KWRITERSWORLD

“Come on, baby—”

“No, Cheol. I have to go to work, and I cannot be late again.”

“Just the tip, please—”

“Cheol.”

It’s one of those mornings when your husband, Seungcheol, can’t keep his hands off you. It started early this morning when he woke you up with kisses before your alarm went off five minutes later. Not wanting to risk being late, you slipped out of bed and ran into the shower, hoping it would stop his antics. But then you catch him watching you as you dry off, discreetly palming himself under the blanket. You feel him creep up on you as you’re bent over, rubbing your body with your favorite lotion that leaves you smelling divine. You throw him a look in the mirror, watching him gaze at you with a mix of love and lust.

“It’s not happening, sir,” you warn, turning to face him. “I can’t be late to work today.”

“Why?” He raises his brows. “Do you have an important meeting today?”

“No,” you say carefully, acutely aware that you are still naked. “I just don’t want to be late today.”

You are putting up a brave front, stepping around him and into the closet. His hand brushes against your hips on the way, and tiny jolts of excitement spread throughout your body. Despite you saying no, your body says the opposite, your insides practically screaming to let him put in said tip. It doesn't help that Seungcheol looks the sexiest in the mornings, with his sleepy look and slightly disheveled hair. You imagine your fingers running through it, tugging it tightly while you kiss his perfect lips, riding him—

“Ahem.”

Snapping out of your reverie, you glance at Seungcheol before praying your perfume and body mist. He saunters toward you, his hands caressing your hips as his lips grace your neck. Your breath hitches involuntarily, your body betraying you as it reacts to his touch. He knows what he is doing, and you want to give in, but you must stay strong and stick to the schedule.

“Seungcheol,” you softly murmur, attempting to free yourself from him gently. “Not now.”

His fingers sneak lower, flirting with your bikini line. You turn, squinting your eyes at him before successfully unwrapping his hands around you and walking away. You had to leave for your own sake, because if you stayed a minute more, he would have you bent over the bathroom counter, again.

“I don’t know why you’re fighting it,” Seungcheol’s voice carries from the closet. “I know you’re thinking about it.”

A slow smirk plays on your lips, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the vivid imagery playing in your head. Your body tingles with excitement and lust, thinking of the last time he suggested ‘just the tip.’ You hear shuffling in the closet, and you pretend to look busy, digging for something imaginary to deter Seungcheol on his conquest. Unfortunately for you, when you turn around, Seungcheol is shirtless, twirling the matching set of bra and panties you had set out for today. He has a mischievous glint in his eye that makes you gulp. God, you are in trouble.

“Are you looking for these?” Seungcheol asks, feigning innocence.

“Possibly…” your voice trails off, squinting your eyes at him. “Not sure how you ended up with them.”

“Maybe I wanted to help you get dressed, since you don’t want to be late and all.”

You scoff, moving towards him and attempting to grab your undergarments. “I’m a big girl,” you roll your eyes. “I can dress myself.”

“I know, I know,” Seungcheol nods in agreement. “But wouldn’t it be so much quicker if you had help?”

You raise your brow at him, aware of the game he is trying to play. You watch him lower himself to his knees, lifting your leg and sliding your panties through it. His eyes are pleading, practically begging for what he wants. He licks his bottom lip at the sight of your naked center, a small sigh escaping his lips. Heat surges through you like a blue flame, your cunt undoubtedly wet and craving his tongue.

“Stop,” you murmur, locking your gaze with his. “You know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” Seungheol teases, kissing your inner thigh. “Tell me.”

“Don’t be coy with me,” you say with a resigned sigh. Looking at the time displayed on your digital clock, you gently grab his chin with your fingers. “Do it before I change my mind.”

“With pleasure, baby.”

His tongue graces your folds, tasting and playing with your clit in ways that make you gasp, clutching onto his hair. He doesn’t break his contact with you, carnal lust taking over him as he hums in your pussy. Pleasure courses through your body at the littlest movements, your hips slowly riding his tongue.

Seungcheol grips your thighs tighter, and he delves deeper, slurping and moaning sounds echoing in the room. The vibrations of his lips make you twitch, gripping his hair tighter. “Fuck, Cheol,” you grit your teeth, pleasure shooting through your abdomen.

“You look divine on my tongue, baby,” he murmurs, not letting up. “Give me more.”

With renewed vigor, Seungcheol slips two fingers inside of you, and you see heaven. Your pussy clenches around him, his tongue flattening against your clit as he thrusts into you relentlessly. You’re coming undone, legs shaking as his name spills from your lips like a mantra. You make the mistake of looking down, his lips and cheeks covered with your nectar, and it sends you over the edge, screaming colorful obscenities as you fall into an abyss of pleasure.

Seungcheol is earnest, lapping up everything you offer him, gripping you tighter until your legs give out, your bed being your saving grace as you fall back. He chuckles, licking his lips incessantly as your wetness is spread all over his face. Mind fuzzy from the pleasure, you lie back on the bed, your sheets giving you a soft, cool reprieve to the hot sensation spreading all over your body.

“Are you okay, love?”

You make a minimal effort to lift yourself, studying your husband as he licks his lips, completely satisfied.

“I am… a puddle,” you burst into a giggle, in disbelief. “I can’t believe I let you rope me into that.”

“I can be creative,” Seungcheol gloats, running his fingers through his hair. The bed creaks as he climbs on, towering over you and kissing you deeply. You’re in a daze, his lips and your taste on his tongue putting you in a trance. You feel strung out, overflowing with a lust that only your husband can fix, and it doesn’t help that his tip is poking at your entrance through his boxers.

“So,” he clears his throat, drawing lines across your chest. “Did I earn it?”

You throw him a look before letting out a silvery laugh. Seungcheol, ever the pleaser since you first met him, will always make sure he does a good job. “I think you managed.”

Seungcheol looks at you, surprised, amusement etched on his face. “Managed?”

“Yes. Managed,” you tease him. “You could always be better.”

You roar into laughter as Seungcheol lifts your legs, shoving down his sweats and his large cock springing free. He taps it on your clit, oversensitivity and pleasure shooting through your thighs. Your nails dug into his arm in retaliation, a fire burning your belly as you crave to be fucked.

“Just the tip?” He asks, sliding slowly into your wetness. Your fingers cling to your sheets, your eyes rolling back as his girthy cock goes in inch by inch. You shouldn’t have teased him, you know this, because now he has you where he wants you, just as he planned.

“More than the tip,” you purr, accepting the inevitable. “All of it.”

Without warning, he snaps his hips into you, fucking you without mercy. His strokes are long, deep, the kind that fill you up with joy and leave you with tears in your eyes. He pulls you closer, tasting your skin as your nails dig deeper into his back. Your walls spasm around him, loving every minute of the dick he is dropping off, for sure punishment for your teasing earlier.

“Fuck,” you rasp, feeling your peak reaching once more. “You feel so fucking good.”

You feel him grin against your neck, hitting you with a final stroke before lifting you and turning you over. He scurries to the baseboard, beckoning for him to come to him, wiggling his glistening cock. You crawl over to him happily, climbing over and sinking on him slowly, both groaning in unified satisfaction.

“Come here,” Seungcheol mutters, pulling you closer. “Give me your lips.”

His kiss is gratifying, your tongues interwining with another as you ride him, bouncing on his cock the way he likes it. Your pussy gushes as he fucks back, his fingers rubbing your clit vigorously like he owns it. Hit with a shock of pleasure that courses through your veins, you increase the pace and pull his hair, chasing your second orgasm. As if he read your mind, he pounds into you harder, taking your nipple and sucking on it fervently.

“Fuck, I’m close,” you whimper, everything turning white.”Don’t stop.”

“Never, baby,” he grunts. “Give it to me.”

It comes sharp and quick, your legs shuddering and your moans throaty and wet. You cling to Seungcheol as he talks you through it, whispering songs of praise and peppering you with kisses. His thrusts become rigid, signaling his own release as he lets out a loud guttural moan, your walls still pulsating as he empties himself into you. Relishing in each other, you still, your hearts beating as one, as he caresses your back. Love can’t describe what you feel.

“Are you still going to go in?” Seungcheol asks, drawing lines along your back. “Stay home and make it a 3-day weekend.”

Chuckling in the crook of his neck, you gaze at him, kissing him softly. “This was all a part of your plan, huh? Fuck me good and leave me too tired to move?”

Seungcheol peals into laughter, caressing your cheek. “And if it was?”

You lock eyes with him, a knowing look on your face as you lift off him slowly. “Do you remember the last time you begged for ‘just the tip?’” You point at the nightstand, your finger directed at a shiny baby monitor on display next to your wedding portrait.

“So?” Seungcheol shrugs with a smug look. “We can always have another.”

You shake your head with laughter, making your escape before you give him any ideas. A baby’s cry is heard through the monitor, and your heart pangs with guilt. The sunlight shines through the blinds, casting a soft glow that promises a peaceful day. You silently laugh, your shoulders shaking heavily as it dawns on you that at the end, Seungcheol is going to get what he wants.

“Babe? I’m staying home.”

“i have never aced anything in my life,” you muttered, dragging your hand down your face. “this problem is evil. derivatives are evil. whoever invented them is evil.”

“newton,” he said immediately.

“yeah, well, newton can come down here and explain this to me himself.”

jeongin laughed, that quiet, breathy laugh that always made you feel like you’d won something. his hair fell into his eyes when he leaned over your notebook, and without thinking you reached up and pushed it back. you had done it a hundred times before. he didn’t flinch. he never did. he just looked at you for half a second too long before glancing back at the page.

“you’re overthinking it,” he said, tapping the equation with his pen. “take the derivative of the outside first. chain rule. you love the chain rule.”

“i don’t love anything about math.”

“you love being dramatic.”

you rolled your eyes but you were smiling. it was so familiar that it almost felt scripted, the rhythm of your back and forth, the way he’d slide your highlighter toward you before you asked, the way you’d steal his fries without permission. there was a comfort in it that felt like muscle memory. sometimes you wonder when it stopped being just comfort.

“you always say you’re bad at everything you do,” he continued, softer now, tracing the line of the function with his finger. “then you show everyone up. it’s annoying.”

you looked up at him. “oh, so you think i’m smart?”

“i think you’re insufferable,” he said, and then added, “but yeah, you’re smart.”

“and hot?”

he blinked. the corner of his mouth twitched. “wow. fishing much?”

“i’m just clarifying,” you said, pretending to study your notes. “you said i show everyone up. that implies the whole package.”

“i did not say that.”

“it was implied.”

“you’re delusional.”

but his ears were pink. you saw it because you’d spent years memorizing the way his face gave him away. he cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head so his hoodie rode up just enough to make your brain short circuit for a second. you hated that he knew what he was doing. you hated that you liked it.

“for the record,” he said casually, staring at the ceiling, “i never said you weren’t hot.”

your pencil froze mid-scratch. you tried to laugh it off, the way you always did when things edged too close to the line. “wow. that’s high praise coming from you. mr. i’m-bad-at-everything.”

“i am bad at everything.”

“you are literally top of the class.”

“accident.”

“you play three instruments.”

“barely.”

“you ran a half marathon.”

“okay, that one was peer pressure.”

you leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin in your hands. “yeah, you always say you’re bad at everything you do. then you show everyone up. it’s annoying.”

he looked at you then, really looked at you, and something in his expression shifted. less teasing, more searching. “so you think i’m smart and hot?”

you swallowed. there it was. the echo. the mirror he’d held up so effortlessly. your heart thudded in your ears and you hoped he couldn’t see it in your face. “don’t push it.”

“that wasn’t a no.”

“it wasn’t a yes either.”

he leaned forward too, forearms brushing yours. neither of you moved away. the cafe was loud around you, blenders whirring, cups clinking, someone laughing too loudly at another table, but the space between you felt small, sealed off. you could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of your sleeve.

“we’ve been friends for, what, eight years?” he said lightly, but his voice had dropped a little. “you’re legally obligated to find me at least a little attractive.”

“is that in the contract?”

“page three. fine print.”

“i didn’t read the fine print.”

“clearly.”

you nudged his knee with yours under the table and he nudged back. it was stupid, the way something so small could feel like a spark. you’d sat like this a thousand times, knees touching, shoulders bumping, sharing headphones, falling asleep on each other during movie nights. none of that had ever felt dangerous. this did. this felt like one wrong word could tip the whole balance.

“what are you scared of?” he asked suddenly.

you blinked. “what?”

“you’re doing that thing,” he said, “where you joke more when you’re thinking too hard.”

“i don’t do that.”

“you do. i’ve known you since you thought frosted tips were a personality.”

“they were in style.”

you kicked him lightly. he caught your ankle with his hand without looking, fingers wrapping around it like it was second nature. he held it there for a second longer than necessary before letting go. your stomach flipped.

“i’m not scared,” you said finally.

“liar.”

“what would i even be scared of?”

he shrugged, gaze dropping back to the notebook but not really reading it. “i don’t know. things changing?”

the word hung there. changing. you stared at the equation on the page, the slope of the curve, the way one small shift altered everything. you hated how fitting that was.

“we’re good,” you said quietly. “why mess that up?”

“who said it would mess it up?”

“it could.”

he was quiet for a moment. the cafe noise rushed back in, filling the space you’d both created. he tapped his pen against the table, slower now. “yeah,” he admitted. “it could.”

you didn’t need him to say more. you both knew what he meant without saying it. if it didn’t work. if one of you cared more. if it ended badly. you’d seen it happen to other people, friendships unraveling into awkward silences and careful distance. the thought of not having him in your life the way you did now made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with math.

“but,” he added, almost too casually, “it could also not.”

you looked up. he was watching you again, eyes softer than his tone. he reached over and flicked your forehead gently. “you’re thinking too much. solve the problem.”

“you’re impossible.”

“and yet you keep choosing to sit with me.”

“i don’t choose, you just show up.”

“i like showing up.”

the words landed heavy. he liked showing up. for you. to this. to long afternoons of coffee and scribbled notes and sarcastic jabs. you wondered if he realized how much that meant.

“you know,” you said slowly, “if you keep flirting with me like this, people are going to get the wrong idea.”

“what wrong idea?”

“that you’re in love with me or something.”

he didn’t laugh right away. he held your gaze, one eyebrow raised. “that would be so embarrassing for me.”

“right. devastating.”

“i’d never recover.”

“your reputation would be ruined.”

“completely.”

you both smiled but neither of you looked away. the tension stretched thin, humming. you could feel it in the way his foot brushed yours again, slower this time, less accidental. your hand was still resting near his on the table, fingers close enough that one small movement would tangle them together.

“innie,” you said before you could stop yourself. you’d been sticking to jeongin, like maybe that little bit of distance would help. but it slipped out, soft and familiar, and his expression shifted again, something unguarded flashing across his face.

“yeah?” he said.

you hesitated. this was it, you thought. this was where you could say something real. something that pushed past the jokes and the half truths. your pulse was loud in your ears. you imagined what it would feel like to reach across the table and just take his hand. to say it outright: i like you. more than this, more than friends.

but the fear was there too, coiled tight. what if he laughed? what if he didn’t? what if everything changed in a way you couldn’t undo?

“you’re still wrong about the chain rule,” you said instead.

he stared at you for a second, then burst out laughing. “you’re unbelievable.”

“i know.”

he shook his head, smiling like he wasn’t mad at all. “come here,” he said, sliding his chair closer until your knees were pressed together fully now, no space left. he took your pencil from your hand and started writing, his shoulder brushing yours as he explained the steps again, slower this time. you watched his hand move across the page, steady and confident, and felt that same familiar swell of admiration you’d been trying to pretend was normal.

“see?” he murmured. “not evil, just misunderstood.”

“are we still talking about derivatives?”

“depends. are you still fishing for compliments?”

you bumped your head lightly against his shoulder. “shut up.”

he leaned his head against yours for a second in return. it was brief. easy. like it had always been. but neither of you moved away right away. the air felt warmer.

“we’re okay,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

“yeah,” you replied.

outside, the light was starting to fade, the sky turning that soft blue that always made everything feel suspended. you packed up slowly, neither of you in a rush to leave. as you stood, he reached for your bag before you could, slinging it over his shoulder like it belonged there.

“walk you home,” he said.

“i live in the opposite direction.”

“so?”

you smiled, trying to ignore the way your heart leapt at the casual certainty of it. you fell into step beside him, shoulders brushing as you headed out into the evening, the conversation drifting back to stupid jokes and class gossip and anything but what was hovering just beneath the surface.

the air was colder than you expected when you stepped out of the cafe, the kind of cold that made everything feel sharper, like even your thoughts had edges. jeongin noticed before you did that you’d forgotten to zip your jacket. he reached over without asking, fingers brushing your collarbone for a second as he tugged it up. “you’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached,” he muttered, and you rolled your eyes but let him fuss. he always did this, small quiet acts that looked like teasing from a distance but felt like care up close.

“i’m perfectly capable of surviving a three block walk,” you said.

“debatable.”

he shifted your bag higher on his shoulder and stepped a little closer to you as you started walking. not enough to make a scene. just enough that your arms brushed every few steps. the streetlights cast everything in gold, and for a second you wondered if that was why his profile looked softer than usual or if you were just noticing more lately.

“hey,” he said after a moment, kicking a pebble off the sidewalk. “are you going to felix’s party on friday?”

you glanced at him. “felix is having a party?”

“you’re kidding.”

“i ignore half the group chat.”

“yeah, we know.”

you hummed, pretending to consider it. “i don’t know. parties are loud. worse, people are loud.”

“you’re loud.”

“that’s different. i’m selectively loud.”

he laughed under his breath. “it’s at his place. nothing crazy. just music, drinks, and a little pretense on multiple fronts.”

“so your natural habitat?”

“exactly.”

you nudged him with your shoulder. “are you going?”

“maybe,” he said casually, but he didn’t look at you when he said it. “i’ll go if you go.”

you stopped walking for half a second. he took two more steps before realizing and turning back. “what?”

“nothing,” you said quickly, catching up, “that’s codependent.”

“it’s strategic,” he corrected. “i need someone to make fun of people with.”

“you’re insufferable.”

“and yet?”

you smiled despite yourself. the night felt like it was holding its breath around you. “fine. i’ll go.”

“yeah.”

“but only if you promise not to ditch me.”

he scoffed. “i don’t ditch you.”

“you absolutely have.”

“once.”

“twice.”

“those were emergencies.”

“you saw someone you wanted to impress.”

he shot you a look. “you’re the only one i’m trying to impress.”

it slipped out so easily that for a second you weren’t sure you’d heard it right. he seemed to realize it at the same time you did because his steps faltered just slightly. “i mean,” he added, too quickly, “you’re the harshest critic.”

“wow,” you said, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest. “i didn’t realize my opinion mattered so much.”

“it doesn’t,” he said immediately, then softer, “it does.”

you walked in silence for a few seconds, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable but wasn’t safe either. your hands brushed and this time neither of you pulled away. his fingers curled lightly around yours, testing, like he was waiting to see if you’d flinch. you didn’t. you laced your fingers together fully, trying to act like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“gentleman behavior,” you teased, even though your voice was quieter than usual.

“don’t get used to it.”

“too late.”

he squeezed your hand once before letting go as you reached your place. he handed your bag back, lingering just a second too long in your space. “friday,” he said.

“friday,” you echoed.

he walked away backwards for a few steps, pointing at you. “don’t bail.”

“don’t ditch me.”

he grinned and turned the corner, leaving you standing there with your pulse still racing.

friday came faster than you expected. you met him outside your building and he gave you a once over that was subtle enough to pass but obvious enough to make your stomach flip. “you clean up okay,” he said.

“try not to sound so surprised.”

“i’m not surprised,” he said. “i’m impressed.”

“careful.”

“what?”

“you’re flirting again.”

“am i?”

you didn’t answer. you just fell into step beside him and let the night carry you toward felix’s place.

felix’s apartment was already loud when you arrived, music thumping through the walls, laughter spilling into the hallway. jeongin knocked once before letting himself in like he owned the place. you followed, immediately hit with the smell of cheap alcohol and too many people in one space. felix whooped when he saw you, pulling you both into a chaotic hug.

drinks were pressed into your hands before you could protest. jeongin stayed close at first, shoulder brushing yours as you navigated through clusters of people. he leaned down to comment on someone’s terrible dance moves, and you laughed into your cup, the alcohol warming your chest just enough to make everything feel a little looser.

for a while it was easy. you talked to friends, played some stupid card game on the kitchen counter, bumped hips with him when the music got louder. he kept refilling your drink without asking, and you kept pretending not to notice the way his hand would rest at the small of your back when someone squeezed past.

then you saw it. not dramatic at first. just a girl from one of his classes laughing at something he said, her hand on his arm a second too long. you told yourself it was nothing. he was friendly. he was like that with everyone. you took another sip of your drink and turned back to the conversation you were in.

but when you glanced over again, she was closer. he was leaning down to hear her over the music, his face inches from hers. she said something and he laughed, head tipping back, and you felt something sharp twist in your stomach.

you stayed where you were, nodding along to someone else’s story while your eyes betrayed you every few seconds. it was stupid. you were just friends. long term best friends who held hands on sidewalks and said things they didn’t mean. that was all.

someone bumped into you and you stumbled slightly. a different guy steadied you with a quick apology. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you said, smiling politely.

jeongin looked over at the movement, eyes scanning you quickly before relaxing when he saw you were fine. then the girl said something else and his attention shifted back to her.

you finished your drink too fast.

when he finally made his way back to you, he was grinning. “you disappeared.”

“i was here the whole time.”

“liar.”

“you were busy.”

he tilted his head. “busy?”

“talking.”

“oh.”

you shrugged like it didn’t matter. “she seems nice.”

he stared at you for a second like he was trying to read something between your words. “she’s in my econ class.”

“mhm.”

“why are you making that face?”

you forced a laugh. “i’m not making a face. i’m drunk.”

“you’ve had two drinks.”

“lightweight.”

he stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “are you jealous?”

your heart slammed against your ribs. you scoffed. “don’t flatter yourself.”

“that’s not a no.”

“innie.”

“there it is,” he said softly. “you only call me that when you’re avoiding something.”

you swallowed. the music felt too loud suddenly, the room too small. “i’m not avoiding anything.”

“then look at me and say you don’t care.”

you did. you looked right at him, at the familiar curve of his mouth, the faint flush on his cheeks from the alcohol. “i don’t care.”

he held your gaze. you didn’t look away.

“you’re a terrible liar,” he bit back.

before you could respond, someone shouted his name from across the room. he hesitated, glancing between you and the group calling him over. “i’ll be right back,” he said.

you nodded. “go.”

this time when he walked away, you felt the absence. you set your empty cup down and slipped out onto the balcony, the cold air hitting your face like a reset button. you gripped the railing and tried to steady your breathing. this was ridiculous. you weren’t dating him. you had no right to feel this possessive. and yet…

the balcony door slid open behind you. you didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. “you always run when things get intense,” he said quietly.

“i needed air.”

“you could’ve told me.”

“why?” you asked, finally turning. “so you could go back to your econ friend without worrying about me.”

he frowned. “that’s not fair.”

“i know,” you said immediately. “i know it’s not.”

the music was muffled out here, replaced by the distant hum of traffic. he stepped closer, hands in his pockets like he was holding himself back. “did it bother you?”

you hesitated. this was it again. the edge. the drop.

“yeah,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “it did.”

his shoulders relaxed, like he’d been bracing for something worse. “why?”

“don’t make me spell it out.”

“i want you to.”

you laughed weakly. “you’re cruel.”

“maybe.”

you looked at him, really looked at him, and the alcohol stripped away just enough of your caution to make you honest. “because i don’t like seeing you with someone else,” you admitted. “because it makes me realize i might not be as okay with this as i pretend to be.”

he didn’t interrupt. didn’t joke. just watched you.

“i didn’t say anything in there because you’re allowed to talk to whoever you want,” you continued, words tumbling now. “and i don’t want to be that person. i don’t want to ruin what we have because i got greedy.”

“greedy?”

“yeah,” you said, throat tight. “wanting more.”

he stepped closer until there was barely any space left between you. “what if i want more too?”

your breath caught. “don’t.”

“don’t what?”

“don’t say things you don’t mean.”

he reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face the same way he had outside the cafe. his hand lingered this time. then, softly, “i wasn’t flirting with her. i was looking over her shoulder every five seconds to see if you were watching.”

“that’s stupid.”

“yeah,” he agreed. “it is.”

you let out a shaky laugh that turned into something else entirely. “i hate that i care this much.”

“i don’t.”

“you don’t hate it?”

“no,” he said. “i don’t hate that you care. i hate that you think it would ruin us.”

your chest felt too full. “what if it does?”

“then we deal with it,” he said. “but i’m tired of pretending this is all it is.”

you searched his face for any sign of hesitation. there wasn’t any. just that same steadiness he had when he explained math problems, like he already knew the answer and was waiting for you to catch up.

“i like you,” he said finally, the words simple and unguarded. “not in a best friend way. not in a joking around way. i like you in a way that makes me jealous too. i want to be the only one walking you home. laughing with you. holding you.”

the world felt very small and very quiet.

“you’re drunk,” you whispered.

“i’m honest.”

you stared at him for one long second before closing the distance yourself, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him in. you didn’t kiss him. not yet. you just pressed your forehead to his, breathing the same cold air.

“i like you too,” you admitted.

the confession hung between you and for once neither of you tried to laugh it off.

you don’t really remember saying goodbye to anyone. you remember felix yelling something unintelligible and someone wolf whistling when you and jeongin walked back inside from the balcony a little too close together. you remember your hand finding his again like it had every right to be there. you remember the way he didn’t let go.

the walk back to your place is quieter than the one from the cafe days ago. your fingers are laced tightly, swinging between you. every few steps one of you bumps into the other on purpose, like you’re both trying to burn off the nervous energy.

“so,” you say, staring straight ahead. “you like me.”

“don’t sound so shocked.”

“i am shocked. i’m very hard to like.”

he snorts. “you’re unbearable. but yeah. i like you.”

you glance at him and he’s already looking at you, cheeks still pink from the alcohol, eyes a little glassy but focused. “how long?”

“don’t make me answer that.”

“innie.”

he groans. “don’t use that tone.”

you grin. “how long?”

he exhales slowly. “a while.”

“define a while.”

“long enough that i’ve had to pretend not to care when other people flirt with you,” he mutters.

you stop walking. he takes another step before realizing and turning back, just like before. everything feels like a parallel now, except the tension isn’t hiding anymore. it’s out in the open, raw and buzzing.

“you get jealous too,” you say softly.

“obviously.”

“that’s pathetic.”

“we’re both pathetic.”

you laugh, but it breaks in the middle because he’s stepping toward you and suddenly you’re chest to chest on the sidewalk under a flickering streetlight. he brushes his thumb over your knuckles like he’s memorizing them.

“are we really doing this?” you ask.

“you dragged me into it.”

“you confessed first.”

“you started it at the cafe.”

“you flirted first.”

he leans closer, voice dropping. “are we going to keep arguing or are you going to kiss me?”

your heart slams so hard you’re sure he can feel it. “wow,” you say, breathless. “straight to the point.”

“i’ve waited long enough.”

you close the distance. your first kiss is almost clumsy, noses bumping, teeth barely grazing because you’re both half laughing into it. but then his hand slides to your jaw, steadying you, and it changes. it deepens. not rushed, not messy. but hungry. hungry in an attempt to make up for lost years.

he tastes faintly like vodka and mint gum. his other hand settles at your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left at all. your fingers fist into the fabric of his shirt like you need something to hold onto. the world narrows to the soft sound he makes when you tilt your head just right.

when you pull back it’s only to breathe, foreheads pressed together, both of you smiling like idiots.

“that was,” you start.

“yeah,” he says.

“you’re not bad at everything.”

he huffs out a laugh against your mouth. “shut up.”

you kiss him again before he can recover, this time slower. exploratory. his lips are softer than you expected. he kisses like he studies, focused and attentive, like he’s trying to understand you through it. your hand slides up to the back of his neck and he shivers slightly, which you absolutely notice and will never let him live down.

“cold,” he mutters defensively against you.

you don’t stop kissing until a car passes too close and you both stumble back to the reality of being on a public sidewalk. he squeezes your hand again. “let’s go,” he says, voice rougher now.

the walk to your place is faster. less talking. more glances that turn into small stolen kisses when you stop at a crosswalk. by the time you reach your door you’re both grinning like you’ve gotten away with something.

inside, the air is warmer. quieter. the door barely clicks shut before he’s kissing you again, like he’s been holding it in for the entire stairwell. you drop your keys somewhere near the entrance without looking. his hands cup your face this time, thumbs brushing over your cheeks gently.

“are we allowed to do this?” you murmur between kisses.

“it’s your place.”

“that’s not what i meant.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you. “we’ve been wanting to do this for years. i think we’re allowed.”

years. hearing him say it makes your chest ache in the best way. you tug him closer by the collar and he stumbles forward with a soft laugh that melts into another kiss. this one is slower still, less desperate and more deliberate. you trace the line of his jaw with your thumb, feeling the warmth of his skin under your touch.

with a step, he presses you gently against the wall, not rough, just enough pressure to hold you there. your hands slide under the hem of his hoodie but only to rest at his waist, grounding yourself. he studies your face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. then he kisses you again, softer this time, careful. like he’s aware of how fragile this new dynamic is. you respond the same way, slowing down, letting it stretch out. your lips brush, linger, part. his hand slides from your waist to your back, fingers splayed wide like he’s anchoring you there.

when you finally pull away it’s not because you have to. it’s because you’re both smiling too much to keep it steady. you’re a little breathless, foreheads touching again, hands still tangled in each other’s clothes.

“so,” you say, trying to regain some composure and failing miserably. “boyfriend.”

he groans softly. “don’t call me that yet.”

“why? embarrassed?”

“no. i have to ask you properly.”

“semantics.”

he laughs, the sound warm and dazed. “we’re really doing this.”

“yeah,” you say, softer now. “we are.”

there’s still a flicker of vulnerability there, a quiet what-if lingering under the surface. you see it in the way he hesitates before leaning in again, like he’s checking to make sure you’re still here. you are. you meet him halfway.

the next kiss is unhurried. lips brushing in slow, sweet presses. you feel his smile against your mouth and you can’t help smiling back. it turns into a soft mess of laughter and another quick kiss and then another, until you’re both just standing there, holding each other like you’re afraid one of you might disappear.

he rests his forehead against yours one more time. “i’m not ditching you,” he says quietly.

“you better not.”

“even at parties.”

“especially at parties.”

you brush your thumb over his cheek. “do you want to get ice cream?”

he blinks at you. “right now?”

“why not?”

he considers it for half a second before grinning. “yeah. yeah, i do.”

“gentleman behavior,” you tease.

“don’t get used to it.”

you lace your fingers with his again, tugging him toward the door. he steals one more quick kiss before you can open it, quick and bright and full of promise.

you’re both still smiling when you step back out into the night, a little drunk and finally done pretending.

