. "In the store room, in here. I've thought about you everywhere, sweetheart."

Maybe it's his words, his skilled fingers, or the push and drag of him that catapults you into another orgasm. He's saying something as you ride the high, your cunt clenching around him like a vice, but you can't hear him.

He's heavy, after he comes, leaning in your arms, his body spent. He smells like your pub, and something woodsy.

"What did you say?"

It takes him a few moments to reply. He raises his head, letting his lips trail along your cheek. "I said that you should have a couch in here." He grins, tired.

"Then I'd just sleep here and never go home," you retort. He pushes himself up to full height, cupping your face in his hands.

"Workaholic," he accuses, punctuated by three kisses. You stare at him, sure there are stars in your eyes. He cleans himself up, tossing the tied-off condom into your bin, then grabs a clean rag from the stack on one of the shelves before carefully doing the same for you. He tosses that in the bin. You start to protest, but he places one finger over your mouth. "You do not want to wash it, and always wonder which rag your bartender is using might be the one stained with you, baby." He helps you to your feet, and as you search for wherever he flung your underwear and jeans, he dresses himself.

You wobble a bit, still floating from two very good orgasms. He catches you when you get your foot caught in one of the legs of your jeans.

"Thanks."

His answer is a kiss to the top of your head. "Want me to drive you home? Since you're so…well, whatever this is."

You turn and do smack his arm, and his laugh almost dispels the thoughts that are creeping into your brain now that the stupor is fading.

"Have some humility, Kim Mingyu."

"Absolutely not, sweetheart." He tugs on his shirt and then reaches out to straighten yours, his hands lingering along your skin. "Keys?" He holds out his hand.

"I'm perfectly capable of—"

"You're very capable, but let me?" He knows the power of those beautiful eyes of his. You don't give in, but pull him close, by his shirt, mouth on his. He holds you close, hands sliding to your ass and picking you up (again!). "I can even carry you to your car."

"You're ridiculous."

He kisses your nose. "Please?"

It's silly, but it's too late for there to be any onlookers. Which is good because instead of carrying you in a princess carry, or even how he was holding you, he throws you over his shoulder in the quintessential sack of potatoes hold, picks up your bag,where your keys are, and exits the pub. When you get outside, your arguments for the unbecoming way he's transporting change to a whisper (in case anyone is walking around at almost two am), but he's only laughing. He cradles your head when he gets you into the passenger seat of your car.

"Address?"

You don't answer, feeling petulant (and liking the way he manhandles you a little too much) and crossing your arms over your chest.

"Don't be like that," he coos, leaning over to kiss behind your ear before continuing, "let me put you to bed?" A single nip at your earlobe and you are so weak.

It's a blessing that you're more tired than anything right now, so you are nearly asleep by the time he parks in the driveway of your small house. Before you can get out of the car, he's come round and is pulling you out and letting you lean on him as he locks your car doors. He doesn't carry you, but you're attached to him, arms around him from behind, stumbling after him. His chuckle warms you through.

You must direct him to where your bedroom is, but you can't really remember. It feels like seconds from when you walk through the door to when your head is on your pillow. He asks you something, and you say yes before falling asleep, cozy and tucked in.

When you wake, you're sweating with how hot it is. You keep your house at a pretty mild temperature, to save on bills, but this is beyond normal. Even in the summer, it doesn't get this hot.

There's dead weight across your waist too. What the fuck?

Then last night's memories flood in like the rising tide.

Oh shit.

You roll over delicately to see that yes, the dead weight is an arm, which is attached to Mingyu. He's very much asleep. With no shirt. You glance down, the sheets gap in such a way to see that fortunately he's wearing his underwear.

And he is the reason it's so damn hot.

"Effing furnace," you mumble, trying to extricate yourself from his hold even though you'd like to stay in his arms, despite the heat. Snuggling.

Like reality hasn't shifted and now you have to deal with the consequences of last night's choices.

As you make your way to your bathroom, grabbing something to throw on, you ponder.

And spiral.

You can't exactly pass this off as a fluke.

Post-shower, you brush your teeth and stare into the mirror. Your hair wet and stringy and soaking the shoulders of your t-shirt, but your eyes are decidedly clear (of course you slept well in the arms of Kim Mingyu—the jerk), and your brow is grim.

Not a fluke. An itch. Scratched. A one night stand, which was inevitable with two years of build-up, that apparently even he felt a fraction of.

You can't believe he caught you staring (you can, your subtlety is non-existent in matters of the heart, loins).

But that's all this has to be. One night. Just one little ole night.

When you come back into your bedroom, he's awake.

"Hey." His voice is low and grumbly. Of course it is. Crazy bedhead and half-open eyes, and he's still the most beautiful man you've ever seen.

"Hi. Um…coffee?"

He tilts his head to the side, like he's deciphering your simple question for any undertones. You don't have subtext. Not really. He should know that.

"Yeah, sure. Unless you want to go grab some breakfast?" He sits up, all bared skin on display.

You force yourself not to make a sound of admiration. Or lust. You'd made plenty last night.

"Uh, no…I, shockingly, have stuff here. If you want breakfast. Here."

He shrugs. "Sounds good. Can I use the shower?"

"Absolutely. Um…I'll find a toothbrush for you. I have new ones somewhere." You hurry back into the bathroom, digging through the under-the-sink cabinet. You pull out one to set on top as he comes in, thumb tucked into his underwear. Like he's about to remove them. "The towels on the shelf are clean," you squeak. "Toothbrush here. Whatever you need to use, is fine." You move to pass him (and you'd thought this bathroom big when the realtor had shown you this place). "I'll get that coffee going."

You're almost home free when he says your name, halting you just past the bathroom door.

"Yeah?"

He smiles. "It was nice to wake up in your bed." Then, without shutting the door, he turns on the shower and goes to remove his last stitch of clothing. You yelp (again like a tiny little dog—what the hell) and scurry away from his immodesty and your bedroom in general.

The kitchen feels safe. When he comes out, dressed in last night's clothes (are you disappointed? maybe), he grins brightly before coming to sit at your bar-like kitchen counter. You have two stools there for the purpose.

"Cream? Sugar?" you ask, trying not to stare at his damp wavy tendrils, and sparkling (with water) eyelashes.

"Both, please." He leans against the counter-top. "This is nice. I'm always the one in the kitchen at our place." He sniffs when you set a mug in front of him, along with a carton of half and half, and a sugar bowl. "Smells good."

"Should be for what I pay for it."

"You grind your own?" He nods to the small grinder on the far counter.

"Of course I do. Before cocktails, I made lattes." You grin, almost at ease with him asking casual questions. Before you got this horrible, inconvenient crush, you liked Mingyu platonically. Yes, he was attractive. Both he and Jungkook were, and though that wasn't a requirement for hire, it was an added benefit.

But you liked how he'd spoken with you in that interview. He was much more laid-back and confident, especially compared with Jungkook who had been downright charming, but vibrating with energy.

"And now you own and run a pub. Moving on up that social ladder."

You laugh at his teasing. "Oh yes, in ten years, I'll be CEO."

"Good to have a plan." He sips his coffee as you flip the eggs with a spatula.

"Breakfast is only eggs and toast. I sadly have nothing more interesting right now."

"Again, very excited to not be the one making it." He leans over to see your skills on the range. "Pretty decent. You work kitchen?"

"Summers during college. I was wretched at serving, so they put me on deep fry."

"Impressive."

"You cook?"

"I do. No culinary training, but JK likes my food well enough. I like it well enough. Friends and family like it well enough." You can feel his eyes on you as you turn off the stove and set out the eggs on two plates. "I'll cook for you sometime."

The plate you're holding clatters as you almost lose your grip. The toast pops up right then so you don't say anything, buttering and place the bread next to the eggs. You set the plate in front of him before grabbing a fork and knife.

You imagine what it would be like to see Mingyu in the kitchen. What it would feel like to have him make something for you. Because he wants to. Not because he bartends, or is your employee.

"Eat up," you say before grabbing utensils for yourself and eating where you stand, across from him. He takes a few bites.

"S'good." He chews for a few seconds, eyes on you.

You pick at your food, appetite stunted from the whirling in your brain.

"Hey."

You look up and he's leaning over the counter. He kisses your forehead before sitting back down.

"What…what was that for?"

"Can see you overthinking."

You sigh. "You could see it, huh?"

He dips a corner of his toast in the runny yolk. "Yup. Your face shows a lot."

"Great."

He shrugs at your annoyed reply. "I like that about you." He takes another bite, finishing it before saying. "I like you."

That hits you like a cartoon anvil from Acme. "You—"

He sips his coffee, unflustered by his own words or your reaction. "I thought about not telling you that. Not right now, since you're probably trying to figure out how to get us back to our 'professional' relationship." The finger quotes really are unnecessary. "But since I know you didn't even believe I wanted to kiss you that night, I figure I should just say it."

You swallow.

"And no, I don't mean as just a friend." He rests his chin on his hand, awaiting your response.

"You still work for me."

"I do. And I like working for you."

"It makes this…worrying."

"Does it?" His casual attitude about it all prickles. "I don't believe you would ever use the fact that you're my boss in any way that would be worrying. I like working bar. I like working with my best friend. I like having the freedom pursue my photography around my steady job. I don't see why any of that has to change."

You groan and cover your face. "You make it all sound so reasonable."

"There's no reason why it shouldn't be."

You uncover your face, and move to toss the rest of your food.

"Hey, don't throw it away. I'll finish it."

You shake your head and set the plate next to his.

"What about Jungkook? What if he thinks I'm showing preference to you?"

Mingyu says your name, very no nonsense. "And I could probably punch him."

"Like that makes it better." You walk over to the couch and plop on it. "Like this isn't just a serious breach of professional behavior."

"Pretty sure it was a serious breach last night."

You groan again, letting yourself fall across the sofa properly. He's chuckling and you lie there for however long. You hear him get up and rinse off the plates and silverware. Eventually, he's lifting your feet to sit on the couch, letting your legs fall across his lap. You lift your head to look at him, otherwise don't move.

"So…madam boss…"

You wince at the title, but he's grinning.

"The question is, do you like me?"

You sit up, swinging your legs off of him. "You don't know?"

"You spend more time denying things," he accurately pins you. "And worrying."

He's been so honest, so upfront with you. You can't lie. You can't evade. So you just say it: "I've liked you for so long, I hoped maybe it would go away after awhile."

"That's a bit insulting."

"Sorry."

He purses his lips, thinking. "We can stop it. Now. Before we get any deeper in this." He tips your chin up. "Your call. I don't want to persuade you to be with me."

"You really want to…to date?"

He kisses your nose. "I want to wake up next to you in the mornings." He moves to your lips. "I also want to be the person you ask for help. Or I guess, with you, the person who forces you to accept help when you have too much on your plate."

"It worries me how much you know me." You kiss him back, hands on his shoulders as you rise up on your knees. He holds you by the waist, pulling you even closer, so you're practically on his lap.

"Well, I've been paying attention to my very hard-working, sweet but fair employer for the past two years." He stares at you for several seconds. "Now tell me…what do you want?"

"You."

That self-satisfied smile.

"But I don't want to screw up how well everyone works at the pub." You run your hands from his shoulders to cradle his face. "I guess I could just tell them. No secret relationship. Or hiding."

"Sounds good to me."

"What if…what if we don't work out?" You don't even like putting that out into the universe.

He nods. "A concern, but I think being with you, getting to try that with you, means more to me than whether or not I work for you."

.......

© yoongihan 2026. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. seventeen belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans. 

He sits up and shreds his own pajamas before pulling you onto his lap, making you straddle his waist. His large hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh possessively. "But first, let's get these pesky clothes out of the way."

With deft movements, Jeonghan begins to strip you bare, tossing aside your pajamas carelessly. His heated gaze roams over your exposed skin, drinking in every curve and valley.

Jeonghan's hungry gaze rakes over your naked form, his eyes glistening with lust. "Fucking perfect," he growls appreciatively, reaching out to cup your breasts in his large palms. He thumbs your nipples, watching them peak beneath his touch.

Leaning forward, he takes one hardened nub into his mouth, suckling greedily while his hand plunders the other breast. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud, coaxing out moans from your throat.

As he lavishes attention on your chest, his other hand slides down your stomach, teasing the edges of your folds. "So wet already," he murmurs against your skin, "just for me."

Without warning, he plunges two long fingers into your heat, pumping them in and out at a relentless pace.

Moans spill from your lips uncontrollably as Jeonghan's skilled fingers delve into your soaked folds, stroking your inner walls with expert precision. Your head falls back, exposing the column of your throat, as waves of pleasure crash over you.

"Oh fuck, yes! Ah! Just like that!" you cry out, grinding your hips against his hand desperately. The dual sensations of his sucking mouth and thrusting fingers push you closer to the edge, your climax building rapidly.

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you ride his hand, chasing the intense bliss threatening to consume you. When his thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles around the sensitive nub, you see stars.

"I'm gonna... Ahh! I'm gonna cum!" you wail, your voice raw with need. Your body tenses, muscles clenching as the orgasm rips through you.

Jeonghan continues to work your clit with his thumb, prolonging your climax as he feels your walls clenching tightly around his fingers. "That's it, baby, come all over my hand," he encourages, his voice low and husky with desire.

As your orgasm subsides, he slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips to taste your essence. "Mmm, delicious," he purrs, his eyes locked onto yours with a wicked glint.

Without giving you time to recover, Jeonghan flips you onto your back and positions himself between your spread legs. He grips his thick shaft, stroking it a few times as he gazes down at you with a smoldering intensity.

"You ready for this, sweetheart?" he asks, his tip nudging your entrance. "Once I'm inside you, there's no going back."

Panting heavily, you nod eagerly, your body trembling with anticipation. Your hands reach out to grasp Jeonghan's broad shoulders, pulling him closer as you whine softly, desperate for him to fill the aching void within.

"Yes, please! I need you so bad," you beg, tilting your hips upwards in invitation. The head of his cock brushes against your slick folds, sending jolts of electricity through your core.

When Jeonghan's thick length finally sinks into you, stretching your walls deliciously, you let out a guttural moan. Your nails rake down his back as he bottoms out, burying himself to the hilt.

"Fuuuck, you feel incredible," he groans, his hips stilling for a moment as he savors the tight heat enveloping him. "So fucking tight and wet for me."

With a slow, deliberate thrust, Jeonghan begins to move, setting a deep, rhythmic pace that has you meeting each stroke with eager rolls of your hips. "That's right, take it all," he encourages, his voice strained with pleasure.

He reaches down to grasp your thighs, spreading them wider as he drives into you harder—faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by your high-pitched cries and his grunts of effort.

Jeonghan leans down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss as he fucks you mercilessly. His tongue dances with yours, mirroring the intense rhythm of his thrusts.

Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours, his hot breath mingling with yours. "Look at me, baby," he demands, his eyes blazing with primal hunger.

Your vision blurs as tears of pleasure stream down your cheeks, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of Jeonghan's possession. You cling to him desperately, your nails leaving crescent marks on his back as he pounds into you relentlessly.

"Yes, yes, oh fuck yes!" you chant, your voice a broken melody of ecstasy. The coil of tension in your belly winds tighter with each powerful thrust, drawing you closer to the brink of oblivion.

When Jeonghan commands you to meet his gaze, you force your eyes open, locking them with his as he ravages your body. The raw, animalistic desire etched on his features only fuels the inferno raging within you.

"I'm so close... Don't stop, please don't stop!" you plead, your words dissolving into incoherent moans as the pressure builds to a crescendo.

Jeonghan's grip on your thighs tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he drives into you with reckless abandon. "Cum for me, baby," he growls, his voice rough with lust. "Let go, I won't stop until we both reach the edge."

He shifts his angle slightly, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with every thrust. The sensation sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins, pushing you precariously close to the precipice.

With a final, brutal plunge, Jeonghan buries himself to the hilt, holding you impaled on his throbbing cock as his own release overtakes him. "Fuck, I'm coming!" he roars, his seed flooding your spasming channel in hot, pulsing spurts.

The moment Jeonghan's thick cock erupts inside you, triggering your own explosive climax, you scream his name to the sky. Your entire being convulses as wave after wave of euphoria crashes over you, your pussy milking his shaft for every last drop of his release.

"Jeonghan! Oh fuck!" you wail, your voice hoarse from screaming. Your body shakes violently, overwhelmed by the intensity of your orgasm, as Jeonghan's hot cum paints your insides.

As the aftershocks slowly subside, you collapse back onto the bed, utterly spent and sated. Jeonghan's weight presses you into the mattress, his softening member still buried within your quivering depths. You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, synchronizing with your own racing heartbeat.

"Good morning, babe," you grin, pecking the crown of his head.

"I think good moaning would be more accurate," Jeonghan snickers.

⚚ Masterlist

So that’s what the last decade has been, pretending as if everything is okay. It’s even worse now. One of his best friends got married to your younger sister a couple of years back and it was even more impossible to ignore your name. He sees you often, sometimes with a boyfriend who never lasts very long.

"It's been like what, ten years, and you still can't get over her?" Dongwoo says, taking a gulp of beer.

"Shut up, will you?" Myungsoo groans.

"If you had stopped her from going on that plane, you'd already be married and have mini-Myungsoos and Y/Ns running around," Sungyeol smirks. Myungsoo could punch him right now.

"And how is things with your current girlfriend? The model, right? How's that going?" Myungsoo questions, in a childish voice.

"Jinkyung loves me, thank you very much." Sungyeol retorts.

"Okay guys, please, let's not argue," Dongwoo interferes, his voice pleading. "Y/N will be there no matter what. Eunha insisted that her sister be there."

Myungsoo still can't believe that Dongwoo got with Y/N's younger sister. They had never even interacted that much, not even at any parties or friendly gatherings. However, Dongwoo has always been a charismatic kind of guy. Everyone liked him, and when Eunha came into the picture, it was almost impossible to avoid it. You and Myungsoo couldn't avoid each other, no matter how hard you tried . You both just mastered the art of being "normal" in one another's presence.

He knew you were seeing other people, sometimes for just a few months, other times it seemed longer. He tried too, but no matter how many dates he went on or how much time he invested, he couldn't truly commit, They just weren't you.

"I'm heading out," Dongwoo waves, shouting to the male occupants in Myungsoo's apartment. "Eunha wants me home so that we can get packing."

"Yeah, yeah," Myungsoo waves, noticing that Sungyeol is grabbing his jacket and keys to leave as well. "See you guys in the morning."

Dongwoo leaves first, followed shortly after by Sungyeol who shouts that he'll call Jinkyung and convince her to come along. Sighing, Myungsoo lies across the couch, arms under his head, eyes glued to the ceiling.

Another get together with the guys and their girlfriends. Okay, he could handle it. He did it plenty of times over the years and survived. It sucks when he's the only single person, well apart from you, but hey, at least you're someone he can comfortable be around. Just a trip with friends, he could do this.

Right?

You drop your weekend bag when Sunggyu tells you that you'll be riding with Myungsoo since everyone else's cars are packed to the brim.

"Seriously, I can ride with Dongwoo and Eunha," you mumble as you hand your bags to Myungsoo, who wordlessly packs it along with his own things in his car.

Your sister elbows you softly before leaning in to whisper, "Stop that and act normal. You've been friends for all this time and now all of a sudden you don't want to be alone with him?"

Eunha knows how you feel towards your college flame. She was the only one you could turn to when things ended abruptly and without closure. It hurt, not knowing if the love you had shared was really real, or just a fleeting thing between two college students. You had both wanted different things and in the end it ended badly, not that you were expecting anything different. In those kind of relationships, that's what it was bound to be.

When you came back home from your overseas trip, she could see that something had changed, you were different, somehow, even if you were only gone for a a few years. It took weeks and lot of alcohol to confess about what happened with you and Myungsoo, how you both got into an argument on the drive to the airport, how you yelled at him that he wasn't supportive of your dream to study overseas and to travel, how he was holding you back and you were suffocating from being around him. Then, it just snowballed downwards from there and things that shouldn't have been said were thrown back and forth, and the next thing you knew, you were staring at your reflection in the plane window, trying not to breakdown while the plane taxied onto the runway.

You knew it was your fault. You should have never yelled at him in the first place, or accused him of not wanting the best for you. He loved you, after all, why would he try to stop you from doing what you had always dreamed of? Myungsoo had dreams too, and sometimes you felt selfish wanting him to choose you over it, but it still didn't change the fact that it was your dream.

When you asked him if he was going to choose you and come with you, you didn't expect the answer you heard. He didn't think about choosing, he couldn't put himself and his dreams before his family's, that's what it seemed like at least. They needed him back home, in that small town where they couldn't afford to have one less set of working hands, and it hurt so badly when he had told you. It wasn't that he wasn't supportive, it was more that he felt responsible for his family and their financial well-being. You were so wrapped up in yourself that it seemed like your own world.

Did you hate Myungsoo, after that happened? Maybe a little bit, at the beginning, but eventually, after time had past, you missed him and wished that things had been different.

You learned over time that life moved on and things happened for a reason, or for the worst. What happened with him made you stronger, or so you liked to tell yourself. You graduated school and went traveling as planned. You came back to Korea a few years later, landing a decent job at an upscale marketing firm where you stayed to this day. You learned that Myungsoo was working at a design firm in a separate part of the city, and you were happy that he was able to achieve something he loved. From what your younger sister had shared with you, he was doing well for himself and had finally bought a nice apartment. You both learned to co-exist around the others, remaining cordial and friendly, no signs of anger or tension around you or him.

Well, you aren’t cordial at this exact moment as your fingers grip the bag resting on your lap. Myungsoo stays relatively quiet throughout the first hour or so, save the few grunts and slight teasing comments. You sigh heavily, crossing your legs and arms.

"Seriously Myungsoo, can't we listen to the radio for something? This silence is kind of deafening," you whine. "Also, not sure if you remembered or not, but I'm a little prone to carsickness, so I need to stay entertained."

The raven-haired male side glances towards you before fixing his vision on the empty road in front of him. It would be another three hours until you got to the cabin and there was hardly any traffic, perfect weather to head there early. "Fine," he agrees quietly, switching the radio on. You sit for a little while, occasionally humming along with whatever song that played.

"Are you even into any idol groups nowadays or even into this sort of music?"

He lets out an exasperated laugh. "Excuse you, I keep myself updated. Actually, a friend of mine sings."

"Wow, never thought you to be the type," you mutter, stifling a laugh.

"Ha ha, so funny."

You feel anxious sitting together in the same vehicle with the person you had been avoiding for nearly a decade now. Not much has changed really, he still had those model like features, but they had matured into something sharper. The once lithe, slim frame had filled out quite a bit.

"What?" his voice fills the silence.

"Huh?"

"You were staring," Myungsoo glances sideways, giving you an awkward look, wondering why you were staring at him for so long.

"I wasn't!" You say, brushing the accusation off quickly, looking out the passenger side window. You can tell he doesn't believe you, but there’s no further comment. You hum along with the tune playing on the radio to help distract from the strange atmosphere surrounding the two of you, wishing you were already at the cabin with everyone else instead of trapped alone with Myungsoo in this car.

"Why are you nervous?" He asks, and the question comes out quiet, a little hesitant. His voice is softer than it has been the whole car trip. You swallow, turning to face the view out the windshield. It’s suddenly become difficult to put together a simple sentence.

"Me... nervous?" You swallow again, trying to get rid of the lump that had formed in your throat. "You seem a bit nervous though?"

Myungsoo does indeed seem a little fidgety, and it does seem a bit strange. "Am I?"

"Yes, you are," you nod your head. "Unless my intuition has finally lost it's touch and is just sending me false signals..."

"It's not false," Myungsoo agrees with a light laugh, as if trying to get rid of the extra tension between you. "Let's say it's real. Why would I be nervous?"

"I have no idea, but since when did Kim Myungsoo show his emotions like this? He used to keep everything bottled inside."

"You seem to know me rather well then."

"Was that a challenge?" You shoot him a challenging look.

"I know you rather well too." He flashes you a smirk. It's such an expression, one that is usually saved to throw a girl, or anyone really, off. And it works rather well.

"Okay, that is actually pretty true," you admit, trying to stay in control of your body. Control? You wanted to snort, there is no way for that when you had your first crush, on someone like Kim Myungsoo. It didn't help at all to add the fact that the man was hot, way too handsome for his own good. Even more so than his college self. "Anyways... how's life been, I know from Eunha it's been quite eventful." You struggle to think of something, anything to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"Same-old, work has been good. Well... everything has been good." A small smile dances on his lips. "How about you?"

"It's been great. Work is good," you smile, placing your right leg on top of the left, playing with a loose thread on your jacket.

"Still... single?" The word rolls off his tongue easily as he watches your body language change a little, but it’s almost unnoticeable.

"Unfortunately," you laugh, hiding the growing pit in your stomach. "You? Seeing anyone? Last I heard, you and Haesol were on and off for quite awhile." You honestly tried to stay away from that part of news regarding him, but some things couldn't be avoided, especially when friends who shared similar mutuals knew of this information and wanted to gossip about their close friends with each other.

Myungsoo looks uneasy, probably because he doesn't enjoy the topic of past flings, but it was going to pop up sooner or later, why delay it any further? "I wouldn't call it 'seeing someone'..." he mumbles quietly, glancing from the road and back towards the empty road.

"So, fuck buddy? One-night stand? Whatever floats your boat," you answer back casually, shrugging. The reaction you were expecting was him gasping, spluttering, or choking on the air as the words flowed out, however, it was not the response. Instead, you watch his gaze return onto you, and a smirk decorates his otherwise expressionless face, eyes twinkling with mischievousness.

"Jealous?"

"Hell no."

You both stare, for who knows how long, until finally, Myungsoo clears his throat and faces the open road ahead. You wished you could say you were a hundred percent lying about the whole ordeal, but damn it, he caught onto the tinge of jealousy laced in that quick reply. "Haesol and I weren't really that compatible." he continues, ignoring the small jibe. "So we split up. It was no big deal."

You nod silently, relieved that the current conversation was shifting to a safer direction. For the remainder of the drive, there’s nothing but small-talk and a few random things said. Finally, Myungsoo turns onto a gravel and dirt road that leads towards the cabin. From the back, you could see a handful of vehicles parked, and a few figures gathered by the large deck outside.

"Here we go," he comments, coming to a stop, placing the car in park.

"Good luck," you reach over to pat him on the shoulder, "You're gonna need it when the girls roast you for being single."

He laughs, unlocking his door. "You're single too. Remember?"

"Fuck," you whisper, scrunching your face into an exaggerated grimace. He lets out a chuckle, hopping out of his car, going to retrieve both his and your bags. You give a weak smile, throwing a quick wave at the approaching couples that made it in first.

Sungyeol waves first, followed quickly after with the rest, then immediately stops and scrunches his face.

