Once upon a dream

y/n:

hey, it's san, you already know that. okay, you know i'm bad at this, so i'm sorry in advance. there might be a right way to write this and i don't think i know it, but for you i'll try. please don't judge the handwriting too much. or the wording, or how short or long it is. i rewrote the first part four times and it still feels bad. anyway, i'm sorry, here's the letter. i guess i should start from the beginning, no? is that stupid? i don't know. [scribbled] the first time i saw you was in that class we both didn’t want to be in. i don’t even remember what the professor was saying, but i remember you. you were leaning over the desk, hand on your cheek, resting your head. i remember thinking you looked easy to be around. i don’t know why, but it did. this is embarrassing but i think i knew i wanted to marry you way earlier than i probably should have. i didn’t say it, obviously, that would've been creepy. i just knew you looked so so pretty and now that i know you, you became so beautiful. not that you weren't beautiful before being with me, you always were, i'm just saying from my perspective just how mesmerized you had me from the start, you know? you are just so smart, so creative, so diligent. [scribbled] it's like when you balance numbers and they finally add up the way they’re supposed to, that's what it kind of felt like, but in the romantic way. i'm sorry i'm not good at expressing my feelings and all that, you know that better than anyone else. but i want you to know that choosing you has never felt like a decision i had to force myself into. i want this more than anything, with you. we have this apartment now. it’s small and the walls are kind of thin and the kitchen light flickers sometimes, but it’s ours. i keep thinking about how this is the place where everything will start. mornings, dinners, normal days, hard days, all of it. and i like knowing you’ll be here at the end of the day. i like knowing i get to come home to you. i promise i’ll take care of you. i promise i’ll work hard. [scribbled] i know i don’t always say what i’m thinking, but i feel things even when i don’t show them right. does that make sense? well, [scribbled] i’m really proud to be your husband. that still feels strange to write, but in a good way. i hope we grow old together. i hope we don’t stop choosing each other, even when life gets busy or complicated. i hope you always know that you’re my favorite person in the world, even if i forget to say it out loud sometimes. i’ll always try to try, even if i’m bad.

i love you.

san

tucked beneath the neatly folded cashmere sweaters, exactly where you left it. lace covered box, meant for letters he had promised to fill with, yet a year and a half later, only the first one stood alone. you weren't angry, not even sad. it actually made you chuckle a little. just a quiet grief for what had been started to root deep inside, for the vibrant colors that had softened into pastels, for the soft reverence in his eyes that had slowly faded into habit. you often found yourself staring at the box, a wry smile touching your lips.

the paper, once crisp, now yielded to countless revisits. you knew every word by heart, the rhythm of his awkward sincerity etched into your memory. you traced the faded ink. his handwriting, usually neat in ledgers, was a little clumsy here. each letter formed with an almost painful deliberation. it was short, a simple promise. a quiet declaration of his intent to build a life with you, to be your home. no extreme pronouncements of undying passion, but a solid foundation of devotion. san had never been one for grand gestures, at least not in words. his love manifested in the certainty of his presence, the steady rhythm of his life intertwined with yours. in fact, you had asked for the letter in the first place, at that diner right before receiving the keys to the apartment.

"a letter?" he'd shifted on his seat, a blush creeping up his neck. "i'm not... good with words, y/n."

you shook your head with an endeared smile. "you don't have to be shakespeare sannie, just you."

he seemed in thought for a moment, trying to resist looking at your puppy eyes asking pretty please before straightening his back, accepting the challenge. and he did. pen clutched tight, brows furrowed in concentration. you’d watched him, your heart swelling with a love so potent it felt like a physical ache. then when he finished, he slid it across the booth table, eyes avoiding yours with his shy offering.

now, the paper, soft as old linen, whispered between your fingertips. you didn't rush. each sentence, each carefully chosen word, you read them slowly, precious memory reexperiencie. tasting the hope, the fresh promise of that day when he later bought you the box, saying he'd get better at it and you'd have it spilling out with his loving written words. you ran your fingers over the intricate patterns of the lace, delicate threads contrasting the hollow space.

you folded the letter along it's original creases, the paper folding easily, and placed it back before checking your thight bun in the mirror, perfect posture, every single hair placed where it was meant to be. he still looked at you, of course, but the spark, the raw wonder, had dimmed. it wasn't his fault. life had a way of sanding down the sharp edges of infatuation, leaving behind the smooth, enduring stone of work life.

silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant city chorus. you tell yourself he just forgot. got busy, or thought one was enough. you're good at explaining things away. but when did trying turn into remembering? when did the promise of a future become the past?

the aroma of roasted chicken and rosemary filled the air, a comforting scent that tonight told a solitary performance. table was set, candles unlit, everything waiting for a moment that kept getting delayed. the antique clock sat on the mantelpiece. seven thirty, again. you waited for the familiar click of keys in the lock, the sound that usually signaled the end of day and the beginning of us.

when he comes in your head lifts before you even realize. smoothing your dress automatically, fingers brushing over fabric that was never wrinkled in the first place. a small smile already forming, reserved for him. san already halfway out of his shoes, shoulders slumped, a dark suit jacket draped over his arm. he didn’t glance at the table set for two, but knows everything looks exactly as it always does.

"hey," his voice tired, worn down. like business of the city still clung to him.

"hi," you answer, softer.

he leans in, presses a quick kiss to your temple. familiar, practiced.

"sorry i’m late," he adds, already loosening his tie as you walked towards the dining table. "we had to redo part of the quarterly report because... how do i put this- there was a discrepancy in one of the ledgers, and it threw off the whole reconciliation process. so we had to go back and..."

pulling out his chair. the heavy oak scraped across the polished floor. he loosened his tie, then unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. "had to redo a section. whole damn thing.” he ran a hand through his hair, already tousled from the day. “hours. just… hours.”

you watched him, spooning roasted vegetables onto his plate. you pushed his plate closer, then sat across from him. "must be frustrating," you offered, a soft murmur.

he picked up his fork, turning the chicken over. "frustrating doesn’t begin to cover it. the whole team, scrambling. for a single misplaced figure." he took a bite, chewed slowly. "it’s done now. mostly."

he keeps talking about work, deadlines, numbers, something about a client. you listen, always do. you don't understand every word, but you understand him in the way he talks when he’s tired. the slight edge in his voice, the way he explains things like he’s still in the middle of solving them. it’s easier for him to talk about numbers than about how his day actually felt.

nods at the right moments. hums of acknowledgement. small "and then?" once in a while, just to keep him going.

"…where did those come from?" he signals behind you at the counter. a faint lift of an eyebrow. a hint of a smile, almost.

you glance back, even though you know exactly what he’s looking at. the vase sits neatly by the sink, filled with fresh flowers. soft colors, carefully arranged.

"oh," you say, turning back to him, a warmth creeping up your neck. "mrs. jones gave them to me. i brought her some brownies earlier."

he paused, fork halfway to his mouth and exhales a small breath through his nose in genuine bewilderment.

"y/n," he says, setting his fork down for a second, "you need to stop baking so much."

you blink at him. "why?"

"i don't know, it's just..." he gestures vaguely, like the answer should be obvious. "it's every day. there's always something new. brownies, cookies, that cake from yesterday. the whole building must be swimming in your desserts." he didn’t sound angry, just... resigned.

"i like baking," your voice still gentle, picking at a loose thread on the tablecloth

"i know, i know," he says quickly. "i'm just saying… it's a lot, isn't it?"

a small pause settles and you shrug, barely lifting your shoulders. "it keeps me busy."

he reached across the table, covering your hand with his. his palm was warm, calloused. "tell you what. how about i book you a day at that salon you like? the one on fifth street. hair. nails. the works. i can tell my sister to join you."

"what? am i starting to look like a hag?" you managed a weak laugh.

his grip tightened slightly. his eyes, usually so guarded, held yours with an intensity that surprised you. "you know that’s not what i meant." his voice was firm, no trace of humor.

the small joke withered and you nodded, slowly. "okay." you swallowed. "okay, that sounds... nice."

the candle flickered, casting dancing shadows across his face. he picked up his fork again, the brief moment of connection already fading.

later, the apartment settled into it's nightly quiet. you lay in bed, the soft glow of your reading lamp illuminating the pages of a novel you couldn't quite focus on. normal people by sally rooney, but the words blurred. beside you, san lay on his back, eyes fixed on the small screen in his hands. the blue light painted his face in stark contrasts. his thumb scrolled, scrolled, scrolled. numbers, probably. reports. another discrepancy.

you watched the subtle movements of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow. he was so focused, so far away. still, you reached out, tentative touch to his forearm. his skin was warm beneath your fingers.

he didn’t stir, didn’t look up. his thumb kept scrolling.

you moved your hand, gently, up his arm, over his shoulder, until your fingers brushed the nape of his neck, then threaded into his hair. soft, dark strands. you leaned closer, your breath stirring the air near his ear.

a soft sound escaped him and it almost seemed like he was leaning into it. a yawn. deep, stretching. he lowered the phone, placing it face down on the nightstand. his eyes, heavy lidded, met yours. fleeting moment, again.

"long day," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. he gave you a quick short peck on your cheek then turned onto his side, facing away from you, the duvet pulled higher. "good night."

lamp clicked off. darkness enveloped the room, thick and immediate. you lay there, listening to the soft, even rhythm of his breathing, soon turning into soft snores. beside him but alone in the quiet. the book lay open, unread. words still blurred.

୨୧

acetone and something floral, both sharp and comforting. hum of dryers and low chatter fills the space, blending into a steady background noise that makes everything feel easy. normal.

you sat in the middle chair, hands resting neatly on the small cushion in front of you, fingers relaxed but still. a sigh escaping your lips before you could stop it. the manicurist, a young woman with a bright, knowing smile, took your hand, her touch cool and precise. she filed your nails into neat, elegant ovals. you picked a soft, clean color without much thought. something simple, safe, that goes with everything.

across from you, two of your friends leaned into each other, their overlapping voices a stream of gossip. too loud and uncaring. the others chime in, voices overlapping. one of them threw her head back, a peal of laughter echoing, the other one nodded, eyes wide with feigned shock. they talked about a mutual acquaintance’s recent engagement, the scandalous details of a breakup, the endless parade of societal expectations.

"he actually said that?"

"no, stop-"

"i'm serious, i swear-"

to your left, rhythmic snip of scissors. noeul, san's older sister listened quietly, sat under a cloud of foil, her head tilted back as a stylist worked through her dark hair. but her attention drifts back to you more often than not. she owned a warm, reassuring glint. offering a small, conspiratorial smile whenever you caught her gaze in the mirror, silent acknowledgment of the shared escape.

a few chairs down, a woman with kind eyes spoke in hushed tones to her stylist. "she just graduated middle school with the highest scores," her voice, thick with a mother’s proudness, drifted over.

the stylist hums a singing note. "you must be so proud."

"oh, more than that" the woman exhales. "she's even already thinking about what she wants to study after high school."

she spoke of her daughter, a girl she’d poured her heart into.

your fingers still for a second on the cushion. the stylist murmurs something gentle back, and the conversation folds into the background. but it lingers.

your gaze drifted from the woman’s satisfied face to the neat row of polish bottles, then to your own hands, at the careful brush of polish gliding over your nails. you imagined those hands, smaller, softer, reaching for yours. a child. a son, perhaps, with san’s dimples and your own tendency to blush when surprised. or a daughter, with san’s quiet strength and your expressive eyes. the thought bloomed in your mind like a fragile hothouse flower.

you try to picture it. years stacked quietly on top of each other. a child in your apartment. toys where there are now empty surfaces. noise where there is now silence. san, coming home from work. would he pick them up? would he be too tired? would he talk to them the way he talks to you now, half there, half somewhere else? or would it be different? the thought catches you off guard. unfamiliar.

because you've never talked about it. not seriously. not beyond passing comments, vague things people say because they’re supposed to. someday. eventually. no timelines, no plans, no want or don’t want laid out clearly between you.

you don't even know if he wants kids. and for a second, that realization feels heavier than it should. there’s a whole future on a limbo sitting out of reach. not because it’s impossible, but because it’s never been named.

"y/n? you’re miles away!" the brightness of your friend's voice cut through your reverie.

the other leans forward slightly, "how’s married life treating you?"

you don't look up right away, only tilting your hand slightly when the nail tech asks you to. a practiced tug at the corner of your lips masked the tremor beneath.

"it's good, really good." you offered, voice light and airy.

"ugh," someone groans playfully. "of course it is. you guys were always like... perfect for each other."

you let out a soft laugh. "thank you, emma."

"it is," the friend grins. "seriously though, what have you guys been up to lately? anything fun?"

there’s a pause. you glance up for just a second, like you're checking your memory for something recent, something worth telling. "not really," tone still light. "just... normal stuff."

"that's adorable," another friend says, laced with genuine admiration. "no drama or chaos. must be so peaceful to marry an office guy."

"yeah," you nod, smile a little wider. "exactly."

the conversation shifts easily after that, flowing like a meandering river to other topics, someone starts talking about a coworker, someone else about a trip they want to take, and you listen, add comments here and there, smile when you're supposed to. their voices rising and falling in a comfortable rhythm. you watched them, their easy camaraderie, the way they finished each other’s sentences, and a familiar pang of loneliness pierced through the carefully erected wall around your heart.

noeul’s voice, soft but firm, cut through the din. she leaned closer, her perceptive eyes, meeting yours.

"how’s he been?” she asks.

you turn slightly. "san?"

a small nod. "yeah."

your smile didn’t falter. it felt glued on now, a permanent fixture. "he’s good," you say. "just busy with work, you know how he is." the words came out a little too quickly, a little too smooth. you avoided her gaze, focusing instead on the manicurist applying the top coat, making sure each nail was perfectly glossy.

noeul scoffs and tilts her head. "i do." a faint, wry smile touched her lips. "you know, i’ve known my brother a long time. longer than you, even." she paused, letting her words hang in the air. "i know how he gets. when things pile up and he forgets the rest of the world exists."

for a second, the façade threatened to crack. the truth, the bitter, stinging sensation, rose in your throat. you wanted to confess, to unburden yourself, to say, he’s not here, noeul. even when he’s here, he’s not here. i’m so lonely. i feel like i’m drowning in this calm. but the words remained trapped. fearful of conflict, ingrained habit of presenting things softly. you forced a small, reassuring nod. "yeah, it's nothing." the lie tasted like ash.

she watches you for a second longer, like she’s weighing something, then hums lightly and looks away, letting the moment dissolve back into the room. as the conversation drifts away again, your gaze lowers, unfocused.

the manicurist finished, buffing your nails to a high shine. she applied a cuticle oil, the scent of almond and rose a delicate perfume. your hands, now impeccably groomed, felt foreign.

"all done, dear." she announced, her smile bright.

you lift your hands slightly, turning them under the light. they’re perfect. smooth, even, untouched.

"thank you," you say, smiling.

for a moment, you imagine asking him. should be simple. do you ever think about kids? it doesn’t feel like a big question. it's not.

and yet, you can’t picture the moment clearly. when you'd ask, how he’d answer, whether it would feel natural or out of place, like introducing a topic that doesn’t belong in the quiet shape of their life. so you let the thought go.

you reach for your phone absentmindedly. no new messages. thumb hovers over the screen for a second, like you might type something, then you lock it instead and set it back down.

"do you guys want to grab something after this?" a girls asks. "coffee?"

"perfect! i’m craving that new lavender latte."

"oh, i can't," you say quickly, forcing another regretful smile. "i really should head home. dinner, you know." you gestured vaguely, as if the very concept of an empty fridge was an urgent, looming threat.

"alright, wifey," someone teases.

you simply smile again in a thin line as you stand, smoothing down your dress out of instinct and reach for your bag. giving everyone a small goodbye hug. as you pass behind noeul, there’s a brief brush of hands, intentional to pause you.

"hey, if it’s ever not nothing," she says quietly, a hint of concern still lacing her words. "you can tell me."

you hold her gaze for a second. then you smile. soft, reassuring, effortless. "i know." and you mean it, you just don't use it.

blur of city sounds and hurried footste. you stepped out, the cool afternoon air a sharp contrast to the salon’s warmth. rose scented oil on your nails, faint blush of pink, it felt like a disguise. you walked, footsteps echoing on the pavement, toward the quiet of the apartment, toward the silent kitchen, toward the dinner you had to make. the thought of it, a weight in your stomach, settled in with the dull ache of loneliness. the calm awaited.

୨୧

the last of the suds swirled down the drain, taking with them the faint scent of tonight’s braised short ribs. you wiped down the counter, movements precise, methodical. the clinking of ceramic plates against the drying rack was the only sound in the kitchen. you dried your hands on a towel, folding it neatly over the edge of the sink when you're finished. dishes done, kitchen clean again.

san's in the living room, laptop open, the soft glow of the screen lighting his face. he's not typing much. just staring, scrolling, thinking. you paused at the archway, shoulder pressing lightly against the cool plaster. the conversation from the salon, a snippet of motherhood, rang in your mind. it had all been a gentle nudge, a question mark in the back of your thoughts all afternoon. you hadn't realized how much space the idea of a child, of your child, could occupy until that moment.

the future, once a vibrant tapestry you and san wove together with eager hands, now a blank canvas. you’d painted the college days in bright, bold strokes, the wedding vows in shimmering gold. but the years beyond, the ones stretching into a quiet domesticity, remained unsketched. you found yourself wondering if san even saw that canvas anymore, if he still held a brush.

you watched the muscles in his forearms flex as he began typing, the subtle ripple beneath his shirt. his dark hair, a little longer than you usually liked, fell across his forehead. he didn’t look up, his focus absolute, a tunnel vision you’d come to recognize.

"still have a lot to do?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended, a whisper against the keyboard’s clatter.

his fingers stilled for a beat, then resumed their pace. "almost," he murmured, eyes still fixed on the screen. "just finishing up these projections for the morning."

a breath, deep and slow, air cool in your lungs. you watch him for a second. the way his brows pull together slightly, the way his attention narrows into whatever’s on the screen. focused. distant. the question, the real question, the one that had been brewing since you left the salon, fell heavy on your tongue. it wasn't just about kids. it was about us. about the unspoken, the unasked, the growing chasm of silence. you wanted to ask if he ever thought about them, about a future that wasn’t neatly tied to quarterly reports and spreadsheets. you wanted to ask if he still saw you, really saw you, beyond the perfectly made bed and the carefully planned dinners. maybe, just maybe, this question could be the key, a small crack. it could lead to an actual conversation, a real one, not just about work or groceries or the weather. your heart beat a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"hey," you start.

he hummed, signaling acknowledgement without breaking concentration. his head tilted slightly, silent invitation to continue.

do you ever think about kids?

words once so clear in your mind, so simple in your head, at least, suddenly tangled. they became a knot in your throat, a lump of unspoken fears and resentments. the image of him, so engrossed, so far away, solidified the doubt. what if he says no? what if he doesn’t want them? what if he thinks it’s a silly question? the fear of that disappointment in his eyes, was a known, suffocating weight. you’d spent years perfecting the art of soft landings, of avoiding any ripple in the calm surface of your shared life. to shatter that now, to introduce a potential disagreement, felt like a betrayal of your own carefully constructed peace. the question of children, of your future, of his love, dissolved into a vague, unformed anxiety.

"do you…" you began, then faltered, sentence dying on your lips. "do you want some tea?"

he looked up then, slanted brown eyes meeting yours, a faint smile touching his lips. the blue light softened the edges of his face, highlighting the dimples that appeared only when he was genuinely pleased. "yeah," he nodded. "sounds nice."

and just like that, the moment passed. the opportunity vanished. you offered a small, tight smile in return, then turned and walked back into the quiet kitchen, already reaching for the kettle. behind you, the quiet settles back into place. the question dissolves somewhere between the sink and the stove, blending into the rhythm of water filling, mugs being set out, something warm being made and offered instead of something uncertain being asked. by the time the kettle starts to hum, you can’t even tell if it would’ve been the right moment or if there would ever be one.

୨୧

the supermarket was colder than you'd expected when the automatic doors whispered open, spitting out artificial chill. paused just past the entrance, adjusting your grip on the heavy cart as the air settled unwelcome against your skin. for a moment, you just stood there, letting the quiet hum of refrigerators and distant chatter fill the space around you. a shiver traced it's way down your spine, cold reminder that you had to move, and so you pushed the metal basket forward as it's wheels squeaked faintly.

there was no reason to rush. you followed the aisles in a pattern you didn’t have to think about anymore. chicken first, hand reaching for the familiar white tray. then the vegetable section. flour, again. sugar, constant drain on the pantry, always seemed to run out faster than it should. everything found it's place in the cart without hesitation, each item chosen with the same steady certainty. each line on your shopping list crossed off with a decisive stroke of the pen. at some point, you realized you had already walked down the same aisle twice.

nothing missing, nothing forgotten. the necessities secured, a small indulgence felt earned. you slowed, then stopped altogether at the snack aisle. eyes drifted over the shelves, lingering on things you didn’t need. brightly colored packaging, a mental tally forming: which ones you wouldn't you buy, which ones would san wrinkle his nose at? the familiar ritual offered a brief, quiet comfort. you imagined his polite imperceptible nod of approval when you presented his favourite chocolate covered crispy biscuits, or the slight, teasing lift of his brow if you dared bring home something too exotic.

"y/n?" the voice came from behind, uncertain but enough to make you turn, the cart creaking in protest. you couldn’t place him until the crooked smile appeared and recognition settled in.

seonghwa.

he stood a few feet away, a half basket hooked over his arm. the boy you remembered, all sharp angles and adolescent angst, had softened around the edges, but the core was undeniably him. the piercings that once studded his ears and lip were gone, leaving only ghost like indentations. but new ink snaked up his forearms, dark tendrils against his skin, a testament to a life lived beyond high school hallways. his wolf cut, a shaggy, artfully dishevelled frame around his face, was longer, wilder than you remembered. his round eyes, still piercing, held a glint of surprise, then something else, something assessing.

"oh...hi," you said, a small, surprised smile breaking through. "wait, hi."

"wow, it's really you." he smiled back, a little wider, like he’d been more sure of it than you were. "i almost didn't recognize you. you... look good, exactly the same," he added, almost as an afterthought.

you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "that’s not true."

"it is," he said lightly. "just... older. in a good way."

you smiled again, more out of politeness this time, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as if to give your hands something to do.

"what are you doing around here?" he asked. "do you live nearby?"

"yeah," you nodded. "not too far. i just came to... groceries."

"right," he said, glancing at his own cart. "same."

there was a brief pause, the kind that should have felt awkward, but didn’t quite. not yet.

"so... are you still in touch with... what was her name? sarah? no- samantha?”

you smiled faintly. "no."

"right, yeah," he said quickly, waving it off with a small laugh. "i always mix those up."

you didn’t correct him. his gaze shifted then, catching on your left hand, lingering for a fraction on the thin band around your ring ringer. you followed his eyes, as if you hadn’t noticed it until that moment.

you offered a practiced smile, a smooth, well rehearsed performance. "oh, yeah. met him in college." the words came out light, airy, almost dismissive of the years of shared history, of the dreams whispered in dorm rooms, the silent promises.

"college, huh? that's nice," he said, and it sounded genuine.

"it is," you replied, too quickly. "his name is san, he's an accountant." the description felt flat, inadequate, a pale shadow of the man you loved.

"an accountant. fancy." he chuckled. "so, what have you been up to? still arguing about about freud versus jung for fun?"

"no, not really." you corrected gently. "i mean, i got a psychology degree but i'm… i'm a stay at home wife now." the phrase almost felt embarrassing on your tongue.

his eyebrow shot up. "huh... i always pictured you, like, running a therapy practice, saving the world from going insane."

you shrugged. "well, it’s nice, though. i get to... manage the house. bake. plan meals. save him from going insane, you know?" the words hollow, even to your own ears.

"i bet san’s a lucky man. always coming home to fresh cookies." he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

small, tight knot formed in your stomach. you baked when you were anxious, yes. but san rarely came home early enough for the cookies to still be warm. and most of them, you gave away to the neighbours, offerings of surplus comfort. "something like that," you murmured, deflecting. "what about you? still making music?"

his face lit up, a genuine, unadulterated passion sparking in his eyes. the words lingered between you for a second before dissolving into something lighter. you talked after that. nothing important, nothing that would be remembered in detail later. work, vaguely. life, in broad strokes. the kind of conversation that filled space easily without asking too much of either of them. he asked questions and waited for the answers. reacted in the right places. kept things moving without letting them settle too long in any one place. you found yourself talking more than you expected to.

"a few of us get together sometimes," he said, almost casually. "nothing big. just... hanging out. you should come, we’re going to a friend's house next week. old times' sake."

you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because you did. your mind immediately conjured a mental checklist: the laundry basket overflowing in the utility room, the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun on the living room floor, the intricate dinner you had planned for san, a quiet attempt to reignite a spark that felt increasingly dim. the thought of all those small, domestic duties, waiting patiently for your attention, made a familiar pang of guilt twist in your gut.

"i don’t know," you said lightly, automatic refusal on your lips. "i might be busy."

"with what?" he asked curiously.

you searched for something immediate, something obvious.

"just… stuff," you said instead, smoothing it over with a small smile.

he nodded, accepting it without question.

"well," he added, "if you’re not, you’re welcome. it’d be nice to catch up properly. it’s good to break free sometimes and let loose, you know?"

a small yearning stirred within you. the idea of an afternoon free from chores, from the quiet hum of your own thoughts, from the subtle ache of loneliness, held an unexpected appeal. "okay," you said, the word simple.

"yeah?" his eyes amused.

"yeah."

you exchanged numbers. nothing ceremonious about it, a small addition, barely noticeable in the moment. "well, it was good running into you, y/n. don’t be a stranger." he offered a quick, easy smile, then turned, his basket still hooked over his arm, and disappeared down the aisle towards the dairy section.

that night, you work through the knots in your hair in front of the vanity mirror. each stroke of the brush pulls a small discomfort. the rush of water from the tap in the en suite bathroom ceases. the door creaks open and san emerged, a towel draped low around his waist. water still clings to the dark hairs on his chest, glistening under the low light. he moves with a quiet efficiency, his broad shoulders filling the doorway for a moment before he crosses to his side of the bed, carrying the clean scent of his soap. he doesn’t look at you, not directly, as he peels the towel away, letting it drop to the floor. your gaze, however, finds the smooth expanse of his back, the hard lines of his muscles shifting as he reaches for the pajama drawer. you note the way his bicep flexes, the familiar curve of his neck, the slight slump of his shoulders that wasn’t there when you first met him.

you continue brushing, rhythmic scrape of bristles against scalp filling the silence. your heart a persistent bird, flutters.

"i ran into someone today," you say, your voice almost lost in the rustle of san pulling on a shirt.

a low hum sound from inside the fabric, he pulls the shirt down, smoothing it over his chest. he turns then, his eyes, dark and heavy lidded, finally finding yours in the mirror. a flicker of something unreadable passes through them before settling into a tired affection.

"at the market?" he asks as he pulls back the duvet on his side of the bed.

you nod, watching his reflection as he settles onto the mattress, propping himself up against the headboard. "an old friend. from high school." you pause, the brush still in your hand, it's bristles splayed. "apparently some of them still hang out, and i was invited."

the bed dips as he adjusts the pillows. "that’s good. you should go." his voice is calm, even. he picks up his phone from the nightstand, it's screen glowing blue for a moment before he sets it back down.

you turn fully then, the brush forgotten on the vanity. your bare feet touch the cool wood floor. "really? you don’t mind?" you walk to your side of the bed.

he looks up, his brows furrowed slightly. "why would i mind? it’s good for you to see people. you’re always here." his gaze sweeps around the room, then back to you. "you should get out more."

the words, meant to be reassuring, land with a surprising weight. always here. a small, sharp ache begins in your chest. you climb into bed, pulling the duvet up to your chin. the sheets, cool against your skin, feel vast tonight.

"i mean," you start, choosing your words carefully, "i haven’t seen them in years. since graduation, probably." you watch his face, searching for something, a hint of curiosity, a flicker of concern.

he just nods, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "people change. that’s okay. it’ll be nice to reconnect." he reaches over, his hand finding yours under the duvet. his fingers, warm and strong, intertwine with yours, a familiar comfort. "you’ve been cooped up. it’s good to have plans."

his thumb strokes the back of your hand, it’s a connection, yes, but one that feels practiced, automatic. you want to tell him more, to say, it was seonghwa, the boy with the emo hair, the one who used to draw skulls in his notebook during history class, but the words catch in your throat. the moment feels too delicate, too easily broken.

"i guess so," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. you squeeze his hand, a silent plea for more, for him to ask, who was it? what did you talk about?

soft exhalation that sounds like relief escapes him. he leans over, his head dipping. his lips, warm and soft, brush your forehead, then your temple, then your mouth. it’s a brief, chaste kiss, a familiar closing to the day. his lips taste faintly of mint. he pulls back, settling deeper into his pillow.

"good night, y/n," he says, his voice already thick with sleep.

eyes closing and breathing deepening almost immediately. the rhythm of his breath fills the room, steady and even. his hand, still holding yours, loosens it's grip. fingers, heavy with sleep, slide away.

darkness pressed in as you layed there, the silence amplifying the quiet hum of the city outside. your eyes trace the familiar contours of his face in the dim light. his eyelashes, thick and dark, rest against his cheekbones. faint smile, ghost of a dream, plays on his lips. he looks peaceful, untroubled.

he hadn’t asked. he hadn’t asked anything beyond the most superficial. he hadn't asked who. he hadn't asked if you wanted to go. he just assumed.

you turn onto your side, facing away from him, pulling the duvet tighter around you. the warmth of the blankets does little to chase away the chill that has settled deep within you. still, you tried to push the thought away. it’s not fair. san is tired. he works hard. he provides. this is what you agreed to. this is the life you built. you chose this, to be here. for him. but the loneliness curls around your heart. the perfection of the bed you made this morning, the carefully planned dinner, the unspoken anxieties baked into the pastries you gave away, all of it feels like a silent scream swallowed by the vast, quiet expanse of your days.

tears won’t come even if the knot in you throat screams for a cry. instead, your mind drifts to the closet, to the neat rows of clothes, the perfectly folded sweaters. tomorrow, you think, you’ll reorganize the winter section. it needs it. you need it. a small, manageable task to fill the endless hours.

y/n choi: hi, it's y/n from the store. i think i'm free that day if the invite still stands

seonghwa park: hey!

seonghwa park: yeah of course 😉

seonghwa park: glad ur coming, heres the address

seonghwa park: [location]

୨୧

the building wasn't what you expected. grimy canvas of faded brick and peeling paint that slightly unnerved you. you pulled your phone from your pocket a third time, checked the address, then glanced up at the entrance like it might correct itself if you stayed waiting long enough.

no, this was it.

bass vibrated through the pavement, pulse beneath your feet. for a second, you consider leaving, then you adjust your grip on the small container in your hands and step inside. the hallway swallowed you whole, narrow canyon that smell suspiciously of gasoline. when you reach the graffiti painted door, it was already slightly open. you knocked anyway.

there's a small shuffle inside before seonghwa emerges, his grin a flash of white teeth.

"y/n! thought you weren't gonna make it." he stepped aside, his arm sweeping an invitation.

you offered a small, polite smile, stepping into the room. the air hit you first, thick with a cloying sweetness you couldn't recognize and the acrid bite of stale cigarettes. the apartment was a controlled chaos. art adorned every available surface, canvases leaning against walls, sketches tacked to corkboards, a half finished sculpture draped in cloth in a corner. the room swam with bodies. girls, their midriffs bare, navel piercings glinting under the strung fairy lights. men, their arms drawn with ink, sprawled on beanbags or perched on the worn, leather couches. they moved with an easy, unhurried rhythm, as if the space molded itself around their presence. your modest linen shirt, a soft ecru, felt suddenly like a costume, an ill fitting disguise.

"hey everyone, this is y/n, from high school." seonghwa’s voice cut through the haze, a casual announcement.

a few heads turned, a couple of languid nods, but most remained immersed in their conversations, their laughter echoing off the high ceilings. your gaze swept across the room, searching for a familiar face, a flicker of recognition. nothing.

"it’s... nice to meet you all," you murmured, voice a little too soft, a little too formal for the raucous atmosphere. you clutched the clear container in your hands, the weight of it suddenly grounding.

a girl with a constellation of tiny tattoos climbing her neck, her hair a violent shade of fuchsia, pointed a perfectly manicured finger at your hands. "what’s that?"

you felt a blush creep up your neck. "oh. cookies. i made them." you held the container out, a silent offering.

a woman with striking, dark eyes and a generous smile detached herself from a group near the window. she wore spiked hair and her eyebrows seemed to be gone, but her presence offered a quiet anchor. "cookies! how cute. anna, by the way." she extended a hand, her grip firm and warm.

"y/n." you returned her shake, a surge of relief washing over you.

"i didn't know this was a bake sale," a gravelly voice grumbled from a corner, followed by a snort.

anna turned, her dark eyes narrowing playfully at the fat guy with a mohawk. "shut up, mark. you never bring anything." she gave his arm a quick, sharp shove. despite his joke, he came up as well.

a fresh wave of embarrassment hit you, cheeks burning as you began to stammer, "i just thought, you know, as a... a thank you for inviting me..."

anna waved your apology away. "no, it’s great! we love snacks. what kind?" she peered into the container, her eyes sparkling.

"chocolate chip. with sea salt." you offered, a small smile tentatively forming.

the lid popped open with a soft click. the aroma of warm chocolate and vanilla wafted through the air, momentarily cutting through the other scents. it was like a siren song. suddenly, a small crowd materialized around you, drawn by the scent. hands reached in, fingers deftly plucking cookies from their neat rows.

"someone brought cookies?"

"wait, i want cookies."

"no way, cookies?"

"save me one. i said save me one!"

the conversation dwindled, replaced by the soft sounds of chewing and contented murmurs. a lanky guy took the last cookie, giving you a between apologetic and grateful look and you laugh it off. within minutes, the container lay empty, a few crumbs clinging to it's clear sides. you felt a genuine smile spread across your face. the tension in your shoulders eased. "i’m glad you liked them."

for a moment everything was filled with overlapping conversations and easy movement, people drifting in and out without much structure. you sat at the couch with anna and mark. being spoken to, responded to, included without having to work for it. she asks you what else you like to bake. he asks where you live. the questions aren’t deep, but they come one after another and you answer, laugh and nod. the silence you've been carrying around doesn’t follow you in, it stays somewhere outside the door you walked through.

after a while, when the rhythm starts to feel harder to follow and topics shift quickly, you find your way back to seonghwa in the kitchen. he’s near the counter, talking to someone, but he glances over when you approach, like he’s been keeping track of where you are.

"hey," he says, turning slightly towards yo.

"hi," you answer before a small pause, then casually, "are any other people from our school coming?"

he doesn't hesitate. "nah," he says, shaking his head. "couldn't come."

"oh," you felt a pang of disappointment, small knot tightening in your stomach. you’d envisioned friendly faces, shared anecdotes, a comfortable bridge to this unfamiliar landscape. "okay."

"why?" he adds. "were you expecting someone?"

"no,no. i just thought maybe-" before trailing off, you shake your head lightly. "it's fine."

he watches you for a second, then nods once, like that’s enough.

"you’re good," he says. "don’t overthink it. come on, let’s get you a drink." seonghwa grinned, his hand briefly brushing your lower back as he steered you towards a cooler overflowing with ice and bottles.

you chose a sparkling water, the chill of the can a welcome sensation against your palm. you gravitated towards anna, who was now engaged in a lively discussion with mark about a band you’d never heard of. you hovered at the edge of their circle, listening, slowly piecing together fragments of their world. they spoke of gigs, of art installations, of obscure films, their words painting a vibrant, chaotic picture of lives lived on the fringes of convention.

as the evening continued it's slow, winding course, the hours passed by without warning, suddenly, it was later than you thought. through the subtle buzz in your veins and lightness you hadn't realized you were missing, the image of san already in bed, alone, stirred something in you. your small bag and empty container already in your hands.

"you can come in anytime, even if seonghwa isn't here." anna said before hugging you goodbye.

as you made your way towards the door, seonghwa intercepted you. "leaving already? come on, just one more drink." his voice was persuasive.

"i really should go. it’s getting late." you offered a polite, but firm smile.

he stepped closer, his hand briefly touching your arm. "you know, you’re really something, y/n. a real breath of fresh air." his eyes held yours, flicker of something unreadable in their depths.

"thank you, seonghwa. for inviting me." you pulled your arm away subtly.