“You have to… You have to understand, y/n. It was an accident. A mistake, I didn’t mean for this to happen. She said… She said if I didn’t tell you, she would, so I had to tell you.” Accident, mistake? That’s the explanation he gives you after finding out he’s been sleeping with your best friend. For six months. You’d been together for a year. Was this your fault? Were you not.. enough for him? And what about your best friend? The girl who you had been best friends with since childhood, what was her excuse? Feeling lonely, just wanted someone to sleep with? There are dating apps for that, darling. Why did you need him?

It wasn’t just one person who betrayed you, it was two. Your boyfriend and your best friend, it would have been much easier to deal with if it wasn’t her he’d been sleeping with because who do you run to? You can’t run to her, she must find this amusing. Maybe they’ve been laughing behind your back all this time..

You catch his eyes, finally, “An accident? Bumping into someone is an accident, spilling your tea is an accident, sleeping with my best friend for six months was a choice you made, Hyunjin. What part of that is an accident when it was a choice you made over and over and over, huh?” Your eyes plead with him to give you an answer but instead… “I love you, y/n.” You tilt your head slightly at him and sigh. Tears are streaming down your face, your whole body shakes in anger, your heart is broken and all he can say are three words that have no meaning anymore, he’s not even apologised. Not that it would matter anyway because this relationship is over. Done.

You gather whatever strength you have left and pack up all of your little essentials into a carrier bag: toothbrush, phone charger, a few other bits and bobs you’ve left on your overnight stays at Hyunjin’s house. He gently grabs your wrist and tries to pull you into his side but you wrestle out of his grasp, “Don’t, Hyunjin.”

“Y/n, I….”

“No,” You open his front door, “Please, kindly, go fuck yourself. With a burning cactus.” You slam the door, heading for your home that was only a few blocks away.

When you reach home, with a blanket draped across your legs on the sofa, a large tub of ice cream in your hands and GREY'S ANATOMY titled on the screen, your two cats lay with you, one on either side of you and you know in that moment, no matter how long it takes, you'll get through this.

disclaimer: this is purely fictional; in no way am I condoning this behavior, trying to offend anyone, nor is it meant to place such image on the idol, these are only characters. read at your own discretion.

an: happy belated valentine's gift

For an awfully chilly winter day, a cozy warmth radiates off you. Those around you have always known that cold environments are wicked against your presumably ill form. It takes one slight breeze — let alone the prickle you now feel in your skin — for you to shrivel and hunch over in pain. Wailing over frozen toes and the ache in your joints. Exaggerating that if you move a bone, it will snap in half from how horrible this cold treats you.

Jaemin had once told you the spirit of Satan that incubates in your soul was reacting and thus punishing you — as is his nature. He’d say that hell was freezing over and that Shaytan couldn’t handle the pain he inflicts. He couldn’t reap what he sowed like most people.

To Jaemin, it didn’t matter because he’d reassure you he would always be there to aid. Even through jests and laughter, because no matter the wickedness, he loved you and would strip down to the bone if it meant you were warm and safe.

You’d laugh and tell him neither of you would survive the Garden of Eden if he succumbed that easily. That within seconds you’d both be influenced by the wretchedness of that conniving snake and devour all the sacred fruit that the rest are too scared to eat. Even the snake itself because your hunger was insatiable.

Now he can be sure of how true your statement had been all those years ago, as you show no signs of frostbite and look like you do on summer eves. And the reason you both find yourselves in this predicament.

Your giggles are melody to his ears but a stake to his heart. They boom within his eardrums, louder than the galling crunch of shattered crystal glasses under both your soles and the vivacious psychedelic music that oozes through the cracks of this newly built mid-century home.

Jaemin smiles at you with adoration, hand itching to take yours but retrieves the instance both pair of feet come in contact with the transported east coast pebbles. Those that make both of you waltz and wobble until reaching the first step to avoid falling on the treacherous shards. Much like one trapped in malicious waves and surrounded by sadistic boulders.

That’s without mentioning the starved and slabbering bodies watching this young couple approach the property like trusting fawn searching for comfort and solace in the arms of it’s eventual predator. It will all lead to the consumption of one’s most vital organ at the end of the day.

There’s many things going through yours and Jaemin’s head but neither speak. He knows words and sentiments will be different but if there’s one thing he’s sure of, is that he’s just as happy as you with only the smile on your face.

Your head turns to the windows above, the slew of bodies dancing and the lack of clothes let another giggle out. Jaemin shrugs, a dry chuckle while he pulls out the nearly empty cigarette case. He thinks their movements are silly and anything but provocative but you’re amused. As amused as a pup discovering new things.

Thinking of it, Jaemin concludes that this is new for you. Before him, your only sexual encounters were self-gratification. You had gone in detail over dinner at an upscale restaurant as he ate raw oysters, it had been your fourth date.

He studied the way your eyes tentatively watched his mouth, your own twitching every time he consumed the meat and the lemon juice glossed his lips. He knew a salacious grin is what wanted to display on your face. Yet you over and over again covered it with self-effacement.

Jaemin hadn’t let you off the hook that night, rather he grinned like you had wanted to while sliding to your side of the circled booth and placed his cold hand on your exposed thigh. He asked if you had ever tried oysters to which you denied and he would only let you taste if you’d tell him a secret.

You had never wanted to try them and the deal was stupid. The look of an oyster disgusted you but Jaemin loved them and his hand against your warm thigh sliding up the mini dress reminded you of your own hands in between your legs.

With details and only for his listening, you explained the way your fingers felt on the bundle of nerves and how your fingers — plunged within you — had only brought satisfaction to you once. Explained to him how often you touched yourself trying to reach a high that you always brought yourself to but have grown restless and they weren’t doing it anymore.

He touched you for the first time that night, his hand underneath your satin girdle and panties pushed to the side while he taught you step by step how to eat the disgusting bivalve. He had opened your eyes and thighs that night to the pleasures of the flesh, discovering how insatiable you are.

If only Jaemin knew how dangerous oysters are if not careful.

The music had grown louder the instance you both reached the front door, opening without either of you knocking as Jaemin lit his cigarette. He unconsciously sighed the second he released the smoke, turning to the older woman with a huge beehive covered in a silk scarf that patted your cheek animatedly while you showed her the invitation. She laughed sardonically while looking at him, or so he thinks. Nowadays, everything is treacherous.

“Keys, pretty boy.” She purrs, pushing the crystal punchbowl closer to him. Jaemin gives it one look, one look to her, and back to the bowl before fetching his car keys. In a sea of single keys or neutral toned keychains, he frowns at the colorful keychains on his.

The instance they clink among the others, she fetches his face for a pat like she did to yours. Jaemin avoids it, turning to blow the smoke. Only the light scrape of her finger nails are felt over his hair.

The scene doesn’t seem foreign to him. While he has never tried swinging, he has been young and single with philandering friends and coworkers that strung him into their quests. Nearly naked women in their ripped girdles and their drunken laughter while playing among themselves is the least of his interests.

“Modern, aren’t they?” You ask, voice undulating exultantly. His head turns to look at you, handing you a drink from the open bar that he notices you hold back to finish in one go. “We can simply watch for now, we don’t have to join them.” You add at his lack of response, your excited shakiness warmed down with the drink; finally some signs of the cold corroding you.

It causes a smile to form on his lips, his own frozen chest warming up with your words and the smoke he inhaled, chasing it with the warm whiskey. Jaemin stops refraining himself and opts to let his arm slither around you waist, a slight squeeze as he exhales the smoke. He hasn’t spoken throughout the night but you figure his expertise has made him grow desensitized to these type of things.

Although, this sweet moment is cut short when the lights dim and the music turns erotic. Lulling all guests towards the conversation pit covered in red velvet. The transition from erotica to burlesque works to rowdy the guests. Whistles and hooting as their glasses clink with any hard surface. Hands cusped around their mouth as they scream for the same woman that greeted you both to take off the robe.

A silent giggle as the feathers of her skirt fly when she takes the red silk robe off. It matches with her wrinkled lips and the gemstones on her corset. It’s tightly cinched that her waist appears nearly non-existent. Concerning, even, but no one seems to care when her breasts are flying loosely with the tassels covering her nipples.

Her once tight curls, covered by the scarf are now loose and stable with pomade, only swinging when she gyrates her her hips and jumps slightly to make her bum bounce along the sound of trumpets and drums.

You had never gone to a night club, not even with Jaemin but he has. He’s explained what goes on in them and this seems similar to what he has detailed to you. While he remains unphased, you giggle, praising her as she moves on to the feather skirt and removes it, tossing it for anyone to catch it first.

With every shimmy of her shoulder, yours twitch feeling the same rhythm that courses through her body. She’s expressive and fun; beatitude noises leave her every time she meets the eyes of a guest, resembling a moan — sex without touching.

Nearing the end of her show, she lets her hands roam her corset cladded waist. Squeezing hard enough to make the top of it leave marks below her breast. She laughs and smiles comically the second she swings her upper body, not taking long before her tits encircle with the heart-shape pasties and tassels following suit. She lets one hand stop the assault of her own person to bring it up to her lips and blow kisses at guests. The song mellows out, followed by a fairly recognizable voice.

The whine of it makes your eyes close, lulling you into a state of delirium as you hear his words and that memorable chuckle. The pitch is as high as you remember, but also sultry and easily makes your thighs press together. Your brain makes you recall the one call that sold you to this idea. How dirty and adroit he had been, laughing at your timorous behavior.

You remember it being very erotic, nearly touching yourself inside of a phone booth. Had it not been clear, you probably would have and also had kept the call longer. But guilt had been eating you away. Jaemin’s face had popped up the second you let your hands graced your chest and rapidly hung-up on this stranger. The guilt and love you felt for Jaemin is what led you to ignoring the happenings for a month, yet this stranger’s cajole won and here you found yourself with your loving fiance who did everything to please you.

“You want that?” Jaemin had asked calmly, stopping his annotations on a colleagues research paper. “I want whatever you want.” You replied, an expectant smile that told him yes. He simply mirrored it, kissing your forehead, “I want whatever you want.” He concluded.

As cheering and clapping die down, the host smiles, bowing as if he had been the one to give this show. He scans the room, going down the steps into the conversation pit. He gives every single one of them a smile, nodding when reaching your and Jaemin.

“I’m glad you all enjoyed the beautiful tricks my wife offers. Perhaps one of you will be lucky enough to gain a private show tonight.” He winks, the other guests laugh but Jaemin doesn’t so neither do you. “It’s a special night for all of us lovers. It’s Valentine’s day! A day for love and friendship… Which is why we are all celebrating it together.”

Jaemin swirls his glass, from his peripheral vision he looks at how starved these guests are. They’re all fairly older than both of you, two other couples, and this man speaking. To an extent he wants to frown and feel pity for him. How can someone so young be entangled and in charge of something so lewd? But he’s the host overall, it’s obvious he’s nothing but a deviant himself and Jaemin is in no position to judge as he finds himself under the same roof. The reasons may differ but he’s here nonetheless and prior, he philandered himself, as well.

“We find ourselves some fresh faces,” The man scans the conversation pit for the millionth time this night, his hands move to the front. All the while his gaze lingers on you and your husband. Jaemin remains indifferent to the circumstances, finishing the drink he had been nursing this entire time. On the contrary, you don’t let your gaze linger for too long. His own is heavy and driven enough for the both of you that even his grin creates a force within you that you try so hard to restrain. At least with Jaemin beside you.

“That being so, I will go over the rules again.” He goes over the basics of this meeting. Comically as is his nature, the while his wife in the background acted out his every word. They treated it all like a joke but his voice was stern enough to let everyone in the room know that safe sex and boundaries were not to be ignored within these walls or ever. No matter how taboo contraception is.

“Boundaries are not to be crossed, these walls are thin and we will intervene. Protection must not be removed no matter what, only to dispose and replace if the fun continues.” The host nods, clasping his hands as his wife approaches him with the punchbowl filled to the brim with new and, or barely surviving car keys.

He frowns at the neutral array, quietly beaming when his eyes catch the colorful hues that belong to you and Jaemin. Melodic and animated noises similar to his wife’s leave his lips. Some expression you find goofy but ignore the while he swirls the keys around as if it was a delicacy he was to eat and not metal dirtying his hands.

“We should start with new couples. Right, dear?” His head tilts, his wife still exposed to the world within these walls. She hums with that same whine he has; her eyes wander, landing on the couple on the opposite side of the pit.

She shakes the punchbowl slightly, making sure keys flip around with every move. “Close your eyes, hun.” She coaxes, elongating her words with a cheeky smile as the woman digs her fingers through the pool of metal. Her partner had covered her eyes, egging her to keep digging and wincing when her fingers curled around multiple keys. His free hand itches to dig for her.

In that instance you figure he was more aroused at the idea of watching her have sex with another man hence his hesitance on her choosing just any keys. It’s most likely he already has someone in mind for her but the frown on his face as she pulls out a beat up scuffed Chevrolet key says enough.

In that instance an older man, gray haired and hanging belly stands up. You mimic the partner’s frown, merely upset yourself. The man’s forehead was lighter than the rest of his face, hands rough and calloused. It’s likely he’s a countryman that made a great effort to come this far for this night alone. He seemed kind… the kindness reserved for grandfathers and old men at diners. Not a man willing to wife swap with another.

The woman on the other hand didn’t seem to mind much. She laughs pleasantly as she takes the man’s hand, going up the first step out of the conversation pit. They don’t leave and she seems impatient but the veteran in this duo seems to halt waiting for orders from the hosts like dogs waiting to be given permission to feast among their favorite treat.

“Great… Louie is a tender lover. Wouldn’t you say, love?” The host turns to his wife, she doesn’t speak but creates and okay sign and kisses those same fingers with a loud smack. You think she would be a great sales model at the local department store. Or a more luxurious department store, taking into consideration this lavish lifestyle…

“Alright now, our next lovely lady.” Her husband’s body sways your way, nerves finally settling within your gut.

You’re sure if you get a man like the first one you’ll probably bail out and beg on your knees for Jaemin to fuck the disgust out of you. He would, you’re sure of it but he would also taunt you for wanting to try something as crude as this without thinking of the type of couples that could be involved. He wouldn’t do it out of anger or jealousy. He would do it to scorn.

But Jaemin’s gaze is anything but teasing or patronizing. His expression is neutral as if this was just another nuisance for him. His eyebrows lift and signals with his gaze for you to stand up. His lips purse, slicked by the syrup of whatever that drink had in it. He looked so pretty, you should probably leave with him now and continue the lifestyle you both carry…

“Don’t be shy, I won't bite. Unless you want me to…” The host grins, his gaze hasn’t dropped from you. His eyes shimmer with every move you make to stand up and when you reach him, he chuckles to himself like he achieved something by having you near.

Like Jaemin, he orders you to dig through the pile of keys without a word, only expressions. The sharp edges of keys and keychains make you wince, pondering on how the past woman was digging through like nothing. You could feel the scrapes from metal key chains, worried for it’s sanitation if they even made any damage. But ultimately you stop your search of Jaemin’s keys. Keys that you had dropped every time you grasped.

Steadily, you pull the lightest ones that bring the familiar sound of hooting and hollering. Your eyebrows furrow seeing their excited faces. Women among men laugh and the first woman’s partner looks at you with a pensive frown. Jaemin on the other hand seems to mimic the man’s emotions and not your confused ones.

The host takes a look at the keys in your hand, letting his eyes rake your face before taking them within his grasp. This being the first point of contact between both of you. His hands were awfully cold, a cold only you have been able to produce. His glossed lips part, demonstrating those pretty teeth.

“First night and we’re starting strong,” he nods, stretching his hand for you to take. Hesitantly you do so, allowing for a wolfish grin to spread across his pretty face. “Perhaps it’s faith?” He rhetorically questions, handing the punchbowl back to his wife.

Jaemin’s presence felt very dear to you, enough so that your facial muscles spasmed to not smile at the arousal you felt with the touch and words of this foreign man. His voice was huskier speaking to you than to the group that watched the interactions from behind you. His fingers caress your skin without making it seem like you’re to start your activities in front of everyone here. Your only suppressant was the painstaking force of your teeth on your bottom lip that allow him to know it would be a fun night.

Whether he felt pity for you or he was doing his job as a host, his gaze tears from you. Giving you enough time to breathe and turn to Jaemin who only smiles at you encouragingly. It was simple, nothing wide like all his smiles but he also didn’t seem hurt and especially not jealous. Jaemin was… himself. Calm, indifferent, and poised. Smoking his second cigarette of the night, this one matching the man’s that took your spot beside him. Salems, menthols at that.

You’re unsure of whatever was brewing in your chest watching the image, Jaemin didn’t give you much to go from and your facial expressions were beginning to shift. Had it not been for the cold touch against your jaw that drew your attention back to the man you’re to share a bed tonight — well, you’re not too sure what you were going to do anyways.

His thumb is soft against your skin, such a delicate touch that you hadn’t felt how he swept you off your feet and slid across the velvet up the steps of the conversation pit. Jaemin and guests all forgotten when the digit swipes your bottom lip. He inhales deeply, quivering when he exhales. “Smooth.” He claims, smudging the lip stain that clung to his thumb against his own lip. You reckon this is your first shared kiss.

Titillating, your eyes force themselves shut when he pulls fully away, his taunting grin engraved in your brain as he turns back to the guests.

“Oh, and before I part. A reminder: Those who cannot follow through will go into the cuck tabernacle and watch their partners that did. We respect your reluctance or desire to only watch but that isn’t all that fair to the willing party, is it?”

The finality of his voice leads you into the main hall, leaving the remaining guests while the first duo are lead into a different hallway before the four of you part ways. Within a few steps and with the keys he took from your hands not long ago, he unlocks the door he pushes open for you to enter first. His hand places itself on the small of your back, guiding you through the dim, spacious room. Only illuminated by the city lights entering through the curved glass wall.

Overlooking the hill, your breath hitches seeing how beautiful the city looked from here. You nearly forget you’re not alone as you approach the glass, amused by how small and bright everything looked from here. To an extent you understood why all the other guests had stood by the glass wall when you and Jaemin arrived. It felt great to feel bigger than everyone else.

“Do you like it?” He asks, approaching you with a glass of whiskey. Heart shaped ice cubes barely floating. You don’t let your words free just yet, nodding with a smile as you sip on the drink. Wincing at the harsh taste when it smoothly runs down your throat. He doesn’t comment on it but merely chuckles at your lack of expression regulation.

In the instance that he takes off his clunky belt off, your eyes shift around the bedroom. There’s some pictures of him with his wife on the walls. They’re nothing erotic like one would think, but they’re also nothing demonstrating warmth. On the contrary, the room looked very lived in with multiple items that belonged to either of them. Or perhaps both. With the shaggy hairstyle he has, her lavish up-dos, makeup, and the thick eyeliner on his waterline, you’re sure the products are shared.

You attempt not to dwell on the idea of having sex on another woman’s bed. It’s not like she cares to begin with but you put yourself in her shoes and you know if Jaemin had done something like this, you would have grieved for as long as you could.

Then again, Jaemin didn’t seem to care and had been on board with this idea when you first suggested it. He had also had multiple partners before you, in comparison. Perhaps he missed the exhilaration of sexual encounters with others as much as you enjoyed having sex. With him you have been able to discovered what you liked and have experimented everything under the sun. You love Jaemin, you’re going to marry him soon. But you also can’t quench this carnal thirst no matter how good he fucks you to the point you’ve gone numb before.

You both needed this.

To drown your inquisitive mind, the suave instrumental that greeted you not long ago drags the man in the room closer to you. Humming along the instruments as he seductively approaches you. You don’t have to turn around to feel his movement. You’re also able to see him undoing the loose knot of his muslin poet’s blouse through the glass.

The delighted grin you’ve held off for too long finally shows itself upon feeling his arms around you, pulling your exposed back closer to his now exposed chest. Bare skin to bare skin, the while his mouth ghosts over your neck. Hot breath taunting the awaited contact. His wavy hair tickling the neck he should be kissing by now.

His labored breathing is heard the longer he remains in that position. His hands roam whatever he can touch without giving you much pleasure. “You haven’t spoke once since seeing me. It’s very important for you to tell me what you want in these cases.” His head tilts slightly, nearly teasing you with the graze of his lips against your neck. You’re sure he’s doing it on purpose. You don’t need to look to know he’s grinning ear to ear at your shiver.

“I don’t know…” Is all you can muster. It’s nonsensical but also concrete enough as an answer. He doesn’t push for more right now, seemingly aware of what you mean. He’s rather engrossed in the swaying of your body against his, lead by his hands with the rhythm of the playing record.

“I found the invitation in the powder room at Marty’s a month ago. I thought someone left their brooch and peeked the contact number.” You speak, feeling his hands ease down your hips. Examining and studying every reaction to his touch. “I called only a few days later and— ah…” Your eyes flutter shut, head thrown back to land on his exposed shoulder, the lack of support from the knots making the black fabric slide down the bone.

He grins successfully, malicious even. Satisfied with how easy your body was. He hadn’t even touched any vital points. All he had done was add pressure to your upper thigh for you react so lewdly. So utterly needy…

“I knew I recognized that pretty voice.” He says, finally rewarding you with a tender kiss to your neck. So tender and wet; slow enough to drive you mad. Whimpering petulantly when he refuses to deepen it.

Ten days. It had only been ten days since New Years arrived and a tragedy had already occurred that had shaken Jaemin up enough to talk about it over dinner with his boss.

“It’s a calamity, I tell you! And it’s unconstitutional to deny Bond his seat... Dr. Wayne, you’ve seen the horrors of war. You’ve experienced them. I’m sure some members of the legislature have been veterans themselves. You know how much of an injustice this is.” Jaemin claims, the passion and sincerity in his voice drawing your hand to squeeze his thigh in order to ease the anxiety.

The older man of the two shakes his head upon finishing his old fashioned. “I bear the scars of war, son. So do you. But you will never make this country open its eyes to calamity. Whether we’re witnesses or the ones inflicting it. And it will only worsen…”

The doomed finality in his words threaten the night much to Dr. Wayne’s wife’s displeasure. The woman shakes her head, earrings clanking with her disgust. “You men and your wars… We’re having a nice night. Let’s not dwell on matters that don’t belong to us.” But it did belong to you. All of you. It simply has never occurred to her that there’s a privilege that only she and her husband bare.

“Come, Y/n. Let’s powder our noses before they continue.” She giggles, taking your hand and forcing you up — removing your comforting hand from your fiance that simply turned back to his boss.

You enjoyed the company of Mrs. Wayne. If you didn’t think about how ditsy and out of touch she was, she could easily remind you of your aunt. Fun, witty, and caring after all.

She had told you her entire life story when first meeting. Having grown her entire life as a socialite, her mother was strict and kept her away from men. Marrying Dr. Wayne had awaken her sexuality much like Jaemin had for you. Despite not telling you explicitly, she was good in masking the meaning of her message.

But now they’ve been married for over thirty years and she had once scolded you for trying to bring up your sex life with her — explicitly and not like her. She had told you that good women never performed fellatio and only performed sexual acts when procreating.

She was quite honestly upset that neither you and Jaemin had waited for marriage to fornicate. And far worse that it was a filthy game to both of you that you felt confident enough to bring it up to her as if she would enable your lecherous acts. For someone with seven kids and still trying for more, it had made you think it was a joke. Yet, she was serious and perhaps projecting.

That’s the first time she had shown disappointment in you. Reminding the both that despite your backgrounds only being similar in how adult figures treated sex around you, both of you threaded around it in completely different ways.

On the way to the powder room she had chewed your ear off about men’s nonsense and her own. You had drowned it out when she went into a cubicle and kept rambling. Only responding with hums and one word answers knowing she was looking for enabling, not communication.

You had no business in there; leaning against the pink marble shell shaped sink, you sigh upon noticing your reflection. You know much hasn’t changed but you have aged while your brain hasn’t as much.

Jaemin had once told you about arrested development. He had joined Dr. Wayne on a week long trip for a study and Jaemin had come back ecstatic. It’s not that he found a cure or needed to because truly no one was treating this as something fully serious. Not even your sweet and intelligent boyfriend (at the time). Rather, they had only gone to hear the stories of what led these people to this stagnation for their own amusement and half-bullshitted notes knowing they had already made up their minds on the matter.

Despite so, their stories felt reminiscent and coincidental that it had angered you. Jaemin and Dr. Wayne hadn’t cared for these patients. Blissfully ignorant to the fact that their partners were somewhat mirrors of those they heard and ignored only to use as pawns to scream ‘I told you So's’ to whoever had first discredited their initial thesis.

And truly despite it being years since then, Mrs. Wayne still had the emotional maturity of a fourteen year old with the conservatism of one taught by their equally ignorant privileged mother.

You weren’t too far behind, you had known since the day Jaemin introduced the term to you. You knew you were naive and sheltered as a child is. Your family had gone to far lengths to keep it as such and despite Jaemin’s introduction into your life cracking some of that down, you still felt a shell of that girl they had created.

Therefore, perhaps spotting that brass oyster brooch resting against the sink’s drain had been faith, a step into mental stimulants to rid you of this stagnant immaturity.

And so was your piquant 11:00am call with a stranger that as far as you knew could have been a disgusting pervert.

It doesn’t go to say it didn’t make you feel guilty for a month straight. Hiding from your fiance that you had enjoyed the verbal ravishing of a man you had never met, in cajoling efforts and enjoying it.

Guilt for betraying his trust and love despite never touching the other man. Guilt for thinking about his voice when Jaemin was gone for work and you felt needy. All until you had asked Jaemin if he was willing to follow through with this and like the loving devoted fiance he is… of course he did.

“The world is your oyster.” Haechan recites.

Haechan… You now remember clearly the name he had introduced himself with when he picked up the phone.

“You left me aching to hear more from you after that call.” He claims, lips finding their path down to your shoulder. “I kept thinking of it too…” you confess in a whine, his teeth nipping the marks Jaemin left last night. Arousal reaching you quicker at the thought of Jaemin being part of this despite not being present.

“Thought about it for too long, don’t you think?” he hums against your skin, lifting his head to kiss the shell of your ear. “I didn’t know how to bring it up to—” You hesitate, despite both of you wanting this; guilt gnaws no matter what. “To your husband?” Haechan answers for you.

“He’s not my husband.” “Not yet.”

His grasp around your hand is harsh enough to make your fingers squeeze around the stone of your ring and imprint it’s form on the flesh. It’s not surprising how delicious you find this punishment. If you knew him better, you’d think jealousy had driven him.

“Does he mind?” Haechan questions, no longer holding back in ravishing your exposed skin. His hands knead your back, sighing contently with your shake of head. “He seemed awfully indifferent back there.”

“He’s a psychiatrist. I think he’s grown accustomed to react neutral in any situation.” You attempt to justify. Unsure yourself as to how calm he has been. You were thankful about it, he wasn’t upset and didn’t reproach you. Completely leaving his trust in your hands and compliant to your needs. But the twinge of guilt is what made you want more from him. You think, at least.

“So he’s okay with this?” Haechan asks, his fingers fiddling with a rose on your dress. “Yes,” you assure, “He said he wants whatever I want and I too want whatever he wants.” The finality and semi-confidence in your voice makes him hum in acceptance.

Despite it, Haechan is human and feels bitterness far more than anything else. It didn’t take a genius to understand Jaemin loves you. His body language was lax as his expressions were. He had shown no discomfort upon seeing another man touch you in the slightest because he simply loves and trusts you.

It makes Haechan bitter in a sense that a kid is when he can’t have what he wants. He wants to feel the comfort Jaemin feels with you and the weight of your love. He wants to dig into his mind and see what it feels like to love someone so much that they have no reason to be jealous of even a fly.

Yet, you were of no help either because you had given Jaemin the confidence to not fear for his love. You’ve given everything of you to him to the point that he’s not able to take care of it all and the reason you find yourself in this room. You had asked Jaemin for permission and one that he granted because he knew it meant nothing.

And it will mean nothing. Haechan is fully aware of that and bitter about it. Because he should mean everything to everyone, that’s what he’s grown to know.

It’s not common for him to feel this attached within the first meeting but every body that has passed the threshold of this home lacked love and security. They all used these meetings as a last resort to keep their relationship from falling and using the philandering as a crutch to seem normal to the exterior.

Everyone he’s met throughout this period no longer loved nor trusts. He’s aware you’re here for lust and repressed nymphomaniac tendencies; he decreed so during the phone call a month ago. But despite that, he had studies your expressions when the first woman pulled the keys and the obvious repugnance presented on your face told him that you truly were not cut for this. It had only been his suave talk that drew you here.

For him and only him…

Haechan feels gratification with this conclusion, smiling as he turns you around to face him. His hands have warmed up against your skin, dragging them to your face and cupping it as he leans in. The taste of berry sangria on his tongue that intrudes your mouth. Velvet against yours that tastes similar enough to make him moan.

“Beautiful…” He whispers against your mouth, enamored as he pulls back slightly to look at your face. “I’m glad my volubility did not scare you away.”

“On the contrary… it made me horribly wet. I nearly touched myself in public for you.”

Your confession makes his strained cock twitch freely against the taut leather. He moans louder than before, leaning to kiss you further in attempts to swallow all the words you had not granted him that morning.

His kisses grow frantic and needier. Your lips slot against his, turning from contained to dirty and wet. His fingers don’t attempt to hide the fact that they are caressing your nipples over the fabric of your dress.

His greed increases, recalling the delicious taste of your skin minutes prior, leading his mouth down the slope of your neck to the skin over your sternum. His tongue laps at your collarbones, savoring the smell of your scented powder and the taste of it.

“I couldn’t stop thinking of your meek voice… Your heavy breathing as I explained how you would get fucked if you came…” His words and teeth force you to pant, the tingle between your legs forces your knees to buck. He laughs mockingly as he presses his teeth further into your skin. “I could hear your whimpers that day. It drove me mad all day when you hung up suddenly. I couldn’t get myself to finish.”

You take the initiative to kiss him this time. Tugging on his shaggy hair enough to draw out another moan. He grins at the sting, mouth fetching yours and it’s not until you kiss him that he calms down. It returns to being clean and passionate, much more forceful but it’s all in the name of deprived arousal.

The instance his skin begins to burn, he pulls away. Dragging the muslin shirt off his torso, showing off caramel skin. Dewy from his grown arousal that finds no other way than to manifest through perspiration. He smiles upon catching your sight, bringing your hand to his soft peck, squeezing for you.

Your fingers twiddle his dark nipples, biting your lip seeing how they perk.

Jaemin had done this many times to you before, always managing to bring them erect. You now understand the delight of bringing someone to this state. So you’ll reward Haechan the way Jaemin does.

A sweet lascivious smile forms before dipping your head against his chest. Teeth clinging to the perked nipple before allowing your tongue to swirl around it. To finally allow your lips to stick, raking your hands over the other one and scratching enough to hurt but leave wanting more.