"What? No hug?" Sungyeol makes an exaggerated show of making himself bigger, spreading his arms out wide.

"Nope. Not doing this. No," you smile, shoving him aside, "you can hug Myungsoo."

"Is my love not enough for you anymore!?" Sungyeol fakes being offended, putting on a fake hurt expression.

Jinkyung, his girlfriend, scoffs. "Go hug that weirdo." She smacks him across the chest, shaking her head.

"That weirdo?" Myungsoo interrupts from behind, arching a brow. "Gee, thanks, love you too."

"Did anyone pack a can opener by any chance? Dongwoo and I wanted to cook something to pass the time," Eunha hollers from inside the cabin, followed by the sounds of rummaging through the kitchen cupboards.

Sunggyu and his wife, Jinhee, tell everyone to just relax and take it easy, no plans. The married couple had made it a yearly tradition have a cabin getaway with friends and they thought it would be the perfect time, seeing that both Woohyun and Sungyeol, being part owners of a restaurant chain, were in need of a little vacation.

"I packed one!" Hyoae, Sungjong's girlfriend, pipes up excitedly, putting her hand up like a student in elementary, searching her bag quickly. She produces a can opener and presents it to her boyfriend with the widest smile, grinning with pride.

"There! We should be able to manage," Sungjong returns Hyoae's smile, patting her on the head before handing it over to Dongwoo.

"Did we pack enough food?" Woohyun pipes up, noticing the duffel bag he was carrying is heavier than it was before. "Honey, what did you pack in here?" he looks at Jooyeon, his fiance.

"I kinda got carried away," she confesses, putting her face down, slightly embarrassed. Woohyun doesn't mind at all though, laughing at his over-enthusiastic partner, finding it rather cute actually.

You stand next to Myungsoo, the both of you looking at the lovesick couples before you, almost grossed out by how cute they could be. "Gross."

"Room assignments!" Sunggyu calls out, and you look at him like he's crazy. “Rooms will pair off as follows—”

Woohyun cocks an eyebrow. “We’re literally already paired off.”

Sunggyu glares at him. “LET ME HAVE THIS.” He clears his throat dramatically. “Woohyun and Jooyeon. Dongwoo and Eunha. Sungjong and Hyoae. Sungyeol and Jinkyung. And finally—”

"Myungsoo and Y/N!" Jinhee finishes for him, waving her hand around casually, as if she was mentioning the weather outside or something of no importance. Sunggyu pouts at his wife and she rolls her eyes. "Honey, you were taking forever."

You practically gape, giving both your heads of friends a surprised look, "Wait... what?! Seriously? You want us to sleep... in the same room as each other?!"

"I thought the cabin had 7 rooms?" Myungsoo tilts his head at Jinhee, brows crinkling together as if he was thinking about something.

Sunggyu quickly chimes in, "Oh right! About that, me and the missus stored furniture and junk in one of the rooms when we were renovating the cabin, we just haven't found the time to get the old things out so that's why there's no extra room this time.."

"This sucks..." Myungsoo voices your thoughts perfectly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I'll just sleep in the living room then."

"Don't be an idiot," you smack his shoulder, giving him a deadpan look. "You'll freeze and probably catch a cold."

"But if I sleep with you..." he mumbles under his breath, more for him than anyone else, eyes diverting.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

You don't believe it for a minute but just let him be, pushing the matter aside.

"So now that's settled, let's just chill for a while," Sunggyu declares. The sun is still out, so a few people volunteer to make lunch. In the end, it’s Dongwoo, Eunha, Sungjong and Hyoae who make lunch with Hyoae also baking the cake for dessert.

"I brought a whole stash of board games, so pick whatever you want, and we'll set it all up later," Woohyun tosses the plastic bag of games to Sungyeol who digs around through the bag. "Did anyone bring extra alcohol? Truth or Drink would be a good game too."

Everyone gives a thumbs up, assuring they do indeed have their own stash, and with that, Woohyun clasps his hands together, nodding and deciding to lounge in the living room and catch up with everyone.

You find yourself zoning out during most conversations. You would have participated a lot more than usual had the idea of sharing a bed with a certain Kim Myungsoo not flashed through your mind constantly. Everyone knows that you and he had a past relationship, but honestly, it’s better to be stuck with him than someone you barely even know.

But your heart still feels weird, and you definitely can't concentrate fully. Maybe you should try and put distance between you and him? But that’s pointless. It’s just a harmless trip, friends going up for a short time away from civilization. So far, everyone seems normal, including Myungsoo, who’s engaging in an argument over something stupid. Yeah, just keep it together and it'll turn out okay. You mentally make up your mind and keep up a determined stare.

You’ll stick close to the girls for most of the trip and distance yourself from Myungsoo a little. You’ll remain friends, and there’s nothing else beyond that. You think that, but not even an hour later, you’re staring at Myungsoo's half-naked body while he frolicks with the guys in the creek behind the cabin.

"You're staring," Eunha's soft voice enters your ears.

"Huh?" You snap out of your haze, tearing your eyes from the raven-haired man, turning towards your younger sister. "No I wasn't."

"Girl," Jinkyung rolls her eyes, "even a blind person can tell you're still interested in him."

"I'm not interested!" You snap, before you catch your mistake and cover your mouth with one hand.

"Uh-huh," Jooyeon coos, rubbing her palm over yours, "If you're not gonna stare, I will."

"I'm telling Woohyun on you!" You retort.

She laughs, putting her free hands up. "Okay, okay!" she laughs, knowing you don't mean a word of the threat. "But there's nothing wrong with looking. I'm sure he worked hard for that bod being in the marines and whatnot during his enlistment service."

You find yourself stealing another glance towards where Myungsoo is. They are splashing water and pushing at each other, like a bunch of teenagers rather than grown adult men. But you find Myungsoo immediately, moving and pulling himself back up on the rocks, eyes immediately fixing on his abs. He was always muscular back in the day, but damn, Myungsoo is sporting a nice body that puts his younger self's to shame, especially with the light sheen of water droplets decorating his smooth skin.

"They look good, don't they? All wet and strong," Hyoae smiles, adding fuel to the fire, making a point of waving her finger over the six wet males. You watch as Hyoae wiggles a finger at Sungjong and laughs lightly. "My Jongie," she coos, beckoning him, and she runs straight into his arms as Sungjong holds his out and embraces his lover tightly in his wet body. You sigh to yourself, wishing you were the lucky one.

"You've been sighing a lot today. If we could translate those sighs..." Jinkyung puts a finger to her temple, "I would say something like... I really want a boyfriend, and for that boyfriend to be my hot, wet, naked crush out there, holding my body close. Oh the things I would do-"

You slap a hand to Jinkyung's mouth and narrow your eyes dangerously. "If you so much as speak another word, I will smack you."

"Oops..." Jinkyung places her hands up, but then grins wickedly. "But really though. What was Myungsoo like? Like in... bed and stuff, did he give-"

"No!" You slap a hand to your own mouth as the other girls dissolve into laughter.

"Tell me you at least got laid good when you two dated," Jinhee retorts.

"I am not going to talk about my sex life with you all," you groan and rub your face.

The ladies laugh in chorus, enjoying each other's company, unaware that the six soaked men have already exited the waters and are standing only a few feet away.

The others approach first, in various states of being dried off and Sunggyu waves, gaining the girls' attention. He wraps Jinhee in his arms, smacking a kiss on her cheek. "Oh! Ohohoho, here comes the wet, naked and hot, as promised."

"Gross," you feign a look of disgust, looking away only to catch Myungsoo standing directly in front of you, his six pack abs glistening with beads of water. You bite your lower lips, feeling your face heat up for staring way too long. "I'm going in," you quickly utter and rush inside the cabin before he can say a word.

The cabin door slams behind you, the sound echoing louder than it should. Your pulse is still racing from the sight of him — water‑slick skin, the curve of his waist, the way he looked at you like he knew. You lean against the counter, trying to breathe.

You hear the front door open behind you — heavy footsteps, the soft thud of someone drying their hair with a towel. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. His presence hits you like heat.

“Myungsoo, don’t,” you mutter, staring straight ahead.

The footsteps slow, stop behind you. The sound of him breathing is so, so quiet. He's so quiet.

Suddenly, you turn, and you're shocked to see him within reaching distance. If either of you take one step closer, the tips of your toes will touch, your chest will graze his. You lift your gaze up, catching his dark eyes with your own. The silence stretches out before either of you can dare to speak.

"Why not?" His tone is smooth and low. The air feels charged, and you inhale deeply, licking your suddenly dry lips. It feels wrong, seeing him so exposed, almost vulnerable. He continues his torture. "What's holding you back?"

It seems wrong, talking to him so seriously while his skin is mostly bare for your viewing pleasure. He shouldn't have those muscles, not the firmness around his middle, not the ridges that disappear under his pants. And those thick arms, the shoulders that look like they could hold up the entire universe, hold it all together, shouldn't be so... kissable.

Your throat goes dry, your cheeks burn, and all you can imagine doing is pressing your palms up the sides of his stomach, kissing him like he wants. You don't even hear the thunder roaring or feel the cabin trembling because everything seems so small and insignificant now.

"Go put on a damn shirt," you snap, shoving past him to walk briskly to the bedrooms.

"Were you staring?" He calls, laughter dancing through his question.

"That was not staring!"

He laughs again and you slam the bedroom door. The last thing you hear from him is: "Cute."

"Power’s out!" Sunggyu calls from somewhere in the cabin. There is a loud crash, a sudden wave of curses, and the sound of someone hitting the wall hard, followed by the cry of pain. It's pitch black and hard to move around. "There's some flashlights and candles in one of the closets. Myungsoo, Y/N, mind looking?"

"Sure," Myungsoo replies.

There is the shuffling of clothes, followed by footsteps. Suddenly, a cold hand wraps around your wrist, "I got you."

"How'd you know it was me?" You let him lead you forward, surprised by how quickly he can find his way around in the dark.

He shrugs, opening one of the closets before you and rummages through a box of items before producing a package of flashlights. "I could tell it was you."

"Yeah?" you ask.

"Maybe," he answers, flicking on the flashlight. It glows a dim light, before dimming just as suddenly. He frowns, checking the flashlight once again. "Dang. We need the good batteries."

Somehow, the door to the closet is shut, and suddenly his arms are caged on either side of you. The dim, flickering beam of the dying flashlight does nothing to illuminate the closet; it only casts long, sharp shadows across the planes of Myungsoo’s face. The space is suffocatingly small, smelling of old cedar, rain-dampened wood, and the intoxicating, clean scent of his skin.

"The batteries," Myungsoo murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly vibration in the dark. "They're... up there."

He shifts, his broad chest brushing flush against yours as he reaches upward. You gasp softly at the friction, your back pressing hard against the shelves behind you. The movement brings him entirely into your space. Because of the cramped quarters, he can't just reach up; he has to lean his weight fully into you to stabilize himself.

"Myungsoo," you breathe, your hands automatically coming up to find purchase. Your palms land flat against his bare, warm chest. The contact is electric. You can feel the rapid, heavy thudding of his heart beneath his ribs, mirroring your own wild pulse.

"Hold still," he whispers. His voice is strained now, the playful confidence from the kitchen entirely gone, replaced by a thick, heavy gravity.

He stretches higher, his abdomen flexing hard against your stomach. Every muscle in his torso is defined, moving against you with agonizing slowness as his fingers sweep blindly across the dusty top shelf. Your breath hitches. To keep from stumbling backward into the shelving, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jeans at his waist, pulling him a fraction of an inch closer.

Myungsoo lets out a low, ragged exhale at your touch. He freezes, his arm still raised, his fingers just brushing the edge of a plastic battery pack. He doesn't grab them. Instead, his focus shifts entirely to you.

The silence between you is deafening, filled only by the sound of your synchronized, shallow breathing. In the shadows, his dark eyes lock onto yours, burning with a decade's worth of unsaid words, regrets, and starved affection.

Slowly, deliberately, his free hand comes down from the wall, his knuckles lightly grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. The touch is feather-light, a agonizingly slow caress that sends a violent shiver straight down your spine. His thumb finds your jawline, tilting your face up just a fraction. He leans in closer, his lips hovering mere inches from yours, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath.

It takes you a moment to realize he had already reached up and plucked down the batteries needed, the very ones you came here in search for.

"You're shaking," he whispers, his thumb tracing a slow, agonizing circle on your cheekbone.

"It's cold," you lie, your voice barely audible and your hands tightening their grip on his waist. You shouldn't want this. You should push him away. But the sheer heat radiating from him is the only thing keeping you grounded in the dark.

"Liar," he murmurs softly.

He leans just a hair closer, his chest crushing softly against yours, his hips pinning you gently against the shelf. For a terrifying, exhilarating second, you think he’s finally going to bridge the gap and kiss you—to obliterate the ten years of agonizing normalcy you both forced yourselves to endure. Your eyes flutter shut, your lips parting in silent invitation.

The plastic package on the top shelf crinkles loudly as his fingers finally hook around it.

With a sharp, sudden intake of air, Myungsoo pulls his hand back from your face, gripping the heavy pack of D-batteries. He doesn't step back immediately—he can't, and perhaps, he doesn't want to. His forehead rests against yours for one prolonged, agonizing heartbeat, his body still draped over yours, heavy and warm.

"Got 'em," he says, his voice rough and laced with a thick undercurrent of tension.

Before you can process the sudden loss of his touch, he shifts his weight, blindly reaching behind him to twist the closet doorknob. The door swings open, flooding the tight space with the cool air of the hallway and the faint, distant chatter of your friends.

Myungsoo steps out into the hallway first, the flashlight clicking completely dead in his hand, leaving him a dark silhouette. He clears his throat, calling out to the living room, "We found the batteries, Sunggyu!" He tosses two flashlights to Sunggyu and Jinhee who are still digging around through other cupboards in search of the spare flashlights.

"It is raining like hell out," Woohyun laughs, "Probably got struck with lightning. It would explain the power out."

"Fuck, it's so damn dark," Eunha announces, leaning against Dongwoo, squinting her eyes.

Dongwoo kisses Eunha's cheek and glances around the room, "I guess playing truth or dare or strip poker is out. The rest of the night will just be sitting in the dark."

Sungyeol holds a finger up, "Or, we can play 'Never Have I Ever'! We have plenty of alcohol and enough flashlights and candles going on, so why not?" He suggests, gathering the attention of everyone. "You can opt out any time or not join if it's making you uncomfortable."

"Works for me," Eunha replies.

"Me too," Dongwoo nods.

The whole room buzzes with murmurs of agreeing to the game. With everyone gathered around the living room, an array of bottles is set at the center, the circle of people forms as some opt for seats and the rest sit on the carpet floor. It wasn't anything new, and seeing how the game will proceed, most don't object when a bottle is grabbed and tossed in the center.

The usual beginning statements of rules are presented, and it isn't long after that the game starts up.

"Hmm..." Sungyeol squints his eyes, looking thoughtful. "Okay. Never have I ever gotten arrested for underage drinking!"

Everyone turned their heads towards Jinkyung who groans and grabs the nearest drink. Everyone bursts out into a series of 'ooh's and she tosses a pillow at Sungyeol, complaining the whole time.

A couple rounds pass with the questions not getting any deeper or provocative, which leads Sungyeol to getting frustrated with his questions getting called out. So then, the fun part starts up.

"Come on, these questions are so soft! Nothing naughty going on here," Sungyeol pouts his lips. He calls out with a devious glint in his eyes, "Never have I ever..." He takes a moment to think, finally his lips twitching into a smug smirk as he spoke, "been in a messy breakup!"

He totally directed that one straight towards you and Myungsoo and everyone was curious, watching the two of you grab the nearest cups and take a drink of alcohol.

"We don't talk about it!" both of you spit out.

Sunggyu claps his hands. “Okay, next—”

But Sungyeol cuts him off. “No, no, no. We’re not skipping past that. That breakup was legendary.”

You stiffen. “Sungyeol—”

“What? I’m just saying! You two were like… the couple. The couple everyone thought would get married. And then boom! Chaos, heartbreak, international flight—”

“Yeol,” Myungsoo’s voice is low. Warning. Dangerous.

It sends a shiver down your spine.

Sungyeol throws his hands up. “Fine, fine. Sensitive topic. Moving on.”

The silence that follows Sungyeol’s forced retreat is heavy, suffocating, and punctuated only by the aggressive drumming of rain against the cabin windows.

You keep your eyes glued to your drink, your thumb tracing the condensation on the glass. The word legendary echoes in your head. Is that what a shattered heart looks like to everyone else? A spectator sport? They hadn't been there for the suffocating silence of the drive to the airport. They hadn't seen the way Myungsoo’s hands had gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, or heard the absolute finality in the sound of your suitcase wheels rolling away from him.

Across the dim, candlelit circle, you feel rather than see Myungsoo’s gaze fixed on you. You risk a glance up.

Through the flickering shadows, his dark eyes are burning, raw with a vulnerability he usually keeps locked in a fortress of indifference. He looks exactly like he had ten years ago—hurt, defensive, and fiercely protective of a wound that clearly hasn't healed.

"Alright, I think the alcohol is hitting me harder than I thought," you lie smoothly, putting your cup down on the carpet. You force a bright, practiced smile that doesn't reach your eyes. "I'm going to turn in early. Don't let me ruin the fun, though."

"Do you need a flashlight, Y/N?" Jooyeon asks softly, her eyes filled with sympathy.

"No, it's fine, I'll use my phone screen," you murmur, already pushing yourself up from the floor.

The bedroom is freezing. You don't turn on a flashlight. Instead, you curl up on your side of the queen-sized bed, pulling the heavy quilt tightly around your shoulders, staring out into the dark. Your chest aches with a physical tightness. Ten years, and a single comment from a friend can still make you feel like you were bleeding out on an airport terminal floor.

Ten minutes later, the door creaks open.

A shaft of dim light from the hallway cuts through the room before closing again. Heavy, familiar footsteps quiet as they approach the bed. You hold your breath, tensing, pretending to be asleep.

The mattress dips significantly. Myungsoo lies down on his side of the bed, keeping a strict, painful distance between your bodies. For a long time, neither of you move. The only sound is the howling storm outside and the ragged rhythm of your own breathing.

"I know you're awake," Myungsoo whispers into the dark. His voice sounds wrecked, stripped of the playful sarcasm he’d used in the car.

You don't turn around. "Go to sleep, Myungsoo."

"Did you mean it?" He asks, ignoring your dismissal. He shifts, the fabric of his clothes rustling against the sheets. "Back then. When you said I was suffocating you. Did you mean it?"

The question is an arrow straight to the chest. The angst of a decade's worth of unsaid words swells up in your throat, choking you. You roll over to face him, the darkness masking the tears welling in your eyes, though you know he can feel the shift.

"Why are you doing this now?" You choke out, your voice trembling. "It’s been ten years, Myungsoo. You didn't come with me. You chose your life here, and I chose mine there. We broke each other. Why dig it up?"

"Because I'm tired of pretending!" He bursts out, a sudden, fierce whisper. You hear him move closer, breaking the safe distance. In the shadows, you can see the outline of his face, mere inches from yours now. "I’m tired of being in the same room as you and acting like you're just Dongwoo’s sister-in-law. I’m tired of watching you date men who don't deserve you, and I’m sick to death of trying to find you in every single person I look at, only to come up empty."

Your heart hammers against your ribs so violently it’s dizzying. "Myungsoo..."

"I wanted to ask you to stay," he confesses, his voice dropping to a broken, desperate pitch. "Every single day you were gone, I woke up wishing I had crawled on my hands and knees and begged you not to get on that plane. But I was proud. And I was stupid. And I thought... I thought you wanted a world that was bigger than me."

You force yourself to meet his eyes. “I was scared. I thought you’d choose your family over me. And you did.”

His breath catches — like you hit something raw. “I didn’t choose them over you,” he says, voice low, pained. “I chose what I thought was right. I thought you’d hate me if I held you back. I thought you’d resent me if I asked you to stay.” You stare at him, stunned. He laughs once — bitter, self-directed. “I didn’t realize I’d lose you either way.”

Your chest aches. “Myungsoo…”

He leans forward slightly — not touching you, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “You think I didn’t want to run after you at the airport?” His voice is barely a whisper. “You think I didn’t want to grab you and beg you to stay? I almost did. I almost ruined everything you worked for.” Your heart is pounding so hard it hurts. “And now,” he continues, eyes dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second, “we’re here. In the same room. Ten years later. And I still—”

He stops himself. His throat works. His hands curl into fists on his knees, like he’s physically restraining himself.

You whisper, “Still what?”

He looks at you like the truth is tearing him open. “Still want you,” he says, voice rough. “Still think about you. Still feel everything I shouldn’t.”

The air between you goes molten. You inhale sharply. “Myungsoo…”

"I don't blame you," he whispers, his thumb catching another stray tear. "I never blamed you. I wanted you to fly. I just... I always thought that eventually, you'd find your way back to me."

"I am back," you breathe, your voice barely audible over the thunder outside. "I've been back for years, Myungsoo. But you never asked me to stay. Myungsoo, I never stopped wanting you.”

His eyes snap open. The candle flickers violently. The storm roars. And for a moment, neither of you breathe. He whispers, “Say it again.”

You do. "I never stopped wanting you.”

He exhales like he’s been underwater for years. He leans in — slowly, painfully slowly — giving you every chance to pull away. His forehead almost touches yours. His breath ghosts your lips. But he doesn’t kiss you. He stops a hair’s breadth away, trembling with restraint. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers. “Please. Because if I kiss you now, I won’t be able to pretend anymore.”

Your pulse is a drum. Your hands shake. Your heart is breaking and healing at the same time. You whisper back, “I’m not telling you to stop.”

He kisses you. His mouth fits against yours, and the taste of him hits you like a blow to the chest. One hand grips your jaw, his fingers curling into the hair at the base of your neck. The other hand slides up the column of your throat until his thumb brushes over your lower lip. The movement forces your mouth open, and then his thumb is dragging over the sensitive flesh of your tongue. He inhales sharply through his nose as you suck on his thumb, and the way he looks at you with heat and hunger makes your cheeks flush.

Kissing Myungsoo is so achingly familiar and yet so different. He used to be gentler and slow, exploring, but this, the desperation, the need to just touch you is driving him wild and you respond with the same amount of desperation. Myungsoo shifts his weight so he can deepen the kiss, his tongue swiping against yours. Your senses flood with him. Your fingers trail along his thighs as his other hand, the one that had been grasping your jaw, moves lower. Suddenly, your back is against the mattress as his body cages you. His warmth surrounds you as the kiss grows hot, hungry, as if he was ravenous for your mouth, and all you could think is, more.

He breaks away suddenly, panting, resting his forehead against yours. His breath is labored. His skin is warm and flushed. He stares at you with wild, unguarded, lust-blown eyes. All his restraints are gone, you think, and he is breathtakingly, breathtaking. Your hair is a tangled mess around your face and your lips are swollen. His shoulders flex with each panted breath. His voice is gravelly as he murmurs, "Y/N..."

His tone is questioning, soft. Almost loving and filled with a thousand things unsaid. He cups your cheek, his thumb stroking you so gently, his brows are scrunched together, concerned. His thumb is still resting lightly on your bottom lip, wet and hot, making you gasp, your knees weak.

"Yes?"

"Can I... do things I shouldn't do?" He breathes, his head lowering down, a brush against your lips. "Things that maybe..."

"Maybe?" You gasp.

"Just maybe," His breath is ragged, "...I've thought about them for a very, very long time." His hand slides along the curve of your body as he whispers in a strangled tone, "Things that I miss doing with you."

Your voice is raspy, his eyes fixated on your swollen lips. "Like what?"

"Kissing," he touches his lips lightly to the side of your mouth. His touch leaves your knees weak. "Holding. Touching," his fingers trail down your sides and make your body come to life. He touches your lips, and the world melts. He whispers, "Being with you."

A thousand sparks sizzle up your arms. Your gaze goes to the collar of his shirt, the fabric pulled taut, showing how perfectly toned he is. Myungsoo closes his eyes when he feels the warm tip of your finger tracing down his neck. "Like I said," you toy with his collar, voice lowered. "I'm not stopping you."

He opens his eyes slowly, only to find that your gaze is hot. So hot it causes his breath to hitch. Your nails dig into the front of his shirt and rip it open, buttons flying everywhere, making a series of sounds when hitting the hardwood floors. You part his shirt further and sigh at his muscles, finally on display, which flex with excitement at your reaction to seeing them, causing you to swallow audibly.

Your hands skim across his pectorals, trailing to his biceps and back up to his broad shoulders as they work to slide his shirt off, leaving his upper torso bare. He hisses through his teeth as you lean your upper body in, closing the gap between you as your chest brushes against his own, nipples hard and sensitive as the fabric caresses his skin. "I can't believe how badly I miss seeing you like this..." your lips meet his warm skin, just under his jaw, "you always had a gorgeous body, but even now... damn, it makes my mouth water."

He leans his head back as your kisses travel along his jaw to his lips and pull the fabric off, throwing his shirt on the floor. "Ten years..." his fingers twine themselves in your hair as he groans softly, "did you keep yourself busy?"

His breath is warm as it spills over your lips, and it makes you think of hot summer nights, of holding your breath in the dark with his naked, dampened skin against yours and the damp, sweat-scented air. Makes you want to hold him down and press your ear against his chest just to hear the thunder of his heartbeat.

"There have been men." Your hands travel along his shoulders, pressing and digging into his skin, mapping out the way he feels. "But none of them were you," you admit, words barely audible, almost like a confession as you smile against his neck. "It was never right. None of them could be you."

And like the sun after rain, your smile makes him smile too.

He steals your lips for another deep kiss. Your mouths are relentless as they connect. Breathy moans are lost in the confines of each other's mouths. The desire rises between you until the rest of the world fades out. There is just Myungsoo, the shape and feel of his body, his touch, his warm lips, his tongue, and you want more. So much more than what is possible to do in such a short period. You both have needs that cannot be quenched, the carnal desire for one another cannot be tamed even for a small amount of time.

"Myungsoo," you moan into his mouth, and your hips instinctively roll against him, earning a shaky groan. His hands find the hem of your t-shirt, bunching the fabric up before swiftly removing it and exposing your flushed skin. He rests one hand on the bed beside your head and lets his other hand smooth over the curve of your side as he captures your lips once again. With each movement, each sensual sweep of his tongue, every tender and forceful caress, his hand climbs higher, teasing the underside of your breast. It leaves you arching, wanting, craving. It leaves you a puddle of moans as your core aches with each sensual, intimate move, the tightness knotting and spreading pleasurable heat to each and every part of your body, electrifying your nerves and lighting your senses. You inhale a shaky breath as your hands work to take off your bottoms, leaving you in panties and a bra only.