"anytime. seriously. we should hang out again, just us two." his voice dropped, a low murmur intended only for your ears.

you felt a shiver, a faint unease prickling at your skin. "maybe," you said, voice noncommittal, then slipped out the door, back into the cool night air.

the street was quieter now, the bass from the building still a faint thrum in the distance. you walked and thought of the laughter, the music, the easy camaraderie, and a strange sense of longing settled in your chest. it was a world so different from your own, a world where boundaries seemed to blur, where emotions were worn on sleeves, where life felt raw and immediate.

stale cigarette smoke clung to your clothes, a new perfume you hadn't anticipated, but somehow, it felt less offensive than the lingering scent of dish soap from your day to day. your sensible sedan, parked a block away, seemed almost out of place among the battered vans and motorcycles. once you got in safely, you pulled out your phone, the screen illuminating your face with a single text from san from an hour ago: 'home. have a good time, night.' short, efficient, just like him. you stared at it and felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to talk to him, to tell him about the fuchsia hair, the tattooed arms, their reactions to your cookies, the melancholic music, anna’s kind eyes. but you tucked your phone back into your purse, the small, bright screen now dark.

you unlocked the apartment door, the click echoing in the silent space. the air inside was still, heavy with the scent of your carefully chosen strawberry cake diffuser. a half eaten bowl sat on the kitchen counter, remnants of the chicken stir fry you had prepared earlier, the pan still on the stove, a few grains of rice clinging to it's surface. a small sigh of relief escaped your lips. he had eaten. the simple act, a confirmation of your effort, brought a satisfaction to you. you moved through the kitchen, the soft clink of ceramic and metal as you rinsed the bowl, scrubbed the pan. it was a mindless task, your hands working on autopilot, while your mind drifted back to the vibrant chaos of anna's house.

the bedroom was a hushed darkness. san lay sprawled on his side of the bed, a rumbling snore escaping his lips, his face buried in the pillow. the sheet, pulled up to his waist, outlined the broad expanse of his back, the familiar curve of his spine. a sight you knew intimately, a tableau repeated almost every night. he worked hard, you reminded yourself, always.

you untangled your hair from the neat french twist, the pins scattering like tiny metallic insects onto the polished wood of your dresser. soft fingers massaged your scalp, releasing the tension that had gathered there throughout the day. you stripped off your clothes replacing them with silk pajama shorts and a matching camisole. teeth brushed and bathroom light off, the bed dipped slightly as you eased yourself in, careful not to disturb san. he remained a dark, unmoving mass beside you, his breathing deep and even.

sleep, usually a welcome embrace, felt elusive tonight. your mind buzzed, a kaleidoscope of new faces, loud music, and unfiltered laughter. the freedom of it all, the raw, unpolished authenticity, contrasted sharply with the quiet, ordered life you had carefully constructed.

shifting restless, silk rustling against the sheets. the image of the girl's fuchsia hair, defiant and vibrant, flashed in your mind. her confident stride, her easy smile. what did she worry about? did she ever feel this profound, aching quietness? you turned your head, watching the gentle rise and fall of san's back. the moonlight, filtering through the gap in the curtains, painted a silver line along his broad shoulder, the muscle defined even in repose. he was strong, reliable, your rock. yet lately, the rock was a mountain you couldn't climb.

a pang of something sharp, something akin to longing, twisted in your gut. you wanted to feel. you wanted to be seen. not just as the wife who kept the house, who cooked the meals, but as you, again. the you who had laughed tonight, unburdened. the one you knew san had fallen in love with.

your hand, almost without conscious thought, slipped beneath the silk of your pajama shorts. the fabric parted, your fingers, tentative at first, found the soft mound of your grown pubic hair, then the slick, warm folds beneath. a small gasp escaped your lips, swallowed by the quiet room. your core, already sensitive, pulsed beneath your touch. you stroked, slowly, deliberately, soft pressure building.

subtly, your hips began to tilt, involuntary movement, pressing into your palm. your fingers worked with a quiet urgency, tracing the delicate ridges, circling the peak of your clitoris. a moistness spread, warm, slick rush that dampened the silk shorts beneath your hand. the sensation intensified, a delicious ache blooming deep inside you, spreading through your belly. your breathing hitched, growing shallow, ragged.

wake up, i'm here.

you closed your eyes, a torrent of images flashing behind your eyelids. san, the warmth of his touch, a vague, undefined hunger. you pressed harder, your thumb finding a rhythm, a steady, insistent pressure. a low moan, barely audible, escaped your throat, a sound of pure pleasure. your whole body tensed, arching slightly into your hand. the climax a sudden, exquisite release, wave of heat that cascaded through your limbs, leaving you trembling, breathless.

୨୧

the shrill ring of the alarm ripped you from a dreamless sleep. your eyes fluttered open, the room still shrouded in pre dawn gloom. a glance at the clock sent a jolt of panic through you. 6:45 am. san left at 7:30. you had overslept.

you scrambled out of bed, the silk shorts clinging briefly before you shed them. the floor was cool beneath your bare feet.

"san, wake up," you whispered, nudging his shoulder. he grunted and slowly, reluctantly, stirred.

you moved with practiced efficiency, a whirlwind of motion in the quiet kitchen. the scent of brewing coffee began to fill the air, mingling with the sizzle of eggs in the pan. toast popped, butter melted, and the rhythmic thud of a knife chopping fruit filled the space. san emerged from the bedroom, showered and dressed, his black hair still damp, clinging to his forehead. he looked tired, his eyes still holding the remnants of sleep, but his movements were precise, methodical.

"morning," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. he poured himself a mug of coffee, the steam curling around his face.

"morning," you replied, already assembling his lunch. a neat stack of sandwiches, a small container of cut fruit, a handful of almonds. you wrapped it all meticulously, fitting it into his lunch bag.

"did you sleep okay?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee. he leaned against the counter, watching you.

"yeah, eventually," you said, trying to keep your voice light. you packed a small thermos of tea. "i went to that thing last night, you know, the hangout thing?"

he nodded before picking up a slice of toast, spreading jam onto it. "how was it?"

"it was...different," you began, a small smile playing on your lips. you wanted to tell him everything, about the fuchsia hair, the tattoos, the unexpected warmth. "it was in this old building, kind of grungy, but everyone was so nice. there was this girl, sally, she had the most incredible hair, like, bright pink and her face was like a strainer, filled with piercings, it was so cool. and then i met anna, she had these dark intimidating eyes but she was actually really sweet. she’s a photographer for bands."

he turned to you with a slight frown. "y/n?"

"yeah?" you cleaned your hands with a kitchen towel.

"you're not... getting into anything dangerous, are you?"

you tilted your head, looking at him confused. "what? no, no. they were really nice people, they had this energy, like they just didn't care what anyone thought. it was kind of... inspiring."

"hmm..." he took a bite with a raised brow. "be careful y/n, you know how those types can be."

the warmth you’d felt, a flicker of shared experience, began to cool. "i am. but listen, there was also music, not like the music we usually listen to, more like a band sound," you continued, a little more emphatically, trying to inject some of the excitement you had felt into your words. "there was this guy, he had these huge arms filled with tattoos and he had a mohawk, i'd never seen one of those in real life."

he looked away again, finished his toast and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "just don’t get into anything foolish." he reached for his briefcase and lunchbox, already moving towards the door.

your shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly, there was so much you still wanted to tell him. but there was also no time, you knew. there never was. he was already halfway out the door, his hand on the knob.

"i'll make your favorite soup for dinner tonight," you offered, a last ditch effort to connect, to anchor him for just a moment longer.

he paused, turning his head slightly. a small, tired smile touched his lips, revealing the faint indentations of his dimples. "thanks, that sounds great, i'll try not to be too late. love you."

"love you," you mumbled as the door shut and he was gone, the click of the lock echoing in the now silent apartment. you stood in the kitchen, surrounded by the lingering scent of coffee and eggs.

y/n choi: hi, it's y/n, i had a really good time yesterday.

seonghwa park: hey, me too

seonghwa park: everyone loved u btw, they were all talking about how sweet you were when you left

y/n choi: really? that's so nice to hear

seonghwa park: ur coming next week, right?

y/n choi: again?

seonghwa park: yeah

seonghwa park: we hang out every weekend

seonghwa park: always at annas

seonghwa park: come ooon, ull have t come

seonghwa park: ur a part of the group now

the words, simple and direct, landed like a soft blanket on your exposed nerves. a part of the group now. the phrase resonated, a balm to the quiet ache san’s rushed departure had left behind. it wasn’t profound, not a declaration of affection, but it was an invitation, a recognition. it felt like a small hand reaching out in the growing expanse of your solitude.

y/n choi: i’d like that, thanks seonghwa.

the next week crawled by, each day a slow, methodical march of chores and quiet anticipation. the perfect bed, the planned dinners, the reorganizing of the linen closet. each task a meticulous attempt to fill the hours, to ward off the encroaching loneliness. but seonghwa’s words, hummed beneath the surface.

a part of the group now.

as saturday evening approached, nervous flutter stirred in your stomach. you pulled out a simple, soft cotton t-shirt, one you usually wore for lounging. then, a pair of well worn dark jeans. your fingers went to your hair, letting it fall, then found a simple black velvet hairband, pushing back the front strands.

the grungy building loomed, a concrete behemoth adorned with a tapestry of peeling posters and vibrant graffiti. the door stood ajar again, inviting light spilling onto the cracked pavement. but politeness, ingrained deep within you, compelled your knuckles to tap softly against it.

the door swung open further, revealing anna. her spiked hair, dark halo around her face, seemed to defy gravity. thicker eyeliner from the last time, you noticed. a cigarette dangled from her lips, thin wisp of smoke curling lazily into the air.

"well, look who it is," anna’s voice, raspy like gravel, held a surprising warmth. a slow smile spread across her face, revealing a glint of metal in her upper teeth. "you bring cookies this time, wifey?"

you laughed, unforced sound that surprised even yourself. "i didn’t, i’m afraid." faint blush touched your cheeks.

anna leaned against the doorframe, taking a drag from her cigarette. "shame. your hair looks good though, so i'll let you in." she winked, a playful glint in her dark eyes.

you stepped inside murmuring a small "thanks." she led you into the living room as seonghwa, who was meticulously cleaning something that looked like a round bottom flask, rose from the couch.

"hey, you. where's my hug?" he grinned, a flash of genuine pleasure in his expression. he offered a thight hug, quick squeeze that felt surprisingly comforting. "glad you came back."

"come on, i’ll show you my current obsession." anna, having stubbed out her cigarette in a makeshift ashtray, clapped you on the shoulder and led you to a corner of the living room, where a makeshift studio was set up. a flash unit sat on a tripod, and a black backdrop hung from a makeshift frame.

she showed you her new lighting techniques, her raspy voice softening as she spoke about her craft, explaining each of the series of prints tacked to the wall. the subjects, all punk, stared out with an intensity that pulled you in. low groan emanated from the other side of the room. mark, with his pants that perpetually threatened to slide off his ample frame, was getting another tattoo. the machine buzzing like an angry bee.

you watched, a strange mix of fascination and unease stirring within you. the raw intimacy of the moment, the deliberate pain, the permanent mark being etched into skin. it was so far removed from your carefully ordered world. visceral, unapologetic. you thought of san, of his disciplined body, his aversion to anything that might disrupt his carefully constructed order. a tattoo, to him, would be an act of reckless abandon, an unnecessary defacement.

anna exchanged a few words with the tattoo artist and you followed seonghwa and sally into the kitchen.

"tacos?" you asked, a sudden urge to ground yourself in something familiar, something productive.

"attempting to," seonghwa repeated, a wry smile playing on his lips. sally, armed with a knife, was making a valiant but clumsy effort to chop an onion. tears streamed down her heavily made up face.

"this is harder than it looks," she sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing eyeliner.

"i don’t even know if this is cooked enough. it still looks… pink."

you stepped forward with quiet confidence. this, you knew. this was your domain. "let me help," you offered, already reaching for the cutting board. you gently took the knife, demonstrating a quick, efficient chop that produced even dice.

you moved with an easy grace, hands finding their rhythm. chicken seasoned, a blend of spices from the overflowing spice rack that seemed to surprise even seonghwa. you showed sally how to properly dice tomatoes and shred lettuce, your voice soft but instructive. the kitchen, which had been a scene of mild culinary disaster, slowly began to transform into an efficient workspace.

"wow," sally beamed, her fuchsia hair bouncing. "seriously, my mom just nukes everything."

it was a simple thing, a small act of connection, of contribution. but you felt useful, appreciated. the feeling was a pleasant counterpoint to the quiet solitude of your own kitchen at home, where your culinary efforts often met with san’s polite, but often silent, approval.

the group gathered at the living room again, something being passed from hand to hand. you saw it before you recognized it, it wasn't tobacco.

the joint made it's rounds, anna took a long drag, her eyes closing in apparent contentment. seonghwa inhaled deeply, then exhaled a plume of smoke that dissolved into the dim light. sally giggled, her eyes a little brighter, her movements a little looser.

then, mark’s hand, big with his new tattoo, extended towards you, holding the burning joint. the tip glowed orange, small pulsating ember. a hush fell over the group, subtle, expectant. no one said anything, but their gazes, soft and encouraging, rested on you.

your breath hitched. your mind, usually so clear, swam with conflicting thoughts. weed. the word echoed in your head, sharp and disapproving. san’s voice, clear as day, cut through the hazy atmosphere.

disgusting. it’s not a gateway. it destroys lives.

his lectures, delivered with a quiet intensity, about the dangers of drugs, of anything that clouded judgment, that compromised control. he hated it. he hated all of it. smoking, drinking to excess, any form of escape that wasn’t productive, wasn’t measured.

your gaze flickered to mark’s hand, then to seonghwa, who offered a small, reassuring nod. a strange defiance, a tiny spark of rebellion, ignited within you. san, with his rigid rules and his unspoken expectations, felt miles away, a distant, fading echo. here, in this room, with these people, there was an unspoken permission, an acceptance of difference.

you thought of the quiet mornings, the unasked questions, the emotional chasm that had grown between you and san. you thought of the lingering loneliness, the slow, insidious fading of sparks. you thought of his hurried goodbye, his preoccupation, his casual dismissal of your small joys.

a small, almost imperceptible sigh escaped your lips. it wasn’t about wanting to get high. it was a quiet protest. a moment of reclaiming a sliver of yourself that felt lost, submerged under layers of wifely duty and unspoken disappointment. it was a fleeting, irrational thought, but it felt powerful in it's simplicity.

trembling fingers, usually so steady, reached for the joint. your eyes met seonghwa’s, then anna’s. they offered soft, almost imperceptible smiles.

the joint touched your lips. the paper felt rough against your skin. the smell, pungent and earthy, filled your nostrils. you hesitated for a fraction of a second, a silent battle raging within. then, you inhaled.

the smoke, harsh and acrid, scraped your throat. you coughed between involuntary gasps. tears sprang to your eyes. the group chuckled softly. your lungs burned, heat spread through your chest, then a dizzying lightness in your head. it wasn’t pleasant, not yet. but as the initial shock subsided, a curious sensation began to bloom. a loosening. a letting go.

the world around you, already vibrant, seemed to soften at the edges. the music, a low thrumming before, now seemed to pulse with a deeper rhythm. the faces around you, previously distinct, now blurred into a warm, accepting tableau.

you exhaled, a shaky, uneven breath. the smoke drifted upwards in a cloud, carrying with it a rebellious whisper.

the taco shell crumbled in your fingers, a warm, messy embrace of seasoned chicken and melted cheese. a laugh, sharp and high, tore from your throat. it wasn’t your laugh, not really, but it escaped anyway.

"y/n, these are..." sally kissed the tips of her fingertips at once. a piece of tomato, vibrant red, clung to her chin. you watched it, mesmerized, as it wobbled precariously. like a tiny significant event.

"no, for real. this is the best shit i've ever eaten," someone grunted as they took another bite, cheeks bulging. the sound of their chewing a symphonic rhythm, wet crunch that filled the room.

you smiled, you think, a wide, unbidden thing that stretched your face. your cheeks felt warm and tingly. the praise, usually a balm, now felt like a spotlight, too bright, too focused. you didn't need to respond. the air itself seemed to hum with approval.

seonghwa leaned in, his hair brushing your shoulder. the scent of his cologne filled your nostrils. it was a new smell, suddenly potent, a story in itself.

"you have to come over more often," he murmured. his words were slow, stretched out, like taffy. "we’d starve without you."

you nodded, or thought you did. the room swirled, a gentle eddy of color and sound. the soft glow of the fairy lights strung across anna’s living room became individual, shimmering points, each one a tiny sun.

anna, perched on the armrest of a worn armchair, watched you, her eyes unblinking. she held a half eaten taco, but she wasn’t eating. she was just watching. a flicker of concern crossed her face, or maybe it was just the way the light caught her smudged makeup.

you turned your head, the motion slow, deliberate, like moving through thick syrup. seonghwa’s face was inches from yours. his eyes liquid and half lidded. a tiny mole, small and innocent on his ear. you had never noticed it before.

"you know," he began, his voice dropping, a conspiratorial whisper meant only for you, "i actually lied to you."

the words themselves were like individual pearls, strung together on an invisible thread that made your breath hitch.

"about what?" you managed a reedy whisper. it sounded like someone else speaking.

he chuckled like it was obvious. "about keeping in touch with people from high school. i don't. not really. i just... wanted you to have a reason to come."

the confession ignited a fresh burst of laughter. bubbled up from deep inside, unrestrained, joyful. it felt like a new sensation, a freedom you hadn't known existed. the idea of him lying, out of all things, struck you as profoundly hilarious.

he smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips as his hand, warm and calloused, covered yours on the couch cushion. his thumb traced a slow, hypnotic circle on your skin. it wasn't unpleasant. it was just... there. a sensation.

"y/n, i know you’re unhappy."

unhappiness? that was a concept. right now, there was only the incredibly soft fabric of the couch, the taste of spices on your tongue, the intricate pattern on anna’s rug.

"you deserve so much more," he continued, voice thick and low, "than whatever you’re settling for."

you blinked. his face, so close, seemed to waver, like a reflection in water.

"i want you so bad," a whisper you didn't caught on the movements of his lips, his grip tightening on your hand. "i want to make you happy."

you don't know why he kept making sounds with his mouth. the words drifted past, like smoke. meaningless vibrations in the air. your mind, untethered, floated above them, observing.

then, the world tilted. a wave of warmth, heavy and comforting, washed over you. the trip slowed, the colors blending into a soft, indistinct haze. the universe faded into a gentle lullaby.

୨୧

rough wool blanket against your cheek, smelling faintly of incense and something vaguely sweet, covering you. your eyes fluttered open. the room was bathed in a dim, pre dawn light, a pale grey filtering through the blinds. you blinked, trying to orient yourself. the couch. anna’s couch.

a low snore rumbled from the floor. you peered over the armrest. mark, a lumpy silhouette, was sprawled on a pile of blankets, his mohawk flattened. sally was curled up near him, a splash of fuchsia against the muted tones. anna was nowhere in sight. seonghwa? you scanned the room. no.

dull throb resonated behind your eyes. your mouth felt like sandpaper. you pushed yourself up, the blanket slipping to your lap. the memories of the night were a jumbled mess, like a deck of san's numbers scattered on the floor. flashes of laughter, the taste of tacos, the feeling of warmth. but specific words, specific moments, they were gone, swallowed by the haze.

you fumbled for your purse, slung precariously over the back of the couch. chocolate. a small, dark bar, your emergency comfort. you tore off a piece, the rich, bitter sweetness a welcome shock to your tongue.

you pulled out your phone. three forty seven a.m.

your heart gave a sharp, painful lurch. san. you could almost hear the silence of your apartment, the empty space beside him in bed. a wave of guilt, cold and sharp, washed over you, chasing away the last vestiges of the warm fog.

as careful as you could be, you rose quietly to not disturb the sleeping figures. your movements quiet, deliberate.

the drive home was a blur of streetlights and silent roads. each turn of the wheel felt like a small act of atonement. the city was asleep, a vast, dark canvas. then you finally pulled into your parking spot, the apartment building quiet and imposing.

apartment dark, save for the faint glow from the digital clock on the microwave. you slipped off your shoes, the sink. a plate, crusted with dried sauce, sat precariously on the edge, a half empty mug beside it. san. he had eaten, gone to bed. done.

straight to the bathroom, you stepped under the spray, letting the hot water cascade over your skin. it wasn’t just the smell, but the night itself. the laughter, the forgotten words, the unsettling intimacy. you scrubbed, hard, as if you could scour away the memory, leaving your skin, and your mind, clean and blank once more. you wanted to emerge, refreshed, as if the night had never happened. as if you hadn’t tasted that strange, momentary freedom.

୨୧

the sound pulled at your teeth. tremor in the soles of your new sneakers, premonition of the chaos within. this weekend, anna's apartment building pulsed with an unholy rhythm. this wasn't the hazy, languid hum of last week. this was a beast unleashed.

seonghwa’s band, the ruptured veins or something like that, thrashed in the living room. how they’d squeezed a drum kit, a full amp stack, and three guitarists into the already cramped space remained a mystery. mark, sweat plastering his mohawk to his skull, pounded the drums with a primal ferocity that threatened to crack the plaster. sally contorted over her bass, each pluck a sharp jab to your eardrums. seonghwa, all flailing limbs and guttural shouts was at the center. the sound wasn’t music. it was a wall of noise, an excuse of distorted guitars and ear splitting percussion that clawed at your sanity.

bodies, too many bodies, swayed and thrashed in the dim light, a sea of black leather and ripped denim. you felt like an alien even if you tried dressing in your darkest clothes. a hand, sticky and warm, brushed your arm, offering a glass. you instinctively recoiled, the smell of cheap beer and something cloyingly sweet, making your stomach churn.

seonghwa’s eyes flashed you a grin across the room, a feral baring of teeth, and gave a thumbs up. you forced a weak smile back, the corners of your mouth feeling stiff and unnatural. the volume intensified, a new wave of sound washing over you, drowning out thought, drowning out everything.

a bong, you learned, it's glass bulb milky with smoke, appeared before your face. a girl with tangled dreadlocks and eyes that swam in their sockets pushed it closer.

"hit it, y/n!" she slurred a shout, her voice a gravelly whisper against the roar.

you shook your head, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "no, thanks!"

she shrugged, apathetic, and passed it to the next person. another, a lean guy with a spiderweb tattoo crawling up his neck, who had earlier complained about the brownies you brought not being the "fun ones."

the words felt like pebbles in your throat. you had enough, you needed quiet, needed to escape the relentless assault on your ears. you navigated the throng, each step a battle against jostling elbows and oblivious revelers. you reached the bathroom and pushed open the door for the now muffled sound to lower, then you saw her.

sprawled on the cracked linoleum, half hidden by a discarded shower curtain, lay a woman. her head rested at an awkward angle against the toilet bowl, a thin stream of saliva tracing a path down her chin. she looked older than the others, perhaps in her early thirties, though the lines etched on her face spoke of a life lived hard, not necessarily long. two distinct scars stood out against her skin. her face, even in repose, held a weary resignation, map of battles fought and lost. she wasn't breathing right. shallow, ragged gasps punctuated the silence, each one a struggle.

panic seized you. you knelt beside her, your fingers fumbling for her pulse, finding a weak, thready beat at her neck.

"hey," you whispered, shaking her shoulder gently. "hey, are you okay?"

no response. her eyes remained closed, her lips slightly parted. this wasn't a drunken nap. this was something else, something far more sinister.

your hand instinctively went for your phone, pulling it from your pocket. 911. ambulance. you needed to call an ambulance. your fingers, trembling, navigated the screen.

"i wouldn't do that if i were you."

a hand, heavy and surprisingly strong, clamped around your wrist. your breath hitched. you looked up, startled. a man stood over you. he was burly, with a shaved head and a face like hammered iron. his eyes, dark and flat, bore into yours.

"unless you wanna be trouble," his voice cut through the residual band noise. it wasn't a suggestion. it was a command, heavy with unspoken threat.

your heart hammered against your ribs. you tried to pull your wrist free, but his grip was unyielding, almost bruising. "she needs help," you managed barely a squeak. "she’s not breathing right."

mirthless chuckle rumbled in his chest. "she’s fine. just had a little too much fun." his gaze flickered to your phone. "you call anyone, you’ll regret it."

the warning hung thick and menacing. you met his stare, a shiver running down your spine. the flat emptiness in his eyes, the casual cruelty in his tone, left no room for doubt. he meant it.

slowly, reluctantly, you let your hand drop, your phone clattering softly against the tiles. his grip loosened, then released. you scrambled backward, away from him, away from the unconscious woman, from the suffocating threat. he watched you, unsettling smirk playing on his lips, then turned his attention back to the woman, nudging her with his foot.

you burst out of the bathroom, the music now a mocking roar. you needed anna. anna would know what to do. anna would understand. you pushed through the bodies, eyes scanning the faces, a frantic desperation clawing at your throat. "anna!" you shouted, the word swallowed by the sheer volume. "anna!"

no one heard you. no one even seemed to notice your distress. they just continued to push each other, lost in their own discordant revelry. you spotted a doorway, half hidden behind a towering speaker, and instinctively veered towards it, hoping to find a quieter space, a less crowded corner where anna might be.

it led to a short, narrow hallway, mercifully less populated. at the end, another door, slightly ajar, spilled a soft, yellow light onto the floor. you pushed it open, a desperate plea for help forming on your lips.

the room contrasted to the chaos outside. a single, bare bulb cast a warm glow over a small, unmade bed. and there, on the floor, surrounded by a haphazard collection of worn stuffed animals and bright plastic blocks, sat anna, but she wasn't alone. a small figure, no older than five, sat nestled against her side, a book with brightly colored illustrations open in it's lap. the child, a boy with a shock of dark hair and wide, innocent eyes, looked up as you entered.

"mommy, who’s that?" his voice, clear and sweet, pierced the lingering noise in your ears like a needle.

mommy.

the word echoed, reverberated, then shattered something fragile inside you. anna’s head snapped up, her eyes widening in surprise. a flicker of something, guilt? embarrassment? crossed her face before she quickly composed herself.

"y/n," she said, her voice lowered as she gently pushed the boy behind her. "everything alright?"

everything alright? the irony tasted heavy. now, a child. her child, in this suffocating place. the realization hit you with the force of a physical blow. this wasn’t just a party. this wasn't just a group of friends messing around. this was a life. a harsh, brutal, unforgiving life that you had no part in. the music, which had been an unpleasant background noise, now felt like a blaring siren, screaming the truth. you didn't belong here. not even close. this wasn't edgy. this wasn't rebellious. this was dangerous. this was real.

you shook your head, unable to speak, your throat tight with unshed tears. the image of the passed out woman, the man’s cold eyes, the innocent child, all swirled in a sickening vortex.

"i..." you started, then stopped, the words catching. you didn’t need to explain. anna, with her sudden shift in demeanor, her protective stance over the child, understood.

you turned, a silent retreat, your feet moving on their own accord. you didn't say goodbye. you didn't look back. the door clicked shut behind you, a soft thud against the relentless thrum of the bass.

you navigated the hallway, then the living room, a ghost moving through the throng. no one noticed your departure. the band still roared, seonghwa still shrieked into the mic as he kicked the audience in the face in a blur of motion. you pushed past the last lingering bodies near the door, the cool night air hitting your face like a lifeline.

the street was alive with a different kind of noise. the band’s sound, though fainter, still pulsed through the asphalt, relentless reminder of what you were leaving behind. a group of figures huddled under a flickering street lamp, their movements jerky, unnatural. as you approached, their eyes, glazed and vacant, fixed on you.

"hey, pretty thing, all alone?" one slurred, his voice hoarse, lewd grin spreading across his face.

"where you going in such a hurry?" another whistled, a long, drawn out sound that made your skin crawl.

you kept walking, pace quickening, eyes fixed straight ahead. don’t look. don’t engage. don’t acknowledge. your heart hammered a frantic drum against your ribs. you felt exposed, vulnerable, felt the harsh reality of the street.

your car door shut like a beacon of safety at the end of the block. you fumbled for your keys, fingers clumsy with fear, gripping the steering wheel with knuckles white the whole drive back home, breath coming in ragged gasps. not daring to glance in the rearview mirror once. you drove faster than necessary.

this was not your world. this was not where you belonged. you would never come back. you promised yourself that, a vow whispered into the empty, echoing space of your car, a promise etched in the raw, aching fear still thrumming beneath your skin.

the click of the lock echoed. inside, the air heavy with scent of instant noodles and something sweet, like canned peaches. a white plastic container sat on the kitchen counter, half-eaten, a pair of chopsticks resting beside it. san had takeout. a cold knot tightened in your stomach. you forgot to make him dinner earlier. another layer to the evening’s sour taste.

san, shirtless, was just shrugging out of his work trousers when you entered the room, his back to you. he paused, one leg still in the pant leg, turning his head at the sound of your entrance. his brown eyes, warm and steady, widened slightly.

"you’re back early," he said, the words a quiet murmur in the hushed room. a flicker of surprise crossed his face. he finished pulling off his pants, tossing them onto the laundry hamper with an easy flick of his wrist.

you managed a weak nod, the muscles in your face protesting the effort, too tired to feign a smile. your gaze slid past him, landing on the bathroom door. escape. you moved towards it.

"y/n." his voice stopped you mid stride. you looked over your shoulder, hand hovering over the cool brass doorknob.

"what’s that smell?"

you didn't turn around, the lie already forming on your tongue, bitter pill. "i... i fell into a puddle earlier."

a beat of silence stretched, taut and thin. you watched him, standing there, his brow furrowed, processing your words. you waited for the follow up, the gentle probing, the concern that used to laced his questions. but it didn’t come.

"oh," he said, the single syllable flat, devoid of inflection. he picked up his shirt from the bed, pulling it over his head, then pulled back the covers.

you finally turned, gaze fixed on his retreating back, already settling in. your eyes traced the strong line of his shoulder, the curve of his neck. he was there, and he wasn't. is that all you’re going to ask? the words hovered on your tongue, sharp and desperate. you wanted him to push, to see through your flimsy lie, to demand more. you wanted him to care enough to unravel the carefully constructed facade. almost, you wanted him to know. to know about the music, the drugs, the woman, the fear, the suffocating loneliness that had driven you there in the first place.

"is that all you’re going to ask?" you heard yourself say.

he paused, his hand reaching for the bedside lamp. "is there something else i should know?'

your heart hammered against your ribs. this was it. the open door. the invitation. a single word, a sigh, a broken sentence, and the truth would spill out. you needed to test the boundaries, to see how far he would go, how deep he would dig.

"no," you said, the lie tasting like ash. your gaze held his, searching for a flicker of doubt, a hint of suspicion, anything that would tell you he wasn’t buying it.

he held your gaze for a moment longer, then his lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "okay then." he reached for the lamp, plunging the room into near darkness. he shifted, settling deeper into the pillows.

a choked sound, a low groan of frustration, escaped your lips. he hadn’t pushed. he hadn’t questioned. he hadn’t cared enough to look beyond the surface. you turned abruptly, stalking towards the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind you with a satisfying thud. the sound echoed, a punctuation mark on your silent fury.

san lay in the sudden darkness, his eyes wide open. the faint aroma of something acrid you brought and he couldn't quite place, still lingered in the air. a puddle, he thought. she fell in a puddle. it sounded plausible enough. you were clumsy sometimes, always lost in your own thoughts. he trusted you. he trusted you completely. a small smile touched his lips. it was good you were out, seeing old friends. you needed that. a small part of him felt a pang of guilt for not being able to provide more excitement, more spontaneity in your life. but he was working for your future, for your stability, to provide for you. he believed that was love, that was care. he rolled onto his side, pulling the duvet up to his chin. he heard the shower running, the sound a soft, comforting hum. he closed his eyes, his mind already drifting to tomorrow's spreadsheets, the complex equations that made perfect sense in a world that often didn't. everything was fine. you were having fun. it was okay if you forgot dinner sometimes. you could always order takeout. he was happy. he assumed you were too.

the next morning, the apartment hummed with the usual rhythm of your routine. you woke before him, the first rays of dawn painting the bedroom walls a soft grey. you made the bed, pulling the sheets taut, plumping the pillows with practiced ease. the scent of freshly brewed coffee soon filled the air, followed by the sizzle of eggs in the pan.

san emerged from the bedroom, showered and dressed in his crisp white shirt and specifically tailored pants. he kissed your cheek, a soft brush of lips, and then sat at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone.

it became a monotonous cycle of routine.

you'd have your small talk, watch him eat, his movements precise, efficient, and then he was out the door. then, you'd wander into the bedroom, the perfectly made bed an ironic symbol of your life. you'd pick up your phone, cold blinding glass, and scrolled through social media. endless stream of meaningless shorts of nothing. you'd sink yourself in bed and let the hours melt. youtube videos, a reality show you cared about for two hours, articles about celebrity gossip. anything to fill the void, to drown out the insistent whisper of your own thoughts.

you woke him, prepared his meals, vaguely cleaned what was obvious. but the moments in between stretched, vast and empty. you spent them in bed, phone in hand, the world outside shrinking to the confines of your screen. at night, you wouldn't sleep. every shadow twisted into a threat, every creak of the floorboards a reminder of unspoken dangers. san had simply mentioned you seemed a little tired. you’d blame it on a bad dream, a headache. anything but the truth. the vibrant, productive life you once shared with san, the shared dreams, the late night conversations, they felt like a distant memory, replaced by this quiet, isolated existence.

one evening, san’s footsteps echoed in the hallway, the familiar jingle of his keys preceding his entrance. he walked into the kitchen, his briefcase thudding softly onto the counter. he paused, his eyes scanning the immaculate space. the stovetop was clean, the counters clear. no scent of cooking, no simmering pots.

"i ordered pizza," you said, voice flat, emerging from the living room where you sat on the sofa, scrolling through your phone. the thought of cooking, of meticulously chopping vegetables and stirring pots, felt like an insurmountable task. the effort, the pretense of normalcy, was too much. you simply couldn’t.

"okay," his voice quiet. you couldn't decipher his tone, surprise? confusion? whatever.

for once, he didn't immediately take his laptop. he watched you, his expression unreadable. he picked up a slice, silence punctuated only by the soft chewing sounds.

"i spoke to noeul today," he said, cutting through the quiet.

you froze, a slice of pizza halfway to your mouth. "oh?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but your voice came out a little too sharp.

"she was wondering why you stood her up for lunch," he continued, took another bite of pizza, his eyes still fixed on you.

"i... i wasn't feeling well," you swallowed, the pizza suddenly tasting like cardboard.

he paused, chewing slowing. his dark eyes, usually so placid, held a new depth, a subtle intensity. he studied your face, his gaze searching, probing.

"is everything okay, y/n?" he asked, the question soft, gentle, yet it hit you with the force of a blow. this was the first time in weeks, months even, that he had truly looked at you, truly asked.

you felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you. relief that he was finally seeing, finally asking. fear that he would see too much. anger that it had taken him this long. a desperate, clinging hope that he might actually understand.

you opened your mouth, but what could you say? no, san. everything is not okay. i’m lonely. melancholic. i’m lost. i’ve been hanging out with people who smoke weed and threaten me. i lied to you. i don’t know who i am anymore. the truth felt too vast, too overwhelming, too ugly to articulate.

you closed your mouth, nodding slowly. "yes," you whispered, the lie a refuge. "everything’s fine."

he didn’t push further. he simply nodded, a slow thoughtful movement. he finished his pizza in silence, his eyes occasionally flicking towards you. he didn't know what to do. he thought he was doing everything right, providing stability, working hard. but he felt that something wasn't actually right. he could feel it. and for the first time, the thought that his stability might not be enough began to gnaw at him.

୨୧

"well, well, well," you couldn't see seonghwa's face through the phone but you just knew a smile stretched across his face, all teeth and charm. "look who finally decided to give signs of life."

you took a breath, "i’m sorry about that. i felt a little... overwhelmed."

"overwhelmed?" he chuckled a sound that grated. "we had a blast, though. sally was asking where you went."

a forced light laugh came out of you. "i'm sorry, it's just... don't take this the wrong way but, i don't think it's my scene."

the seconds of silence made you more nervous than you liked to admit. "oh? why’s that? did anna scare you off? she’s all bark, no bite, you know."

"it’s not anna." you walked to the window, staring out at the streets. "it’s just not... it’s not for me." you chose your words carefully.

"not for you, huh... too much for the perfect little housewife?"

you didn't know what to say, or even if you should reply. this is not the way you had wanted to come off.

"come on, y/n. " his tone shifted again, becoming almost playful, seductive. "you can’t just ditch us. we were just getting to know you. and you, me, we had a connection, didn’t we?"

you closed your eyes and sighed. "i appreciate the invitation, seonghwa. but i really don’t think it’s a good idea."

"wait, wait, wait." his voice was quick, slightly desperate. "don’t hang up. this saturday. it’ll be different. i promise."

"different how?"

"no loud music. no... overwhelming crowds." he mimicked your earlier word with annoyance. "it’ll be at my place. daylight. we’ll just chill. listen to some records. maybe sally will bring her new bass. anna her camera, snap some pictures. it’ll be... a real hangout. no pressure. just us."

a day hangout. at his place. no crowds. the thought of seeing anna, of making sure she was okay, flickered. and sally. you’d genuinely liked sally. you chewed on your lip, disappearing without a trace, even from people who were clearly not good for you, felt... rude. you were not rude. you prided yourself on your manners, on leaving things tidily. this would be your last clean exit. a proper goodbye.

"it'll be calm? no substances?" you asked with a small voice.

"yeah. we'll just chill."

you sighed, a long, slow release of air. "fine. but if it gets crazy, i’m leaving."

"deal!" his voice triumphant. "i’ll text you the address. saturday. two o’clock. don’t be late, y/n."

you hung up on him, the silence of the kitchen pressing in on you. a mistake? probably. but you had to make things right. you had to say goodbye. properly.

the next few days were a flurry of quiet preparations. you found a well loved cookbook at a second hand store, it's pages dog eared and stained with flour. sally had seemed genuinely interested in your chicken tacos, you remember her bouncing as she peered over your shoulder. a small childish bunny stuffed animal, soft and grey, caught your eye in a boutique window. anna’s son. he deserved a little softness in a world that seemed so hard. you wrapped the gifts carefully, a futile attempt to infuse them with the warmth you wished you could offer.

saturday afternoon, the sun bright in the sky. you drove, the directions seonghwa had texted leading you through unfamiliar streets, past industrial parks and forgotten warehouses. the address finally brought you to a hidden nook, tucked away behind a row of dilapidated auto shops. a trailer park. a small, unexpected community of metal boxes, each with it's own patch of scraggly grass and faded plastic lawn ornaments. you hadn’t known such a place existed in the heart of the city.

seonghwa’s trailer, a faded blue, stood at the end of a gravel path. your stomach twisted. you clutched the gifts tighter, the paper rustling. you knocked, a soft tap that felt too polite for the setting. the door creaked open, revealing him. his hair looking a little disheveled, as if he’d just woken up. a faint smell of something herbal, not entirely unpleasant, wafted from inside.