Throughout this ministration, Haechan withers and whines. His right hand patting your covered bum while his left teases himself. Touching the strained mound and rubbing for some relief just to stop when it begins to feel good.

You attempt to do the same to the other abused nipple, a delicacy he denies you. His hands tug at your hair like you had done earlier to his. Kissing you to get a taste of himself even if minimal.

He revels in the gasps and whimpers rooting from your throat. Pulling away only to look at your ravished lips. He grins wolfishly, biting his swollen lip, taking this opportunity to look at the pretty dress you wore tonight.

For him…

“This is too pretty of a dress for an occasion like this, don’t you think?” His fingers glide over the silk roses, pale blushed and soft against the pads. “Or am I this important to you?” His taunt holds sincerity.

You quietly laugh, taking his hand into yours. An intimate gesture that hitches his breath before masking it with a hum. “We went to a banquet before this. Jaemin’s team have been awarded for their research on Child psychology… The effects of events during their infancy which bleed into their adult life.” There’s a fondness in your voice that guts him; your belief and doting on your fiance. One he’s not sure has ever belonged to him through anyone he’s encountered.

There was no obligation to justify your attire nor give him context. He would have preferred if you hadn’t told him what you did prior to this and he surely wasn’t interested in your fiance’s line of work. But you still told him because you’re in love with and proud of Jaemin, even in the arms of another man.

He clears his throat, eyes lift to yours. “Jaemin... That’s your fiance’s name.” He utters with ascertain. To put a name to the face you love mars his mood, not gravely to stop but enough to feel the need to be punitive towards you due to his inhibitions.

He sighs calmly, pulling mere millimeters away to look at you and the dress again. The shape held by the petticoat lining of ivory faille and linen. He smiles at the ribbed touch, kissing your cheek when he meets with the roses and silk vines that spread from the straps to the hem of the skirt. Met at the peak of the plunged “V” back that displays two larger roses at the cinched waist. He twirls you like a ballerina in a music box, stopping when you’re facing each other again.

“Is this an invitation to deflower you?” He jests, cradling your face before his fingers dig into the center of a rose. “I don't see that possible. Must I remind you I'm engaged?” You entertain, mirroring his action, thumb caressing the softness of his cheek. He turns to kiss the pad, an airy chuckle when your nail slightly scrapes his upper lip.

Haechan shrugs, slipping the straps down your arm. Holding your hand like a debutante at her inauguration. Your stage in the shape of a circular bed and a heart-shaped velvet headboard.

“But it is your first time without Jaemin.” He justifies with sly sharpness, laying you down once fully stripped down to your girdle and panties.

His hands don’t caress your breast for too long, opting to pet them delicately before trailing off your body onto his. Your lips part, words that haven’t formulated wanting to cascade from your mouth. Your eyes track his movement, yet your focus is on the discarded dress Jaemin had bought for you.

A dress he spent long enough saving for you to wear at this night’s banquet. There was pride in the way guests complimented both of you and one that you would’ve liked for him to express behind closed doors the way Haechan is doing now. Ravishing your body and enjoying the fruits of his hard labor.

But it’s not him that enjoys what he worked hard to obtain. It’s another man that you have only talked to once and who isn’t treating the delicate custom piece the way Jaemin would have.

“Donghyuck,” He interrupts, unzipping his burnt amber leather pants. “You can call me Donghyuck, or Hyuck.”

“Hyuck…” You try out, muted and whisper like as your eyes rake his nakedness. By nature, your teeth take your lower lip, clinging hard enough as your restless hands unclasp the garters from olive stockings, leaving them hanging on your satin girdle.

He smiles with a nod, kneeling before your feet. The action blowing your pupils; his hands were cold again, a delightful coolness to your warm thighs as he parts them, further pushing the girdle over your hips.

“Precisely like that.” He answers giving no time for you to react or respond as he pulls down your matching panties. Slick and warm from your arousal that has been brewing since before you left the banquet. Anticipation from his words during the phone call replaying all night.

Hyuck isn’t soft nor a clean eater. He’s rough and famished like a predator that hasn’t been satisfied in centuries. If he was Dracula, he thinks you would be his Elisabeta.

Frenzied, he tugs harshly at your stockings, ripping the fabric off your legs despite your complaints. Those he overturns into pleasured mewls while his tongue intrudes your hole and scoops further slick that he spreads over your cunt.

If he thinks you’re too quiet, he nips your clit. Sadistically laughing against you when you yelp in pleasure. Simultaneously tugging his hair and pushing his face further into your core. Rewarding him with mewls and chants of his name, “Hyuck… Hyuck, Hyuck, Hyuck!” — As much as he rewards you with more stimulation.

Delighted, Donghyuck looks up at you, eyelids heavy and lower half of his face smothered in nothing but your arousal. He sighs heavily with a smile that you’ve seen only on Jaemin’s face before. “You’re so sweet… You taste so sweet, Y/n.”

Whether it’s from the feeling of his fingers intruding your walls — thick enough to stretch you with the first intrusion — or his salacious use of your name. But what you’re sure of is that you want more of what he’s giving. More so when you know this is only the start.

His plump lips are swollen from this ministration and his natural plush, coming in contact with your scathingly hot cunt. Encircling the mound as his fingers revel in the tautness of your opening. The muscles flexing around his digits to grow accustomed to the plunging. It stings in a way only a masochist could enjoy and a sadist could appreciate.

It helps that his lips and tongue generously alleviate the fever of your cunt. Velvet kitten licks that turn flat on the vulva as a whole. Reaching your clit, he sucks on the nerve like you had his nipples. The action concomitantly makes you writhe in pleasure, displayed through shrieks of joy and laughter at his audaciousness. One that he replicates when you caress his shaggy hair. Locks turning curlier the further he sweat and they stick to his forehead.

You grow restless the further he continues his assault against your cunt. Moaning and wailing his name to let you release. But he does not relent; his hips jut against the bed, fingers curling within you with each thrust. His mouth seeks to consume every drop of arousal produced by you while punitively forbidding you full pleasure.

Like a pained martyr wanting to be in the hands of God, you writhe underneath his mouth. Begging and imploring for him to let you finish and thence give him the same pleasure he’s brought to you.

“Donghyuck, please! I can’t hold back anymore.” You cry, tugging at his curls with every jolt from his tongue flickering your clit. He feels the need to laugh at your misery but it’s also very endearing. Heartfelt enough, he opts to wrap his lips around your clit once more, lightly sucking while his fingers caress your accustomed walls.

He pats your thigh, indicating that it’s fine for you to come. Fortified when rather than sucking, he kisses your cunt and his fingers no longer thrust. With such, you moan loudly, holding his head between your thighs while you writhe from expelling such pleasure.

“Donghyuck!”

You cry, panting heavily. Your legs shake, scathing around his head and even if he’s suffocated he doesn’t let go. Instead, he helps you push them further until both of you are satisfied and you’re left spent on the bed. With a heaving chest and a sore cunt that has not yet received everything he promised you that morning.

Satisfied with his accomplishment, Hyuck smiles up at you. His head on your thigh, heat easily could have merged your skins if it was merciless but it’s fond due to his care. His eyes cannot move elsewhere, stuck on your face as you try to calm yourself down.

He blows cold against your cunt, hoping that helps your new found pleasure. It doesn’t, it makes you twitch under the slight graze of his breath and makes your eyes open to look down at him. To witness how beautifully consumed he looks.

Swollen pink lips, glossed by your come. Teeth showing themselves when your eyes meet his, teeth that tortured and enamored you at the same time with their sadistic caresses on the most vital organ of your cunt.

Your hand shakily reaches for his face in attempts to caress his delicate features. Those full cheeks that you could possibly spend long enough touching for comfort and amusement. Hyuck must have read your mind and did not seem to share your sentiment. He allows his smile to softly falter at the weigh of reality that you much rather ignore, patting your thigh as he stands up. His strained red raw cock springing when no longer restrained by the bed.

Your eyes instantly draw to the phallic, quivering at how it twitches under your gaze and its dire need for release. You feel your mouth salivating, pooling within your closed lips wanting to be felt all over him. He lets you watch, allowing his fingers to softly rake his torso in a manner of restraint. Only the layer of tension makes this even more excruciating and it truly doesn’t help that when your hands can no longer remain to your sides and reach for him, he takes two steps back to leave you hanging from the bed. Just like with your attempt to caress his face.

Hyuck doesn’t smile tauntingly nor does he let out an airy laugh like he does when he mocks you. He leaves you in silence through his course towards a vanity to pull out a rubber. You think this is worse than his playful taunt. Because it’s simply that, playful but this is uncertain and silent, and you’re not sure what it could possibly mean after only being eaten out.

It could be your inexperience? Jaemin was the only man you’ve been with and he’s always been more than worshiping after every single act. Hyuck had been doting during the act and kind enough after but he wasn’t Jaemin and you don’t know what to think after rejecting your fellatio and touch.

“Let me,” You beg in a whisper, crawling on the bed in his direction. Your knees sink onto the mattress, following his every move. From his fingers grasping the carton box of Trojans, to them ripping the rectangular foil open and letting the red piece lay over a jewelry box.

“Please…”

Haechan doesn’t let your pleas distract him from the action. He stares into your eyes as he rolls the prophylactic, letting you know that he won’t grant you the satisfaction of pleasing him. Of touching him…

As if it was the biggest tragedy you’ve ever encountered, a heavy and pained sigh leaves your throat. Your hands don’t hesitate to cover your face. Dizzy from this denial and lack of gratification. Perhaps you are insatiable and greedy, but you are not satisfied with only his mouth. You want to feel him, taste him, touch him.

The action creates a flutter within his being. A warmth bigger than that of your legs around his head, one that makes him feel as feverish and dizzy as you. Seeing you so upset and sickly over not being able to consume him. It was pride, he’s sure of it. Arrogance and pride, something he knows all too well and that he’s reveling upon right now.

Yes, this is how he wants you. Craving him and only him.

It brings back the tease that he is, his laugh increasing in volume while your face is buried in your hands, desperate for him to move onto the following step. To give you something now that your cunt feels empty and needy again. You would like to think that if you weren’t this hot and bothered, his patronizing would upset you. But no matter how you look at it, you’ll always take whatever is given no matter how degrading as long as you get your fix.

“It won’t feel good with a condom,” He justifies despite his harsh grasp on your hair, forcing you to look up at his goading pout. He could be berating you and you’d still want to kiss those lips. “Maybe next time.” He adds before you can beg again, his grasp on your hair aiding his handling to get you to lay back on the bed.

It’s harsh and punitive, the kind that creates adrenaline in you that you wish for more. It leaves your chest heaving, grinning at him as he gets on the bed, crawling between your legs. Hyuck simply responds with that smile and chuckle you’ve grown to like more and more this night. Pushing your shoulder down as he takes your legs, parting them further and around his hips.

Jaemin had always been soft since the beginning. He’s experimental, audacious, an adrenaline junkie when it comes to locations, and open to any desire of yours. But there’s a softness in his touch that leaves you restless and far more insatiable than you think you are. There’s been multiple cases where he breaks the mold and becomes as rough as you want him but it doesn’t take long for him to return to what he truly is and it leaves you hollow, yearning for the thing that comes once in a blue moon.

Perhaps if Jaemin was rougher, you wouldn’t be here. On the brink of coming with the bruising shove of fingers on skin by a stranger.

Haechan is a tease in the manner he grabs his cock and presses the tip against your opening. Giving you hope and taking it away when he doesn’t penetrate you. He plays around, rubbing his latex clad penis over your warm and wet sex. Smiling wider every time he thinks of something snarky to say, yet he keeps it in his head before teasing your entrance once more until you’re clinging onto his arms, begging and begging.

“Please don't,” You whine, nails digging into his scalp when you bring his head closer. Tears pooling on your waterline, eyebrows upturned in despair. “Stop teasing, I need you.” It is then that he lets out his thoughts, using your gesture of proximity to plant his lips on yours. A languid tender kiss in which one hand held your hip and the other his cock, rubbing slowly to not excite himself furthermore. Wanting the pent up need to be used on you and not himself.

His tongue intrudes your mouth, you can slightly taste yourself. His tongue is sweet and silky against yours. The nectar of your arousal interlaced with his already saccharine saliva, flowing in between your mouths as he slowly but surely penetrates you like you had begged.

Though he had prepared you, the girth of the shaft was larger than that of his fingers. It stretches the muscles of your cunt as he goes in. Donghyuck was no cruel man, sadistic and somewhat of an ass, but not cruel to not let you adjust to the stinging stretch. Allowing you periods of grace until you’d nod to let him know to continue this pattern until he was able to bottom out.

With every move, your lips part allowing his tongue to deepen in the cavern of your mouth. It brought a great pleasure in Donghyuck to have you so pliable for him. So ready and accepting of whatever as long as he brought you the promised pleasure.

Something else to envy your fiance for…

“I can tell he doesn't fuck you well if you’re this tight…” his words force your hand to cover his mouth, moaning when he begins to thrust in retaliation. His now free hand attempts to pry yours off his face, some muffled words here and there along the lines of:

“Admit it,” “I bet I’m bigger than him, there’s no other reason for you to be this tight.”

Or, “Hm, maybe he doesn’t fuck you. Maybe he does. Maybe he simply doesn’t know how to do it well so you lie. You lie to keep your perfect boy happy.”

Donghyuck only got meaner and rougher, enough that it made vexation mix with your strangled moans as he thrusts into you. Truly in your head there was no reason for him to bring Jaemin into this. Matter of fact, you’re sure this was meant to make you forget about him for an hour or so while you enjoy the pleasure inflicted upon you.

But he’s all you’ve thought about and you’re not appreciative that Donghyuck is manifesting him in this instance. Not this despective, at least.

You stop struggling with Hyuck, freeing your hand and connecting it with his mouth again. This time a little too harshly, comparable to a slap. Your eyes widen slightly as he halts his thrusts, boring into yours. “I’m sorry…” you begin, apologetic that you had grown rougher without intent.

“I’m sorry, just… don’t bring him into this. He’s more than satisfactory.” The gradual change in tone from repentance to assertion didn’t ease Hyuck’s resentment. It fueled and frustrated him further. He’s well aware he shouldn’t care, you haven’t done anything special for him to feel this way but that same doting sentiment you brought when it came to your fiance egged him further into this bitter pit.

Donghyuck ignores your words, his hands sliding down your arms, thumbs caressing your breast until they reach you hips all the while he fucks into you again. Grunts that turn into moans, reaching down to kiss your neck. This position forces his hips to jut, enough to grant a different feel when he thrusts and force moans out of you.

His kisses are tender, nipping when he thinks back to seconds prior. You wince when it does happen but forget when he hits your sweet spot and your pained expression turns to one of pleasure. It’s when your hands reach his head, holding onto him for dear life knowing you couldn’t hold back longer that he took this opportunity to speak again.

“Does he let you do that?” He asks against your ear, nipping the lobe. Moaning into it when you clench around him. The mention of Jaemin turning you on despite your insistence to not bring him up earlier.

Donghyuck is unsure how to feel now. If he mentions your fiance you get turned on but if he doesn't, then how is he meant to spit out his venom? It’s a double edged sword and he loses each time.

“Do what?” You ask panting, your sweaty hands slide down his equally sweaty back and he grips your upper body. Groaning when he helps you sit over his lap. The new position helps you sink on his shaft, feeling yourself shake slightly when you feel him to the hilt.

“Take your anger out on him.” Donghyuck mentions so calmly like it means nothing. He did it in a manner that felt so normal while he didn’t seize his movements, burying his face in your neck while holding you close to him. As if he wanted to merge your atoms together and make one out of you both.

Your hands clung to his body, hugging him tight against you while your own hips began gyrating against his. You wanted to make him forget what he had brought up but you knew it wouldn’t be enough. Not when his fingers dig into your skin practically begging for you to vindicate him.

“I didn't mean to be rough with you.” You explain in between labored breaths.

“I don’t care. You can do it again if it makes you feel good.” Hyuck justifies, kissing your neck in the process. “Soft or rough, I want to make you feel good, Y/n. Come on,” Donghyuck pulls back, letting your arms slide from his body despite his thrusts not seizing.

He takes your hand into his, placing it over his cheek. “Please,” he begs in a whisper, groaning when your hips continue moving against his in hopes bringing him to a climax will make him forget this foolery.

It doesn't. You should've guessed when it comes to someone as adroit.

“Do you want that?” You ask cautiously, holding onto his shoulder with your free hand. Donghyuck looks at you, eyes as glossed as his lips when he begins to speak.

“I want whatever you want.”

Your breath hitches, pupils dilating at his words, and your lips part while your breath comes out shakily. It doesn’t take long for your to let your hand fall against his face like he had begged. Feeling the skin vibrate against yours, stinging your palm deliciously.

While he relishes in the impact and the wonderfully hot sting, you relish in your climax. Moaning shakily as you come around him, your hands searching for his and clinging to them hard enough despite the tickle.

Donghyuck doesn’t come but he does feel gratified with your compliance in making him feel needed and heard.

You pant, smiling to yourself as you rapidly come down from that high. Haechan replicates your expression, your smiles turning to laughs that mute when he kisses you. It’s messy and rushed, lips barely slotting, yet making sure your tongues meet. Playfully, he nips the muscle before sucking on it and swallowing your surprised moans.

Jaemin has never done this… His kisses are tender and if ever feverish, they’re still neat and painless. Never obscene.

Both of you last for minutes in that position, kissing to no end despite your lungs begging for air. Yet, if there’s one thing they should’ve learned tonight, is that neither you or Hyuck are opposed to self-inflicted pain.

He’s still hard and you’re on your second orgasm but this works to heighten that exigent pleasure. Your hips jut slightly, forcing a moan out of him that reminds you that he hasn’t come not even once. His self-restraint far stronger than yours will ever be.

Swiftly as he has been this entire night, Donghyuck helps you off his cock. He shudders at the loss of contact and compression. It twitches under your gaze and it reminds you of how much you want to taste him. While he’s still on the bed and you’re settled before him, you reach forward. Hyuck doesn’t hesitate to catch your wrist, preventing you from even feeling the weight on your palm.

There’s no other way than to whine, lunging forward even if it’s to just settle your face on his thighs. It doesn’t matter, you kiss the skin while imprinting your orisons on it. Lips burning with the touch of his flesh when they fall against it. Every time you attempt to move further up his thighs, he shoves your head.

“Fuck, please… Just a touch.” You whine, salivating at the sight of his heavy red cock mere inches away from your face. You feel delirious, as dizzy as someone stranded in a desert only at arms length from a pool of water, their ultimate salvation. Salvation that he keeps denying while he gets off the bed.

He struggles to steady his breathing, grasping your arm to pull off the bed and drag you willingly towards the window. Donghyuck kisses you hungrily like a starved man that hasn’t ate throughout lent, taking fasting as seriously as Jesus had done.

But Donghyuck was anything but holy and his years of believing were past him. Instead he’s in these four walls as a married man corrupting a closeted nymphomaniac that’s months away from marrying the love of her life. Someone that Donghyuck has grown an agenda towards without knowing him nor you. His only basis stems from having you. Someone so willing and sweet. Someone that should be meant for him, and things like this remind him why his heart harbors no more space for higher beings and their promised universal love.

Donghyuck sighs shakily when you separate, kissing the side of your head before leading you to the glass wall. His lips trail onto your neck and shoulder blades, groaning softly with every grace of his erect cock against your backside. Pushing you against the glass and letting the cold bite onto your skin, receiving the feeling with a squeal but no attempt to push back. To an extent it felt like a cool balm to your excessively scalding body.

“Look how pretty the night is.” He nudges your ankles to part your legs. You hum a response, dumbly nodding as if the words hadn’t processed. Haechan laughs, amused at how easy you falter. How easy it is for you to turn docile and willing. “It seems neighbors are having some fun of their own.” He points out, houses on far lower levels demonstrate a group of people having a lovely get together. Nothing like the one him and his wife are hosting.

He takes advantage of your distraction to push through your aching folds, forcing a guttural moan out of you while your knees buck. Your hands are too sweaty to hold onto the glass, but he makes sure to hold you by the waist, clinging tightly to your still kept girdle.

“Wouldn’t it be fun if they saw you like this? So open and pretty for me…” He sighs contently, throwing his head back at the image. Their appalled (or perhaps pleased) looks seeing how he pistons into you. Rough yet pleasurable that you wail for more and more while you press against the glass, leaving the imprint of your body against it.

“You would want that, right? To have someone look at you being fucked and exposed.” He moans against your ear, kissing the outer shell before gripping your chin, forcing you to look back at him. You’re so far gone and he’s enjoying it like the little shit he is.

Enough so that he grasps your inner thigh, bringing your leg around his torso and letting the muscle burn as long as you both feel good. All to bring down a bucket of ice cold water that you can only respond to by pushing back on him.

“What if it was your fiance down there watching how good I fuck you? Would you want him to see that I make you come fast?”

His thrusts are relentless, he mouths the words to provoke you but all he’s doing is turn you on and anger himself further. Either way, you’re on the receiving end and you don’t care if he’s roughly intentional or not.

Donghyuck is frustrated. With himself and with you. He’s known you for only a night and like in true selfish manner, you’ve enamored him. If someone was to keep such a delicacy and diamond in the rough of a woman, it should be him. Not Jaemin and most definitely none of the other men in attendance.

It’s faith! He’s called it, it’s faith that led you to him and for such his frustration grows more and more. How is he meant to claim his days of believing are gone when he’s convinced faith is what led you here. Maybe you were God sent for him to recover his faith. Yet he knows if that’s to happen, he’ll be blasphemous and find religion within you in the chapel between your legs…

His thrusts don’t seize and his noises become louder than the prior activities. Donghyuck’s grasp on you is harsher, imprinting his fingers on your thighs and upper body. Lips ravishing your neck and shoulders like a death row inmate, savoring their last meal.

Donghyuck can only express these frustration through his words and harsh grasps. “Do you want him to see how you’re begging to have my cock in your mouth knowing you can’t? To see how hungry you are for another man you won’t pledge eternity to?”

It’s the latter that causes you to throw your head back onto his shoulder, moaning loudly like he had dug a dagger into your heart with such cruel words. Cruel but truthful, because you truly did want to taste and feel him in your mouth. And you won’t deny that having Jaemin experience that would make you flood. Not for Haechan’s cruel intentions but because you’d experience this debauchery with your lover.

This time Hyuck can’t hold you up when your knees give up. He slides down with you, grunting as he holds his hips from fucking into you until you’ve reached the carpeted floor. He doesn’t speak again, he’s run out of things to make your emotions thither over the precipice but nothing does it and it’s more probable that he breaks than you.

But the words replay in your head with every thrust, every kiss to your skin. Specifically to those to your temple, like the ones Jaemin gives when he fucks you from behind. It’s all so familiar and warm that for your third orgasm, you’re not able to verbalize your pleasure. Instead your body does the talking, shaking while clenching around him. Your breath fogs up the glass, the most sound you make is that of panting while you come down from your orgasm and the squelch between your thighs as he continues his plunging.

He lets you spasm beneath him while his movement grows languid, exerting little to no force. Simply holding you up knowing you’ll turn into putty if he drops his touch from you. Donghyuck allows his words to be soft and caring now. Uttering pet names that make you smile stupidly against the glass wall and let tiny pleased noises with each one. He’s so sweet… when he wants to be.

When he no longer feels any movement from you, he sighs to himself while pulling out. The action makes you groan, so accustomed to the feel of his penis plunged into you and secreting the cavern in the most wonderful way. What was once warm now feels cool with the breeze passing by and it reminds you that it is yet another winter day. Not the scalding summer that you experience with Donghyuck.

Through the reflection on the glass you watch him. His pained expression when he attempts to touch his cock. It’s swollen and sensitive, having suffered eons in restraint. He pants heavily, removing the not yet soiled condom but one that suffocated him. You muster whatever strength is left in you, crawling his way and catching his attention when your hands grasp his calves.

Donghyuck turns startled, breath hitching in the back of his throat while you look at him. Calming his thumping heart, Donghyuck looks down at you. Right hand cradles your cheek, burrowing into it and kissing his palm while looking at him like your Lord and savior. Having you before him like Mary Magdalene asking for forgiveness for her adultery. But Hyuck knows he’s not the one you should ask if you’re going to. He’s farther from Jesus of Nazareth.

“Please… let me feast upon you.” You whisper against his thigh, kissing it softly. Peppering kisses over the skin, tasting the saltiness on your lips. Reminiscing on those lovely beach days where all you could taste was sea salt even if you didn’t submerge in the murky waters. But this night you did and will continue to do so if he allows you a taste of the phallic that’s brought you pleasure more than once this night.

“I don’t think that’s possible.” He swallows, eyes fluttering shut to avoid the lewd image before him. He’s sure if he allows you to, you’ll consume him whole. If you do, he’s unsure how much he can restrain himself from not holding you captive and away from the world.

Donghyuck grunts, shaking his head with the words ‘Jaemin, you lucky bastard.’ repeating over and over in his head as you continue to make out with his thighs.

“Hyuck… Hyuckie, please…” You beg softly, licking a long stripe within his inner thighs. His breath shudders, holding onto your hair as a warning. Yet it’s becoming increasingly harder for him to gulp down his strained arousal. If he doesn’t come soon, it’s likely he’ll never do so again and that sounds more painful than anything he’s ever experienced.

“No. I can take care of myself.”

But he is stubborn and if he wasn’t so pained, he’d laugh at your petulant groan and expression. Seeing in your blazed eyes how you want to tug at his cock and make him ache for keeping himself away from you. So close yet so far. You can feel him but can’t taste him and that only frustrates you further.

“Don’t be so greedy!” There’s so much frustration and entitlement that if it wasn’t for how much the words affected him, he would’ve found you cute.

“Greedy?… Greedy?! I’ve been fucking you all night and you’re still not satisfied!” His voice booms throughout the room, his grasp on your hair turns rough. It stings ever so deliciously that it bothers Donghyuck how cock hungry you truly are.

No matter the situation, you’ll be both satisfied and de-satisfied like the nympho that you truly are.

It doesn’t help that you nod hungrily, lips parting and slowly sticking out the red muscle lathered in saliva that little by little trickle down from it. So hungry, so needy, so insatiable…

“No! No I’m not. I will never be until you let me taste you!”

You. Until you let me taste you.

Perhaps it’s the greed and selfishness. The dire need to be desired and have attention be solely on him that sells him on it. Because in Haechan’s head, you had confessed your dire devotion to him. A devotion eternally strong enough that nothing will rid you of lechery but the taste of his cock and come in your mouth. Very much like communion bread and wine.

He scoffs a laugh, that beautiful grin that you have missed within these minutes. That’s what he receives you with before answering once and for all.

“Fine. If that will soothe your soul."

And like a depraved fiend, you mimic his pleased grin reaching forward while he grips his cock. Pumping once, then twice, then thrice before slapping it over your lips. Instantly painting them with droplets of pre-come that he lathers over them before letting you kiss his tip.

You smile at him like this is the most divine meal. Your tongue pokes out, taking some of those droplets into your mouth to get a taste of his essence. Your eyelids to flutter, gripping his thighs and bringing him closer to your face before slowly easing the phallic into your mouth.

Donghyuck moans and eases into it like the first time he penetrated you. His hands feel antsy, tingling with restraint to not touch you while you sink further down his length. Your tongue swirls around the shaft, savoring the feel of every vein and taste of him. To rile him further, you moan around him, the vibration from your throat forcing him to unconsciously thrust. You gag, curses leaving his lips apologetically while his hand caresses your face.

When your nose reaches his pubic bone, Donghyuck can’t hold back. He grasps both sides of your face. Guiding your bobs until he takes over and begins thrusting into your mouth. The squelching from your throat, your tongue swirling around his tip to draw out pre-come, and the drops of saliva that cling to your lips feels filthier than any porno he’s ever seen or any experience he’s ever had.

Donghyuck doesn’t know how he’ll function knowing his best orgasm will stem from someone that he most likely won’t ever see again. If he’s realistic and perceptive enough, he knows this is it. So how is he meant to survive when you’re so willing and needy just for him? Having waited eons upon eons to taste him like this until he finally gave out and rewarded you.

He’s not sure nor does he want to dwell. Not when you look so beautiful before him on your knees, lips wrapped around his swollen cock and moving against it for him to reach an orgasm. Petting his inner thighs and teasing his testicles with your warm hands. Any touch, any graze drives him closer and Donghyuck can no longer hold back.

“Is this what you wanted?” He pants, hips jutting against your mouth. His fingers rake your damp hair with every move. His nails had been perfectly trimmed, yet the sting of them raking against your scalp brings onto the pleasure of this action.

“To have me this way? Taste and consume me?” Donghyuck eggs on, his thrusts are shaky and sloppy. He can’t hold back anymore and your enthusiastic nods don’t help. He wants to present himself as strong but his whines and shaky moans say the opposite. He’s held back his orgasm for so long that this is enough to push him over the ledge.

“Y/n… y/n, y/n, my sweet y/n…” He chants like you had done with his name when he first laid upon you. Everything was full circle and with this stream of pleasure, Donghyuck lets go. His come spurts into your mouth, trickling down your throat like communion wine aiming to cleanse your soul. This would do the opposite but for this night it all feels heavenly.

Donghyuck shudders under your grasp, hips faltering as he aims to calm himself down. Any moans shush and turn into labored breaths, nodding to himself trying to dispel the haziness in his head. He gives it a few minutes and appreciates that you make no effort to rip your lips from his soft penis. It’s warm and homey, he wonders if you do this for Jaemin too until he’s ready to separate. It’s a nice feeling he could get used to but one that doesn’t belong to him.

With a final sigh, Hyuck pulls back. A soft chuckle when he hears a pop and sees the string of saliva connecting you to him. He smiles tenderly, bringing it upon his fingers and softly smearing it against your swollen lips. It’s tender and domestic, as if it had been rouge you misplaced and he’s helping you with it. In the process his thumb rids of some spilled come, bringing it into his mouth to savor what you have.

It makes him crave more, wondering if this is what you felt when he kissed you after cunnilingus. Wonders if it made you want to feel his mouth more and more like he does right now.

Donghyuck grasps your upper arm, helping you onto your feet and leading you to the bed. It feels different than the first time he had done so. His movements are slow and tender, kissing you softly enough to catch you off guard. You hesitate for a second before kissing him back, arms wrapping around his shoulders. It doesn’t prolong, that earlier guilt flooding you as the minutes tick.

Both of you have come and Donghyuck seems as spent as you, shouldn’t this terminate now? You don’t mention it, settling beside him when both of you calm down and any semblance of tension is gone. No longer enmeshed in search of sexual gratification.

Hyuck had been conscious that this felt different than all his encounters. He was convinced faith in fact did choose you for him. The probability of picking his keys were slim, yet your fingers found him like the oyster brooch had found you. Carefully, he pulls you to his side, taking you under his arm. A sense in you told you to stand up and end it. You both got what you wanted, Jaemin could be waiting for you.