You gasp sharply as the pressure of his pelvis is now heavy against your lower regions, and the anticipation makes you swallow anxiously in addition to the hardness straining his jeans against your center, causing him to smirk. But this is how it usually plays out, the tease and denial making you melt. Like old times, he loves hearing you beg for him, but the game has changed, because now you know you hold more power.

Your fingers hook beneath the waistband of his jeans, tugging down with a possessive ferocity that catches him off guard. A low, gravelly sound tears from Myungsoo’s throat as you push the heavy denim over his hips, your palms sliding down the hard, tense planes of his thighs, committing the rigid geometry of his body to memory. He kicks the trousers away, moving with a sudden, predatory agility that shifts him back over you. The sheer weight of him, solid and unyielding, settles heavily into the cradle of your thighs. The thin barrier of his boxer briefs offers agonizingly little protection against the thick, throbbing heat of his arousal, pressing firmly against your soaking panties.

"You think you hold the reins here, Y/N?" he murmurs against your jaw, his voice vibrating deep within your chest. His teeth graze the sensitive juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, biting down just hard enough to make you arch up into his touch, a broken gasp escaping your lips. "Ten years of waiting. Ten years of watching you look at other men. You don't get to dictate how fast we burn."

His hands descend to the clasp of your bra, releasing it with a practiced, fluid motion. The cool air of the room hits your bare skin for a fraction of a second before it is instantly replaced by the searing warmth of his palms. He cups your breasts, his thumbs sweeping over the tight, aching peaks, rolling them with a deliberate, agonizing friction that sends a white-hot current straight to your core. Your hips roll instinctively, seeking a deeper pressure, but Myungsoo pins you down, his thighs locking yours in place, denying you the completion you are visibly begging for.

"Myungsoo, please," you whimper, your fingers digging into the defined muscles of his upper back, leaving faint red crescents on his skin. "Don't tease me. Not tonight."

"Look at me," he commands, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a dark, primal hunger.

You open your heavy eyes, your vision blurred with tears of sheer frustration and desire. In the dim, flickering amber glow of the dying candle, his face is a mask of pure, concentrated lust. His jaw is clenched so tightly a muscle leaps in his cheek, and his gaze is fixed entirely on your face, reading every micro-expression of your pleasure.

"I want to hear you say it," he whispers, his breath hot against your swollen lips. He reaches down, his fingers sliding beneath the lace edge of your panties, finding the drenched, burning heat of your center. He doesn't insert his fingers immediately; instead, he circles your sensitive bundle, his touch light, maddeningly soft, tracing the slick folds until you are shaking beneath him. "Tell me exactly who is ruining you right now."

"You," you sob out, the sensation driving you to the brink of insanity. You tilt your pelvis upward, forcing his hand deeper, the friction causing a slick, wet sound to echo in the small space between your bodies. "It’s only ever been you, Myungsoo. Please, I can’t—"

He doesn't let you finish. With a swift, fluid motion, he strips the last remaining pieces of clothing from both of your bodies, discarding them to the floor. The sensation of skin-on-skin contact is overwhelming, a sensory overload that makes you both shudder. He positions himself between your thighs, his thick length pressing directly against your aching entrance, teasing the threshold.

He pauses, his chest heaving against yours, his heart hammering like a trapped bird. The yearning in his eyes is palpable, a decade-long drought waiting for a single drop of rain. "If I do this," he rasps, his fingers intertwining with yours, pinning your hands to the mattress on either side of your head, "there is no going back to being just friends. There is no more pretending. You are mine again."

"I was always yours," you whisper back, your voice raw with emotion. "I never stopped."

A ragged exhale escapes him, and he drives his hips forward, burying himself inside you in one deep, unyielding thrust.

The fullness is staggering, a sharp, exquisite stretch that pulls a loud, uninhibited groan from your throat. Your eyes snap shut as your internal muscles clench tightly around him, welcoming him home with an intensity that makes Myungsoo’s head fall back, his neck muscles straining as he rides out the sheer wave of pleasure. For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moves, simply absorbing the profound reality of being one again after a decade of separation.

Then, the rhythm begins.

It is not gentle. The years of pent-up frustration, the unsaid words, the jealousy, and the profound ache of separation fuel every heavy, bruising thrust. Myungsoo sets a relentless pace, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythmic, primitive force that makes the wooden headboard thud rhythmically against the wall. The sound is loud, dangerously indiscreet in a cabin full of your friends, but neither of you cares. The world has shrunk to the perimeter of this mattress, to the slick, friction-heated heat of your bodies colliding.

You wrap your legs around his waist, locking him closer, wanting every single inch of him. Every time he pulls back, nearly withdrawing completely, you whine, pulling him back in with the strength of your thighs. He rewards your eagerness with deeper, harder strokes, his fingers digging into your hips, anchoring you to take the full force of his weight.

"You're so tight," he groans against your ear, his breath hitching as your walls pulse around him. "So perfect. You haven't changed at all."

The heat in your lower stomach builds rapidly, tightening into a hard, coiled spring. The sheer friction of his body against yours, combined with the deliberate pressure of his thumb pressing against your bundle with every thrust, brings you to the absolute edge. Your breath comes in short, ragged pants, your head tossing from side to side on the pillow.

"Myungsoo, I'm close…I'm going to…"

"Come for me, Y/N," he growls, his pace becoming faster, almost frantic, his own climax rapidly catching up to him. "Let me feel it."

With a final, devastatingly deep thrust, your body fractures. Your internal muscles convulse violently around him in a series of intense, rhythmic spasms. A loud, breathless cry escapes your lips, buried quickly in the crook of his neck as the waves of the climax wash over you, turning your limbs to jelly.

Hearing your release breaks the last of his iron control. Myungsoo lets out a low, animalistic roar, his body stiffening completely as he thrusts deep inside you one last time, holding himself there as he unloads his release inside you. The sheer force of his climax ripples through his entire frame, his muscles locking, his chest heaving as he pours himself into you, claiming you completely.

The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the sound of your synchronized, labored breathing and the steady patter of the rain outside. Myungsoo collapses onto your chest, his head buried in your hair, still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. He doesn't move to pull away, and you don't want him to.

After a long while, he shifts, rolling onto his side but keeping you securely wrapped in his arms, pulling the heavy quilt over your damp, chilled skin. He places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, his arm tightening around your waist as if fearing you might disappear if he lets go.

"We're going to have to talk to the others in the morning," he murmurs into the dark, a small, exhausted smile tugging at his lips.

You press your face into his bare chest, listening to the steady, comforting beat of his heart. "Let them talk," you whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."

The morning sun filters through the wooden blinds of the cabin, casting sharp angles of golden light across the tangled sheets. You wake up to the heavy, grounding weight of Myungsoo’s arm wrapped securely around your waist, his chest flush against your bare back. For a few quiet moments, neither of you moves. The chaotic storm from the night before has completely cleared, leaving behind only the crisp, damp scent of pine and the profound reality of what has just happened between you.

Myungsoo stirs, a low grunt vibrating through his chest as his grip tightens instinctively, pulling you closer into his warmth. His lips press a soft, lingering kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder.

"Don't move yet," he mumbles, his voice thick and rough with sleep. "If you get up, I have to face the fact that we actually have to open that door."

You turn in his embrace, looking up at him. His dark hair is a messy nest, and his eyes are heavy, but the guarded, distant look he has worn for the last ten years is entirely gone. In its place is an intense, raw vulnerability that makes your heart ache with a fierce protectiveness. You reach up, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jawline.

"We can't hide in here forever," you whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Sunggyu is probably already making an insufferable amount of noise in the kitchen."

"Let him," Myungsoo growls softly. He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm before his eyes darkened with a sudden, renewed heat. He shifted his weight, pinning your hand above your head on the pillow, his bare thigh sliding between yours. The friction of his skin against yours immediately reignited the embers from last night. ""You're a heavy sleeper when you're exhausted."

"Whose fault is that?" you wheeze, your voice dry. You try to stretch, but a dull, deep ache in your core reminds you exactly how relentless he was in the dark. A flush creeps up your neck.

"Mine," he admits without a shred of remorse, his eyes darkening with a sudden, wicked flash. He slides his hand lower, under the heavy quilt, his warm palm settling flat against your bare stomach. "And I'd happily take the blame again."

Before the conversation can turn dangerous, a sudden, loud thud echoes from the hallway outside, followed by the muffled sound of Sungyeol’s voice.

"Are they alive in there? The kitchen is freezing, the power is still out, and I'm pretty sure I heard the headboard trying to break through the drywall around 3:00 AM."

"Shut up, Yeol!" Eunha’s voice hisses from further down the hall. "Give them some space."

"Space? They've had ten years of space!"

Inside the room, you freeze, pulling the quilt up to your chin with a gasp. Myungsoo, however, just rolls his eyes and lets out a low chuckle, entirely unbothered. He doesn't move away; instead, he deliberately shifts his weight, pinning your leg beneath his thigh, letting you feel the heavy, rigid length of his arousal pressing against your hip.

"Let them talk," he whispers, echoing your words from the night before. His fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your face up to his. "We have a lot of lost time to make up for, Y/N. I'm not letting you hide from me anymore."

"Myungsoo, they're right outside," you whisper, your heart pounding as his thumb drags across your lower lip, pushing it open slightly.

"Then don't make a sound," he growls against your skin, his lips dropping to the sensitive hollow beneath your ear. His hand slides down to the crease of your thigh, parting your legs with a slow, unyielding pressure. The sheer earnestness in the way he holds you—like he’s terrified the last ten years were a dream and he’s finally waking up—melts away any remaining hesitation.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a deep, breathless kiss, completely surrendering to the way back to him.

Thirty minutes later, dressed in oversized hoodies and trying your absolute best to look "casual," the two of you step out of the bedroom. Myungsoo holds the door for you, his hand resting casually on the small of your back—a subconscious declaration of ownership that he doesn't even try to hide.

The power is back on, lighting up the kitchen where the entire friend group is gathered around the large island. Dongwoo is pouring coffee, Jinhee is setting out plates, and Sungjong is leaning against the counter, a mug halfway to his mouth. Sungyeol, who is sitting at the kitchen island, slowly lowers his mug, a massive, cat-like grin spreading across his face when he sees you and Myungsoo.

"Well, well, well," Sungyeol purrs, breaking the silence. "Look who finally decided to join the living. And look at that... you both managed to survive the night in the same room without killing each other."

"Shut up, Yeol," Myungsoo says smoothly, walking past him to grab two mugs. He doesn't look flustered at all; in fact, there’s a distinct, smug satisfaction in the relaxed slope of his shoulders.

Eunha walks over to you, narrowing her eyes as she inspects your face. She looks down at your neck, where a faint, rosy mark is barely hidden by the collar of your hoodie. A slow smile breaks across your sister's face. "You look... rested, sis."

"I slept fine," you lie badly, coughing into your hand and reaching for the coffee Myungsoo hands you.

"Did you?" Jinkyung chimes in, wiping sleep from her eyes. "Because I could have sworn the cabin's foundation was settling last night. Kept hearing this rhythmic thud-thud-thud against the wall. I thought it was the storm, but..."

You nearly choke on your coffee. Myungsoo calmly steps up next to you, bumping his hip against yours, completely unfazed. "The headboard was loose," he says, taking a slow sip of his black coffee. "I fixed it."

"Oh, I bet you fixed it real good," Woohyun yells from the living room couch, throwing his head back in a loud laugh. Jooyeon smacks his arm, though she’s giggling too.

Sunggyu snorts, holding a spatula like a gavel. He looks between you and Myungsoo, his eyes lingering on the way Myungsoo’s arm is naturally draped over the back of your chair as you sit down.

"So," Sunggyu says, pointing the spatula at Myungsoo. "Are we updating the group chat relationship status from 'Single' to 'It's Complicated,' or did you two finally get your brains screwed on straight after ten years?"

Myungsoo looks down at you. The teasing, playful energy of the room fades into something incredibly quiet and heavy with emotion. He reaches down, threading his fingers through yours right there on top of the table, in front of everyone. He doesn't care about hiding it anymore. The pining is over.

"It's not complicated," Myungsoo says, his voice firm and clear, looking straight at his friends. "We're done wasting time."

Dongwoo lets out a dramatic sigh of relief, dropping his head onto Eunha's shoulder. "Thank God. I couldn't take another year of you staring at her like a pathetic puppy at every holiday party."

"Hey!" Myungsoo protests, his cheeks finally turning a slight shade of pink.

The entire kitchen erupts into laughter and cheers. Sungjong raises his coffee mug in a mock toast. "To the loose headboard. May it never be fixed again."

You bury your face in Myungsoo’s chest, laughing through your embarrassment. The weight that had been sitting on your chest for the last ten years—the regret, the unspoken words, the lingering jealousy—evaporates entirely.

He smirks at his word thrown back at him. "I mean, if he kissed you, it's not a problem to him."

"He might have been too exhausted to think through it fully."

You get another unimpressed expression from Jeonghan. He hands you a dustcloth.

"What?"

"If you're going to bother me with this, at least work while we talk."

You don't mind dusting bookshelves and books, it's soothing. Jeonghan's complete disinterest or concern about the uneven dynamic between you and Mingyu is less soothing.

"You know what?" you say, after an hour of talking yourself in circles. "It was only a kiss. He probably thinks nothing of it. It'll never happen again, and it's just a blip. A fluke."

You throw the dustcloth at Jeonghan's head when he snorts.

When Wednesday comes back round, you are more nervous than you were after your explosion on Mingyu outside the arcade. This is more guilt heaped on top of desire, cut with shame.

You are his boss. You are his employer and despite that, you desperately want him to kiss you again.

First kisses are nearly always awkward. Two mouths that don't know each other, that have different rhythms and styles. It should not go perfectly on first attempt.

Of course Mingyu would be the exception.

You've planted yourself in the liquor store room, hoping the tedious process of checking inventory will push your nerves out of mind. The bottles upon bottles of so many colors and shades is visually distracting.

But then, as you mark that you'll need two boxes of Titos this next shipment, you hear the back door open and close, the jostling of two buoyant male voices. You freeze, but try and focus on the shelf of cordials.

"Helloooo," Jungkook pops his head in through the open doorway. "Are we low on anything?"

"No, we're good." Business, business. Mingyu sticks his head in, standing next to Jungkook and you gulp, heart jumping to 120 beats a minute. "Um, maybe run a special on a bourbon cocktail? I want to get rid of that Wild Turkey bourbon, so we can pull in some better brands."

"Bourbon. Perfect." Jungkook ducks under Mingyu's arm to head toward the front of house and the bar.

You can feel his gaze as you go back to counting the bottles of Baileys.

"Madam boss…you good?"

"Of course, I'm good." You force a casual smile to your lips, looking up to reassure him. "Are—" you voice cracks and you clear your throat. "Are you well?"

A smile plays on his lips. "Yeah."

"Good." You swallow and look away though it kills you. His hair is messy today, he must have washed and slept on it; fluffy and soft.

"Good." The warmth in his voice makes your skin heat, but by the time you allow yourself to look back up, he's gone.

Right. That's good. Business as usual.

When you come out, about two hours after opening, you realize you forgot (how could you) that tonight is another theme night.

All of your copper mule mugs are littered along the bar. There's a plushie horse's head on a pole, a child's riding toy. A few of your patrons are wearing large, ostentatious hats. Like the ones from…

You pick up one of the empty used mugs and sniff.

Mint Juleps. The theme is the Kentucky Derby.

"Want one?" Mingyu pops up at the end of the bar where you are stationed. His nearness makes your heart speed up all over again.

"Absolutely not. Those are disgusting."

He grins at your wrinkled nose. "Agreed, but they're going over very well." He pulls a large pink hat with netting from a stack under the bar. "Want this instead?"

"No thank you. I don't really have the outfit to balance it out."

He laughs and crossing his arms to rest on the wood next to you. Forearms all on display for your eyes. "That hasn't stopped them." He nods down the bar to where Seokmin and Soonyoung wear a blue and red versions of the very hat in front of you. The rest of their clothing is their usual wear; jeans, t-shirts, sweaters and windbreakers.

"Where did all these hats come from?"

"The high school's costume closet." He watches you for a moment. "You come out just to check on us?"

You look away from the big hats to him.

Oh no.

You recognize that look.

It's from Saturday night.

When he kissed you.

"Of course. I always do. Why else would I leave the delights of my Quickbooks software?"

He inclines a bit more toward you. You hold your breath.

"That's it?"

You nod, too emphatically to be believable. "That's it." You tear your gaze from him, back to the rest of the pub. "You look like you both are fine. Do either of you need a break?"

"We've got it taken care of, madam boss." He has straightened up and put more space between the two of you. "Don't forget to eat something."

"Promise." You did forget to have dinner a lot of the time. Hurrying away is absolutely cowardly of you, and you'll scold yourself later for it. But he's too close, smells too good (even around the alcohol and customers), looks too wonderful.

It's safer in the back.

"Hey."

You jump up at his voice, banging your knee on your desk. "Ow. Mingyu…is everything okay?" You glance at the time on your computer. It's not closing time yet. You haven't missed that, but you've been staring blankly at the screen for the last hour.

"Everything's fine," he says, walking into the office. "Sorry to worry you. It's my break. I was checking on you."

"You don't have to do that." You rub your knee and wince.

"I don't have to, but I like to." He plops in his usual spot, on the arm of the chair, before looking around. "You finish the receipts I was doing?"

"Yes. Thank you for what you did. It was a big help." You keep standing, hands stacking papers as though looking busy will make it easier to reference last Saturday night. You point to your half-empty plate. "I ate."

"Good."

"Do you want something? I can go ask the kitchen to—" You turn to head that way.

"Madam boss, are you avoiding me?"

You freeze. "I'm not."

"Turn around and say that again. With feeling." If it wasn't for the humor in his voice, you'd bristle at the words. You do turn around.

"I'm not avoiding you."

He stands, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "You sure? Feels like it."

"Maybe it's just your ego."

He shrugs. "Maybe a little." He takes a few steps toward you. The open office door is at your back and you really don't want to walk out into the hallway where anyone can see you two. "You know, I didn't text you since Saturday, cause I figured you were freaking out and I wanted to let you do that. Let you get all that out of your system."

"What?"

He stops a foot away, bending down (stupid height) so your faces are as close as they were Saturday night.

"Should I have messaged you? Told you I was thinking about you?" He lets his nose touch yours. "Told you that any weird excuse you come up with for why I kissed you is completely wrong?"

Your lips part. "You were exhausted and therefore like being drunk, you didn't know what you were doing?"

He rolls his eyes, but doesn't move back. "You and I have been around enough drunk people to know, they know exactly what they're doing…it's just hazy. And yeah," He puts a finger on your lips when you try to speak. "I was tired, but I knew exactly what I was doing. Any other explanations?"

"You thought I was someone else?"

His eyes go dark when you say that, his finger still on your lips. "Never." He drops his finger and closes the distance, the touch of his lips on yours slight. It's a tease beyond tease.

"Mingyu." Your voice is needy and you hate yourself for it, but he's inches away, looking at you with those beautiful brown eyes, humor and want lighting them. "I don't understand."

"Hmmmmm," he draws it out, again letting his mouth graze yours. You lurch forward, kissing him without a thought in your head minus HIM, all capitals, in blinking neon lights. He's laughing against your lips, but it's not mean. Not with his arms curling around you, chests meeting.

How does he radiate so much heat all the time?

He pulls you away from the doorway, in the office far enough that he can close the door, pressing you back against it.

"I. Want. You."

You blink at him, as though he speaks a different language. "You do?"

"Oh you are so smart and so not sometimes," he says easily and warmly that it takes you a moment to catch the insult.

"Hey, that's not—"

He kisses you, rendering you speechless and dissipating your umbrage (he's not wrong though). You're grateful for the door because the moment his tongue finds yours, your knees buckle. Your hands seek his hair, carding through, relishing the soft and silky feel. His hand cups your face and the other slides to your hip, and dart underneath the hem of your shirt. You shudder at his fingertips on your skin.

"Sensitive," he whispers. "Are you sensitive other places?"

You blink open your eyes. "Huh?"

The same hand drifts up, finding the bottom edge of your bra. "Here? You sensitive here?" There's still a smirk playing on those devastating lips and if you weren't so far gone on this man, you'd be annoyed with his arrogance.

He doesn't expect an answer, not that you have one because your body thrums like a plucked harp string. Fingers slip under your bra to the delicate skin reverently. His hand is warm, a little rough, but pleasant…decadent as he gently squeezes, thumb dragging over your nipple.

You arch against the door.

"Easy, madam boss."

The teasing appellation sends a shock of ice through you. What are you doing?

"GYU!"

You both hear Jungkook through the door all the way from the bar.

"Need a hand out here!"

You pull his hand out and move around him as quickly as possible. "You ought to see if he's okay."

Mingyu says your name, but you don't turn around.

"Please go back on the floor."

There's a sigh. "Fine. But we're discussing this later." The door to your office opens and closes. You turn around to make sure he's gone. The lack of his presence is both relieving, but also painful.

This can't be dismissed as a fluke.

Despite that you'd rather go home then have to face him, or anyone in the bar tonight, you still come out at your usual twenty minutes until closing. There are a few stragglers, and Jungkook is cashing them out.

Mingyu is collecting glasses and pauses when he sees you. "Hey."

"Hi. I'll start on the floors."

"Oh but—"

"I'll get the floors." You hate sweeping and mopping, but you figure you deserve the punishment right now. You go to collect the broom and dustpan, starting in the far corner where people are not located. You're so focused on it that it takes you a moment, or several to realize that there's raised voices.

You look over to see that your bartenders are dealing with a pair of belligerent drunks, most likely kids from the university a town over. When one swings at Mingyu (never mind that Mingyu easily avoids the fist), that's when you pull out your cell to call the sheriff.

"It's okay," Jungkook tells you. "We got them. We can take them over there." The station isn't far; nothing is that far in Carats Ridge. Then he and Mingyu look around as the two drunks in their charge start to protest. You watch as Mingyu pulls one's arms behind him, holding his wrists together like a makeshift binding.

You are delusional, truly, because you think it's hot.

"I can finish the closing up, guys. Just go home after you drop them off."

"No, we can't—" Mingyu starts, but you cut him off.

"You're both doing me a favor, taking the trash out like this. I'll finish up. Good work." You move to open the front doors for them. Jungkook has his customer in a headlock and is laughing. Mingyu stops at the threshold.

"I don't—"

"It's all good, Mingyu. I'll clock you both out. Get home a little earlier tonight." You smile up at him. "I appreciate it."

He looks like he wants to say more, but the guy he's escorting starts trying to escape again, so he holds his arms more firmly, and continues to the sidewalk in front of the pub. He watches you as you shut the door and you know that what happened earlier won't be shoved under the rug. You both will have to address it eventually.

But not tonight.

You finish the floor, wipe down the tables and put up the chairs. You look over the bar area, but they apparently got that taken care of first. You check the front door again to make sure it's locked before heading to your office. When you grab your bag, your face heats with the memory of his hands and mouth, but you push it away as you turn off the lights.

It's later than you usually leave, but closing by oneself takes twice as long.

Liquor store room locked. Lights and all stoves off in the kitchen.

You let out a sigh, already missing the work because when you're working, you don't have to think much. Or you can only think about the work you are doing. Not…not anything else.

You wonder if you can metaphorically flog yourself when you get home.

You open the back door, curse the pouring rain, and set the door to lock automatically.

"Hey."

The sound you make is on par with some sort of small yappy dog.

"For fuck's sake, Mingyu. Are you insane? I have pepper spray in my bag."

He grins sheepishly, standing under one of the eaves of the pub. "Probably no good there because you didn't even try to grab it." His hair is damp, hanging in his eyes.

You close the back door and check it to make sure it's locked. "Well, now that I know someone might be waiting right outside the back door, I'll make sure to walk out with it in hand."

He leans against the building, arms crossed, but shoulders relaxed.

"Um." It now settles into your mind that it's Mingyu here. In front of you. Only hours after— "Did everything go okay at the station? Do I need to make a statement?"

"Everything's fine. And no. No statement." He waves a hand like handling antagonistic sots is no big deal. "They got real docile when they put handcuffs on them." He straightens up. "I thought I might miss you."

You close your eyes and take a deep deep breath. Opening your eyes, you begin: "So, what happened today was—"

"Not enough."

You had a speech. Or at least some fragments of a speech.

"You can't say that."

His slow-growing grin absolutely decimates you, and your self-control.

"I can't? I can't tell you that seeing your eyes all glassy from want, wanting me, didn't just whet my appetite for you?" He reaches out and pulls you close, hands on your upper arms, gentle but firm. "How knowing that you're probably still thinking about me, a room away while I'm at the bar made me want to let Kook handle the crowd and lock you and me in that office until we're both spent. Until we both are satisfied."

Can you combust from only his words? From the sheer amount of desire his words and his presence incite? Spontaneously turn to flame despite the deluge falling from the sky.

"You really can't say that."

"Give me tonight and I'll do more than say it." He doesn't give you time to consider, but presses his lips to yours. You sigh, body relaxing at his taste. He smells like amber and your pub. His hands slide from your arms to your neck, so he can angle you for kisses deeper. You've dropped your bag, fingers drifting under his t-shirt to the warm skin there. He shivers at your cold touch.

"Come home with me," he murmurs, breaking the kiss for those four words.

"But—"

"He's not there. Come home with me." He traces his thumb along the column of your neck before taking you by the hand and leading you into the rain. You grab your bag and stumble after him. He unlocks an easily twenty-year-old VW beetle, and ushers you in before jogging to the other side. You are soaked from the storm outside and immediately tremble even though it's not cold.

"This is yours?"

He closes the driver's door and turns the key before messing with the dash so heat starts pouring out of the vents. You sigh as it takes a little of the chill away.

"The car?"

You nod as he reaches into the back seat and hands you a towel. "It's clean…and yeah, the car is mine."

You start to chuckle.

"What?"

"Mingyu. You are the tallest man I know. Why did you get a tiny car?"

He tries to look annoyed, but his eyes sparkle (or that's the rain still on his eyelashes). "I like this car."

Your laugh is almost drowned out by the thunder outside. He leans over to kiss you, cradling your cheek in his big hand. You return it, moaning when his tongue dances with yours. When he draws back, you place the towel on his head and dry his hair.

"I can't have a sick bartender." You rub with the towel, getting rid of the excess water at least. He watches you. "Most people look like drowned rats, but you're even prettier, how is that possible?"

"Shut up," he mutters, cheeks turning pink. You laugh again, before jumping when lighting flashes outside the windows. "Are you scared of storms?"

"Not really. Are you?"

He shakes his head, still gazing at you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone delicately.