"oh, you actually came." he grinned as he rubbed the weariness out of his face.

"i said i would." you offered a small smile, trying to ignore the sudden awkwardness that settled between you. "i brought some things." you held up the wrapped gifts.

"oh, for me?" he reached for them, but you pulled back slightly.

"no. for sally and anna’s son."

his hand dropped, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "right. well, come on in. you’re the first one here."

the trailer was small, surprisingly neat but dim. a worn couch, covered in a faded floral sheet, dominated the living area. a small television flickered silently in the corner, displaying a nature documentary. a guitar leaned against the wall. it felt... lived in.

"make yourself at home," he gestured vaguely at the couch. "the others should be here any minute. mark’s always late. sally said she had to pick up some new strings. anna… well, anna’s anna." he laughed, a short, nervous sound.

you sat on the edge of the couch, placing the gifts carefully beside you. the cushions sagged beneath you, smell of old fabric rised to meet you. the silence, punctuated only by the chirping of unseen birds on the television, was deafening. you felt a sudden urge to fill it, to chatter, to ask about his band, about anything. but you couldn't.

"want something to drink?" he asked, already moving towards a small, cluttered kitchenette.

"just water, please." you watched him, his movements surprisingly graceful for someone so wiry. he pulled out two glasses, poured a clear liquid from a plastic bottle into one, and then, to another one that was already sitting on the counter. he didn’t seem to notice your gaze.

a tiny, insistent voice in the back of your mind, screamed. you took the glass, your fingers brushing his, skin rough. you brought the glass to your lips, pretending to take a sip, letting the rim touch your mouth, but not letting any liquid pass.

"so," he said, settling beside you on the couch, much closer than you would have preferred. "how’s... housewifing?"

you stiffened. "it’s good. i like it."

"yeah? seems a little... boring for someone like you." he leaned back, his arm brushing yours. the contact made your skin prickle.

"it’s not boring,”°"you said, maybe a little too quickly. "i like taking care of things. taking care of san."

"san." he said the name slowly, like tasting it. "busy guy, huh?"

"he works hard," you defended automatically. "he provides for us."

"yeah, i bet." he turned his body fully towards you, knee touching yours. his gaze dropping to your hands, clasped tightly in your lap. "but does he... pleasure you?"

you looked at him in shock, offended. your cheeks flushed crimson, a wave of heat rushing through you. shock, outrage, and a deep, mortifying embarrassment tangled together. you stared at him, mouth agape, unable to form a single word. the flickering television, the stale air, his proximity, it all coalesced into a suffocating pressure. "what did you just say?"

he didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. his eyes held yours, unwavering. "i mean, you’re bright, y/n. you’re smart. you’ve got this... spark. yet you spend your days fucking, polishing silverware and waiting for some suit to come home. does he ever even make you feel good?"

your heart hammered against your ribs. "i like polishing silverware. i like making a home."

"do you?" he reached out, his fingers tracing a pattern on your arm, just above your elbow. "or do you just tell yourself that because it’s what you think you’re supposed to do?"

you flinched, pulling your arm away. "i don’t appreciate that, seonghwa."

"just being honest. that’s what friends do, right?" he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear.

the small, dusty clock on the wall pointed at four, you glanced at it, then at the door, wishing that your eyes could pierce a hole and reveal other people, anyone. yet no one else had arrived. the pit in your stomach deepened. "maybe i should call sally. or anna."

"nah, don’t bother." he waved a dismissive hand. "they probably won't even come. you know how it is." he paused, a predatory glint appeared in his round eyes. "guess it’ll be just us."

the words rang heavy and suffocating. it clicked. a cold, sickening realization washed over you. there was never "others." you had been tricked. the gifts, the polite goodbyes, all of it a naive delusion.

"oh." you stood up abruptly, the movement jarring. "i... i think i should go. maybe i should come back when the others arrive." your mind raced, scrambling for an excuse, anything to get out. you tried to infuse your voice with a calm you didn’t feel, to make it sound like a reasonable suggestion, not a desperate plea.

"don’t be stupid, y/n. you just got here." he stood and pulled you towards him. the close proximity of his body, the insufferable smell of weed making you almost gag. "you’re lonely, aren’t you? i see it in your eyes. the way you just exist and he doesn't even notice."

"i don’t know what you mean." your voice trembled.

"why? you don’t want to admit it?" he leaned closer, breath warm against your ear. his insidious words pricked at the spots. the truth of them, despite the venomous delivery, stung. but the way he was using them, twisting them, made your skin crawl.

you tried to push past him, a surge of adrenaline making you bold. “let me go.”

he grabbed your arm, his fingers tightening around your wrist. "no." he pulled you back, hard, sending you stumbling onto the couch. the gifts clattered to the floor. he pinned you there, his face inches from yours. "i know you don’t love him. you're goddamn pathetic with him and everyone sees it."

you felt a surge of adrenaline, a pumping desperate need to escape. “you don’t know anything about me. or san.” you pulled harder, twisting your body, trying to create distance.

he didn’t let go. instead, his other hand came up, resting on your arm, his thumb stroking your skin. "i know you don't love him. i know you’re unhappy." the accusation, so utterly false, ignited a furious spark within you. "why else would you keep coming back here?"

"you’re wrong!" sharp and venomous, your voice cut through the fear. "you’re completely wrong. i love san. i love him more than anything. and i would never, ever be unfaithful to him. especially not with... with someone like you!" the last words, raw and unfiltered, spilled from your lips. the thought of betraying san, of allowing this man to even suggest such a thing, filled you with a righteous anger.

a vein throbbed in his temple. for a terrifying moment, you thought he might strike you. his face contorted, a mask of rage. primal scream ripped through your mind, though no sound escaped your lips. a sudden, visceral revulsion surged through you, a raw, untamed force you hadn’t known you possessed. you didn’t think, you reacted. with a guttural cry that was more gasp than sound, you twisted your body, yanking your arm free from his grasp with a strength born of pure terror. you stumbled back, tripping over your own feet, but you caught yourself, your eyes wide, fixed on him.

"hey, y/n, calm down. let's talk-" his face a mask of something ugly. he took a step towards you, his hand still outstretched.

"don’t you touch me!" you shrieked, the words finally tearing free holding a fierce conviction.

with a desperate lunge, you pushed past him and found the doorknob, fingers clumsy with terror and heart pounding against your ribs. please, please be unlocked. the knob turned protesting a squeal. a small miracle. you yanked it open, the weak sunlight blinding you for a moment.

you didn’t look back. you ran. the gravel crunched under your shoes, the faded blue trailer shrinking behind you. you didn’t stop until you reached your car, fumbling with the keys, your hands shaking so violently you could barely push the button. you threw yourself inside, locking the doors, lungs burning. the engine roared to life, and you sped away, leaving the trailer park, the sickly rose bush, and the terrifying encounter in a cloud of dust. the gifts lay forgotten on the floor of the trailer, naive hope, now shattered.

୨୧

"i ran into someone today."

"at the market?"

"an old friend. from high school. apparently some of them still hang out and, i was invited."

"that's good, you should go."

"really? you don't mind?"

"why would i mind? it's good for you to see people, you're always here. you should get out more."

"i mean... i haven't seen them in years. since graduation, probably."

"people change, that's okay. it'll be nice to reconnect. you've been cooped up, it's good to have plans."

"i guess so."

knees drawn to your chest, the phone thrown to the cushion next to you. you had to call him, you really had to, and he did leave. cheeks damp, tiny ragged sobs caught in your throat, you barely registered when the door swung open. he stood at the doorway, crisp button down now slightly rumpled, his tie loosened. his eyes scanned the room, then landed on you. he didn't say anything, just kicked the door shut with his heel and moved towards you deliberately.

"san," you choked out a fragile whisper, "i'm so sorry. i'm so, so sorry i made you come home."

he didn't answer with words, simply sunk onto the couch beside you, the springs protesting faintly. his strong arms wrapped around your shaking shoulders, pulling you into his chest. the clean, subtle cedar scent of his cologne filled your senses, chasing away the lingering stench of smoke and fear. you buried your face in his shirt and let the dam break.

hot and stinging tears streamed down your face, soaking into his shirt. each sob tore through you, tearing sounds you hadn't realized you were holding back. his hand moved to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you close. he didn't try to stop the tears, didn't offer empty platitudes. he just held you, a silent comforting presence.

"it’s okay," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear, "it's okay, y/n. i'm here."

fingers fisted in his shirt, the fabric stretching taut. the world outside the circle of his arms ceased to exist. there was only the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his body, the gentle rhythm of his breathing. time stretched and blurred. you cried until your throat ached, until your eyes felt swollen and raw, until the tremors in your body slowly began to subside.

when the sobs dwindled to quiet sniffles, you pulled back slightly, your head still resting against his shoulder, your gaze fixed on the intricate weave of his shirt. a deep, shuddering breath hitched in your chest.

"i… i need to tell you something," you whispered.

he squeezed your shoulder gently. "take your time."

the silence stretched, heavy with unspoken things. you needed to say it, all of it. the truth, ugly and raw, demanded to be set free.

"i haven’t been... i haven’t been doing well, san," you began, your voice still hoarse. "not really. i mean, i love being home. i love our apartment, i love cooking for you, taking care of everything. i really do. but" you carefully searched for the right words, the words that wouldn’t sound like an accusation. "it got... lonely. really lonely."

at his arm tightening around your waist, you glanced up at his face. his brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with a deep, quiet concern, but no judgment.

"i know you work hard," you continued, rushing the words out before you could lose your nerve. "i know you do it for us, for our future, and i appreciate it, san, i really do. sometimes, i just... i just want to talk. to someone. about anything. about my day, about a stupid show i watched, about a new recipe i found. just... to talk. and you're not there."

he didn’t interrupt, just listened, his gaze steady on your face.

"and then… i met seonghwa again."

the name plastered, foreign and sharp. san’s head tilted slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features.

"seonghwa?" he repeated, the name unfamiliar on his tongue. "who is... i thought you said you were meeting anna? your old classmate?"

your heart sank at his innocence, at how you had let him assume with unclear conversations.

"no, anna is... seonghwa’s friend,” you explained, the words tumbling out. "she’s part of his group. he was my classmate in high school. not a close one, but... yeah. he’s the one i ran into at the supermarket."

san’s placid eyes held a hint of something unreadable. he still didn’t speak, just waited.

"i didn’t mean for any of it to happen," you confessed, your voice cracking again. "i just... i just wanted to be included. to feel like i was part of something. they seemed so... free. and easy. and i was so lonely." you paused, drawing a shaky breath, preparing for the hardest part. "at first it seemed harmless. they were just... different than me, something new. but then it escalated. the parties. the noise. the... the smoke.” you hesitated, then forced yourself to say it. "i... i smoked weed, san. once. i know, i know it was stupid. i’m so sorry."

tears welled up again and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for his reaction. but he still didn’t say anything, just held you closer, so you continued and everything spilled. the memories flooding back, sharp and vivid. from the hazy afternoons to the girl, her unnatural stillness and anna's so, so young son yet already involved into such a chaotic world. your voice broke with the image behind eyelids. then today, at seonghwa's. reliving the terror, the helplessness, made you shiver with a torrent of fear and disgust and self reproach.

you dissolved into fresh sobs, the weight of the confession crushing you. you waited for anger, for disappointment, for the distance to grow between you even more. but instead, his arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer.

"y/n," he said, his voice deeper than usual, a quiet intensity in his tone. "look at me."

you reluctantly lifted your head, tear streaked face meeting his gaze. his eyes were now clouded with a raw pain that mirrored your own.

"you have nothing to be sorry for," he stated, his voice firm, unwavering. "not for feeling lonely. not for wanting connection. and not for trying to find it." he paused, his thumb stroking your cheek, wiping away a tear. "i’m the one who should be sorry. i let you feel that way. i let you feel so alone that you had to look for it somewhere else. i was so caught up in work, in making sure we had everything we needed, that i forgot to give you what you actually needed. me."

fresh tears pricking your eyes, you shook your head. "no, san. that’s not fair. you work so hard. you provide everything. i should have just told you. i should have talked to you. i just... i didn’t want to cause conflict. i didn’t want to seem ungrateful."

"conflict is part of a relationship, y/n," he countered softly. "it’s how we grow. and you are never ungrateful. i know you. i just... i wasn’t listening. i wasn’t seeing. i was so focused on building a future, i forgot to live in the present. with you." his gaze was intense, full of regret. "i saw you, every morning, making the bed perfectly. i saw the dinners you planned. i saw the baked goods you made, and gave away. i thought... i thought you were happy. i thought that was just you, being you. i didn’t realize it was... a symptom. i thought stability meant happiness. i thought if i provided for everything, you wouldn’t have to worry. i thought that was how i showed you i loved you. but i forgot to show you i loved you with my time. with my presence. with my words."

"but i should have said something," you insisted, your voice still thick with guilt. "i let it fester. i bottled it up. i smoked weed behind your back. that’s not okay, san. that’s not okay."

"and it’s not okay that i left you feeling so emotionally neglected that you felt like you had to," he countered, his voice gentle but firm. "we both made mistakes, y/n. mine was in being absent. yours was in not speaking up. but none of that changes how much i still love you."

he pulled you back into his embrace, holding you tightly, his chin resting on the top of your head. you could feel the steady beat of his heart against your ear. a comforting, familiar rhythm.

"i love you, y/n," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "more than anything. and i am so, so sorry that you went through all of that. that you were scared. that you were hurt. that you felt alone. i promise you, you will never feel that way again. not with me."

you clung to him, tears still flowing, but these were different. these were tears of relief, of release, of a profound love finally understood. you felt the tension that had been coiled in your chest for months slowly unwind, dissolving into the warmth of his embrace.

"i love you too, san," you sobbed, the words muffled against his shirt. "i love you so much."

held for a long time, the only sounds the quiet sniffles, the soft rustle of clothes, the steady rhythm of two hearts beating in unison. the city outside grew darker, the streetlights casting long, pale shadows through the window. but inside, in the circle of his arms, a fragile light had begun to glow. it wasn’t a solution, not yet. but it was a new beginning.

୨୧

morning rays painted stripes across the duvet. you stirred, the warmth beside you a comforting anchor. san’s arm, heavy and solid, rested across your waist. his breath, slow and even, feathered against your neck. you turned your head, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. the memory of yesterday, the raw vulnerability, the shared tears, a fragile precious thing.

quiet sigh escaping your lips, you stretched with a yawn. the bed felt different today, lighter, like a burden had lifted. you eased yourself from his embrace, careful not to wake him, and padded into the kitchen. the choreography of making coffee began. the gentle hum of the machine, the rich aroma blooming in the air. you poured two mugs, placing san’s on his bedside table before returning to your side of the bed, he still slept.

you traced the line of his jaw with your finger, the slight stubble rough beneath your touch. his eyelashes, thick and dark, rested against his skin. a small, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips.

"morning," his voice, deep and gravelly with sleep, startled you. his eyes slowly opened, finding yours.

"morning, sannie," you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his temple.

he stretched, his big arms flexing, the muscles taut beneath his skin. he reached for you, pulling you closer until your head rested on his shoulder. "i’m not going to work today."

you blinked, pulling back slightly to look at him. "what?"

"i said, i’m not going to work today," he repeated, his thumb stroking the skin of your arm. "or tomorrow. i took the weekend off."

a small, disbelieving laugh bubbled out of you. "you did not. you never take the weekend off. you have that big report due monday."

he shifted, propping himself up on an elbow, his gaze steady. "i called lee at like 3 am. he’s covering. the report can wait. we can’t."

your heart gave a small, hopeful flutter. the words, simple and direct, resonated deep within you. you reached up, cupping his cheek. his skin felt warm against your palm.

"really?" you asked thin with emotion.

he nodded, a soft smile gracing his lips, revealing the faint indentations of his dimples. "really."

the weight that had pressed down on your chest for so long began to ease, replaced by a lightness you hadn’t felt in months. you leaned into him, burying your face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin, a mix of sleep and his subtle leftover cologne.

"what are we going to do?" you murmured, the question laced with a hesitant joy.

he held you tighter. "whatever you want. show me your world, y/n."

a lump formed in your throat. you pulled back, a small, genuine smile blooming on your face. "okay," you breathed. "okay."

the morning unfolded slowly for once, no rush to get ready, no frantic dash for him to find a parking spot. you made a more elaborate breakfast than usual, eggs scrambled with herbs, crisp bacon, and slices of avocado. he watched you, perched on a stool at the kitchen island, his phone conspicuously absent. he simply watched, gaze attentive, as you moved with a quiet efficiency.

he ate with a quiet appreciation, savoring each bite. the silence between you was no longer heavy with unspoken words, but comfortable, filled with the soft clink of forks against plates, the distant chirping of birds.

after breakfast, you led him to the bedroom and demonstrated your bed making routine, movements precise and practiced. he watched, his head tilted, an expression mixed with amusement and curiosity.

the hours melted into a gentle rhythm. you showed him your small rituals. the way you organized the pantry, grouping spices by frequency of use. the careful sorting of laundry, whites, colors, delicates. the methodical scrubbing of the bathroom, each surface gleaming. he followed you, your silent observer, occasionally offering a helping hand.

you found yourself talking more than you had in months, explaining the logic behind your choices, the small satisfactions you found in these mundane tasks. he listened, truly listened, his eyes never leaving your face. it was no longer how are you? but why do you do this that way?

lunch was a rather simple affair, sandwiches and fruit, eaten at the kitchen counter. you found yourself telling him about a new recipe you wanted to try, a complicated japanese stew you’d been researching. he listened, asking questions about the ingredients, the cooking process. it felt like a real conversation, not just a series of perfunctory exchanges.

as dusk began to settle, casting a soft, blue hue through the apartment, you found yourselves in the living room. you moved the large, plush couch, pushing it closer to the wide window that overlooked the street below. the city lights began to twinkle a distant murmur from the streets.

you sat side by side, the comfortable silence settling around you once more. he reached out, his hand slowly finding your arm. his fingers traced a gentle path from your wrist to your elbow, a soft reassuring touch. you leaned your head against his shoulder, inhaling his scent, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your ear.

the silence stretched, not empty, but full of unspoken emotions, of rediscovered intimacy. you watched the cars pass below, their headlights cutting through the growing darkness.

after a long while, he stirred. his hand tightened on your arm, then he slowly, gently, pulled you onto his lap. your legs tangled with his, your body molding against his hard frame. he shifted, adjusting you until you were nestled perfectly, your back against his chest. his lips found your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss, then moving to the delicate skin of your neck. a shiver ran through you, a small, involuntary gasp escaping your lips. he kissed the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, and a soft giggle bubbled up from your chest.

"you okay? is this okay?" he murmured.

you nodded, your head resting against his shoulder. "more than okay."

he pulled back slightly, turning you so you faced him, his hands resting on your hips. his brown eyes held a tenderness that made your breath catch.

"y/n," he began, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "do you... do you ever think about kids?"

୨୧

effortlessly, he laid you gently on the bed, following you down, his body a warm weight against yours. his lips found yours, soft at first, then deepening, hungry desperation underlying the tenderness. your mouth opened beneath his, inviting him in. his tongue tangled with yours, a slow, sensual dance, tasting of coffee and him.

"mine," he murmured against your mouth, pulling back just enough to whisper the word. "you’re mine, y/n. no one else’s."

his hands, large and strong, moved to the hem of your shirt, slowly, deliberately, pulling it up and over your head. the cool air brushed against your skin for a moment before his hands were there, warm and firm, stroking your sides, your ribs, the soft skin of your belly.

you arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your throat. you reached for his shirt, fingers trembling slightly. he helped, peeling the fabric from his broad shoulders, revealing the taut muscles of his chest before he reached around, touch gentle, unfastening the hook of your bra. the lace fell away, revealing your breasts, full and soft in the dim light. he stared, his gaze lingering and before you knew it, he leaned down, lips closing over one nipple, drawing it into his mouth. a jolt of pure pleasure shot through you. he sucked, softly at first, then harder, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. your breath hitched, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, holding him closer. he moved to the other breast, suckling with equal fervor, his free hand stroking your side, making goosebumps rise on your skin.

"so beautiful," he breathed, pulling back to look at your flushed face. "so fucking beautiful."

rough with desire, igniting a fire deep within you. you reached for the button of his jeans, eager to shed the remaining barriers between you, pushing them down his hips, along with his boxers. his cock sprang free, already hard and engorged, glistening in the dim light. you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his heat, stroking the soft skin. he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow.

"baby," he gasped, his voice strained. "god, y/n."

you continued to stroke him, feeling the pulse of his arousal against your palm. your own desire mounted, a burning ache between your legs. he reached for your shorts, pulling them down with your panties. the cool air kissed your bare skin, a fleeting sensation before his hand was there, warm and knowing, finding the wetness between your thighs.

his fingers parted your folds, gently, slowly, exploring the slickness, the delicate curves of your clit. you gasped, your hips arching instinctively. he dipped a finger inside you, then another, preparing you. you were already so wet, your body aching for him. a soft squelching sound accompanied his movements, a wet, intimate symphony.

"so wet," his voice husky, eyes never leaving yours. "for me."

he watched your face, gauging your reactions, thumb circling your clit, drawing out whimpers and soft cries from deep within your throat. you writhed beneath his touch, your body trembling, on the precipice of release.

"please," you pleaded, your voice hoarse. "san, please."

he shifted, kneeling between your legs. his heavy cock, slick with your wetness, brushed against your opening. you gasped, a desperate sound. he hesitated, looking into your eyes, a possessive fire burning in his gaze.

"say..." he whispered, slightly overwhelmed already. "say you’re mine."

"yours," you choked out, tears stinging your eyes, a heady mix of pleasure and raw emotion. "i’m yours, san. only yours."

he entered you then, slowly, pushing past the soft resistance, filling you completely. a deep groan rumbled in his chest as he buried himself within you. you cried out, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. he paused, letting you adjust, letting your body stretch and encompass him. the feeling was overwhelming, profound sense of fullness, of belonging.

he began to move, slow, deliberate rhythm at first, his hips rocking against yours. the friction was exquisite, the sound of your bodies joining, a wet, rhythmic shlicking. he pulled back almost completely, then drove back in, deep and hard, a sigh escaping his lips. your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him deeper.

"mine," he repeated, each thrust punctuated by the word. "no one will ever... have you like this, only me."

the pace quickened, becoming more urgent, more primal. he pounded into you, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through your core. your nails dug into his back, leaving faint red marks on his tanned skin. your hips rose to meet his, matching his rhythm, your bodies a blur of motion in the dim light. the bed creaked beneath you, a testament to the intensity of your passion.

he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plundering yours, tasting your desire, your cries muffled against his lips. your climax built, a tight coil in your belly, spreading outwards, consuming you. you bucked against him, your body convulsing around his cock. a guttural cry tore from your throat as you shattered, waves of pure bliss washing over you.

the thrusts got deeper, harder, his own climax building quickly on the heels of yours. groans and bodies tensing, hips slamming into yours one last time as he emptied himself deep inside you. his hot cum flooded you, warm thick rush that made you gasp.

collapsed and slick with sweat, your legs were still wrapped around him, intimately entwined. he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"mine," he whispered the promise again. "forever."

fingers tangling in his damp hair, you held him close. the noise outside, the loneliness, the fear, all faded away, replaced by the overwhelming presence of him, of this rediscovered connection. you felt utterly safe, utterly loved, utterly his.

he shifted, pulling back slightly, propping himself on his elbows, his eyes soft, heavy lidded. he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, a tender exploration.

"i love you, y/n."

the words, so rarely spoken, so deeply felt, resonated through you. a fresh wave of tears pricked your eyes, but these were tears of joy, of relief, of a profound sense of peace.

"i love you too, san," you whispered back. "more than anything."

a new chapter had begun. a chapter filled with soft reassurances, intentional conversations, and a love that, though tested, had found it's way back home. the question of children lingered, a new seed planted in the fertile ground of your renewed intimacy, a promise of a future you could now, finally, envision together.

each day a thread re-stitched into the fabric of your life together. no longer a frayed edge, but a strengthening seam. the silence shedding it's heavy cloak of unspoken expectation. now, it held the hum of shared understanding, a quiet comfort that didn't demand filling. some days you still spent less time together than you'd wanted, yet, even then, the goodbye no longer felt like a hurried escape.

you learned to speak your needs, not with the tremor of a plea, but with the steady beat of a declaration. he listened, brow furrowing in concentration, his eyes soft with an empathy he’d struggled to articulate before. you saw the effort, the conscious wrestling with words that didn’t come easily to him. it was a language you were both learning, halting at first, then gaining fluency with each shared vulnerability. he’d ask about your day, not as a formality, but with genuine curiosity, sometimes even calling during his lunch break, a rare occurrence that made your heart do a little skip. love rediscovered, a future being built, one honest word, one tender touch, at a time.

your phone still buzzed with notifications from instagram. you scrolled past anna’s stories, a flurry of candid shots from her son’s fifth birthday party. a lopsided cake, sticky fingers, a wide, gap toothed grin. you tapped the little heart icon, then saw sally’s latest transformation, her hair now a vibrant neon green. she’d posted a picture of a sizzling pan, tagged with a question about your secret to perfectly crisp tofu. you sent back a detailed message, outlining marinades and pan temperatures, a smile touching your lips. you knew, and they knew, that the physical space between your worlds had widened, perhaps irrevocably. there was no expectation of meeting up, no casual invitations to late night gigs. seonghwa’s shadow still stretched too long, too dark, across that part of your memory. the thought of stepping back into that haze, even for a moment, made your stomach clench. you had found your way back to the light, and you were fiercely protective of it.

this morning, however, began with no alarms. skin to skin, a perfect fit. he had begged for five more minutes and how could you say no when his mouth was already moving in between your thighs? lazy swipes, you felt your muscles tense slightly, then relax, his hand finding your hip, drawing you closer, before moving your legs over his shoulders. his tongue stroked the soft skin of your pussy, a slow, hypnotic rhythm.

time dissolved. the soft rustle of sheets, the faint thumping of your heart against his. the world outside your bedroom, outside this intimate cocoon, ceased to exist. you were just two bodies, intertwined, rediscovering a forgotten language.

when your third orgasm of that morning alone hit, you pulled your head back, accidentally looking at the clock and freezing, a gasp escaping your lips. he pulled back slightly, his eyes still clouded with passion, then clearing with the dawning realization. a groan, this one of frustration, escaped him.

"shit, shit, shit," you cursed under your breath. "oh, san. you're going to be late."

a deep sigh, rueful sound laced with disappointment escaped him. you pushed yourself up, pulling the sheet with you, a sudden chill striking your skin. he ran a hand through his hair, dishevelled from sleep and your shared passion. "i know." he sat up, stretching, his muscles rippling, a sight that still made your breath catch. he threw his legs over the side of the bed, the sheet falling away, revealing the strong lines of his back, the curve of his shoulders and his half erect dick.

"go, go," you urged, though a part of you wanted to pull him back, to steal a few more precious minutes. you threw off the covers, padding naked to the closet, already mentally planning his lunch.

he glanced back, a wry smile on his face. "you’re not exactly helping." his eyes lingered on your retreating figure, a spark of lingering desire in them.

"i’m making your lunch. that’s helping." you laughed shyly, a clear sound before pulling out a crisp white shirt, a dark tie, laying them out on the bed for him.

when the sound of the shower starting grounded you, you moved with purpose, opening the fridge, pulling out containers. yesterday’s leftover bulgogi, a side of kimchi, some fresh fruit. you packed it all neatly into his bento box, arranging the colours, making it appealing.

now dressed in his dark suit trousers, he emerged from the bathroom, his shirt still unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of his chest. his hair was damp, slicked back, making him look even more handsome, more put together. he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his solid frame. chin rested on your shoulder, breath warm against your ear.

"i love you," he murmured, the words no longer feeling forced, but a natural outflow.

you leaned into him, closing your eyes for a moment. "i love you too," you replied, your voice thick with emotion.

he squeezed you gently, then released you, picking up his jacket. you followed him to the doorframe, a familiar ritual, but one that now held a deeper significance. he turned, his eyes searching yours, then he leaned down, his lips finding yours in a deep, lingering kiss. it was a kiss that spoke of hurried passion, of regret for lost time, and of promises for the future. his hand found your butt, giving it an extra, firm squeeze, a playful, intimate gesture that made you giggle.

"sannie, you have to go." you laughed against his lips.

"i know, just let me-"

he pulled you back in, tongues dancing against each other as he opened the door.

"you gotta... go... leave..." despite your protests, you were leaning into the kisses as well.

finally, when he pulled back, a wide grin appeared on his face, those dimples on full display. "i left something for you on the counter." his eyes twinkled.

your eyebrows rose in surprise. "oh?"

he just winked, then stepped out into the hallway. "have a good day," he called over his shoulder, already halfway down the corridor.

"you too." you watched him go with a warmth spreading through you, chasing away the morning chill. your cheeks burned pleasant blush. you closed the door, leaning against it for a moment, the echo of his kiss still on your lips.

a curious smile played on your lips. you turned, walking back into the kitchen, your eyes scanning the clean, uncluttered surface. amidst the neatly stacked mail and the fruit bowl, an envelope lay, pristine white, tucked beside the coffee maker.

your heart gave a little flutter. you picked it up, fingers tracing the simple, elegant script of your name. you recognized his handwriting, though it was slightly more rushed than usual, a testament to his morning scramble. you glanced back at the lace box that sat on your dresser. finally, a new companion piece awaited. you carefully tore open the seal, your breath held in anticipation.

you pulled out a single sheet of paper, folded neatly. it wasn’t a thick expensive stationery, but a page torn from a small, spiral bound notebook, perhaps one he kept for jotting down notes at work. the paper felt thin, slightly rough urough under your fingertips. the words were penned in his familiar, slightly cramped hand, some of them a little smudged, as if he’d written it quickly, probably during a stolen moment on his break.

you began to read, a soft smile blooming on your face.

my y/n:

you know how i am with words, they get stuck somewhere between my heart and my mouth. it’s frustrating. for both of us, i know. i think about that first letter i wrote you. it was bad. really bad. i cringed just thinking about it. but i tried, i guess, even if it doesn’t look like it. these past few weeks... they’ve been good, better. i hope it's the same for you. seeing you smile again, truly smile, it’s like the sun coming out after a long winter. i never want that winter to come back. i never want you to feel that coldness again. i was so blind. so stupid. i thought providing was enough but i was wrong. you taught me that. you always teach me things, even when you don’t mean to. i want to be better. for us. for you. i want to learn how to say these things out loud, not just write them down when no one’s looking. i’m sorry for the pain i caused. i’m sorry i let you feel alone. i promise to keep trying. to keep learning. to keep loving you, in all the ways you deserve. you are my home, y/n, my everything, my wife, and i will never ever let another man think they got a mere chance with you, never again. you're mine and i'm yours.

you're stuck with me, always.

san.

୨୧

“ ‘Cause I need your attention all the time ! ”

The gentle tapping of keys echoes through the bedroom as you work through your assignment, eyes fixed on the laptop balancing on your legs. Beside you, Wooyoung is comfortably settled against the pillows, scrolling through his phone. You had been sceptical of the arrangement when he crawled into bed with you thirty minutes ago, worried he’d distract you. But of course, Wooyoung’s persistent nature meant he didn’t give up on convincing you. You eventually agreed, noticing things seemed to be going perfectly fine. You got your work done, and he kept himself entertained. So far, so good.

Unfortunately, Wooyoung’s attention span had never been particularly impressive.

A loud sigh comes from beside you. You keep typing, ignoring it, until another sigh emerges—louder this time. Still, your focus remains on the screen in front of you.

“How much longer?” he finally asks, drawing out the syllables.

You glance at the document’s word count and wince. “Mm, not sure. Maybe another hour?”

“An hour?” Wooyoung says, sounding offended. “You’ve already been at this forever."

You deadpan, “It’s only been ten minutes.”

“That’s still a long time. I want to talk to you, not watch you do your assignment.” You could practically hear the pout on his face.

You sigh, “I literally asked if you’d be okay with it, and you said it was fine.”

“Well things can change," Wooyoung replies with a frown.

You glance at him and realize he isn’t truly upset—he just wants your undivided attention, as usual. “Just give me, like, twenty more minutes baby, then we can hang out, okay?”

“Fine.” He isn’t thrilled, but he listens. He tosses his phone onto the mattress, though you barely notice, already back to your essay. Things remain quiet like that for a few minutes.

Suddenly, you feel a weight on your shoulder. You pause, looking down to see Wooyoung resting his head there, his cheek squishing against your arm.

“What are you doing?" You ask.

“I’m sitting," he says simply.

“You’re leaning on me.” Correcting him, you begin to slowly glance back up at your screen.

“It’s cold.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself. Wooyoung immediately brightens at your reaction, happy to shift your attention away from the laptop. He shifts impossibly closer, one arm wrapping around your waist.

You tried to keep working, but it was hard with him constantly looking over your shoulder, sometimes muttering nonsense just to get a reaction out of you.

“What would you do if I got abducted by aliens?" he asks suddenly.

You pause, “..What?”

“Nothing. Get back to work," he mumbles, scooting closer to your face.

You push his forehead away, making him complain irritably. Then, dramatically, he collapses into your lap, looking up at the ceiling.

“I miss you," he says softly.

Your fingers pause above the keyboard. “You’ve been talking to me the entire time.”

“That’s not the same.”

When you look down, Wooyoung is already staring back at you, a slight pout on his lips—probably exaggerated—but the tenderness in his eyes is real. It makes your heart ache.

“I came over to spend time with my girlfriend,” he continues. “Not to just sit here looking pretty.”

Despite yourself, your resolve starts to weaken. “You’re so clingy.”

“I’m aware.” The answer comes without a trace of shame.

Shaking your head, you finally close your laptop and set it on your bedside table. Instantly, Wooyoung sits up so quickly you might have laughed if he wasn’t already wrapping his arms around you.

His smile is clear as day as he pulls you close. "There she is.”

“Don’t sound so proud of yourself.” You mutter.

“I am so proud of myself.”

You roll your eyes but relax into his embrace anyway. Almost immediately, his chin drops onto your head, arms tightening around your waist, as if you might vanish if he lets go.

The assignment would still be there tomorrow. But for now, the content sigh escaping Wooyoung’s lips makes the decision feel totally worth it.

“ And it's fine as long as I have your eyes on me , ooh~ ”

That’s what Mingi had smelt like. You’d decided to watch the Princess Bride and though Mingi hadn’t seen it before, he couldn’t look away from you long enough to actually pay attention to the plot. You caught him a lot. Each time you’d smile - shy at first and then more confident and fondly amused - and Mingi would look embarrassed, offering you beaming smiles that lit up his face.

It was cute, you thought, and you sent your reply. I want to.

Mingi: thank god

You pressed your lips into a smile. Are you going to tell me where we’re going?

Mingi: no. It's a surprise.

Mingi: unless you don’t like surprises?

You didn’t really. They made your skin crawl with anxiety but there was something about this kind of surprise - a surprise from your alpha - that made it seem okay.

You: I’m sure I’ll like your surprise.

Mingi: I hope so.

Mingi: Just remember a coat, okay? 

-

“He’s so excited,” Seonghwa murmured fondly. You glanced up from your laptop, where a handful of edits were still waiting for completion on a tight deadline, to your phone screen. The beta was already lying across his bedsheets, settled in because it was late and he had an early call the next day. You’d tried to tell him that he didn’t need to stay up with you but Seonghwa had insisted.

You thought he looked so inviting in the video frame, soft strands of hair curling over his cheeks and eyes sparkling with fondness. It made you want to reach through the screen and touch his cheek, to run your hand through his hair and feel him melt at your touch.

“Who’s excited?” you asked and let your eyes flicker back to your screen, a quick reset of your thoughts.

“Our Mingi,” he told you and there was something so incredibly wonderful about hearing the word ‘our’ in relation to the alpha. “For your date.”

You sat up a little straighter in your chair. “He’s spoken to you about it?”

Seonghwa huffed a laugh. “He hasn’t shut up about it.”

Your cheeks burned. “Cute,” you muttered. It was more than cute, it’s deliriously adorable and your omega rumbled happily.

Seonghwa hummed in agreement. “He wants you to like him.”

“I do like him.”

“You know what I mean.”

You did. He remembered the way Wooyoung had explained it - a respect of your choice, your boundaries but that didn’t mean their wolves weren’t tearing themselves apart on the inside trying to prove to you that they could be a good mate.

“I want to go on dates with you,” you said, “all of you.”

Seonghwa’s voice was soft. “Yeah?”

The way he looked at you through the camera made your heart leap. You had to look away. “I have to know all of you properly,” you reasoned, “to know if this can work. I mean, what if you cry during the sad part in movies?”

His lips twitched in amusement. “You cried at the end of the Princess Bride.”

“Exactly, I’m the crier, there can’t be two of us.”

“That’s more of a San and Yeosang thing,” Seonghwa murmured, “but there’s more than enough of us to hold you all through any sad movie.”

You felt quite ridiculous that made you feel as content as it did.

He continued with certainty, “Can I book the next date in advance?”

“How very organised of you,” you joked.

“Is that a yes?”

You nodded and Seonghwa’s face brightened dramatically.

“Is it your turn to talk about it all week?”

“I’ll let Mingi have his turn,” Seonghwa mused, “And then you’ll be all mine.”

-

Mingi: I can't wait to see you.

You: it’s only another 20 minutes

Mingi: too slow. I’m telling the driver to go faster.

You: professionalism Mingi-ah.

Mingi: im professionally trying to be in your company as long as possible.

“What’s got you smiling so much?”

You scrambled to hide your phone, heart beating in your chest, as Seoah dropped her bag heavy on the table beside you. She looked surprised by your reaction and put her hands up in front of her.

“Sorry,” she laughed. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You flushed in embarrassment. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Her eyes flickered to your phone, pressed against your chest, and back again. “Must have been distracted,” she teased.