Or he couldn’t. Perhaps he’s still busy himself…

The thought sours your mouth rubbing your face to rid of any expressions. Hyuck is good in reading those and after tonight, an empathetic side of you doesn’t want to hurt him either. So you relent, getting comfortable beside the warm body that embraces you as his hands memorize the skin he won’t feel again.

You both lay silent for what feels like an eternity. It’s comfortable and warm but eventually it turns static and the cold outside finally affects you like it had tried to throughout this entire night. You feel your joints grow rigid and your eyes turn to the discarded dress.

“You didn’t fully explain how you found the invitation.” He attempts to distract, fingers turning your face to his. A timid smile on his face that makes you frown. He seems completely different from the man that ravished you not long ago. It’s upsetting even to have this much control outside of the context of swinging.

“Um, again, found it on the sink drain of a powder room. I thought of handing it over to the restaurant staff in case someone came for it but…” you pause, turning to the decor of this room. So familial and full of life. “But it was too pretty,” You smile fondly, “I noticed the phone number inside and thought it would be better to hand it directly to the owner and well…” You smile, looking back at him.

Donghyuck chuckles, nodding as he turns back to your dress. “I suppose you brought it then.” He answers with a nod; you shake your head. “Don’t presume I’d hand it back.” You joke, smiling when he turns to look at you. He laughs in response, something you replicate. “Would you mind if I keep it?” You ask, he shakes his head with a tender and relaxed smile now.

“No, but I do believe you deserve a prettier brooch than that cheap thing.” He answers, pulling away from you to walk towards a jewelry box on the vanity. You sit up, draping the bedsheets over you as your eyebrows furrow, watching his moves.

His fingers thread lightly over the filigree of the brass jewelry box, flipping the clasp open. You hear the clank of metals among themselves as he decides on what piece to grab. It takes him a while and despite the bed sheet, your skin develops goosebumps.

“Ah,” He tells himself, smiling when he turns to you. He approaches you again, crawling on the bed. His flaccid penis makes you blush as if you hadn’t almost sacrificed yourself to taste it. He’d taunt you but he doesn’t want this moment to mar.

He brings it closer to you, opening the blue velvet box. It’s so reminiscent of Jaemin’s proposal that words clog in your throat and your eyes sting. You attempt to shake your head but the muscles refuse to move. You know it’s not like that. The box is larger, rectangular, but you still can’t accept it. This isn’t how things are meant to be.

Donghyuck ignores the turbulence within you, smiling fondly as he pushes the box further as an offering. “Something blue, something old, something borrowed, and something new.” He utters in a sigh, a slight smile as he looks at the jewelry pieces. His fingers hover over them, not allowing any light to gloss over. Yet in the darkness, the blue gems shine no matter what.

“I can’t.” You let out in a whisper, finally being able to shake your head. “I can’t see why not?” He answers with a smile, unclasping the diamond crusted bracelet. It fits big on your wrist and the metal is rather cold but he only hums. “I trust it will fit you well anyway.” He answers before taking the earrings. He doesn’t put those on you, he simply places them on your palms, closing your fingers around droplet sapphires.

You close your eyes trying to understand his reasoning. He shouldn’t reward you like this. It’s all so beautiful but it creates a pit in your stomach that you’re not able to understand. On one hand you feel confused, almost offended. You’ve always heard men treat their ‘whores’ like this and that’s the last thing you want to be to Donghyuck.

Sure, you just fucked him and only came in search for him but it was all under the guise of experimentalism. Trying to get a fix outside of Jaemin and you’ve received that already. But you don’t want to feel like a whore… you’ve grown with the mindset that that’s the last thing you want to be. Mrs. Wayne would be further disappointed.

On the other hand, you feel guilt. How would Jaemin react? How would he feel to see that a stranger has gifted you these gems presumably as a wedding gift. It feels patronizing to an extent. Is he mocking Jaemin? Is he mocking you? A deeper part of you feels ecstatic to be given this fortune. After all diamonds are girl’s best friend but your pride and ego is hurt on behalf of yourself and Jaemin. Donghyuck means well, you see it in his warm gaze but to anyone outside of this room, it won’t seem like such.

You sigh heavily, shaking your ahead as you attempt to hand the earrings back but Donghyuck had already moved stealthily, crawling behind you to place the sapphire diamond drop necklace around your neck. Clasping it to ever so slightly grace the exposed skin of your neck. So smooth and warm, tempting enough to kiss, but he’s aware his time has come to an end.

“And your something old.” He utters silently, taking your other hand to place an orchid shaped brooch. It glimmers under the moonlight, much like the other jewelry he has draped over you like a ruler would on their favorite concubine. The only exception that you couldn’t be kept, not as he wishes he could.

You let silence flood the room, it’s still static and cold. Confusing and somewhat cruel, “Why?” You ponder out loud, turning your head to look at him. His expressions are neutral, that smile hasn’t faltered and it only grows while formulating a response. “Why not?” He answers, moving off the bed towards the nightstand, pulling out a cigarette. It’s a menthol like the one offered to Jaemin earlier.

“Because,” You begin, shifting your body towards him. “You just can’t.” You justify with no basis. You’re just speaking words, words formulated by the what woulds’ and what if’s of society. Jaemin had never cared for them and it seems Donghyuck cares far less. “But why not? I have them, I gave them to you. That’s it.” He shrugs with the limp stick between his lips as he trudges around the room to pick out clothes. That alone makes questions flourish in your brain but right now, you focus on the jewelry.

“It just doesn’t make sense. I’m sure these are dear to you, you don’t even know me.” You answer, a laugh at how absurd this is. “You don’t know me either and you gave yourself to me.” He answers, tapping his cigarette against the glass ash tray. “Soon you’ll learn that many things in life don’t make sense.” Donghyuck says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Not everything needs a reason to be, Y/n. It’s okay to enjoy things when presented to you as long as you learn to let go or know that it won’t always be offered.”

The words are mostly uttered to himself, exhaling the smoke that smothers his throat purposefully so. Donghyuck had grown to be petulant, childish, and demanding. Things that he cannot be when it comes to you.

“Now come, let’s shower before you leave.” He smiles wider, standing from the bed to take your hand. You let the words sink, not fully convinced but this once you’ll revel in indulgence. If you’ve indulged in the taste of foreign flesh, what more harm does it do to take the fruits of such?

You smile in return, nodding at his words and acceptance. “I had fun, by the way.” You admit before standing up, taking his hand. Donghyuck restrains himself from leaning in to even kiss your forehead. He simply nods, holding his lovely smile. “I did too. More than I could imagine…”

Donghyuck hadn’t trespassed during the shower, it felt like a last goodbye of intimacy without any touching. He had talked about things that didn’t matter to you nor to him. Talked about his wife in passing like it was only a ghost inhabiting the house that did no harm. His voice wasn’t warm but it wasn’t unkind either.

You had asked him in between jokes while you blow dried your hair if he often brought women into the room recalling your earlier inquiries. He had denied it with a heaviness as he uttered: “No, my wife would kill me.” You had questioned the meaning but he ignored it to not dwindle the mood again. He wanted to remember you cheerfully before you left the quarters that you later were reassured belonged to him and his wife.

Neither of them had been able to bring any of the swing meet attendees or anyone for that matter unless specified into this room but Donghyuck broke that rule for you because in his words, you were God sent to recover his faith… A faith so cruel that strips you away from him.

He hadn’t walked you out of the room, the heaviness in his chest weighed his every move as he helped you get dressed again. Apologetic for your destroyed stockings and disgusting girdle that you both decided to simply throw away.

If he can will himself to when the day comes…

Instead, Haechan watched you cross the threshold of the bedroom and dwell in the moonlight alone while you calmly walk down the corridor with a tranquility that turns to happiness when Jaemin himself walks out of the neighboring room.

You sweet lovely Jaemin. He greets you with that wide smile that you’ve loved since day one. Glimmering pearly whites and pretty pink lips that part to speak your name ever so fondly. You sigh contently, jumping into his arms like a woman who had been waiting for their lover to return from war. Ignoring the slight stains of rouge on the collar of his shirt.

“Nana,” You sigh contently, kissing his cheek as he grasps your hand to walk down the empty corridor. He doesn’t question your washed hair, he doesn’t question the lack of stockings or makeup, and he doesn’t even frown when seeing the beautifully wrinkled gown he was supposed to enjoy.

His keys jingle in the pocket of his suit jacket,drowning your enthusiastic words. He listens intently, humming as a response and only turning to you when you let silence linger for a bit too long. He’s always been so attentive. Whether it’s due to his career or his loving nature, Jaemin always listened and knew the right thing to say.

Until now.

“Well I’m glad you enjoyed yourself love, it surely looked like it.” He begins, squeezing your hand as you both wobble around the shards of crystal still lingering at the front of the home. It was far darker outside now, not even the moonlight or the sign lights could illuminate the expressions engraved in his face hearing every detail of your rendezvous.

On a safer path, Jaemin lets your hand go. Patting your cheek without looking at you while walking.

“I couldn’t go through it. All I thought about is you.”

Jaemin walks away, calm like he always is. Calm like arrived and calm as he exits. Leaving you behind to be swallowed by the forces of guilt that had corroded your body long before existing. Submerging you in the daunting realization of Jaemin’s perpetual affliction.

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

“god it feels good to be home!” felix groans as he flops down on the sofa, kicking his feet up and resting them on the coffee table. you look over at him from the kitchen, laughing softly to yourself as he rests his arms on the backrest and kicks his head back to expose and stretch out his neck.

the sounds of a stew slowly bubbling away in a deep pot on the stove. the smell of meat and vegetables trailing from the pot to felix, hitting his nostrils. he inhales deeply and hums softly, his stomach gurgling.

“rough day?” you ask as you wash your hands and dry them on a kitchen flannel. felix looks up at you and grins, shrugging his shoulders.

“so so. me and minho were just brainstorming some new choreography ideas and i had to help innie tie up some loose ends. all in all, it was a busy yet calm day.”

you nod your head as you semi-listen. you grab a ladle and stir the stew so it doesn't burn at the bottom, adding some salt and pepper for taste. 

“and how was your day, my love?” felix stands up and walks behind you. he wraps his arms around your stomach and rests his chin on your shoulder gently. you lean into his chest, humming softly and feeling safe and content.

“same old really. finally finished that project for uni.”

“that's good baby! it's one less thing to worry about. i know you were getting very stressed over it.”

“mhm.. this assignment is really kicked me in the butt. i was so close to quitting!”

“well, i'm proud of you for sticking at it, baby. it's just another hurdle you've jumped over.” felix kisses your cheek softly.

it's been a year and a half since you moved to korea to pursue your dream of being a graphic designer. you moved due to the fact that korea was the only country that provided the university course you wanted to do plus, it meant you and felix could be closer together.

with felix being an idol and living at the dorm, there wasn't enough room for eight plus one more so you bought a small student apartment that's conveniently between the jyp building and the university. with you being so close to him, felix now spends ninety nine percent of his time at yours, the one percent being when he sleeps at the dorms when he has schedules and events to attend.

“so, what's for dinner my love?” 

“homemade stew! my mother's recipe! i hope you're hungry because it's a lot.” you giggle. felix looks at the stew that's bubbling away, his mouth salivating and stomach gurgling. he swallows the extra saliva that's built up in his mouth before humming and nodding.

“i'm starving and it looks so freaking good!” 

“here.” you say as you grab a spoon and gather some of the stew onto it. “try some and tell me what you think.” you hold the spoon up to his mouth, hand under to catch any spillage. felix opens his mouth for you to place the spoon inside, before closing and swallowing the food.

“god that's so tasty!” felix groans.

“how's the seasoning? need any more salt? pepper?”

“it's perfect the way it is, my darling.” 

“sure?”

“a hundred percent.”

“ok, good! do you want to shower before food? i can plate you some up when it's ready.”

“do you mind? i feel like a shower is much needed right now.” felix grimaces before tickling your sides due to the fact you sniffed him and made a face, silently joking that he smells very bad.

you laugh hard as felix tickles you. you double over and attempt to fight him off but to no avail. 

“s-stop!! i'm s-sorry! you don't smell, really!” you splutter. felix stops for a split second, just enough time for you to add “well, only a little” before his attack starts again. many tears and fits of giggles later, felix stops and kisses your lips sweetly. you hum, holding onto his shoulders as you melt into him.

“don't be too long in the shower.” you whisper against his lips.

“why?”

“because i'll miss you.”

“i'll be two steps away, not that far!”

“i always miss you when you're not by my side.”

“smooth.” felix laughs before gently tapping your ass a few times and pecking your lips. “i'll be in the shower if you need me.” he smirks and winks before walking into the bathroom, leaving you flustered.

you clear your throat and go back to cooking and cleaning. the sound of the shower being heard and felix's soft singing. felix washes his hair and body, turning the shower off and stepping out to wrap a towel around his bottom half.

he does his skin routine, applying all his creams, lotions and oils before adding heat protection onto his hair. majority of felix's belongings now live with you, including all his expensive brand ware and skin care. there have been times where you thought about trying on his clothing but once you learnt how expensive everything is, you felt it was best to not touch anything at all.

“oh baby!” felix shouts from the bathroom as you grab two bowls and spoons to lay the dining table with.

“yeah?!”

“have you spoken to jisung lately?” you smirk.

“i speak to him everyday.” you emphasize the word ‘everyday.’ you're close to everyone in skz. once they learnt about you and your relation to felix did they welcome you with open arms. they have been the family you've never had and even though you're close with them all, you're especially closer to jisung.

you text on the daily. sending each other memes, videos and photos. felix is aware of your friendship with jisung and how close you both are but it doesn't bother him in the slightest–he trusts you enough.

“i'm glad you and ji are close, baby. i was worried that you wouldn't have any friends when you moved here and, even though i knew the members would welcome you, i'm glad you and ji found a special friendship!”

“that's sweet lix. you're the cutest.”

“not as cute as you. oh, by the way, i have to wake up early tomorrow so i won't be here when you wake up.”

“how early is early?”

“five AM early.” your heart sinks a little. a small feeling of disappointment settling in your stomach. you normally don't mind it but lately, you feel like it's been a little too frequent. you wouldn't mind waking up to your lover for once and you hoped it would have been tomorrow considering he isn't on a schedule.

“o-oh! ok..” you mumble. felix dries off his body and puts on some black boxer shorts. his eyebrows furrow together as he notices the sadness in your voice. you sigh heavily as felix walks out to you, gray sweats in hand.

“hey, what's up darling?”

“oh.. nothing.” you trail off as you place glasses on the table before turning the stove off. felix frowns before gently grabbing your wrist and turning you to face him.

“hey.” his voice is soft and gentle. you avoid his gaze due to the fact that you will crumble. “look at me.” you refuse before looking at him as he asks again. as expected, you crumble.

“i just want to wake up to you.. that's all. fuck it sounds so stupid when i say it out loud.” you laugh awkwardly, shifting your weight on each foot.

“hey. if something is bothering you, it's not stupid in the slightest. i wish we could wake up to one another and i'm sorry we can't. i know you're hurting because i am too but i promise you, i will make it up to you!” 

“no no! it's fine, honestly. i understand and knew what i was getting myself in for when we became a thing so you don't have to. it's just me being me..”

felix sighs softly before pulling you into his naked chest. he rests his chin on top of your head gently before swaying you both gently.

“let me make it up to you, baby. it's the least i can do. i will call and text as much as i can–as always!”

“you're not going to back down, are you?”

“nope!” you laugh softly before pulling away and kissing his cheek.

“fineee.” you huff. felix gives you a smirk and a wink to which you roll your eyes at. you gently slap his chest before going to grab the pot of stew.

“here, let me. you go sit down.” felix quickly puts on his sweats, ushing you to sit at the table. you compile, seating yourself as felix placing the pot of stew on the table in the middle before sitting opposite you. “after you darling.”

after dinner, felix cleans up which you didn't want him to. in fact, you wanted him to go and relax but felix is stubborn so when he insisted (instructed more like) that you go kick your feet up, you had no option but to oblige. 

you watch felix wash the dishes, drying them and placing them in the cupboards where they belong before wiping down the surfaces. his naked back on display that's showing off his fresh tattoo which he has yet to show stays. he told you his great idea for his tattoo reveal and you just know that stays are going to have a meltdown when it comes to.

once everything was in order, felix flops down on the sofa next to you. he puts his arms around your shoulders and pulls in close to his side. you hum and rest your head on his shoulder, hand on his thigh as you watch tv together. 

you draw idle patterns on his thigh, getting closer and closer to his groin. felix's eyes flicker to your hands as he watches them ever so carefully. he clenches his jaw as dirty thoughts swarm through his mind. you notice his grip on your shoulder has tightened a little making you well aware that he has noticed this little game of yours.

you smirk to yourself as you teasingly brush your fingers over his crotch. you feel his semi-hard on through the material which heightens the want to tease him even more.

felix squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the thoughts. he has to keep reminding himself that he has to wake up early in the morning. that he can't afford to be up all night with you–no matter how badly he wants to.

but with your trailing hands and your fingertips lightly brushing over his length is driving him insane. his heart starts to pump against his chest, heat pooling and hugging his groin in a nice warm hug. his fingers itching to grab your hair and pull it hard.

“don't.” felix growls as you tug mindlessly at the waistband of his sweats. you continue on with your antics, pulling at the waistband and letting it snap back against his skin. 

felix clenches his jaw as you continue to do it before grabbing your hair and pulling your head back so you're looking at him. you whimper, felix's grip on your hair tightening.

“i said don't.” he growls. you shiver at his tone of voice–deep and dominant. but that doesn't stop you.

“don't what?” you ask sweetly.

“don't tease me.”

“me? teasing? i would never, lixie!” you smirk before your eyes widen due to felix shoving your face close to his crotch.

“suck, brat.”

“no.” 

“don't test me, little one. take responsibility and suck. my boner isn't going to go away on its own.” you glance at his groin, noticing a very obvious tent that has formed. you swallow a little before looking up at felix.

he cocks his eyebrow, eyes glaring down at you as he waits. his grip on your hair tightening with each passing second. his temper wears thin which causes him to let out a long and slow sigh before lifting his hips up and pulling down his sweatpants.

his dick springs free. a heavy sigh of relief escapes felix's lips. you whimper a little as he pulls your head back by your hair so you're forced to look at him.

“i warned you.” he states. he pushes your head back into his lap only this time, his free hand is around the base of his cock. he rubs his tip along your lips, pushing a little to encourage you to open.

he smiles when you part your lips, forcing his cock inside your mouth. he lets go of your hair to hold the back of your head. you look up at felix through your lashes as you start to suck on him.

“there we go. that wasn't so hard now was it, brat?” you shiver as you whimper. eyes fluttering close as you suck half of felix's length. you swirl your tongue around his shaft, head bobbing and coating him in saliva. 

you rub his tip on the inside of your cheek before bobbing your head. felix pants a little from above you, his fingers running through your hair as he praises you and tells you how good you feel.

but it's not enough for him.

with the hand that's on the back of your head, he pushes your head down and raises his hips up. your nose touches his pubic area, tip touching the back of your throat. your eyes widen and tears spill as your gag reflex takes over by the sudden action.

saliva pools and spills from the stretched corners of your lips. you grip onto felix's thighs for stability as you feel his cock throb. he bucks his hips a few times, hands on the side of your head to keep it still whilst he fucks your mouth and throat.

he selfishly uses you for his own pleasure. his head kicking back and eyes fluttering close as he moans deeply. felix disregards you, ignoring your whimpers and your nails digging into his flesh. he thrusts faster and desperately, hoping wishing it's enough for him to feel satisfied–but it's far from.

“i need more.” he whispers before looking down at you. he feels some sort of satisfaction at your tear and drool stained face. his eyes scan your body before he leans down and pushes his hand down your underwear.

you whimper loudly as you feel his fingers stimulating your clit. he rubs fast, pleasure shooting up your spine at a rapid pace. his fingers dip between your folds, your wetness being soaked up on his fingers. he uses this to stimulate your clit some more, loving the way you fight the urge to close your legs.

two fingers slide into your entrance. his fingers instantly curling against your squishy walls whilst he drives them in and out fast. you halt your movements for a split second to allow yourself time to adjust to the sudden surge of pleasure that's coursing through you, however, felix didn't like that.

“don't stop brat. i didn't tell you to stop so why are you stopping?” his brows furrowed together before he bucks his hips upwards and hits the back of your throat with his tip countless times.

tears well in your eyes. your mouth and throat start to burn from the constant motion with your jaw aching badly but your cunt feels so good. it's throbbing around his fingers, soaking them nicely in your juices. with the pad of his thumb, he rubs your sensitive clit.

it all slowly starts to become too much, slowly building and building before threatening to explode. felix feels this with the way your walls contract around his fingers and your bobbing has become lazy and slow.

“hold.” he instructs. “let me have my fun first.”

he pulls his fingers out of you slowly. your orgasm slowly dwindles away much to your frustration. felix gently lifts your head up and off his cock, stroking your team stained cheeks as you pant for air.

he strips you off your pants and underwear before pulling you onto his lap so you straddle him. you bite your lip as you hold onto his shoulders, his hands on your waist.

“be good and ride me like the whore you are.” he sighs.

“b-but–” you start only to be cut off.

“are you seriously going to disobey me?” he reaches behind you and grabs the base of his cock, lining it up with your entrance. “i don't think you're in the position to dare disobey me, yn.”

“i'm sorry, lix.” you whimper.

“excuse me?”

“daddy!” you correct yourself. “i'm sorry daddy.”

“good girl. now ride me.” you swallow and whimper softly as you lower yourself on felix's dick. you hiss at the stretch as he breaches you, taking in short breaths and relaxing as you lower yourself further down.

“oh fuck. good girl, just like that.” felix hums as he succumbs to your warmth. his hands planted firmly on your waist as you took in over half of him.

felix isn't small nor thin. in fact, he is quite the opposite so when his thick, big cock is only half inside you it's enough to see a small bulge in your lower stomach and it's also enough to make you feel incredibly full.

“don't stop. that's not all of me.”

“b-but daddy. you're so thick.. so big.. i already feel so full of you. see.” you lean back a little to show him the little bulge under your navel. felix places his hand over it and presses which causes you to grunt a little.

“true but it's not all of me, little one.”

“bu–”

“surely you're not going to disobey me once again, are you darling?” felix hums and coos, his eyebrows raised up. you shake your head no slowly before lowering yourself some more.

you pant heavily as felix's cock is fully inserted inside you. your body shivers as you grip onto his shoulders. felix gives you some time to adjust to his size. he might be a hard dom but he knows your limits. sure, a bit of pain mixed with pleasure is all fun and games but at the end of the day, he wants to make you feel safe and secure.

“ready?” he whispers, breaking the role of dom and sub for a split second to make sure you're ok. he tucks your hair behind your ear slowly as you nod.

with a shaky breath, you give felix the go ahead. he helps you at first by holding your waist and guiding you up and down on his cock. once he sees your eyes fluttering shut and your mouth agape does he let go and sit back, taking in the beautiful sight of his girl riding his thick cock.

you bounce fast and hard on him. you rise to the top, his penis threatening to slip out. before that happens, you drop with force that causes you both to moan out each others names. felix's hands squeezing and massaging your ass cheeks as he helps you keep that tempo whilst bucking his hips upwards.

his length strokes your gummy walls deliciously, tip hitting all the right places. your juices coat his hot shaft making it much easier for him to slip in and out with ease. moans, pants and wet sounds mix together and fill the living area with the squeaking sounds of the sofa.

gripping onto his shoulders, felix leans in and plants sloppy kisses along your neck. your hips falter, legs burning from the same movements so felix holds onto your lower back and places you down on the sofa. his cock still buried inside you to the hilt as he thrusts.

your back arches up off the sofa, chest bumping against his as he growls and groans. beads of sweat roll down his temples as his hair sticks to his sweaty forehead. he grabs your thighs, his hands gripping onto the back of them as he pushes your legs to your chest.

your lower half lifts up off the sofa which allows felix to piledrive into you with such force and power. your body feels like it's melting and merging into the sofa, felix's low and animalistic growls sending tingles straight to your core which causes your walls to flutter around his shaft.

“lix.. can't.” you pant heavily. your head spinning and feeling dizzy. you can only focus on the lewd sounds your body is making as well as focus on the sweaty man that's pounding into you.

“you can. i know you can.” he groans as he feels your walls flutter and tighten around him, holding him in a vice grip. you whimper and splutter your words, heart thumping against your chest erratically. 

the orgasm you failed to have has been building and building until it burns. you've been holding on for so long that it's becoming impossible with each passing second. felix can feel that with the way you're clamping down around him, legs shake and toes curl.

felix could give you the ok whenever he pleases but he loves seeing you like this. he loves seeing you silently obey him, no matter how much of a struggle it seems for you. he loves watching every single thought leave your mind, your eyes glossing over and half lidded with a faint haze to your cheeks.

“want to cum, please! it hurts.” you beg. felix simply hums which heightens your frustrations. with each long and harsh thrust, the knot and heat pools and dares to spill over.

felix's hips and movements starts to falter. his eyes squeezed shut with sloppy and uncoordinated thrusting. his lips parted as he unevenly pants, head kicked back with his hands squeezing the back of your thighs so tightly, it leaves bruises.

“fuck. so tight!” felix groans. your walls are clamping around him at this point making it impossible for him to move. your stomach dipping as the overwhelming urge to orgasm washes over you.

“p-please!!” you beg.

“not yet. not until i've flooded your pretty cunt.”

you whimper loudly, the pain and pleasure mixing together. you moan, beg and plead felix all while your body shakes and burns. a few more thrusts later and felix moans deep and loud. his hips come to a standstill as his balls draw up and his cock twitches as he releases his seed in your cunt.

you groan at the warm feeling of your walls being flooded. felix hangs his head low as his body twitches and hips buck with each release. he does a few languid thrusts to push his cum deeper inside you before pulling out off you slowly.

“l-lix..” you sob. he hums as he pushes two fingers into your sore and swollen cunt. he thrusts his fingers, hooking them against your walls. you try to grab onto something, anything to keep you grounded.

“ok, you're free to cum darling.”

that's all you needed. a few more thrusts of his fingers and your orgasm hits you at full force. it knocks the air out off your lungs, your walls flutter around his fingers as your juices squirt out onto the sofa and felix's fingers and arm. silent moans and screams leave you lips as your body shakes and twitches.

felix thrusts his fingers slowly through your orgasm. you regain your breath and gently push away his hands before panting heavily and sinking into the sofa with exhaustion. your juices and cum slowly trickle out and mix together, making you feel a little disgusted but too exhausted to clean up just yet.

felix shuffles off the sofa, grabbing his clothing and walking to the bathroom. the sound of the shower running and felix rummaging around for towels and fresh underwear can be heard alongside.

you want to look but you're too weak and tired to lift your head up. all you can do is let your eyes close and sleep to take over. as you feel yourself drifting, you're rudely awoken by a pair of arms lifting you up off the sofa and carrying you bridal style.

“sorry baby but you can't sleep just yet.” he whispers as he walks to the bathroom. he gently places you down, allowing you to use his shoulder for support due to your wobbly and weak legs.

you pout as felix laughs before you he instructs you to pee. you do as he says, watching him step into the shower and the water running down his body. his toned body glistens in the bathroom light, his blue hair soaking up all the water.

the steam coats the glass and the tiles as the water bounces off the floor. felix looks over at you and beckons you over with a grin. you finish your business on the toilet before shakily stripping yourself naked and hoping into the shower the best you could.

“oof! careful!” felix grunts as you stumble into his wet chest. he wraps his arms around you which allows you to shift all your weight onto him.

“i'm tired.” you whisper. felix hums softly as he grabs the shampoo and squirts some onto the palm of his hand. he massages the soap into your hair and scalp, giving you a small massage in the process.

“let's clean up and head to bed then, baby.”

“want to spend more minutes with you.” you whine as felix washes the soapsuds from your hair before applying conditioner to the ends.

“i know baby but i have to be up early, remember?”

“yeah.. i know.” you mumble. felix gives you a small smile before kissing your cheek gently. you wash your body and the conditioner from your hair as felix washes himself.

you step out and dry off before putting on your clean underwear. you yawn and stretch as you walk to the bedroom. felix follows suit, sliding into bed and patting the space beside him. 

you grin, knowing it's time for cuddles. you slide in beside him, instantly cuddling into his side. he wraps his arms around your shoulders as your eyes slowly close.

the sounds of felix's rhythmic heartbeat plus his warmth is so soothing and relaxing to you. a sense of comfort and security washes over you, cuddling and holding you in a day, warm hug.

“So peaceful”, you sighed and closed your eyes again, wishing for sleep to come for you as well. 

Another sigh left your lips after a few more minutes. “This won’t do.” You pushed yourself up, leaning on your elbow. A thought popped up in your head and a mischievous grin played over your face.

You rolled over to Younghyun, pushed the blanket away and let one of your hands trail along the hills and dips of his chest. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake up from your touch. 

Your hand moved lower and lower until it reached the waistband of his boxers. You tugged at it slightly, anticipating for him to wake up.

But he didn’t.

Back when the both of you moved in together you gave him your permission to take you even when you were asleep. At first Younghyun had been hesitant and didn’t even dare touching you in a sexual way unless you verbally consented. Now though he enjoyed surprising you now and then, and even gave his own consent for you to surprise him in the middle of the night.

With a devilish grin on your lips you pulled down his boxers, revealing his dick. Your finger traced an invisible line over his skin and your grin got even wider whenever his dick twitched from the soft touches.

You crawled further down, making yourself comfortable next to his legs. With your elbows you held yourself up, all while stroking his shaft and watching it gradually become harder.

While a part of you wished Younghyun would wake up and join in on the fun - as in fucking you mindless so you could fall asleep - another part of you hoped he’d stay asleep. That way you could practice giving him a blow job without worrying whether you looked sexy enough doing so or if you took enough of his dick into your mouth.

Carefully you opened your mouth and pressed your tongue against the base of his cock. Ever so slowly you licked a path towards its head. 

Younghyun stirred momentarily but kept on sleeping, mumbling something intelligible underneath his breath.

You grew bolder now, swirling your tongue around the head as you knew it was his most sensitive part. You pressed the tip of your tongue into his slit, already tasting a little of his precum.

Gently you opened your mouth further, guiding his shaft into your wet cavern with a hand. At first you only kept his head inside your mouth, sucking at it and hollowing your cheeks until you felt safe to do more.

You lowered your head, inch by inch, breathing through your nose and trying to keep your jaw relaxed. 

Even then you weren’t able to take him fully, his head already hitting the back of your throat before your lips even reached his pelvis. Tears formed in your eyes and you couldn’t tell whether it was due to frustration or the suppressed gagging reflex.

You raised your head again, breathing heavily through the nose, and immediately going down once more.

You continued your pace, wanting to take all of Younghyun.