"I thought you were in a hurry." His attention is discombobulating. He kisses you again, slower and leisurely. You let the towel fall into your lap as you run your hands through his hair. He pulls you closer, damn the hand brake between you. He lowers it before sliding one hand to your ass and lifting you so your in his lap, facing him. The steering wheel presses into your lower back. "We aren't—"

He shushes you before drawing up your top and pulling it off. You instantly cover yourself with a protest and then shiver. He pulls your arms out of the way, eyes taking in his fill.

"Thought about you for so long," he says, voice barely heard above the storm. "Wanted to see you like this." He starts to undo your jeans, mouth giving you no chance to respond verbally to his words. You whine when his hand slips into your underwear.

"Oh my god," you gasp when his finger enters you. He presses soft kisses to your cheeks and nose as he skims your slit with said finger. "Gyu…."

"Already wet for me."

"Has nothing to do with the rain." You're not sure how you can joke while he's touching you like this. But he knows how much you want him, it feels like someone should humble him from time to time.

He pinches your clit and you jolt. "I know the goddamn difference," he says before nipping your neck. "I thought you'd be good for me."

His voice is velvet and you pull his face back to yours so you can kiss him again. "I'll be good," you whisper on his lips. Again and again you kiss, taste, delve as he curls one finger, and then a second in your cunt, his thumb teasing your clit.

"Hey baby," he says when you start to squeeze his fingers. "Pull the lever so we can push the seat back?"

You blink at him, brain dazed. His grin widens.

"What are you smiling about?"

"You," he answers, pulling his fingers out, making you curse. He pulls the lever and pushes the back of the seat. "Spacey because of me." He tugs you down so you'er lying on him.

"You like me dumb?"

"Just cause you're always on top of things," he assures you. You huff, and sit up, working on his jeans' button and zipper.

"There's some joke in there about me being on top right now."

"If you weren't spacey, I bet you'd come up with—" he groans when you wrap your hand around his cock. "Fuck, you feel so good."

You use what he's already leaked to lubricate your hand and his cock. You stroke carefully, then tighten your grip. His hand on your hip digs in deep.

"Condom?" you ask, leaning down to kiss the tip. He groans.

"Don't you have a million in the office for the bathrooms?"

"You want me to go in there, right now and get some?" You lean over him, eyebrows up in question.

"No, I can't wait, I'll pull out, I promise. I'm clean," he stutters when you rub your thumb over his slit. You kiss him before lining him up with your entrance, and easing down.

You've never heard Mingyu curse that much.

He sits up to capture your mouth with his, hands caressing all your bared skin.

You tug on the hem of his shirt, and he only breaks away for you to pull it off and toss it in the back. His hands return to your ass and your clit as he gently grinds before starting to thrust. You can barely breathe, tracing every line of his chest and arms, kissing and sucking where you can.

He feels so good inside you, the drag of him rubbing every sensitive part of you.

The thunder drowns out the noises you both are making, but you feel his hot breath against your neck when his rhythm picks up.

"Close, baby?" His thumb presses hard and you clench so tight that your orgasm screams through you. It's heady, the euphoria of the release. You're only coming down from the high when he starts to pull out of you.

"No," you say against his ear, nibble on the soft skin. "Come inside."

"Fuck, you sure?"

"Yes." You lick the side of his neck and he trembles when he comes. His mouth open on your shoulder, with his arms wrapped tight around you, his breathing harsh, but slowing.

You take it all in, searing it into your memory.

When he raises his head to look at you, you brush his hair out of his eyes, press the back of your hands against his flushed cheeks. He kisses your fingers.

"Come home with me. I'll make you breakfast in the morning."

Go home with him. Stay in his bed, wake up with him. Have breakfast with him.

Where Jungkook also lives.

Who is your employee.

And so is Mingyu.

The metaphoric cold water dumped on you is like a shock to the system.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You pull away, scrambling to the passenger side, before tugging your underwear back in place and re-buttoning your jeans.

"I should go home."

He says your name in a tone of disappointment and frustration. His hand encircles your arm as you open your door.

"I can't leave my car here." It's a terrible excuse, there isn't high crime in Carats Ridge. "And I—" You jerk away from his touch. "I can't." And you rush back out into the rain, getting in your own car and driving toward your home.

You don't look back.

When you arrive several minutes later, you glance in the rear-view mirror, not sure if you're relieved or saddened that he didn't follow you.

Your phone pings with a message, but you don't check it until you're safe in your house, showered and dried off, now in your pajamas.

»mingyu: we're talking about this tomorrow

You don't answer, already regretting your choices and your actions.

You mean to get up early. To go and do errands. To be a productive member of society.

But your body has other ideas.

For fuck's sake, you're sore.

You grumble at yourself because yes, sex made you sore, but also sex in tight quarters like a VW BEETLE made you sore.

You drag on some loose yoga pants and stumble out of your bedroom.

Then there's a knock at your door.

You debate on answering.

"I know you're in there, I see your car." He huffs. "Can we just talk?"

You open the door and Mingyu is holding a white paper bag, and a drink tray with two cups.

"You ever think I'm not worth it?"

You both still at your unthought-out question.

"What?"

"Come in." You step back to let him in, looking down the sidewalk. "Where's your car?"

"Kook dropped me after we grabbed food." He sets his burdens on your kitchen counter and points to you before you say something. "He knows. He's known forever." He stands in the middle of your kitchen, making it feel small (it's not huge, but Mingyu dominates a space).

"Forever? We only had sex last night." Does your face heat when you say it aloud? Yes, but that's only for you and he to know.

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. "He's known how I feel about you since…well, since…" He hands you one of the two paper cups. "It's weird that I don't know how you like your coffee. Our interactions are never before afternoon."

"So what did you choose?" You take a sniff of the drink. "Smells like cinnamon."

"Cinnamon bun latte." He shrugs. "Or I have an Americano."

"Gross, cinnamon bun latte please."

He half-grins before taking the lit off his cup and blowing in it. You shuffle in to open the paper bag and inhale deeply.

"A couple plain croissants, and chocolate ones."

"You didn't have to bring me breakfast."

He sets his cup on the counter, standing on the other side from you so he can face you. "I would have made you breakfast."

You are going to have to have this conversation.

"Mingyu…" You offer him one of the chocolate croissants. "Do you want sugar or cream with your Americano?"

"I'm good." He takes a bite of the pain au chocolate and waits. For you to say something.

"I'm sorry."

"For?" he asks once he's swallowed.

"Everything. I shouldn't sleep with my employee, but I shouldn't run out on you either. I shouldn't want you, make out with you at work; but I most definitely should not give you mixed signals." You shove your hair out of your face, decidedly glad that he's getting to see you like this: big shirt, loose pants, unwashed face (at least you brushed your teeth) and bedhead.

If he ever found you attractive, he wouldn't now.

You sip your latte and smile. "That's really good."

"Apology accepted," he says. He watches you with those beautiful brown eyes. "Why does it matter if I work for you?"

"Oh come on. I'm your boss. I can fire you."

"Or promote me."

"Exactly, the power imbalance is huge and unfair to you. I could fire you for something like just…" You struggle to find an example.

"But you wouldn't."

"I'm talking theoretically here."

"But you wouldn't." He reaches across the counter to grasp you by the chin. "I know you. You wouldn't ever do that. You worry too much to make that kind of decision."

You stare at him. "Really?"

He sighs. "I could also abuse the dynamic. Use my relationship with you for any sort of promotion, benefits like, I dunno, longer breaks, pay raise, not work."

"You wouldn't. You enjoy yourself, but you work so hard."

"I'm talking theoretically here." He grins at you and you realize what he's doing. You know him. Not everything of course, but you know his character, his work ethic, how he's sees the world.

You are so far gone on this man.

"Okay, I get it, but—"

"You need an assistant manager right? Or supervisor? As the pub gets busier and the paperwork piles up."

"Yes. I've been thinking about that." You can't have him stay after work to do paperwork again, that's too dangerous.

"So who would you promote?" He doesn't let you look away, still holding your chin.

You swallow, nervous. "Honestly, you or Jungkook would do well at it. You've got a more laid-back temperament, but you can handle yourself in chaos. Jungkook is far more hyper, but he adjusts easily and has a strong sense of what's fair, so I don't worry about him keeping the peace." You shrug. "I think it be easier if you two talked it out and decided together who was a better fit. I'm too concerned that if I promoted you, it would show favoritism, or if I promoted Jungkook, I'd be doing it because I didn't want to show favoritism, which is kind of the same thing."

His smile inches across his lips. "See. You're a great boss. You don't like theme nights, but you were willing to give them a shot because Kook and I wanted to try."

"It's doing too well, I'm annoyed."

He chuckles and lets go of your chin, and returning to his coffee and pastry. "Is that it?"

"I think that's a big concern."

He pulls out the other pain au chocolate and puts it to your mouth. You take a bite and close your eyes. Why are pastries so delicious?

"I like you. I have since I met you."

As a 'love confession' (you have watched way too much anime in your lifetime), it's probably not the most dramatic or intense, but it still squeezes your heart. The softness of his expression, the domesticity of standing in your kitchen, just getting to look at him.

He likes you.

"At the interview?"

He nods, laughing before brushing crumbs off your lips. "You were so cute. Asking all kinds of questions before firing off ten cocktails, several really obscure, and asking me for the ingredients."

"You told me which ones you didn't know, but said that's what recipe books and your phone was for." You look down, smiling at the memory. "I appreciated that you admitted when you didn't know something. A lot of people would have faked it."

You don't realize that he comes around the counter to stand next to you, until his side presses yours.

"I like you too."

"I had an inkling you might."

"Shut up."

He laughs again before leaning down to kiss you softly. "The employer-employee thing is awkward, I get it. But I'm okay with working through that with you. Are you?"

You stare up at him, deciding that you will regret everything if you don't try. Not with this kind, beautiful, so honest and up front man, who puts up with your wavering.

"Yes."

His smile is warm and fond. He cradles your face in one hand, thumb at your lips. "You're worth it, by the way."

You can believe it, staring into those eyes.

Friday night you spend more time on the floor than you usually do. It's busy at the pub. Some sports match that Jungkook and Mingyu know about (you don't, you do not care enough to keep up) is on the televisions and so many of your regulars are in your pub.

You are mixing a French 75 for Joshua, moving around Mingyu who shoots you an indulgent grin. He bumps hips with you as he shakes up an espresso martini for Jihoon.

"You take up so much space," you tell him, mock-complaining.

"So I'm big?"

You don't answer that. It is not appropriate work conversation, but the glint in his eye is enough.

It's not like you weren't babbling with affection and praise this morning at yours. He really likes having sex in the morning.

He really likes you.

You hand Joshua his drink before finding the next patron. You halt when you see Jeonghan at your bar, royally arrogant smirk in place as he eyes you, then Mingyu, then you again with a perfect eyebrow raise.

"What'll be?" you ask, not commenting on the nonverbal conversation he's having with you.

"Glass of port."

You fulfill his request as Jungkook reaches over you for a wineglass. He winks at you.

The first thing you'd done after the eventful Thursday morning was talk to Jungkook. You explained that you and his best friend were seeing each other, but it would not in any way affect the workplace and climate.

"I hope it does." He leaning against the shelf of tequila in the liquor store room.

"Excuse me?"

"I hope it affects the workplace. I hope you guys are stupid happy." His grin is bright and gleeful, before dropping into a serious expression. "But you know, if you break his heart, I won't forgive you."

"Fair and valid."

"If he breaks yours, I'll punch him," he tells you with the same amount of glee as he leaves to finish up prep work.

"I…I, uh, appreciate that?"

He waves and is gone before you can say anything else.

"So things are good?" Jeonghan says when you hand him his port.

"How can you tell?"

"You both keep stealing glances at each other, and honestly? It's gross." But he's smiling. "So not a fluke?"

"Not a fluke."

"So you won't be coming in to The Bookery to have a meltdown anymore?"

"Don't sound so disappointed," you fire back and then leave him to his drink. The crowd is settled now, your bartenders have everything under control. You tell Jungkook (who is closest) that you're going to the back to do some paperwork and he waves you away.

You push through the 'employee only' doors and head down the hallway to your office. Your hand is snagged and you're spun around into an embrace.

"Just one kiss," Mingyu says, mouth following his words. It's quick, almost chaste. He releases you before you can fully soak it in.

"We shouldn't—"

"Probably not," he answers, with a wicked grin. "But this is more fun, madam boss." And he disappears back through the doors to bar and the people.

You're smiling, heart light and fluttery.

Way more fun.

a/n2: i originally outlined this for a lot more shenanigans, and even MORE avoidance on the mc's part. but turns out romcoms want miscommunication and this particular mingyu just won't allow that. :D

Seungcheol's eyes glisten with a fresh wave of lust as he watches you bite your lip, which was clearly meant to provoke him, sending a jolt of want straight to his core. He presses your hip flush against his own possessively, his large hand spanning nearly the entire width.

"Appropriate?" He scoffs softly, shaking his head. "Life's too short to worry about labels and expectations, especially when something feels this right." His other hand slides up from your waist to tangle in your silky hair, tugging lightly to angle your face towards his.

"Your brother doesn't own you, sweetheart. You're your own person, free to make your own choices." His voice is low and hypnotic, his gaze boring into yours with intense conviction. "And I choose you. I want you, more than I've ever wanted anyone."

Your pulse pounds in your ears as Seungcheol's words wash over you, his grip on your hip and hair sending thrilling sparks of pleasure through your sensitive skin. You swallows a lump, your mouth suddenly feeling parched.

"I... want you too, Cheol." The admission spills from your lips before you can stop it, a confession born of raw, primal need. "But what about Jeonghan? He trusts you, relies on you..."

Your brow furrows in concern, even as your body continues to crave his closeness. "If we cross this line, there will be consequences. I don't want to hurt him, or ruin our relationships." Despite your words, your hands slide up to his chest, your fingertips tracing the hard planes of muscle as if drawn to them by an invisible force.

Seungcheol's expression softens, his thumb stroking your cheek now in a soothing caress. "Jeonghan is a good guy, and I care about him deeply. But my feelings for you... they're unlike anything I've experienced before. Irresistible, consuming."

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your gasp of surprise. His tongue delves past your parted lips, tangling with yours in a passionate dance that leaves you breathless and aching for more.

"Let's not worry about the future right now. Just live in this moment with me," he pants after breaking the the kiss, his heated gaze locks onto yours. "Let me show you how much I desire you, how perfect we fit together."

You melt into Seungcheol's embrace, your mind clouding with lust as you initiates another kiss. His tongue plunders your mouth instantly with a small moan. You cling to him, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as he returns the kiss with equal fervor.

"Mmmh," you moan back softly against his lips, your body arching into his, craving the heat and hardness of him. "Yes, Cheol... show me... make me forget everything else," you plead between the soul consuming kisses.

With a fluid motion, you wrap your legs around Seungcheol's waist, pressing your core against the prominent bulge in his pants. You nip at his bottom lip, then soothes the sting with your tongue—lost in the intoxicating taste of him.

Groaning into the kiss, he hoists you higher against him, his thick erection straining against the confines of his jeans as your hips grind against it. He walks you both backward until your back hits the wall, pinning your body there with his own.

"Fuck, baby... you have no idea how badly I want you." Seungcheol's husky confession is coated with desire, his hot breath fanning over your face as he trails kisses down your jaw and neck. "I'm going to make you see stars," he promises.

His hands roam your curves, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh. One palm cups your breast, thumb rubbing over the hardened nipple visible through your thin sundress. "You're so responsive, so perfect. I can't wait to see you come undone under me."

You whimper and writhe against the wall, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his passion. Your nipples throb beneath his touch, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

"Ahh—please, Cheol!" You gasp, your hips rolling in desperate circles against his throbbing length. "Touch me more, everywhere. I need it so bad!"

Your hands frantically work at the buttons of his shirt, yanking it open to reveal his chiseled chest. You attack his skin with open-mouthed kisses, licking and nipping at the defined muscles as your fingers explore the ridges and valleys.

"I'm yours, completely," you declare breathlessly, gazing up at him with glazed, adoring eyes. "Make me yours, Cheol mark me, claim me—please."

Seungcheol growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating through both of you as he claims your mouth in another scorching kiss. His hands slip beneath the hem of your dress, fingers dancing over the smooth expanse of your thighs before gripping your ass and lifting you higher.

"You're mine, love," he rasps against your lips, punctuating each word with a nip and suckle. "Every inch of you belongs to me now."

With a swift motion, he rips your dress open, the sound of tearing fabric mingling with your startled cry. Buttons scatter across the floor as he exposes your bra-clad breasts, which he tears it off as well, sending it hurling across the room. He immediately closes his mouth around a pert nipple and sucks it hard.

"Mmm, so sweet," Seungcheol murmurs approvingly, his tongue swirling around the stiff peak before moving to lavish attention on its twin.

You cry out in a mix of shock and ecstasy as he ravages your breasts, your back arching to press more of your sensitive flesh against his greedy mouth. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him against you as waves of pleasure tides up inside you.

"Yes, Cheol! More, please!" you beg shamelessly, your hips bucking wildly against his clothed rigid length, seeking friction for your aching sex. "I'm burning up for you—fill me, make me whole!"

As Seungcheol releases your nipples with a wet pop, you whimper at the loss, only to moan loudly when his hands find the waistband of your panties and swiftly shove them down your thighs. Cool air hits your slick, and swollen folds, making you shudder.

"Oh fuck, you look gorgeous," his breath hitches.

Primal hunger dances in his eyes as he drinks in the sight of your bared pussy, glistening with arousal. He drops to his knees before you, spreading your thighs wide to expose your most intimate area to his ravenous gaze.

"So pretty, so perfect," he mutters, his voice heavy with lust as he leans in to inhale your unique musky scent. "I'm going to devour you, sweetheart."

Without further preamble, he buries his face between your thighs, his tongue darting out to lap at your dripping slit. He groans at the taste of you, his hands gripping your hips as he eats you out with single-minded focus, his tongue fucking your hole and circling your clit with relentless pressure.

You scream in blissful agony as Seungcheol devours you whole, your hands flying to his hair, clutching and tugging as he assaults your sensitive folds with his talented tongue. Your thighs tremble and quiver as your inner walls clenches around nothing as he relentlessly teases your clit.

"Ahhh, yes, oh fuck, Cheol! Don't stop, please!" you chant, your hips rocking erratically against his face, chasing the elusive peak of pleasure. "I'm so close, so fucking close!"

Just as your orgasm threatens to crest, he pulls away, leaving you panting and bereft. You look down at him with furrowed brows, eyes wild with desperation and lust only to see him standing up and quickly shedding his clothes.

His massive cock springs free, thick and veiny, the tip already leaking precum.

Seungcheol's piercing gaze locks onto your face as he steps between your spread thighs, his engorged shaft bobbing mere inches from your entrance. He reaches down to guide himself to your slick opening, the head of his cock nudging against your swollen clit.

"You ready for me, baby?" he asks gruffly, his words strained with anticipation. "Ready to take every inch of my cock?"

At your breathless nod, he surges forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you in one powerful thrust. You both groan at the exquisite sensation of being joined, his thick length stretching your tight channel to the limit.

"Fuuuck, you feel amazing," he pants, his hips beginning to piston in and out of your desperate cunt, setting a brutal pace designed to drive both of you to the brink of madness.

Your whimpers of pleasure echoes through the room as he impales you on his huge dick, the initial stretch giving way to a pleasure so intense that it borders on pain. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you're too far gone to care, lost in the rhythmic pounding of his hips against yours.

"Yes, yes, harder! Fuck me, Cheol, use me!" you wail, your nails scoring down his back as you meet his thrusts with your own frantic movements, grinding your clit against him with each stroke. "I'm yours, all yours, fill me up!"

The obscene squelch of flesh slapping against flesh fills the air, punctuated by his guttural grunts and your high-pitched moans.

Seungcheol snarls, his control slipping as he loses himself in the intoxicating feeling of your tight, wet heat enveloping his cock. He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, angling them to hit that magic spot deep inside you with every driving thrust.

"That's it, take it all, baby!" he growls, his balls slapping against your ass as he fucks you with primal abandon. "Scream for me, let everyone know who you belong to!"

His thrusts become erratic, his climax rapidly approaching as your inner walls begin to flutter and clench around him. He reaches between your bodies to rub at your swollen clit, determined to push you over the edge with him.

He feels you flutter and clench around him in a tight grip.

"C'mon baby, I know you are close. Cum for me, babygirl!"

Your world narrows to the incredible sensation of his length plundering your depths, his skilled fingers working up your clit, pushing you toward the pinnacle of pleasure. You throw your head back with a scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave.

"CHEOL! OH FUCK, YES! I'M CUMMING!" Your voice rises to a shrill pitch, your body convulsing violently as wave after wave of ecstasy rips through you. "FILL ME UP—PLEASE!"

Your inner muscles clamp down on his pistoning cock, milking him for all he's worth as your vision whites out from the sheer intensity of your release.

With a roar of triumph, Seungcheol buries himself to the hilt inside your spasming cunt as your orgasm triggers his own. His length pulses and throbs, spilling jet after jet of hot semen deep within your quivering depths.

"Fuck, baby, you fell incredible!" he bellows, his hips jerking erratically as he empties himself into your welcoming womb. "Take it all, every last drop!"

He holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you both ride out the aftershocks of your combined climaxes. He presses tender kisses to your sweat-dampened skin, murmuring words of praise and affection.

"That was... wow. You're amazing, babygirl. So beautiful, so responsive," his voice is dazed, still reeling from the intensity of their coupling.

You lie limp and sated in Seungcheol's embrace, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. You nuzzle into his neck, a contented sigh escaping your lips as you savor the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

"Mmm, Cheol... that was incredible," you agree, your voice husky from exertion and pleasure. "I've never felt anything like it before."

Your fingers trace idle patterns on his chest, your mind still foggy with post-orgasmic bliss. "You're amazing, too. So big and strong, and you make me feel so good."

A shy smile spreads on your lips as you glance up at him. "I think I want to know you more, Cheol."

"Me too," he agrees with a small smile, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

After you both have caught your breath, he helps you clean up and leaves to draw a bubble bath for you after pressing another soft kiss to your lips.

You sit against the wall, draped in just his shirt as you wait for him.

The doors abruptly swings open, making your shoulders jump up. Jeonghan stands in the doorway with unbridled rage creasing his face.

A boulder rolls down in your stomach as a cold sweat breaks through your skin at his unannounced presence.

"I heard everything," he grits out.

Shit—you're really fucked up this time!

⚚ Masterlist

Pulling back, you inhale a sharp breath and spit on his tip and take him back in your mouth, this time letting his length hit the back of your throat.

Joshua's legs tremble, and his fingers claw in your hair, making you take him in more roughly. You smirk against cock, knowing he's struggling to hold himself back.

That's what you get, Mr. Grumpy-pants!

You scoff in your head and suck out his soul through his cock.

He's getting closer.

Your hands climb up to knead his balls with your moans vibrating his length. He's coated with your saliva and spit, making it easier for you to bob your head on.

Joshua knows you won't give him the way he wants, so he uses your hair as rails to guide your mouth on his cock.

You swirl your tongue around his tip, and that undoes him.

A warm liquid floods your mouth, and you savor it for a moment, then drink it without hesitation. You pull back to catch your breath, wiping with the back of your hand the drops of his spill that sticks to your lips.

The table cloth rises up, and you're met with those sharp eyes eating you up.

"You had your fun, huh? C'mon now, crawl out like a slut you are, and I'll teach you a lesson that you so desperately are asking for."

You gulp and close your legs; you can already feel the wave rising up in your folds.

You do as he asked—you crawl out to take your lesson.

⚚ Masterlist

You intended to maintain this arrangement for a while longer since things are going so well. Jaehyun appears equally content, seemingly unbothered by the lack of formal steps forward. Neither of you had immediate plans to change the status quo, finding satisfaction in the present moment.

Damn, you really fell hard for him. It's impossible not to, considering the guy was a true beauty. It was like sculptors created him, always putting time and effort into carving him to look perfect in the most effortless ways. You can't really fathom that he's friends with someone like you, especially when most girls that hung around him were always absolutely stunning. Still, he doesn't seem to have a problem being in the current arrangement the two of you are in so you just hope you could keep this going for a little while. You wouldn't know what you'd do if the two of you didn't have each other's company in your daily routine.

Truthfully, you planned to keep up the situationship for just a bit more because things seemed to be going really well. Jaehyun's enjoying himself, not bothered at all that the two of you haven't made any steps.

A breathless moan slips past your lips as your fingers tangle into the dark, silken hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. Jaehyun watches the way your body reacts with hungry eyes, his gaze heavy with a raw, primal lust that seems to consume the very air between you. One of his large hands grips your inner thigh with possessive strength, anchoring you open for him, while his fingers continue their rhythmic, punishing thrusts inside your soaking heat. All the while, his plush lips remain focused on your skin, trailing tender, searing kisses that leave you absolutely undone.

Jaehyun decided to spend the night at your place tonight and he was just the kind of distraction that you needed. So when he joined you in bed, slipping under the covers shirtless and in sweats, the two of you proceeded to cuddle and share about your day before ending up tangled in each other's arms. Now, he's watching how his fingers sink inside your soaked pussy with hungry eyes, lips red and swollen from sucking on you before he focused his mouth back on your thighs. There are more hickeys and bites all over your body, decorating every curve, from his insistence and desire.

"Awake?" His voice is raspy, thumb drawing circles near where you want his tongue again. You whimper a quiet sound of affirmation, trying to gain back some form of coherence.

"Jaehyun," you sigh out, swallowing the lump in your throat. Your hands pull on his hair in response to his hands skimming down your hips.

"Not quite done here," he chides playfully, biting your inner thigh. You breathe in a sharp breath as his tongue dances around the fresh bruise, his fingers easing you towards the edge. "Missed seeing your cute face when you get eaten out like this."

And oh, how his words make you so much more aroused. Your pussy squeezes around his fingers, chest heaving, your breathing becoming faster.

"Oh," you sigh, the feeling of his lips returning to your cunt makes your toes curl. One hand wanders into his dark hair, your fingers brushing over the nape of his neck. Your thighs start to tense when his tongue finds your clit. "Fuck, I miss this."

He smirks, and you wish you could kick him. How dare he look that hot when he was in between your thighs? You bite your lip as he groans, vibrations making you whine.

"Been so long since you let me have my meal," he knows what he does to you, playing with you, pressing his palm against your pussy like that. You don't have anything to respond with when his mouth is on you again.

"A-Ahh, Jae..." He pulls back, waiting. "Please." The sensation of his fingers brushing over the swollen spot gets you to whine again, toes curling, mouth agape. All the frustration is coming back tenfold and your neediness seems to inflate tenfold. You tug at his hair, "Let me cum."