“A little.”

Seoah grinned. “Someone special?”

You paused for a moment before nodding. You weren’t sure how much to say or hell, if you could say anything at all. Of course, just the angle of her head was enough to make Seoah squeal in excitement.

“An alpha?” she pushed. “Or a beta? Oh, or another omega? Ah, are you fated?”

The words stumbled around you in her eagerness. You stammered over your reply but, fortunately, there was no time because Taeji was already making calls from across the room, causing the slow adjustment into work mode to hit hyperspeed. Stylists started pulling outfits off the hangers and rushing into the back rooms, while Yijoon came skidding over, flushed from his rush, and hurriedly dropped his bag.

You arched an eyebrow. “Late again?”

Yijoon visibly winced. “Do you think he noticed?”

“Am I talking to myself?” Taeji bellowed, “What’s the point in having three of you here if you’re not going to do anything? Check the cameras.”

“Yes sir,” the three of you called in unison.

There was no time to think, to even sneak in an answer, as you fell into a familiar routine. You found contentment in the routine of preparation - of carefully organising the usual camera lens into easy to read compartments; of taking quick test shots to ensure there were no malfunctions before you passed it on to Taeji to make creative decisions; of tugging down lamps to get the best angle.

And then Mingi stepped onto the set.

Of course, your omega noticed him immediately. The familiar scent of vanilla crept up on you and she tugged at your attention, urging you to find my alpha.

He was back in the same costume from when you first met him, over the top in his dramatics, and completely out of place in the studio. It felt different now though, weeks on from that initial scare. You could see the shy smile he offered the site assistant, the way he ducked his head to help the make-up artist apply powder to his cheeks and the way his hands tried to habitually slip into pockets that didn’t exist on those trousers.

When he looked up and saw you, a smile blossomed over his face, wide and genuine. It made the corner of his eyes crease. Cute, you thought, almost like a puppy. You couldn’t help but to smile back, fond and affectionate in a way that you never thought you’d feel when looking at an alpha.

“Mingi-sshi,” Taeji greeted happily, hands wide as he came to clap the taller man on the back. It was enough to remind you that this was your work place and you tore your gaze away, stepping back into line beside Seoah and Yijoon, hands clasped respectfully on your lap. 

You listened closely as Taeji assured the alpha, “we won’t keep you long. I know you’re busy preparing for the music shows and all that.”

“I’m grateful you could fit me back in on such short notice,” Mingi murmured. You felt when he glanced at you, eyes slipping back to burn against your cheek, as if he couldn’t help himself. Maybe he couldn’t because it was proving far harder to pretend you were merely professional acquaintances when your heart was thudding in your ears and your omega was whining happily in your head.

“It was a technical issue on our end,” Taeji waved him off. “We should rectify it. So we’re going for the same as before - the intense and deadly sexy captain of the army. We’ll start with the close ups.”

It was almost too easy for you to get distracted by Mingi working. It was like a switch had flipped - one moment, you were looking at the bashful alpha, words soft and courteous, and the next it was like he was a completely different person. He stood taller, you noticed, manipulated his body and facial expressions into ones of raw intensity, of - it made your cheeks heat up to say it - sexual prowess, as if it was natural to him.

Mingi ran his thumb over his bottom lip and you felt like you’d collapse into a warm heap on the studio floor.

But then there would be a pause between shots and his eyes would search for yours.

He wiggled his fingers at you in a wave.

You wiggled yours back.

His face brightened into a grin.

You couldn’t help smiling back too.

Then Taeji would bark an order and you’d both go back to pretending.

Once, you thought maybe you’d been caught. Seoah was giving you these teasing looks from across the room but was helping change the lens today and that kept her on the other side of the studio.

After, you snuck out before she could catch up with you.

Lingering at the end of the street, as you’d agreed, you clutched your phone between your fingers. Mingi’s previous messages stared up at you.

Mingi: it was hard to pretend i didn’t know you

Mingi: did i say you look cute today? I should have straight away.

Mingi: give me 5 minutes.

Mingi: i see you!

The last message had you jerk your head up in surprise, immediately making eye contact with dark eyes, curled in the corners. You couldn’t make anything else out, not with the nondescript mask and hat pulled low over blue strands of hair. He wore all black as well - a trench coat over a plain hoodie, but when he moved, you caught glimpses of silver jewellery peaking out from beneath the fabric.

Even if you couldn’t smell him, the eyes were a dead giveaway.

He said your name and your voice sounded breathy when you said his in return.

“I didn’t leave you waiting too long, did I?” he worried. When you shook your head, Mingi let out a sigh of relief. “Okay, good, good. Are you ready?”

“Not going to tell me where we’re going yet?” you teased.

You wished you could see his smile when he said, “I want to keep you guessing just a little while longer.”

Mingi put his hand in his pockets and angled his elbow out. An offer of contact without fear. “You can hold on. If you want to,” he added on quickly.

You hesitated for a moment, anxious worry gripping you, before you shook it off. Don’t over think, you told yourself firmly.

Still, your hands trembled when they slipped into the gap there. It was warm and the fabric of the trench coat was soft to touch. You flexed your fingers around his arm, felt the way the muscles jumped even through all those layers, and hoped your face wasn’t too red.

Mingi’s ears were definitely red though, the tips burning when he said, “let’s go.”

-

Your eyes flickered to the road sign and back. “Banpo bridge?”

“Aka, the rainbow bridge,” Mingi said. He scratched the back of his head. “You said you hadn’t been before, so I wanted to be the first to share it with you.”

You remembered the video, a meme tiktok that Yunho had shared. You’d laughed and said that you’d never been before. You didn’t think anymore about it after that. Mingi clearly had.

Maybe he mistook your silence for something bad because you watched the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “Is that...okay?”

“It’s better than okay,” you assured, “I just...didn’t expect you to remember.”

“I remember everything you’ve said,” Mingi answered honestly.

Your throat felt tight, suddenly overwhelmed with the flood of affection you felt for the man next to you. There were words, emotions, settling on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t have to embarrass yourself by sharing anything. 

Mingi moved the arm you held. “Come on, I know the best spot.”

He guided you with such certainty, seemingly unconcerned even as the crowds grew around them. Families chatting, friends giggling, couples hand-in-hand. He tugged you closer when the throngs of people got too close as he led you through the underpass and then into the open area by the Han River.

You glanced around the park for a moment. “There’s...a lot of people here.”

Mingi hummed in agreement. He lowered himself into a crouch before moving to sit comfortably on the grass. It was almost ridiculous, the way his long legs arched upwards. “There’s always anonymity in a crowd,” he said, tugging his face mask under his chin, “besides, nobody will be looking around soon enough.” he patted the ground next to him, “sit with me?”

You obliged, lowered yourself carefully. Your knees bumped against the side of his leg. Mingi grinned at you and your heart did a leap.

“You’ve come here before?” you asked.

Mingi nodded. “When I need to clear my head,” he admitted, “or when being inside becomes a bit much. This is one of the few times I’m not part of the show.”

It didn’t sound begrudging or disappointment, just a statement of fact.

“It must be hard,” you murmured.

“It can be but I don’t regret it, I love my job,” Mingi shrugged, “It’s more when I want to take one of my mates out on a date that it becomes a problem.”

The claiming language made you inexplicably warm. “I suppose you and Yunho are quite a pair walking around in public,” you commented.

Mingi flashed you a grin. “It’s actually San that causes problems. His waist line is famous.”

You snorted. Mingi looked delighted.

He wasn’t wrong though. By the time the show started, lights and water features moving in choreographed ways to popular western songs, his unruly legs tucked against his chest and you, with your phone out to record, were just another spectator. It was nice, normal in a way that you hadn’t felt for a while.

About half way through, Mingi’s hands twitched around his knees. “You can say no,” he muttered, leaning closer to be heard over the music, “but I’d regret it if I didn’t ask. Can I...hold you? Over your clothes - I mean, of course, over your clothes, I just.”

You giggled. His jaw clicked when it shut.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

You shook your head. “It’s cute that you get flustered.”

“I want to be a good alpha for you,” Mingi said honestly.

He wouldn’t have cared, you thought. Be a good omega for me - he’d told you that too many times to count and you remembered how it twisted you up inside. It was what had made you stay longer than you should have, been convinced of an eternity and a destiny that had never been, and what had made you break when it all fell apart. Mingi looked at you so sweetly and the idea of being even a little bit like him made you feel sick.

You shuffled a little closer and, after a moment’s hesitation, angled your head to rest on his shoulder. You felt the way he froze at the touch, smelt the way his scent grew sweeter in response, and how his fingers trembled just that little bit when they hooked around your opposite shoulder before they settled more confidently.

Your omega purred. His alpha rumbled in response.

“You don’t have to be a good alpha,” you told him, “you just have to be Song Mingi. That’s more than enough.”

-

It was a few days after your date that you got the call. You frowned down at your phone, at Hongjoong’s name flashing across the screen. He had never done this before, preferring to reach out to you via kakao text.

Your eyebrows furrowed with a sudden wave of nervousness.

Hajong caught you from her position in the kitchen, eyes flickering from you to the soup simmering on the stove. “Who is it?”

“It’s my al-,” you cut yourself short, “It’s Hongjoong.”

If Hajong caught the slip, she didn’t say anything. “You should answer,” she suggested gently.

You made a noise of agreement, hesitated a moment longer and then answered. “Joongie?”

His voice, even over the phone, was calming enough to ease even the slight rise in your anxiety levels. The power of a pack alpha, you assumed. He said your name softly. “How are you?”

You fiddled with a loose thread on your shirt. “I’m good. Just making dinner,” you answered and ignored Hajong’s raised call that you were doing absolutely no such thing. “Are you...okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re just, um,” Hongjoong paused for a moment and then released with a long sigh, “I have a favour to ask.”

Your pack alpha needed you. It simultaneously filled you with nerves and innate delight. 

“It’s Mingi,” Hongjoong told you, “He’s in rut.”

The word dropped through you like an ice shock. Ruts and heats were natural of course. Before you hit puberty, they were explained in such a careful way that most adults explain things that they feel uncomfortable about. They’re natural and for the process of procreation. They didn’t explain the way your first heat had burned through you, how it had felt like you had lost control of yourself and that for the first time, your omega was in complete control.

It got better as you got older and you understood yourself better. You knew how to make it more bearable and took heat suppressants to make them more bearable. 

You’d stopped taking them once before, in your last relationship, and he’d called you too much. You continued taking them the day your heat ended.

Ruts were much the same, an alphas innate desire to breed an omega. You.

Your omega sat up eagerly - my alpha needs me - but the rest of you felt only discomfort. Were you ready for that? Did you want to enter the pack house and -

You swallowed. Hajong had turned down the heat on the stove to close the distance between you, eyes concerned as she smelt the change in your scent. She mouthed ‘what’s wrong?’ but somehow, the idea of explaining you’re getting called to help with a rut in front of your friend feels terribly embarrassing.

Of course, through the phone, Hongjoong couldn’t tell so he continued talking. “It triggered earlier than we were expecting.”

“Um, is he...okay?” you tested the waters, the sound of your heartbeat too loud in your ears. Hajong nudged your shoulder. You shook your head.

“Actually, that’s why I was calling you,” he murmured, “I know it’s a lot to ask but do you think you could drop off some of your clothes to the house?”

Immediately, the fear that lodged in your throat felt silly. “My clothes?”

“He had his coat in the den for a bit. Said he still smelt like you, but you know, it’s um, disappeared,” Hongjoong said the word delicately, “I know it’s a lot to ask but if you’re willing, I think it’ll really help.”

You tapped an unsteady beat on the arm of the sofa. Your initial reaction was no. Scent and ruts were such an intimate thing. It was primal and abrasive at times. There were scents that you absolutely could not have around you during your heat or you’d tear yourself apart trying to get away from it. There were scents that smelt like home and comfort, and kept you steady when every molecule of your body was burning.

The idea of sharing that part of you felt serious and terrifying, like you were agreeing to something your mind wasn’t ready to accept yet.

But then you thought of Mingi, the sweet and wide eyed giant who had shook when you touched his coat and had thanked you for even agreeing to go on a date with him. You didn’t let yourself imagine the alpha as he would be - though your omega did try her hardest, the idea of her mate needing her and her not being there causing discomfort - but you knew how difficult it would be for a scent to not be there when you needed it most.

You thought of how Hajong and Dokyeom’s scent sat in your nest, signs of love and importance in your life.

Hongjoong said your name hesitantly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I pushed it too far didn’t I?”

“Maybe,” you agreed. You licked your bottom lip. “Does he really need them?”

“He’s been asking for you,” Hongjoong admitted and your omega whined. You were happy that the alpha wasn’t there to smell the delight in your scent, though Hajong definitely could. She gave you an amused, though concerned, smile.

You hesitated just a moment longer before you made a decision.

-

Mingi whined, nose pushing further and further into the sleeve crease of his coat. Your scent wasn’t there any more, covered by sweat and lust and his other mates, but still he searched for it.

Beneath him, Wooyoung scratched his nails down Mingi’s back and muttered, “gotta pay attention to me Alpha.”

Mingi’s eyes flashed and he snapped his jaw in warning. The alpha below him bared his neck in submission, even as his eyes danced with amusement. Mingi rolled his hips and enjoyed the way that Wooyoung’s expression faltered, overwhelmed with pleasure.

Usually, that would be enough but the first rut after finding his omega - his alpha scratching at the worst part of his instincts, demanding the presence of someone who rationally would not be with him at this time. It was too early, too soon, but try explaining that to the hormonal wolf that wanted to tear his way through the streets to find you.

He only stopped because Hongjoong used his alpha voice, ordering him to stay, and it quelled his alpha enough to keep him in the den. That, and the constant stream of alphas and betas who put themselves in his way.

“Come on alpha,” Wooyoung reared up to yank at Mingi’s hair, “think you can fuck a baby into me?”

Of course, Yunho picked that exact moment to open the door to the den. “Jesus Christ Woo,” he said with a roll of his eyes and fond smile.

Mingi turned his head at the intrusion, eyes flashing in warning for a moment before Yunho’s scent hit him. “Yu,” he greeted, voice weaker than it had been.

The beta tutted and smoothed the hair away from his alpha’s face. “You being good, alpha?”

Mingi whimpered and nodded eagerly. He always wanted to please his betas, even in this state.

Yunho grinned. “Good, because we have a gift for you.”

“Gift?” Mingi repeated and even Wooyoung looked interested.

Yunho angled his head towards the bag on his shoulder. It was a simple duffle bag, nothing too fancy. It was only when the beta reached for the zip that Mingi realised it was scent blocking.

Through the smallest of gaps, the scent that escaped hit him like a physical presence. It floated in the air - sweet like honey and oh so familiar.

His wolf howled. Omega. Omega. Omega.

Mingi’s eyes narrowed in on the bag, on the peaks of fabric as Yunho slowly unpacked them. Summer dresses, a hoodie, a work shirt that he would recognise anywhere because it was embedded in his fondest memories.

“Our omega gave you a gift,” Yunho explained.

Mingi snatched the first thing he could reach - a pretty sundress with delicate flower designs, too fragile for what he wanted to do with it - and shoved it under his nose. He barely heard his beta’s fond laugh from how his wolf panted in delight.

It wasn’t the same as having you here, he knew but it was like finding an oasis in the desert. He was parched, dying of thirst and even the smallest hint of you would have him eating sand.

“Better alpha?” Yunho smoothed his finger across Mingi’s cheekbone.

The alpha rumbled in appreciation.

---------------------------------------------------

🏷️ @quaxing-lour @yizhou-time @jpow345 @princelingperfect @aireagle92 @sourlimesoda @livonianmaia @wolfhallows4 @dachshunddame @glowingsoup @devilzliaison @stxrrywoo @minkieater @moooonandroses @arieltwvdtohamflash @koztion @sangis-puppy @sunnysidesins @itsmooniebaby @chandlxa @btsgangleader @satsuri3su @diearama @aethnie @sh1n3-4h4na @ja3hwa @hopelesslygroovyraven @everglow98 @hypnoticviolet @weasleytwins-41 @katsukis1wife @whyiskpoptakingovermylife @hope122598 @Wolfhallows4 @Addi-3 @i-amtrash @Spenceatiny18 @christiinee @Victoriaaf @hannahdinse8 @okiedokiespookie @answer-the-sirens @iamagnesrrr @nanazuly @hope122598 @jiimtaee @becklynpro @joongsfantasy @salvaltor @Kandy108 @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @intowxnderland @Fertileleaf @soso59love-blog @ramadiiiisme @herpoetryprincess @bewitchedbitxh @heaven-s-hell @purelyhated @loverracha @liightlizard @elenas-kaleidoscope @m8teez @firestrike04 @berryguks @puppyminnnie @enthusiasticmigraine @parkairis18 @1000aki @veronica123 @soulphoenix1618 @s0ngm1ng1 @kimsaerom @s1ar4s @jbear00 @tghock @madifreakinggriffinblake (join the taglist)

I remember standing by the ocean Watching all the waves just rollin' on

You sat beside Hongjoong, your head resting comfortably against his shoulder while Yeosang stretched out between your legs. The ocean rolled in and out in front of you. Waves crashing softly against the shore. The salty air filled your lungs with every breath, the breeze occasionally brushing strands of hair across your face. For once, everything felt quiet. Peaceful even.

A kind of peace you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. No more tension. No more awkward glances. No more rooms filled with unsaid feelings. Just this.

Just the three of you after everything that happened... Gods, you have missed this. You missed breathing without feeling like your chest was caving in. Missed laughing without guilt sitting in your stomach. Missed existing without waiting for something bad to happen.

Beside you, Hongjoong shifted slightly, pressing his cheek gently against the top of your head. A quiet habit that made you lips twitch.

Meanwhile, Yeosang was entirely occupied with your hand. Specifically, your left hand. His fingers absentmindedly played with yours, occasionally twisting the ring around your finger. The engagement ring caught the sunlight each time it moved, sparkling brightly enough to steal your attention.

You looked down and immediately smiled. Because Yeosang was staring at it too. And the expression on his face, the pure pride and happiness. A smile sat on his lips as he carefully turned the ring again.

The ring. The one he and Hongjoong picked together. The one they spent entirely too much time debating over. The one that now sat on your finger because after all the heartbreak, after all the healing, Yeosang got to propose too.

Finally, even if it was Hongjoong. He can recall the tearful face of yours, the faintest yes leaving your lips as Hongjoong took off the old ring. Yeosang getting the honors of placing the new. Yeosang glanced up and caught you staring.

“What?” he asked, trying and failing to hide his grin.

You raised an eyebrow. “You've been staring at it for like ten minutes.”

Immediately, his ears tinted pink. “I have not.”

“You absolutely have.”

Hongjoong snorted beside you, causing the three of you to burst out laughing. And just like that, the sound of their laughter mixed with the ocean waves. And for the first time in what felt like forever you truly felt at home again.

I remember shadows growing darker, yeah. Then the morning broke with a brighter sun, yeah

Seonghwa couldn't believe his ears. The words echoed over and over in his head, each repetition somehow hitting harder than the last.

"I think we should stay being friends."

Everything after that became muffled. Like he was underwater. Like someone had pressed mute on the world. He was vaguely aware of himself nodding. Aware of you sitting across from him. But the ringing in his ears drowned everything else out.

What had he expected? Honestly? What had he really expected?

That you would welcome him back with open arms?

That after starting the worst year of your life, after breaking your heart and walking away, you would simply let him step back into the place he once occupied?

The thought alone made his stomach twist. Of course not. You deserved better than that. You always had. Across from him, you noticed immediately.

Because despite everything you still knew him. You always would. Your hand gently touched his. The contact pulled him back just enough to focus on you again. "Hwa..."

His eyes lifted.

"It doesn't mean I don't love you."

The words immediately made his chest ache. You smiled sadly. "We're still going to be us."

A pause.

"Just not romantically."

His throat tightened.

"And with more boundaries."

There it was. The reality of it. No anger, no hatred, not even rejection. Just a boundary. A consequence that was his fault. A line drawn by someone who had finally learned to protect herself.

And he didnt know that would hurt more. Because he couldn't even argue with it. Couldn't tell you it was unfair. Couldn't tell you that you were wrong. You weren't.

You were finally choosing yourself.

Something he should've wanted all along. Seonghwa swallowed hard before forcing a smile onto his face. The strongest one he could manage. "Of course, Yn."

His voice sounded steadier than he felt. "Anything you wish for, princess."

Your smile softened. For a brief second, he saw the person he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. Then you leaned forward. And pressed a gentle kiss against his cheek.

Tender, affectionate and goodbye. A goodbye to the version of you two that once existed.

Then you stood and left. The door clicking shut behind you. The room became silent. Seonghwa remained exactly where he was.

Still smiling. Still staring at the spot you'd been sitting moments ago. Until something wet landed on the back of his hand. He blinked.

Looked down. Another followed. Then another.

Only then did he realize he was crying. Not loudly, nor dramatically. Just quiet tears slipping down his face as the reality settles in. You still loved him. Just not the love he was hoping for. And that somehow made it worse.

Because for the first time since he broke up with you, Seonghwa understood something with painful clarity: Loving someone wasn't always enough to be allowed back into their heart.

Sometimes, you gotta move forward Just take it step by step

You stood awkwardly in the doorway of Yunho's room. He sat in his desk chair facing you, hands clasped together as if he was trying to stop himself from fidgeting. The tension in the room was so thick it made you want to turn around, find Hongjoong and Yeosang, and drag them back as emotional support.

Taking a breath, you finally spoke. "Look, Yunho—"

"I know." He cut you off before you could continue. "We're not getting back together."

You blinked. The bluntness caught you off guard. It stung a little, but not nearly as much as it would have a year ago. "Well," you said dryly, crossing your arms, "there's no need to be so blunt about it."

A sheepish smile tugged at his lips.

"Sorry. I just..." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've accepted the fact that even if I apologized and spent the rest of my life proving how sorry I am, you still wouldn't want to be with me."

You couldn't even argue with that. After several long conversations with your fiancés, the answer had become clear. Getting back together with Yunho wasn't something you wanted. Not anymore.

"It's just..." You shifted your weight. "Yunho, you did the most damage after the breakup."

His smile disappeared.

"You didn't stay away, but you weren't kind either. You didn't give me any sign that we could even be friendly. Every interaction felt like you hated me."

Guilt flashed across his face. "And I'm still sorry for that," he said quietly. "The whole thing just blew up after I got that text and—"

"And I get that, Yun. I really do."

The nickname slipped out naturally. Softly. "But it's still not an excuse."

Something visibly jolted in him. Yun. You hadn't called him that in over a year. For a moment, he simply stared. Because despite everything, despite knowing he'd ruined any chance of getting you back, hearing that nickname made his chest ache.

He was still in love with you.

That much had never changed. But he also knew he'd destroyed something that couldn't simply be repaired with an apology. He'd seen the disappointment in Hongjoong's eyes. Seen it in Mingi's too.His best friend. The people who had watched him self-destruct alongside you.

"Will we at least still be friends?" he asked softly, avoiding eye contact.

Silence filled the room. You thought about it for a moment before answering. "Of course, Yunho."

His eyes lifted.

"We were friends before we were lovers."

The tension in his shoulders loosened slightly.

"And I don't want to lose that."

You stepped forward. Hesitating for only a second before closing the distance between you. Yunho froze. Then you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against his forehead. His breath caught instantly. Before he could stop himself, his hands found your waist, pulling you into a tight embrace. Not in a romantic or possessive way. Just desperate, like he wanted to hold onto this version of you for a little longer.

You let him, just for a moment. Then you shifted. A silent reminder that it was time to let go. Slowly, his arms loosened.

You smiled sadly. "I honestly do miss our gaming sessions."

The confession came out as a whisper. Then you stepped away and headed for the door. Yunho watched you leave. The room felt empty the second you were gone. The door clicked shut behind you. And only then did he finally speak.

"I miss them too."

The words fell into the silence, he was the only one left to hear them.

And then you'll notice You've found your place (goddamn!)

You and Yeosang were at the gym, working out separately but close enough to keep each other in sight. Yeosang was across the room working through a set of weights while you focused on hip thrusts and squats, earbuds tucked into your ears.

Neither of you noticed the pair of eyes occasionally drifting your way. San had been working on his arms a few machines over, doing his best to focus on his workout instead of you.

Failing miserably. As he finished a set and reached for his water bottle, a familiar laugh suddenly filtered through his headphones. His head snapped up.

That laugh. Your laugh. The audio playing from his phone wasn't music. It was him. More specifically, an old recording of the two of you pretending to host a podcast. One of hundreds of ridiculous voice memos the two of you used to make.

"Can you believe the Choi Jongho has a hickey?" his own voice rang through the earbud.

A second later came the sound of your snort. Then your bright, uncontrollable giggles. The kind that always made him keep talking just to hear more of them.

"I heard he got caught making out behind the dorms."

Another burst of laughter. San felt his chest tighten painfully. Tears immediately stung his eyes. He grabbed his sweat towel and pressed it against his face, pretending to wipe away sweat while discreetly blinking away the emotion threatening to spill over.

A tap on his shoulder startled him. San nearly jumped. Turning around, he froze. You stood there holding your water bottle, offering him a small smile.

"Yn," he breathed. The towel nearly slipped from his hand.

"Hi, Sannie," you said softly.

The nickname alone nearly knocked the air from his lungs. His eyes immediately darted around the gym. Looking for Yeosang.

You noticed instantly. "He went back to shower."

San nodded. Still staring, trying to process the fact that you were standing in front of him. Then you shifted awkwardly.

"Do you want to... maybe get some lunch?"

For a second, he genuinely thought he imagined it. Then realization hit. You were asking him. His heart nearly stopped.

"Yeah." The answer came far too quickly.

"Yeah, I'd like that." The smile that appeared on his face was impossible to hide. Maybe this was a chance. Maybe this was finally his chance to apologize.

—

A short while later, the two of you sat across from each other at a small café near the gym. A protein smoothie sat in front of you. One San had insisted on buying. Refusing to even let you reach for your wallet. You took a sip before glancing up at him.

The nervous energy practically radiated off him that you felt bad for a moment you had to break the tension. "So..."

"I'm sorry."

The words exploded out of him. You blinked, clearly not expecting him to launch straight into it. San immediately groaned and dragged a hand down his face.

"So much for easing into the conversation."

A small laugh escaped you. Despite yourself. Taking that as encouragement, he pushed forward.

"I'm sorry for ghosting you." His voice softened.

"I don't have an excuse." The smile faded from his face.

"I don't." He shook his head.

"What I did was selfish and cowardly, and I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you'll let me." The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache.

You offered him a soft smile. "Oh, San..."

The nickname alone nearly made him tear up again. Because you still said it the same way. The same looked at him as well, so gentle and warm. Far kinder than he deserved.

Across from you, San immediately looked nervous. Like he was bracing for impact.

"Seonghwa and Yunho, they're a fucking mess after you talked to them," he admitted with a weak laugh. "I'm fully expecting to be too after you chew me out."

A surprised laugh escaped you. Not because it was funny. But because he genuinely looked terrified. "Good," you replied.

San groaned immediately, dropping his forehead into his hands. "I knew it."

"You should."

His shoulders shook with a defeated laugh. You took another sip of your smoothie before setting it down. The smile faded slightly. Not completely, just enough.

"Do you know what hurt most?"

San slowly lifted his head. The fear immediately returned. Because your voice wasn't angry. It was sad. And somehow that was worse.

"I kept making excuses for you."

His expression crumpled instantly. You looked down at your drink.

"When everyone else broke up with me, I told myself you'd never do that."

Silence.

"I defended you."

San's eyes immediately began stinging. Because he remembered. Remembered how many times he promised he'd never leave. How many times he'd been the one reassuring you. The dependable one. The safe one.

"I told myself San would call eventually."

Your voice cracked slightly. "Then I thought maybe you were busy."

San couldn't look at you anymore. Then came the words that shattered him.

"Then I started wondering if you were hurt."

A pause.

"If you were sick."

Another pause.

"If you hated me."

San squeezed his eyes shut. Because every possibility you'd imagined was better than the truth. The truth was that he'd seen your calls, your messages. Seen your name appear on his screen. And done absolutely nothing.

"I know," he whispered.

His voice sounded broken. "I know."

You shook your head.

"No." Your eyes finally met his. "I don't think you do."

The restaurant suddenly felt too quiet. Too small. Because there was no anger in your face. Only hurt.

"Ghosting me wasn't just you leaving, San." Your fingers tightened around your cup.

"It made me question every memory we had."

His breath caught. Because he had never thought of it that way. Not even once.

"I kept wondering if any of it was real."

Immediately, tears filled his eyes. "Yn—"

"Was I that easy to throw away?"

The question came out quietly. And San looked like he'd been punched. Because there wasn't a single answer he could give that would make that hurt disappear.

"No."

The response came instantly and desperately. "No, no. God, no."

His eyes overflowed. "You were never easy to leave."

His voice shook a little bit now. "You were the hardest thing I've ever walked away from."

A tear slid down his cheek.

"And I did it anyway."

"I was a coward."

Another tear followed.

"I thought if I disappeared, it'd hurt less than hearing me say it." He laughed bitterly. "Turns out I was wrong."

You stared at him for a long moment. Taking in the tears and regret. The guilt he'd clearly been carrying for over a year. Then quietly, you spoke.

"Yeah."

San winced. Because he knew he deserved that.

"It did hurt more." you said softly.

San was fumbling with his fingers now, his eyes focused on them when your hands came into view, cupping his. That's when he looked up and can see the pain.

" even though it hurt, i forgive you San... and i think we should just stay as friends."

He knew he shouldnt be hurt. He knows that but fuck does it hurt so much. He sucked in a deep breathe, wanting this to be dream. You can see the turmoil on his face. It was the same one you would make a year ago.

San's lip quivered. He immediately looked away, blinking rapidly as he tried to keep himself together in the middle of a crowded café.

You noticed. Of course you did. You always noticed. "I still love you, Sannie."

The words made his chest ache. Not because they gave him hope. Because they didn't, at least, not anymore.

The hope had already been gently taken from his hands. But hearing that you still loved him somehow hurt more than hearing you didn't.

Because it meant he hadn't imagined it. What the two of you had was real. It just wasn't enough to undo what happened.

You squeezed his hand gently. "But I need time to heal from you."

San nodded slowly.

You took a shaky breath. "I've accepted that Seonghwa and Yunho will never be the same again."

The words hung in the air.

"And that hurts."

Your gaze dropped to your intertwined hands.

"But with you..."

San's breath caught. Because there was something different in your voice. Something softer.

You smiled sadly. "With you, I imagined a whole future."

The tears he'd been fighting finally spilled over.

A family. A home.

Growing old together, every stupid date, every lazy morning, every dream he'd let himself have.

Gone, because he'd broken something precious enough that it couldn't be rebuilt overnight. Maybe not ever.

"Yn..." His voice cracked.

You smiled anyway, a gentle one. The same one that always made him feel safe. Taking a deep breath, San wiped quickly at his eyes and forced himself to speak.

"I wish you nothing but the best with them."

His voice was rough but honest. Because despite how much it hurt, he meant it. Your smile widened immediately, a real one this time.

Bright enough to make his heart squeeze. Instinctively, both of your gazes dropped to your left hand. The engagement ring sparkled beneath the café lights. A reminder of the future you'd chosen. The future waiting for you.

"Thank you, Sannie."

hold onto your ground, doesnt matter how

You and Hongjoong had known there would be backlash. No matter when you announced your engagement, there would always be people who questioned it. You'd told yourself that for weeks.

Repeated it like a mantra. Tried to prepared for it. Or at least you thought you had.

But nothing prepared you for actually seeing it. The post had only been up for thirty minutes. Thirty. And already the comments were flooding in.

Anonymous yeah sure. announce an engagement RIGHT after a scandal.

hj&ynlover i love them but this feels really suspicious. happy for them, i guess?

yeosangleftsock oh please. this is the most obvious publicity stunt i've ever seen.

Your stomach dropped. Every comment felt like another hand reaching into your chest and squeezing. Because they weren't talking about some celebrity. They were talking about your life.

Your pain, love and future.

Anonymous she got caught in a scandal and suddenly they're engaged? okay.

Anonymous trying to distract everyone from the poly rumors.

Anonymous he deserves better honestly.

That one made your breath hitch. Your thumb froze.

Anonymous she's always causing problems for the group.

Anonymous i miss when ateez wasn't messy.

Anonymous this relationship always felt off.

Your vision blurred, tears stinging your eyes as you desperately tried to blink them away. This wasn't speculation. This was your engagement.

Your future, the happiest moment of your life reduced to strangers calling it fake. Your chest tightened painfully as another comment flashed through your mind.

He deserves better.

The words hit harder than they should have. Because after everything, after the breakups and the scandal. there was still a part of you that wondered if everyone would be happier without you.

A sob threatened to escape. You quickly pressed a hand over your mouth.

God, not now. Not when they would be home any minute.

You wiped furiously at your face. Trying to erase any evidence. Trying to compose yourself. Then you heard the front door.

The familiar sound of keys. The door opening. Voices immediately filling the apartment. You hurriedly wiped your cheeks again, rushing off the couch as you ran towards the kitchen.

The door to the living room swung open. Hongjoong and Yeosang walked in together, still caught up in whatever conversation they'd been having. Neither noticed you at first.

"Baby!"

Yeosang's voice filled the room immediately. Bright and excited.

"You would not believe what Hongjoong did during our suit fitting."

A small laugh escaped Hongjoong.

"Don't start."

"Oh, I'm absolutely starting."

Yeosang kicked off his shoes and pointed dramatically toward him.

"This man got emotional."

You let out a small laugh. A convincing one, at least, you hoped it was. Quickly turning back toward the kitchen island, you reached for an onion and a knife. Anything to keep them from looking too closely.

Anything to explain the burning in your eyes.

The comments still sat heavy in your chest.

He deserves better.

Publicity stunt.

Damage control.

You swallowed hard and focused on the cutting board. Hongjoong and Yeosang wandered into the kitchen together, still lightly bickering.

"He cried."

"I did not." Hongjoong whined.

"You literally did."

"I was not crying."

Before either of them could notice anything strange, they stepped into your space. Yeosang kissed your cheek. Hongjoong pressed a quick peck against your lips.

The simple affection nearly broke you all over again. Because they loved you so easily. And strangers hated you just as easily.

The moment they pulled away, Hongjoong frowned. His hand lifted. Carefully brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"Baby."

Your stomach dropped. His thumb lingered against your cheek.

"Have you been crying?"

For a split second, your entire body froze. You turned around quickly and held up the onion in your hand like evidence.

"Just the onions I'm cutting for dinner."

The lie slipped so much easier than you thought it would. Hongjoong stared at you for a moment before nodding his head.

" alright... but you'll let us know is anything is brothering you right?"

you nodded your head, pressing a reassuring kiss to his cheek, as well as Yeosangs. " i promise, now go get washed up boys. Dinner will be done shortly."

buying your excuse, you let out a sigh of relief that you didnt even realize that you were holding in.

they don’t even care so then, why should you?

You didn’t remember when your emotions had gotten this bad. Maybe it had been gradual. Like it had happened so slowly that you never noticed until now. All you knew was that lately, it felt like everything hurt more than it should.

You leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, tears streaming down your face as the last remnants of your sobs slowly quieted. Your chest still ached from the breakdown you’d just had, the aftermath lingering like a storm that refused to fully pass.

The house was silent, a little too silent. And in that silence, the thoughts came back.

“You don’t deserve them.”

Your head snapped up. The reflection staring back at you looked foreign. Cruel, almost hateful.

“I mean, who would want to stay with you?”

Your breath caught. Fresh tears immediately welled in your eyes. “No,” you whispered.

But the voice kept going,relentless and so cruel.

“Look at yourself, you’re exhausting. Too emotional.”

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs. Another tear rolled down your cheek. You couldn’t look away from your reflection, as if your memorized to your own cruelty.

“It’s why they didn’t invite you to the cake tasting.”

The thought struck deeper than it should have. A stupid thing. Something that had a perfectly reasonable explanation. Yet somehow your brain had twisted it into evidence.Evidence that you were unwanted and that you were being left behind.

“You’re so sensitive. It’s probably why they needed a break from you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut immediately, hard. Like you could physically force the thoughts away. Your chest heaved as you fought for a steady breath.

But it wasn’t working. The breathing exercises that you and yeosang practiced out the window. A sob was working it’s way back up again. Because the worst part wasn’t hearing the words. The worst part was that some small, broken piece of you believed them.

you didn’t recognize yourself anymore. Not the girl who used to stand her ground. Not the woman who used to fight back. Just someone standing alone in the bathroom, crying over comments, over cake tastings, over things that shouldn’t hurt this much.

yet somehow it did and no matter how tightly you shut your eyes, you couldn’t stop hearing that voice. Sounding exactly like your own.

“ you should just end it all. i mean, you would make everyones lives so much better. everyone is thinking it.”

a choked sobbed left your throat as you stared at the razor that hung on the wall. your vision so blurred and the tightness in your chest began to hurt. your hand trembled, feeling around for your phone.

your fingers hovered over hongjoongs contact, hesitating on bothering calling him. Staring back at your reflection who held such a cruel smirk on her face, your hands reached across the sink.

dont stop believing how you got here hold onto that feelin gonna make it far enough

Hongjoong and Yeosang arrived home to an unsettling silence.

The kind that immediately put them on edge. It was strange. The apartment was usually filled with something like, music playing from your phone, the television running in the background, your laughter carrying from another room, or even just your voice talking to Mouse.

But now? Nothing.

The silence wrapped around them the moment they stepped through the front door, sending an uneasy chill down their spines. Each of them carried a small bag from the cake tasting, having brought home slices for you to try. The entire drive back had been spent arguing over which flavor you'd choose as your favorite.