Before you knew it, he came down your throat. Hot, sticky ropes of cum trickled down, some even spilling out of your mouth and dropping down to your chin.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen”, Younghyun suddenly announced with a hoarse voice.

Your eyes shot up in surprise, your heart pounding erratically. A sheepish smile played over your lips and you felt the heat rising to your ears.

“Now I definitely can’t let you go back to sleep.”

With that Younghyun sat up, grabbed your waist and nearly slammed you into the cushions, making you giggle in the process. 

Maybe you didn’t need to sleep. For now at least.

Day 13 | Day 15

© all rights reserved

Though your heart and your body yearned for more. Over the past weeks you slowly but surely tilted his high build walls, making the lines between duty and desire turn more and more blurry.

You fed him food from a selfmade picnic, pretending you wanted him to test it on poison. 

You purposefully tripped more than once, getting caught by his strong arms every time. Sometimes you even faked a hurt ankle, just so Ten would carry you to your sleeping quarters.

Whenever he got closer your hands would brush against his skin, sometimes linger in places where they shouldn’t be unless you two were intimate. You always pretended you either didn’t notice where your hand was or that it was an accident and you would then slowly pull your hand away again.

You already saw the fruits of your meticulous work. A clenched jaw here, tightened muscles there, stumbling over words, longing stares when he thought nobody was watching.

You quietly excused yourself from the group of noble women, before you turned around and moved back towards the castle. When you passed Ten, you simply told him feeling unwell in the heat of the sun.

He nodded and immediately followed you.

A smile formed on your lips and you barely suppressed a chuckle, being reminded of a puppy running after its owner. 

Once you arrived at your quarters, Ten announced he’d stay outside the room guarding it. 

You pressed your hand on his chest, looking at him with thankful eyes. You felt his heart beat faster than before simply from your touch alone. “I fear I need your guarding inside the room today”, you whispered, noticing how his Adam's apple bopped from a harsh swallow. “There’s something only you can help me with.”

You slowly stepped backwards through your door and Ten followed you, staring at your face, waiting for further explanation or instruction.

The second the door closed behind you two, you knew you had him. He finally crossed a boundary he had set himself and you only had one more thing to do.

“Fuck me!”

Day 12 | Day 14

© all rights reserved

”Kwon, did you catch wind of that Valentine’s Day massacre in Chicago?”

Soonyoung is intensely focused on his client, finishing the second pass of a wet shave. He then grabs a warm towel, wipes off the remaining soap, and applies aftershave to disinfect the skin. Grabbing the talcum powder, he nods to his worker, Chan, who stands toward the back entrance reading a paper.

"Yeah, I heard about it," Soonyoung finally replies. "Bad for Capone’s reputation, if such a thing still matters."

“Yeah,” Chan mutters, carefully folding the paper. "What do you reckon’s gonna happen to him?"

Soonyoung powders his client to keep him fresh, nudging him to rise from his seat. “Nothing’s gonna happen to Capone, kid— at least not just yet. He’s got everyone in his pocket. Patsies."

Chan watches him, placing the paper under his arm. “You talk like you’ve met the guy."

Soonyoung’s lips curl into a smirk as he removes the smock from the patron. “I might’ve run into the fellow once or twice."

“What? How—”

The bell rings from the front, the door askew as you walk in, looking soft as a kitten as you shuffle in with a mocha brown Collegiate style coat and a matching colored hat. Soonyoung is taken aback by your beauty, your smooth skin, and warm eyes that could set him ablaze with a single look. A low whistle is heard from behind, and he glances at Chan, who is also enthralled by your presence.

Your eyes set on him, nervousness creases your face as you walk towards him, gripping your bags. “H-Hi,” you sputter, your southern accent going up an octave. “I am looking for a Kwon Soonyoung?”

His eyes sparkle as you speak his name, slowly setting down the towel he is holding in his hand. “Depends on who’s asking, kitten.”

You nod softly, clacking your heels together unexpectedly. “Carmen sent me, and said he could help me out.”

A light bulb goes off in his head as he recalls a telegram he received a few weeks earlier from his acquaintance, Carmen, a woman who transports the things he needs from time to time, sometimes under the table. She mentioned you would need his help, and he was willing to do it, no questions asked. Soonyoung isn’t just your regular barber—he has connections everywhere. That’s one of the perks of cutting hair for many people of all walks of life.

“Ah, yes,” Soonyoung says, wiping his hands. “Well, Kwon Soonyoung, at your service.”

You smile softly, and it makes his heart skip a beat. His patron has already left the shop, and Chan makes himself busy with a broom, though Soonyoung is sure he is trying to eavesdrop. “Chan, go in the back and make yourself useful.”

The smallest of sighs is heard from his lips as he sets the broom down and disappears into the back. Soonyoung returns his focus to you, motioning for you to sit in one of the chairs. You shake your head no, clinging to your bags even tighter.

“I don’t know what Carmen told you,” you begin. “But I need to hide in plain sight for a while, essentially.”

Carmen didn’t say too much when she reached out to him weeks ago, but usually, when someone comes to him looking to hide, it means they are running away from something or someone. Soonyoung marvels at you, wondering how an innocent-looking thing like you could be tied to anything bad.

“This is what we can do for now,” Soonyoung says, making up his mind. “I want you to go to the hotel across the street and ask for a room. Tell them I sent you, and give them the codeword, say ‘tiger.’”

Your brows furrow. “Tiger?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, grabbing the abandoned broom off the wall. “They will put you in a decent room while we figure something out. Come back here at eight tonight, and we can discuss.”

“O-Oh, okay,” you nod, uncertainty etched on your face.

‘Listen, kitten, I don’t bite. If you’re good with Carmen, you’re always good with me.”

Your expression softens, a small dimple appearing on your cheek as you give him a small smile. You turn toward the hotel, nodding again as you understand what you need to do. “Thank you, Soonyoung. I’ll be at eight on the dot.”

“I look forward to it.”

You mouth a thank you and rush out of the door, looking both ways before crossing the street in the direction of the hotel. The front desk attendant, Mark, is working, and he will know how to get you settled. Soonyoung watches until you disappear into the building, returning his focus to the cut hair over the floor. Chan comes out and leans against the back entrance frame, shaking his head with a smirk on his face.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re sweet on the berry that was just in here.”

Soonyoung glances at him, scoffs, and shakes his head playfully. “You’re right—you don’t know any better.”

He hands Chan the broom to finish the job as he steps out front to take a smoke. Soonyoung isn’t a stranger to the women's department, and he falls in love easily. But he’s never seen someone like you before, and you walked into his shop, needing saving.

Like a kitty stuck in a tree.

You stand outside the barbershop at eight as you promised, the sun dipping over the horizon with the remaining gentle glow swallowed by the dark, inky blue. You changed into something more comfortable, a long-sleeved white blouse with a tomboy wool skirt, with the same jacket you came with. You wore stockings with your Oxford shoes, not wanting to bother putting on your boots. The temperature has dropped significantly since this afternoon, and condensation forms with every breath. Your hands are keeping you warm, though you forgot to put on a scarf when you left your hotel.

The hotel staff set you up in a lovely room with a comfortable bed, a decent-sized bathroom, and a view overlooking the massive park that they call Central Park. Carmen once told you the park had once been a large community where African Americans, Germans, and Irish immigrants lived and thrived. Still, the city used eminent domain to acquire the land and turn it into whatever they wanted. The city says people were compensated, but you’ve been on this Earth long enough to know the government never tells the whole truth. Nevertheless, you can’t help but appreciate the lovely view— they don’t have parks like this where you’re from.

A sharp tap on your shoulder makes you scream and jolt, instinctively swinging your fist behind you. Your fist is caught by a man with a slickback haircut and a strand of hair falling over his forehead, pursing his lips around a cigarette. His eyes are piercing, coffee-brown, with a jaw cut like a diamond.

“Betta’ watch where you’re swingin that thing,” he grunts. “You almost took my eye out.”

“Well, you shouldn’t sneak up on a lady then,” you bite back, snatching your hand out of his reach. “Can I help you?”

“You’re here for Soonyoung, right?”

You eye this handsome stranger carefully, stepping back and adjusting your coat. Soonyoung didn’t mention sending anyone for you, and that leaves you uneasy. “And if I am?”

“Then you need to follow me,” he says with authority. “He sent me to get you while he is handling business.”

He opens the front door of the shop, which is dimly lit aside from a small light in the order. You're reluctant to follow him, feeling uneasy as you might be walking into your own doom. The stranger senses your hesitancy, sighing softly as he leans on the door.

“Listen, Soonyoung is solid, and he would be here himself had he not had to deal with something important.”

You bite your bottom lip, twisting it as you mull over your dilemma. This guy, whoever he is, could be telling you the truth, and maybe you are overreacting. But if he knew what you had to go through to get here, leaving in the quiet of the morning before the roosters came up, he would understand your plight.

“Fine,” you decide, walking through the door. “Show me the way, sir.”

“Vernon,” he announces, shutting the door behind him with a smirk. “That’s what they call me.”

You follow him behind the shop, walking through a hidden back door that leads down a set of stairs, illuminated by light. Walking down the steps, you step into a basement turned into a speakeasy, with live music, full tables, and drinks flowing all around. Cigarette smoke hits first, sharp and heavy, followed by laughter and the dry click of chips against card tables, the sound rolling through the room as it belongs there. You have only been to one in Atlanta, and you were there to accompany someone who needed a pretty face. You weren’t allowed to go in without men, and certainly weren’t allowed to play. But you still watched and learned— no one was going to take that away from you.

Vernon leads you to a back table, where Soonyoung is sitting with a group of men playing a card game. You notice a change of clothes: he ditched the white coat and blue suit he was wearing in favor of a brown one tailored to fit. Just based on the fabric, you know it isn’t cheap. His eyes dance in your direction, and for a split second, you feel a flurry in your stomach.

“Kitty!” He exclaims as he stands up to greet you. “You made it.”

Hearing him call you that pet name almost makes you pause, but you ignore it. “Well, you told me to be here at eight,” you express, a nervous smile on your lips. “I take it this place is yours, too?” You ask, motioning your hands in the air.

“It is,” he confirms, pulling out a chair. “Come sit down, and I’ll introduce you to the guys.”

You take the seat next to him, letting Soonyoung introduce you to everyone around the table. You already met Chan earlier, and Vernon, and you're introduced to Mingyu, the bartender, Jun, Jeonghan, and Wonwoo. The latter three work in other fields, but apparently frequent the barbershop every week for a haircut and to unwind.

“So what do you think of this place?” the one named Jeonghan asks, swirling his beer in his cup with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Does it fill you with rage?”

Your eyebrows lift for a brief moment, caught off guard by his question. “N-No?” You reply with a shaky laugh. “Why would it fill me with rage?”

“Most women these days would tell us this place is a sin,” Jeonghan says lightly, lifting his glass. “Men drinking, money changing hands, all that.”

“Hmm,” you nod, sitting up straighter in your chair. “Well, I’m not most women, sir.”

“Are you now? Not like most women?” Jeonghan rebuttals, taking a swig of his beer. “Well, that remains to be seen.”

“Sure,” you respond, puzzled by this interaction. “Whatever you say.”

The silence falls in the group, you keeping eye contact with Jeonghan until he breaks away, emptying his cup of ale. The other men continue to shift cards and play as if nothing is happening. Jeonghan slowly gets out of his seat, adjusting his suit and grabbing his hat with a satisfactory look on his face. “I like this one, Kwon. Keep her around this time?”

He winks at you as he saunters off to a door on the left, presumably the exit to this place. You glance at Soonyoung, who’s just laid down his cards, muttering a curse word as his face shows defeat. Chan laughs as the clear winner, moving the winnings from the middle of the table to his side. The rest of the men, sans Soonyoung, leave their cards on the table and bid you both farewell as they head elsewhere in the speakeasy. You recognize the game they were playing, looking down to hide your smile. Poker isn’t an easy game, but you’re confident you could’ve beaten them with ease.

“So you are probably wondering why I asked you down here?” Soonyoung begins, shuffling the cards on the table. “Do you want a drink?”

You shake your head, despite your throat feeling tight and dry. “No, thank you.”

“Alright,” he replies. “I need someone to handle my books for me. Carmen said you’re good with numbers, and I could use that set of talents around here.”

You blink at him, processing what he is saying. “I might be good with numbers if I know what I’m doing. You want me to run numbers, how?”

“Nothing illegal, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says, locking his gaze with yours. “I need to run the books weekly as I get inventory. It’s becoming a bit much to do by myself.”

Carmen is right; you are good with numbers. Math came to you easily as a child, and as you got older, you would privately challenge yourself with complex equations for jobs that you knew you would never get. You even helped Carmen when she was starting her trade business. It was the thrill of it all, figuring out the numbers and what was needed to make sure she succeeded. Unfortunately, your father didn’t see you the same way and had different plans for you.

“That doesn’t sound too difficult,” you say cautiously. “When do you want me to start?”

Soonyoung strokes his chin thoughtfully, and in this moment, you can’t help but notice his handsomeness. His chestnut-brown hair is shiny, alive, and flawlessly styled, which you shouldn’t expect anything less from a barber. You eye the endearing dimple that matches your own, a strange, warm feeling stirring in your chest that you haven’t felt in a long time—an attraction.

“Come by in a few days, on Monday,” he finally responds, leaning back in the chair. “I’ll show you what my books are so far for the shop and in here. Does $25 a week work for you?”

You nod as confirmation, gripping your purse tightly as you stand. “I appreciate this, Soonyoung. You will not regret hiring me.”

“I know,” he smirks, leaning forward and splitting the cards into two decks. “But don’t leave just yet.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Oh?”

“Carmen said you were also good at cards,” Soonyoung discloses with a wide grin. “And I am curious to see if you really are.”

You feel a rush through your body as you eye the setup he’s laid out for you. It’s been a while since you’ve played, but you recognize a game of Blackjack better than anyone. You move to take a seat at the opposite end, slowly sitting down and facing Soonyoung. “I see you and Carmen have talked about me quite a bit,” you say.

“She is a good gal pal of mine,” Soonyoung says matter-of-factly. “And this thing between you and me has been in the running for weeks now.”

“For weeks?” You question.

He pulls out a card from the deck, an ace of spades, and lays it flat on the table. “Yes,” he confirms. “When you started working on your plan to leave Georgia, she reached out to me and made some arrangements.”

You feel grateful as you draw a queen of hearts. Carmen has always looked out for you, and quite frankly, you couldn’t have done any of this without her.

“She’s an angel, whether she wants you to know it or not.” You crack a smile.

You study Soonyoung as he pulls another card, an eight of clubs that puts him closer to Blackjack. He tries his best to stay neutral, but you’ve watched people too long, and the way his eyes smile as he undoubtedly counts the numbers, he thinks he is going to win.

“Do you want to call it now?” He suggests, pointing at his cards. “I don’t think you are going to get higher than that, Kitty.”

A slow smile spreads on your face at that nickname, your hand flirting with the tip of the next card. “Kitty. Why do you call me that?”

Soonyoung lets out a chortle, like the answer is obvious. “Because you’re soft and adorable like one. We don’t see your kind often in the big city.”

“Hmmm,” your mouth turns upward, impressed. "That’s an interesting theory.” You pull your next card, an eight in diamonds, tying you with Soonyoung. You are enjoying this game of cat and mouse, even if he doesn’t realize that he is being chased. “Do you want to forfeit, or do you want to continue?”

Soonyoung glances at the deck of cards, and you sit poised, waiting for his next move. Unfortunately for him, you’ve had years of experience with having what they call a poker face, living in a home without a mother’s love and a father who saw you as nothing but a political ploy.

“No, Kitty,” Soonyoung gloats, puffing his chest with confidence. “I play to win.”

He draws the card that sealed his fate, a four in clubs, making you the winner. You can’t help but revel in your win, even in a small gesture, such as clapping and throwing in your cards. The patrons around give curious glances, with Soonyoung gazing at you with stars in his eyes.

“You planned that, somehow,” Soonyoung affirms, squinting at you playfully. “You walked me right into that.”

“Maybe,” your lips twitch in amusement. “You call me ‘Kitty’ because you think I am adorable and soft, and I think that’s cute… But I prefer to think of myself as a lioness, whose strength is their gentleness and is often underestimated.”

You get up from the table with a smirk, grabbing your purse and your heart swelling with satisfaction. The key to winning Blackjack isn’t always with numbers— it’s all about strategy. What words to say, the right look. You knew saying “forfeit” would make him want to pull another card. No man ever wants to lose so close to the end, and it works like a charm every time.

“See you Monday, Soonyoung,” you call out, waving as you sashay out of the speakeasy.

For your first night in the Big Apple, things are looking up already.

Soonyoung usually doesn’t work on Sundays. It’s a tradition that he has upheld since the shop opened. It’s not that he’s religious or that it’s a day of rest; even in the big city, people are usually at church, brunch, or hungover from the night before. Business will be slow, and he would rather not waste a day keeping the lights on when he doesn’t have to. But here he is, cutting the hair of his best friend Jun on what is supposed to be his day off. Jun is the only exception to his rule, not just because of the privilege of being best buds, but because it’s the safest way to discuss business.

Jun is a politician who represents the district where he and Soonyoung live. They’ve known each other most of their lives, attending the same schools and church, and have naturally grown close, like a few of the transplants in the city. Jun's occupation gives him access to the ins and outs of every law being discussed and to rumors of raids plaguing local hashhouses and speakeasies across the city, much to Soonyoung’s advantage. Soonyoung helps set up the shipments for the speakeasy, and Jun gets a cut for putting his career on the line. They both grew up poor, and they vowed never be in that position again.

“I see you had a berry at the joint,” Jun probes slyly, looking at Soonyoung in the mirror. “Who is she?”

“A cousin of Carmen’s,” Soonyoung divulges as he lines up a few strands of hair for a snip. “I am just helping her out.”

Jun scoffs lightly at his response. “You sure have a habit of helping pretty women,” he teases.

Soonyoung doesn’t return his gaze, his ears turning red from embarrassment while focusing intently on the cut. “I can’t help that she’s a pretty Jane.”

“Sure,” Jun throws a knowing look. “It’ll be a matter of time until you’re stuck on this one, too.”

Soonyoung wouldn’t call himself a ladies’ man, but he does wear his heart on his sleeve. Maybe a hopeless romantic, though he would never say that out loud. A lot of the women in this city love him, whether he’s had the pleasure of necking them or not. He can’t help but appreciate the beauty or the gams on a woman that comes his way, and he certainly won’t turn down a nightcap if he’s asked.

“You forget I have a pair of scissors in my hands and you are at my mercy, pal,” Soonyoung chaffs, snipping the scissors in the air.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jun kids, sitting back in the chair. “You mess up my cut, and jail will be the least of your concerns.”

Soonyoung chuckles as he continues, pushing the image of you out of his head. “Sweet berry aside, I am seriously just helping her out. And in return, she is going to help us with the books.”

Jun nods, tapping his fingers on his knee. “We could use someone to look at the books regularly.”

“My thought exactly,” Soonyoung assents, setting down the scissors behind him on the station. He slaps a serum of holding oil on his hands, smoothing the hair back and parting it into Jun's usual style. “And Carmen said she’s good with numbers, so.”

“Ah, I see,” Jun surmises, his expression blank. “You know it’s… been a while since I’ve seen her.”

Soonyoung catches the softness in his eyes and the sudden gentleness in his tone. He doesn’t pry because it’s not his business, but he has noticed a weird energy between Jun and Carmen when she comes into town. One would call it longing, yearning, or maybe downright attraction, but those two knuckleheads will never address it. They share similar upbringings and are more alike than they know, yet stubborn as bulls.

“Anyway,” Jun clears his throat. “The shipment is coming tonight, around ten o’clock at the usual spot.”

Soonyoung nods, removing the cloak and setting it aside. “Vernon and I will be there tonight to collect, and Kitty will be here tomorrow morning to start with the books.”

Jun raises a brow, looking amused. “Kitty? Jesus, you already got a nickname for her, Kwon—”

“I mean, what else can I call her?” He counters. “You’ve seen her.”

“You can start by calling her by her name,” Jun scoffs, shaking his head. “It’s not wise to be sweet on the employees, ya know.”

“Yeah, thanks, Father,” Soonyoung mocks, giving a lazy salute. “Do you want to hold my hand when I cross the street, too?”

Jun lets out a chuckle, getting up from the chair and dusting off his clothes. “You were always a smart aleck, you know that?”

“Tell me, something I don’t know,” Soonyoung grins. “See you on Friday?”

Jun waves, already walking towards the front door, coat in hand. “You know where I’ll be.”

He watches Jun exit the shop as the icy wind blows against his frame. The weatherman said today would be the coldest of the month, but it doesn’t bother him. He likes a challenge, whether it’s the elements, the system, or pretty women who beat him at card games. He doesn’t know much about you, but that makes it all the more fun. Jun might be right—Soonyoung is a sucker for a pretty face and an enigma.

You stood outside the shop at eight o’clock sharp, the clouds nowhere in sight. Nervousness and anxiety have kept you up all night, anticipating your first day of work. Will you be the kind of worker Soonyoung needs? It’s more than just the barbershop's books you will be keeping, but also an illegal operation that could very well land you in jail. Imagine that, running away from the South just to get hemmed up in the North.

You see a dark figure approaching the front door, keys clacking against each other as the door opens wide. “Good morning,” Chan greets you, opening the door to let you in. “Soonyoung will be back in a moment, but he asked me to take you where you’ll be working.”

“Okay,” you smile, stepping into the shop.

“Sorry for keeping it dark in here,” Chan bellows from behind as he locks the door. “Mondays are the only days we can do inventory, and we don’t need people thinking the place is open, ya know.”

“I understand,” you comment, studying the shop. Chan whisks in front of you in a blur, opening the back door that separates the barbershop from the back. “This way,” he beckons towards the door.

You follow him down the corridor, leading you to a room on the right with the door ajar. There is a desk and piles of papers, scribbled with various products and prices for the shop, the last update dated February 4, 1929.

“He hasn’t updated his books in almost two weeks?”

“I guess not,” Chan shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I don’t look at the numbers. That’s his department.”

You nod, tracing your fingers along the books and doing a rough estimate of the numbers in your head. Getting comfortable, you shrug off your coat. revealing a white cardigan with a matching colored top skirt that flowed to your knees. You can’t officially start working until you know what you’re adding, but you are excited nevertheless. This is your new start on your time, and the thrill of being free is worth the journey it took to get here.

Shuffling is heard just outside the hall, the sound of heavy feet inching closer to your ears, raising small hairs on the back of your neck. Chan peeks out the door and nods, moving out of the way to let the person inside. Enters Soonyoung, holding two cups of coffee, wearing gloves and a napkin, a little splashing on his covered hands as he sets them down. His cheeks are red from the cold, his lips slightly chapped, and yet, you find him adorable.

"Hello there,” he beams, raising the cups. "Pardon my tardiness. I trust you weren’t kept waiting long."

"No,” you shake your head with a gentle grin. “Chan let me right in."

"Very well, then,” he says, setting down one cup before you. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, Kitty."

You eye the cup and him, slowly moving it to you and blowing on the steam. “Thank you.” You close your eyes and take a small sip, the liquid hot on your lips and tongue, but nothing you can’t handle. It’s bitter and bold, just enough to keep you sharp while you count numbers all day.

You feel his gaze on you—the silence and keen attention making you blush with embarrassment. "I’m sorry,” you murmur, dabbing your lips dry with a napkin. “We can begin if you'd like."

"No, no, Kitty,” Soonyoung insists, grabbing his own cup. “Drink more of your coffee. There’s no rush.”

You glance at him before looking away, a small smile on your face as you take another sip. “You keep calling me that—Kitty. I have a name, you know."

"I know,” Soonyoung smirks. “But Kitty suits you better."

You smirk into your cup, warmth spreading through you like a strong current, butterflies in your stomach. You both drink your coffee in silence, purposely avoiding his gaze. Your face starts to heat up, and you aren’t entirely sure it’s just because of the coffee.

“Do you want to show me around?” You ask, setting down the cup on your napkin. “I’m ready to get started if you are.”

He bobs, finishing the rest of his coffee in one gulp. “Come on,” he says, already moving. “Since you’re going to be around, you should see how the place breathes.”

You stand up slowly, the chair scraping against the floor as you follow him down the hall, leading you down the exact steps that led you to the basement. There is a draft that wasn’t there before, a chill that makes you shake, wishing you had brought your jacket.

“We left the door open a little too long last night,” Soonyoung explains. “And it takes a moment for the heat to turn on."

Soonyoung leads you to a back, hidden room. Unlocking the door and ushering you inside, the bare bulbs hum softly overhead, casting a yellowed glow against brick walls darkened by years of smoke. Crates are stacked neatly along the walls, stamped with shipping marks and chalked numbers. The air smells faintly of wood and metal. Soonyoung rests a hand on one of the boxes.

“Last night’s shipment,” he says. “Grooming supplies, and a few things that prefer discretion.”

He steps back as you walk closer, eyes scanning the labels, the clipped ledger hanging from a nail. Various liquors are hidden among shipments of supplies—beers, wines, and hard liquors with fancy names. You survey everything, your mouth twisting as you think of what you have to do.

“Have you done the inventory yet?” You probe, peering into a crate. “If not, I can make a list of what you have, the cost, and how much more you’ll need for the next shipment.” You look around, stepping around Soonyoung as you grab a spare piece of paper and a pen, scribbling today’s date. “How often do you get a shipment?”

Soonyoung looks amazed, words failing him for a moment. “Every two weeks.”

You nod, writing down dates every two weeks for the next month for you to memorize. The caffeine is finally kicking in, and you are on a roll. “I need all of your books so I can see what you currently have and figure out how we are going to do this.”

“They are upstairs, in the office,” Soonyoung discloses, stepping out of the room briefly. “Chan, grab the books and Kitty’s coat, please.”

You glance at him, caught off guard by his mentioning your coat. He catches your gaze, smiling quickly. “You’ve been shivering since we’ve been down here.”

You look away, biting your lip as you tap the pen on the paper. You aren’t used to this: someone noticing the small things. Back home, you were treated like a prized possession in public, but locked away when you were not needed. You want to like it, this attention, but you aren’t sure if you can trust it. You are here to work; maybe Soonyoung wants you to be comfortable.

Chan returns shortly with a stack of dusty notebooks and your coat over his shoulder. You thank him while slipping it on, eyeing one of the long tables that will give you time to go over everything. “I need you to get started so I can balance the books and figure out a system that is a lot better than…” You point at the stack of disorganized books. “This.”

“You don’t hesitate. I like that,” Soonyoung remarks. “I think I am going to like this arrangement between you and me.”

A genuine smile spreads across your face, making you feel lighter. “Well, I hope so. You’re kind of all I got,” you laugh.

Soonyoung chuckles, his ears turning suspiciously red. “I see why Carmen reached out. You are good.”

You look down, a shy grin displayed on your face. “Who do you think was helping with her books?” You let out a silvery laugh. “Do you want to get started?”

He shows you the rest of the shipment, and you scribble down everything that’s arrived to compare to the latest entry in the books. Soonyoung counts aloud, while Chan lifts crates and calls figures. You sit at the table, scribbling everything thrown your way. The scratch of the ball point keeps time with the tick of a wall clock. Occasionally, you slide a page toward him, and he glances, nods, and adjusts his tally without question. You fall into a natural rhythm and hours pass by, but it doesn’t feel like you’ve been here long.

You glance at the clock; the time reads just after noon. Just as you are about to move to the next page, a few items catch your attention. “Soonyoung,” you call out, tapping a column. “Your numbers are off here. Not enough to sting, but enough to matter.”

He leans over your shoulder, close enough that you catch the scent of soap and tobacco. “You’re right,” he admits after a moment. “I missed it.”

“It’s alright,” you reply, circling the total in red pen. “Things happen.”

His eyes smile before his lips, gazing into yours. “That’s why I needed you.”

You ignore the way his validation makes you feel, returning your focus to work. By the time the last ledger is closed, your hand aches and your stomach reminds you it’s been patient long enough. You stretch your fingers as he checks his watch.

“Well,” he says, satisfied. “That went quicker than I expected.”

You nod. “Time behaves better when it’s kept honest.”

He considers you, then laughs. “How did you get good at this? Figuring out the books and all?”

You shuffle papers around, giving you time to think of your answer. “Boredom, honestly,” you chuckle. “My life was set out a certain way, and I was home alone a lot unless I was needed to show my face somewhere. Books and numbers are what kept me going.”

“How was your life supposed to be? Before you came here, of course.”

You glance at him before perusing the files, pretending you’re looking for something important. “That’s another story for another time, Kwon.”

“Please, just call me Soonyoung,” he says gently.

“Why?” You push back. “Everyone else does.”

Soonyoung leans in, not too close but enough to make your heart patter in your chest. “You’re not everyone else.”

You glance into his eyes for a brief moment, feeling a mixture of curiosity and amusement before shaking your head slowly. “You’re flirting with me.”

He leans back against the table, sitting on the corner. “Perhaps… or maybe I can take you to lunch as a thanks.”

You look up, meeting his eyes. You are hungry, but you would rather eat alone at the hotel after staring at the numbers for several hours. “I’ll accept your invitation another time,” you say evenly, “but it doesn’t mean I’m trading work for meals, Soonyoung..”

He chortles, his deep dimple on display. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Kitty.”

As you gather your things, you tell yourself you’re only staying because it’s beneficial. Because it’s smart. Because you need this. You refuse to let yourself consider how natural it’s beginning to feel to stand beside him.

Soonyoung only opens the speakeasy on Fridays, closing the shop upstairs early and setting up downstairs with help from Chan, Vernon, and Mingyu. Mingyu bartends and performs grandiose tricks to entertain the ladies, while Vernon and Chan man the doors and keep the operation flowing as Soonyoung overlooks it all. What he is doing is illegal, and he could get caught at any time, but in his experience, people want things more when it’s forbidden, and they will do anything to have them. In this case, the forbidden fruit is alcohol and a break from their everyday lives.

If he wanted to, he could keep the doors open throughout the week and draw more traffic, but he doesn’t like that. He has a theory that more traffic means more word of mouth and a higher risk of being raided; Jun has said as much. He opened this place for extra money, but he has grown attached to it, and it allows him to make connections with people from all walks of life. He is the friendly neighborhood barber by day, and depending on the night, your savior.

Soonyoung shuffles around near the back tables, wiping them down until his reflection appears on each. He takes pride in this club, observing the merry vibes with drinks flowing, dancing, and lively conversation over cigarettes. He smiles to himself, twisting the toothpick in his mouth as he folds his arms, leaning against the back wall. Soonyoung is swelling with pride, and he has a feeling it will only get better from here.