Jaehyun places kisses all around your inner thigh. Your breath hitches, eagerness flooding in your veins as you anticipate his return to where you want him. His tongue is warm and his lips are plush. You pant softly, pressing yourself against his tongue as it glides back and forth, the flickers of his muscle sending electricity throughout your nerves.

The low sounds that emerge from the back of his throat send goosebumps across your skin as you rock back and forth along with the thrusting rhythm of his fingers. The coil in your abdomen is about ready to break. Your back begins arching. The pad of his index finger finds your g-spot and hits it, continuously, the sensitivity of the swollen bundle overwhelming you.

He is clearly relishing the moment, and why wouldn't he be, as your walls tighten possessively around his fingers. He is fully aware of how close you are to the edge. A whine leaves your pretty mouth, then another, and you almost squeak. Your thoughts have completely dissolved, leaving only the sensation of his movements and the sound of your own breathless moaning. You don't even know how your hand got to hold onto his, but you're just desperate for something to keep you stable as the tides wash over you.

You're so close. So, so close.

He presses a third finger inside and it's finally too much for your tired mind. Jaehyun chuckles in satisfaction, letting you grind yourself out on his palm, coaxing you for just a little longer until you're shaking in his hands, his name falling from your lips. Once your breath stabilizes, Jaehyun raises himself on his elbows to meet your face with a smug grin and you flush red all over.

He hums, pecking your lips and smiling, "Told you that you're so cute when you're getting eaten out. Thank you for breakfast."

"Sh-shut up," you manage, avoiding his teasing stare. Instead, you try to take notice of the feeling in the atmosphere, or better yet, the feeling in his sweatpants that was becoming quite difficult for him to hide. "Do you...want me to help you with that?"

Jaehyun brushes some hair off your face. "Nah. I wanted to treat you this morning since I'm sure no one satisfies you like I do."

"Jae," you roll your eyes and he laughs.

"Alright, that, and," he shifts his weight, moving back down the bed to settle on his side beside you, smoothing down your nightgown, "I'd really love another round, if you're up for it." He flashes that signature, dimpled smile before starting to untangle himself from the sheets. "Hold on, let me grab us some water and a few essentials first—"

"You better not have any flowers or any of that nonsense," you groan playfully, the sound muffled by the pillows. "You know how I feel about flowers."

"Not a single petal this time," Jaehyun snickers, a rich sound that vibrates through the air. He slips his arm beneath you, hoisting you up with effortless strength as he carries you out of the room. "Just the two of us and a fresh pot of coffee. How does that sound?"

Golden sunlight streams into your kitchen as the curtains are swept aside, revealing a cheerful dawn just beyond the glass. Jaehyun sets you down on a chair with effortless ease, the room quiet save for the soft rustling of leaves from a potted plant. The fresh greenery was his little gift to you, perched on the windowsill in hopes of adding a touch of life to your chaotic routine.

"Not a single petal this time," he snickers, his smugness practically radiating off him. You hear the soft rustle of his clothes as he sweeps behind you, his plush lips pressing a tender kiss against your temple.

"Good boy," you purr, a triumphant grin spreading across your face as your hand finds the sleek, firm muscle of his bicep.

He releases a light-hearted scoff, the rich sound vibrating through the morning air as he presses a lingering kiss to the crown of your head before strolling towards the stove with effortless ease. "Just like how you're a good girl?" A sudden wave of heat rushes to your cheeks, and you quickly hide your face behind your hands, the vivid memory of his head buried between your thighs just moments ago making your skin prickle. You hear him snicker, that smugness practically radiating off him, before he asks, "Where’s your stash of coffee grounds, Y/N? I’ll brew us something nice. You just rest there."

"On top of the cupboards," you reply. Your eyes rove over him as he stretches upwards to the cabinet to take the bag, his sweatpants hanging low enough to provide you with a view. "A little more, on the left." He reaches to the correct location, bending forwards and showcasing the sinful muscles of his upper back. His arms are thick and you can remember how they flex and tighten whenever he's holding you against him.

You lick your lips, subconsciously trying to resist the urge to walk up and hug him from behind. To pepper his neck with kisses and distract him enough so you could slip your hand past the waistband and satisfy that throbbing bulge. To make the cup of coffee a cup of nothing and forget the day.

He turns around, grin twitching as he holds back his laughter. "Like what you see?" he asks with a smirk.

You stick your tongue out in a silly fashion, a small groan of playful frustration escaping your lips. Jaehyun doesn't take long to finish with the coffee, taking a leisurely sip before placing a warm mug right in front of you. He sinks into the seat opposite yours, flashing that signature, dimpled smile—the one he reserves only for those moments when he's truly, genuinely pleased.

It feels good. Not the coffee or the aftermath of the orgasms, but just...spending time with him. Like this. Without a single thought, you decide you want moments like these to continue.

"What do you want to do today?" He asks, his voice low as he takes a leisurely sip from the warm mug in his hands. "The guys are itching to go out, but I've already spent so much time with them since I've been back. Honestly, I'd much rather just stay right here with you today, if you'll have me."

"No complaints from me," you say. His eyes seem to dance with happiness, teeth sinking into his lower lip. Jaehyun says nothing else, allowing the silence and company of the morning to soothe your hearts.

He looks handsome, the sunlight drifting over the side of his face, brushing across the edges of his jaw and kissing his smooth cheek. His eyes remain focused on his reflection in the liquid as it swirls. Jaehyun then brings his mug up in a toast, flashing a knowing smile in your direction and motioning his head towards yours.

How can this gorgeous man be just a friend? Just someone to talk to? Just to keep you company? You hate the fact that those questions continue to play in your mind as you raise your mug to join his, smiling as though everything is the same. Because they have been and things have stayed this way for years.

You don't even remember how sex came into the picture but you were glad you let it happen, allowed yourselves to be wrapped up in the lust and passion. And somehow, in the midst of tangled bodies, you found comfort, you found the answer.

It wasn't exactly a realization that would shake the universe, nor would it cause the angels and clouds to sing, but it was just like that, it felt right. You wanted to keep being by his side, and that was when you realized your feelings and realized why it hurt when he was gone for military service.

You missed him, you really did, more than you could ever say out loud. It wasn't just because he wasn't warming your bed, you slept around to find replacement, the others couldn't satisfy you the same way. None had the same ability to bring you the utmost pleasure like he had.

You both stay silent for a minute and you can feel a change in the atmosphere. Tension seems to stir in the air, making everything thicker and suffocating. His expression is clouded, a trace of doubt flashing on his handsome face.

"Jae...what are we exactly?" you murmur. Your question hangs in the air like a weighted blanket, heavy with the uncertainty of your shared moments. "Never mind. You don't need-"

"What do you want us to be, Y/N?" he interrupts softly. He reaches across the table to take hold of your hand. "Tell me."

"It's still confusing," you mutter, the words barely a breathy whisper. Though the confession is hidden beneath the mumble, you know he hears you clear as day. Your heart pounds out a thousand frantic beats, filling your chest with a heavy, newfound weight. "But I also can't ignore this—this flutter in my chest whenever I see your stupid, handsome face. Every single time." You risk looking him straight in those beautiful, dark eyes, allowing a raw burst of vulnerability to peek through your facade. "I really, really don't want to fuck whatever this is up. Especially not because of my own dumb feelings."

"Hey," Jaehyun kneels on the floor beside you. Gently, his thumbs brush the wetness forming at the corners of your eyes. His gaze is solemn yet kind. "Look at me, Y/N. Take a breath. Do you trust me?"

"Of course, I do," you choke out in response. "You were the only one who's been there for me and that means a lot, Jaehyun."

"Look." He gives you a weak smile. His palm caresses your face tenderly, rubbing your cheek. "I never expected that you would turn my whole world upside down. I tried to tell myself otherwise, that I shouldn't pursue more and simply stay friends."

"And?"

"But it didn't work out the way I wanted," he sighed, his voice dropping an octave as he admits his failure to stay detached. "I feel like you understand me as much as I understand you, and that's a feeling that's so damn hard to ignore. Plus, we're good together. We make a good team in bed, sure, but in the beginning, I felt the connection, you know? And I realized I didn't have those same feelings for my previous partners." His grip remains firm and stable, even as he grazes your skin, his thumb tracing lingering patterns that make your heart stutter. The movement is steady as he patiently continues, "The days went by and I found myself liking you more and more. I told myself to push through, that it'll fade away but... you're too unforgettable, and I just can't seem to let go."

"J-Jaehyun..." Your voice wobbles as you desperately try to find something to say.

His head shakes firmly, resolve painted onto his face. "So let me just be completely transparent with you because I'm so goddamn in love with you, Y/N. That's not a lie. No excuses, no fake emotions, just the honest truth that I'm absolutely in love with you."

"This has to be some kind of dream," you mumble as your body goes slack against him. His hands lift you to face him as a beautiful laugh rings out into the air. "I can't believe my stupid crush fell for me as much as I did for him...what is this bullshit?"

"Is my ass dreamy enough for this to be a dream, Y/N?" Jaehyun jokes with a snicker, waving his free hand behind him. The palm on the side of your face travels upwards, cradling the top of your head and playing with strands of your hair.

"I love your dreamy ass but that's not the point here." With an unsteady breath, you try to find the words to answer him. "Yes," you confess, "Yes, I do love you. Like really, genuinely love you."

His eyes widened comically. "Wow." Jaehyun seemed to be at a loss for words. He looked deep in thought for a moment. "Fuck it," he spat suddenly before lunging forward, "I'm going to kiss you now. That is, unless you'd rather not."

"If you don't fucking kiss me right now," you whimpered before grabbing him by the collar, "I'm literally going to implode."

With that, he surges towards your mouth, gripping your face as he angles his. When his lips meet yours, all the fear seems to melt away, like it was never even there. Nothing mattered in this moment except the beautiful feeling of the man of your dreams sharing the deepest and purest part of his love for you. And just like that, the love between you blossoms, a pink rose from a red garden rose.

Your mouth moves against his as if you had been meant for each other, meant to be, as the cliché saying goes. There was an urgency in his kiss, as if to solidify his confession and ease the tremors running through his heart. All you could think was this was how it's supposed to be.

After a few minutes of kissing, his forehead leaned against yours. "This," you begin as you tap his forehead, "I'm liking."

"This," he tapped your forehead, a little higher than where you did, "I'm loving."

"You know," you laugh before throwing your arms around his neck, "I know a good way for us to continue showing our affections..."

"Oh?" he questions, eyebrows raised suggestively.

You rise from your chair and he quickly stands as you start leading the both of you towards the couch in the living room. Once there, you straddle his hips and situate yourself comfortably in his lap. He catches your face in both hands before tugging you down into another kiss. 

"Hmmm," you hum as you swipe your tongue along his bottom lip. "I really did miss you, even if the whole phone sex thing helped a ton."

"We're gonna do more than sex to make up for our time apart," he says. He grinds your hips together and lets out a small sigh. "God, I missed you too, baby. Thought about you all the time. I felt empty every night without having you next to me."

"I know I had to have my fix elsewhere...but," you moan out a soft whimper when you move on his hardness again, "nothing is going to compare to your dick, Jae."

"No more other men, Y/N," Jaehyun nips your shoulder, earning another shaky sigh, "not when I'm finally back. As your boyfriend now."

"Boyfriend, huh?" you whisper. One of your hands slides down his naked chest and then begins playing with the band of his sweatpants. "Not complaining," your voice grows lower as a finger begins drawing circles on his abdomen. "Although, I might miss the toys. They don't talk back as much as you."

He laughs. The noise is happy, carefree and bright, something that always manages to get butterflies a flight in the pit of your stomach. "Maybe the toys can stay." Jaehyun tilts your chin and studies your face. "A toy plus my dick."

"Mhm. And, what does my new boyfriend have in mind to make up for the absence?"

"So many possibilities," he runs his index finger down the length of your chest. "What does my pretty girlfriend want?"

"So many things," you answer, your hand diving beneath the elastic, gripping and stroking his already rock hard length. "So. Many. Things."

Jaehyun releases a raspy chuckle, groaning your name as his hands are cupping your ass. "Someone's impatient," he comments.

"Says the guy who was just eating me out earlier like a starved man."

"Still had you shaking, didn't I?" he boasts, quirking a single brow. He lets his hips rise, thrusting upward for more of the sensation and lets out a sharp moan. "Fuck, that feels so good," he groans against your lips. "Stop, Y/N, let me at least get our clothes off."

You get off his lap, only to get on your knees and begin peeling off his sweatpants, revealing his arousal in all its glory. "Now that I think about it…I haven't had my breakfast yet." Without skipping a beat, his cock was engulfed in your hot and wet mouth, lips pressing flush against him as you deep throat him in one swift go.

"Goddamn, you feel amazing," Jaehyun rasps. It was almost impossible not to devour him with how long and perfect his cock looked as it strained in front of you. His hips stutter at the feeling. He fists his hands in your hair, using the grip to piston his cock further down your throat, his other hand placing on your shoulder to steady himself. "Don't forget to breathe, love," he warns gently as he resumes his movements.

When you come back for breath, you feel your saliva drip down your chin, an absolute mess, but the lust-crazed look in Jaehyun's eyes doesn't miss a beat to admire every second of it. "So messy for me," he says before slipping his thumb into your mouth and letting you suck on the appendage. "What an absolute mess," he murmurs with a smirk.

"Only for you," you coo before going back to wrap your lips around his erection. His hand falls from your mouth and Jaehyun steadily grips the back of your head as he presses deeper into your throat until the tip hits the back.

He jerks his hips wildly and fucks into your mouth, balls bouncing against your chin as Jaehyun chased the release his cock needed. The gagging sounds make his thrusts stop but his voice only comes out a low growl of frustration. He eases the push but maintains the vigorous motion of his hips. "Tap my thigh or anything else," he grunts, "if you can't do it, alright? You need to breathe, baby." You give his leg a comforting rub and the worry in his eyes dissipates. "Good girl," he whispers.

You continue sucking him off like it's the first meal you've ever eaten. "Missed the taste of this so bad," you comment before you tongue a line from his base to the very tip. "Need you to cum down my throat, Jae."

"Didn't even have to ask."

A grin plays on your face before swallowing the entirety of his cock again. It takes all the willpower inside of him not to erupt in your mouth, the warmth and softness of the wet heat of you taking him too soon. But just a few thrusts and he spills right down your throat, moaning and hissing his release.

"Y/N," he whispers, his voice an octave lower and raspy. "I'm close, fuck, I'm so close." Jaehyun bites his lower lip, biting back the guttural groans of satisfaction that threaten to spill out of him. His fingers tug on your scalp, trying his best to slow down his own movements as he feels the pleasure shoot down his spine like a whip crack. Your hands massage the top of his thighs, encouraging the cock hammering your throat. A minute longer of this and he cums, biting down onto his sleeve to mask his moans and keeping your gaze all throughout, wanting your eyes on him and nothing less. "So beautiful like this, all mine."

After swallowing everything, you stick your tongue out in a silly fashion, laughing a bit as he reaches down and squeezes your cheek.

"Y/N, oh my god," he looks a mix between exasperated and amused, "that's too cute and fucking dirty." He flicks your nose in a teasing gesture before helping you to your feet. "Wait a moment," Jaehyun picks you up again to throw you over his broad shoulder, patting the cheeks of your rear playfully. "To the bedroom with you. It's breakfast time again."

You let out a laugh, too occupied in staring at the mesmerizing curves of his back.

His ‘community’, as he so lovingly called it, is The Zodiacs, aka a gang. He led it for as long as you can remember, and his dad led it until he passed, and so on. You were never meant for that lifestyle, as you always kept your head in books and wrote in your journals until your heart was content. You were destined to leave this town, become a writer, and make your voice heard. Being the next in line to lead the new generation of degenerates was not in your plans. Your father knew that and loved you anyway.

God, this hurts.

The Zodiacs aren’t terrible people; they’ve done a lot for the community here on the Southside of Carats Ridge. Sure, they have petty thieves and criminals in their midst, but they are always first in line to pull together money for children, single mothers, and the needy. When your best friend, Lola Apple, had her house burn down, the Zodiacs rallied together and fixed up her childhood home free of charge. They are a family that sticks together, and you do admire that. You try not to think ill of them, even though you are technically a legacy member. But it doesn’t take away your anger, your grief, and the pain that’s etched in your heart. Daddy told you just over a week ago, I have all the time in the world to see you, kid. Just you wait.

Well, you did wait, you kept your promise. But he broke his.

You stay on the balcony a little bit longer, watching the fog slowly disperse as the sun forces itself through the clouds, revealing grass that is dead and gone, as if the soil underneath knows that he’s gone too. The urge to smoke a cigarette floods your veins, the intense craving to feel your lungs burn as you inhale on a stick of death. A little bit ironic, you think. You quit several months ago, wanting to be a good example for your dad. What good is that going to do now?

You hear the motorcycles from a mile away, alerting you that your little peace is going to be cut short. You take a deep breath, inhaling deeply from the pit of your stomach, hoping to take away the anxiety you feel. It doesn’t do much, but it helps. You stare far away into the trees, reminiscing about the time you and Daddy would play hide and seek in the woods until you ran out of breath. You remember fondly the deer and rabbits that would come by from time to time, greeting you like an old friend rather than an enemy. You wish they were here, sitting with you in solace as you remember the few good memories you had about this fucked up town—most of them here at your home, at the music store, and the lake.

“Hey, there, Bluebird.”

You turn slowly, recognizing that throaty voice that you’ve grown up with all your life. Facing Lola, you glance at her and stare at the woods again, noticing the pained expression on her face. You know she’s worried about you, and she means well, but the last thing you want is to hear how people are sorry for your loss. Quite frankly, you want to fucking scream.

“I’m not going to say it, because I know you don’t want to hear it,” Lola says, hugging you from behind. “But just know that I love you, okay?”

You acknowledge her words, blinking away tears that threaten to fall on your face. “The kids aren’t here?” you manage to ask.

“No Blue,” she responds softly. “They’re at home with Vernon.”

Everyone has been calling you Blue or some variation of it for as long as you remember, partly because you prefer blue pens over black, and the journals you kept buying were always some shade of blue. You don’t know if it's your favorite color, but looking at it brings you peace. It makes you feel whole.

“Is everyone here?” You sniffle. “I guess I should go out there and pay my respects, huh?”

Lola scoffs. “If anything, they need to pay you respect.” She shakes her head, a small smile on her face. “Look, I know you never blended into the lifestyle, and let’s be real, you weren’t meant to be in this place. But you’ve brought a great deal of pride to the Southside and showed others they could make something of themselves. Who would’ve known a Zodiac legacy would be one of the best-selling authors in the world?”

You know she is right, but you don’t feel that right now. You want to grieve and be alone, and scream into the void. You want to sit in the darkness and let it swallow you up like a cocoon. But your father, in all his suffering, led the Zodiacs with pride, and you will do right by him, even if you don’t want to.

“I-I’ll be in,” you breathe, wiping your wet eyes. “I just need a minute.”

Lola nods, pulling you into a hug that you know you need, but don’t quite feel like you deserve. “Take all the time in the world.”

You hear her feet retreat, the creaking of the door loud and grating before it swings shut with a thud. Staring out into the woods again, you watch the sun disappear behind more ivory clouds, the thunder making itself heard. You know you should go back inside and get this over with, ripping off the bandaid of sympathies and wellwishes you are going to be flooded with.

But instead, you stay out here a little bit longer, and cry.

A week later, you stand outside the church, the one tall building in this town that has been kept up over the years. Standing in brown and white, it has a red illuminated sign in front that reads “Jesus Saves”. Your dad was a lot of things, and religious wasn’t one of them. But he was loved and respected by everyone here, and it was the pastor of New World Baptist Church who reached out and offered to hold the funeral services. He was best friends with Pastor Matthews growing up, and even though their paths diverged, they remained close until the end. You could have had the services anywhere, but you know deep down, this is right.

Your black dress sways in the light breeze, the warm, humid air passing beneath it. Drawing a cigarette to your mouth, you light it and inhale until your throat burns to your liking, hoping to kill the nerves that curdle in the pit of your stomach. It does nothing but aggravate you further. You scoff at the irony.

“There you are,” Lola steps out from the church, joining you to your left. She takes the cigarette from your hand, inhaling it and exhaling with a deep sigh. “I thought you were quitting.”

“So did I,” you murmur with a shrug. “But promises are meant to be broken, right?”

You make the mistake of looking at her, and the pity on her face cuts you deep. You don’t want people to feel sorry for you; if it were up to you, Daddy would have been cremated and his ashes scattered across the lake. But it’s not what he wanted, and you have to be the good daughter and respect his wishes, after all.

“I’m not gonna break, Lola,” you say aloud, as if you are reading her thoughts.

“I never said you would, Blue.”

The church doors creak open, followed by heavy footsteps. You turn to see Pastor Matthews approaching with a slight limp, a result of a car accident that partly led him to turn his life to God. Or at least, that’s what Daddy said.

“Ladies, we can get started whenever you get ready.”

You nod, gazing at your surroundings one last time and taking in a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

Lola puts out the cigarette, linking her arm with yours as you enter the church together and walk past the pairs of wet and red eyes. You make eye contact with Vernon, who gives you a half-smile while holding his two twin girls, Amethyst and Ruby, whom he shares with Lola. Lola and Vernon have been together since they were kids. They have the kind of love that makes sense for them: it’s familiar, warm, and unique in their own way. Lola was always the spitfire of the two, ready to give anyone a verbal lashing to hell and a fist to match. Vernon is her anchor, keeping her still in many storms, and a part of why she has mellowed out. Vernon is also a part of the Zodiacs, with his father as the vice-leader of the gang and your father’s right-hand man. Since everyone knows you didn’t have any interest in being more involved in the Zodiacs than you are now, you imagine Vernon will be picking up the mantle now, legacy and all that.

The funeral proceeds as planned. Pastor Matthews leads a prayer, and the choir sings about the afterlife, heaven, and things you can’t relate to. You start to zone out when community members pay their respects, not because you don’t care, but because your heart can’t take it. Daddy meant a lot to this side of town, and he was so clearly loved. Seeing the sadness in their eyes and their tear-stricken faces is a stab to the gut. You want to lie down and pretend this day never happened. You want to rewind back to last week when your father told you he loved you for the last time. It’s time to give the eulogy, but your head is spinning. You want to leave—

“I have something to say.”

Whipping your head back, your breath falters, your heart beating wildly against your cage like a captured bird. Walking to the front, his eyes locking with yours, is Jihoon, the boy who changed the trajectory of your life. It’s been ten years since you’ve seen him or heard that voice. He’s not the eighteen-year-old boy that you fell in love with at the music store. His hair is longer, he’s bulkier, and time seems to have been kind to him. Jihoon strides to the front of the church, wearing a black suit and matching rimmed glasses.

“What is he doing here?” you whisper in Lola’s ear.

Lola looks confused for a moment, beckoning you to lean closer. “You didn’t know? He was helping your dad from time to time.”

You stare at her blankly, barely registering what she is saying. Jihoon and your dad? Hanging out? Your dad never mentioned it. Focusing back on Jihoon, you study him, waiting with bated breath.

“This was a man loved by everyone, from the Southside and even the North,” Jihoon recalls fondly. “Well, almost everyone.” The light laughter echoes in the small church as he continues. “He showed up to every town hall, ready to speak for everyone in this community, and wasn’t afraid to ruffle feathers to get his point across. I worked with him at the center, and he was just a nice guy to be around. I know I live on the other side of the tracks, but I know I am not alone when I say, he will be missed.”

The members hum and nod in agreement. Jihoon quietly walks towards the back of the church, exchanging a look with you one last time before he disappears from your peripheral view. The church falls silent, and the small movements of shuffled feet and chirping birds are heard. Lola nudges you softly, beckoning toward Pastor Matthews as he moves to the front of the podium.

“Now it is time for the eulogy.”

Taking a deep breath, you walk towards the front, feeling the sympathetic eyes burning into your skin. You make no effort to look up immediately and face the en masse, instead keeping your head down to maintain your composure. Pastor Matthews comes over to you slowly, offering what was supposed to be a comfortable presence, but instead, you feel smothered.

“My father was a pillar of strength,” you begin. “He was a master of everything, and a carbon copy of none. Daddy was original, one of a kind, and the greatest thing in my life.” Your voice cracks towards the end, clearing your throat before continuing. “He was hardworking and gentle, and most importantly, fair. As you all know, I was not meant for the Zodiac life, and he could have made me stay and forced me to be something I wasn’t, or ever would be. But he was a true parent who saw me for who I was, not what he envisioned for me. He saw the good in everyone in this room, and this town, even when they treated him like shit.”

You glance at the closed mahogany casket, surrounded by the most expensive lilies you could buy. You’re filled with a mix of sadness and anger, thinking of the memories where you and he suffered, and the possibility of what could have been if he had left when you asked. “That man is the heart and soul of Carats Ridge, and I don’t give a damn what anyone else says.” Your voice trembles as your vision blurs. “He chose you over me, his own daughter. His only family. That’s how much he valued you, and it is a testament to his character. My father served this place until the day he died, and I hope that if you truly cared about him, you carry his memory in your hearts for the rest of your lives and the next.”

You didn’t mean to come off as angry. You planned to stay calm and get through this in one piece. But damn it, you are mad as hell. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. You were supposed to have at least twenty more years with him. None of this is fair.

You wobble as you walk back to your seat, laying your head on Lola’s shoulder as the funeral drones on until the choir sings the last song. The pallbearers, fellow members of the Zodiac, carry his casket as you lead it, holding a frame of you and him at your high school graduation. The cemetery is behind the church, a plot of land and a tombstone already prepared, as if he knew his time was coming. Dark grey clouds swirl around, dangerously, as everyone gathers around the grave. Daddy will be buried six feet deep, covered with dirt, and never seen again. Your heart tears at the seams.

The wind picks up cruelly, a spirit of madness at play, as it slightly lifts the tent where the burial is happening. The rain follows, warm droplets hitting your body and soaking your dress. The weather called for sunshine and blue skies. What a wicked game Mother Nature is playing on you. You observe everyone, with bowed heads and sorrow, as Pastor Matthews recites more Bible scriptures you can bear. After the final “amen, " men surround your father’s casket, preparing to lower him into the ground. Your breathing is labored and shallow as you clutch the front of your dress. You want to crawl out of your skin.

“Fuck this,” you mutter, shaking your head furiously.

You run, letting your feet guide you through the heavy rain, your hair and makeup ruined. Your expensive dress sticks to your body like wet paper, your bra strap slipping to the side, but you don’t care. You keep running until you can’t anymore, finding yourself at the very end of the road. There are no houses around, just woods and what lurks in them. You let out a guttural wail, letting go of everything you’ve been holding in since you got that call. They say grief comes and goes like waves, and maybe that’s true. But right now you are drowning, struggling to breathe. Veins pop out of your neck as you scream, banging your hands on the ground until they are dirty and slightly bruised. You told Lola you weren’t going to break—another lie told.