"Yn! Baby, we're home!"

Hongjoong slipped into his slippers as he called out, expecting to hear your voice almost immediately. Nothing answered him.

Yeosang frowned. "Maybe she's asleep?"

It wasn't impossible. The past few weeks had been exhausting, and lately you'd seemed more tired than usual. Still, something felt off. A sharp yelp suddenly echoed down the hallway.

Both men turned instantly. "Mouse?"

Another yelp. Followed by frantic scratching. Hongjoong's stomach tightened. Without thinking, he headed toward the spare room where the noise was coming from.

The scratching grew louder as he approached. "mouse?"

The moment he opened the door, Mouse practically launched himself out of the room. The dog jumped against Hongjoong's legs before immediately rushing toward Yeosang, whining loudly.

"Whoa, hey." Yeosang crouched down, rubbing behind Mouse's ears.

The dog wouldn't settle. Instead, he paced between them anxiously, letting out another distressed whine.

Hongjoong exchanged a look with Yeosang. Something wasn't right.

"That's odd..." Yeosang murmured, watching Mouse dart toward the hallway before looking back at them again.

His brows furrowed. "Usually Yn has him with her."

The uneasy feeling in Hongjoong's chest suddenly grew heavier. Because Yeosang was right. Mouse followed you everywhere, like a shadow.

And if he was locked away in the spare room by himself, where were you?

Hongjoong set the bag of cake slices down on the kitchen counter, the cheerful conversation from earlier long forgotten. The uneasy feeling in his chest had only grown stronger. Mouse's anxious behavior.

The fact that you hadn't come running out to greet them. None of it felt right. Without saying a word, he headed toward your shared bedroom. The hallway suddenly felt much longer than usual.

When he pushed open the door, his stomach dropped. The bed was empty. The blankets were still rumpled from that morning, but there was no sign of you.

His eyes immediately caught on the sliver of light spilling from beneath the bathroom door. The light was on.

A sinking feeling settled heavily in his stomach.

"Baby?" he called softly. No answer.

Behind him, he could hear Yeosang approaching, his footsteps quickening when he saw Hongjoong standing frozen in the doorway.

"Is she in there?" Yeosang asked quietly.

Hongjoong didn't answer right away. Because suddenly every terrible possibility was trying to force its way into his mind. His throat tightened.

"Yn?" he called again, a little louder this time.

Still nothing. His hands began to shake, just slightly. But enough for him to notice. Enough that he had to curl them into fists before reaching for the doorknob.

The metal felt cold beneath his palm. For a moment, he simply stood there. Heart pounding. Breath caught somewhere in his throat. Trying to convince himself he was overreacting. Trying to convince himself that you were probably just taking a bath.

Probably scrolling through your phone. Probably annoyed that he kept calling your name. But the dread in his chest refused to ease.

And as he wrapped his fingers around the handle, Hongjoong found himself taking a shaky breath. One he couldn't quite seem to finish.

Hongjoong breathe was caught in his throat, the scene forever pictured in his mind now. A wail left his body as he stumbled towards the bathtub. The crimson red blood stained the floor as Yeosang eyes widen at the scene. Hongjoong crawled towards your body, tears streaming down his face.

" y-yn!" he cried, putting pressure onto your open wounds.

Yeosang was fumbling with his phone, stuttering to get his words out as Hongjoong was frantically calling your name. Deep down, they both knew.

you were dead.

gonna make it far enough

Seonghwa was the first to get the call. One moment, he was sitting on the floor of his apartment, absentmindedly sorting through a set of Legos while a show played quietly in the background.

The next, his phone rang. Hongjoong.

A small smile had started to form before he answered. It vanished almost immediately. The color drained from his face. The Lego piece slipped from his fingers, clattering against the hardwood floor.

"Hongjoong?" His voice came out strained.

Whatever Hongjoong said next made Seonghwa shoot to his feet so fast the box of Legos overturned beside him.

"Where are you?"

San and Jongho looked up from the living room instantly. Because Seonghwa never sounded like that. So panicked and terrified. His hands were shaking as he grabbed his keys.

"Okay. Okay, we're coming right now."

The call ended.

"Hyung?" Jongho asked, already standing.

Seonghwa couldn't seem to catch his breath.

"Get your shoes."

The words came out broken, urgent and it brought chills to San and Jongho. Enough that neither San nor Jongho questioned him. They were moving before he even finished speaking. Because the look on Seonghwa's face told them everything they needed to know.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

im so scared, i feel like i might fall i cant believe you for even a moment, so im in a hurry to hide it.

Across the city, Wooyoung was grocery shopping when his phone rang. Yeosang. Without thinking, he answered with a soft smile.

"Hey, did you guys finally decide what flavor-"

The smile disappeared instantly. His entire body went still. The shopping cart slipped from his grip. For a moment, he simply stood there in the middle of the aisle. Just listening. His expression growing paler with every passing second.

"Yeosang..." His voice cracked.

The cart sat abandoned beside him. Half filled with groceries. Items he'd spent twenty minutes comparing. Things that suddenly felt completely insignificant.

Wooyoung squeezed his eyes shut. Then he was moving, leaving everything exactly where it was. The shopping cart sat abandoned in the middle of the aisle, groceries half-finished and forgotten.

People turned as he rushed past them. He didn't notice nor didn't care. The only thing that mattered was getting to the hospital.

His hands shook as he pushed through the automatic doors, nearly dropping his phone in the process. Yeosang's voice still echoed in his head, strained and terrified in a way Wooyoung had never heard before.

Every red light felt too long and unbearable. All he could think was one desperate prayer: Please be okay.

why dont you try hiding it? go ahead and dive in even when the world pushes you away you remember that moment, that we shared together

Across town, Mingi and Yunho were in the middle of a game when both of their phones began ringing simultaneously. The sudden interruption drew confused looks from both of them.

Before either could answer, the dorm room door flew open. Their manager burst inside. The color had completely drained from his face.

"Hyung, what is go-"

"No questions."

His voice was sharp, urgent. The kind of voice that immediately made your stomach drop. The last time they'd heard him sound like that was when he'd rushed them to the hospital after Yn's miscarriage. The memory hit both of them instantly.

"Get up."

Neither Mingi nor Yunho argued nor asked another question. A knot twisted painfully in Mingi's stomach as he pushed himself to his feet. Something was wrong. very, very wrong.

Yunho could see their manager's mouth moving. Could see the panic written all over his face. But suddenly there was a loud buzzing in his ears. Everything sounded distant.

Muffled, as if he was underwater. His pulse thundered violently in his chest.

"Hyung..."The word barely left his mouth.

Their manager's expression crumpled. And somehow that terrified him more than anything else. Because managers were supposed to stay calm. Yet standing in front of them was a man who looked utterly shaken.

"It's Yn."

The world stopped. Nobody breathed.

Then Mingi's knees nearly gave out beneath him. He caught himself on the edge of the desk, his hand trembling violently.

"No." The word escaped before he could stop it.

Yunho felt his own stomach drop. Cold dread spreading through every inch of his body.

"What happened?"

His voice sounded strangled. The manager looked away for a moment and that was enough. Because suddenly every horrible possibility was crashing through their minds.

Mingi was already grabbing his shoes. His fingers fumbling so badly he could barely tie them.

Yunho's heart slammed against his ribs. Hard. The buzzing in his ears only grew louder. Because for the first time since everything had happened he was truly terrified.

Not of losing a relationship or a friend. But of losing you. And suddenly every argument felt stupid. Every grudge felt meaningless. All the cruel word he'd ever thrown at her replayed in his head.

As they rushed out the door behind their manager, neither man realized they were crying. Only that they couldn't get to the hospital fast enough.

when i become more critical of myself than anyone else, just take a breath, thats enough

Hongjoong sat motionless in the hospital waiting room. He couldn't remember how long he'd been there. Time had stopped making sense the moment the doctors had taken you from his arms.

Everything since then felt distant. Muted even. Like he was watching someone else's life unfold from far away.

His hands trembled in his lap. He stared at them, unable to look away. Tears slid silently down his face. He didn't bother wiping them away.

All he could think about were the last few weeks. The signs he'd missed. The moments that seemed insignificant at the time. Your forced smiles. The exhaustion from practice and comeback preparations.

The way you insisted that you were fine or how you'll laugh your tears off. The way you'll kissed his cheek and told him dinner would be ready soon. A broken sound escaped him.

How had he not seen it? How had he looked directly at the woman he loved and failed to realize how much she was hurting?

His chest tightened painfully. Because no matter how many times he replayed it, the outcome never changed. He should have stayed. Should have pushed harder. he should of asked one more question.

sometimes you gotta move forward, just take it step by step and then you'll notice youve found your place

Beside him, Yeosang sat with his head in his hands. Silent tears slipping through his fingers. The waiting room was full of people now.

His members and managers, yet Yeosang had never felt more alone. Because the only person he wanted was the one currently behind those hospital doors. And for the first time in a very long time, yeosang felt completely helpless. All he could do was wait.

The image of you in the bathtub, laying lifeless haunts his mind. Scared to close his eyes, he just stared at the white tile floors. Fiddling with the ring you had gifted him not to long ago.

The smile on your face memorized, as you gave him a sweet kiss. His hands finding your waist as you placed the ring on his finger. your voice echoing in his mind.

"now we're matching!"

god damn, hold on to your ground doesnt matter how. they dont even care, so then why should you?

San couldn't sit still. He paced the length of the waiting room over and over, one hand tangled in his hair while the other wiped uselessly at the tears that refused to stop falling.

Across from him, Wooyoung had long since broken down. His elbows rested on his knees, face buried in trembling hands as quiet sobs echoed through the otherwise silent room.

Neither of them had imagined they'd ever be back here. Not after everything. They had just gotten on speaking terms with you.

Jongho sat rigidly in one of the plastic chairs, his knee bouncing uncontrollably. He stared at the floor as though afraid to look at anyone else.

"She has to be okay..."

His voice barely carried across the room. "...Right?"

The question lingered as no one answered. It wasn't because they didn't want to. It was that none of them knew what to say.

The waiting room felt suspended in time. Every second stretched into an eternity. Every time footsteps echoed down the hallway, every head lifted in hope. Only to fall again when they passed.

Mingi sat with his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Yunho hadn't spoken a single word since arriving. His eyes remained fixed on the closed doors at the end of the corridor. He couldn't stop replaying their last conversation.

The things he'd said. The things he'd never apologized for.

Seonghwa closed his eyes. For the first time in a long time, no one cared about misunderstandings.

Or breakups.

Or jealousy.

Or hurt feelings.

All that mattered now was one simple wish that every person in that room shared: Let her come back to us.

don't stop believing how you got there. hold onto that feelin, gonna make it far enough

The words barely had time to register before his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed to his knees, a broken sob tearing from his chest. The rest of the members didn't need to hear the doctor's voice to understand. The look on Hongjoong's face told them everything: You hadn't made it.

Jongho remained frozen in his chair, unable to move as tears streamed silently down his face. His hands trembled in his lap, his gaze fixed on the floor, unable to look at his hyungs as the reality settled over them. The thought echoed relentlessly in his mind, you were gone.

His chest ached with a grief so profound it felt impossible to breathe through. The person who had always been his greatest source of comfort, his favorite member, the one who had been there through every triumph and hardship... was gone. And for the first time in a long time, Jongho felt completely helpless.

when all the walls are closing. when the weights hard to bear

Wooyoung struggled to breathe, each breath catching painfully in his throat as his hands tangled in his hair. His frantic eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything , that could undo what had just happened.

Regret consumed him in an instant, swallowing him whole. He would have given anything for one more chance. One more kiss, one more opportunity to pull you into his arms and hold you so tightly you'd never have to doubt how much you meant to him. To bury his face against your hair and whisper endless apologies, telling you over and over how deeply he loved you.

But there were no second chances. Just the crushing silence you had left behind, and the unbearable weight of everything he would never get to say.

when you feel like youre nowhere. let it go 'cause ill be there for you

Mingi stared blankly at the wall, completely motionless as tears streamed endlessly down his face. He didn't wipe them away. He didn't seem to notice them at all. He didn't understand. He just couldn't.

His mind rejected every word the doctor had spoken, refusing to let them settle into reality. It had to be a mistake. There had to be another explanation, just anything but this.

You couldn't be gone. Not you. Not his beloved princess.

His breathing was shallow, his thoughts trapped in an endless loop of denial as the truth hovered just beyond his reach. No matter how many sobs echoed through the hallway, how broken the others sounded, he couldn't force himself to acknowledge it.

Because the moment he did... It meant accepting that you were really gone. And that was a reality Mingi simply couldn't bear.

when there is no one for you when you just need a friend 

San was the only one who found the strength to follow the doctor back to your room. Each step felt heavier than the last, his breathing growing more uneven the closer he came. The hallway seemed impossibly long, every footfall echoing in his ears as his heart pounded against his ribs.

His body had already begun to tense, every muscle rigid. Every instinct screamed at him to turn around: to run, to pretend this wasn't real, to never walk through that door.

Because he knew that once he did... there would be no denying the truth. His trembling hand hovered near the doorframe as he fought to steady his breathing, tears blurring his vision. He wasn't ready to see you like this.

But he couldn't bring himself to leave you alone, either. Not after the year you had. You deserved to be surrounded with love. He can see his hand shaking on the doorknob, the few tears that slipped past him falling to the ground.

Taking in a breathe that he could muster up, he finally entered the room.

when you're just feeling lonely Ill be there

Yeosang stumbled into the nearest bathroom, barely making it inside before locking himself in a stall. The moment the latch clicked into place, his composure shattered.

A broken sob escaped him as his body began to tremble uncontrollably. He pressed a shaking hand over his mouth, desperately trying to muffle the cries that refused to stop, his shoulders shaking with the force of each one.

His thoughts spiraled without mercy. All he could think about was you. How frightened you must have been. Whether you had been looking for them. Whether you had called out for someone in your final moments.

The guilt settled heavily in his chest, stealing what little air he had left. He imagined seeing you walk down the aisle, wearing your wedding gown. He imagined tearing up, and he can picture you giving a shy smile with tears also.

unfortunately, he'll never get to experience that.

Hold on to your ground Doesn't matter how 

Yunho's legs trembled uncontrollably, even as he remained seated. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers shaking as they found their way to his mouth. He had never been one to bite his nails, but now he couldn't stop.

Tears poured endlessly down his face, blurring his vision until the world became nothing more than distorted shapes and muffled sounds. Regret consumed him. He should have told you he loved you one more time.

He should have fought harder for the two of you. He should have taken back every hurtful word he'd ever spoken.

He regretted letting you go. Breaking up with you had already been the hardest decision of his life. Now, knowing there would never be another chance to fix it, the pain became unbearable. His chest tightened with every shallow breath until it felt impossible to breathe at all.

Someone was touching him, but his mind refused to process who it was, still trapped in the shock of losing you.

Only when he slowly lifted his tear filled eyes did he realize Mingi was standing in front of him. Without a word, Yunho surged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around him as another sob finally escaped his chest.

They don't even care So then, why should you? 

Seonghwa held Hongjoong tightly, the two of them collapsing into one another as heartbreaking sobs echoed through the hallway.

His mind drifted back years in an instant.

Back to the day you were both trainees.

He could still picture you walking over to greet him with that bright smile, introducing yourself as though you had known each other forever. You had always carried so much warmth—so much life—that it was impossible not to be drawn to you.

Then came the day the company announced that all nine of you would debut together.

You had thrown your arms around him without hesitation, hugging him so tightly he had laughed, your excitement infectious as tears of happiness filled your eyes.

"We did it," you'd whispered.

He could almost feel that embrace now. Almost hear your laugh.

It hurt. God, it hurt. If only he could turn back time, he would. He would stay by your side. He would of never let fear or doubt come between you. He would never break up with you. He would hold you close and never let you walk away.

His eyes drifted to Hongjoong's left hand, settling on the silver/gold ring wrapped around his finger, the matching one he knew the two of you had picked out together.

A painful lump rose in Seonghwa's throat. That ring had once been a promise of forever. Now... It was all Hongjoong had left.

don't stop believing how you got here hold on to that feelin' gonna make it far enough

Hongjoong finally found the strength to move. It wasn't because he was ready. He never would be. Who could be ever ready to see their loves one dead.

His body moved on its own, numb and unsteady, following the sound of Yeosang's broken cries echoing down the hallway. Each step felt impossibly heavy, as though the hospital floor were trying to pull him back.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears. His breath caught the instant his eyes landed on you. The world around him faded into silence.

You looked... peaceful. As though you had simply drifted into a deep sleep. But the warmth that had always lit up your face was gone, replaced by a heartbreaking stillness. Your skin had lost its color, leaving you impossibly pale.

He hated it. how lifeless you looked. that you weren't smiling at him. that your chest no longer rose with quiet breaths. Most of all, he hated that this was the last time he would ever see you.

His knees nearly gave out as he stumbled forward, accidentally bumping into Yeosang's shoulder. Neither of them acknowledged it.

Yeosang remained where he was, both of his hands wrapped carefully around one of yours, desperately holding onto fingers that had already grown cold. Silent tears continued to fall onto the blanket as he gently rubbed circles across your knuckles, as if willing warmth back into them.

Hongjoong slowly lowered himself beside the bed. His trembling hand hovered just above your face. He was terrified to touch you. Afraid that the moment he felt how cold your skin had become, every last shred of denial he had left would disappear.

His fingers finally brushed against your cheek. Cold. So unbearably cold. A broken sound escaped his lips before he could stop it, his shoulders shaking violently as he cradled your face with both hands.

"Baby... I'm so sorry," he cried, his voice trembling so badly the words nearly fell apart before they reached you.

He leaned forward hesitantly, as though terrified that even this final act would somehow make everything more real. His lips met yours in one last kiss, firm, yet impossibly gentle.

They were cold. The absence of your warmth shattered whatever remained of his composure. A sob tore from his chest as he lingered there for a moment longer, unwilling to pull away, desperately pretending that if he stayed close enough, you might kiss him back.

When he finally lifted his head, tears fell freely onto your cheeks. The memory of that unbearable cold lingered on his lips, a feeling he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life.

even if the darkness stops you we can find the light wherever we go, we'll be together 

taglist: @soso59love-blog | @yeosionist | @bbokarismeow | @moonlitcelestial | @sunnysidesins | @fandom-freak-geek | @xh01bri | @lveegsoi | @puppyminnie | @tournesol155 | @xuchiya | @asesinas | @kyukyustar | @akreacja | @fran0407 | @flambychan | @sparda1234 | @elorabean | @hyxciinth1206 | @lizzstark | @addi-3 | @faeriehwa | @bangtan-sonyeondamn8 | @riri53 | @roryy95 | @zayn-210 | @pompomaa | @ayayaeyato | @life-is-a-game-of-thrones | @crimsonbubble | @hoeforatz | @spenceatiny18 | @1itatchi-lover | @brihaley213 | @awkward-fucking-thing | @brihaley213 | @strawberryshelbert | @sunnysidesins | @Whyiskpoptakingovermylife | @jiimtaee | @whimperwarriorjoong | @leewayout |

In private, he's surprisingly sweet and clumsy with affection. He doesn't know how to kiss on the forehead without seeming like a brute, so sometimes he just rests his enormous head against your neck, closing his eyes, seeking comfort.

He loves it when you touch him without fear. He finds it hard to believe that someone would want to stroke his fur or hold his hand, knowing what once was. Every touch of yours makes him believe he can be more than his past.

If you train, he trains you with great discipline… but with care. He doesn't treat you as weak, but he never uses real force against you. Sometimes he accidentally ends up with you on top of him, and he freezes, staring at you with a mixture of fear and intensity that he can't hide.

Although he may seem tough, he has a low, gentle voice when he speaks to you in confidence. He has a special tone just for you, like a restrained purr. Deep whispers, as if he's afraid of breaking you.

He's jealous of Po, but not maliciously. Sometimes he feels insecure when he sees you laughing with him. "Would you rather like someone like him? More cheerful… less like me…" He asks you in a low voice, with a vulnerability he shows to no one.

He isn't very expressive with words, but he shows his love for you with silent actions. He makes sure you have food, he repairs your things without you noticing, he always waits for you outside the temple even when it rains.

If you ever sleep with him, he cradles you in his enormous arms as if you were a treasure. He snores a little, but calms down if he feels your hand caressing his chest.

“Maybe her and her situationship are back together,” Seonghwa offers, in the corner of the sectional, splitting Jongho and Yeosang. His dark brows wiggle, “Maybe he listened to the episode and decided to get his shit together.”

“Do you think he knows who she is?” Yunho wonders, undeniably intrigued. He curses under his breath, he missed a shot in the game. “Do you think we’ll ever find out who she is?”

“No,” Wooyoung and the other six answer as one. Yunho frowns. 

“It’s all so lame,” Wooyoung complains. “You’re all obsessed with her and you don’t even know who she is. Is a woman having sex really that interesting?” 

“Why are you whittling her down to just a woman who has sex?” San argues back, leaning his elbows on his knees now, eyeing Wooyoung from under his brows across the couch. “Women like her are basically nonexistent. Did you listen to the episode on anal?”

Wooyoung cringes, but Hongjoong speaks up, “No one is into anal.” 

“Yeah, not even her, I’d bet,” Wooyoung’s rebuttal is under his breath, he shakes his head as he pulls out his phone. He opens Instagram, scrolling through his feed, liking every bikini picture he sees. It gets boring after about six, so he refreshes his feed, and his eyes catch on the several circles at the top of his screen. Story posts. 

He clicks the first one he sees, Huh Yunjin. He remembers her, he fucked her a few months ago, he thinks. It was another themed party, a wear anything but clothes party, and she wore toilet paper around her boobs and butt. Wooyoung wonders if she still has the sweatpants and shirt he let her wear after he ripped it off of her.

The story post is a cute selfie of her and another girl, it takes Wooyoung four whole seconds of staring at the selfie with his thumb held on the screen to realize the other girl is you. Then he realizes he hasn’t seen you since the day you flipped shit on him at the gym. He screenshots it, opens his camera roll, and zooms in until he can see every pixel.

You look different. You’re smiling, happy about the two drinks in your hands, but there’s something off. Something different. He can’t figure it out. Why the fuck would he be able to figure it out just by a screenshotted picture from Yunjin’s story?

He locks his phone, throwing it on his lap, and brings his attention back to the conversation being held around him, except there is no conversation. Mingi and Yunho are yelling, he has no idea how he blocked that out, and the other five are leaning in closer to the TV, watching their FIFA match as if it was a real soccer game happening in front of their eyes. 

Wooyoung announces, “I’m in the mood to drink.”

Seonghwa doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. “It’s a Monday.”

Jongho turns his head, interested and apparently also in the mood to drink, “Jungwon’s frat is throwing tonight.”

“San?” Wooyoung tips his chin in San’s direction, like if San said yes, he’d say yes. That’s usually how partying goes— how everything goes, really. 

San makes a face that tells Wooyoung he doesn’t care either way. “Sure,” he shrugs, “I don’t have anything else to do.”

“I wanna come,” Yunho interjects, ripping his eyes away from the screen just long enough to look at Wooyoung with begging eyes. 

“I’m not your keeper,” Wooyoung doesn’t know why Yunho still asks. 

“I am,” Mingi’s lips pin upward in a teasing grin. “I’ll come, too, my first class is at noon tomorrow.” 

“As if any of you ever go to class,” Seonghwa snickers. 

“I go to class,” comes from Hongjoong and Yeosang, at the same time. They look at each other and grin, proud of their studious efforts.

“Let’s all go,” Jongho offers, sitting up straight, lips pinned in something mischievous. “We can infiltrate their house.”

“I don’t care about infiltrating,” Wooyoung’s head finds the back cushions, spreading his knees. “I want to drink and fuck and leave.”

Yeosang, ignoring Wooyoung, offers, “I’ll drive, if we want to squeeze into my car.”

They’ve all fit into Yeosang’s SUV before, after a serious game of Tetris, bending and forcing limbs into places they’re not supposed to go. But it works, and Wooyoung doesn’t mind stretching himself to fit, as long as the night ends with him stretching someone else to fit. 

“You can’t only go to class and work forever,” Yunjin’s arms are crossed in your doorway, her hair tied up over her head, her casual-but-cool outfit trumping yours completely. You’re still in the shirt you wore to bed, shorts hidden somewhere beneath, flip-flops on your feet, hair dirty as fuck and slicked back because of it. You had two classes earlier today, too.

“Yes I can,” you argue, your laptop screen suddenly beyond interesting. Soobin was right, it is a small campus, and it’s not like you were just avoiding one person, you’ve been avoiding three. “I really have to finish this report, Jen, it’s due tomorrow.”

“You finished it a week ago,” she sighs as she walks into your bedroom, leaning onto your desk, arms still crossed. Fuck her for knowing you so well. “You partied while you were dating him. You’ve never had any issues going out, so why start now?”

“Did I miss the part where your boyfriend cheated on you?” You sit back in your desk chair, lifting your feet until your toes rested on the edge of the slab of light wood. “Oh, wait, that was me. And he cheated on me with a man. Can’t a girl take a couple weeks to wallow in her heartbreak?”

“You came home that night feeling two emotions. Anger, and relief.” She turns to the side, one leg crossed over the other, the lower half of her tall body leaned up against the desk. “You weren’t crying because you were sad, girl, you were crying because he cheated on you. You admitted it!”

“I was confused!” you argue, voice pitched in defense. “I was with him for over a year, Jen. I thought I was going to marry him.”

“You were with him for six months, maybe nine if I feel like being generous,” she smacks her teeth. “You were never going to marry him and you know it. That basket was a cry for attention, and he gave you a reality check instead. I’ve comforted you for two weeks and let you sit and wallow or whatever, but tonight, we’re going out.”

“I’m not leaving this apartment,” you threaten.

“Jihyo will drag you out of this apartment with her bare fucking hands,” she threatens back, in the same tone you used on her. You stare at each other for a moment, a stand-off, before the side of her cherry-red lips tugs upward in a smile. Her smile makes you smile, and then the two of you are laughing like you weren’t arguing a second ago.

Your laughter blends into a groan as you tip your head back, closing your eyes. You really aren’t in the mood to party, and you especially aren’t in the mood to go to some fuckass frat you’ve been to maybe three times in your life. If Yeonjun was at Wooyoung’s frat the night of the zip-tie party, then he could easily be there tonight, too. You aren’t in the mood to think about what you’ll do, what you’ll feel if you see him.

Realization hits you like a slap across the face when Yunjin’s words process. Your eyes snap open, “You invited the girls over to pregame?”

Yunjin shrugs, a sly grin still playing on her lips. “You need a push.”

“It’s only been two weeks!” you shout, exasperated.

“Two weeks too long,” she complains, pushing herself off the desk. “You’re twenty-one and hot, there’s no reason for you to sit in here and deteriorate.”

“There’s no reason for me to go out,” you argue, rolling yourself backward as she moves toward your closet, watching. “I’m not like you, Jen, I’m not gonna go kiss randoms or fuck someone in the bathroom, that’s not going to make me feel better.”

She sorts through hangers, ordering, “You need to do laundry, this closet is empty.” Pulling out a random top, she makes a face like she’s semi-impressed by it, “You don’t need to kiss randoms or have sex in a bathroom. All you need is a good night out with your girl friends, at the very least it will help jump-start your heart into healing.”

Your bottom lip folds over. “What do I do if I see him? What if he’s with Beomgyu?”

She throws the top on your bed, and holds out her left hand to count on it. “You’ll have me, Jihyo, Momo, Sana, Tzuyu, Nayeon and Chaeyoung as your personal human shields. You won’t see him.”

“And, what? You guys are gonna circle me all night?” you raise your brows, sarcasm in your question. 

“Like fucking hawks,” Yunjin grins like she was already in agreement with the others. “Get up and get showered, and please wash your hair.”

Your lips part, offended. “I was going to wash my hair today anyways!”

She started bothering you about this party before your first class, early this morning. Well, really, she mentioned it last night, and then first thing when she woke up and met you in the kitchen, then once when you got home, and you suppose now she’s officially made the decision for you.

Yunjin wasn’t wrong. You’ve spent two weeks meticulously tiptoeing around campus, keeping an eye over your shoulder on the way to class and back, you’ve been terrified of the jingle over the door at the gym, where you work. You think the fear of seeing them, any three of them, might be overshadowing what emotions you actually feel toward your breakup. 

You’ve heard from Yeonjun several times. The next day he left voicemails on your phone, apologizing profusely, trying and failing terribly to explain the situation. He’s texted you, he’s emailed you, he’s gone as far as saying he’ll kick Beomgyu out of the apartment if it meant you’d get back together with him. You haven’t answered a single message, but you haven’t blocked him, either. It’s strangely easy to ignore, the calls, texts, emails, he’s strangely easy to ignore. Like there’s an imaginary wall up between you and the entire situation. Like you can’t seem to process it, let alone get over it, or try to move past it.

It’s not like it never happened, but it’s put a pin in your entire life like seeing him in bed with someone else has frozen time itself. Nothing outside of school and work seems to exist, or matter, nothing outside of your bedroom-classroom-gym bubble seems to be real.

It’s strange. You feel strange. You aren’t ready to figure out what that means.

After a long shower and an extensive post-shower routine, you still feel like you’re floating through the motions of doing your hair, your makeup. It’s like you’re living outside of your own body, but you don’t really feel an ache, or the hollowness in the space where Yeonjun once filled. 

“Do you want a drink?” 

You jump, throwing your eyeliner pen across your vanity. Whipping your head to the doorway, Jihyo stands as perfect as she always does, smiling wide, shoulders back, chin upward, radiating a comforting dominance you’ve never seen anyone else able to replicate. She’s holding a can in her left hand, a martini glass in her right, she isn’t taking no for an answer.

Her long, dark hair is in a high ponytail, baggy pants on her legs, a top that just covers what it needs to. Her tanned, golden skin glows from the fluorescent light of your vanity, or the LED lights, whatever they are. She looks hot.

Her hips move in a slow sway as she saunters across your bedroom, setting your martini glass down beside your array of compacts. “Do you know what you’re wearing yet?” she asks, her lips a sparkling, glossy pink.

You shake your head before answering, “Jen might have picked something out, I didn’t look.”

“I know you don’t want to go,” she changes the subject, her voice keeping the same confident, smooth cadence she always has. “And I know parties here are a dime a dozen, but tonight is the night you’re finally gonna break out of this funk.”

You haven’t spoken to the other girls about any of it. Not about Yeonjun cheating on you, not about who with, but you don’t mind that Yunjin passed the message along. It’s easier if you don’t have to talk about it.

Your mouth still feels dry. You try a smile, sipping your martini, feeling the absence of all three olives. “I’m not in a funk,” you lie straight through your teeth, “it is what it is.”

“That’s the funk,” she bends down enough to where you have to shift your head down to keep her eye. “You’re not a passive girl. You might have been with him, but that’s not you at your core. From now on, we’re focusing on bringing that back out of you.”

“I think it’s a good thing,” you basically murmur. “Not being argumentative, or loud, or angry. Being chill.”

“Being passive isn’t being chill,” she stands again, taking a sip of her own drink. “Being passive is allowing yourself to get walked all over, and that’s what you’ve spent the last year doing. Tonight is the first step in undoing all of that shit.”

You think of San, who has seen you since the day he met you at the Penny. When he was reading you just by your coffee order. Or Yunho, who you were able to talk to so freely, so much that you let words slip that you wouldn’t say to any of the women in this house beside Yunjin. You think about Wooyoung, the banter between you, how exhilarating and entertaining it is for a man to not only match your energy, but to send it back to you tenfold. Why is it so easy to be yourself around them? Why does everyone else require a mask?

You haven’t been able to bring yourself to sit in front of your microphone in two weeks, you don’t have anything happy or funny to say, you can’t think of a single topic when you have notebooks upon notebooks with topics written down. You feel disconnected from her, Unscripted, your alter-ego, she feels too far away, hidden beneath too many layers of shit. You miss her.

Your nod to Jihyo isn’t convincing, but it’s there. And it seems to be enough for her, because she smiles wide and orders, “When you’re done getting ready, you’re coming out to the living room and we’re all taking shots. We’re getting you fucked up tonight.”

You laugh, more of an amused huff of breath through your nose as you reach for your eyeliner pen. “If I’m getting fucked up, then you’re all getting fucked up, too.”

“Music to my ears, baby,” she drawls as she heads for your bedroom door again. You keep your eyes on her, just because she looks so fucking good walking away.

She’s right, and it’s easy to realize, easy to come to terms with. You let Yeonjun get away with murder in your relationship. He set the schedule, called the shots, chose your future, and you let him. You think you’ve let all the boyfriends you’ve ever had do the same. None of your boyfriends have seen the sarcastic, witty, loud-mouthed part of you, or the part that seems like she’d enjoy black coffee– hard and mad and serious and shit. 

It’s hard to tell which part of you is the alter-ego now.

“I brought you an outfit!” Yunjin announces, skipping into your room with clothes on hangers. She lays them down on your bed, and then leaves just as fast. “We want to take shots soon, so be quick!”

Maybe you never needed an alter-ego to begin with.

Honestly, Wooyoung doesn’t really like house parties that much. But this time of year the campus is always buzzing with them, including his own frat, and he always participates, so who the fuck is he kidding? He goes for the same reasons, and those are the only reasons parties are actually enjoyable. Drinking and fucking, smoking and fucking, sober and fucking, it doesn’t matter what comes first, just what comes after.

“My boy.” He spots Jungwon first, or Jungwon spots him. The president of his frat, a little taller than Wooyoung, he has a cute face but the personality of an oiled fucking machine. If there’s anyone that loves fucking just as much as Wooyoung, it’s Jungwon. Brown, shaggy hair that sits over his forehead, a lean but sculpted body, clothes that always look tailored to him, Jungwon might be just as rich, just as attractive as Wooyoung, too.

He remembers eventually and cringes. He clasps the younger man’s hand, bringing him into a quick embrace with a pat to his back, grinning. “Good to see you, bro.”

“You brought the family,” Jungwon eyes the pack of animals striding in behind Wooyoung, already on the prowl. They actually managed to fit all eight of them into Yeosang’s car.

Wooyoung nods with a small chuckle, “Couldn’t miss a banger. All your boys here?”

“They’re here,” Jungwon nods. “Good luck finding them, though.”

Wooyoung needs the luck, because Jungwon’s frat house is about six times bigger than Wooyoung’s. Not that Wooyoung was the president, that was Hongjoong, if any of them paid any mind to the dynamics of it all. Wooyoung thinks their entire house could fit into the living room he stood in right now. It was one of the rich frats on campus, with a brick-layed exterior, pillars on the porch, one of the houses that gets cleaned weekly by a service sworn-in and is paid for by donating alumni. Wooyoung, nor the rest of his frat, had any interest in having to take care of something as massive as this.

A blonde makes her presence known, fitting right into the space under Jungwon’s bicep, and Wooyoung takes that as his cue to leave. He sees Mingi’s head of dark, cropped hair beside Yunho’s head of blonde, and uses it as a beacon to weave his way through people, making eyes at a certain few on the way. He sneaks in between the couple and neither of them react, like the spot was already his.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” Yunho asks, eyes darting all over the living room, art hung high on the ceilings.

“Why?” Mingi asks, turning his head toward Yunho. “You got plans for after or something?”

“His plans are on the back porch, wherever the smokers are,” Wooyoung adds. “How many miles do we have to walk before we can get a fucking drink?”

“San brought beers,” Yunho makes a face, like he’s just realizing he already lost the younger man. “Fuck, why does he go everywhere except toward the kitchen? That’s where liquor is dispersed.”

“I don’t think those rules apply in a place like this,” Mingi says, stopping in his tracks. In the kitchen, the massive, huge room that is only a kitchen because it has appliances in the corner, is roaring. At their own parties, the kitchen counters are usually filled with liquor bottles, shot glasses, ashtrays full of cigarette butts. Not women.

Wooyoung grins ear to ear, “Nice.”

Music blares, and each pounding beat guides the women on the countertops, on the kitchen island. Hips sway, liquor is spilled, cheers are shouted, there’s a crowd for the elevated-surface-dancers. Wooyoung’s never been one to chase, but he’ll watch and enjoy the free show like his life depends on it.

“I need a drink,” Yunho complains, barely watching the show before him. “We’re not even going to be able to get inside that kitchen, let alone get a fucking drink. Where the hell did San go?”

Wooyoung thinks mini-skirts were created just for him. He loves legs, calves, strength and muscle curving the long stretch of skin. He loves heels especially for that reason, when women’s calves are outlined perfectly, flexed just because they took a step. It’s mesmerizing, entrancing, and it makes his dick open an eye in his pants.

“Wooyoung.” He snaps back to Yunho, who’s clearly still complaining. “Get us in there, we need drinks.”

Wooyoung smacks his teeth. Why is it up to him? Actually, that’s a question for them. He shakes his head in irritation, “Why is it up to me?” He was perfectly fine watching the show.

“Because I said so.” Yunho’s reply is short but lacking the sweet counterpart. He grabs onto Wooyoung’s arm and drags him forward, toward the kitchen. Wooyoung doesn’t let his feet drag, because he wants to drink, too, but he’d rather find San than be the small guy dragging the two big guys through a women-watching crowd.

He weaves through bodies, a few women catching his eye, and he caught theirs, too. After a few winks thrown and another few diversions from women he’s already tapped, he finally finds a liquor bottle at the very corner of one counter, centimeters away from a stiletto. 

He looks up, and gets an eyeful of thong. Grinning, he tilts his head, cocky smirk on his lips as he asks, “Can I grab this bottle without my hand getting stabbed?”

The girl looks down, and it dawns on her the same time it dawns on him who the other one is.

“Wooyoung?” she asks, but slides her feet over, letting him reach in for the bottle.

He gives her a nod of acknowledgement, “Jen.”