The side door swings open, and you walk in, wearing a trench coat with the softest cream colored fur on top. You slip out of your jacket, revealing a stunning long-sleeved silk-and-velvet dress with a gathered skirt that dazzles with every move you make. You look gorgeous, and Soonyoung is mesmerized, dropping the rag he was holding on his foot. People whisper when you walk by, also taken away by your beauty. Chan approaches you, takes your coat, and points you towards Soonyoung’s direction. You scan the room until you see him, your face relaxing into a warm smile that makes his heart jump. He makes his way towards you, the towel now forgotten on the floor.

“Hey, there, Kitty,” Soonyoung greets you, opening his arm for you to take. “Do you want a drink?”

“I would love one,” you shout over the loud music.

Your arm slips into his, and the light scent of your vanilla perfume fills his nose as you walk beside him. Your skin radiates as if you’re glowing from within, and it's hard for him to look away. Your makeup brings out your eyes, and he finds himself wanting to get lost in them. It’s too early, he knows, but he can’t help but want to get to know this southern belle holding his arm.

“Mingyu,” Soonyoung calls out to the handsome man serving drinks. “Can you get a drink for the lady?” He glances at you, his eyes twinkling in curiosity. “What would you like to drink?”

You set down your purse on the bar, mulling over your options. “A Bee’s Knees is fine.”

Mingyu pulls out a cocktail glass, twirling it in his eyes. “You got it, beautiful.”

He winks at you before he starts making your drink, and you watch in amazement. Soonyoung’s finger taps lightly on the counter, ignoring the tightness in chest. He can’t help but notice how you admire Mingyu when he mixes the liquor and juicer, but he will not acknowledge that creeping green-eyed monster tonight.

“I’m surprised you showed up,” Soonyoung says. “It seems like you didn’t show much interest here besides the books.”

You smile sheepishly, twiddling your fingers in your lap. “I got tired of staying in the hotel, and I wanted to see what all the inventory was going towards.”

Soonyoung raises a brow, a curious look on his face. “So you didn’t come here to relax, but to work?”

Your eyes widen, panic on your face. “I mean, I did come to relax,” you say defensively, waving your hands. “But I also wanted to see how it’s run here. It’s not every day that you come into a speakeasy… unless you’re you.”

Your eyes sparkle like the gems on your dress, whispering a thank you to Mingyu, who sets your drink in front of you. Closing your eyes, you take a sip, a small moan coming from you in approval. “This is exemplary,” you remark as you take another appreciative drink. “Back home, it’s sidecars and Hank Pankys that are the talk of the town.”

“Atlanta, right?”

You answer with a nod, your lips still gracing the glass. Your facial expression shifts momentarily, a look of fear. Curiosity spins its wheels like a clock, wanting to know more of your story. In due time, he supposes.

“This place is so lively,” you compliment, eyeing the scene. “No wonder it’s the bee’s bnees.”

The evening's band plays hot jazz, keeping the patrons on their feet. Drunk men and women, giggling and dancing with their drinks in their hands and cigarettes in their mouths without a care in the world. However, Soonyoung isn’t much in the mood for entertaining tonight, not while you’re by his side.

“Has anyone told you you’re pretty?” Soonyoung says suddenly. He feels the heat surge through his neck and burn his ears, realizing he let his impulsive thoughts win. You blink at him, taken aback, and he is sure that you are going to give him a piece of your mind and quit on the spot. But instead, your red ruby lips curved into a smile that matched your eyes.

“Are you calling me pretty, Soonyoung?”

Soonyoung’s heart is practically beating on his rib cage like a trapped bird. He’s already let it out; there's no need to hide it now. “Yes. You’re beautiful,” he replied.

“Thank you,” you say softly. Your fingers grace your glass, drowning the remnants of the strong drink. You glance at the card table behind you and then back at him. “Would you indulge me in a game of Blackjack again?”

His smile sharpens, amused and intrigued in equal measure. He’s already steering you from the bar and leading you to the same table in the back. “Careful, Kitty,” he says. “I’ve been known to leave folks light in the pockets. Last time was a fluke.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure,” you say, settling into your chair, smoothing your skirt. “And when I win tonight, will that be considered a fluke too?”

He chuckles as he takes the dealer’s seat. He shuffles the cards as the band performs on, the night coming out to be promising.

“I hope you’re ready to lose,” Soonyoung gloats.

You beat him in the first round, a smug look on your face as you collect the chips you won from that hand.

“You were saying?” You tease him, flashing the cards like money.

“That was just a practice round,” Soonyoung asserts, tapping his finger steadily on the smooth surface of the table. You place the cards gently near him, watching as he expertly shuffles the deck, his fingers interweaving the cards with practiced precision.

“So, Soonyoung,” you coquet, sitting a little straighter. “What made you decide to run a speakeasy and a barbershop?”

He falters, just for a second, and as a result, a couple of cards slipped from his hands. It’s been a long time since he’s talked about the real reason why he does what he does. He shuffles them back like it never happened.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” your voice trembles. “I didn’t mean to impose—”

“No, it’s fine,” Soonyoung insists. “No one really asks me about it, so it just caught me off guard.”

You stare at him, your mouth opening and shutting, as if you didn’t know what to say. Noticing your discomfort, he sets the cards down and takes a seat next to you. His hand is over yours, noting the smoothness of it. “It’s fine, Kitty. Really.”

You study him for a moment before letting out a sigh. “Okay.”

He doesn’t leave your side, but instead reshuffles the deck. “The shop was my father’s. He started it from the ground up and built a solid clientele. He loved serving people from all walks of life and making them feel welcome. I was raised in the shop, and he taught me how to cut hair, in hopes I would take over the business. He worked every day except for Sunday, as he was a religious man. The speakeasy came about a couple of years ago as a special event and a way to make some extra cash, but I liked doing it and decided to keep it going.”

“You… keep saying was, when you talk about your father,” you say slowly. “Is he no longer…”

“He died a few years ago. Heart attack,” he confirms, not leaving much to imagination.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say gently. “And your mother?”

“She died when I was six. Cancer.”

Your hand clutches your heart, your eyes shifting as if you’re trying to hold back tears. “That’s a lot to deal with at a young age,” you murmur. “But you’re strong. I see that.”

Soonyoung believes every word you said; he can feel the sincerity laced in each syllable. It takes a lot of strength to run two businesses and deal with the loss of your parents. Soonyoung wouldn’t wish this on anyone, to live with this pain every day and be expected to go through life like it’s a normal occurrence.

“Thank you, Kitten,” Soonyoung smiles, nudging your shoulder.

“Oh, I’m Kitten now,” you tease him with a wicked grin. “So formal.”

“So you’re saying you like Kitty?” Soonyoung goads, inching closer to you.

You gaze at him, raising a brow. “I am not admitting to anything,” you purse your lips while trying not to smile. “Are you finally ready to play?”

You’re partway through your second hand, riding a modest streak, when a perfume cuts clean through the haze. It’s heavy, floral, and commands Soonyoung’s attention. Soonyoung turns to his left, meeting the gaze of a small woman with short raven-dark hair, rare brown eyes with golden flakes that pull you in without trying, and porcelain skin that most women would be jealous of. Her flapper swishes in sync, distracting in black. He knows this woman by the name of Hazel, and he considers her a lady friend that he necks with from time to time.

"Well, if it isn’t my favorite barber,” she drawls, sliding in close to Soonyoung’s side like she’s got tenure there. Her dark red lips set in a smile that’s broken hearts before. “You look bored, sweetheart. Thought you might fancy a little barney mugging tonight.”

Soonyoung pulls the second card, a King of spades, and lays it flatly on the table. “Not tonight, doll. I’m busy.”

He hopes his indifferent tone will give her a hint and she’ll leave. He hopes it’s enough.

But then Hazel’s attention shifts, and his stomach sinks. He sees it the second she notices you, the way her smile tightens, the way her gaze sharpens. He feels suddenly exposed, as the room has tilted in a direction he can’t control.

“Oh,” she says lightly, giving you a once-over. “Didn’t realize you’d found yourself a replacement.”

Soonyoung’s chest tightens, waiting for a reaction from you. Even though he isn’t exclusive with Hazel, he’s known her since they were kids, and she is the jealous type.

You meet her gaze, calm and steady, like you’re checking figures that don’t quite balance. “I’m not any replacement. I am his—”

Hazel waves you off, clicking her tongue and making a show of it. She grabs Soonyoung by the collar and kisses him, quick and possessive, meant for you to see more than him. Soonyoung pushes her away, wiping his lips quickly, staining his hand with her lipstick. “What’d ya do that for, Hazel?”

She shrugs, unrepentant, with a wicked smile on her face. “I don’t care for sharing. You know that.”

You rise, setting your cards down as neat as a closed book, and grabbing your purse. “I believe I’ve had enough excitement for one evening.” Rushing through the small crowd, you find Chan, who leaves and comes back with your coat.

“Now as I was saying—”

He didn’t let Hazel finish her sentence. His focus is already elsewhere, threading through bodies and smoke, past Mingyu’s raised brow, past Chan’s amused eyes. The club feels too loud now, too crowded, like it’s pressing in on him.

He spots you by the side exit, coat back over your shoulders, hand on the kno—relief flares, followed by guilt.

“Hey,” he says, breathless. “I don’t know what got into her.”

You pause but don’t turn. “It’s none of my concern, Kwon.”

“I know, but—” He falters. He wants to say too much. He wants to say he didn’t invite it, that he wouldn’t have let it happen if he’d been faster, that he hates the way you’re leaving. “I wanted you to know it didn’t mean a thing.”

You finally face him, polite and composed, something carefully shuttered behind your eyes. He feels the door closing, slow and inevitable.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” you smile, but it doesn’t meet your eyes. “I’ll see you Monday.”

And then you’re gone, the door shutting softly behind you.

Soonyoung stands there for a beat too long, the music pounding at his back, wondering when a Friday night that once felt like salvation started feeling like a loss he can’t quite name.

It’s been almost two weeks since that encounter downstairs with that woman named Hazel. The way she looked at you like you didn’t matter got under your skin—though you aren’t entirely sure if it’s because of her solely or because of what her relationship is with Soonyoung. She kissed him like it was familiar and claiming him, and it stirred something in you that you didn’t like, and you had to leave before it festered.

You returned to work the following Monday, went through the week's books, and left just before noon. He tried to make small conversation, and you obliged, but you wouldn’t give him more than that. You can’t give him more than that. All you can see is that woman’s lips pressed against his, and it irritates you to your core. You know it shouldn’t bother you, and you have no right, but you can’t help but feel stupid for being attracted to someone who clearly has attachments. This is the last complication you need.

The week after, on Tuesday, you sit in your bed, reading an old copy of The Great Gatsby that you acquired from a bookstore years ago—the afternoon light streams through the window, casting enough natural light to read comfortably. You haven’t been out much, besides work, a few shops, and the dining area downstairs. You want to explore the city, finally sit on a bench in Central Park, and watch the birds fly by. It’s a weird feeling, having all this freedom and not knowing what to do with it.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The rapping on the door makes you pause, not expecting any visitors? Is it Soonyoung? You shuffle out of bed, straightening your daydress as the curiosity lingers. “Who is it?”

“Your favorite cousin. Now open this door!”

You hurriedly unlock the doors, swinging the door open to greet the person who is indeed your favorite cousin. You lung at her, holding her tight and basking in her honey-smelling perfume. “Carmen, what are you doing here?”

“I had to come up here and check on my baby cousin,” Carmen returns your affection. “Gotta’ make sure you are staying out of trouble.”

Getting in one last squeeze, you release her and pull her into your room. “I am managing just fine.”

“Mmhmm,” Carmen mumbles, observing your room. She is all but 5’2” with gorgeous hair that seems black in a regular setting, but in light, it shines a whiskey brown. She loves to wear knickers and a blouse, and today was no different, wearing brown knickers and a white colored blouse and her usual oxfords. She is the closest person you have as a confidante, having grown up together yet kept apart by your family's money and her upbringing on the poorer side of town. Your father didn’t care to make sure she lived appropriately, saying countless times, “Family or not, they must make their own way.” You never thought that way.

Carmen is determined to make her way and not conform to the society of being a woman married to a Southern man. Running her own business and having her own is what makes her thrive, not having to answer to anyone unless she chooses to. You’ve always admired her for it.

“Soonyoung set you up in a nice room. Good,” she approves. “I would have had his hide if he set you up in anything less.”

Hearing his name twisted something in your gut that you choose to ignore. “Yeah, he did,” you say in a neutral tone.

She nods. “Thought I’d pop in and see how my little runaway is doing.” She pulls out a chair from the desk to sit in. “And I need to tell you something face to face, not over a telegram.”

Her tone went from casual to serious, stopping you dead in your tracks. “What is it?”

“Your ‘problem’ back in Atlanta has apparently put out a rather hefty reward for your return.”

A cold dread fills your chest like a leaking boat, pulling you into the waters of despair. Your “problem” was your ex-husband, Claudius, whom you were desperate to escape. It wasn’t a marriage of love, but of convenience, courtesy of your father, who wanted to sell his company and made you a perk. Claudius whined and dined and said all the right things until you said “I do”; then he became cruel, treating you as something to own rather than cherish. It started verbally, then, toward the end, it became physical, and you knew in that moment you had to leave before things got worse.

Claudius is a powerful man you couldn’t easily run from, and now, when money is involved, this problem has more incentive to be solved.

“A reward?” You speak slowly. “How much?”

“$200.”

Your breath hitches, panic curling inside your chest as you lean onto the vanity dresser, your fingers grasping the edges. $200 is not a small amount, which means you are wanted back by all means. This unsettles your spirit as tears well in your eyes. “I can’t go back there, Carmen. I would rather die.”

Carmen notes the distress on your face, leaps out of the chair, and pulls you into a comforting hug. “Don’t you fret, cousin. It’s nothing we can’t handle. I’ll have a word with Soonyoung, but you’re safe here, trust me. You will never go back there. This is your home now.”

You hesitate, thinking of all of the worst-case scenarios. “Are you sure?

“Of course, I’m sure,” she reassures you. “Just a little extra incentive for you to mind the business that pays you, eh?” She winks.

Stepping back, she does a once-over on you and claps her hands together. “Now, enough of that dreary business. Get dressed! I’m starving, and I hear there’s a delightful little bistro a few blocks from here.”

You nod softly, letting her words sink in. She’s right; You’re up north now, in the Big Apple, and there is no way you can be found here. Letting out a sigh, you push your worry aside.

“Give me a few minutes.”

An hour later, you and Carmen were strolling down a bustling street, the city alive with the energy of a Tuesday afternoon. Carmen stands out in a deep-red peacoat and matching cap, drawing admiring glances. You, in your more subdued but elegant day dress and Collegiate coat, felt a sense of belonging you hadn’t anticipated. Despite the cold, the sunlight makes you feel warm, easing the worries you'd had earlier.

Suddenly, Carmen stops, squinting and then breaking into a big smile. You follow her gaze, looking at two men standing outside a small diner, chatting animatedly. Inching closer, you recognize Soonyoung, dressed impeccably in a charcoal suit, looking every inch the successful businessman, not just a barber. As he laughs, his head tilts back, and you see that infuriatingly charming dimple. Next to him is Jun, the man you met at the speakeasy, wearing a chocolate brown suit and a chain hanging from his pocket, looking straight out of a catalogue.

“Soonyoung!” Carmen calls out, waving her hands.

The men meet you halfway, Soonyoung’s eyes lighting up when he sees her. Jun nods in your direction with a hello, but his eyes are on Carmen, gazing at her softly.

“Carmen! What a surprise! I thought you were still in Chicago.” He embraces her warmly.

“I was,” Carmen confirms. “But I had a change in plans.”

Soonyoung’s gaze then shifted to you, and for a split second, a flicker of something unreadable crossed his features before settling into his usual charming grin. “Hi Kitty! How are you?”

“Kitty?” Carmen shouts in surprise. “Are you sweet on my baby cousin?”

“Hello, Soonyoung,” you reply, your tone cooler than you mean to be. “I’m okay. We are headed to lunch.” You offered a small, stiff nod.

Soonyoung looks taken aback by you being closed off, and you feel bad, but you know this is what’s best. You have a lot on your plate as it is.

Carmen's gaze lingers on Jun, a flicker of affection crossing her features before vanishing as if it were never there. “Hi there, Jun bug.”

Jun breaks into a gentle smile. “Hi there, Carmen. You been okay?”

She nods, letting out a chuckle. “You know me, I’m always on the move.”

“Don’t I know it,” he replies shortly.

Your forehead furrows as you observe the clear chemistry between them. Carmen hasn’t mentioned Jun at all during your time together. She has some explaining to do.

‘Well, we were about to go inside,” you announce, words clipped, pointing at the cafe. “It’s cold.”

“Oh, yes,” Carmen nods quickly, sidestepping Soonyoung. Her hand briefly graces Jun’s, and you wear it for a moment; there's a spark in his eyes that tells a story. “Comin’ cuz?”

“Oh, yes,” you bob, shuffling quickly to the door. “Stay warm, gentleman.”

Carmen links her arm through yours, a knowing look on her face. “Alright, spill it, cuz. What was that all about?”

You sigh, the irritation bubbling up. “What do you mean?”

“That frosty reception you gave Soonyoung,” she clarifies, her eyebrow arched. “I’ve never seen you so… reserved with anyone, let alone someone who’s practically saving your hide.”

“I wasn’t being frosty,” you defend. “I was being polite.”

“Oh, please,” Carmen waves you off. “I’ve seen you be polite, and this ain’t that.”

The waitress leads you to a booth and takes both your orders for black coffee. Carmen gets comfortable, taking off her jacket and setting it to her left. “Spill.”

With a heavy sigh, you recount the night at the speakeasy, the woman, Hazel, and your annoyance at your own reaction. “I don’t know, Carmen. He calls me ‘Kitty,’ and it’s cute. He’s cute, but then there’s… her. And it just makes me feel… foolish, I suppose. I don’t know why I am even entertaining this.”

“So you like him?” Carmen probes, mouthing thank you to the waitress for setting down their cups of coffee. “He’s better than the last one, I’ll tell you that.”

You throw her a look. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Maybe,” she says with a smirk, stirring her coffee with sugar. “Honey, let me tell you something about Soonyoung. He’s a man of business, of connections, of secrets. He’s got women who adore him, women he’s charming to, women he does favors for. And yes, he tends to be a sweet on the berries. But he doesn’t go out of his way to explain himself to them. If he’s trying to make you understand something, or if he’s even aware that you’re upset about another woman, that means something.”

You frown, considering her words. “I guess you’re right… But what about her? This Hazel woman?”

“I know Hazel, not well but enough to know she doesn’t matter,” Carmen says dismissively. “And as for why it bothers you… Well, you’re human, aren’t you? You’re in a new city, vulnerable, and he’s been kind. It’s natural to be interested in him. And after the things you have gone through, I welcome this reprieve.” She sips her coffee, nodding in satisfaction. “She’s probably just jealous of you, anyway. You’re the new, intriguing thing in Soonyoung’s orbit.”

You chew on your lip. “I don’t know, Carmen. I just… I don’t want to be distracted. I have to stay focused. There’s a whole reward out for me, remember?”

“I understand that,” she says gently. “But sometimes, a little distraction can be a good thing. Just keep your eyes open, and don’t let your heart get ahead of your head. But,” she adds, reassuring you by squeezing your hand, “I think you should give him a chance to explain himself, if he tries.”

You mull over her words, considering what she says. “Fine, I suppose you’re right.”

Carmen bellows her seat, earning glances from others in the diner. “Of course I’m right.”

You shake your head, a small smile on your lips. “So,” you start, with a mischievous glint in your eye. “Are you ready to tell me what that was with you and that fellow Jun?

Carmen smoothly pulls out a pack of Lucky Strikes, placing a cigarette in her mouth and lighting it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, cousin.”

You sit back in your seat, folding your arms with a knowing look. “Don’t act cute with me.”

“I‘m not acting,” she insists, inhaling deeply into the tobacco-stuffed stick. “I just don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Sure,” you remark, sipping your coffee.

Carmen exhales a perfect ‘O’ with the smoke, looking satisfied as she dumps the ashes onto a track. It’s nice, being around her again. You missed her witty banter and her protective nature. In life, she was the only one in your corner, your advocate in a society where men dictated your future. She is two years older than you, and you look up to her immensely. You wish you were as strong as she is and could have left home when she did, starting a life on her own terms and deciding her own future. But you were the pawn in someone else’s game, supposed to live by someone else’s rules.

Well, not anymore.

“This place is a darb!”

Carmen stayed in the city for a few more days to handle business with Soonyoung and others, saying she was leaving on Sunday and going back home to Georgia. But she was determined to see what the speakeasy was like, dragging you with her, stating, “I’ve only come here to drop off and collect, not to see the party.”

She stuns in a gold sequin dress, her hair styled in tight curls and a matching gold turban. looking every much like the belle of the ball. Carmen prefers to wear pants and a shirt, but when it is time to dress up, she follows the dress code to a T. You wore an uneven-hem dress, looking pretty in pink with a pin-up bob. You both turn heads everywhere you go, and it feels great. There is a new band tonight, featuring a woman who sings like a pretty canary.

“Look what the cat dragged in!”

Whirling around, you face Soonyoung, looking dapper as ever in a black bow tie and white vest with a tuxedo jacket. His hair was slicked back, handsome, and you can’t take your eyes off him. You step back to let Carmen hug him, breaking out of your trance. Why does he have to be so cute?

“Soonyoung? Dressed Up?” Carmen’s voice bellows over the music. “What’s the occasion?”

Glancing at the band and then looking at you, the corner of his mouth lifts into an infectious grin. “I wanted to switch things around.”

“Is that so?” Carmen counters. “Has nothing to do with my baby cousin here, does it?”

Soonyoung, ever the gentleman, places his finger on his lips. “Maybe.” Holding out his hand, he turns to you. “You would like to dance with me?”

You blink, your body thinking before your head as you place your hand in his, beaming at him. “I would love to.”

You thought about Carmen’s advice a lot, and you decided to put that incident with Hazel behind you. You had no right to be jealous, but you can’t help what you feel, being stirred up by a man with dimples and a cute smile. Soonyoung is quite literally keeping you going, giving you a job and a place to stay as you get on your feet. He’s respectful and kind, and he managed to make you laugh. The point is, who wouldn’t start crushing on a gentleman like him?

Soonyoung leads you to the dance floor, his hands placed on your hips as the woman sings about finding love in an unusual place. You feel Soonyoung’s eyes on you, acutely aware of the placement of his fingers, almost too aware, as if you are being branded with it.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Soonyoung shouts, leaning into your ear. “I wanted to really explain the other night—”

“Soonyoung, really, it’s fine—”

“But I insist.”

Sighing softly, you nod for him to continue. “Hazel, the woman that you saw, it’s nothing serious. At least not anymore,” Soonyoung explains, his rhythm matching the tempo of the song. “I knew her when we were kids, we… got friendly and it became something until it wasn’t.”

“Why did it end?” You interrogate him. “You have known each other since you were kids. That couldn’t have been easy.”

“Well, she is the jealous type—”

“Oh, ya don’t say?” You remark sarcastically.

“And it was messing with my business,” Soonyoung lands his point. “We agreed to be friends, and everything has been fine… until recently.”

“Uh huh.”

Soonyoung spins you around as the singer hits a higher, final note, then pulls you back into his arms. Your body is close to his, gazing into his deep brown eyes, hoping to detect a sliver of deception somewhere, to make it easier not to want to get to know him, even to want him. But he looks sincere, and something tells you to trust him.

“I know we just met and you don’t have to believe me,” he breathes, his voice smooth in your ear. “But I would never put you in that position.”

The tension is too hot to ignore, his face too close to yours, his lips too perfect to kiss—

The song ends with the saxophone blaring a tune, and the patrons around clapping and whistling away. You step away, shaking your head with a soft smile. “I’m going to get a drink.”

Making your way towards the bar, you wave to Mingyu, who comes over shortly after with a Bee’s Knee’s in his hand. The citrusy-sweet drink calms your nerves, recounting that moment with Soonyoung on the dance floor. It was electric, magnetic, being in his arms. It feels silly having these feelings for someone you barely know, and maybe it is because of the hell of your past, and the loneliness, but perhaps this isn’t a bad thing, pursuing this with Soonyoung.

You observe the scene: patrons chatting away, glasses in hand, smiles on their faces. Carmen is talking animatedly with Vernon, while Chan is making the rounds, presumably to make sure everything is in order. But you find yourself looking for Soonyoung, who suddenly disappeared in the midst of the crowd. Your curiosity is piqued, setting down your glass and looking for the man who has kept your attention for far too long.

“I’ll be back for another one soon,” you say, already halfway towards the dance floor.

“You got it, doll!” Mingyu calls out, though you barely hear him.

You scan the people, the hidden corners, and open rooms, hoping he will pop out somewhere. But after a few mere moments, disappointment creeps in, and you subconsciously blow a raspberry. You make eye contact with Carmen, who mouths, “Are you okay?” You hold a thumbs up, beckoning towards the back entrance, signaling with your hands that you are going to get some fresh air.

Grabbing your coat, you step out into the cold air, pulling out a cigarette you borrowed from Carmen, lighting it, and taking a puff. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you feel more at ease and relaxed.

“Really, Kwon? You are going to dance with her in front of me?”

“Hazel, you’re being foolish—”

“I DON’T CARE! I told you that you will always belong to me.”

You hear shuffling and the clack of heels coming in your direction. Panicking, you put out your cigarette and hide in the shadows, eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Hazel, we are no longer acquainted in that way. We agreed to be friends, and YOU were the one who suggested that.”

That voice is undoubtedly Soonyoung’s, and your heart drops. Makes sense why you couldn’t find him; he is arguing with his ex.

“Soonyoung, you and I will never be just ‘friends,’ and you know this. Hell, you still neck me every chance you get.”

“Hazel, we haven’t been together in months.”

She comes into view, wearing a sleeveless dress and heels that show off her legs, looking at Soonyoung as if he were delectable. She slowly pulls up her dress, revealing a high-waisted garter belt that matches her stockings. You look away instinctively, feeling uncomfortable with a woman showing herself so freely in the night, where anyone can see.

“Are you saying you don’t miss me?”

As you look back, she reaches out to him, taking his hand and moving it towards her center. You stand there in anticipation, waiting on bated breath to see if he would react or give in to his desires. He snatches his hand away, to your delight, and he steps around her, taking off his coat and covering it over her.

“You know I care about you, and I will always make sure you are okay, ” Soonyoung cups her face with his hand. “But hear me when I say this, Hazel: you and I are just friends. No necking, no kissing. Nothing. Now you can either stay and enjoy the rest of the night or go home. Your choice.”

You slip out of the shadows before you are caught, going back into the warmth of the speakeasy and finding your cousin. You will not lie to yourself that you didn’t enjoy hearing him reject her. She is rude, pompous, and deserves to be put down a few pegs. You don’t know what will happen with you and Soonyoung, but at least you know she is no longer the object of his desires.

You find Carmen at the bar, taking a small sip of her drink. “Are you alright?”

You lift your finger to Mingyu, signaling that you want another drink. Despite the heavy atmosphere, you feel lighter and more at ease. You spot Soonyoung coming back in alone, scanning the room until he finds you and smiles.

Carmen nudges your shoulder, bringing you back to focus. “Well, are you?”

Mingyu returns with your drink, and you smile to yourself. “I’m good, cousin. Never better.”

A few weeks have passed since then, and things have improved between Soonyoung and you. You’ve come in and even managed to create a new system to count the books in the future, to untangle the chicken scratch Soonyoung had been scribbling for years. You show up at the barbershop sometimes to “observe,” but he has a feeling it’s because you enjoy being there. His life has gotten better since you’ve come along, and he won’t lie to himself and say he doesn’t have feelings for you. Your smile is infectious; you share his sense of humor; your Southern accent is music to his ears; and your intellect is rare. If someone were to ask what his favorite pastime is, it would be watching you work numbers; you thrive in it. Jun comes in from time to time to “be in the know”, but Soonyoung suspects it’s to make sure you aren’t a distraction. Well, plot twist: you’ve been a distraction since you walked in his door.

It’s Thursday afternoon, and he closes the shop early after his last appointment of the day. Spring has barely awakened, and it’s already warmer than normal, enough that he could forgo his jacket. He could go home for the day or go to the hashhouse he frequents for a corned beef hash and eggs, but he finds himself standing outside of his building, looking at the hotel—the very hotel you’re in.

Crossing the street, he strides towards the front door, being greeted by the tobacco smoke and perfumes that make his nose tickle. He is greeted by the doorman and the front desk attendants, whom Soonyoung knows on a first-name basis. He’s come to this hotel often when he was helping someone temporarily or if he needed a room for himself. Comes with the perks of being good buds with the owner.

“You’re not here to cause more trouble in my hotel, are you?”

Soonyoung turns around, meeting the very owner of this establishment, Yoon Jeonghan. His dad used to get his hair cut by Soonyoung’s dad, and eventually Jeonghan started coming around when he was old enough. They didn’t go to the same schools, as Jeonghan came from money, but he never treated him any differently. Soonyoung was invited to the Yoon family's birthday parties and events, and sometimes he was allowed to come over and play on their estate. The hotel is a family business, and when Jeonghan’s father retired, he took over and even franchised it, opening another in Chicago.

What made Jeonghan and Soonyoung best friends was saving Jeonghan’s life from petty thieves. As pretty as Jeonghan is, he is a fighter without the grit of being hungry and doing whatever it takes to satisfy it. Had Soonyoung not walked around the corner and seen what was happening, Jeonghan would have been one for the worse. Ever since that day, Jeonghan has felt indebted to him.

“Ah, just the same ol’, same ol’,” Soonyoung greets him with an enthusiastic handshake.

“Oh?” Jeonghan responds, looking around. “There’s no woman with you—”

“No, you smart aleck,” Soonyoung laughs. “I’m here to see her.”

Jeonghan’s eyebrows raise, looking amused. “She’s still willing to see your mug after letting Hazel kiss you for the world to see?”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen, jumping back a little. “Who told you about that?”

“You mean who didn’t tell me about that?” Jeonghan quips with a smirk.

“It was Chan, wasn’t it?”

“Yep.”

Soonyoung scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t let her kiss me—she just did it. Plus, I no longer see her. She knows this.”

“You try telling Hazel she can’t get what she wants,” Jeonghan lets out a silvery laugh.

Soonyoung shakes his head. “Is she upstairs?” He asks, pointing toward the stairs.

“Go find out yourself, Romeo. Room 2G.”

He bids his friend farewell, then walks up the spiral wooden staircase to the second floor. He could have taken the elevator, but he wanted to take his time and get his thoughts in order. Soonyoung had no other plan besides wanting to see you, but he figured the least he could do was ask for a little of your time. He wonders if you would mind.

He walks down the hallway until he finds your room, the very last door on the left. His heart pounds like a beating drum, wondering if this was appropriate or if you would find him weird. His breath hitching, he knocks three times in a row, the sound echoing in the hall. It’s very quiet, and he isn't sure you are even home. But as he is about to knock again, he hears shuffling on the other side, inching closer to the door.