You hear the engine through the loud rain, a yellow classic pickup truck speeding towards you and drifting to the right. The passenger door swings open, creamy leather seats appearing first.

“Get in the car before you catch a cold.”

The rain makes it hard to see, the feeling of soft hands pulling you up off the street and leading you into the car. But you know that voice oh-so-well. It’s one you could never get.

“Jihoon.”

He stops, his eyes locking with yours as he wants to say what’s on his mind. But instead, he grants you a mercy, reaching over you to buckle you in, his cologne light and putting you at ease.

“Let’s get you out of this rain, yeah?”

Jihoon wasn’t sure if he should come to the funeral. He hasn’t seen you in a decade, and he thought maybe it would be an icy reunion between the two of you. But here you are, lying on his futon with his t-shirt on and wrapped in a blanket, beautiful and more refined than the last time he saw you. Maybe that’s what happens when you become a best-selling author and the access that comes with it. As it stood in the rain, he saw you running away from the burial. Lola looked distraught, and everyone else watched on with sympathy and curiosity, as though having never seen anyone mourn before.

So he went after you.

There weren’t many places you could have run off to, as the church stands in the middle of a cul-de-sac. The main road would have been too far to run, which left you headed towards dark Sinbrook Forest. When he found you, you were sitting on the street under the pelting rain, lost in your own storm. You didn’t say much while in the car, and he didn’t expect you to—Jihoon knows all too well what grief feels like, and he knew you shouldn’t be alone.

Jihoon was in another city, living his life, when his mother called with the news about his father’s stroke. He worked as a mixer at a music studio and dropped everything to take care of him. It meant working at his family-owned music store while his mother cared for his father, and Jihoon hoped he would eventually be able to return to his new life and arrange better care for his father. That was five years ago.

When his father died a few years later, it tore his mother apart. He supposes losing the love of your life will do that to someone, but it broke her. She refused to leave the house most days, and she wanted him to stay in Carats Ridge forever. He fought tooth and nail to keep living in the small apartment upstairs from the music store rather than in his childhood home. The overbearingness would have been too much, and Jihoon needed time to process his own feelings.

Jihoon thought about you over the years, wondering how you had been and whether you were happy. The last time you saw him, you promised to keep in touch and never to lose that connection. It worked for a few months, then the communication slowed and ceased altogether. He understood you were busy, living in New York, and having a busy life, or maybe you felt like you needed to move on. He was happy for you, truly. But he also felt left behind, forgotten, and, deep down, even now, hasn’t gotten over the girl he'd fallen in love with at the music store.

Ten Summers Ago

Oh, my life

Is changin' every day

In every possible way

And oh, my dreams

It's never quite as it seems

Never quite as it seems

"Dreams" by the Cranberries blasted through the speakers when you walked in, wearing a faded Simpsons t-shirt with dark jeans and sneakers. Jihoon was at the front, strumming the strings on the guitar as he worked on that Saturday. He planned to go to college for music and needed to practice whenever he got the chance. But you were a distraction.

He knew who you were because you attended the same high school, had shared classes over the years, and had graduated just two weeks earlier. You weren’t in the same social circles, so you never actually had a conversation. But as he watched you flip through albums and pick up a variety of them that wouldn’t go together, he became curious. You didn’t seem like the type to listen to Spice Girls, Phil Collins, Nirvana, or Coolio. Now that he thinks of it, he didn’t peg you as a music lover at all. Whenever he saw you, you had a journal in your hands, scribbling away as if you didn’t want to be disturbed.

You also picked up Hot Tub Time Machine and Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist, two movies Jihoon hasn’t seen. As he scanned the items, he saw you looking at the keychains that had just arrived. Your eyes lit up as you touched the bluebird one, taking it off the latch and setting it on the counter. Something odd stirred in his chest, and he wasn’t sure what to call it.

“I’ll take this one too,” you announced, digging in your purse.

You handed Jihoon a $20 bill on the counter, your fingers accidentally touching with a light shock. You jumped back, aghast, as Jihoon stood there, unsure of what to make of it. “That was weird,” you muttered, eyeing him carefully.

“Well, don’t look at me,” Jihoon tittered, scratching the back of his hand. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Do you make it a habit of shocking girls on their eighteenth birthdays?” You pressed, folding your arms.

“N-no,” Jihoon sputtered, at a loss for words. “But happy birthday?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, your lips pursed together. Then your face broke into a throaty laugh that echoed throughout the store, a contagious one that almost had him joining in. “I’m fucking with you,” you catch your breath. “I mean, it is my birthday, but I don’t think you are going around shocking girls on purpose.”

He broke the bill and placed the change in your hands. The spark didn’t happen again, and he couldn’t help but smirk. You counted the change back quietly, slipping it into your wallet.

“See, no spark,” Jihoon said, holding his hands up and wiggling his fingers.

“Okay, “ you scoffed, grabbing your items off the counter. “Thank you for not shocking me again, I guess.”

He watched you walk out of the music store, leaving an impression in your wake. This was the most you had talked in all the years you had been in the same vicinity as one another; now he was more curious about you than ever.

Your body is dead weight when you finally wake up. It almost feels like you are one with the futon, your body leaving a deep imprint on the cushion. The sun is just now rising, blinding you with its infectious light. You sit up, stirred and slightly shaken as you recount the last day. The funeral, the pelting rain, the six-foot grave your father was supposed to be put in, and Jihoon, who came and took you here, to his place above the music store. Much of it is a blur after that, as all you remember is changing into an oversized shirt and sweats Jihoon had randomly before crashing on his couch. You were too catatonic to speak, your energy drained from experiencing the worst day of your life. Jihoon didn’t force you to speak, and you appreciated it. He just let you be.

You stumble through the apartment, not one hundred percent awake, looking for the bathroom. Finding the door askew, you rush inside, relieving the pressure you felt in your lower abdomen. Jihoon was always a neat freak, and having a clean bathroom is no surprise to you. Everything is in order and in its place where it belongs without a smudge of fingerprints or dust in sight. The decor is simple—white shower linen paired with a clear curtain, black mats, and a black-and-clear soap dispenser. The medicine cabinet is hidden behind the mirror, but you don’t bother going through it. Finishing your business, you wash your hands, splashing more water on your face to stay alert.

Sauntering back to the couch, you observe the layout of the apartment—an open space with brick walls, a bookshelf full of vinyls, CDs, and other standard furniture that makes it his. You can tell he took extra care to form this in his style, and you would expect nothing less from him. Finding your phone on the floor, you grab it and plop back onto the futon. Your eyes widen at the dozens of notifications you received, most of them from Lola, some from Vernon, and one from your agent. Your heart pangs at the messages you received, and maybe you shouldn’t have run off the way you did. It was irrational and maybe a little selfish. But you couldn’t stay there another minute—you felt yourself sinking into the ground with him.

Stifling a yawn, you respond to Lola’s messages with four simple words: “I’m okay. With Jihoon.”

Your phone rings shortly after, Lola’s name displayed on your screen. Taking a deep breath, you prepare for what she is about to give.

“Listen, I’m sorry—”

“I’m not mad,” Lola interrupts, her voice unusually calm. “I understand why you ran off. I mean, I was scared half to death, but I would be more worried if Jihoon didn’t already tell us where you were.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, you walk towards the windows, peering at everyone below, going about their normal lives. The street and sidewalks are still wet with rain, but the flowers in bloom make it worth being outside. You remember the first time you smelled tulips and how its sweet fragrance tickled your nose. The only pharmacy in town stands across the street; next to it are a flower shop and a boutique for fine dresses. You remember walking past them, wondering how the people who ran their shops lived their lives.

“I didn’t realize you had each other’s numbers,” you say, breaking out of self-induced nostalgic trance.

“We’ve worked together a few times, for some events around the Southside,” Lola discloses. “And he and Vernon hang out.”

You mull over her words, trying to grasp Jihoon and Vernon in the same room, actually talking to each other. Even the idea of him being around your father makes your head buzz. “How did that happen, anyway? Daddy never mentioned any of this to me.”

“I’m not sure if you knew this, but Jihoon gave guitar lessons to the children at the community center,” Lola begins. “Your dad helped out around the center, like he always did, and I guess they became acquainted that way.”

Your tongue pokes your cheek, giving this some thought. “I guess. It’s just weird to think about, and Daddy said nothing to me about it. He knows how I feel about this town, but… I don’t know.” Sighing deeply, your heart pierces at the thought of everything that has happened. This town is plaguing you, and you are desperate to get out of it. “I will not be here long enough to dwell on it anyway, so.”

“Oh yes! Speaking of,” Lola’s voice jumps an octave. “Vern and some of the Zodiac are going to help clear out the house before we start doing open houses.”

“Okay,” you murmur.

Lola is also a real estate agent, the only one in town, and gets clients from both sides of Carats Ridge. She is the only one you trust to handle the sale of the house, as it’s too much to bear. Lola is good at what she does, and you know you are in safe hands. It wasn’t what she had set out for herself; she saw herself as an actress starring in movies. But when the fire happened, she stayed behind to care for her mom until she passed. Lola never got that chance to live her dreams, but she seems pretty happy despite that.

You barely hear the front door unlock behind you, turning to face Jihoon as he walks into the apartment, carrying coffee and a large paper bag from the local diner, Mansae. Locking eyes briefly, your stomach does somersaults, unsure of what to make of this moment. “Lola, I have to go. I’ll see you at the house later.”

As you disconnect the call, you smile sheepishly, fidgeting with your hands. Jihoon sets the bag and coffee on the table, rubbing his hands together. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by your truck,” you answer honestly. “But I’ll be okay and out of your hair soon.”

“There’s no rush for you to leave,” Jihoon responds, pointing at the bag. “I brought breakfast in case you were hungry.”

He pulls the contents out of the bag, revealing a container of various donuts, all of which happen to be your favorite. You eye the chocolate one sprinkled with nuts, taking you back to the first time you had one. Your dad brought you to the diner as a treat, letting you have whatever you wanted for getting good grades in elementary school. You chose that donut because it reminded you of a Snickers bar, and you were pleasantly surprised when you bit into it and found it filled with caramel. It was one of the best days of your life.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you eventually respond, grabbing the donut out of the container. “Thank you, though.”

“Of course.” Jihoon nods, reaching into the bag. “Come sit down and eat.”

He holds a breakfast sandwich in his hand, motioning for you to sit at the dining table. Outside, the clouds shift, spilling a sudden, warm glow across the wood table.

“Please? he asks, gentler this time.

Reluctantly, you take a seat at the table, taking a bite out of your donut. The warm velvety caramel oozes onto your tongue, making you involuntarily moan in gratification. You glance at Jihoon, who watches you in amusement. You haven’t had a donut this good since you’ve left town, and you live in New York City. There are some things that you can only get from one place, and donuts are one of them.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a good donut,” you disclose, wiping the corner of your mouth. “Mansae is as good as ever.”

“You know, Mr. and Mrs. Sherbet still run the place?” Jihoon imparts, unwrapping his sandwich. “I still go by there every Sunday with Mom.”

You take another bite, hiding the grimace forming on your face. His mother, Mrs. Lee, had it out for you from the very beginning. Maybe it is because you were from the Southside and dressed like it, but she always gave you a look or said unpleasant things that would have hurt your feelings if you cared. Mrs. Lee isn’t the only person to treat you unfairly in this town, but she adds to the list of reasons you hate it here.

“Looks like nothing has changed much in Carats Ridge,” you say. “I can’t say I miss being back here.”

Jihoon falters just for a moment, briefly, but you caught it. You’re instantly filled with regret. “I’m sorry, that was mean—”

“No, don’t apologize,” Jihoon waves you off. “You are just being honest, right?”

Your mouth opens and shuts without any words coming out. Frustration hits your chest like a sharpened arrow, penetrating your heart deep in its core. Jihoon could never understand how you feel. He’s never had to deal with the prejudice you faced just for being born on the wrong side of town—being accused of thefts, the dirty looks, passersby assuming you weren’t smart, and you weren’t going to amount to anything. He couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like to wake up and have strikes against you just for existing. He had the privilege of doing whatever he wanted; you didn’t.

“How have you been?” You change the subject. “It’s been a long time.”

Jihoon leans back in his chair, adjusting his glasses as he mulls over your question. “I’ve been okay. I left town for a while and came back to take care of Dad for a while.”

“Take care?” Your ears perk up. “Is he okay?”

A pained expression is on his face, glancing down as he adjusts his glasses again. “So I guess you haven’t heard then.”

He didn’t have to say anything else; you knew what he meant—his father is gone. The pain of losing a parent, someone you love forever, leaves a permanent, ugly scar on your soul. You never heal from it, but you learn to deal with it, and it becomes a part of you.

“I’m sorry, Jihoon,” you murmur. “Mr. Lee was a good man.”

You mean what you said. Mrs. Lee always gave you a hard time, but his father was always kind to you and made you feel welcome. They were opposites, and you used to wonder how that even happened. You like to imagine that’s where Jihoon got his warmth from.

“It’s okay,” Jihoon sighs. “It’s been a couple of years now, and I have taken over the music store for my mom.”

“Wow,” you respond, nostalgia hitting you soft like a pillow. “I used to love it there.” All those weekends you would spend at the store, listening to Donna Summer, Nirvana, Usher, falling in love with him—

You shake your head, bringing yourself back to reality and ignoring the sudden heaviness in your heart. “You’ve been well?” You smile.

Jihoon’s eyes soften, followed by a slow, tentative headshake. “I guess? It could be worse.”

There is something in the back of his voice that makes you believe he isn't being entirely truthful. But you choose not to press it.

“I’ve seen you on TV,” Jihoon reveals, clearing his throat as he unwraps what looks like a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich. “I watched the interview for the anniversary of Blue Valentine. You looked good.”

The heat creeps up on your neck, and you try your best to ignore it. “Oh?” Your mouth curves into a smirk. “As opposed to now?”

He lets out a snort, shaking his head. “You aren’t roping me into that one.”

“Roping you into what?” You giggle, batting your eyes. “I’m innocent.”

You jointly break into peals of laughter, rumbling from the pit of your soul. For a moment, you’re lighter, brighter than you have felt in days. You haven’t felt the disease of grief for almost an hour, and it’s nice not to have that dark cloud over you. But eventually the laughter dies down, and it’s quiet, and the thoughts in your head become louder, urging you to say what’s on your mind. Jihoon glances at you before looking away, busying himself with his sandwich. You finally take the lid off your coffee, expecting to add your fixings, only to realize it’s already there, with whipped cream on top.

“I didn’t forget how you like your coffee.”

“I see,” you murmur, ignoring the light butterflies in your stomach. “Thanks.”

You eat another donut in silence, watching the birds perch outside the window. They flap their wings happily, without a care in the world. It must be nice to live carefree like that, not being plagued by loss. You gaze at Jihoon, studying him for the first time since you’ve been with him. He’s broader, finer, and has grown into his looks, but some things remain the same. Like the style of his glasses, his truck, and the vinyls that are plastered on the walls. He is still a neat freak, with every spot in this loft clean and items placed with purpose. Hanging on the hook is his letterman jacket from Carats Ridge High, where he played football. Most importantly, he still has the same guitar, castaneous and worn as ever, but still in good shape.

You don’t think much about this town, but you have thought about him and how things ended. You never dwell on it long, though, because then you'd be forced to feel it all, and that makes you vulnerable. You can’t afford that.

“I think I am going to head out,” you say, scooting out of the seat. You glance at him before looking away, rubbing your left temple. “I appreciate the coffee and donuts. You didn’t have to do that.”

Jihoon nods, neatly setting down his sandwich. “I know, but I wanted to.”

You don’t look him in the eyes. You don’t want to acknowledge the current of emotions that are pumping through your heart. You nod in response, grabbing your phone and your shoes. You look around for your dress, but it's nowhere in sight.

“Hey, have you seen my dress—”

“Oh! Wait a minute.”

Jihoon scurries out of his seat, disappearing into a closet you didn’t notice, emerging with your dress, dry and without a wrinkle.

“I put it in the dryer while you sleep,’ he explains. “I figured you might not want wet clothes to take home.”

Your fingers rub against the soft material, the faint smell of fabric linen lifting off the cotton. It brings you back to the first time you were in his truck that summer, one he proudly bought, with the same scent hanging from the rearview window. He said it was the only scent that made sense—guess that hasn’t changed.

“Thank you, again, Jihoon.”

Your hand is on the door, almost turned to pull when it’s pushed open, almost smacking you in the face. Standing on the other side is someone you did not want to see: Jihoon’s mother. She eyes you up and down, her face drawn with disgust and contempt as if you were the vein of her existence.

“Hmm, I see you are back in town,” Mrs. Lee remarks, entering the loft and forcing you to move out of the way. “Are you here to cause trouble again for my boy?”

You are taken aback, letting out a scoff as you regain your composure. “No, Mrs. Lee,” you respond, rather short. “My father is dead.”

She pauses for a second before letting out a hmph, throwing her bag on the futon that was still laid out as a bed. “Jihoon, is this how you live now?

“Mom, what—”

Redirecting her attention back to the living room, she waves him off, as if what he says doesn’t matter. She fusses with the blankets drawn on the futon, throwing them aside and folding the futon back to make it a couch. She mutters under her breath, no doubt obscenities about you. You shouldn’t be surprised by this behavior; this is who she has always been. But it opens up an old wound that hasn’t quite healed, and you are one minor inconvenience away from being ready to let her have it.

“Bye, Jihoon,” you say, shaking your head. “Thank you again.”

“Let me walk you out—”

“No.” You insist, harder than you intended. “I can walk out by myself. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Though you smile at him softly, you’re screaming inside for space to breathe.

“Okay,” he reluctantly agrees. “Call me when you make it back, please?”

You nod, letting out a small breath. “I’ll get your number from Lola.”

“Okay.”

You stare at each other, the silence stretching a little too long, tension filling the air with unspoken thoughts and truths that you’ve kept locked away in a box that you never planned to acknowledge again. Jihoon looks as if he has something to say, his brows furrowing, and you stand there, waiting to hear what comes out of the end of it.

“Can I ask you something?”

His eyes shift to something softer, familiar, making your stomach flutter. “Yeah, shoot,” you reply cautiously.

He exhales softly, running his fingers through his hair. “Blue Valentine… was that about us?”

Your breath hitches, the question catching you off guard. Blue Valentine was your debut novel, which was met with immediate success. You were #1 on the best-sellers list for a year and are still in the top 20, earning numerous accolades and achieving success you never thought you could. But that book is personal, about two teenagers who met one summer and had the best time of their lives before they parted ways and never saw each other again. You’ve been asked numerous times who the muse was behind the book, and you’ve never answered it directly.

“Jihoon, I—”

“Aren’t you supposed to be leaving?”

Mrs. Lee’s thin voice cuts through the moment, sounding like chalk screeching on a board. Oddly, you appreciate the irony in this; at least you don’t have to reveal the deep, uncomfortable truth.

Shaking your head, you throw a look at Jihoon before peeking into the doorway. “Mrs. Lee, always a pleasure.” You salute sarcastically, shutting the door behind you.

One Summer Ago

“It’s the fifth anniversary of your debut novel, Blue Valentine. How has life changed since then?”

You sat up straighter, adjusting the blazer you wore over your soft satin shirt. The lights were bright, almost blinding, as you tried to look happy and composed on television. You are on Good Morning America, and you were invited to discuss your book with legendary anchor Ginger Snaps.

“I am much busier,” you laughed. “But I am really grateful to all of my readers who have been on this journey with me. I wouldn’t be here without them.”

“True,” Ginger responded. “But your writing, your penmanship even, is one of a kind. You would have been successful regardless.”

You blinked, unsure of what to say to that besides “Thank you.”

“Absolutely,” Ginger beamed while flipping to the next card. “Now Blue Valentine is about two teenagers from opposite worlds who spend one summer together that changes their lives. So many people have been inspired to find their own Blair and Jackson, and some fans have even sent in personal stories (which we will send with you later).”

“Wow,” you said, astonished.

Ginger smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye that gives you pause. “Take us back to when Blue Valentine was being written,” Ginger presses. “Tell us a deep, hard fact that we don’t know.”

You glanced at your agent, Anna, who gave you a tight nod. Your mind suddenly went blank, a little too long. You saw the questions before the interview and even rehearsed your answers. You’ve done this a million times, yet you are struggling to remember a single thing. Your mind traveled back to him, that summer, where you sat at the lake and listened to Jihoon playing his songs on the guitar. That same summer when he kissed you for the first time, and fireworks sparked in your chest. That very summer, when you blossomed like the cornflowers in your yard and truly felt alive.

But thinking of him also brought you pain. It was a harsh reminder that you haven’t connected with anyone on that level, and to be honest, do you even want to? Get to know someone, experience the highs and lows of a relationship, the heartache—

“Y/N?”

You slowly came back to focus, shutting the doors on those memories and throwing away the key. You can’t afford to feel that right now.

“I’m sorry, Ginger.” You gave her your best smile. “Could you repeat the question?”

“Mom, what was that?”

Jihoon walks to his mother, who is busying herself with folding the blanket you laid in. She takes a sniff of it and gags, throwing it on the floor in disgust.

“That perfume is gross,” she begins, waving her hand in front of her face. “You will need to re-wash that blanket three times.”

“Her perfume smelled fine,” Jihoon lets out a resigned sigh. “And you’re avoiding the subject.”

His mother throws him a look before huffing, stepping around him to the kitchen table. “I’m not avoiding anything; I just simply do not want to talk about her.”

Jihoon shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. His mother has always been like this: pushy, haughty, and truly believes no one is good enough for him. He has tried to date, sure, and has had a relationship here and there, but his mother never liked anyone he brought around, especially you. Mrs. Lee hated you for no reason besides that you lived on opposite sides of the tracks. For whatever reason, when you came around, it burned an ember inside of her that just wouldn’t let up. Jihoon never understood it, which led to constant tension between them because he always defended you. She detested that.

“I don’t want her coming back here,” his mother announces, dusting off her hands. “She is nothing but bad news, Jihoon.”

“Firstly, this is my place,” Jihoon scoffs. “And how, Mom?” He pushes back. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Mrs. Lee stops, glancing at you and then looking away. “That apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Jihoon stands there, bewildered and scratching his head. His mother has shown early signs of dementia, which is also another reason why he stayed behind. As much as he wanted to pursue music still, he couldn’t be selfish and leave her.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say,” he accepts, not wanting to push it further. “Do you still want to go to the farmers’ market in the next town?”

Looking at the set of donuts on the table, she grimaces. “Yes. I want to go before the fresh strawberries and cream cart runs out.”

Grabbing the keys to his truck, she takes one last look at the place, scoffing as she opens the front door. “I’ll be waiting in the car. It’ll serve you right to clean up this mess before we leave.”

The door shuts with a thud, and Jihoon lets out the breath he’d been unironically holding in. He loves his mother, truly, but she leaves him with an anxiety that cracks his chest and fills his stomach with rumbling stones. She doesn’t give him room to breathe or just to be. Her words strike to hurt and are passed off as maternal love. He’s used to it by now, but sometimes, he wants to leave this town and never come back. But he wouldn’t be a good son, and he promised his father he would always protect her.

So he does what’s told, because what else is he going to do?

You’ve been a recluse for the past couple of days. You stayed in your house unless you needed to leave, cleaning it until your fingers were pink and blistered. You undoubtedly smell like lemon-scented cleaning supplies and bleach. You threw away numerous bags of trash and set aside food to donate to the local food pantry. You even mowed the lawn, even though Vernon was supposed to do that. You're sweaty, gross, and in need of a shower—but they’re still so much to do.

The truth is, you have a lot on your mind, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins is keeping you going—otherwise, you would have crashed. Your heart is heavy, and the walls you’ve had built up for so many years are starting to crack. Daddy, Jihoon, this house and the memories, everything is closing in, and it’s suffocating at times. You look at the living room and remember the times Daddy tried to do your hair so you would look nice for school, or when Monday night wrestling was on, and he would order pizza as a weekly ritual. The old stove in the kitchen, where Daddy used to make dinner on the nights he was home. Everything reminds you of him, and throwing Jihoon in the mix, you want to run into the woods and disappear.

Whether you are ready to admit it or not, Jihoon has always been in the back of your mind, and somewhere deep in your heart, buried under a bed of budding flowers. Every once in a while, when you’re in your bed and everything is quiet, you think of the time you shared with him and the warmth that filled your soul. It was young love, sure, but it was still love, and the only time you have ever truly felt it. Experienced it with free will. When you left this town, you hoped to continue, and it festered into a stronger, deeper love that lasted forever.

But it didn’t end like that, and that’s okay, you guess.

You collapse on your childhood bed, wiping the sweat off your forehead with your head down, catching your breath. You still have to go through your rooms and decide what to keep or give away, but first, you need a shower.

“Hello?”

Your attention is on the door, the sound of heels clacking on the hardwood floors you just finished shining. Irritation bubbles in your chest, but when Lola comes into view, it evaporates quickly.

“I didn’t know you were coming by,” you say, pulling off your cleaning gloves.

“Well, you would have known if you answered your phone,” Lola ripostes, raising an eyebrow as she looks around the house. “I told you Vernon and the boys were going to clean this up for you.”

“I know that,” you answer. “But I just needed to keep busy.” You sniffle, the cleaning products making your nose run. “I have a lot on my mind, you know?”

Lola’s face softens, a gentle half-smile appearing. “I know, Blue.”

She sits next to you on the bed, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. “I came to get you out of here, anyway. You are coming to eat with us.”

You knew what “us” meant: Lola, Vernon, and the twins. You wanted a day to yourself, to think, to clean more, and to avoid the world. To not have to see the pity looks you get when you walk to the courthouse or go into Jollibee’s to get a burger and fries. But you don’t want to hurt Lola’s feelings, and you know she means well.

“I need to shower and change first,” you say, looking down at your worn, bleach-stained black shirt and sweats. “I feel gross.”

“Do what you need to do,” Lola nods, plopping off the bed. “I assume that the food in the container needs to go to the community center? We’ll drop it off on the way.”

She leaves you to your thoughts and privacy, shutting the door softly behind you. Blowing a raspberry, you begrudgingly get off the bed, tearing off your shirt and the rest of your clothes, throwing them in the corner. The cool air from the a/c hits the back of your legs like a nice reprieve. You’ve been on autopilot for days; you are slowly starting to feel it, finally—the small aches in your knees and hands, the constant dull pain in your lower back. Maybe you should have let the gang clean the house after all.