She bends until the backs of her thighs are kissing her calves. “It’s Yunjin to you.”

Still pretty. Still a bitch. His favorite. His smirk gets sloppier, “Yeah? I’m pretty sure you told me to call you Jen when I was inside you.”

Her cheeks go pink, eyes widening. “You can forget that ever happened, I already forgot.”

He hands the bottle to Yunho and Mingi behind him, all while keeping his eyes on the brunette in front of him. Licking his lips, he considers going for seconds. “That’s a shame, I think about it all the time.”

“Funny, because you never reached out,” she barks out, her eyes thinning.

“Isn’t it better to meet each other like this? Naturally? Organically? I hate that texting bullshit,” he leans his side against the counter, elbow propped up on the granite. “It works, clearly, since you forgot all about me. Want a reminder?”

“I’m not here for that,” she purrs, a smile playing on her own lips. “I’m here for my friend, to help her get over a breakup.”

“Yeah?” Wooyoung’s eyes slide to the rest of the women on countertops. “Which one is she?”

Yunjin looks, too, to point her out to Wooyoung. But her eyes go wide, color draining from her face, “Shit! Help me down.”

She throws an arm out, which Wooyoung quickly takes, keeping her stable as she leaps off the countertop. “What’s wrong?”

“I fucking lost her,” Yunjin panics, quickly pushing past him, Yunho and Mingi. Wooyoung’s face falls as he turns to his friends.

Yunho and Mingi are already giggling with pink cheeks. Mingi snorts, “Guess you can check her off the list for possible bed-warmers.”

Wooyoung scowls, “Give me the bottle.” Yunho hands it over, a tall, skinny bottle of Grey Goose, a top-shelf vodka. He unscrews the cap and brings it to his lips, sucking down three, deep gulps, enough to make him choke on it. He doesn’t choke, though, he makes a face that relays the feeling, instead.

“Be careful or you won’t be able to get it up,” Yunho snickers, Mingi’s laugh following his words.

“I can always get it up,” Wooyoung quips. “I’m half-hard already.”

Both Yunho and Mingi groan in disgust, but it’s true. He just got a face full of ass, and when she bent down he could smell her perfume, look straight down her top. No one could expect his dick to stay soft after that.

Wooyoung scans the kitchen in hopes of finding someone else to ease what has his pants tightening, but his eyes catch on something else entirely. He squints, blinking away what was hopefully dust in his eyes, for a second he thought he saw your boyfriend. He takes a step closer, Yunho and Mingi intrigued now, too, and it’s a weight sitting heavy on his chest that what he thinks he sees is true.

Your boyfriend. But he’s not alone– no, there’s a brunette at his side, short hair, cut shaggy and layered. He’s giggling at her, cheeks pink, she throws a hand into his hair at the nape of his neck, and pulls him down to kiss her. Wooyoung’s jaw drops.

“Why are you staring at those two guys?” Mingi asks, voice quiet like the three of them were being secretive. “Is there something you need to tell us, Woo?”

Wooyoung’s head whips to the side, “That’s a guy?”

“Yes, bro, look,” Mingi throws an arm in their direction. Wooyoung looks at her– his outfit, baggy jeans, a tight top on his middle. From the back, his gender is ambiguous as fuck. The kiss is short, the brunette turns, letting Wooyoung finally see his face, and his stomach drops to the floor.

He thinks back to what Yunjin said, she’s helping her friend through a breakup. Then he looks up at the counter, realizing the women still dancing above him are Momo, Sana, Chaeyoung, Nayeon and Tzuyu– all women he’s slept with before. Then Yunjin’s Instagram story dawns on him, and all the pieces start quickly sliding into place.

“That’s Virgin’s boyfriend,” Wooyoung tells the other two, like he doesn’t believe it himself. “Yunjin said they just broke up.”

“What?” Yunho asks, baffled. “What do you mean, that’s her boyfriend? He was just macking on the pretty guy.”

“I know,” Wooyoung is still staring, like he couldn’t believe his fucking eyes. He wonders when it happened, if it was before or after he saw you at the gym, if that’s why you snapped at him. “I mean, I don’t know, I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”

“Do you think she’s here?” Yunho asks, turning to Wooyoung, and he can see that glimmer in his eye again. “Does she know?”

“No,” Wooyoung blurts. “I don’t know, we just got here. She might be.”

“We should find her,” Yunho’s eyes are wider now, serious, problem-solving. “Tell her he’s here or something, I don’t know.”

“She probably knows already,” Wooyoung shrugs. “Yunjin just told me she’s gone.” 

It’s up for debate where you actually are in this big ass house.

You don’t care, anywhere is better than in the fucking kitchen where Yeonjun didn’t even see you. You were standing on the goddamn counter, basically a beacon, a sight to behold, and Yeonjun couldn’t pull away from Beomgyu long enough to notice. You didn’t want to be up there in the first place, that was Jihyo’s idea, and if Jihyo told you to jump off a cliff you’d ask her if you should dive. Your front was pressed to hers, Sana at your back, feeling the music and the liquor, letting your body give in to whatever was possessing it, finally relaxing before your world went upside down all over again.

You knew this would happen. You knew they would be there, that purging feeling in your stomach while you were getting ready wasn’t for nothing. But you still came, you still listened to your friends who told you they would shield you. That tonight was the turning point or whatever the fuck. 

You think you’re in some kind of game room, a pool table in the center of the large room with floor to ceiling windows, the air thick with a cloud of gray smoke from the people in the corner passing a bong around. You squeezed yourself between bodies to get through the kitchen, then you scurried down a hallway, then a weird, second one which curved, and it led you to two rooms: this one, and the one adjacent to it, which was some kind of den. There were more people in here, more bodies to hide behind, more space to make yourself invisible.

But you’re not invisible. You’re standing in the doorway in the tiniest shorts you’ve ever seen after abruptly stopping in a panic, your boots skidding against the hardwood. All eyes are on you for a few seconds, and those few seconds make you feel naked, too visible, too real. A guy on the other side of the pool table tilts his head, a cigarette between his lips, a smile tugging at the corner like he knew every thought going on inside your head, and wanted to make sure you knew, too.

You swallow down your physical panic as he makes his way over to you. “Never seen you before,” he drawls like you’re fresh meat, his voice soft, pretty. He’s pretty. Brown hair, curly and messy over his forehead, his body is lean, but strong, his clothes oversized but somehow fitted to his build exactly.

You force a smile. “I don’t usually come here.”

His lips tighten, the cherry of the cigarette burning a bright orange as he looks you up and down. “You should,” he says, smoke leaving his mouth with the word. He lifts his fingers, cigarette landing between two of them. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?” you ask instead, pushing your shoulders back. You bottle up the panic inside you, throw the lid over the top, and store it somewhere deep, a place you won’t find until tomorrow. You’re single. You aren’t dating Yeonjun anymore– he has someone else, even if he’s texting you, making promises he won’t keep, he’s not yours anymore. Turning point.

He grins with a feline kind of stare, like he’s assessing you. “Jungwon,” he answers, some amusement laced in his tone. “Why is it that you don’t come here?”

Some people walk in from behind you, you shift to the left to give them access. Jungwon moves with you, then closer to you. You feel your breath stutter in your chest, and you think he might be able to smell the unease radiating off of you. 

“I don’t…” you start, then stop, because you don’t really have a reason. Maybe that’s reason enough. “I don’t have a reason to come here.”

“You do now,” he brings the cigarette up to his lips again, pulling. When he exhales, he asks, “Do you smoke?”

You shake your head, “‘m not a smoker. I drink, though.”

“But there’s no drink in your hand,” Jungwon points out, frowning. “I should fix that for you, shouldn’t I?”

There’s a ghost of a smile on your lips. He’s pretty and a smooth talker. You guess you should start the countdown now for when he makes a move, and when you inevitably reject him. You nod anyways, though, because at least he’s easy on the eyes, and offering to get you a drink. The last party you came to, your boyfriend didn’t even say hello.

He brings you back down the curved hallway, but veers off away from the kitchen, walking down a staircase into what you assume is the basement. Clouds of smoke follow behind him, dissipating into the air over your head, and it only gets worse when you’re in the basement.

There’s pong tables, couches, bean bags, a bar setup with stools, everywhere to sit, to stand, is full. You could say that for the entire house, but walking deeper into the basement, you notice that everyone’s eyes, everyone’s body shifts toward Jungwon. You wonder who he is all the way until you get to the back, which has a secondary bar tucked away in the corner. It’s smaller, quieter, with a movie-theater setup, a screen and a couch, there aren’t as many people. The people that are here, on the long, black leather couch, are all making out.

Jungwon doesn’t seem to care, he slips behind the bar like it's his. He lights a new cigarette, assessing the back of the bar like it was full and functional, and asks, “What do you drink?”

You sit on a stool, “Vodka.”

“Like, straight?” he asks, one chestnut brow popped. “Vodka on ice?”

“Usually at parties I’d be offered a beer or a seltzer or something,” you fold your arms over the table, propping your chin on your knuckles. “You want me carrying around a glass?”

“I didn’t plan on leaving this room without you, so no,” his lips pull into that feline smirk again and your stomach drops. “I planned on you drinking and finishing it right here, with me.”

You can feel your cheeks flush, a heat warming up your bare legs hanging off the bar stool. “Smooth,” you smile. “Do you have vermouth? Olive brine?”

“Don’t tell me you’re a martini girl,” he muses, slightly muffled from the cigarette between his teeth. “No martini glasses, but this will do.” He sets up a short tumbler glass for whiskey, or an old fashioned. Your eyes flare, but you don’t complain. He notices, “Martini drinker and you’re picky?”

You smile, a real smile. “I’m not picky…”

He lifts a brow, “But?”

“But my glass isn’t even chilled,” you scrunch your lips to one side, teasing. “I’m not tipping you for this, y’know.”

He snorts, pulling his cigarette from his teeth to lay it on the glass ashtray you didn’t even notice, right beside you. “What, forgot your wallet or something?”

You shrug, “Caught me. Left it at home, with my emergency olives.”

“You can tip me another way,” he says coolly, like he wasn’t trying to flirt. Your toes curl in your boots. He shakes your drink, getting it all cloudy, then pours it into your glass as if he’s been bartending for twenty years. “Taste it, then you can talk to me about how much of a tip it's worth.”

You bring your lips to the rim, eyeing Jungwon over the crystal. It takes like a martini, and like you said, you aren’t picky. His brows raise, “Well?”

“A martini’s a martini,,” you lick your top lip, lowering the glass back to the bar. You feel lighter. Flirting like this, without pressure, talking to a man who is clearly interested in you feels good. 

He leans over the thick slab of wood, amusement in his eyes. “But is it tip-worthy?”

You don’t know what inside you makes you ask, “Are we still talking about the same kind of tip?”

He smiles, and it’s a full, widespread grin. “You’re funny.”

“I can tell from how hard you laughed,” you tease, picking up your glass again. “I’m not the hookup kind, though. Hate to break it to you.”

“Ah,” he nods his understanding, picking up his cigarette from the ashtray while you sip your drink. “You’re the wine and dine type.”

“I’m the type that needs a genuine connection,” you correct. “And I just met you five minutes ago.”

“I’d say we have a pretty strong connection right now,” he says, cigarette between his lips as he re-lights it. “What do they say? Love at first sight?”

It makes you laugh, a straight punch from your gut. You take a deeper sip, then lean a little closer toward him, swirling your finger around the rim. “I don’t fuck at parties.”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” he counters, voice a low, heavy whisper. “I think you want to, but you’re reminding yourself that you don’t.” Your smile falters. “Or are you convincing yourself? I can’t tell.”

You did bring it up. Cheeks heating up again, you sputter, “I-I just came out of a breakup, he cheated on me. I’m not in the headspace to do anything with anyone.”

“All I did was make you a drink, baby,” he reminds you, voice soft as cotton. “I only brought you down here to get to know you.”

“You didn’t want to join the orgy on the couch?” you smirk, pointing a thumb behind you. Jungwon glances over, then laughs, a pretty song of delight.

“This is my bar,” he admits, then walks around the side of it toward you. He slips into the barstool beside yours, and says, “Only I can bring people down here. The people on the couch have either been here before, or got the go from me. No, I didn’t bring you down here to join the party on the couch, I brought you down here because I wanted to bring you into my space.”

You weigh his words, the look in his eye, then ask, “This is your house?”

His smile grows again. “You don’t even know who’s house you’re in?”

“Don’t care,” you admit, and it’s honest. “I came here to get drunk and have fun with my friends. They kind of forced me.”

“They forced you?” He reaches across the bar, arm disappearing below the slab of wood. He pulls a bottle back, a deep amber color, bourbon. He unscrews the cap, saying, “I don’t see your friends around now.”

“They’re upstairs,” you watch him as he brings the bottle up to his lips, trading tobacco for whiskey. “They tend to stray toward elevated surfaces, not basements.”

Jungwon smiles as he swallows down the liquor. “And you don’t?”

“I was up there,” you’re grinning, nodding. “But it definitely wasn’t my idea.”

“I’m sad I didn’t get to see,” he mutters, setting the uncapped bottle down on the wood. Licking his lips, he shrugs, “You could always put on a private show–”

“Virgin?” you hear from the doorway, a voice you haven’t heard in over two weeks. Your head turns at the sound of it, the familiarity, and you’re met with Jung Wooyoung standing confused in the entryway. “The hell are you doing down here?”

“Hi,” your lips flatten. You still feel the shame from snapping at him, not seeing him, not hearing from him or speaking to him in these past few weeks. You still haven’t decided how you’d explain your breakup with Yeonjun to him. 

“Yo,” Jungwon stretches an arm out, and Wooyoung clasps his hand when he walks over like the greeting was practiced. Now you’re confused. They know each other? Jungwon turns toward you with furrowed brows, “You’re a virgin?”

“No!” you answer too quickly, eyes blowing wide. “He just calls me that,” you side-eye Wooyoung, “because he’s an asshole.”

Even shameful, the sight of him still pisses you off. White tee, dark jeans, hair long and curling beneath his ears, he’s dressed better than he is at his own parties. Wooyoung still looks confused, “Why are you down here? People fuck down here.”

Jungwon melts into his defeat, and your lips pop open. “You said–” you point at Jungwon, then turn to Wooyoung, “he said he didn’t– I’m confused.”

“People come down here to fuck,” Wooyoung explains, pointing with a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s bedrooms behind the screen, a hallway through the door next to it. Sorry J, but you know you’re running a brothel down here, right?”

Your lips stay parted. “You said you didn’t bring me down here to fuck.”

“I didn’t,” Jungwon’s voice grows in pitch. “People just happen to come down here and–”

Wooyoung snorts, a laugh ripping through his chest. “I’m sorry,” he manages to get out, “I didn’t mean to cockblock, but she might be the worst person you could have brought down here.”

Your lips part further, jaw hitting the floor. “What?”

Jungwon’s face falls flat, and he pushes himself backward in the barstool, the legs making an ugly noise against the tiled floors. “Wait,” you blurt, trying to put the pieces together. “Why are you leaving? What the fuck is going on?”

“He brought you down here to fuck you, Virgin,” Wooyoung spells it out for you, his words still drowning in amusement. “Or did you know that already? I didn’t take you for the mid-party-fuck type, unless it’s your boyfriend, who I just saw upstairs, by the way.”

“I thought you said your boyfriend cheated on you,” comes from a confused Jungwon.

“He cheated on you?” Wooyoung’s eyes blow wide. “No, tell me it was with that guy, the brunette one with the pretty face–”

“Oh my god, can you both shut the fuck up?” you snap, silencing the two men. “Yes, he cheated on me with Beomgyu and no I’m not the hookup type and no I didn’t know this was the fucking sex room. You said people come down here to fuck? Why the fuck are you down here, then?”

As if on cue, one of the prettiest women you’ve ever seen is giggling as she passes through the entryway, her heels clicking against the tile as she walks toward Wooyoung. “Wooyoungie,” she whines, not reading the silence from you and Jungwon as she attaches herself to Wooyoung’s side. “Aren’t you taking me back?”

Your brows raise, and so, so slowly you turn your head toward Jungwon. With pointed eyes, you ask, “You brought me down here to ‘get to know me?’”

“If something came after getting to know you, I wouldn’t have said no to it,” he admits shamelessly.

You grab your martini, sucking the rest of it back like it was a shot. “‘Kay, I’m done here, officially going the fuck home.”

“Wait, Virgin,” Wooyoung calls for you as you’re halfway off the stool. “You said you were going to update me, but you haven’t updated me, and clearly there’s a lot to update me on.”

You can only see the back side of her, but you somehow manage to glimpse her tongue poking out of her lips where they were attached to Wooyoung’s neck. With a flat stare, you respond, “Clearly, you’re busy.”

Turning your head, Jungwon is already gone, the bottle of bourbon gone, too. Fucker. He left you here with Wooyoung. But you think being left here with Wooyoung might be better than Wooyoung leaving you here with Jungwon. 

“Baby, baby,” Wooyoung peels the woman off of him with his hands on her hips. Grinning, using what you think is every ounce of swagger he possesses, you watch as he convinces her, “Go wait for me in a room, okay? I’ll come to you, this won’t take long.”

And to your surprise, she listens. She turns for the door you now notice beside the screen and purrs, “Don’t take long, okay? I don’t wanna have to start without you.”

Once she’s out of earshot, you repeat every word she said in a whiny, mocking tone. Wooyoung smacks his teeth as he crosses his arms, “Shut up, she’s hot. How could you let Jungwon bring you down here?”

“What’s it matter to you?” you retort, brows knitting together. “He said he was getting me a drink.”

“And you decided the safe place to get a drink was in the room with naked people on the couch?” he asks, one of his arms flying behind him, referring to the now very naked people on the couch.

Heat lines your cheeks as your lips part, “Oh.” Shaking your head, voice drawing defensive, you argue, “They weren’t naked when I got down here, they were just making out. It was PG-thirteen.”

“You’re too naive for a guy like Jungwon,” Wooyoung’s arms cross tighter. “He’ll tear you to pieces.”

“Maybe I wanted to get torn to pieces,” you proclaim. You were contemplating it, at most, and you’re not naive. “Why are you grilling me? Go get fucked.”

“You’re not the hook-up type, you just said it yourself.” Wooyoung rakes a hand through his hair, “I didn’t want to be right about your boyfriend, you know.”

“Don’t get serious now,” your tone is vicious. “We’re barely even friends. You have no reason to be consoling me right now.”

“You’ve walked in on me jerking off and you walked in on me having sex,” he counters, voice flat. “Now we’re not friends?”

You sigh, exhaustion building from this conversation alone. “You irritate me.”

“What happened two weeks ago?” Wooyoung asks, and in his eyes you can see the concern, the genuine curiosity. “I want to make sense of what I just saw. I want to know.”

Lips scrunching, running both hands through your hair, you don’t have it in you to argue anymore. “Okay,” you preface, and let the rest of the story come tumbling out. From the night he gave you advice, to having sex with Yeonjun, to the basket, to catching him in bed with Beomgyu, you don’t miss a single detail from that night all the way up to today, all of your friends having to convince you to come out.

“Damn, I’m sorry,” Wooyoung’s lips are tied tight to one side. “The marriage shit makes sense now, though. Projection, in a way, him holding on to what was left even though he was the one pulling out.”

Your brows raising is your only agreement, because you’ve thought all of this over already. Under your breath, you mutter, “Yeah, I’m sure, he only did that with me.”

You should have known that because he’s Wooyoung, he’d understand your play on words. “Wait, he didn’t cum inside you? Even though you were dating for that long, and he wanted to get you pregnant?” You shake your head. His head tilts, “Girl.”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s over,” you roll your eyes, sinking into the stool. “Can you go now? Go fuck enough for the both of us, since I won’t be having sex for a long, long time.”

Wooyoung studies you for a moment, eyes thin in a squint, debating. “How many bodies do you have?”

“Wooyoung!” you whisper-yell, looking around. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Now you’re shy? After telling me that whole story?” He laughs a little. “Answer.”

Your heartbeat picks up, feeling heat in your cheeks. “Four,” you mumble, so quietly you’re sure he can’t hear you. He cups his ear with his palm, and you repeat, louder, “Four.”

“I heard you the first time, I just wanted to be wrong,” he groans. Running his hands over his face, he stops when his fingers are wrapped around his jaw, “Have you never hooked up with anyone, literally ever?”

“No,” you answer, shameless. “I’ve always had boyfriends, I’m a lover girl.”

His face twinges with disgust, “Never say that again. You talked so much shit about him not fucking you right, and– you know, you should call Jungwon back in here. You should fuck him. You need to learn what good sex is.”

“I know what good sex is,” you argue, offended. “We had good sex, before… before Beomgyu. In the beginning. It was good!”

“Was it good or was it I think I might die good?” There’s a flush ripping through your entire body now, and Wooyoung takes your silence as an answer. “Did he at least make you cum?”

“Yes,” you reply too quickly. Wooyoung’s brows raise like he’s waiting for the rest. Self-consciously, you give him the rest, mumbling, “In the beginning.”

“When was the last time another person made you cum?” 

You don’t know. You can’t answer. Wooyoung chokes on a disbelieving laugh like this is the most diabolical thing he’s ever heard in his life. Shame bubbles up inside your gut, embarrassed that you stayed with him for so long, mortified that Wooyoung now knows all the nitty-gritty details.

“Not all of us fuck anything,” you snap, frustration boiling over. “At least I’ve never had chlamydia. Can you say the same?”

“I’ve never had sex without giving my partner at least one orgasm, can your ex say the fucking same?” he bites back, and every bit of anger behind the words is intentional. “Yes, I’ve had chlamydia, but I’ve been fucking for a long time and I’ve gotten so good at it, now everyone wants a piece. Is that my fault?”

“Not everyone,” you sneer, fingers curling into your stool. You can imagine it, right now, in your head, all the different ways he does it. If Unscripted were here, she’d be kicking that girl out of the bedroom and taking it for herself, experiencing in detail all the ways Jung Wooyoung makes his partners cum. She’d be fucking Wooyoung within seconds.

“And you’re some kind of saint because you don’t want to fuck me?” He laughs, and it’s coated in sarcasm. “Jesus, you wield the fact that I had chlamydia like it’s some kind of weapon against me. I took the medication, I’m clean, I’m safe.”

“Why are you trying to convince me?” You shoot your hand across the room again, damn near shouting. “Go tell the girl that’s waiting for you! Why do you give a fuck what I think about you?”

“Because you’re the one who can’t remember the last time she had an orgasm, and I can give one to you!” he finally shouts, in the same tone as you, and it renders you both quiet. He turns, running his hands through his hair like he was bringing himself back down to earth.

There’s butterflies in your stomach, static in your toes, your heart is banging against your chest. But the shame, the embarrassment, the anger, it’s all still there.

“What, is this some kind of pity offer?” you argue after a moment, and he starts laughing, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. “Look, it’s the girl who got cheated on, let me offer her a free orgasm since her cheating ex-boyfriend rarely made her cum, too.”

“It’s not about you,” Wooyoung grits out, his body only turned halfway toward you. “That’s like, a crime, not making your partner finish. A sin.” He finally turns, and the severity on his face kinda freaks you out. “I could teach a fucking master-class on eating pussy, it’s simple. It’s ridiculous to me that women go around fucking guys who won’t make them cum.”

A laugh cracks from your chest. It’s small, at first, but then it tumbles into loud, obnoxious laughter. “You actually have to be kidding me,” you snort, sinking into the stool as you laugh. “You want to make me cum in spite of all the guys on earth who don’t make women cum? Are you a feminist all of the sudden?”

He walks closer to you, his expression stone-cold serious. “I enjoy it, Virgin, like it’s a fucking hobby. When was the last time he ate you out, just to eat you out? Nothing expected afterward?”

“You expect me to believe you won’t want anything after?”

“Answer my question.”

“Probably never,” you answer honestly, amusement still lying in your tone, laughter still breaking up your words. “I don’t think he’s ever gone down on me just to do it.”

Wooyoung groans in disgust, turning away like he couldn’t bear the sight of you. “God, and you dated him for over a year? This is the type of shit I mean when I say I could never be in a relationship, I can’t wrap my mind around dating someone if you’re not having good sex.”

Your lips fall flat, “Well, he was saving it for Beomgyu. What do you want me to fucking say to that, Wooyoung?”

“I want you to tell me to do it,” he answers, so shamelessly it makes your skin prickle with sweat. “I want you to tell me to show you what I’m talking about, to prove that my words are true. That’s what I want.”

You don’t do hook ups, Wooyoung doesn’t do relationships. You want sex to be fully about you, he’s giving you an option he says isn’t about you at all. The proposition is everything you’re against, everything you don’t want, but in his eyes, you see he’s being truthful, that he means every word he says. Yeonjun is upstairs with Beomgyu, there’s a girl just behind that door waiting for Wooyoung, and he… wants to eat you out.

“I don’t do hookups,” you whisper, looking up at him from where you sit on the stool.

“It’s not a hookup,” he shakes his head. “It’s a favor. One you don’t have to pay back.”

“Sex is about love to me, Wooy–”

“It doesn’t have to be,” his voice is calmer now, steadier. “Sex is fun, an experience, it can be a hobby. It’s about pleasure, and who doesn’t want to be pleased?”

You, you guess. That’s all you’ve wanted these past few months, it’s what you’ve been fucking begging for and he’s handing it to you on a silver platter. His words sound like they’re straight out of your own podcast.

“And all you want to do is eat me out?” you ask, brows raised.

“Well, can we kiss a little?” He tilts his head. “You have to be comfortable to cum, you won’t be comfortable if we walk in there and I tear your little shorts off.” A rush of something racks through you, landing in the base of your gut. You shiver. He smiles. “It’s like the night we met, instead this time, you’re actually gonna cum in a random bedroom at a frat party.”

That makes a smile tug at your lips, and before you know it, you’re nodding. It has to be the vodka, the pregame, the drinks you had before going on the counter, the martini you just chugged down. There’s no other explanation for how giddy you feel jumping off the stool and following Wooyoung straight through the door beside the movie screen. 

It wasn’t loud. Yunho wasn’t the type to slam doors or throw things, not even on his worst days. No, this was quieter than that. The kind of wrong that settled into the room like a shift in pressure before a storm. His voice carried from the living room, low and controlled, headset on, but there was no warmth in it, none of that easy, teasing charm he usually slipped into without thinking. It was clipped. Distracted. “Yeah, yeah, I see it,” he muttered, fingers moving fast over his keyboard. “Just…. hold on.” No laugh. No playful scolding at his chat. No “hey, you’re home” tossed over his shoulder the second the door clicked shut. That alone was enough to make you pause.

You toed your shoes off slowly, setting your bag down by the door, eyes already drifting toward the glow of his setup. The room was dim except for the LED lights lining his desk, casting everything in that soft blue purple haze that usually felt cozy. Tonight, it just made the tension more obvious, sharper somehow, like it had edges. Yunho sat forward in his chair, elbows braced on his knees instead of leaning back like he usually did. His headset was slightly askew, one side slipping down like he’d adjusted it too many times. His jaw was tight, the muscle ticking faintly, and every now and then he dragged a hand through his hair like he was trying to physically pull himself together. That’s when it really hit you. It took a lot to get him like this.

Yunho was the steady one. The one who let things roll off his back, who joked his way through frustration, who turned everything into something lighter even when it probably shouldn’t have been. You’d seen him annoyed before, sure, but this? This was something else. Something heavier. Something sitting just under the surface, barely contained. You stepped a little closer, quieter now, like you didn’t want to spook him, arms folding loosely over yourself as you leaned against the wall just outside his camera’s frame. Close enough to see him clearly, far enough not to interrupt.

His eyes flicked to the side, toward his second monitor, towards the chat, and for a split second, something in his expression tightened further. Not anger exactly. Embarrassment, maybe. Frustration tangled up with something deeper. Your brows pulled together, concern replacing the last of your exhaustion as you studied him more carefully. Whatever it was, it wasn’t just a bad game or a rough stream. Something had gotten under his skin and Yunho didn’t let things get under his skin unless it mattered. You pushed off the wall, crossing the room slowly, your presence finally pulling his attention fully toward you. His eyes met yours for a second, and there it was, that flicker. Something guarded. Something he didn’t want you to see. But you knew him too well.

“Hey,” you said softly, just loud enough for him to hear you over his headset. “You good?” He hesitated. Just for a second. Then he forced a small, automatic smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine.” You didn’t believe him for a second. And judging by the way his fingers stilled on his keyboard for a beat too long… he knew you didn’t. “Okay.” You don’t push. Not yet. You’ve learned that about him over the years, when Yunho shuts down like that, poking at it too early just makes him retreat further. So instead, you give him an easy out, a soft landing. Your voice stays light, casual, like you’re not clocking the tension practically humming under his skin.

“I’m gonna shower,” you add, already turning toward your room and he nods, quick, distracted, eyes flicking back to his screen like he’s grateful for the escape. “Yeah. I’ll be out here.” You leave him to it, but the weight in the apartment follows you down the hall and the shower ends up hotter than it should be, Florida heat be damned, but you need it. Need something to wash the hospital off you, to melt the ache out of your shoulders, to give your brain a second to breathe. Steam fills the bathroom, fogging the mirror, curling around you like a reset button you wish actually worked. For a few minutes, it almost does.

But even under the spray, your mind drifts back to him. The tightness in his jaw. The way his voice snapped at his chat. The look in his eyes when he glanced at you, like he was already bracing for something. By the time you shut the water off, that uneasy feeling is still there, clinging just as stubbornly as the humidity outside. You dry off, change into your usual oversized tee and soft shorts, hair still damp as you pad down the hallway toward your room. The apartment is quieter now. No stream chatter bleeding through the walls. No clicking keys. He must’ve ended it early. That alone says enough.

You barely make it two steps into your room before you hear it, his footsteps, slower than usual, like he’s thinking about turning around with every one but then there’s a soft knock against your already open door making you glance up. Yunho’s standing there, one hand braced against the frame, the other rubbing at the back of his neck. His hair’s messier than before, like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times since you got in the shower. He’s changed out of his streaming hoodie, now in a loose tshirt and sweats, but the tension hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it’s worse up close.

For a second, he just… stands there. Like he’s trying to figure out how to say something he doesn’t want to say. You raise a brow slightly, sitting back against your pillows. “You gonna stand there all night, or…” He huffs out a quiet breath, something halfway between a laugh and a sigh, and finally steps in. The door creaks softly as he nudges it shut behind him, like he needs the privacy, like whatever this is… it’s not for the rest of the world. Just you. “Chloe dumped me.” It lands flat, dropped between you like it doesn’t weigh anything at all. You blink once. “Okay.” And honestly? That’s about as much reaction as he’s getting out of you. Not because you don’t care about him, you do, more than you probably should, but because Chloe? Yeah. No. You never liked her. Something about her always felt… off. Too quick, too surface level, like she was playing a part instead of actually seeing him. She’d only been around a few weeks, but even that felt like too long.

Still, you tilt your head slightly, studying him. “What happened?” Yunho exhales slowly, gaze dropping to the floor like it might have answers for him. “I don’t know,” he mutters at first, defaulting to avoidance. Then he huffs, shaking his head. “I mean…. I do know, I just…” He trails off. Yunho doesn’t usually struggle to explain things, not with you. Even when something’s messy, he talks through it, jokes through it, something. But now he’s just… stuck. Words caught somewhere between his chest and his throat as you sit up a little straighter, the shift subtle but intentional. “Yunho.” He glances up and you hold his gaze, softer this time, but firm. “Why did she dump you?”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, you think he might brush it off, change the subject, pretend it doesn’t matter. Instead, he looks away, hand dragging down his face like he’s already regretting opening his mouth. “It’s stupid.” Your eyes narrow slightly. “If it’s got you acting like this, it’s not stupid.” He lets out a quiet, humorless laugh at that, shoulders slumping just a fraction. “It kind of is,” he says, voice lower now. “I just….” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, like even saying it out loud feels like too much. And suddenly, whatever this is? It’s not just a breakup. It’s something he’s embarrassed about. Something that actually got to him.

You watch him carefully now, curiosity mixing with that familiar, protective instinct that always kicks in when it comes to him. “Yunho,” you say again, softer this time, “just tell me.” He goes still. Like the words are right there, right on the edge, and all he has to do is let them fall. He shifts his weight where he stands, like the floor suddenly isn’t steady under him anymore. His fingers curl against the back of his neck, rubbing there again and again like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. You can see the hesitation on him, thick, stubborn, sitting right behind his teeth. Which, of course… makes you lean into it. You tilt your head, watching him with that familiar look he’s known for years, the one that says you’re not getting out of this that easy.

“Okay,” you say slowly, drawing the word out just enough to get under his skin. “So it’s stupid, but you won’t say it… which means it’s definitely not stupid.” He huffs under his breath again, eyes flicking up to you for a second before dropping again. “You’re making it worse.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” you shoot back, shifting to sit cross legged on your bed, fully settling in like this is about to become a whole event. “What, did you forget your two week anniversary? Call her the wrong name? Please tell me you didn’t call her bro during…”

“I didn’t during…” he cuts in quickly, then stops himself, pressing his lips together and you catch that, instantly. “During what?”

“Nothing.”

“Yunho.”

He groans softly, dragging a hand down his face again. “Can you not do that?”

“Do what?” you ask, completely innocent. “That thing where you…” he gestures vaguely toward you, frustration bubbling just under the surface. “where you don’t let it go.” You grin, just a little. “You knew what you signed up for when you decided I was your best friend.” That almost gets him. His mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but it fades just as fast, the weight of whatever he’s holding onto pulling him right back down. The room quiets again, the tension stretching between you, thinner now but sharper and you soften a little, voice gentler this time. “Hey… I’m not gonna judge you.” That makes him look at you again. And there’s something in his eyes now, something caught between embarrassment and trust, like he’s standing on the edge of something he’s never said out loud before.

“You’re definitely gonna judge me,” he mutters. “I won’t,” you say, a little too quick and he raises a brow as you sigh, holding up a hand. “Okay, I might judge you a little. But like… lovingly.” That pulls a quiet laugh out of him, the tension easing just a fraction. Enough for him to finally stop pacing around it. “She said I didn’t know what I was doing,” he admits, voice low.

“Do what?” Your brain starts running through possibilities in rapid fire. “Okay, wait…. what, like you were too rough? Not rough enough? You didn’t communicate? Yunho, please don’t tell me you just…. lay there…”

“I didn’t just lay there,” he cuts in, a little defensive now.

“Then what?”

He goes quiet again. And this time, you don’t rush it. You just watch him. The way his shoulders rise with a slow inhale. The way his jaw clenches like he’s bracing for impact. The way his gaze flicks anywhere but you, floor, wall, ceiling, like eye contact would make it worse. “She said,” he starts, then stops and your patience snaps just a little. “Yunho.” He squeezes his eyes shut for half a second, like ripping off a bandage. “I’ve never gone down on a girl before, okay?” Your brain stalls completely. Because out of everything you expected him to say…. “You’re kidding.” His eyes snap open, immediate regret flashing across his face. “I knew it….”

“No, wait….hold on,” you sit up straighter, staring at him like he just told you the sky is green. “You’re serious?” He looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole. “Yes.” You blink. Once. Twice. This is Yunho.

Yunho, who’s charming without trying. Yunho, who’s had girls orbiting him since high school. Yunho, who, by all accounts, should not have this be the thing he’s insecure about. “You’ve never….” you start, still trying to process it as he shakes his head, quick and firm, like if he gets it out fast enough it’ll hurt less. “No. I just…. never did. And then it became a thing, and then I felt weird about it, and then…” he gestures vaguely, frustration creeping back in, “this!”

You stare at him for another second. Then another. And the shock is still there but something else starts creeping in underneath it. Something quieter. Something a little more dangerous. “That’s why she dumped you?” you ask finally, softer now and he lets out a humorless breath. “Yeah.” And for a second, you don’t say anything. Because that? That doesn’t sit right with you. You stare at him for another second, the shock still settling, but now it’s tangled up with something else, confusion, curiosity, a faint spark of disbelief that refuses to die down. “Okay, but why?” you ask, brows pulling together. “Like…. not in a judging way, I just… how has that just… never happened?”

Yunho exhales, long and slow, like he already hates this conversation but knows he walked himself straight into it. His hand drags through his hair again, leaving it more disheveled than before. “I don’t know,” he mutters at first, defaulting to avoidance again. Then he shakes his head, forcing himself to actually answer. “I just… never did. And then the longer I didn’t, the weirder it felt to suddenly try.” You tilt your head slightly, watching him. “Weirder how?” His jaw tightens, eyes flicking away. “Like… I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” he admits, quieter now. “And I don’t want to mess it up.” There it is. Not arrogance. Not lack of interest. Just… insecurity.

You shift a little on the bed, studying him more carefully now, that earlier teasing giving way but not gone entirely. “Okay,” you say slowly, “but you’ve done other stuff.” He glances at you, wary now. “Yeah.” You squint slightly, gears turning. “So… you’ve used your hands before, right?” His ears go red immediately. “Of course I have,” he snaps, shooting you a glare that’s half defensive, half embarrassed. And that somehow makes it worse. Because now you’re even more confused. You blink at him, leaning forward just a little. “Then what’s the difference?”

He opens his mouth and closes it right back. Then opens it again, clearly searching for an answer that doesn’t make him sound as out of his depth as he feels. “It’s just… different,” he finally mutters, frustration creeping back in. “It’s not the same thing.” You watch him for a second, the way he avoids your eyes again, the way his shoulders are just slightly hunched like he’s bracing for you to laugh or tease him harder. But you don’t. Not this time. Because now you get it. Not fully but enough. Enough to see that this isn’t just about what he hasn’t done. It’s about the fact that he doesn’t feel like he’d be good at it. And for someone like Yunho, someone who’s used to being steady, capable, reliable? Good at everything. That probably stings more than he’s letting on.