“Who is it?”

Soonyoung lets out a sigh of relief. “It’s me, Kitty.”

There is a brief pause before the door opens, you standing there in a soft blue-and-white midi dress. You’re shocked to see you, but then her face softens, breaking into a smile. “W-what are you doing here?”

He leans against the door, returning your smile. “I’m here to take you out.”

You blink at him, staring dumbfoundedly. “Did we make plans? My apologies if I forgot—”

“No, no, Kitty,” he chortles, shaking his head. “I finished work early, and the weather is nice. I want to know if you want to take a walk with me.”

“Oh,” your face softens as you bite your bottom lip. “Are you asking me to go on a date with you?”

Soonyoung could turn into a puddle right then and there. You look delicate, touched, as if you could not possibly be considered for a date. As far as he is concerned, you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

“I-It doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want it to be,” Soonyoung sputters, his face turning red. “It can be a simple walk to the park or sit at the diner, catching up on lunch—”

“Soonyoung,” you cut in, your accent thick towards the end. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

His insides are doing backflips, elated that you said yes. “G-great Kitty. I’m glad.”

“Give me a moment to grab my purse and a coat,” you request, softly shutting the door.

You were only gone for a minute, but it felt like hours as Soonyoung waited for you to come back. Do I take you to the hash house, or should we go to Central Park? he thinks to himself. He paces a little in the hallway, not noticing that you were standing at the doorway, watching him with an amused look on your face.

“I’m ready,” you announce, reaching behind you and shutting the door. You draped a dark blue cape over your dress, holding a white purse. Locking the door with an iron key, you slip it into your bag. “Coming? Or am I going on this outing by myself?”

This is unlike him, being this nervous about taking a woman out. It’s not like this is his first rodeo, but not everyone is like you, either. “Come on, doll, let’s go.”

Soonyoung leads you to the elevators, waiting patiently until the doors go ding. The operator greets you with a nod, stepping aside to let you both in. You hum a soft tune that he doesn’t recognize, but sounds like a canary coming from you.

“Do you sing?” Soonyoung asks, letting you walk into the elevator first.

“Meh, not really,” you respond, taking a spot in the left corner. “Carmen is the singer of the family. I can hum a song or two.”

The elevator goes down, a smooth transition to the lobby in under thirty seconds. "Well, if it means anything,” Soonyong gazes at you, “I think you have a lovely voice.”

You light up at his comment, small stars in your eyes. “Thank you, Soonyoung.”

The elevator doors open, and Soonyoung holds out his shoulder, allowing you to slip your arm into his as you walk into the lobby. Your perfume smells of your usual honey and vanilla, and it’s starting to become his favorite scent. It’s warm and familiar, just like you are starting to become ever since you walked into his life. Jeonghan is at the front desk, glancing at your intertwined arms and waving at the two of you with a smirk.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kids,” he calls out as you both walk out of the lobby.

Stepping outside into the warm spring air, the city is bustling with people of all walks of life. Men with their briefcases as they leave their jobs, women with their children and hands full with shopping bags, couples embracing as they walk down the street. Cars zoom back and forth, smoke trailing from their exhaust pipes. It’s a beautiful time to be in the big city, full of life.

“Is there any place you would like to go?” Soonyoung asks.

Mulling over your options, you point towards your left. “Believe it or not, I have not been to Central Park yet.”

Soonyoung is taken aback. Almost everyone who visits New York City goes to Central Park. The lake is grand, and around this time of year, the ducks return from winter, swimming happily in the lake. Of course, he will take you there—he’ll go wherever you want to go.

“Central Park it is.”

It’s a several-block walk to the massive park, but you both get there quickly with small talk. Stepping towards the entrance, your steps falter, looking in awe at the beauty of the park. The oak trees are in bloom in various shades, and the birds fly over your heads while singing a pretty tune, almost like you would hear on a radio program. The sun shines on you in the right way, and Soonyoung stands back, taking you all in. If there were a heaven on Earth, you would certainly be an angel.

“This is more beautiful than they described,” you say aloud, twirling in a circle.

“Yeah, beautiful,’ Soonyoung murmurs, his gaze fixated on you.

You glance at him before looking away, trying to hide the smile on your face. Soonyoung clears his throat, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “So, Kitty. What do you want to do first? We could rent a rowboat, or we could walk around the park a bit more.”

You turn back to him, a thoughtful expression on your face. “I would love to walk more,” you suggest. “I-I want to see it all, if you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t mind it at all,” Soonyoung replies, offering you his arm once more. “Let me show you around.”

Soonyoung brought you to every part of the park imaginable, past laughing children chasing pigeons and couples strolling hand in hand. The path winds through a grove of blossoming cherry trees, their delicate petals fluttering down like pink snow. You slip out of his arms momentarily to stand under one of the trees, the petals falling on you and kissing your cape. Soonyoung feels as if he were watching you in slow motion, in a daze, as if he is in a daydream.

“You’re staring,” you call out, beaming at him and holding out your arm. “Come join me.”

Your smile fills him with a warmth he can’t describe. “I like watching you from right here.”

“Why?” You ask with a curious look.

“Because I’ve never believed in angels before, until now.”

You’re left speechless; your mouth opening and shutting before you collect yourself and amble over to him. “You’re a real Casanova, you know that?”

Soonyoung lets out a joyous peal of laughter, impressed by your smoothness and ability to flirt back. Looking around, he finds a secluded bench beneath a sprawling oak with new leaves a vibrant green. “You want to sit over there?” He asks, pointing at it.

“Yeah, sure,” you respond. “My feet can use a little break, anyway.”

As you sit, a comfortable silence settles between you, broken only by the distant city hum and the chirping of birds. He can’t help but behold you, watching you find contentment in just being outside and in the small things in life.

“This is truly magnificent,” you breathe, gazing at the vibrant tapestry of spring around you. “It feels like a different world, far removed from the bustle of the city.”

Soonyoung smiles, leaning back against the bench and smoothly placing his arm around your shoulder. “It is, isn’t it? A little slice of peace. I often come here when I need to clear my head.” He turns to you, his expression gentle. “So, Kitty, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. You mentioned you hadn’t been to Central Park before, despite being in New York for a while now. What brought you to the city, anyway? Such a big change from… Georgia.”

You gaze at him, a smile on your lips but not matching your eyes, then you sigh deeply. “My story is much different from yours,” you begin. “My mother is dead as well, but hers was from childbirth, having who would have been my little brother, and my father was never the same. I come from money; my father owned a steeling company that was very successful in our town and in Atlanta. He focused on that and made sure I had the essentials, but I never existed to him unless he needed a prop to show that he had a perfect daughter and he was living just fine.”

“Kitty, I’m sorry—”

“Nothing to be sorry for, Soonyoung,” you assure him. “You didn’t know.”

“Alright,” Soonyoung says slowly, the wheels turning in his head. “So you left because of your father..?”

“Oh, gosh, no,” you shake your head. “Well, partly. I was his only child, his little princess. And he made sure I was sheltered from everything. He believed a woman’s place was in the home, you see. That we couldn’t possibly understand the intricacies of business, let alone run one.”

Soonyoung’s brow furrows. “That’s a shame. From what I’ve seen, you’re sharper than most men I know.”

A small, sad smile touches your lips. “Thank you, Soonyoung. But my father didn’t see it that way. He wanted to ‘ensure my future’, he said. So, when I came of age, he… he sold his business. To a man he deemed worthy. And I… I was part of the deal.” You paused, Soonyoung noticing your grip on your leg tightening almost imperceptibly. “As in, he sold the company to my ex-husband, Claudius, and I was, as he put it, ‘a perk of the acquisition.’”

Soonyoung’s jaw clenches in anger. He turns to face you full, his eyes search yours. “So he sold you?”

You finally gaze back, the sadness and pain etched on your face, clear as day. “Not in so many words, but that’s how it felt. Claudius was kind at first, said all the right things, and made me believe he respected me. But we said “I do”, it was like a candle blew out. He became cruel, didn’t trust me, and flew into jealous fits of rage if another man talked to me. I was only allowed to talk to the wives of his business partners, and my God, he hated Carmen. I had to sneak out of my own home to see her. Ironically, he didn’t trust many people either. He even made me start cutting his hair.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you recount the memories of your past. “Claudius didn’t just control my finances, he controlled my life, my thoughts, my very being. He… hurt me.”

Soonyoung is burning up inside, appalled at how you were being treated. “And your father just did nothing?”

You look down, twiddling with your hands nervously, your bottom lip trembling. “He died shortly after we got married. He had an accident on his boat and was found a week later.”

The news hits him like a moving train. You have suffered so much and understand the loss of losing both of your parents, though in different ways. He has a sudden urge to protect you and fight your battles. Hell, he even has half a mind to go down to Georgia and give this “Claudius” a piece of his mind.

“Kitty,” he says gently, taking your hand. “I’m so sorry. No one deserves that.”

Tears welling in your eyes, you wipe them away quickly. “I knew I had to leave. I couldn’t stay there, not anymore. So I took what little I could and ran. I came to New York, hoping to disappear, to start fresh, and be my own person.”

Soonyoung understands you more than you know. When his father died, many businessmen approached him to buy the shop, doubting he could uphold his father's standards and keep it successful. They saw the property as a bag of money to be turned into a boutique or something regal in the big city. But he stood his ground and proved to everyone that not only could he uphold the same standards, but he could make it better.

His thumb strokes your hand gently. “Y/N, I will not let anything ever happen to you. You are safe here, to be your own person and to live the life that you deserve.”

He feels more connected to you in this moment than he ever has. His heart aches for this woman who has suffered so much, and also swells with admiration for you, who didn't cower before the disappointments in your life, left on your own terms.

“Thank you, Soonyoung,” your voice trembles. “I appreciate it.”

You lay your head on his shoulder, and a comfortable silence falls as you watch the ducks swim in the lake a few yards away, and hear the birds sing an afternoon tune. The sun shifts westward as it begins to set in the golden hour. In this moment, the world around you fades, leaving only the two of you, suspended in a bubble.

“I just realized something,” you say aloud, lifting your head. “You called me by my real name.”

Soonyoung gazes at you and then laughs, impressed by your intellect once again. “I wanted to be serious for a moment.”

“I see,” you nod thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t mind it when you call me Kitty.”

“Oh?” Soonyoung shifts on the bench, looking at you more clearly. “So you do like being called Kitty.”

You let out a laugh, cheery and bright. “No, I like it when you call me Kitty.”

You laugh until there is nothing left, gazing into each other's eyes with unspoken words but understanding at the same time. Feeling brave, Soonyoung inches closer to you, and you repeat the motion until your noses are barely touching. It feels like gravity pulling you two together, and Soonyoung wonders what it would be like to have the honor of kissing you.

“Soonyoung,” you whisper, touching his cheek. “Please kiss me—”

“Ahem.”

Whipping his head around, Soonyoung looks at the man who ruined his moment, ready to blow a gasket, only for it to be Jun.

“Jun?” Soonyoung queries, reluctantly untangling himself from you. “What are you doing here, of all places?”

“Looking for you, actually,” Jun remarks, a worried look on his face. “I got some news you aren’t gonna want to hear.”

Jun nods, gives a subtle dip in your direction, then beckons Soonyoung to the side. He follows Jun a few paces away, out of earshot. Then Jun drops a bombshell:

“I spoke with my boss today,” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper as he looks around. “Bob’s Shack, down on 42nd, got raided. Full-on bust. Not just a hash house, they found the speakeasy in the back.”

Soonyoung’s eyes narrow, his mind buzzing at the news. “How did they get found out? Their operation was solid.”

“That’s the thing,” Jun shakes his head grimly. “We think somebody is talking to the feds. Too much of a coincidence, ya know?”

A cold knot forms in Soonyoung’s stomach. A snitch is in the midst. This isn’t good. He thinks of his own operations, his own people. He needs to make some calls and shore things up. But first… he glances back at you, sitting patiently, a wistful look on your face as you watched the ducks. He can't just leave you here.

“We gotta shut down for a while,” Jun states. “Last week’s shipment has to be it until all of this passes, you know?”

Soonyoung reluctantly assents, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I gotta go back to the shop and make some things shake then. But first, let me take her back to the hotel.”

Jun nods in agreement, looking up at the sky. The purple hues of the blue hour are starting to set in, the sun just barely over the horizon. “I’ll meet you back at the barbershop,” he announces, walking back in the direction he came. “Y/N, I bid you a good night.”

You smile in his direction, standing up slowly and dusting the back of your dress. Taking a deep breath, Soonyoung returns to your side to deliver the bad news. “I have to take care of some things at the shop,” he begins. “A local hash house was raided, and I have to move some things around before I’m next. So that means no speakeasy for a while.”

“Oh!” You exclaim, clutching the pearls on your neck. “Do you need me to help move anything around or—”

“No, no, Kitty,” Soonyoung shakes his head. “The boys and I will handle this. I’m going to walk you back to the hotel, though, okay?”

You study him carefully, and Soonyoung knows you have so many questions about what’s happening. In due time, he will answer them, but for now, he has to go.

“Okay,” you finally respond. “Let’s go back.”

The walk back is quieter than your journey in. The air is filled with a subtle tension, Soonyoung’s mind already racing through possibilities, trying to identify the leak, to protect his interests. But he tries to push it aside, focusing on you and making sure you are safe and sound. He holds out his arm for you to take, leaning your head on his shoulder and not letting go until you reach the familiar elegance of the hotel lobby. Soonyoung feels a pang of regret, leaving so abruptly, but duty calls.

Greeted by the doorman, you ascend to your floor, walking to the door as he promised. You dig in your purse, grabbing the ornate iron key, its glint in your hand. You turned to face him, a slow smile creeping on your face. “Thank you, Soonyoung,” you say softly. “This was nice.”

“No, thank you for agreeing to come,” Soonyoung replies earnestly. “You could have declined.”

“Yeah, I could have,” you say with a thoughtful look on your face. A mischievous glint appears in your eyes as you break into a wicked grin. “But I’m glad I didn’t.”

Soonyoung doesn’t want to leave. He wants to continue on this date, take you out to a proper meal, and get to know you better. He wants to know what makes your brain tick and learn more of your quirks. He wants to hear anything you have to say with that delectable Southern accent of yours. Soonyoung wants all of you: your heart, mind, and soul. But it’s all about time and circumstances, and today is not the day for that, he’s afraid.

“Well, I’ll see you on Monday?” you ask, uncertainty in the air.

”Y-Yeah,” he responds, snapping back into reality. “Monday, you still report to work, business as usual.”

He watches you unlock your door, staying until he is sure you are safe in your room. Turning on his heel, he tips his hat to wish you good night. “Be safe, Kitty.”

Soonyoung’s heart beats heavily as he forces himself to turn away, trudging down the hall towards the elevator with great effort. Maybe, another day, he’ll be able to tell you how he feels and make something out of it.

“Soonyoung! Wait!”

He turns quickly, watching you run down the hall to meet him, your chest heaving fast with a wild determination in your eyes that he doesn’t recognize.

“Soonyoung, please don’t look at me differently,” you say breathlessly.

‘What to do mean, Ki—”

You shut him up with a kiss, your lips capturing his, catching him off guard, and knocking his hat off. Your lips are softer than he imagined, your honey and vanilla perfume taking over him, and Soonyoung can’t help but wrap his arms around your body and pull you closer. He deepens the kiss, the world fading as you get lost in one another. He feels a spark ignite, warming his body and taking away the chill he felt from Jun’s news. When you finally pull away, breathless, your eyes are closed with a small content smile on your lips.

“I’ll let you go now,” you whisper, walking back to your hotel. “Good night, Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung is rooted where he stands, watching you retreat to your room until you disappear. He touches his lips, not entirely believing that this just happened, but nevertheless, glad.

“Good night, Kitty,” finally responds.

Walking away, he leaps and kicks his feet—Soonyoung may just have fallen in love.

This isn’t the life Hazel envisioned for herself. When she was a little girl, she told herself she would marry someone successful, start a family, and never have to work again. She would maintain her looks, have her diamonds and pearls, and always be the apple of everyone’s eyes. She is not meant to be working at this hash house, sweating in the kitchen, serving coffee and meals all day. The shifts seem never to end with each clatter of a plate, each gruff order, chipping away at her patience.

Hazel glances at the clock, just a few minutes before three, when she can be replaced and leave this god-forsaken place. She yearns for the thrill of the speakeasy, for the easy charm of Soonyoung, for the life she knows she deserves but hasn't quite grasped. Soonyoung was supposed to be her way out, and she would have almost had him, had it not been for you. You have ruined everything, walking into the place as if you own it, with a superiority and Southern belle act that makes her sick. Who do you think you are, coming into her town with her people and taking away her man? Hazel will not settle for that, and by all means, she will get you out of here.

“Another coffee, doll,” a gruff voice startles her from her thoughts. She pours the dark liquid, the steam momentarily clouding her vision. The two men at the corner booth, dressed in business suits, had been lingering for hours, nursing their drinks and talking in low tones. Usually, Hazel ignores the chatter, but something in their hushed conversation snagged her attention.

“Heard ole Claudius Foster, from Foster Steele down in Atlanta, is still stewing,” one of them, a burly man with messy blonde hair, rumbles. “Put out a hefty reward, I heard. Two hundred dollars, just to find his runaway wife.”

Hazel pauses, the coffee pot hovering over the cup. Two hundred dollars. That's enough to get her out of this dump, enough to buy a ticket to a new life. Her ears perk up, straining to catch every word.

“Aye, that’s right,” the other man chimes in, lighting a cigarette. “Said she was a real looker, too. Southern charm, sweet as peach pie, but with a sharp mind. He even gave out a hand-drawn portrait of what she looks like. I got one from a buddy when I was passing through Tennessee.” He chuckles, exhaling a plume of smoke while pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Oh, she’s a looker, alright—makes me want to take her home to be my wife instead.”

The men’s guffaws are heard throughout the restaurant, earning stares. Hazel pours coffee in the other man’s cup, sneaking a glance at the paper he was holding, and her blood runs cold, then hot. It is, in fact, you, drawn almost perfectly to a T. This ‘Claudius’ person really wants to find you. A cold, hard knot forms in Hazel’s stomach, but it isn't fear or regret. It's a surge of vindictive triumph. An opportunity to rid you out of her life once and for all, and for her to reclaim what is hers.

“Heard she left him in the dead of night,” the first man continues, oblivious to Hazel’s sudden intensity. “Packed a small bag, took something valuable from him, and disappeared like smoke. He’s furious. Wants her back something fierce and is willing to pay to make sure she comes back to him alive.”

Leaning slightly over his shoulder without being caught, Hazel memorizes the address for the point of contact if you are found, before turning around, scribbling it on a notepad. A rush fills her veins like no other, the taste of victory in her mouth and freedom within her grasp. Her replacement, Mary, appears to her left, tying her apron around her waist.

“It’s three, Hazel,” she announces. “You can skedaddle.”

Hazel moves like a bat out of hell, tearing her apron off and shoving it in a corner of the office. Hastily putting on her coat, she rushes out of the hash house, speed-walking to the nearest Western Union four blocks away. A wicked smile spread across her lips as she recounts her plan: turn you in, get the reward, level up, and show Soonyoung exactly what he’s been missing. He misses her; she knows it, whether he is willing to admit it or not. They were each other’s firsts, and he will come back to her; he always does. She needs to show him a reason, that’s all.

Hazel reaches the tall brown building with gold-plated letters that read “Western Union”. Shuffling inside, approaches the clerk, taking a pen and paper that were laid on the desk, and begins to write.

To Claudius Foster, of Foster Steel, Atlanta

Your Southern belle is in New York City

I will confirm the location in person once the reward is given.

Find me at 143 Wisteria Lane, New York City, 12344

She slides the paper across the counter, paying for the service and watching the clerk take it to the back to be sent. Hazel swells with pride, stepping out of the building with a smugness that can be seen from miles away. She isn’t stupid; she knows not to give away the location right away for someone else to take credit. Hazel is going to control this narrative, and while this Southern belle, ‘Kitty’, thinks she has Soonyoung and is above her, Hazel is going to pull the rug from under her and send her back where she belongs.

AN: Part 2 will be coming soon. I have a lot of projects coming up that have impending deadlines that I have to work on + plus other series that need to be wrapped up :) Fortunately, part 2 is already outlined and all I have to do is write it. What did ya'll think of Act I? Let me know in the comments and/or likes/reblogs 🤎

hyunjin paints like he knows exactly what he wants to say. you can tell even before the first day ends. his brush moves with an ease that feels almost rude, lines confident, colors layered without hesitation. he’s not afraid of committing to a decision and then building on it. you, on the other hand, spend too long mixing the right green, second guessing the warmth of a shadow, lifting your brush just before it touches the canvas and then lowering it again. you inhale the scent of crushed stems and wet canvas until it all blurs together, oil and something faintly sweet.

at some point you feel his eyes flick up toward you. not lingering, not invasive, just curious. still, you straighten instinctively. you add detail where you do not need it, soften an edge that might have been better left sharp. when the professor finally calls time, clapping hands together and announcing cleanup, your shoulders ache with tension. hyunjin steps back from his easel, evaluates his work for a moment, then looks over properly.

“your colors are nice,” he says, voice calm and unassuming. “you’re just scared of them.”

it is said plainly, not unkind. it catches you off guard anyway. you blink, then laugh, because it is either that or argue. “not everyone enjoys attacking a canvas,” you reply, wiping your brush on a rag. “some of us prefer to speak with it.”

he smiles at that, small and quick, like you passed some test neither of you announced. “fair enough,” he says, “but sometimes the canvas likes a little violence.”

the rest of the day lingers in that strange way first encounters do. you catch yourself glancing back to his work, measuring your progress against his, annoyed at how naturally balanced his composition feels. there is a flicker of competition there, sharp and motivating. you tell yourself it’s purely academic.

the first night you come back to the studio is out of habit more than intention. you tell yourself you forgot something, that you just need another hour, that tomorrow will be easier if you fix this now. the room is dimmer, fluorescent lights humming overhead, the bouquet drooping slightly now, smell deeper and almost too sweet. petals litter the table like discarded thoughts.

hyunjin is there already, of course, sleeves pushed up again, hair escaping its tie. his jacket is slung over the back of a chair, and he has traded his careful daytime strokes for something looser, more experimental. you hesitate in the doorway, considering retreat, and he glances up, surprised in a way that looks genuine.

“couldn’t stay away either?” he says.

you shrug, stepping inside. “the flowers were haunting me.”

he hums, amused, and returns to his canvas. you set up in silence, the kind that is comfortable but alert, punctuated by the scrape of stools and the soft clink of glass jars. after a while he gestures vaguely with his brush. “your shadows could go darker. right there, behind the lilies. you’re being polite again.”

you narrow your eyes at his painting. “and you could afford to lose a flower. everything doesn’t need to be in focus.”

he considers that, then nods slowly. “maybe you’re right.”

it feels formal, like two professionals negotiating, but there’s something softer between your tone, like the room itself is listening. when you finally leave, it is well past midnight and the smell of flowers clings to your clothes.

you start to notice how hyunjin approaches the bouquet from different angles each session, how he shifts his palette subtly as the flowers age. you try to match his confidence with discipline, pushing yourself to commit faster, to trust your instincts. sometimes it works. sometimes it doesn’t. when the professor pauses behind you one afternoon and murmurs approval, hyunjin looks over and raises an eyebrow, mock offended.

“guess i need to step it up,” he says.

“you say that like you’re not already showing off,” you reply.

“competition is healthy,” he says lightly, but his eyes are bright, engaged. it feels like a challenge.

“convenient philosophy,” you reply. “especially coming from someone who could probably submit a napkin sketch and still get praise.”

he laughs at that, genuine and unguarded. later, when he watches you work for a moment longer than usual, he says quietly, “you’re improving faster than you think.”

you roll your eyes, but the comment lands somewhere warm. “that sounds like flattery.”

“i’d be worse at it if that were the case,” he says. “i’m very obvious when i’m trying.”

over the week, you start to notice him everywhere, as if he has always been threaded through the campus and you are only now adjusting your focus. outside the studio one morning, he stands with a coffee balanced dangerously in one hand, the lid half secured, steam curling into the cold air. he looks up when you pass and lifts the cup slightly in greeting, like this is already a habit. later that same day, you spot him in the library, legs folded awkwardly beneath a long table, flipping through art books that are too expensive to buy and too beautiful to ignore. when he notices you hovering, he slides one toward you without a word, already open to a page marked with a scrap of paper.

“they don’t even pretend students can afford these,” you say, running a finger just above the glossy page without touching it.

“they’re aspirational,” he replies. “financially devastating, but aspirational.”

you end up sitting across from him longer than intended, whispering commentary like critics no one asked for. he points out compositional risks you never would have noticed. you counter with emotional choices he claims he forgets to prioritize. neither of you is trying to win anything anymore. it feels less like sparring and more like sharing notes in the margins.

at dusk, you find him again on the steps near the quad, sketchbook balanced on his knee, pencil moving quickly as people pass. he gestures for you to sit without looking up. you watch him work for a while, the way he captures posture instead of faces, movement instead of detail. eventually he glances over. “you’re staring,” he says, not accusing, just amused.

“you’re making everyone look cooler than they are,” you reply.

“artistic license,” he says. “also, most people look better when they’re not aware they’re being observed.”

the conversations stretch longer each time, almost by accident. you talk about your sculpture class and how your hands never quite do what your brain wants, how ideas feel solid until you try to translate them into something physical. he listens in a way that makes you finish your thoughts instead of abandoning them halfway through.

“that’s just practice,” he says. “your hands will catch up. they’re stubborn, but not disloyal.”

you complain about armatures and balance. in return, he vents about pottery glazes that never fire the color he imagines, how blues come out muddy, how reds turn aggressive. you tell him you like the unpredictability, and he gives you a look like you’ve insulted him personally. “you would,” he says. “you like chaos. you just disguise it as restraint. for me it’s like gambling,” he shakes his head, “you know? you think you know the odds, but the kiln doesn’t care.”

you chose to ignore his commentary on you. “well, the kiln isn’t the issue for me, it’s the clay. i swear, it must have some personal vendetta against me.”

hyunjin laughs, not at you. at your exasperation. then he hums, looking serious for a second, wearing the same expression he scrutinizes his paintings with. “you know, if you need help with your pottery, i have plenty of free time.”

you successfully suppressed the smile bubbling beneath your surface. “you’re going to regret offering when you see how unruly that clay is in my hands.”

“we’ll see.”

there is a rhythm to it now, teasing slipping in around the edges. when he mentions that your painting looks finished enough to submit already, you snort. “i’m still refining.”

“refinement is just perfectionism with better branding.”

“coming from someone who hasn’t stopped reworking the same corner for three days,” you say.

he grins. “you’re watching me too closely.”

by midweek, the tension stops pretending to be academic. hyunjin moves closer more often, no longer announcing it. he stands just behind you one afternoon, watching silently before reaching out to adjust the angle of your brush. his hand hovers near yours, close enough that you can feel the heat of it, but he does not touch. “try letting that line break,” he murmurs. “it doesn’t have to be continuous to make sense.”

you swallow and nod, focusing on the canvas instead of the awareness buzzing along your skin. when you step back, he does too, as if tethered by the same invisible line.

the flowers are beginning to wilt, scent tinged with decay now, petals curling inward like they are tired of being observed. you find the metaphor a little too on the nose and refuse to dwell on it. hyunjin catches you staring and follows your gaze.

“they’ve given us everything they can,” he says.

“kind of rude of us to keep asking,” you reply.

he smiles softly at that, then meets your eyes. for a moment, the space between you feels charged, not sharp, just present.

one afternoon he asks if you would help him with something for his photography class, and the way he asks feels careful in a way you have started to recognize. he waits until you are both packing up, brushes rinsed, the room quieter than usual. his voice drops slightly, like he does not want the question overheard even though there is no one close enough to care.

“i need to take photos,” he says, leaning against the table, fingers absently smudged with paint. “flowers. not like the ones we’ve been staring at all week.”

you glance at him, then away, then back again. “you’re sick of them already?”

“i think they’re sick of me,” he replies.

you agree too quickly. the word yes comes out before you have time to dress it up as a favor or a schedule check. you feel the heat rise to your face and immediately pretend you did not do that. “i mean,” you add, shrugging, “i know a place. if you want.”

his expression shifts into something openly pleased, and that does not help. “yeah,” he says. “i want.”

you take him to your favorite spot on campus later that day, the neglected garden tucked behind an old building most people forget exists. the path there is narrow and uneven, weeds pushing up between cracked stones. the air smells faintly of damp earth and leaves. wildflowers grow in stubborn clusters where they were not meant to, colors clashing and harmonizing at the same time. hyunjin slows as soon as he sees it.

“this is,” he starts, then stops. “yeah. this is perfect.”

“don’t tell anyone,” you say. “i like pretending it’s mine.”

he lifts his hands in mock surrender. “your secret’s safe.”

you show him where to stand, how the light filters through the branches late in the afternoon, how it softens everything without dulling it. you talk more than you realize, pointing out angles, explaining why you prefer shooting just before sunset when the shadows stretch instead of fall. he listens closely, adjusting his camera, following your lead without question.

“you sound like you’ve done this a lot,” he says.

“i come here when i need to remember why i like looking at things,” you reply, then immediately regret how honest that sounds.

he doesn’t tease you for it. instead, he glances at you, then back at the flowers. “i get that,” he says quietly.

for a while, you both focus on the task. shutters click. leaves rustle. the light shifts almost imperceptibly. at some point, you realize hyunjin is no longer taking pictures. he is watching you, head tilted, mouth curved like he has been caught doing something he doesn’t regret.

“what?” you ask, defensive without meaning to be.

he laughs, soft and unguarded. “guess i should be the one learning here.”

you shake your head. “you’re doing fine.”

“i mean that,” he says. “you look like you belong here.”

the words settle into your chest, warm and unexpected. you feel something twist pleasantly, sharp enough to make you breathe in. you deflect, because that is what you do. “you only think that because i’m bossy.”

“i think that’s part of it,” he replies.

the walk back is quieter, but not awkward. your shoulders brush once on the narrow path and neither of you comments on it. when you part ways, he thanks you like it mattered more than an assignment, and you tell yourself that it did not.

a few days later, it’s your turn. the pottery studio is warm and humid, smelling of wet earth and heat. wheels spin steadily, a low hum filling the space. you are already frustrated by the time hyunjin arrives, sleeves rolled up yet again, ready to be useful.

wheels hum steadily, a low vibration you feel through the soles of your shoes. hyunjin greets you with a grin that feels too familiar, like you have known him longer than a week. “ready?” he asks.