You study yourself in the mirror for the first time in days; dark circles surround your eyes from the lack of sleep, and your skin is dull, begging for hydration. Your naked body shines in the golden light of the sun, the most light you have let touch you in days. You’re falling down a rabbit hole, deep into the wonderland of avoidance, and the chasm of you not giving a fuck grows wider with each passing day.

“Shit,” you murmur to yourself.

You step into the shower, letting the water pressure hit your lower back until it goes numb. The steam quickly fills the small bathroom as you inhale, filling your lungs. The tension slowly leaves your body, as if you are floating in a dreamy oasis, standing there for a while, letting your mind go blank as you slowly turn off your emotions. You could do this forever—stand here and be non-existent to the world, and get the peace you truly want. No pain from the constant grief that cuts you open like a fresh wound, or anger from being back at the one place you hate the most. Most importantly, no deep late-night thoughts of what could have been with Jihoon.

You don’t allow yourself to think of that summer often. You try to let the past be the past, move forward, and enjoy your success. You’ve even tried dating, getting under someone new, to get rid of the faint nagging in your heart when you think of him. You ignore the way your heart beats when you think of the times at the music store, sitting on the counter and listening to Pearl Jam on the vinyl. Or the rush you felt when you jumped in the lake together, hand in hand, fully clothed and not caring about how you looked. The silly songs he sang in your ear or the way his fingers ran through your hair—

Knock! Knock!

“Blue, are you alright?”

Lola’s voice snaps back into reality, a jarring mix of white tiled walls and the smell of wet plastic outside a blue shower cocooning you from the rest of the world. Pressing your forehead against the cold, slick tile, you exhale a breath that feels far too heavy.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

There is a brief pause, nothing but the running water hitting the porcelain tub as the sun shifts west. Then finally she responds, “Okay. Change of plans: Vernon is bringing the kids here.”

Slight irritation bubbles in your chest at the change of plans, but you will live. “Okay,” you breathe. “I’ll be out in a few.”

A few minutes into twenty as you wash your body and stand under the water until it turns cold. Your mind is full of noise, an annoying static, and you'd give anything to return to that dreamy oasis. You want to call it off, tell Lola to go home, and see her another day. The adrenaline has worn off, and you want to fall into your bed and sleep until next week, when all of this will be over, and you can leave this place for good. You haven’t known peace since you got that call, and you crave it so much it’s cemented in your bones.

Turning off the shower, you grab a towel while refusing to look at the mirror again. You know what state you’re in, and you don’t give a damn about fixing it. You dry yourself from head to toe and throw on the most comfortable clothes you have, sweats, and an old Spice Girls t-shirt. You’re on a mission to reclaim your life, your peace, and you swing the door open to say exactly that.

“AUNTIE BLUE!!”

Two little girls sprint down the hall and tackle you on both sides, making you falter back into your room. Lola’s twins, Amethyst and Ruby, hug you tightly, and you can’t help but lean down and pull them close, your eyes prickling with tears. You have met the twins before when Lola came to visit you in New York a few times, and when she was pregnant, she asked you to be their godmother. You love them like an aunt would their niece, and you would never want to hurt them in any way. A deep shame floods your body at the thought of sending Lola home without regard for them. Their happy smiles and excited looks seep a light into your black heart, and you are grateful.

“Why are you crying?” Amethyst asks, pulling away slowly. “Did I do something wrong?”

You shake your head, the weight of shame deepening in your chest. “Oh no,” you assure her, brushing her little curls back with a gentle smile. “I had a really long day, but I am so happy to see you two.”

You gaze at Ruby, who studies you carefully, a slow smile spreading on her face. Out of the two, Amethyst is the outgoing twin with Lola’s spunk, whereas Ruby is quieter and more observant with Vernon’s eyes. You can see it now, how she looks you over without much to say.

“Don’t tell me they got all the hugs.”

You know that voice from anywhere, glancing slowly at Vernon, who is standing in the doorway with three boxes of pizza and wings. You, Vernon, and Lola were a trio growing up—nothing could separate you all, even when Lola and Vernon started dating. Vernon is your best friend, too, in a way, though you don’t talk to him as much as Lola. But your relationship is the type where you don’t have to talk all the time. What you all went through, all those years ago, created a bond that could never be broken.

Releasing the twins from your grasp, you walk over to help Vernon with the boxes. Despite his dark brown hair being cut into one of those modern mullets, he still looks the same, even down to his signature boots and jean jacket. He’s always been lean, tall, and has a face that should be in magazines, not slumming it out here on the Southside. But that was never his style; he’s always viewed Carats Ridge as his home, and with a successful bar, Shadow, that has been passed down through generations in his family, he never plans on leaving. He reminds you of Daddy, in a way.

“Hi Vern,” you greet him with a hug. “I dig the cut.”

“Yeah?” Vernon responds with a slight smirk. “Tell Lola Bunny over there that. She hates it.”

You glance at Lola, who rolls her eyes playfully, and an unexpected giggle erupts out of you, taking you by surprise. Slapping your hand over your mouth, you’re filled with uncontrollable laughter, tears in your eyes over such a silly joke. This has always been the dynamic among the three of you. It reminds you of the times when the three of you would come here and hang out with Daddy, eating pizzas, watching The Simpsons reruns, or playing games. The nostalgia is strong and fleeting, making you feel lighter than you have in days.

“Are you okay?” Vernon asks, exchanging a nervous glance with Lola. You sniffle, trying to hold it together from the laughter, the irony of it all. The kids have gone into the backyard, the screen door swinging shut with a slam.

“I’m not okay at all,” you chortle, the shaky breath of laughter dying in your throat. “I’m completely fucked up.”

Saying it out loud shatters you. The pain cracks your composure, and you shatter, crying from the depths of your soul. Vernon pulls you into a hug, letting you sob loudly into his shirt. You are feeling everything, everywhere, and all at once. Through the haze, you hear him tell Lola to check on the girls as he hugs you tighter, holding you together while your chest caves in.

“Let it all out, Blue,” Vernon says gently. “I got you.”

The truth is, no one prepares you for losing a parent so majestically, and how it flips your world upside down. They don’t warn you about how grief is an ugly parasite that eats at you painfully until you’re empty. They don’t tell you that the misery will crush you until you can’t breathe and your world turns black. Your candle, your guiding light, is snuffed out. How do you get that back?

Ten Summers Ago

“Vern! Pass me that spliff, will ya?”

It was after midnight, and you were lying in the back of Vernon’s truck with him and Lola, looking at the stars that decorate the sky. It was supposed to be a shower of shooting stars tonight, and you wanted to see this once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon. It was seventy degrees, and the breeze was just right as you’re sitting on the other side of Sinbrook Forest, in front of the field. Taking the joint from Vernon’s hands, you inhaled until your throat burned something fierce, coughing heavily while the others laughed.

“Careful there, Blue. I don’t want your dad stringing me up a pole.”

You lolled up, throwing a look at Vernon while handing the spliff to Lola. “I’m fine,” you breathed. “It just went down the wrong pipe.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Vernon teased, falling into a peal of laughter.

You reached over to pinch him when you heard a crunch of leaves, stopping you dead in your tracks. Lola and Vernon sat up suddenly, turning off the music on the speaker and grabbing a flashlight. Your heart raced as you tried to see through the dark, squinting your eyes at the figure moving down the field. Vernon tapped the flashlight hard on his leg, the light flickering a few times before finally illuminating the darkness. You noticed the familiar faded jean jacket first, the tension in your body leaving you slowly as you recognized the person in front of you.

“Jihoon?”

He stopped, looking in your direction as he covered his eyes from the light. You called his name again, and before you knew it, you were hopping out of the bed of the truck and walking towards him. You were going to the music store a lot more often, but not just to buy music or DVDs. Sometimes you just came by to hang out, listened to undiscovered vinyls with Jihoon, and talked about what you like about each record. You quickly realized Jihoon wasn’t as stuck-up as everyone else on the Northside, and you started to become friends. His mother was sometimes there and gave you a stink eye, but it’s nothing you aren't used to. You still felt the shock in the center of your palm from the first day you met. The feeling is ingrained in you now, and it’s hard to ignore.

You finally reached him, with the light of your phone in your hand, wading through the knee-length grass as it shifts with the wind. “Hey there,” you greeted him. “‘Didn’t know you liked stargazing.”

“I didn’t know you were into stars either,” Jihoon quipped, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Smells like you are having a get-together.”

You felt the heat creep onto your neck, painfully aware of his reference to the smell of weed on your clothes. “Yeah, well, what’s a party without party favors, you know?”

You turned back to Lola and Vernon, who had the flashlight adjusted enough to illuminate the truck. They were locked into an intense make-out session, and you grimaced, knowing better than to interrupt that.

“Well, I guess I’ll be watching the stars with you then,” you decided, turning your focus back to Jihoon. “That’s not a problem, right?”

Jihoon was taken aback, but he recovered quickly. “Do you usually invite yourself to other people’s activities?”

A giggle bubbled through your throat, amused by his question. “No,” you answered honestly. “But I usually make them more fun.”

Walking towards the middle of the field, you helped Jihoon unfold the blanket he was holding and lay it flat on the grass. The sky has somehow gotten brighter, a milky blue never seen before in this town. You marvel at it, your eyes twinkling like the stars above. It’s more beautiful than what you could describe in your journal.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” You murmured.

“Yeah. It is.”

You glanced at Jihoon, only to find his gaze had shifted from the sky to you. When your eyes lock, a warm tide rushes through you, making your stomach flutter with the sensation of flying. This isn’t the first time you have felt this, being around him, but here under the night sky, it’s overwhelmingly prominent.

“Do you come here often?” You posed, drawing a circle on the blanket. “I come here a lot, and I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Jihoon shakes his head, folding his legs and resting his hands on his knees. “No,” he responded. “I usually go down to the lake, but I didn’t feel like being by the water tonight.”

Sugarmore Lake is the only lake in Carats Ridge that runs north to south through the town. It’s the unofficial ‘Switzerland ‘ of the town, where everyone managed to get along and enjoy the lake. Not that a fight or two hasn’t broken out once or twice there, but it’s an unspoken rule that everyone leaves their bad vibes at the entrance.

“I see.” You nodded, leaning back on your elbows. “I don’t go there much, and the last time I went I was fishing with my dad.”

Silence fell between you for a moment, the only sound heard coming from the grass blades moved by the slow breeze. It was comfortable to sit next to Jihoon in a different environment. “Well,” Jihoon muttered. “Maybe you should come with me sometime.”

Your eyes danced at him, curiously, a slow smile spreading on your face. “Are you asking me on a date, Jihoon?”

His laugh tickled your chest, and you couldn’t help but join in. What a silly thing to assume. But then he slowed, and he looked at you seriously, his eyes softening under the low light.

“What if I was?” Jihoon said slowly, looking nervous. “Would it be a bad thing?”

You looked at him with regard, realizing he is serious. You’ve never been asked out on a date before. You’ve been on one or two and have experiences, sure. But no one has formally asked you, at least not in this way. The truth is, you like Jihoon. You liked seeing him at the music store and listening to 60s rock. You liked arguing with him about why disco is overly hated or how 90s grunge is one of the best genres of all time. You loved sitting in the chair while Jihoon strummed his guitar, humming a song he'd come up with the night before. You enjoyed his company. You enjoyed him.

“I don’t think it would be a bad thing at all,” you whispered.

Jihoon smiled at you warmly, his hand shifting towards yours as it brushes against your thumb. A familiar zap is felt between you two, and you throw him a look, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Here you go, shocking me again,” you teased him.

“Oh, please, it’s from the blanket and the stars aligning—”

“Oh, you’re an astronomer now, Jihoon?” you quipped. “Please, tell me more.”

“Well, obviously not, but—”

“—What are you two yapping about?”

Vernon and Lola appeared on your right, holding a blanket and what’s left of the weed. He stumbled before he fell, reaching over you and handing it to Jihoon, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Come on, Lee, take a puff,” Vernon goaded him. “Join the fiesta under the stars.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to Jihoon. “You don’t have to—”

Your words died down in your throat, watching Jihoon take the small blunt and smoke it. Your mouth parted in shock, watching him inhale and exhale the smoke from his mouth expertly, forming a perfect ‘O.’

“Oh! He gets down!” Lola cheered, raising her fist in the air. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Jihoon chuckled, handing the blunt back to Vernon. “I’m not a square, you know. I know my way around a joint or two.”

“Touche,” Vernon responded, leaning back against the blanket. “My bad. I didn’t know the Northie had it in him.”

Gazing up at the sky, you saw the stars twinkle, brighter than you have ever seen. Then one shooting star came down, followed by two, and then a series. You gawked in awe, a tear streaming down your cheek as you watched the phenomenon happening in front of you. Who knows if you will ever see something so wondrous ever again?

Jihoon’s hand covered you, and instead of a spark, you felt a warmth that made your skin prickle. His skin is soft, you smell his cologne, and the magnetism in the air pulls you closer to him, almost touching shoulder to shoulder. You had so much to say, and it overloads your brain. It’s hard to contextualize anything else you feel other than one word: happy.

“So, the lake?” Jihoon asked, beholding the show in front of him.

Smiling softly, you answered him. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

Jihoon never thought he would see you again, and now you’ve taken over his every thought.

Ever since you stayed at his apartment, he has been replaying the memories you have together. Every corner of the music store reminds him of you, with headphones over your ears and bobbing your head to whatever album you haven’t listened to before. It’s been a few days since you’ve spoken, with you letting him know you made it home. He’s wanted to reach out, his fingers flicking to your contact in the moments where it’s quiet, but his thoughts get the best of him. It’s been so long—would you even want that?

Jihoon has seen your interviews here and there and heard the news about you from Vernon. It’s funny how he and Vernon became close when you left town, realizing they had a lot more in common than recreational weed. When Jihoon started teaching music at the community center on the Southside, Jihoon got to know your dad better. He never understood why his mother didn’t like him—he thought he was cool, a fierce leader, and a protector of the youth. He gave Jihoon words of encouragement when his father passed, and when his health started to decline, Jihoon offered to take him running errands if he needed it. Maybe, subconsciously, it was Jihoon’s way of staying close to you, through him.

The thunder rumbles outside, shaking the windows in his loft. Jihoon watches the lightning strike near Sinbrook Forest, the wind picking up, and trees thrashing around violently. Shaking his head and sighing softly, he picks up his worn guitar and strums a soft tune that echoes in the living room, a melancholic melody that has been stuck in his head for the past twenty-four hours.

I remember when I realized I had feelings for you

We were riding in my truck, driving down to the lake

With the windows down, sunlight turning gold on your face

I knew then what I was feeling was not a mistake

I miss you

It’s always been you.

You’ve been here two weeks, and time isn’t going fast enough.

You handled all the estate stuff for your father, retrieving the death certificate and signing the necessary paperwork to ensure the house was sold and everything else was in order. Vernon and the Zodiacs came to help you clean up the rest of the house, repair the childhood swing set in your backyard, and give the house a fresh coat of paint. Little by little, the pieces of your childhood are taken out, and you aren’t sure how to feel. Relieved? Sad? Numb? Your emotions are a clusterfuck, and that’s not even throwing Jihoon into the mix.

You are grateful for them—the Zodiacs, this community, for coming through for you in your time of need in the name of your father. Your relationship with the idea of being a Zodiac legacy is complicated, but you aren’t ashamed of where you came from or who your dad raised you to be.

“What’s on your mind, Blue?”

Vernon stands next to you, beer in hand, as he supervises the younger crew loading the last bit of furniture into a box truck. He takes a swig, the sweat dripping from his forehead and down his neck on this unusually warm day.

“Just watching the place I grew up change right before my eyes.” You let out a heavy sigh. You eye the glistening beer in his hand. “I see nothing’s changed. Is it noon yet?”

“It’s noon somewhere, Bluebird,” he responds, taking another gulp.

You shake your head, chuckling and folding your arms. One of the older gentlemen, nicknamed Pop, carries out buckets of paint from around the house. His boots squish in the wet grass, walking towards you and setting them down with a whistle.

“Everything is all painted up, Blue,” Pop announces. He turns his attention to Vernon. “It’s a little too early to be celebrating, don’t you think?

Your brows furrow in confusion, darting between Pop and Vernon. “Celebrating what? Is Lola pregnant again?”

“What?” Vernon’s eyes went wide, followed by a dry nervous laugh. “God no. Lola and I can barely handle the two that we have.” He suddenly goes quiet, looking down at his feet, almost ashamed. “The uh.. crowning ceremony is tonight.”

It takes a while to register what he means, but once it clicks, it’s like you’re hit with a heavy stone as you’re caught off guard. The crowning ceremony takes place when a new leader is appointed. It takes place at the Viper, and while the ceremony itself is short, it involves lots of booze and partying afterward to honor the new king of the Zodiacs. You know that your father couldn’t be the leader forever.

“So…” your voice shakes, trying to hold it together. “I take it you are going to be the new leader then?”

“Y-yeah,” Vernon mutters, kicking an imaginary stone from his foot.

When you finally glance at Vernon, the tears come down fierce and hot. You know you shouldn’t feel hurt, you understand this is the way of things, but it’s not his father who just died. It’s not Vernon’s home that is being sold and turned into something you don’t even recognize. Most importantly, it’s not his heart that is being trampled on a thousand times over.

“Blue, I—”

“Don’t worry about it, Vernon,” you sniffle, furiously wiping your wet eyes. “I’m happy for you, truly. I know you will lead the Zodiacs well.”

You walk away before he can respond, the harsh sunlight beaming on the top of your head. You’re seething with anger, a sense of betrayal stirring in your gut. Your father is barely settled six feet under, and he is already being replaced. It feels so fast, too soon. You can't wrap your mind around Daddy being replaced—just like that.

You walk without a clear destination in sight in an angry haze, just with a drive to get away from everyone and think. Cars whiz by you, passengers looking at you curiously, but you couldn't care less. Your head is humming with static, unable to get a coherent thought together that isn’t laced with profanities. Being mad as hell is an understatement.

Your stomach aches from the anger, but you push through as the sweat swims down your neck. You cross the train tracks that separate the north and the south, and your throat feels like sandpaper, begging for a drop of water to take you out of your misery. But you keep walking, face hot until you see the familiar sign that says “Lee’s Records Store”, red lights illuminated in front of the yellow and white building. It wasn’t your intention to come here, but your body feels more at ease as you come closer to it, the static in your head lessening as you think about listening to music and mellowing out.

Pulling the doors open, the cool air hits your face, and you exhale, feeling relieved. Your eyes scan the door, looking for Jihoon, but instead, you are met with the scornful eyes of Mrs. Lee, standing behind the counter.

“What are you doing here?!” She demands, the disdain clear in her voice.

“I was looking for Jihoon,” you respond, an eyebrow raised. “Is he around?”

“No, he’s not,” Mrs. Lee answers shortly.

You nod slowly, thumbing through the albums to your left. You pick up Nevermind by Nirvana, your thumb caressing the cover's plastic. The first time you listened to this album was here, with Jihoon, sitting on top of the counter. You will never forget the grittiness of Kurt Cobain’s voice blasted through the speakers, the guitar riffs that gave you life, and the drums that stayed in your head well into the rest of the day. It was one of your happiest moments.

“I think you should leave,” Mrs. Lee says suddenly, snapping you out of your reverie. You observe her waddling from the counter, walking towards you with determination. “You’re not welcome here.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, walking around her. “I’m sure Jihoon would disagree.”

A tug on your arm yanks you back, and a nail digs into your forearm. You glance at Mrs. Lee in shock as you quickly pull your arm away. “I told you to leave!” Mrs. Lee shouts, pointing at the door. “All of you Southside people are the same, coming over here, causing chaos, and not caring who gets hurt in the process.”

You stare at her incredulously, feeling wetness drip from your arm. Glancing down, you see the blood trailing down from her nails penetrate your skin. “Lady, what the fuck is your problem—”

Her face gets redder, the anger mounting with each second. "You’re just like him, you know—you come in and take away people’s joy and then leave. You don’t care about my boy and how much you hurt him. You were trash then, and I praised God every day when you left.”

You’re rooted in place, stunned into silence. A discomfort spreads in your stomach, and you refuse to accept what you're hearing. “When you say him, I know you aren’t talking about my father—”

“Yes. Him,” Mrs. Lee sneers. “He was shit then, and I suppose he’s being turned into shit now, six feet under—”

The slap echoed off the walls of the store, your hand stinging as if a wave of fire washed over your knuckles. A red imprint was visible on her face, her glasses askew and about to fall off. You heave, an anger surging through you like no other, your other finger pointing in her face.

“I don’t know what your deal is with me, or my father,” you breathe heavily. “But if you ever disrespect us again, I will snap your neck and throw you into the fucking lake.”

Her laugh bellows throughout the store, her smirk triumphant and all knowing, pissing you off more. "There she is," her voice laced with something sinister. "I knew the Southside trash were still in you, girl."

The front door rings open before you can respond, and there stands Jihoon, holding a large brown bag from the pharmacy. He scans both of you, the smile on his face disappearing quickly at the scene. Shaking your head, you walk around Mrs. Lee towards the door, the adrenaline you had earlier waning quickly as you take in everything that has occurred in the last day.

“What happened?” Jihoon asks, pulling you aside. “You’re bleeding.”

You beckon your head towards his mother, unwilling to look at her without seeing red. “She was disrespectful, and I reacted,” you say simply. “I will not tolerate her bullshit for my father or me anymore, whatever her imaginary beef is with us.”

Jihoon lets out a deep sigh, raking his fingers through your hair. “You’re bleeding. Can you please go upstairs to my place? I have Band-Aids there.”

You gaze into his eyes, your walls breaking down little by little. You are tired, frustrated, and in need of a hard drink. You also feel Jihoon’s sincerity, and you are tired of fighting—your day has been hard enough as it is.

Slipping out of his arm, you head towards the door, grabbing the nearest CD nearby.

“Fine. I’m taking this as my compensation for damages.”

Jihoon observes the state of the store and his mother, putting the pieces of what happened together. His mother’s face has a crimson handprint, her clothing is disheveled, and her glasses hang from her face. She rants and raves, her shrill voice echoing around the store. Snapping out of it, he quickly turns the sign on the door to “closed”, locking the doors with a swift click.

Walking over to her, he gently adjusts her glasses and slips them over her teary eyes.

“Oh, Jihoon,” she cries, letting her shoulders hang in defeat. “That woman is the devil. I don’t want you seeing her ever again!”

It hurts him to see his mother so crestfallen and upset. Jihoon does not appreciate his mother being hit, and a slow ember burns in his chest. His mother is a lot of things, but that's his mother. If it were anyone else, they would have been dealt with already.

But he also knows you, even if it’s been years, and you would have never laid a hand on her. What the hell happened?

He ushers her to the back office, sits her down, and digs through the top shelf, pulling out a first-aid kit. Retrieving a medical wrap, he takes a cold pack from the mini fridge he had stored in the small space, then wraps the cloth around the pack until it’s completely covered. Pressing it on her face, his mother let out a low hiss.

“I want to press charges,” she announces, leaning back into the office chair. “She had no right to hit me.”

Jihoon shakes his head, feeling tension in his right temple. “Mom, I saw the blood on her arm, and it doesn’t look like it came from you,” he discloses, sitting back. “I need you to tell me what happened.”

His mother shifts in her seat, gripping the ice pack in her hand. Her eyes shift nervously, taking a beat too long before she answers. “She comes in the store, looking for you, and I said you weren’t there,” she begins. “Then she starts raving at me, and I asked her to leave… then she slapped me.”

Jihoon nods slowly, searching his mother’s eyes for confirmation, anything that says the truth. Her eyes focus everywhere but him, and it sets an uneasy feeling in his chest he can’t ignore. “So she just slapped you for asking you to leave?”

“Yes.” She nods fervently. “That’s right. That girl is nuts! I don’t care how many books she writes.”

“What about the blood on her arm?” he probes, the imagery clear in his mind.

“It was already there when she came in.” She shrugs.

Her voice fades on as Jihoon zones out, lost in his turbulent thoughts. His mother has said worse things to you in the past, and you’ve never resorted to violence or even raised your voice. Why would you haul and hit her all of a sudden? It doesn’t smell right.

The small monitor that hosts the store's cameras shines under the fluorescent light. He stares until an idea dawns on him like a warm glow. Jihoon moves before he realizes what is happening, opening the work laptop and logging into the security systems. The recordings from the last hour come into view, his index finger thumbing over the mouse pad before clicking play.

“Jihoon? What are you doing?” his mother asks suddenly.

He doesn’t respond—he fast forwards until you arrive at the store. Jihoon watches intently, the audio at max volume as he listens to every word. His mind turns cold, and his chest constricts lightly, watching his mother dig her nails into your skin until it bled. He notices the shock and hurt on your face as you pull away, piecing the missing holes in his mother’s story. Jihoon glances at his mother, who looks ready to pop out of her seat.

“Jihoon—”

He raises his hand as he focuses on the screen, watching in horror.

“When you say him, I know you aren’t talking about my father—”

“He was shit then, and I suppose he’s being turned into shit now, six feet under—”

Jihoon jumps up as your hand connects with his mother’s face, watching her stumble back in shock as you give her a piece of your mind. Disappointment isn’t even the word to describe how he feels. He still doesn’t agree with his mother being slapped—but you were provoked, and that was conveniently left out of her story.

“Jihoon, I can explain—”

‘What is there to explain?” he snaps, pointing at the screen. “You lied to me and had me ready to go up there and defend your honor.” His chest rises and falls in his hurt as he paces back and forth. “How could you say that?”

Her mouth opens and shuts, at a loss for words. Jihoon has never raised his voice at her, let alone been angry. All his life, he has dropped everything to appease his mother, and it’s cost him great things—opportunities, relationships, and most importantly, you.

“God, Mom, you’re unbelievable,” Jihoon laments, shaking his head. “You are cruel, can’t you see that? You have been nothing but unkind to her ever since she started coming around. What has Blue done to you to make her hate her? Why can’t you get to know her? I’ve had it with this Northside vs. Southside bullshit.”

“Lee Jihoon!” His mother astonishes him. “Watch your language?”

Looking at her incredulously, he scoffs hard. “You just lied to me and made someone bleed, and you want to get on me about my fucking LANGUAGE?”

Jihoon’s cup is running over, and he can’t contain it. It’s more than just her treatment of Blue; it’s the infantilization of him and the refusal to allow him to be who he wants to be. It’s always been about what she wants, and what he thinks is best—never about his desires and his dreams.

“Jihoon, I’m sorry.”

He gazes at her slowly, the anger in his chest escalating to hurt. The walls feel like they are closing in, and there is only one thing on his mind—he needs to leave.

Shaking his head, he grabs his keys and his wallet.

“Lock up on your way out.”