“You’re overthinking it,” you say finally and he lets out a short, dry laugh. “Yeah? That seems to be the theme tonight.” You hold his gaze this time, not letting him look away. “It is,” you say, quieter. “Because it’s not as complicated as you’re making it.” Something shifts in his expression at that. “Then what is it?” he asks, before he can stop himself and you lean back slightly, exhaling through your nose, buying yourself a second. “It’s about paying attention,” you say slowly. “Reading reactions. Adjusting.”

His eyes don’t leave you. “That’s it?” You hesitate. Just for a second. Because the answer is simple. But the implication? Not so much. “Yeah,” you say, quieter now. And the way he’s looking at you now, really looking, like he’s trying to piece something together in real time, it sends something warm and restless curling low in your chest. “That doesn’t really help,” he admits after a second, voice just a little rougher and you almost laugh. Instead, you tilt your head, studying him, something flickering behind your eyes now, something a little more daring than before. “What do you want me to do, Yunho?” you ask, light but not entirely joking anymore and he stills. Because now he hears it too. That shift. That dangerous little edge your voice just picked up.

“I just….” he starts, then stops, like he suddenly realized exactly how this sounds. And maybe… exactly who he’s asking. Your best friend. The one person who knows you better than anyone. The one person you’ve both been carefully not crossing that line with for years. And now? He’s standing right on it. “I just want to get it right,” he finishes, quieter. And something about that, about the honesty in it, the vulnerability, makes your heart start pounding. Because yeah. That’s Yunho. Always wanting to do things right. Even this. Especially this. And suddenly, the idea that someone made him feel like he couldn’t? Pisses you off. “Okay,” you mutter, more to yourself than him, grabbing your iPad and unlocking it. The glow lights your face as you settle back against your pillows again, tucking one leg under you like you’re trying to return things to something normal. Something easy.

You scroll for a second, half paying attention, half aware of him still standing there, still watching you like he’s waiting for something, even if he doesn’t know what. “I still don’t see what you want me to do…” you say, glancing up at him briefly, tone light, teasing just a little again, like you’re trying to break the tension instead of lean into it. Then you add, with the faintest lift of your brow, something meant to be a joke. “Show you?” But the second it leaves your mouth, the air in the room shifts, sharp, immediate, like something just clicked into place that neither of you can ignore now and Yunho freezes. His eyes snap to yours, all that lingering frustration from earlier gone in an instant, replaced by something else entirely, something caught between surprise and something much, much heavier. And you feel it too. That flicker in your chest. The one that says maybe… you shouldn’t have said that. Or maybe…. Maybe you should have.

You try to brush it off, a quiet huff of a laugh leaving you as you look back down at your screen. “Relax, I’m kidding….” But you don’t get to finish. Because he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t move on like he normally would. “What if I wasn’t?” His voice is lower. Deeper. Rougher. And that stops you. Your eyes lift slowly from your iPad, locking onto his again. “Wasn’t what?” you ask, even though you already know and he swallows, the movement subtle but visible, like he’s trying to push past his own hesitation. “What if I wasn’t joking,” he says again, more clearly this time. “About you showing me.” There’s no humor in it. Just honesty. And suddenly, the room feels a little smaller. A little warmer. A little harder to breathe in.

Your fingers still against the edge of your iPad, screen forgotten, as you hold his gaze. The teasing, the easy back and forth, it’s gone now. Stripped away, leaving something a lot more real in its place. “Yunho,” you start, a warning and a question all at once. Because this isn’t just a joke anymore. “I’m serious,” he says, stepping a little further into the room without even realizing it, like something’s pulling him closer. “I just… I trust you. And you said it’s about paying attention, right? So…” He trails off, but the meaning hangs there anyway. You can feel your heartbeat picking up now, steady but heavier, your mind racing faster than you’d like it to. Because this is it. That line you’ve both been dancing around for years? It’s right here. Right in front of you. All it would take is one step….

You shift slightly against your pillows, exhaling slowly as you study him, really study him, his nervousness, the way his hands flex at his sides, the way he’s trying to act steady but isn’t quite pulling it off. He’s not joking. He’s not playing. He’s asking you. And maybe the most dangerous part? You don’t hate the idea. Not even a little. Maybe aching for it just a bit. “You’re really asking me that right now?” you murmur and he doesn’t look away this time. “Yeah.” For a second, you don’t answer. You just sit there, iPad still in your hands but completely forgotten, your thumb resting against the screen like you meant to keep scrolling and just… didn’t. Your eyes stay on him, searching, like you’re trying to read something deeper than what he’s actually saying.

Your best friend. The person who’s been there longer than anyone else. The one constant you’ve never had to question. The one you’ve spent years pretending you don’t feel too much for. And now he’s standing in your room, looking at you like that, like you’re the only option he wants. It makes your chest tighten. Because agreeing to this… it doesn’t just risk things getting complicated. It risks everything. You swallow, gaze flicking down for a second, then back up to him. He hasn’t moved. Still watching you, still waiting, like he’s already braced himself for you to say no. And that, more than anything, tips something inside you. “You’re serious,” you murmur again, quieter this time.

“Yeah.”

You let out a slow breath through your nose, heart thudding a little heavier now, your thoughts tangling together in a way that’s hard to sort through. You should say no. You should laugh it off, tell him to look it up, send him a link, anything that doesn’t involve…. “Okay,” you say finally and Yunho goes still like he wasn’t actually expecting you to say it and your grip tightens slightly on the edge of your iPad before you set it aside on your nightstand, the quiet click of it hitting the surface sounding louder than it should in the silence that follows. You don’t look at him right away. You need one more second. One more breath. “But,” you add, lifting your gaze back to his, something a little firmer settling into your expression now, like you’re drawing a line you’re not entirely sure you’ll be able to hold. “This is just practice.”

His brows knit slightly, like he’s processing that. “Nothing more,” you continue, voice steady even if your pulse isn’t. “We’re not…. this doesn’t change anything. Got it?” The words feel a little too deliberate. A little too much like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him. Yunho watches you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes as he nods. “Yeah,” he says, just as quiet. “Just practice.” But there’s something there. Something neither of you says out loud. Because if this was really just practice… it wouldn’t feel like this. You nod once, more to yourself than him, then push yourself up slightly, adjusting against your pillows before you glance toward him again. “Then… come on.”

And that’s all it takes. Yunho moves. Slow at first, like he’s giving you time to change your mind, each step measured as he crosses the room toward your bed. But there’s tension in him now, nervous energy, anticipation, something tighter and more focused than before. He stops just at the edge, close enough now that you can see the faint flush still lingering across his ears, the way his hands flex slightly at his sides like he doesn’t quite know where to put them. And for a second, neither of you says anything. Tension thick in the air. You feel it settle into your skin, into your chest, into the way your breath comes just a little slower than it should.

This is happening. Actually happening. And once you start… there’s no pretending you didn’t. Your eyes flick up to his again, steady despite everything swirling underneath. “Relax. You’re overthinking it already.” He huffs out a quiet breath at that, something almost like a nervous laugh slipping through. “Yeah… I do that.”

“I know,” you say, and there’s a hint of something fond in it, something that slips out before you can stop it and Yunho hesitates for only a second before he moves again, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he climbs onto the bed. He sits at first, stiff, unsure, like he’s not entirely convinced this is real yet, hands resting awkwardly on his thighs, shoulders a little tense. “You know you have to…” you gesture lightly toward yourself, voice calm but pointed, “take my shorts and underwear off first, right?”

“Oh…. right,” he breathes, the word coming out a little too quick, a little too flustered. A faint flush creeps back up his neck, across his ears, and you swear it spreads deeper the longer he looks at you like that, like he’s suddenly very aware of where he is and what he’s about to do. And for all his confidence everywhere else… here? He’s completely out of his depth. Slowly, carefully, he shifts forward on the bed, moving closer until he’s between your legs, his hands hovering for a second like he’s not sure if he should touch you yet, even though you quite literally told him to. “Yunho,” you say, grounding him a little. “You’re allowed to touch me.”

His eyes flick up to yours at that and something in them steadies just a little. “Yeah,” he says quietly, more to himself than you. Then his hands finally move. Tentative at first, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of your shorts, like he’s testing the boundary even though you’ve already given him permission. There’s hesitation there, but also focus, the kind that comes from him actually trying, paying attention like you told him to. He hooks his fingers at the waistband of your shorts, glancing up at you once, like he’s silently asking if this is okay and you give a small nod. That’s all he needs before he slowly tugs the fabric down, careful, almost overly so, like he’s afraid of rushing it.

The movement is gentle, deliberate, and the closer he gets, the more his breathing changes, subtle, but noticeable, like the reality of it is settling in piece by piece. Your shorts slide down, followed by your panties, and for a second he just… pauses. Hands resting lightly against your legs, his gaze dropping, then flicking away, then back again like he doesn’t quite know where to look or how long is too long to be staring at his best friend’s pussy. It would almost be funny. If it wasn’t so… real. “Okay,” he mutters under his breath, like he’s trying to psych himself up and you can’t help it, a small, quiet breath of a laugh slips out of you, not mocking, just… soft. “Hey,” you say, voice gentler now, drawing his attention back up to your face. “Relax, remember?”

He exhales, tension easing just a fraction at the sound of your voice. “Right… relax.” But even as he says it, you can tell he’s anything but. Still, he shifts a little closer, hands settling more firmly now against your thighs, his focus sharpening again. Less hesitation. More intent. He’s trying. Really trying. And something about that, about the way he’s taking this seriously, the way he’s looking at you like this actually matters, almost makes you clench your thighs together because you can feel how wet you’re starting to get. Your fingers tighten slightly in the sheets beneath you, steadying yourself as much as him. “Good.”

Yunho’s hands hesitate again. Not because he doesn’t know what comes next, but because now it’s real in a way it wasn’t before. The line has already been crossed, quietly but undeniably, and there’s no pretending this is just some abstract idea anymore. From his angle, everything feels louder. Closer. The soft rise and fall of your breathing, the way your legs are relaxed but not entirely, the warmth of your skin under his hands, it all presses in on him at once, making his thoughts tangle for a second. Don’t mess this up. It’s the only thing looping in his head as he swallows, gaze dropping again, slower this time. His fingers shift, brushing lightly over your thighs again. Pay attention, he reminds himself. She said to pay attention.

He notices everything. The way your muscles tense just a little at the initial movement, then ease again. The shift in your breathing. The faint hitch you try to hide. It steadies him. Gives him something to hold onto as his gaze flicks up to your face again like he needs to check in, to make sure he’s not messing up already. And what he finds there doesn’t help. Because you’re watching him too. There’s something different in your expression now. Not just teasing, not just curiosity, something heavier. You’re trusting him. That thought hits harder than anything else.

From your side, the shift is just as clear. Yunho’s not joking anymore. Not nervous in that scattered, awkward way from before, no, this is different. Focused. Intent. Like once he stepped into this, something in him clicked, and now he’s all in. You swallow, fingers tightening slightly in the sheets beneath you. “You’re doing fine.” Yunho nods once, small but firm, taking that in like it matters more than it should. And then he shifts closer and you shift slightly beneath him, the movement small but enough to break the stillness that’s settled between you. Your fingers loosen in the sheets, then tighten again, grounding yourself as much as him. “You can…” you start, then pause for half a second, like even you didn’t expect the words to feel this heavy and his eyes flick up instantly. “you can show me what you know so far.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, the air shifts again. Yunho exhales slowly, his focus sharpening all over again, that nervous energy from before narrowing into something more controlled, more intentional. His hands adjust where they rest against your thighs, grip a little firmer now, like he’s anchoring himself before he does anything else. Don’t rush. Pay attention. He glances up at you one more time, just a quick check, and when you don’t pull away, don’t second guess it, something in him steadies. “Okay,” he murmurs. The hesitation doesn’t disappear completely but it changes. It becomes quieter, tucked underneath a kind of focus you’ve always known him for. The same way he locks in when he’s working, when he’s streaming, when he’s determined to get something right. Except now… it’s you.

Your breathing changes, just slightly and you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker in response. He’s paying attention. Exactly like you told him to. Slowly, carefully, he leans in closer, his movements measured instead of rushed, like he’s testing each step instead of assuming it. There’s a quiet intensity to him now as he moves. It’s not hesitant this time, not really. It’s like the moment you gave him permission to try, something in him snapped into place, and now he’s acting on instinct more than overthinking. His heart is pounding harder than he wants to admit. Every nerve feels lit up, every thought tangled together in a mess of don’t mess this up and just do something. So when he leans in, mouth closing around your clit, he goes in too fast. Too much.

You gasp, your back tensing slightly against the pillows, fingers gripping the sheets but not entirely from surprise. There’s a flicker of something else there too, something that makes his chest tighten in a completely different way. “Okay….” you breathe, voice catching slightly before you steady it, one hand coming down to lightly touch his shoulder, grounding him. “Don’t just instantly start…” you stop yourself for half a second, exhaling. “Don’t just go all in like that.”

Yunho freezes. Every muscle in him locks up, his brain short circuiting so hard it’s almost audible. For a second, he just stays there, stunned, trying to process what he did wrong and how fast he managed to do it all while trying not to groan at the taste of you now on his tongue. “Start slow,” you tell him, your tone shifting from correction to guidance, more patient than anything else. “Work me up.” He exhales, the tension easing just a fraction, and nods once against you even though you probably can’t see it. His hands tighten slightly where they rest against your thighs, grounding himself again.

This time, when he moves, it’s different. More careful. Less rushed. He takes a second to actually watch you first, your face, your reactions, the way your breathing changes even before he really does anything. He starts smaller, more tentative, like he’s testing the pace instead of trying to get it right all at once. His tongue making small licks between your folds, grazing your clit before repeating and your body relaxes slightly under him, tension easing into something warmer, more receptive. The earlier sharpness softens, replaced by something slower, something that builds instead of crashes all at once as a moan escapes you and that gives him confidence. You feel it in the way his hands settle more firmly, the way his movements grow just a little steadier, like he’s starting to understand what you meant. Not perfect. Not polished. But learning. And more importantly, listening.

A quiet moan slips from you again, softer this time, less startled, more… genuine. “Yeah,” you murmur, barely above a whisper now. “Like that.” And that does something to Yunho. Hearing you moan in pleasure due to him with his tongue buried inside you, the taste of you alone has him so hard he has no idea how he’s staying focused. He shifts again, adjusting, following the subtle cues your body keeps giving him as you start to roll your hips a bit and suddenly he’s not thinking in the same scattered way anymore. The nerves are still there, sure, but they’re quieter now, pushed aside by something stronger and your breath catches, sharper than before, your body tensing for a split second before melting into it when he thrusts his tongue as far he can, nose pressed against your clit, the friction from it and his tongue working slow strokes makes the control you’ve been trying to hold onto slip and before you can stop yourself, your hand moves.

Your fingers tangle into his hair. The contact surprising both of you and it sends a jolt straight through Yunho making his dick twitch. His hands tighten where they’re holding your thighs. Your grip tightens slightly in his hair without thinking, your body reacting on its own, shifting just enough to follow what feels good, grinding fully now, pulling at his hair when you feel groan, your walls clenching at his tongue as a loud moan tears from you. And Yunho pulls his tongue back, licking a stripe all the way back up to your clit before sucking it into his mouth. He’s no longer just about trying to get it right, it’s about you. The way your breath keeps catching, the way your body won’t stay still anymore no matter how much you try to hold it together. The way your moans are getting louder. Because of him.

His hands tighten again, grounding you, but it’s not enough. not when your reactions start slipping past your control. Your fingers are still tangled in his hair, your grip tightening without you meaning to, your body shifting against him in a way that’s no longer subtle and borderline riding his mouth. And you feel it building. Fast. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, moving again, chasing the feeling without thinking and Yunho shifts one of his arms, sliding around your waist, holding you in place, not rough, but firm enough to steady you, to keep you from moving too much. And this? He wasn’t expecting this. Not like this.

And the added pressure of his arm around you, the way he’s holding you steady, only makes everything feel more intense, more overwhelming, like it’s pushing you closer to the edge you’ve been trying not to fall over since he walked into your room. Your grip tightens again in his hair, a sobbing cry slipping out of you that you definitely don’t manage to hide. Then Yunho pulls back. It’s not sudden, it’s like he realizes something mid motion and needs a second to breathe. His forehead comes to rest lightly against your thigh, his breath uneven now, a little heavier than before, like he’s trying to steady himself because verything feels… overwhelming. Not in a bad way. But in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

His pause almost throws you off. Your fingers loosen slightly in his hair, your breathing uneven as you try to come back down from where he just had you, your chest rising and falling a little too fast because you were so close. “Yunho…” you start, unsure if he’s stopping or just…. he moves again before you can finish. His hand shifts, sliding along your thigh again, more confident than before, less hesitant. Your fingers tighten back into his hair, your head tipping back into the pillows as you try and fail to stay quiet as he slips two of his fingers deep, brushing them up, curving them against your g spot and you realize he definitely wasn’t lying about how he knows how to use his fingers. “Don’t…. don’t stop,” you breathe, barely managing to get the words out.

Yunho keeps his head pressed to your thigh, watching his fingers thrust in and out of you, the wet sound echoing in the room, and he can see his aching dick twitching still in his sweats, the poor thing wanting nothing more than to replace his fingers as his hand tightens again in his hair, your other gripping the sheets, your breathing uneven now, moans and cries breaking out of you as he moves his mouth back down, keeping his fingers fucking you as he moans against your clit. “Fuck….. you’re…” your thoughts are jumbled but you register one thing, he’s really fucking good at eating pussy for someone who’s never had. “Yunho…” The sound of you moaning his name makes his gaze lift again, watching you now. And that’s when it hits him. This isn’t just practice anymore. The thought lands heavy in his chest, sharper than anything else so far. Because he knows you. And right now? You’re letting go in a way he’s never seen before because of him. Your best friend. Watching you come undone, legs shaking now, toes curling, your walls clenching his fingers, because of him.

He feels it before he fully understands it. Feels you clench his fingers again, wetness building, splashing his fingers and he knows then you’re about to come and he can feel himself start to grind, against the mattress, humping a little to get friction. “Yunho…” You cry his name out again as your orgasm slams into you. “FUCK….. please…. Oh my….. fuck eat my pussy….” your words are what does it for him. Yunho lets out a low strained sound as he moans against you, you still coming, squirting on his fingers that are still pumping into you faster, harder…… he comes, coming in his sweats, leaking down his own thighs as he finally pulls his fingers out of you and removes his mouth from your now slightly overstimulated clit.

Neither of you moves right away but then your hand loosens in his hair, falling back against the sheets as you try to catch your breath, your chest still rising unevenly, your thoughts struggling to settle into anything coherent. “Yeah…” you manage after a moment, still a little breathless despite your attempt to sound normal. You swallow, glancing at him, then away again. “That was… good.” It feels like an understatement and you both know it. And hearing you say that…. does something to Yunho. He looks at you for half a second, something unreadable passing through his expression before he looks away again, jaw tightening slightly. Because now he’s very aware of himself. Of everything.

He shifts back a little, creating space, one hand coming down almost instinctively, pressing lightly over the front of his sweats like he’s trying to ground himself, to hide it, to get a handle on it before it becomes too obvious that he came in his pants. “Yeah,” he exhales quietly, like he’s trying to steady his voice and not quite succeeding. He clears his throat slightly, pushing himself up off the bed, movements just a little too quick now, like he needs distance before he does something he shouldn’t. “I’m….. uh…” he starts, then huffs a quiet breath, running a hand through his hair again. “I’m gonna go shower.” He stops before walking out your bedroom. “Thanks. For the… practice,” he adds, the word sounding a little strained now, like even he doesn’t quite believe it anymore.

Practice. Right. That’s what this was supposed to be. You nod once, a little slower than usual, still watching him as he opens your bedroom door, like he’s not fully trusting himself to stay in the room any longer than necessary. “Yeah,” you breathe, clearing your own throat. “Anytime.” It slips out before you can stop it. And the second it does you feel it. The weight of it. And Yunho pauses again at the door. His hand resting against the frame, his back half turned to you like he’s debating something, like he might say something else. “Yeah,” he mutters, almost under his breath, then he’s gone. The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut down the hall echoes a little too loud in the apartment. And suddenly it’s just you. Lying there. Heart still racing. Body still warm. Mind spinning with one very clear, very dangerous thought…..

That definitely was not just practice.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho barely made it to the bathroom before shutting the door a little harder than he meant to. The click echoes, sharp in the quiet apartment, and for a second he just stands there, staring at nothing, chest rising and falling like he just ran a mile instead of… that. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. Get it together. But it doesn’t work. Because the second he steps under the shower, water hitting his skin, everything comes rushing back at once.

The way you moaned his name.

He squeezes his eyes shut, head tipping forward as the water runs over his hair, his face, like it might wash the memory out. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes it worse. Because now he’s remembering everything else. The way you sounded when you couldn’t hold it back anymore. The way you grinded against his face. The way you squirted. How tight you were around his fingers…. “Fuck…” he breathes under his breath, the word slipping out before he can stop it as his hand braces against the tile, knuckles whitening slightly as he tries to steady himself.

He drags in a sharp breath, the heat of the water doing nothing to calm the heat already burning under his skin. His jaw tightens, his free hand curling slightly at his side like he’s trying to ground himself, trying to get a handle on the way everything is still buzzing through him….. but then he thinks about your hand in his hair, gripping and pulling…. “Stop,” he mutters to himself, like he can actually cut it off. His head tips back slightly, water running down his face as he exhales hard through his nose, trying to focus on anything else, anything that isn’t you. But it’s pointless. Because you’re everywhere right now. In his head. In the way his chest feels too tight. In the way his body hasn’t even remotely calmed down. And that’s when it hits him, clearer than before. This wasn’t just about helping him. Not really.

Because no matter how much he tries to frame it that way, tries to convince himself that this was just learning, just practice…. It wasn’t. It never would be. Not to him. Not even a little. His grip tightens against the tile again, breath uneven as he stands there under the water, trying to ride it out, trying to let the intensity burn off without thinking too hard about why it’s there in the first place. Because if he does… if he really lets himself think about it then he has to face the truth he’s been avoiding for years. That this? This has never just been friendship. And now that line? It’s gone. “Fuck me.” He wraps his hand around himself, stroking slow at first, eyes closed and picturing you splayed out on your bed only this time he’s not deep diving into you with his tongue or fingers. He’s sinking into you, dick stretching you inch by inch….

“Fuck…” his strokes pick up, imagining himself pounding into you, your walls clenching him. Your voice this time instead of “eat my pussy” being a sobbing moan of “fuck my pussy” that makes his abs clench, his dick twitch and a groaning whimper to leave him as he comes. His forehead presses against the shower wall as he watches his cum mix with the water by his feet and wash away down the drain. For a moment, it works. The tension snaps, the overwhelming edge dulling just enough for him to breathe again. But the second it’s over it hits him again. Harder than before.

He exhales sharply, head dropping forward, forehead pressing against the cool tile as the water keeps running over his back, his shoulders, his neck. His chest rises and falls, slower now, but heavier. “I fucked up,” he groans under his breath, voice rough, barely audible over the water. You. His best friend. The one person he’s spent years not crossing that line with, no matter how many times he’s thought about it, no matter how many times he’s shoved those feelings down and told himself it wasn’t worth risking what you already had.

And now? Now he knows exactly what it feels like. Knows how you sound, how you taste, how your body… he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw tightening. “Fuck…” he exhales again. Because there’s no going back from that. No pretending it didn’t mean anything. Not when it felt like that. Not when he’s reacting like this. His hand drags down his face again, water dripping from his hair, his lashes, his jaw as he tries to steady himself, tries to think of any version of this that doesn’t end in things getting complicated. But every path leads to the same place. You. “Shit….” He shakes his head because he doesn’t give a shit that Chile broke up with him. He never really did anyways. His ego was just a little bruised that’s all. Because now there’s only one thing on his mind.

He wants to have you moaning his name again.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The next morning feels… off.

Not in a loud, obvious way. Nothing dramatic. The sun still rises over Florida like it always does, warm and blinding through the blinds. Your alarm still goes off too early, your routine still runs on autopilot, scrubs, hair up, coffee barely tasted on the way out the door. But something’s different. You didn’t see Yunho before you left. His door stayed shut. The apartment was quiet in that heavy, almost deliberate way, like both of you were avoiding the same thing without saying it out loud. You paused for a second before leaving, hand hovering near his door like you might knock but you didn’t.

And now, hours later, you’re paying for it. The hospital hums around you like it always does, monitors beeping, voices overlapping, the constant movement of nurses and doctors weaving through the halls. It’s familiar. Usually grounding. Today? It’s just noise. You’re physically there, checking charts, moving from patient to patient, responding when needed, but mentally? You’re somewhere else entirely. Back in your room. Back in that moment.

Your pen hovers over a chart for a second too long, your eyes unfocused as the memory flashes again, his voice, his fingers, the way he looked at you after, the way he said thanks like that somehow made it normal.

“Hey.” A hand snaps lightly in front of your face. “Earth to Y/N.” You blink, snapping back so abruptly it almost feels like surfacing from underwater. Your eyes refocus, landing on Wooyoung standing in front of you, arms crossed, one brow raised in that way that means he’s already clocked everything. “What?” you mutter, a little slower than usual and Wooyoung’s eyes narrow slightly, studying you like you’re a suspicious patient instead of his coworker. “You tell me. You’ve been zoning out all day.”

You glance down at the chart in your hands like it might defend you. “I’m working.”

“Mhm,” he hums, clearly unconvinced. “You’ve been staring at that same page for, like, a full minute.” You sigh under your breath, shifting your weight slightly, trying to shake it off. “Long shift.”

“Bullshit.”

You look up at him properly this time, narrowing your eyes. “Excuse me?” Wooyoung doesn’t budge. If anything, he leans in a little closer, lowering his voice just enough to keep it between the two of you. “I’ve seen you after long shifts,” he says, tone casual but eyes sharp. “You’re tired, yeah, but you’re not… whatever this is.” He gestures vaguely at you. “You look like your brain is buffering.” You huff out a quiet breath despite yourself, shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

“Right,” he says, dragging the word out in a way that makes it very clear he does not believe you. “And I’m the head surgeon.” You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it as Wooyoung watches you for another second, expression shifting slightly, less teasing now, more observant. “Okay, so what happened?” You hesitate just ust for a second. And that’s all he needs. “Oh my god,” he says immediately, eyes lighting up with realization. “Something did happen.”

“Nothing happened,” you shoot back a little too quickly and he leans back slightly, arms crossing again, a slow, knowing grin starting to creep onto his face. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” You don’t answer. Because you know he’s right. And because if you open your mouth right now… you’re not entirely sure what’s going to come out. Wooyoung tilts his head, studying you again, curiosity fully locked in now. You look away immediately, jaw tightening slightly as you busy yourself with the chart again, anything to avoid his eyes.

Because how are you supposed to explain this? How are you supposed to say, I helped my best friend by letting him eat my pussy and now I can’t stop thinking about him and everything feels different, like that’s a normal thing to say in the middle of a hospital hallway. “It’s nothing,” you mutter again, weaker this time but Wooyoung doesn’t buy it for a second. He steps a little closer, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous. “Whatever it is,” he says, eyes narrowing slightly, “it’s definitely not nothing.”

You don’t answer him. Instead, you sit your charts down and grab his wrist. “Hey…. what the…” Wooyoung stumbles slightly as you yank him down the hall, his sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floor as he tries to keep up. “Are you kidnapping me on shift right now? Because I’m pretty sure that’s illegal…”

“Shut up,” you mutter under your breath, not even looking back as you push through the double doors toward the labs. It’s quieter there, cooler too. The hum of machines replaces the chaos of the main floor, and for once, there’s no one around. You let go of him once you’re inside, pacing once, twice, like you’re trying to physically walk off the tension sitting under your skin and Wooyoung just stands there, staring at you like you’ve officially lost it. “Okay,” he says slowly, dragging the word out, arms crossing over his chest. “You’re either about to confess to a crime or tell me something insane.”

“I did something,” you say finally and Wooyoung’s eyes light up immediately. “Oh, I know you did. Get to the good part.” You glare at him and he holds his hands up. “I’m listening, I’m listening.” You exhale sharply, dragging a hand through your hair, already regretting this and needing to say it anyway. “Yunho came to me last night,” you start, voice lower now, more controlled but there’s something underneath it, something a little too charged to be casual which makes Wooyoung’s grin sharpen. “Your roommate Yunho? Your best friend Yunho?”

“Yes, Wooyoung, the only Yunho I know…. can you let me finish?”

He mimes zipping his mouth shut, but the excitement is very much still there as you take another breath. “He told me his newest girlfriend dumped him,” you continue. “Good,” Wooyoung cuts in immediately. “Don’t like any of them.”

“Not the point,” you snap, though you agree.

“Right, right….. continue.”

You hesitate again. “She dumped him because he’s never… done that before.”

Wooyoung blinks, confused. “Done what?” You stare at him and stares back. “You know…. eaten…. pussy before.”

“Oh my….” his eyes go wide, his entire posture straightening like he just got hit with electricity. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was,” you mutter as Wooyoung lets out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand over his face. “No way. No way that man made it to twenty six without…”

“I know,” you cut in, already pacing again. “That’s what I said.”

“That’s insane,” he says, almost impressed. “That’s…. wow. Okay.” You stop again. Because this is the part. The part where you either keep it surface level… or don’t. “He asked me how to do it,” you say, quieter now and Wooyoung tilts his head, still following, still amused. “Okay… that tracks, I guess. You’re you. You’d know.” You don’t respond right away and that’s what makes his expression slowly change. “Why do I feel like that’s not the end of the story,” he says slowly.

You press your lips together and look at the floor. “I didn’t just tell him. Wooyoung stares at you, brows furrowed. “You didn’t just tell him,” he repeats and you shake your head. “I let him practice on me.” The room goes completely still. For a solid three seconds, Wooyoung just stares at you like his brain has short circuited. “You what?” You throw your hands up slightly, already defensive. “It was supposed to be just practice.”

“JUST PRACTICE?” he repeats, voice jumping an octave before he clamps it down, glancing toward the door like someone might hear. He steps closer, lowering his voice but not the intensity. “You let your best friend, who you live with… practice eating pussy on you?” You wince slightly. “When you say it like that….”

“How else am I supposed to say it?” he demands, incredulous. “That’s exactly what it is!” You drag a hand down your face. “I know, okay? I know. It just… it didn’t feel like a big deal at first and then it just… happened.” Wooyoung stares at you, eyes wide, trying to process. “And?” he presses.

“And it wasn’t just practice,” you admit.

“Define wasn’t just practice…” he says carefully and you exhale slowly, your gaze dropping again. “It was… good,” you murmur. “Like…. really good. And he…” you cut yourself off, shaking your head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is… it felt like more.” Wooyoung doesn’t interrupt this time. He just watches you. “And now I don’t know what the hell to do,” you finish, finally looking back up at him. Wooyoung studies you for a second, all the teasing gone now. “You’re in love with him,” he says flatly.

Your stomach drops as Wooyoung exhales, running a hand through his hair, processing everything all over again but this time with a completely different lens. “And you let him do that,” he mutters, more to himself now. “I didn’t plan it,” you shoot back. “I know,” he says quickly, holding up a hand. “I know. I’m just…. wow. Okay.” He looks at you again. “What did he say after?”

“He…. thanked me,” you say, almost bitterly. “For the practice. Then went to shower.”

“Oh, he’s stupid,” Wooyoung sighs. And despite everything, a small, incredulous laugh slips out of you. “You think?”

“Yeah,” he nods, dead serious. “Because if he thinks that was just practice, he’s either lying to himself… or he’s about to have the same crisis you are.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

A couple days later, things feel… normal again. Or at least, they look normal.

From the outside, nothing’s changed. You and Yunho fall back into your routine like it’s muscle memory, passing each other in the kitchen, sharing late night takeout, sitting on opposite ends of the couch while something mindless plays in the background. You still talk, still joke, still exist in that same comfortable orbit you always have. But there’s something underneath it now. Something neither of you touches. You don’t bring it up. He doesn’t bring it up. So it just… sits there. Unspoken. And the more you both pretend it didn’t happen, the louder it gets in the silence.

Now Yunho’s alone. The apartment is quiet in that hollow way it only is when you’re not there, no soft background noise, no movement in the other room, no you. Just him, the faint hum of his setup, and way too much space for his thoughts to bounce around in. He texted Chloe. Thought maybe he could smooth things over, fix it, prove to himself that nothing had changed. That what happened with you didn’t mean anything more than what you both said it was.

So he met up with her. Told himself it was fine. Normal. But the second things started getting even remotely close to that territory again… it felt wrong. Not bad. Just… off. From Yunho’s perspective, it was like trying to follow a script he suddenly didn’t believe in anymore. The way she talked, the way she reacted, it all felt rehearsed somehow, like she was performing instead of actually feeling anything. And the worst part? He couldn’t stop comparing it to you.

The way you sounded, unfiltered, unplanned. The way you felt. The way you trusted him enough to let go like that. The sound of his name like sin and honey on your tongue. And no matter how much he tried to ignore it, it just… kept getting louder. Even the small things. The way Chloe moved. The way she responded. The way everything felt… It didn’t match. Didn’t even come close. And for some reason, he couldn’t shake it. By the time he left, he felt worse than before. More confused. More frustrated. Because now it’s not just about what happened with you. It’s about the fact that nothing else feels right anymore unless it’s with you.

When he got home, Yunho dropped onto the couch, dragging both hands over his face with a frustrated exhale. “What the hell is wrong with me…” he muttered under his breath. It’s not just that it was good with you. It’s that it felt different. Like something clicked into place that he didn’t even realize was missing before. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, jaw tight as he tried to piece it together in a way that makes sense other than the obvious.

He’s in love with you. Always had been.

“Fuck,” he exhales, sharper this time, one hand coming up to press against his forehead. Because he knows. He knows what the answer is. He just doesn’t want to say it out loud.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho tries to distract himself. He really does. Headset on, controller in hand, screen glowing in front of him, it’s the easiest way to shut his brain off, to fall back into something familiar where he doesn’t have to think too hard about anything outside of the game. For a little while, it works. His voice slips back into that easy, relaxed tone, laughing here and there, throwing out comments without really thinking. The rhythm of it is second nature, callouts, reactions, the occasional trash talk. Normal. But it doesn’t last. Because his mind isn’t fully in it. Not when you’re still sitting somewhere in the back of it, stubborn and loud no matter how much he tries to push it down.

“Hey,” one of the guys in his headset laughs, cutting through the game noise. “I’m telling you, bro, last night? Crazy.”

Yunho hums absently, not really paying attention. “Yeah?”

“Yeah…. she had me laid out, man. Like, fully…” the guy laughs again, unfiltered, “had me flat while she was on top riding my face like it was her mission, I’m not even kidding.” There’s a chorus of reactions, laughter, teasing, someone making a joke about him finally getting humbled and Yunho chuckles faintly at first, automatic.

But then his mind catches on it. And everything goes sideways. The thought of you like that, the way you’d look on top of him, the way he’d give in and let you have control…. his grip tightens slightly on the controller, his jaw setting as he tries to shove it away just as fast as it came.

“Yunho? You still there?” someone calls through his headset. “Yeah,” he answers quickly, a little too quick, clearing his throat as he tries to refocus on the screen. “I’m here.” But he’s not. Because now his thoughts are spiraling again, faster this time, harder to control. He drags in a quiet breath, trying to lock back into the game, but it’s useless. His mind keeps circling back, pulling him deeper into it whether he wants to go there or not. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, barely audible over the mic.

“Bro, what?” one of them laughs. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Yunho says again, but this time it comes out rougher, distracted. Because now he’s stuck in it, stuck in that loop of thoughts he can’t seem to shut off, the line between what happened and what he wants blurring more and more the longer he sits there. And the realization creeping in underneath it all? It’s getting harder to ignore. “I gotta hop off,” he mutters suddenly.

“What? We just started…”

“Yeah, I’ll catch you later,” he cuts in, already pulling his headset off before they can argue and the room falls quiet as he leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands hanging between them as he stares at the floor, jaw tight. He doesn’t just want to pretend it didn’t happen. He doesn’t just want to move on.

He wants you.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The front door clicks open as you step inside like you always do, bag slipping off your shoulder, keys dropped into the bowl by the door, the familiar weight of a long shift still clinging to you. The apartment feels the same. Looks the same. But you already know better. Because the second you walk in you feel it. That subtle tension in the air, like something’s been waiting…..

“Can you show me how to let a girl ride my face?”

Your brain doesn’t even process it at first, like it short circuits halfway through the sentence, trying to decide if you actually heard him correctly. “Jesus fucking Christ, Yunho!”

He wasn’t planning to say that. Not like that. Not the second you walked in the door, still in your scrubs, barely even inside the apartment. But the thought’s been stuck in his head for the last hour, looping, getting louder, mixing with everything else he’s been trying and failing to ignore. Now he’s standing there, frozen in place, staring at you like he might actually combust on the spot. “I….” he starts, then stops, running a hand through his hair hard enough to mess it up all over again. “That… came out wrong.”

“Came out wrong?” you repeat slowly, blinking at him like you’re trying to decide if this is real or if you’re still at work and hallucinating from exhaustion. “Okay, not wrong… just….” he exhales sharply, pacing once like he physically can’t stand still under your stare. “I didn’t mean to just say it like that, I just…” He cuts himself off again, clearly spiraling. “You just got home,” he mutters, like that somehow explains it, gesturing vaguely toward you before dragging a hand down his face again. “I wasn’t…. planning to…”

“You weren’t planning to ask me how to let someone ride your face?” you cut in, incredulously and he stops pacing. “When you say it like that, it sounds…”

“It sounds exactly like what you said,” you shoot back and silence hits the room before Yunho hesitates and breaks it. “I tried with Chloe,” he says finally and your irritation fades, replaced by something sharper. More focused. “And?” you ask, quieter now, and Yunho huffs a humorless breath, shaking his head. “It wasn’t the same.” From his perspective, saying it out loud makes it worse. Because now it’s not just a thought. It’s real. He glances at you again, holding your gaze this time instead of avoiding it. “Nothing about it felt the same,” he admits, voice lower now, more controlled, but there’s something underneath it, something heavier.