“no,” you reply honestly, “but let’s pretend.”

he laughs and gestures you toward an empty wheel. “okay. first rule. don’t fight it.”

you sit, hands hovering uncertainly over the lump of clay. it is colder than you expect, slick and resistant. you start the wheel and immediately feel off balance. the clay wobbles, threatening to collapse.

“slow down,” hyunjin says, stepping closer. “center it first.”

“i am,” you insist, though you are not entirely sure how.

he doesn’t argue. instead, he moves behind you, close enough that you can feel him there, presence steady. “can i,” he asks, hands hovering near yours.

you nod, heart beating faster than it should. his hands cover yours, firm and warm, guiding the pressure. “there,” he murmurs. “feel that. when it stops fighting back.”

the clay steadies, spinning smoothly. you exhale without realizing you were holding your breath. “okay,” you say. “okay. i think i get it.”

“don’t rush,” he says. “trust the spin.”

your hands move together, awkward but improving. the walls rise unevenly, thinning where they should not. the rim wobbles. you laugh, breathless. “it’s going to collapse.”

“maybe,” he says. “or maybe it just needs confidence.”

“you’re projecting,” you reply, but you do not pull away when his hands stay over yours.

he chuckles. “maybe.”

the clay buckles suddenly, slumping inward. you groan. “i knew it.”

hyunjin steadies it quickly, hands sure. “hey. it’s okay. most things fall apart before they make sense.” he pushes himself closer to you, almost flush against you now.

his warm breath ghosts over your neck, making you stiffen. your hands unfocused for a different reason, his fingers threaded between your own became the focus of your vision. you tell yourself this moment is about the clay, that the warmth of his hands means nothing. you glance up at him. his expression is softer now, eyes focused on you instead of the clay. the moment stretches. you feel the denial tighten in your chest, instinctive and protective. you look away first, clearing your throat.

“again,” you say, “i want to try again.”

he smiles, clearly pleased. “that’s the spirit.”

the second attempt is better. not good, but better. the walls hold, uneven but standing. when the piece finally resembles something functional, barely, you laugh in relief, shoulders dropping.

“it’s hideous,” you say.

he grins like he has won something. “it’s honest.”

“that’s a nice way of saying bad.”

“no,” he says. “it’s a nice way of saying it looks like you.”

you scoff, but the words linger. when you step back, your hands are still damp with clay, streaked and messy. he reaches out without thinking, thumb brushing a smear off your wrist. the contact is brief, but intentional. your breath catches.

“sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t look sorry.

“it’s fine,” you reply too quickly. you look at him then, really look, and feel the denial tighten in your chest. you wipe your hands on your apron and change the subject.

grades come back on a friday, slipped quietly into the online portal like they don’t have the power to rearrange your mood for the rest of the day. you open them between classes, phone balanced on your knee, heart doing that annoying stutter it always does. you do better than expected. not perfect, not astonishing, but solid in a way that feels earned. there is feedback too, actual words, notes about growth and confidence and commitment. you read them twice, then a third time, like they might disappear if you look away too fast.

you think of the garden. of clay slipping under your palms. of hyunjin’s voice telling you to slow down.

you close your phone and exhale.

you already know how he did. you don’t need to check. hyunjin does exactly as expected, which is to say, excellently. still, when you see him later that afternoon outside the studio, paint-specked and loose-limbed, he is holding his phone like it weighs something.

“you check yet,” he asks.

you nod. “yeah.”

“and?” he says, trying and failing to sound casual.

“I did okay,” you reply. then, because it matters, you add, “better than i thought.”

his face lights up, unguarded and immediate. “i told you.”

you roll your eyes, but there is no real heat in it. “you also told me my hands weren’t disloyal.”

“and was i wrong?”

“jury’s still out,” you say, but you’re smiling.

he glances down at his phone, then tucks it away without comment. you do not ask, because you do not need to. the studio doors are propped open behind him, letting out a familiar hush of air and memory. the bouquet is gone now, table bare except for faint rings where vases once sat. the smell of flowers has faded, but not entirely. it lingers like an echo, something sweet and tired embedded in the walls.

“it’s weird without them,” you say, nodding toward the empty space.

“yeah,” he replies. “i didn’t realize how much i’d miss them.”

you stand there for a moment, neither of you moving to leave. the campus hums around you. people pass. laughter drifts by in pieces. hyunjin shifts his weight, hands flexing at his sides like he is bracing himself.

“hey,” he says.

“hey,” you answer.

he clears his throat. it’s a small sound, but it lands heavy. “you know, we’ve been hanging out a lot.”

you tilt your head slightly, waiting.

“and i was thinking,” he continues, slower now, “maybe we could do something that’s not about homework. like, dinner,” he says. then, after a beat, “an actual dinner.”

the way he says it leaves no room for misinterpretation. no jokes tucked inside, no academic framing to hide behind. just an offering, held steady between you.

you feel the familiar instinct rise up, sharp and reflexive. the urge to deflect, to soften it into something safer. you could joke about how everything you do somehow becomes about class anyway. you could pretend you misunderstood. you could smile and say maybe sometime and leave it floating, undefined.

instead, you look at him. really look. at the way he is trying not to fidget. at the hope he is not bothering to hide anymore. at the quiet confidence underneath it, the same confidence that let him lay down that first brushstroke without fear.

“sounds good,” you say.

the words feel strange and solid in your mouth, like something you have finally decided to hold instead of examine. his shoulders drop, just a fraction, relief softening his expression into something almost shy. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you echo.

for a moment, neither of you moves. the space between you feels charged, but not overwhelming. full, like a room before music starts. “when?” you ask.

he laughs softly, breathy. “i was hoping you’d ask that.”

you start walking together, slow, unhurried, neither of you quite ready to break the bubble by saying goodbye. you talk logistics at first. days. times. places. but beneath it, something steadier hums, a recognition that this is different from everything that came before.

“there’s this place off campus,” he says. “small. kind of chaotic. the food’s good though.”

“that sounds dangerously like a studio,” you reply.

“exactly why i like it.”

you stop at the path where you usually split, the one that has become familiar over the past week in ways that surprise you. the sun is low now, light catching in his hair, softer than the harsh fluorescents you are used to seeing him under.

“i’m glad you asked,” you say, because it feels important to say it out loud.

he meets your eyes. “me too.”

there is a pause. it’s not awkward, just honest. he lifts a hand like he might reach for you, then lets it fall back to his side. you pretend not to notice, and at the same time you notice everything.

“i’ll text you,” he says.

“i’ll be waiting,” you reply, and only realize how it sounds after it’s already said.

he smiles, slow and warm, and turns to leave. you watch him go until he disappears into the stream of people, then finally head in the opposite direction, heart light and heavy all at once.

later that night, you open your laptop to look at your painting one last time. the bouquet on the screen looks different now. not just because it is finished, but because you are. or closer than you were. the petals sag, colors deepened, shadows less apologetic. you can see where you stopped asking permission. where you chose instead.

your phone buzzes with a text from hyunjin.

tomorrow night okay?

you type back without overthinking it.

yeah. tomorrow’s perfect.

"of course. but to you, what does it mean?"

"the best people in my life are always trying to improve. it's not that they're perfect or anything, but they're trying to make the world around them better."

tears ran silently down your face. he naturally, went to go grab the tissues on the nightstand.

"honestly? i made a mistake, wookie. i said stuff that hurt my friend. and they've already told me about this issue before. i apologized, but they said our relationship won't be the same as before."

you paused. "i don't think i'm a good person. actually, i know i'm not."

"what makes you think so?"

you thought for a moment. "i tend to avoid a lot of conflict, get emotional when i'm confronted even though i know sometimes it's warranted, and find it hard to exercise empathy at times. i lost some friends because of that and i wouldn't be surprised if people hated me for it."

"well," he countered, "you volunteer frequently at the community garden, you help our friends babysit, you're always trying to bring new projects to fruition, you're passionate about learning and you're very good at giving others advice."

he smiled slightly.

"so, which one is the real you? the you that i describe, or the one you describe?"

you elbowed him lightly. intellectual tests were something you two often liked to do, just to challenge the other. whether it was debates on court cases, or bets on who could solve the daily sudoku faster, he always kept you on your toes.

"ugh, i know what you're doing. of course, two truths can be true at once. it just hurts to look at myself in the mirror some days."

you paused before continuing. "looking at myself after i've done something wrong, it's like focusing a big ugly spotlight on my flaws."

he gently hugged you. "you don't have to be perfect. i'm not either."

you couldn't hold in your emotion any longer and began to sob more violently. you wanted to blame it on the rain, the blistering wind, not your emotions.

"honestly, i feel fucking terrible... i hate not knowing what to do next. i hate when someone hates me. i hate the way i acted."

you trailed off as you realized how snotty your nose was, and you stopped to blow it.

"if you truly apologized, all you can do is change and accept the outcome that comes next," he said. "i trust you."

you could feel him rubbing tiny circles on your knee. "also, it's the first time living for all of us. be a little nicer to yourself, okay? i hate seeing you cry."

still buried in his arms, you nodded. he may not be perfect, but certainly, he was an angel and that you were lucky to have someone like him.

in your heart, you knew maybe some people thought you were a bad person. some probably thought you were a good one. truth was a complex thing.

at the end of the day, you could always try and be better (even though the process was going to be painful, and you were likely going to bitch and moan about it many times.)

you pulled yourself out of his embrace, trying to collect yourself.

"i guess, we're kinda like gems," you whispered. "showing different facets for different people. "

he grinned. "that's the y/n i know. perceptive and smart."

you shrugged. "at least i know that."

gunwook offered you the box of tissues. "feel better now? "

you closed your eyes. "kinda. the guilt's lingering, but i'm going to give our friendship time. talking to you did help."

the rain began to let up, giving way to a rainbow in the distance. you stared at it with him, as if it was there to remind you of the fact that bad and good could go hand in hand.

he gazed at the bedroom door and spoke up after about a minute. "so, did you still want to go bake cookies?"

you instantly perked up at the mention of sweets. "can't say no to that!"

—

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

“alright everyone! that's a wrap!” the dance instructor clapped their hands. the boys sank down onto the wood flooring, sweaty and exhausted from the intense practice session

water bottle caps pop open. the sounds of gasping breaths and “ah!” surround the dance room as the boys gulp down their waters, wiping the sweat off their brows with their shirts or towels

comeback season is just around the corner, which means lots and lots of preparation, which also means, felix is spending more and more time away from you.

felix hates it; being away from you for so long in terms of his time being so short and limited, that video calls are rare and late replies are the new norm. it helps that you're understanding, however, the past week he's been feeling very agitated and short tempered. 

“are you pent up, lix?” changbin joked, leaning against the floor to ceiling mirrors as he watches felix gulp water down to quench his thirst, brows furrowed together in the middle.

felix doesn't answer, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking.

pent up? him? there’s no way, right? he certainly doesn't feel pent up. a little agitated and short tempered, sure, but he put that down to being overworked and preparing for the comeback.

“funny.” he finally answers with a sigh and a tone that borders on sarcasm. changbin looks at chan who shrugs.

later that evening, felix is back at home, freshly showered. water droplets drip from the ends of his hair and down his toned body, disappearing under the fabric of the thick, white towel that’s around his waist. he looks at the clock and groans to himself before looking at his phone.

a new message of you, 4 hours ago. something heavy drops into his stomach. he feels bad, guilty, that he can't be consistent right now. he knows you're understanding and, for some reason, that doesn't make him feel any better.

felix throws his phone on the bed. it lands with a soft thump and a small bounce. he drops his towel, lets it pool at the ankles before stepping out and grabbing a clean pain of black boxer shorts. he slides the fabric up his legs and snaps the band against his hips.

he runs his fingers through his hair slowly, hangs the towel up to dry before sitting on the bed, awaiting for your message to tell him that you're ready.

his phone pings after five minutes and he instantly calls you. he waits, listens to one, then two, then three rings before the line connects 

“felix!” your voice, cheerful as ever, tickles his ear. he grits his jaw slightly. 

“hi, my sweet angel!” felix hums softly down the receiver. his heart swells when you giggle. he can practically see the blush on your cheeks. “no face time?” he asks softly.

“ah!” you hum, resting your phone between your ear and shoulder, “i’m a little busy right now. i’m getting things in order for tomorrow, so i can't really face time right now. sorry, lix.” 

felix pouts and holds back a small, disappointed sigh “it's ok. I understand. but next time, i have to see your face, ok?” he says, lightly teasing you. you laugh softly and nod, even though he can't see. 

“yes, yes. i understand.” you draw out, pairing it with a soft giggle. “sooo, how was practice?” 

felix flops down on the bed, sighing heavily. his body sinks into the sheets, practically melting, as his tired muscles groan. felix talks about the practice. talks about how each comeback gets harder and harder with all the new (and crazy) dance moves. he mentions his back and how it's been causing him pain lately.

“felix.” your tone turning into a light scold. “you have to be careful!” 

“yeah, i know.” he sighs softly, “and i do try. but i sometimes forget, y’know.” 

you sigh softly and roll your eyes. in the background, felix can hear movement down the receiver. the subtle sound of the bathroom light flickering on. the rustling of fabric and the sound of a packet of wipes opening up.

“whatcha doing?” felix asks after a brief moment of comfortable silence.

“taking off my make-up.” you say, wiping your eyes clean from eyeliner and mascara. your voice echoing a little in the bathroom. felix hums softly and closes his eyes, arms behind his head on the plush pillow

he starts to think, imagine, you in the bathroom, stepping out of the shower. body slick with water, thick towel around your body. he shifts a little, heat pooling in his gut slowly. 

he ignores it. 

“tell me about your day, babe.” felix says, voice thick. he needs a distraction. needs to stop thinking about you in such a lewd way. he listens to you chatter about your day, your voice light and excited.

but it only fuels the heat sitting in the pit of his stomach. he clenches his jaw, eyes still closed and the words of changbin “are you pent up?” ring in his mind once again

“fuck, maybe i am pent up..” felix mumbles to himself. you hum a little and felix clears his voice, “oh, nothing. don't worry about it, babe. just keep talking.” 

he rests his phone on the pillow by his face. he listens to you but he also imagines you. his mind thinking of dirty, lewd scenarios of you as he listens. he feels guilty but, he needs some sort of relief. he listens to you talk. he tries to ignore the heat that's coiling at the base of his spine

and then you laugh. that sweet, angelic laugh midway through your sentence and he feels it. his cock twitches in his underwear and he grits his teeth.

he can't ignore it no more. his hand slides down his chest and abdomen, stopping at the band of his underwear. he sucks in a breath, his fingers dancing along the outline of his shaft. he palms himself slowly, drawing out the pleasure with the heel of his hand. he rubs his hand along his shaft, the rough fabric creating some sort of friction but it's not enough.

he twitches again. a wet patch forming where the head of his cock sits. it grows with everything second he spends listening to your voice. when the burn gets too much, when his hips start to thrust up off the sheets and into the air, does he finally pull down his underwear.

his cock springs free from the restraints, hard, heavy and thick, curving slightly to the left. the tip an angry red, glistening in precum and veins bulging from the sides. “jesus..” he mumbles to himself. with each syllable you speak, his cock twitches and leaks more and more. 

he wraps his hand around the base, shuddering at the contact and letting out a small breath through his teeth. his eyes close slowly as he moves his hand, wrist rotating at the tip. his thumb presses into his slit, collecting and smearing the precum.

his hand moves faster and faster, chasing that high. his back arches a little off the mattress, his toes curling against the sheets. he holds back the moans, partly feeling guilty for using your voice as jerk off material. 

“lix? you still there?” you ask softly when felix doesn't reply to a question. his eyes snap open and he clears his throat, trying to make himself sound as normal as possible.

“yeah!” his voice cracks before he clears it again, “yeah, i’m good.” 

“you sure? you haven't spoken for a while.” 

“a hundred percent, babe. just listening to you talk, that's all.” he isn't lying, he just leaves out the point where he is jerking off to your voice. “besides, your days sound much more interesting than mine.”

“mhm, i’m not so sure about that.” you laugh softly. felix laughs as well as a response. the more he strokes himself, the more he feels the heat pool and hug his spine and gut but he can't. 

he's so used to having you with him, feeling you, hearing you and tasting you, that trying to reach peak on his own has become hard. 

he grits his teeth, becoming frustrated. he wants to, he needs to. his hand squeezes his base. his free hand frantically massaging his heavy balls and using the palm to create friction on his sensitive tip.

his bottom lip catches between his teeth, biting down hard on frustration. he's about to give up, say fuck it and go to bed until you say those three words:

“i love you.” 

he freezes slightly. his body coils. his eyes widen and he pants heavily. his hand moves faster as those words ring around in his head. he turns his head to the side where his phone rests and he breathes down the phone

“say it again.” he pants, not bothering to hide it any more. 

“i love you.” you repeat, sweeter this time. felix shudders, his eyes squeeze shut and finally the coil snaps.

his cock twitches in his hand as he releases hot, thick splurts of cum onto his chest. his breath stutters. his body tensing and muscles locking up with each release. he slowly strokes himself to help ride out the high and to help calm himself down. once calm, his eyes close and his body feels heavy but he feels refreshed. 

he shrugs. "we could be in another form."

you should definitely be studying for your chemistry exam instead of talking about hypotheticals, but being with jake was too good of a time to pass up. it's alright, both of you will probably get a's anyways.

now you're both staring at the cloudless sky, captured by its vast beauty.

you hum thoughtfully. "alright, what form?"

"blobs."

you laugh at the thought. "blobs? really? like those slimes in genshin?"

he pouts and makes those goddamn puppy eyes that you always lose yourself in. "wait hey, those are cute! you don't like it? i think it's possible."

"i guess so. next you'll ask if we would have met as plants or something."

"why not?" he replies with a shrug. "or we could be inanimate objects."

"like what?"

"a lock and its key."

you don't respond, but a tiny laugh escapes you.

"i definitely know which is which," you reply with a laugh.

you know he can be quite the charmer with his words when he wants to, but with you, he seems sincere.

he holds up a dandelion and blows lightly on the petals. some end up on your clothing. you laugh and gently brush them off.

as you stare at the clouds, a strange feeling washes over you, and you smile warmly at him. he grasps your wrist gently.

"forget it. who cares about other universes? you're here in this one."

you run your fingers through his hair, smiling. hypotheticals were indeed such interesting questions.

he doesn’t react much when you tell him he gets to choose. just a glance, sharp and assessing, like he’s already thinking ahead. “okay,” he says simply, hands slipping into his pockets as he walks. he moves through the store with purpose, barely stopping. when he does, he picks up an item, weighs it in his hands, then either tucks it into his arm or puts it back without explanation. he doesn’t ask your opinion. you asked for his.

what he chooses is practical but flattering. it’s simple. jeans and a thin, loose shirt that feels like gentle kisses at your skin. when you step out wearing it, his eyes flick over you slowly. there’s a pause. then a faint smirk. “yeah,” he says, “figured.” he doesn’t gush. he doesn’t elaborate. but he steps closer, tugging lightly at the fabric, approving. later, when you wear it again, he notices immediately. doesn’t say anything. just reaches out, fingers brushing your side as he passes. that small, knowing smile says enough.

↬ CHANGBIN

he’s confident about it. when you hand him the choice, he doesn’t hesitate. he scans racks with purpose, pulling something bold but balanced. something that frames you rather than overwhelms you, reaching for dark professional looking attire. when you step out, his reaction is immediate. his posture shifts, eyes darkening with appreciation. “yeah,” he says. “that’s it.”

he circles you slowly, nodding, adjusting your collar with gentle hands. “you wear it like it was made for you.” you can’t help but giggle at your hype man, “i do, huh?” and he eats it up, smirking at you and grabbing your hands in his, “of course you do! there’s no question, the designer must have had you in mind when he made this.” his seriousness draws sharp laughter from you, smiling back. you tousle your hair a bit, posing for him. immediately he backs up, holding his hands out to form a picture frame with you in the middle. it’s a private photoshoot with his favorite person, and you’re in for the ego trip of a lifetime. shopping with him feels secure. decisive. later, he tells you he picked it because it matches your strength. every time you wear it, he looks proud.

↬ HYUNJIN

he takes the responsibility seriously the moment you tell him. his expression shifts, focus sharpening as he scans the store. he moves slowly, deliberately, fingers trailing along fabrics as if he’s reading them. he doesn’t reach for many things—only the ones that catch his attention for a reason he can’t quite explain.

he studies silhouettes, how clothes might fall when you move. colors that would soften against your skin instead of overpowering it. when he holds something up, he steps back, head tilted, imagining it on you before committing. he barely speaks, but you feel how intentional he’s acting, like an artist immersed in his painting. what he chooses is understated but striking. clean lines, soft structure. something elegant without being stiff. when you step out wearing it, he freezes for a moment, breath catching. “you’re beautiful,” he says softly, almost like it slipped out before he could polish it. he steps closer, brushing your wrist lightly. “this suits you too well.” the outfit feels deliberate. like it highlights you instead of wearing you.

↬ JISUNG

he makes it chaos immediately. the second you tell him he’s choosing, he gasps dramatically and announces he’s taking this responsibility “very seriously.” the store becomes his personal playground. he darts between racks, throwing commentary over his shoulder, holding up ridiculous things just to see your reaction. but beneath the jokes, he’s paying attention. he watches how you gravitate toward certain fabrics, how you wrinkle your nose at others. when he finally settles on an outfit, it’s unexpectedly good. relaxed, a little oversized, something that looks like it could be stolen from his closet but tailored to you. when you come out wearing it, he goes quiet. the grin softens into something warmer. “oh,” he says. “okay. wow.” he steps closer, hands hovering, then lightly tugs at the hem. “you’re not allowed to look this good in something i picked.”

he spins you once, laughing, then pulls you into his chest. shopping finishes quickly after that because he’s already decided. later, he keeps teasing you about how you owe him for his “excellent taste,” but every time he looks at you in it, his eyes linger just a second longer than before.

↬ FELIX

he’s nervous from the start, bouncing on his heels, laughing too much. “okay, but you can’t judge me,” he says, already judging himself. the store is bright, music humming overhead, and he looks overwhelmed by choice. he keeps pulling things off racks, then immediately putting them back. “no, that’s too much.” “wait… maybe?” he asks your opinion but then backtracks, flustered, hair falling into his eyes. eventually, he starts choosing with instinct instead of logic. bright colors, something that catches the light when you move. something he thinks will make you smile.

when you step out of the fitting room, his entire face lights up like he forgot how to breathe. he laughs, hands flying to his mouth. “oh. oh no.” you raise a brow, worried, but before you can say anything he continues, “that’s… you look unreal.” he turns away for a second, pacing, rubbing the back of his neck. he keeps peeking back at you like the sight might disappear if he stares too long. when he finally comes closer, he gestures vaguely. “i thought it would look nice but i didn’t think i’d be looking at heaven.” the outfit feels warm, comfortable, a little playful. it suits you in a way that feels natural, like it belongs to your movements. he beams the entire checkout line, cheeks pink, still laughing under his breath.

↬ SEUNGMIN

he doesn’t rush. he listens. when you tell him he gets to choose, he nods like he’s filing the information away. the store is calm, almost empty, and he walks slowly beside you, thoughtful. he chooses something practical. comfortable. something that looks like it would last. when you step out wearing it, something vulnerable flashes across his face before he hides it behind a small smile. “that looks… really good,” he says, quieter than usual.

he reaches out, fingers brushing the sleeve, grounding himself. the outfit is something he would wear. seeing you in clothing so similar to his jumpstarts his heart because it feels like you’re growing closer. he coughs a little to hide the blush creeping over him, “okay, let’s take that sweater off now. it’s white, don’t ruin it yet.” you roll your eyes, waving away his comment and noticing how soft the cuff truly is. he pays quickly, almost protective. he insists on carrying the bag. outside, the air is cooler, and he tucks you closer without thinking. later, when you wear it again, he notices immediately. he smiles every time. like it reassures him.

↬ JEONGIN

he acts like it’s a joke the moment you tell him he gets to choose. eyes widening, hand to his chest. “me? fashion authority?” he laughs, already backing toward the racks like he might trip over his own feet. the store smells faintly like clean fabric and air conditioning, the kind of place meant for slow wandering. he keeps pulling things out just to comment on them. “too cool.” “this feels like something a cartoon villain would wear.” “okay, wait, this one’s actually soft.” his fingers linger on that one longer. the teasing never fully stops, but you notice he starts checking sizes more carefully, smoothing it out before holding it up to you.

what he ends up choosing is simple. cozy. an oversized hoodie layered with relaxed pants, something meant for comfort more than attention. “i just want you to feel good,” he says, shrugging like it’s obvious. when you step out of the fitting room, his smile comes instantly, greeting you with the familiar crinkle of his eyes. “yeah,” he says, nodding. “that’s you.” he steps closer, tugging lightly at the sleeve. he pulls you into a hug right there, laughter muffled against your shoulder. later, when you wear it again, he notices immediately. “hey,” he says softly, pointing. “my pick.” there’s pride in his voice, but you’re just glad he didn’t stick you in something cartoon villan-y.

you’re padding around his apartment in one of his shirts, your hair still damp from the shower, humming to yourself. he leans against the doorway, watching with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “you know,” he says, “you’re getting awfully comfortable in my clothes.” you turn, raising a brow. “is that a problem?” he chuckles. “no. i’m just wondering when you’re moving in.” you blink up at him, half-smiling. “oh, is that an invitation?” he nods, stepping closer. “it’s more of an observation. because at this rate, half my wardrobe will already be in your closet.” you laugh, and he slips his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “i’m serious,” he whispers. “i like seeing you here. like this, like you belong.” you turn in his arms, hand resting against his chest. “you mean wearing your shirts and stealing your space?” he grins. “exactly that.” he presses a kiss to your hair and adds cheekily, “my space would feel so empty without you, little thief.”

↬ CHANGBIN

the first time he sees you in his shirt, he goes still. his world narrows to the sight of you standing by the window, sunlight catching in your hair, fabric draping loosely over your shoulders. his lips part as if to speak, but no words come. he just looks. you tease him, waving a hand in front of his face. “you okay?” he blinks out of his daze then smiles faintly. “you look…” he stops, shaking his head. “no. there isn’t a word for it.” he steps closer, reaching his hand out to touch you. his fingers brush the collar of the shirt, tracing where the fabric meets your skin. “it’s strange,” he says softly. “i wore this yesterday, and it was just a shirt. but on you…” you laugh, and he smiles at the sound. later, when you leave it folded by his bedside, he sits there for a long time staring at it—thinking of how it looked on you, of how something ordinary became extraordinary just because it touched you.

↬ HYUNJIN

he’s sitting on the couch reading when he hears you call his name. when he looks up, his book slips from his hand. you’re standing there in his shirt, sleeves rolled, collar slightly crooked. he stands without thinking, smoothing his hair, as if he needs to be composed for this moment. “you borrowed that?” he asks, and his tone is calm, but his eyes are bright with something softer. you nod, unsure if he likes it. he crosses the room slowly, stopping just short of you. “you’re too precious in it,” he says quietly, fingers brushing your wrist. he hesitates, then smiles faintly. “you know, i spend so much time trying to keep everything perfect. but you—” he gestures to you in the shirt, loose and unbuttoned at the cuffs, hair slightly messy—“you make everything perfect.” you laugh, flustered, and he looks down with a fond smile. “keep it,” he murmurs. “i’ll just have to buy more.” later, when you fall asleep still wearing it, he hugs you tightly to him, adoring your frame rising and falling in sweet, quiet perfection.

↬ JISUNG

he notices immediately. you’re curled up in his hoodie, the one you swore you didn’t take. he crosses his arms and pretends to be stern, though that familiar shit-eating grin already tugs at his mouth. “so that’s where it went,” he says. you look up, feigning innocence. “what?” he points at you dramatically. “my favorite hoodie. stolen in cold blood.” you giggle, but before you can speak, he strides forward, scoops you up, and spins you around. “you’re lucky you look this cute in it,” he says between huffs. your laughter fills the room, and when he sets you down on the couch, his forehead rests against yours. the teasing melts into something softer. “it’s kind of unfair,” he murmurs. “you make my clothes look better than i ever could.” you roll your eyes, but he keeps grinning. “fine, fine,” he says, “you win. but if you’re gonna steal my hoodie, i’m stealing you for the rest of the day.” he wraps his arms around you, tugging you closer. you sigh at him, “i never confirmed or denied, ji” you lean your forehead against his, pouting innocently, “but does this mean i get to keep it?” instead of responding, jisung’s hands start wandering over your shoulder, down to your waist. staring at you tenderly. when you think he’s about to kiss you, the soft traveling of his hands turns firm, sharp. the next thing you know you’re a ball of laughter and small, broken yelps as he violently tickles your sides. ribs shaking in your fit even after he stops, you sharply hit his side. the laugh still housed in your chest as you calm down. now, he’s so lucky he looks this cute, or he’d be in for some real trouble.

↬ FELIX

he comes home earlier than you expected and freezes at the doorway. you’re sitting cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through your phone, one of his old t-shirts hanging loosely over you. his breath catches. it’s such a small thing, but it hits him like sunlight after rain. “that’s mine,” he says, laughing softly. you nod, teasing. “yeah. you left it in my drawer, remember?” he rubs the back of his neck and grins, flustered. “i didn’t think i’d ever see it on you.” he looks away, the sight feels too intimate to take in all at once. he’s smiling, but his hands twitch a little, uncertain what to do. you walk over and tug at the shirt’s hem. looking up at him, “you don’t like it?”, you ask teasingly. he meets your eyes, and whispers. “no. i love it. i just… don’t know what to do with how much i love it.” he laughs at himself, embarrassed, and you laugh too. he hides his red cheeks behind a hand but you can see just how flustered you’ve made him. stepping up to him, you gently move his hand away from his face, placing a swift kiss right where it had been, then placing his hand back. he turns to you grinning, “how are you so cute? i’m going to have a heart attack.”

↬ SEUNGMIN

you wear his hoodie one quiet morning, thinking nothing of it. he sees you and freezes. there’s something in his eyes that wasn’t there before. he steps closer, brushing a hand against your sleeve as if to prove you’re real. “hey, that’s not yours,” he says, and his voice is small. the obvious statement making you want to giggle at him. you smile. “it was cold.” he swallows hard. “you should keep it. please, i mean.” he laughs under his breath, but it sounds like a confession. “it’s stupid, but i need to see you wearing that all the time. you’re adorable. perfect, even.” you try to bite back the smile forming on your lips, “you’re right it’s stupid”. he scoffs and walks over to you, eyes never tearing from you clad in his clothes. even though you think he’s being cheesy, you take his hand, gently, and tell him you’ll wear it until it falls apart. that makes him smile so sweetly and gently. later, when he hugs you, he tugs at the fabric again, whispering, “don’t give it back yet. not ever, maybe.” he doesn’t mean the hoodie. he means this—the nearness, the safety, the warmth you both carry now that you’re together. you lean against him, “i wasn’t planning on it, stupid.” the sound of the two of you laughing fills the air.

↬ JEONGIN