You pace back and forth in Jihoon’s apartment, biting your nails as you revisit everything that has happened. The blood on your arm has dried, and you haven’t bothered to wipe it off. Mrs. Lee is a lot of things, and after that encounter, you wish her nothing but an economy middle seat straight to hell. You’ve always thought she was a grade A bitch for how she treated you back then, but you’ve always bit your tongue, not wanting to ruin your relationship with Jihoon, and to keep the peace. You’ve talked to your dad about it, of course, and he’s never had much to say, aside from “I see she hasn’t changed much” and “if she says anything out of line, you come get me.” She had said plenty of things then that were out of line, but you kept those details to yourself, partly afraid of what your dad would do.

But now you are done sparing her, especially after what she said about your father. Fuck her.

You hear the door open before you turn, watching Jihoon storm in with his face red and contorted with anger. Your breath stutters as his chest rises and falls, unsure how to handle this side of him. You’ve never seen him angry, much less at you.

“Jihoon, before you go on, let me explain—”

“No. Don’t,” Jihoon cuts in, raising his index finger in the air. “I have two things to say.”

A slow sting steeps closer to your heart as you stand there anxiously. “A-Alright,” you sputter. “Go on.”

“Don’t you ever put your hands on my mother again,” Jihoon states, his voice tight with conviction. “That is my mother. If it weren’t because it’s you, I would be handling this a lot differently.”

Your lips purse together, a small sliver of guilt puddling in your chest. All you can do is nod as Jihoon’s expression softens, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips.

“Second: I’m sorry,” Jihoon says, finally looking at you. “I saw what happened on the cameras. What my mother said was beyond disrespectful, and she shouldn’t have hurt you and provoked you like that.”

You slow blink, registering what he is saying. Your eyes well up, the tears falling before you can stop them. You turn quickly, avoiding his gaze as you sob in your hands. You are tired of holding on, trying to be strong for everyone, not to be seen as this broken woman who lost her dad. This town has brought you nothing but hell, and the sooner you can wrap up Daddy’s affairs, the sooner you can go back to your life.

Jihoon’s arms wrap around you, holding you tight as you sob. His fresh linen scent is strong but comforting, and slowly but surely, the tears stop. Turning you around, he gently wipes the tears from your face, studying you until he is done, his fingers tracing down to your mouth.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Jihoon murmurs. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You bite your lip nervously, unable to say anything else. Your head spins, you are exhausted, and you want nothing more than to lie down. You also want to be held, comforted, and to feel the warmth of someone who cares about you, without any hidden agenda.

“Thanks.” You sniffle, your voice raspy and shaky. “I’m not going to say I’m sorry for hitting your mom, but I understand where you are coming from.”

Jihoon nods, caressing your cheek. “I know. I wouldn’t want you to lie to me, anyway.”

A half smile creeps on your face, gazing into his eyes. Unexpected thunder rattles in the distance, startling you. Turning to the windows, the clear blue sky has been replaced by dark ivory clouds, with lightning striking in several places. Looking back at Jihoon, you step out of his embrace, scratching your arm that still has dried blood on it.

“I should probably go back to the house,” you announce, clearing your throat. “It looks like a bad storm is coming.”

“Blue, don’t be silly,” Jihoon says, shaking his head with a slight frown. “You’re staying here.”

“What?” You jerk your head back. “No, I can make it back—”

“God damn Blue, quit being so stubborn,” Jihoon snaps, running a rough hand through his hair. “It’s too dangerous out there, and I would be sick if you had to walk home in that.” Taking a deep breath, he presses his palms together in a gesture of desperate plea.

“Please, just stay the night. “

You mull over this proposition, gazing into his eyes for any reason to say no. You’re a stubborn bull, you know that, and you know you can make it home, in rain, heat, or snow. But as the thunder booms again, shaking the windows, you let out a heavy sigh, realizing you will not win this round.

“Fine. I’ll stay.”

Jihoon’s eyes light up like a beacon in the sea, and you involuntarily smile in return. Unfortunately, your walls are too beaten down to mask how you feel.

“Are you hungry?”

Your eyes shift nervously, acknowledging the ache in your stomach from the lack of food you have had all day. Adrenaline has kept you full, but you realize you should have had more than just a coffee at Jolibee’s.

“Yeah,” you respond, biting your lip. “I could eat something.”

Jihoon nods, heading into the kitchen. He rummages through his fridge, pulling out different deli meats, cheeses, and a hoagie roll.

“You still like Italian subs, right?” Jihoon asks, glancing at you.

You smile softly, your body relaxing as you watch him assemble your favorite sandwich. “Yeah, I do.”

The rain beats on the window, heavy, angry pellets dropping outside. The light flickers momentarily, stopping Jihoon in his tracks. Glancing at each other nervously, you step closer to the window and look at the damage outside. There wasn’t any mention of a major storm tonight; just light rain that was only supposed to last for an hour. The storm rages outside, tree limbs flying through the air and people scurrying into buildings to stay dry. The thunder booms again, followed by a lightning strike that hits the building's fuse box, shutting the power off completely.

‘Well, there goes that,” Jihoon says, followed by a clap of his hands. “I have some flashlights in here that can help us out.”

Turning on the light on his phone, he walks towards the closet by the front door, shuffling through a box until he pulls out two black flashlights. He places one in your hands, your fingers brushing against each other, creating a spark that makes you both jump back. The first time was a coincidence, the second time is suspicious, but this is the third time—and this has never happened with anyone else.

“I see you still have your powers, Electro,” you tease him, rubbing your hand on your shirt.

“You’re still fixated on that,” Jihoon dismissively says, jokingly rolling his eyes. “Maybe it’s you who’s shocking me. Have you considered that?”

 “I doubt it,” you reply, blowing a raspberry. “Why does this only happen with you? Riddle me that.”

Jihoon doesn’t respond. He instead taps his flashlight until it turns on, teasingly shining it in your face.

“Hey, you jerk,” you laugh. “I can’t see.” 

You raise your hand over your eyes from the light, reaching out to him with the other, and move to grab the flashlight from his hand. You miss and grab his wrist by mistake, pulling him close to you. Jihoon finally lowers the light; the luminance bounces off the wooden floors and illuminates the living room. The smiles on your faces slowly disappear, the storm rolling on in the background like an ambiance.

“Sit with me?” you ask softly, pointing towards the futon.

“Yeah, let me put the food up,” he murmurs, retreating to the kitchen.

Plopping on the futon, you close your eyes, recalling the day’s events in your mind. Mrs. Lee, Vernon, the crowning ceremony—all of this alone would give anyone a major headache. You pinch the space between your eyebrows, rubbing it gently until the pain fades, the storm slowly fading in the background. A wet cloth suddenly brushes against your left arm, making you jolt.

“Relax,” Jihoon says softly. “I’m wiping the blood off your arm.”

Your body relaxes as your breathing slows, and you lean back against the futon. “Thank you.”

He mumbles something inaudible, adjusting the flashlight on his lap to look at your arm and removing every stain of crimson until it’s gone. He takes the band-aid he had placed between his fingers and tears the thin paper off, placing it carefully where you were wounded. Jihoon’s thumb presses against it softly, making you wince.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“It’s fine,” you whisper.

Glancing at him, you inch closer, as if something is pulling you together at all costs. The air is thick, your heart and your mind on the same page for once, begging and wanting what’s been in the back of your mind for ten summers now. His hand places over yours, familiar and warm, just as you remembered it.

“Do you think, if what happened didn’t happen all those years ago, you would have stayed?”

You think about the question carefully, searching in your heart for the truth. Smiling softly, you gaze at him again, tightening your hand in his. “Maybe?” you answer, your voice shaking. “Or maybe you could have come with me, and we would have had different lives.”

You lay your head on his shoulder, intertwining your fingers with his. You feel comfortable and safe with Jihoon, and for the first time in a long time, at peace.

Ten Summers Ago

Your father was accused of murder.

Mayor Peppersnitch was found dead in a tub full of water and blood, and it wasn’t an accident. The mayor’s mansion was riddled with broken glass and bullet holes, a gnarly crime scene that shook the quiet, shady town. The FBI swarmed every corner of this town, infiltrating your fave hideouts and monitoring the hallways in your schools as if the killer was going to show up at the school the next day. It was madness for those couple of weeks, and it escalated further when your dad was carted out of your house in handcuffs, shoved in the back of the police car, and taken somewhere hours away. You didn’t understand it; you and your father were home, and you told them that. Why is all of a sudden the number one suspect?

Apparently, someone had a tip that they saw your father and his motorcycle leaving the mansion in the dead of night, though there was no proof. You had to find a lawyer who was willing to take your case, and if it weren’t for a camera from a neighbor’s house that showed your dad was home at the time of the murder, he would have been thrown in prison for life. That month he was gone was hell, and everyone who wasn’t a Zodiac or Jihoon treated you like some pariah, as if you were wrong for defending your father. You weren’t welcome anywhere on the Northside, and people made an effort to cross the other street if you were coming. You felt lonely, abandoned, and most importantly, hurt.

The worst part about all of this? The day he was taken away, you just found out you were waitlist accepted into NYU.

“I’m not going to go to New York.”

You stood in front of your father with your head held high, absolute in your decision. He just came home the day before, the bruises on his wrists still rough from the handcuffs the feds shackled onto him. He sat up on the couch, giving you his undivided attention.

“You just came back home, and I don’t think it’s the best time for me to leave,” you continued. “I will get a job and help around the house. Maybe I will go to junior college in Shiningdale—”

“No.” Your father rose from the couch, all six foot four of him towering over you. “You are not going to miss out on this opportunity because of me.”

“But Daddy—”

“NO!” The bass in your father’s voice deepened, sending a chill down your spine. “You will go to New York, attend that university, and make something of yourself. I didn’t raise you alone for fourteen years just for you to throw your life away.” Taking a deep breath, he motioned for you to sit on the couch. You sauntered over, and he ambled, pulling you into a hug and holding you close. You could smell the husky smell of his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke. It made your nose tingle.

“You have a gift with your pen, Blue.” Your dad’s voice was softer, hitting you hard and soft in your heart. “You have a way with words that I could never even think of. Just like your mother.”

You glanced at him, the mention of your mother making your breath stutter. He rarely talked about her, and you don’t remember her much, aside from her laughter, which you sometimes hear in your dreams. You were three when she died from cancer, but she has always had your dad’s heart.

“Mom used to write?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“Absolutely,” your father confirmed with a smile. “She used to write me poems all the time.”

He got up suddenly, went into his room, and shuffled around, rummaging through papers and boxes. He returned with several notebooks, each with different hand-drawn blue flower decorations. “I kept her poems, thinking one day you would want to have them,” he explained. “I… still read them from time to time.”

“Daddy, no..." You smiled, leaning into his warmth, taking a notebook as you bite your lip. "I can’t just take this. It feels wrong.”

“Kid, you gotta quit worrying about your ol’ man,” he gruffed, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Your mother would want you to have them… and I want you to take them with you to New York.”

You studied him carefully, understanding that there was no changing his mind. Taking the rest of the notebooks, you cradled them to your heart, feeling a little closer to your mom.

“I’ll take good care of these, Daddy.”

Jihoon is stirred awake by the flash of electricity that turns on the apartment lights and by a loud beep from the microwave. Rubbing his eyes, he feels around for his glasses, patting around softly while you lie on his chest, still asleep. He finds them lying with a grasp underneath the futon, sliding them smoothly on his face. He lifts you gently as he gets up, laying you back comfortably on the futon as he stretches. You hardly stir; your face is relaxed, asleep, and somehow more beautiful than he remembered.

You didn’t talk much more during the storm. Jihoon held you close while it went on, and eventually you fell asleep. He could have slept in his bed, but he wanted to hold you just a little bit longer. He never thought he would have this chance to do it again; to know this grown-up, famous person you’ve become. He wasn’t as angry with you for hurting his mother anymore. The more he thought about it, the more he understood why you reacted the way you did. It opened his eyes to his mother’s behavior, and he knows down the line, decisions will have to be made.

Jihoon starts cleaning the apartment, meticulously wiping the counters and returning everything to what it was before he left. He likes order, putting things back where they belong, and making sense of what is out of place and why. It’s the way he goes through life, as he feels there is a reason for everything, even if the answer isn’t found yet. It’s what keeps him going, he supposes.

“Hey.”

The soft, groggy voice made him pause. He glances in your direction, setting the towel on the counter. “Hey,” he breathes. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

You shook your head, sitting up slowly and smiling sheepishly. “No,” you confirm, your voice still thick with sleep. “The microwave was loud; I just lay there for a bit.”

Jihoon's laugh is light, chuckling at the irony. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It woke me up, too.”

Your hand covers your mouth as you stifle a yawn, your free arm stretching as you rise slowly from the futon. Your hair is disheveled, you have sleep in your eyes, and Jihoon thinks you’re the prettiest woman he has ever seen. He stares longer than he should, watching you adjust your shirt and scroll through your phone. You shake your head with a groan, shoving it in your pocket.

“Do you want some tea?” Jihoon asks, leaning casually against the counter, trying to keep his gaze from lingering. “I have a few things here.”

You don’t answer right away; you stare at the floor, lost in thought. “Blue?” he calls out softly, unfolding his arms. “Are you okay?”

Slowly snapping back into focus, your gaze lifts to meet his. You offer him a small smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “Oh. Yeah.” You nod. “Tea is good.”

Jihoon mouths ‘okay’ and pulls out a teapot he got from the Wen Thrift Store down the road. The family that runs it has a son named Junhui who is about the same age as him. Junhui travels a lot, sends things from time to time that they could sell at the shop, and that’s how he came across this antique teapot. He uses it almost every day, preferring to wake up to tea rather than coffee. He prefers to drink more natural, herbal drinks, and having a tea does his body good.

Jihoon pours water into the pot and sets it on the stove to boil. “I have a lemon zinger tea. Is that cool?”

“Mhm,” you hum, eyes focused on your phone again. “Whatever you have is fine.”

Jihoon busies himself with making your tea, trying not to focus on your sad and sleepy eyes. He tries not to think about how comfortable you were lying on his chest, how nice it was to hear you deeply breathe on him, not crying, hurt, or in a rage. He avoids noticing the moments stretch whenever he is with you, and how your hair still smells like vanilla and cream.

Jihoon hasn’t had many regrets over the years, but not fighting harder to keep in touch with you, to resume what you had that summer, has been one of the biggest regrets of his life. The dull ache of missing you that he thought he could put away and move on from has stuck with him ever since.

Sneaking a glance at you, he notices your sour disposition, sulking with your phone clutched in your hand tightly, “What’s wrong?” He probes, wiping his hands with a kitchen towel.

Your mouth opens and shuts, words failing to come out. You shake your head in disbelief, rising from the couch and handing him the phone instead. “I’m sure you knew about the ceremony that happened tonight?”

Jihoon looks confused, looking at what’s displayed on the screen. It’s Vernon being raised in the air, holding beers in both hands, with a caption that says “our new leader”. Jihoon watches your body shift uncomfortably, a slow fire starting in your eyes.

“I don’t know what this is,” Jihoon states, handing her back the phone. “What is that?”

“It’s a ceremony that announces the leader of the Zodiacs,” you explain, folding your arms across your chest. “Vern was made the leader.”

“Oh,” he responds, brows furrowing as he understands the situation. “Isn’t that a little early? Your dad just died.”

Your eyes widen, lighting up significantly as you look relieved. “See! You get it!” you exclaim. “I was so mad when Vernon told me (which he didn’t tell me until Pop mentioned it to him in front of me), and I just started walking until I saw something familiar.”

Your shoulders relax as you lean against the counter in thought. “That’s how I ended up downstairs,” you explain, with a softer tone. “I thought maybe I was crazy for feeling hurt by it. I know they have to choose a leader eventually, but Daddy is barely six feet in the ground.”

You blink furiously as you try to hold back tears, wiping your eyes furiously. “Did anyone give a fuck about my father?” You break out in a sob, covering your face with your hands as you start to cry. Jihoon immediately pulls you to him, rubbing your back as you cry into his shirt. He knows all of this too well. When he lost his father, he was sad and missed him, but Jihoon had time to process that he didn’t have long to live and make peace with that. You didn’t, and everything is being thrust onto you with no remorse. And now the world is moving on while you’re stuck in the same place. He knows how that feels.

Jihoon pulls back slightly, lifting your face and wiping your tears away. He notices the way your chin trembles and the light is gone from your eyes, replaced with a hurt that cuts deep. He wishes he could take your pain away, put it in a jar, and throw it in the ocean, never to be seen again.

“Look at me,” he whispers, catching droplets from the corner of your eyes. “I know everything feels shitty right now, and you take all the time you need to heal. But I have your back, okay? I always have. Whatever you need.”

You nod fervently, your breathing slowing as you start to relax. Jihoon makes the mistake of gazing into your eyes, seeing the woman he’s longed for a decade, standing in front of him with a history that can’t top anyone else that he’s connected with. His thumb brushes against your lip by mistake, wet from tears. You nod slowly, as if you read his mind, and you feel the same thing he does, inching closer until your noses barely touch. Smiling gently, you brush his hair back, regarding him with a look of adoration.

“Why are you so nice to me?” You murmur, locking your eyes with his. “You have very well have told me to fuck off, but you still stick around.”

Jihoon studies you for a moment, weighing the scales in his mind. He wants to be honest with you and tell you how he feels, but he also knows you’re vulnerable, and he doesn’t want to take advantage of that. Gazing in your eyes makes him want to forgo his inhibitions and tell you what’s in his heart and mind. Taking a step back, he looks at his floor conflicted.

“Jihoon.” You breathe his name in a way that invokes something wild in his spirit. “What is it?”

He shakes his head, looking past you at the brick wall. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“What’s fine?” You question him, reclaiming space in front of him. “You aren’t being very clear.”

Jihoon’s feet are planted to the floor, unable to move. He’s acutely aware of how close you are to him, and he fights every nerve in his body to reach out to you. But you touch him instead, lifting his chin to meet the same, warm face that he fell in love with.

“Tell me,” you plead with earnest eyes.

Jihoon exhales lightly, anxiety eating at him from the inside. “I have to say something, and I don’t want you to freak out,” he reveals, his heart beating wildly as he gauges your reaction. Your brows knit in confusion, but you nod slowly, giving him the space to say what’s on his mind. “You’ve been on my mind a lot, even when I tried to forget you. You’re everywhere I go, and not just because you are a big-time author now. I know this is a shitty time to say this, and I’m sorry. But you are hard to forget and to get over, Blue.”

Your expression is calm, as if you’re processing what he’s said, and it makes his stomach drop. Did he say the wrong thing? Did he say too much? It stays quiet a beat too long, and he shifts nervously, shoving his hands in his sweats.

“Is that how you feel?” You ask gently. “Did you mean all that?”

“Yes. I miss you.”

Before he can blink, you kiss him.

It’s needy, titillating, and fills his veins with a high he has been chasing since that summer. His hands cup your face, embracing your soft lips against his, and walking you back until your back hits the fridge. Everything disappears, fading in the background as he deepens the kiss, elated that he might have his girl back. Your hands run through his hair, tugging it softly and moaning in his mouth. He has not experienced this side of you before, so sensual and in control of yourself, but he is willing to learn all of it for you.

“I need you,” you murmur, your eyes snapped shut as you pull on his shirt. “I need you, Jihoon, please.”

He pauses, holding your gaze and needing direct confirmation. “Are you sure? We don’t have to do this.”

A smile tugs at your lips before kissing him again, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and grabbing the back of his neck. “It’s what I want.”

Smirking against your lips, his kisses travel to your neck, sucking on the soft skin that he’s being given the honor to touch.

“Whatever you need, Baby.”

You moan earnestly in his ear, stuck in the trance set by Jihoon. He never imagined he would ever see you again, let alone touch you, kiss you, and profess his feelings to you. See, Jihoon is not an emotional guy and doesn’t say more than he needs to, and that’s always been fine by him. The less you know, the better. But you make his heart want to burst out of his chest. You make him want to feel love and not be afraid of it. You make him feel alive. You make him whole.

Jihoon’s lips return to yours, desperate and commanding, kissing you with everything he has. Every moan from you drives him closer to the edge, and he craves you more. With a quiet, searching look, he waits for your nod of approval before his hands move to the buttons of your jeans, sliding them slowly down your legs. Throwing them out of view and not caring where they land, his breath catches at the sight of your legs, completely enamored.

“What are you doing?” You ask softly, biting your bottom lip.

A slow smirk flirts on his mouth as his fingers travel up your thigh, moving dangerously close to your clothed center. Your breath hitches as he leans in closer, delicately pulling your panties to the side. Your pussy is dripping already, your sweet essence barely staying contained. His mouth waters at the thought of your taste, his tongue begging to lap in between your folds.

“Please, Jihoon,” you whine, massaging the back of his hand. “I want this.”

Jihoon doesn’t hesitate; he dives in, moaning with gratification as he tastes your sweet, warm cunt. You taste better than heaven, a delicacy that he could never get enough of. He pauses briefly to take off your panties and discard them. He wants to see the full picture, this slice of heaven in between your legs. Taking a long swipe in between your folds, you let out a mewling moan, much to his satisfaction.

“Y-yes,” you purr with heavy eyelids and a smile. “God, yes.”

He growls in between your legs, sucking and eating you salaciously with a fervent hunger he can’t contain. His cock hardens in his pants, begging to be touched. He lifts, roughly shoving down his sweats and springing it free, and rubbing his shaft with his free hand. His face is smothered in your cunt with your juices dripping down his chin, and your sweet moans are a melody from his own doing. Jihoon never wants this to end.

“J-Jihoon. Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

Teasingly, he nods with his lips wrapped around your clit, smirking as your eyes flutter to the back of your head. Jolts of pleasure shoot through his cock as he gradually picks up his own pace, his hand tightly wrapped around his girth. He continues to chase his high feverishly and yours, slipping his tongue into your hole. You gasp, shuddering at the sudden switch-up. Your hips slowly wind to his rhythm, your moans echoing louder in a crescendo, whimpering incoherent sayings over and over.

“I got you,” he grunts, lost in his own pleasure. "You can trust me.”

You come undone on his tongue, gripping his hair tightly as you give him everything he wants and more. You are a sight to behold, your toes curling as he works you through your intense high while also chasing his own release. Jihoon is in a haze of lust, vigorously jerking himself off to your wet pussy lips, tipping over the edge.

“Oh, fuck,” he cries out, his orgasm gushing out of him and spilling over his hand. His gaze locks in with yours, continuing to stroke himself until he is spent, his load freely landing on the floor. Resting his head on your leg, his chest heaves as he comes out of the bliss, leaving soft kisses along your calf. The sensation makes you giggle, then you let out a deep exhale.

“Wow,” you say with a dazed look. “I don’t think I have experienced that before.”

Jihoon looks at you slowly, with curiosity. “You’ve never orgasmed before?”

You shook your head, your eyes shifting nervously. “Not like that.”

The teapot whistles loudly, startling you and making Jihoon jump up, forgetting all about it. The steam blows angrily out of the hole, indicating the water is ready to be served with the tea. Quickly turning off the stove, he grabs the cleaner and paper towels, wiping the mess that he made on the floor until it is gone. He notices you watching him with an expression he can’t make out.

“Are you okay?” he asks, glancing at you as he pulls up his sweats. You don’t answer right away, and the silence stretches on that gives him pause. Setting the teapot off the hot stove, he saunters over to you, caressing your forearm. “Blue, are you with me?”

He can tell you’re lost in your own thoughts, his heart racing as he hopes they are happy ones, and of him. Your eyes fix on him, a slow, relaxed smile on your face. He slowly releases the breath he was holding, feeling more at ease. “Yeah,” you finally respond. “I’m with you.”

“Okay,” he nods, feeling more at ease. “I’ll make your tea.”

Your eyes scan the room, undoubtedly looking for your panties and your pants, thrown on the opposite ends of the apartment. Jihoon busies himself making your tea, adding the herbs, and letting it sit in the hot water. Hearing you say that no one has ever made you orgasm in that way does something to him. He’s not a prideful guy, but he will not lie and say he didn’t like the sound of that. Jihoon hasn’t been with many partners, and he has experience, but he hasn’t made love to them the way he did with you.

You’ve officially made him a pussy-drunk fool in love.

Jihoon notices it’s too quiet and sneaks a glance at you as you slide your jeans back onto your body. He notices the way your hands press against your jeans as you rub your thighs. Your hair is messy, your eyes are glossy, and he finds you so fucking irresistible.

“What’s on your mind, Blue?” Jihoon probes, finishing preparing your cup. Walking over to you, he places it in your hands with a towel underneath. “It’s hot.”

You mouth thank you, taking a sip cautiously. Your brows furrow, observing the porcelain cup in your hand. Some of it drips down your chin, and before you could react, Jihoon is wiping it away with his thumb. “This is good,” you finally say, a small smile on your lips. “I’ll have to get this brand for my apartment.”

The air sucks out of him a little, a jarring reminder that you will be leaving here soon, and who knows if you will come back. He studies your face, noting how you close your eyes with each sip, as if you are going to place in your mind that brings you peace.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, softly nudging your knee.

You lock eyes with him, and your sleepy eyes fill him with an infectious warmth and a familiar adoration that is only for him. “For the first time since I’ve been back here, I can breathe.” You hesitate, setting the cup in your lap and locking your eyes with his. “Thank you for that.”

Jihoon feels the sincerity in your words, falling deeper into your orbit and this moment. “I’m glad I could do that for you.”

Ten Summers Ago

“So you’re leaving, huh?”

You were with Jihoon at the lake, throwing rocks along the dark waters as time passed by. The sun beamed on your heads in the mid-afternoon without a cloud in sight. It was your last day in Carats Ridge, and your car was packed to the brim, ready to go. Your last days were spent getting ready for your journey, tying up loose ends, and grabbing anything you could take with you. You spent time with Lola and Vernon with Jihoon in between, and your father threw you an unwanted going-away party at Shadow. You smiled through it, knowing that his intentions were in the right place, and he wanted to show off his only daughter going to college. He deserves the bragging rights, you think. He’s been through a lot after all.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, the word right in your throat as you throw another pebble. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

You glanced at Jihoon, acknowledging his glum expression and instantly regretting your flippancy. “I’m sorry, Jihoon. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did,” he responded quietly, his gaze fixated on the water. “But I don’t hold it against you. This time hasn’t been exactly kind to you.”

It still didn’t stop you from feeling bad. You had feelings, real feelings, for Jihoon, and the last thing you wanted to do was hurt him. He made you feel seen, he understands you, and treats you like he loves you, not someone he tolerates. Your heart twisted at the thought of not seeing him every day or touching his skin or hearing his voice. Jihoon had single-handedly made you believe in love and in your right to good things. He’s changed your life.