“You’ve been in my head all day,” he adds before he can stop himself, the words slipping out quieter this time, less frantic but somehow more dangerous. “And I can’t—” he cuts himself off, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know how to just go back to normal after that.”

“So instead,” you say slowly, heart pounding, “you ask me that the second I walk through the door?”

“Yeah,” Yunho admits, a little helplessly. And somehow, that’s worse. Because he’s not joking. Not deflecting. Not hiding behind anything. He’s just being honest. And that realization settles deep in your chest, heavy and impossible to ignore. Because if he’s being honest… for a second, you just stand there, still in your scrubs, bag hanging off your shoulder, heart beating a little too fast for how still you’re trying to look. Because you could push this deeper. You could ask him what he meant, why he’s thinking about you like that, why he can’t let it go. But that would mean admitting you can’t either.

“Well,” you say, exhaling through your nose like you’re brushing it off, even though your chest feels anything but calm. You drop your bag onto the chair by the door, kicking your shoes off like this is just another normal night. “Come on.”

“Come on?” he repeats, like he’s not sure he heard you right. You glance at him over your shoulder, already heading toward your room, that same dangerous calm settling into your voice again. “You asked, didn’t you?” you say simply and his brain stalls for half a second before his body catches up, pushing off the wall and following you without even thinking about it. There’s tension in his steps now, something tighter, more focused, because this is happening again. You feel him behind you before you even see him, the weight of his presence making everything feel smaller, warmer, more charged than it should.

You step into your room, turning to face him as he stops just inside the doorway, that same mix of anticipation and nerves written all over him as you cross your arms loosely, leaning back against the edge of your bed. “For the record,” you add, a little more casually than you feel, “I’ve only done this once.” Yunho’s brows pull together slightly. “Yeah?” You nod once, gaze flicking away for a second like you’re debating whether to say more. “With my ex.”

Yunho’s jaw tightens without him even realizing it, something sharp flashing behind his eyes at the mention of him. He never liked that guy. Not even a little. “Of course it was,” he mutters under his breath and you huff out a quiet humorless laugh. “Yeah, well… it didn’t exactly go great.”

“What do you mean?”

You shrug, but there’s an edge to it now, something a little more honest slipping through. “I mean he barely let it last five minutes before he started complaining.” Yunho’s expression darkens. “Complaining?” he repeats, incredulously. “Yeah,” you nod, rolling your eyes slightly. “Said it was weird. Too much work. Told me to stop before I could even….” you cut yourself off, shaking your head. “Doesn’t matter.” But it does. Because now Yunho’s not just thinking about what he wants. He’s thinking about that. About someone else being in that position with you and not even trying. Not paying attention. Not caring enough to let you actually come. “That’s…” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “That’s stupid.”

You glance at him, a small, almost amused smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “Yeah. I figured that out.” But the way he’s looking at you now? It’s not amused. It’s focused. Intent. Like he’s already decided something. “Well,” you say, pushing yourself off the bed slightly, that same teasing edge creeping back in just enough to mask the tension. “Guess you’ll have to do better than him.”

Yunho huffs out a quiet breath, something almost like a disbelieving laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah,” he says, stepping further into the room, gaze locked on you now. “I think I can manage that.” You have to keep your thighs from clenching when you see his eyes darken. Your hands go to the waistband of your scrub pants, fingers brushing the fabric as you try to keep your breathing even, your expression neutral, like this isn’t a big deal, like this isn’t the second time you’re about to cross a line you’ve both been avoiding for years. The fabric shifts as you push your scrubs down, the movement simple, routine, something you’ve done a thousand times before after long shifts.

Yunho’s watching, quiet, still, but completely locked in. And there’s something different about him now. The hesitation from the first time? It’s still there, but it’s buried under something else, something more focused, more certain. His gaze tracks every small movement you make, every shift of fabric, every breath you take like he’s trying to memorize it. You step out of your scrubs, pushing them aside, leaving you standing there in your bra and panties for a second longer than necessary, like your body hasn’t quite caught up with your brain yet.

Yunho exhales quietly, like he’s been holding his breath without realizing it and you glance up at him, finally meeting his eyes, and for a second neither of you says anything. Because you both feel it. That shift. That this isn’t the same as the first time. “You still sure you want me to show you?” you ask and he answers without hesitation. “Yeah.” You shift your weight slightly, forcing yourself to stay grounded, even as everything about this feels anything but steady. Your gaze flicks over him once, quick, almost instinctive, before you look away again, like if you stare too long you’ll start thinking about it too much. “You should probably take your shirt off,” you say, voice coming out calmer than you feel. “It could get… messy.”

The words hang there for a second before Yunho blinks and huffs out a quiet breath, something almost like a nervous laugh slipping through, even as his hands move without hesitation to the hem of his shirt. “Right,” he mutters as his fingers catch the fabric, pulling it up and over his head in one smooth motion, something he’s done a thousand times before, something you’ve seen a thousand times before. It shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s never been a big deal. You’ve seen him like this before. Late nights, lazy mornings, passing each other in the apartment like it’s nothing. It’s always been easy.

Your eyes flick back to him before you can stop them, catching on the way his shoulders shift as he drops the shirt somewhere behind him, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the tension sitting just under his skin like he’s holding himself together by a thread. Your breath stutters just slightly, and you have to look away again after staring way too long at his happy trail, swallowing as you try to pull yourself back together. You’ve seen this before. But your brain doesn’t believe that anymore as he steps a little closer, not rushing, but not holding back either, closing some of the space between you like he’s done thinking about it and just… moving forward now.

“Okay,” he says, voice a little rougher than before and you climb onto the bed first, shifting back toward the headboard, giving him space. Yunho follows a second later, slower this time, not unsure, but aware. More aware than he was that first time. He watches you as he gets on, like he’s trying to read every movement, every decision you make. This time, he doesn’t sit. He lays back and settles against the mattress, head near your pillows, eyes still on you, chest rising and falling a little heavier than normal. “If you need me to get up,” you say, a little more careful than before, “just let me know.” Yunho’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Okay.”

Your fingers hook at the waistband of your panties, your breath catching as your mind tries once more to catch up with what you’re about to do. This is a bad idea. The thought flickers but you ignore it. Because the second you glance at him again, really look at him, the way he’s watching you, the way there’s no uncertainty left in his expression, just something deeper, something wanting…..

You push your panties all the down, tossing them on the floor and Yunho’s hands come up without thinking when you move closer, settling at your thighs again, firmer than before. Not stopping you. Not guiding you. Just… holding. Grounding himself in the reality of what’s happening. Your fingers grip the headboard above you, steadying yourself, your breath uneven as you settle there, every nerve suddenly aware of him, of the space, of the fact that this is happening again but not in the same way. Not even close. Because this time you’re not just showing him. And he’s not just learning.

You start to lower yourself slowly. Your fingers tighten around the headboard, grounding yourself, keeping control of the pace as you hover just above him once he lays down. Your breathing is uneven now, chest rising a little faster as you try not to think too hard about what you’re doing. About who you’re doing it with. You keep your grip firm, easing down carefully, deliberately holding yourself there, not fully committing yet, like you’re still giving both of you one last second to back out and Yunho’s hands tighten on your thighs without warning, grip firm. stronger than before and before you can fully control the pace anymore he pulls you down.

The sudden movement steals the breath right out of you, your grip on the headboard tightening instantly, your body jolting at the unexpected shift. “Yunho….” his name slips out before you can stop it, sharp and surprised. He starts slower than you expect. His hands grip your thighs, anchoring you in place, holding you steady like he doesn’t trust you to stay there on your own, not anymore. Not when you’re already reacting like this the second his tongue thrusted up into you. And it hits him almost immediately. That difference. That clarity. He wasn’t crazy. You taste so good he feels his eyes roll back and a moan, deep and almost growling leaves him, vibrating against you.

“Oh… oh my….” You’re whimpering now, still gripping the headboard, legs feeling heavy where they are caged around his head. His nose is rubbing at your clit, tongue curving up into you…. then you start to move. Not even on purpose at first, just instinct, chasing the feeling, trying to stay grounded and failing at it completely and a low, rough sound slips out of Yunho again before he can stop it, something deeper than before. It sounds like he’s gone as his hands tighten again, pulling you even closer, not letting you pull away, not letting you control the pace anymore.

He exhales sharply, tongue pulling out to move up, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking it into his mouth and keeping it there as you cry out and really start rocking against his face. “Fuck…. right there… Yunho… don’t stop” your begging and pleading seems to only make him more pussy drunk. His dick is hard, he can feel it twitching, precum leaking and staining his sweats. And before he can even register what he’s saying, he pulls back just enough to mumble, “your pussy taste so fucking good.” Then he thrusts his tongue back into you, moaning loud at the taste of you. And his words make it build faster.

You can feel it, tight , overwhelming, impossible to ignore now. Every movement pushes you closer, your grip on the headboard turning almost desperate as your body stops listening to anything except the need to chase it. You’re not thinking anymore. Not about the line you crossed. Not the fact your best friend is eating your pussy like it’s his last meal. Not about anything except the way everything is pulling tighter and tighter….. and then you glance down. Just for a second. And you see him. The way he’s completely gone, hands gripping you, holding you there like he doesn’t want to lose this, like he doesn’t want to lose you in this moment. The way his chest is rising unevenly, the tension in him obvious, unhidden now.

And the moans he makes… low, deep and unfiltered….. and then you look back, see the length of him hard in his sweats, watch his dick leaking against the fabric, twitching… your hands drop from the headboard without thinking, tangling into his hair instead, gripping tight as everything finally breaks. Your breath shatters into something you can’t control, your body tensing hard as the feeling crashes over you all at once. “YUNHO…” you pull at his hair as you come, riding it out literally. Your hips move, grinding frantically against his face and he lets you. Loves it.

You’re barely coming back down when, thighs shaking, when you hear him let out the whiniest, neediest sound you’ve ever heard. Because just the feel of you riding his face, the taste of you dripping on his tongue, he feels his dick twitch once, twice….. and then he’s coming too. Untouched and aching. It’s overwhelming in a way he didn’t expect, his thoughts completely scattered, his body reacting before he can even process it, the intensity of the moment pulling everything out of him whether he’s ready for it or not. Fuck.

He groans again under his breath, quieter this time, but no less affected, his forehead pressing against your inner thigh now as he tries to steady himself, tries to come back down from something that hit way harder than he was prepared for as you slide away first. The movement is slow, almost reluctant, creating space between you where there hadn’t been any moments before. The room feels strangely quiet now. Not peaceful. Just… full. Your pulse is still trying to settle as you sit back against the headboard, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Across from you, Yunho remains exactly where he is, sprawled on the mattress, staring at the ceiling like he’s forgotten how to move. For a second, you almost laugh. Not because anything is funny. But because he looks completely dazed. “Yunho?” You glance down and see that obvious stain on his sweats, his dick still hard despite the orgasm that ripped out of him. His chest rises and falls slowly as you feel your heart ready to run from your body. “Yunho, you good?” A knot forms low in your stomach. “Hey.”

This time his eyes close briefly. Not avoiding you. Just bracing. When they open again, something has changed. The uncertainty that’s followed him for days is gone. The nervousness. The excuses. Slowly, he sits up and the mattress shifts beneath his weight as you watch him carefully. “Yunho?” His gaze finds yours, voice low and hesitant. “It isn’t practice anymore.” The words land between you like a dropped match and your breath catches as your brows furrow. “What?”

For a second, he looks away and you see his throat work as he swallows. And suddenly the confident, easygoing Yunho you’ve known for years looks terrified. Not of you. But of telling the truth. “I didn’t need to practice that,” he says quietly and the confession sounds almost ridiculous now that it’s out in the open and a humorless laugh escapes him. “Not really.” Your heart pounds harder. “Then why…”

“I just…” He stops and runs a hand through his hair. “just wanted you again.” The world outside the room might as well not exist anymore after that confession. You stare at him as he stares at the floor a minute before his gaze lifts back to yours. “I tried to pretend it didn’t mean anything.” His voice is rough now. Honest in a way you’ve almost never heard before. “I tried to go back to normal. I met up with Chloe….. and all I could do was compare everything to you.” The admission leaves him looking almost angry. Not at you but at himself. “Every conversation.” He laughs once, short and bitter. “Every stupid thing.” His eyes lock onto yours. “And I realized I didn’t care that she dumped me.”

Your breath catches as Yunho stands and walks until he’s close enough that neither of you can pretend this conversation is casual anymore. “I’ve spent years telling myself not to do this.” His voice softens. “Because you’re my best friend. But I think I’ve been in love with you for so long that I forgot what it felt like not to be.” The room goes completely still. And suddenly every excuse you’ve both been hiding behind falls apart at once. No more lessons. No more practice. No more pretending.

For a moment, you don’t say anything. Not because you don’t have an answer. Not because you don’t feel it too. But because your brain completely short circuits. You’ve imagined this conversation before. More times than you’d ever admit. Late nights. Long drives. Quiet moments where Yunho smiled at you a certain way and you wondered. But those were fantasies. This is real. And somehow, reality hits harder.

Yunho watches the silence stretch. One second. Two. Three. Long enough for doubt to creep in and you see it happen. The way his shoulders tense. The way something guarded settles over his expression. Like he’s already preparing himself for the answer he doesn’t want and his gaze drops as he lets out a quiet laugh that sounds painful around the edges. “Right.”

“Yunho….”

“It’s fine.” It isn’t. You can hear that immediately as he takes a step back. Then another. Putting distance between you before you can even process what’s happening. “Just forget I said anything.” The words hit like a punch and your eyes widen. “What?” He shakes his head. A small smile appearing on his face, but it’s all wrong. Forced and tight. The kind people wear when they’re trying not to let something hurt. “We can just go back to normal.”

“Yunho….”

“I’m serious.” His voice is quiet now. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” Then he turns and walks out, bedroom door staying open behind him. And for a second, you just sit there. Frozen. Staring after him. Your heart pounding so hard it feels impossible to breathe. Because what just happened? The realization crashes into you all at once. Yunho loves you. Yunho is in love with you. And somehow, because you were too shocked to speak, he thinks you don’t feel the same.

“Are you kidding me?” You scramble off the bed so fast you nearly trip over the sheets. Your discarded panties are still scattered on the floor from. You snatch them up and pull them on while practically hopping across the room. “Idiot.” You aren’t even sure if you’re talking about him or yourself. Maybe both. By the time you reach the doorway, your pulse is racing. The apartment suddenly feels too big. Too long. Too far away. You find him in the living room.

Yunho is standing near the couch with both hands planted on his hips, staring out the window like he’s trying to figure out how to survive the next ten minutes. He doesn’t turn around when he hears you. Which hurts more than it should. Because Yunho always turns around when it’s you. “Yunho.” His shoulders tense as you march farther into the room. “Yunho.” This time he exhales slowly.

“You don’t have to say anything.” The quiet resignation in his voice makes your chest ache as he finally looks over his shoulder. And the look on his face almost breaks your heart. Because he’s already convinced himself. Already decided what your silence meant. Already started mourning something he never even got a chance to have. And suddenly all the shock leaves your body. “You absolute fucking idiot.”

His brows immediately pull together. “Excuse me?”

“I was in shock.” Now it’s your turn to be frustrated. “You just told me you’ve been in love with me for years! I didn’t know what to say!” He stares at you, frozen, trying to process. And when he doesn’t respond immediately, you throw your hands up. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say something?” The room goes completely silent. And Yunho’s expression changes. First disbelief. Then hope. “What?”

Your heart pounds. But now that you’ve started, there’s no stopping. “No, seriously.” You laugh once. “I have spent years trying not to be in love with you.” This time it’s Yunho who goes completely speechless and just stares at you. Like his brain has completely stopped working. Your confession hangs between you, raw and impossible to take back as you cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’re standing in the middle of your apartment wearing just your bra and panties and a racing heartbeat. “Honestly?” you scoff. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

His brows knit together. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” you say, throwing your hands up, “I’ve been trying to get your attention for years.”

Yunho blinks. “Years?”

“Yes, years.”

His expression shifts from stunned to suspicious. “What are you talking about?”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Five months ago.” The second you say it, something flashes across his face. Recognition. “You remember.” His jaw tightens. Of course he remembers. A week before you’d finally broken up with your ex. Yunho had come home earlier than expected. Walked through the apartment door. And immediately wished he hadn’t. The memory hits him with perfect clarity. The television running in the background. Your moan. Your ex under you while rode him on the couch. The way you’d looked up when the door opened. The way Yunho’s stomach had dropped so hard he’d thought he might actually be sick.

He remembers forcing a smile. Muttering something about grabbing food. Pretending none of it bothered him. Pretending he hadn’t spent the rest of the night locked in his room trying not to think about it. Trying not to think about you. Or how he wanted to snatch your ex up and throw him out the window. His eyes narrow. Slowly. Dangerously. “What about it?” You hesitate for the first time since chasing him out here. Then you sigh. Because apparently you’re both doing honesty tonight. “I knew you were coming home.”

Yunho goes completely still and heart immediately starts pounding harder. “So?” he asks. The word comes out lower than before. Dangerous. Dark. “So I wanted you to see. I wanted…” You wince. “I wanted you to get jealous.” Yunho’s jaw clenches. “What?” Your confidence evaporates instantly. “I don’t know!” you snap, mortified. “I wasn’t thinking clearly!” His eyes remain locked on yours. “That was your plan?”

“It was a terrible plan.”

“It was a terrible plan.”

“I know!”

“You deliberately….”

“Yes.”

“To make me jealous.”

“Yes.”

The silence that follows is almost comical as Yunho drags a hand down his face. Then another. Like he’s trying to process the level of insanity he’s dealing with. And when he looks at you again, there’s something different in his expression now. Something darkly amused. Something that makes your stomach flip. “Five months.” You point a finger at him. “Don’t.”

“Five months,” he repeats.

“Yunho.”

“You spent five months thinking I wasn’t interested.”

“Well, you never said anything!”

“And your solution was psychological warfare?”

Your mouth falls open. “I was desperate!”

That does it. A laugh finally escapes him. Short and disbelieving. He shakes his head. Then his gaze drags slowly over you. And suddenly every bit of humor fades from his face. Because now he understands. All of it. The mixed signals. The frustration. The years of almosts. The fact that the two of you have apparently been running in circles around each other for ages. His eyes meet yours again and his voice drops. Low enough that it catches you completely off guard. “You fucking brat.” The second the word leaves his mouth, Yunho sees it. That tiny reaction. The way your breath catches. The way your eyes widen for half a second before you try to hide it.

And because he’s known you for years, because he’s spent years paying attention to things nobody else notices, he catches it immediately and a slow smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Oh.”

“Oh?” you repeat weakly and his smirk grows. “That’s interesting.”

Heat floods your face. “Don’t.”

“You like that.”

“Yunho.”

“You do.” The confidence in his voice is unbearable. Not because he’s teasing. But because he’s right. And the worst part? He knows it. You watch him take a step closer. Then another. The distance between you shrinking until it feels impossible to think straight. “A brat trying to drive me insane” he says and your pulse pounds in your ears. “Yunho…” He stops directly in front of you. Close enough that you can see every tiny shift in his expression.

“Baby, you like that, don’t you?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. No denial. No argument. No sarcastic comeback. Just silence. Because for once, you don’t have one after hear him calling you baby. Yunho’s eyes flick briefly to your lips before returning to your gaze and yhe realization hits both of you at the same time. “Fuck,” you breathe before you reach up to grab at the back of his neck. Yunho barely has time to look surprised before you’re pulling him toward you.

The kiss happens somewhere between impulse and inevitability. Years of frustration. Years of wanting. Years of bad timing and missed opportunities crashing together all at once. For a second, neither of you seems to know what to do with the fact that this is finally happening. Then Yunho’s hands find your waist automatically, hands gliding down as your tongue starts fighting with his own. His hands reach your ass, gripping and landing a slap on your right cheek getting him a moan into the kiss out of you from it. “Fuck me…” he grabs you, lifting you and letting you wrap your legs around his waist and a laugh escapes you. “You are such an idiot.”

Yunho lets out a disbelieving laugh of his own. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“You had an entire secret jealousy operation.”

“It wasn’t an operation.”

“It absolutely was.” And despite everything, you both start laughing. And somehow that feels right. Because after all the tension, all the confusion, all the years spent circling each other… It’s still the two of you. Just finally honest this time as Yunho holds you tightly against his chest, lips finding yours again in a slow, claiming kiss that deepens quickly, tongues sliding together as his hands roamed down your back.

He brakes away only to trail hot, open mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin there. His fingers hook into the cups of your bra, tugging them down so your breasts spill free and he latches onto one nipple immediately, sucking hard while his tongue flicks over the hardening peak, then switches to the other, licking and sucking with growing hunger. Teeth grazing your nipple as he kisses and marks you, leaving red blooms across the curves of your breasts that would darken later as he carries you towards the couch and you slide down him until your knees hit the floor in front of him.

You reach up before he can ask and yank his sweats down in one motion, freeing his dick which bobbed heavily, still rigid and glistening with the evidence of his earlier release. The sight made your mouth water, he was thick, veined and longer than you had imagined, the tip flushed. You look up at him with a teasing smirk. "Twice now you've come just from eat me out. That's cute." Yunho's ears turn red but he doesn’t look away as you lean in without hesitation, tongue dragging along the underside of his dick to clean away the sticky cum clinging to his skin.

You take your time, licking broad stripes from base to tip, sucking the tip into your mouth to draw out every trace until he was clean and shiny with your saliva. Only when you had finished did he reach down, gripping your shoulders to pull you up to your feet, eyes locked onto yours, dark and searching. "You love me?" You answer by crashing your mouth to his, kissing him deep and messy and he groans into it, tasting himself on your tongue, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Of course you idiot," you murmur against his lips. Then you shove him backward onto the couch cushions. Your panties gone again in seconds, kicked aside as you climb into his lap, straddling his hips.

Yunho's hands grip your waist, his mind flashing to every time your ex had been here with you on this same couch. He was going to fuck those memories right out of the fabric. You didn't ease down. Both of you were too far gone, years of wanting crashing together in one desperate rush as you sank onto him in one smooth motion, taking every inch until your ass met his thighs and a shared moan filled the room. You started moving immediately, too impatient now, lifting and slamming back down in hard, hungry strokes that made the couch creak and Yunho's head fell back, fingers digging into your hips as he begged, "Take it, fuck, take all of me."

Your pace grew frantic, pounding yourself onto him with wet, slapping sounds filling the air. Each descent stretched you perfectly, his dick hitting deep. Pleasure coiled tight and then snapping. You cried out as you squirted hard around him, hot fluid gushing over him and soaking his lap and the sight undid him. Yunho flipped you in one swift motion, laying you back on the cushions and grabbing your legs to fold you in half, your ankles at his shoulders as he sank back inside you with a groan, thrusts starting slow and deliberate, building in force with every roll of his hips. “You're mine… I'm yours… Fuck…" The words came out strained as he watched your face, then looked down between your bodies.

The sight of you creaming his dick made him moan louder and pick up the speed, pounding into you relentlessly. "Say it… say you're mine." You were a trembling mess beneath him, words fracturing on your tongue. "I… I… I'm…" Yunho saw you unraveling and thrust harder. "I know baby… fuck you feel so fucking good." You sobbed his name, body locking up as your orgasm ripped through you, clenching around him, screaming as you squirted again, spraying between you.

Yunho followed right after, pounding through your climax before burying himself to the hilt, pulsing deep inside you, flooding you with thick ropes of cum that overflowed and leaked out around his dick. He stayed pressed there, grinding through the aftershocks, filling you until it was dripping down your ass onto the couch.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

A couple hours later, the apartment is so quiet it almost feels unreal. No tension. No confusion. No years of unresolved feelings hanging over every conversation. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional clink of a spoon against ceramic as you stand at the kitchen island wearing one of Yunho’s oversized shirts that hangs halfway down your thighs. The sleeves swallow your hands every time you reach for your cereal.

Across from you, Yunho leans against the counter in nothing but boxers, absently eating from his own bowl. It’s ridiculous. After everything that happened. After years of pining. After confessions and tears and fucking on the couch then again in the shower after finally getting everything out in the open. This is what you’re doing. Eating cereal. The realization makes you snort into your spoon and Yunho immediately looks up. “What?”

You shake your head. “No. It’s just…” A laugh escapes you. “We finally admit we’re in love with each other and somehow we’re standing in the kitchen eating Lucky Charms.” Yunho glances down at his bowl then back at you. “It’s a very emotional cereal.” You stare at him and he stares back. And then you both lose it. The laughter comes easier now. The kind that leaves your stomach hurting and feels like relief. When it finally settles, Yunho shakes his head and points his spoon at you. “By the way.”

You narrow your eyes immediately. “Whenever someone starts a sentence like that, something annoying follows.”

“You really thought making me jealous was a good plan?”

You groan. “There it is.”

“No, seriously.” He sets his bowl down. “I need to understand.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“You absolutely do not.”

Yunho is already smiling. That dangerous smile that means he’s enjoying himself. “You knew I was coming home and thought, You know what’ll fix this situation? Emotional devastation.”

“I was twenty five and stupid.”

“Five months ago.”

“Details.”

He lets out a bark of laughter and you try not to smile and fail miserably. “Do you know what I did after that?” he asks and your grin fades slightly. “No.”

“I sat in my room for three hours.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“Three.” He holds up three fingers. “Hours.”

“Yunho…”

“I ate an old bag of chips because i didn’t want to leave my room and I’m pretty sure they were stale.”

You choke on your cereal. “No, you didn’t.”

“I absolutely did.”

“Oh my God.”

“And then I convinced myself I was being ridiculous because you were allowed to date whoever you wanted.” The admission is casual. Like he’s only comfortable saying it now because everything’s already out in the open. And something soft settles in your chest. Because suddenly that memory looks completely different. Not from your perspective. From his. A man hopelessly in love with his best friend trying to pretend it didn’t hurt.

Your expression must change because Yunho notices immediately and his own smile softens. The teasing disappearing. “You know,” he says quietly, “I think I would’ve told you eventually.” You lean against the counter. “Yeah?” He nods. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Okay, definitely.”

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

The sudden knock at the door makes both of you freeze. You glance at the microwave clock. 11:47 pm. Yunho looks at you. “Who the hell is that?” you ask.

“No idea.”

Another knock echoes through the apartment and you set your spoon down while Yunho pushes away from the counter. “Maybe Wooyoung got drunk and lost his key to his place again.” You snort as Yunho heads toward the front door and he opens it. And immediately stops.

You notice it before you even see who it is. The way his shoulders lock. The way his expression changes.

“What?”

Yunho doesn’t answer as you walk around the kitchen island. Then you see her. Chloe. Standing in the hallway. “Oh.” Chloe shifts her weight, nose turned up at you. Yunho still hasn’t said a word as she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Maybe I overreacted.”

Yunho blinks. “Chloe…”

“No, let me finish.” She holds up a hand. “And maybe I was kind of a bitch.” You cross your arms. Kind of? “Maybe I shouldn’t have said all that stuff.” Yunho opens his mouth again but Chloe keeps going. “And I get why you left suddenly earlier today.”

Yunho’s brows furrow. “What?”

Chloe sighs dramatically. “I mean… obviously you were nervous.”

You nearly choke on a laugh. Oh she has no idea.

“Nobody leaves mid going down on someone unless they’re nervous.”

Yunho looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else. And before either of them can continue, you make a decision. You walk straight across the room and Yunho barely has time to register what’s happening before you’re standing beside him. Then closer. Then somehow even closer than that as you loop an arm around his and Yunho immediately knows you’re about to cause problems. The grin on your face gives it away.

“Sorry, Chloe.” Both of them look at you as you smile sweetly. “Yunho’s on a new diet.”

Chloe blinks in confusion. “A diet?”

“Yeah.” You nod completely serious. “It’s me.” The silence that follows is magnificent. For one glorious second, Chloe’s brain visibly buffers. Then realization hits and her eyes widen as your smile grows.

Yunho makes a strangled noise beside you that sounds suspiciously like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Are you….”

You gently push the door shut. “Have a good night, Chloe.” You stand there with your hand on the doorknob, looking very pleased with yourself. While behind you, Yunho is completely quiet until you turn around and then he is bent over laughing. Not a polite laugh. Not even a chuckle. But full on losing it. “Oh my God.”

You point at him. “She showed up uninvited.”

“I know.”

“And I handled it.”

“You absolutely handled it.”

You try to maintain your dignity but fail immediately when he starts laughing harder. “You called yourself a diet.”

“It was funny.”

“It was.”

“It was hilarious.”

Yunho wipes at his eyes still laughing. Then he looks at you and the amusement softens into something warmer as he shakes his head, smile pulling at his mouth. “God, I love you.”

And for the first time in years, neither of you has to pretend that those words mean anything less than exactly what they do right now.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The penthouse smelled like vanilla and warm peach the second the elevator doors opened. Jay loosened his tie with two fingers, briefcase in the other hand, still wearing the same charcoal suit he’d worn through three meetings in Busan this morning. He’d cut the trip short the moment the institutional email popped up on his phone: Heat Leave Request – Approved. Employee: Park Y/N, HR Director. Start date: immediate.

He almost laughed in the middle of the investor dinner. He had your cycle synced on his private calendar—had for two years now—and according to it, you still had nine days. Either your body had decided to rebel, or the stress of him being gone for a full week had pushed everything forward. Probably the latter. His omega didn’t do well when he left the city.

He kicked off his shoes at the genkan and padded across the heated floors in socks. The living room was dim, only the linear fireplace glowing low. Your nest had taken over half the sectional again: his navy cashmere cardigan, the oversized hoodie he wore on flight days, and the throw blanket from his side of the bed all arranged in a messy fortress. A half-drunk bottle of coconut water sat on the coffee table next to your company laptop—screen locked on the HR portal, of course.

Jay smirked. Even on heat leave, you couldn’t fully log off.

He walked down the hallway, following the thickened scent. The master bedroom door was cracked open. Inside, the smart blinds were closed, the room warmer than usual. You were curled in the middle of the bed wearing his white dress shirt from yesterday, sleeves too long, hem riding up your thighs. Your hair was messy, cheeks flushed, and you had one of his pillows crushed against your chest like it owed you money.

He set his briefcase down quietly.

You stirred, then cracked one eye open. The second you registered him standing there, your face twisted into pure exasperation and relief at the same time.

“Fucking finally,” you groaned, voice raspy. “Took you long enough, Park Jongseong. I submitted that leave at 9 a.m. and you still waited until 8 p.m. to show up?”

Jay felt the cuteness aggression hit him like a truck. That little scowl, the way you clutched his pillow tighter while scolding him—it was unfair how adorable you were when you were like this. He had to physically stop himself from diving onto the bed and squeezing the life out of you.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, trying to look calm even though his alpha instincts were screaming mine, safe, mine.

“I was in Busan closing the new HQ deal,” he said, lips twitching. “Then I get an official company email—institutional email, mind you—saying my own wife and Head of HR is taking sudden heat leave. I had your cycle on my phone, baby. According to my spreadsheet you still had nine days. I thought the system glitched.”

You snorted and rolled onto your back, throwing one arm over your eyes. “Your stupid spreadsheet doesn’t know shit. Stress pushed it early. And yes, I submitted it through the proper channel like a responsible employee. Didn’t want anyone thinking the CEO’s wife gets special treatment.”

Jay pushed off the doorframe and walked over, sitting on the edge of the bed. He brushed a strand of hair off your forehead, thumb lingering on your warm skin. The bond hummed between you—your low-level discomfort, the restless ache, the relief that smelled like honey once he was close.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, affection thick in his voice. “I have the best HR director in Seoul and she still fills out the form instead of just texting her husband ‘come home, I’m dying.’”

“Professionalism,” you mumbled, but you were already scooting closer, burying your face in his thigh. “Also I was mad at you for leaving me for a whole week. Figured you deserved the corporate notification.”

He laughed softly, the sound low and warm. God, he felt stupidly lucky. First year of marriage and he still caught himself staring at you like an idiot sometimes—his sharp, no-nonsense omega who ran his company’s people department with an iron fist during the day and turned into this pouty, nest-obsessed menace when pre-heat hit. He’d built three companies before thirty, closed nine-figure deals, but nothing made his chest feel this full like coming home to you.

“Alright, HR Director Park,” he said, sliding his hand under the shirt to rest on your bare stomach, palm warm and steady. “New plan. I cleared my schedule for the next five days. No calls, no Busan, no nothing. Tonight we’re doing the usual: shower, food, then I’m keeping you in this bed until you stop glaring at me.”

You peeked up at him, one eye narrowed. “You flew back early because of an email?”

“I flew back early because my wife needed me.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your mating mark, breathing you in. “And because I don’t trust anyone else to take care of you when you get like this. Not even you.”

You grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “sap” but you hooked your fingers into his belt loop and tugged him closer anyway.

Jay felt that familiar rush of protectiveness and pride. He already had tomorrow mapped out in his head: electrolyte drinks in the fridge, the weighted blanket charged, the new scent-diffuser pods he’d ordered from that boutique in Tokyo delivered by morning. He’d work from the home office if anything urgent came up, but mostly he’d just be here—monitoring your temperature, feeding you, keeping you grounded when the heat really crashed in.

“Missed you,” you admitted quietly against his leg.

“Yeah?” He smiled, soft and private. “Good. Because I’m not leaving this penthouse until you’re through it and back to terrorizing the interns again.”

Jay held you in his lap a moment longer, letting the bond settle between you. Your scent was thicker now, peach and vanilla edged with something hotter, almost feverish. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead and frowned.

“You’re burning up,” he murmured, thumb stroking your temple. “This is higher than your usual pre-heat. You were only at 37.8 last cycle. Right now you feel closer to 39.”

You shrugged weakly against his chest, but your fingers still clutched his shirt like you’d disappear if he let go. “Blame Busan. Or blame your stupid week-long absence. My body’s dramatic when you’re not here.”

He exhaled through his nose, half-worried, half-aroused by how needy you already sounded. The alpha in him liked it more than he’d ever admit out loud. Still, the worry won.

“I need to shower first,” he said, gently easing you back onto the pillows. “I smell like airport carpet and recycled air. Your nose is too sensitive right now—I’m not crawling into your nest smelling like that.”

You made a small, displeased sound but didn’t argue. Instead you burrowed deeper into his hoodie, pulling the collar up over your nose like it was the only acceptable scent in the universe.

Jay stood, already unbuttoning his dress shirt as he walked to the bathroom. He left the door open so you could still hear him—another small ritual you both liked during pre-heat. The sound of running water, the clink of his watch on the marble counter, the low rustle of clothes hitting the hamper. He scrubbed quickly but thoroughly, using the unscented body wash you kept for these days. No cologne. No hair product. Just clean skin and the faint cedar that was naturally his.

When he stepped out five minutes later, towel slung low around his hips, water still dripping from his dark hair, you were watching him from the bed. Your eyes dragged down his torso, lingering on the sharp cut of his abs and the faint V that disappeared under the towel. Even flushed and feverish, you managed to look greedy.

“Better?” he asked, voice low.

“Much.” You paused, then softer, almost shy: “Come here, alpha.”

That was the invitation he’d been waiting for.

Jay dropped the towel without ceremony and crossed the room, careful not to disturb the edges of your nest. He climbed onto the bed slowly, knees first, only sliding under the covers when he was sure he wasn’t crushing any of your carefully arranged layers. The moment he was close enough, you surged forward and pressed your entire body against his, face buried in the fresh scent of his neck.

“Fuck, you smell good,” you groaned, nose dragging along his collarbone. “Missed this so much.”

He wrapped both arms around you, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other sliding down to rest possessively over your hip under the dress shirt. Your skin was scorching. The fever really was higher than it should be this early.

“You’re too hot, baby,” he said, concern bleeding into his tone. He pressed his lips to your forehead, then your cheek, then the mating mark on your neck, tasting salt and vanilla. “I don’t like it. Did you eat today? Drink enough?”

You huffed a small laugh against his throat. “Yes, Dr. Park. I had the pineapple and two electrolyte packs like a good employee. Still feels like my blood is boiling though.”

Jay shifted so he could pull you half on top of him, your leg thrown over his thigh. The position let more of your skin touch his cooler body, and he felt the bond pulse with relief from your side. His own body reacted instantly—blood rushing south—but he kept his hips still. This wasn’t about that yet.

He ran slow, soothing strokes up and down your back under the shirt, fingertips tracing your spine. “Tell me what you need right now. Honest. No HR-professional filter.”

You were quiet for a second, then mumbled, “Just you. All of you. The bond feels… empty. Like there’s a hole where you’re supposed to be.”

The words hit him square in the chest. He tightened his arms, tucking your head under his chin. “I’m right here. Not going anywhere for the next five days. Phones are on Do Not Disturb. The company can burn for all I care.”

You let out a shaky breath that turned into a tiny laugh. “My CEO husband skipping work for my heat. HR is going to write me up.”

“HR can fight me,” he deadpanned, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I sign her paychecks.”

Another soft laugh from you, then you nuzzled closer, lips brushing his mating mark in return. The fever still worried him, but the way you melted against his chest, trusting and soft and his, made something deep in his alpha instincts settle. He reached over to the nightstand, grabbed the thermometer from the drawer, and gently coaxed it under your tongue.

“Open,” he ordered quietly. You obeyed with an eye-roll that lacked any real heat.

While it beeped, he kept rubbing slow circles on your lower back, occasionally letting his fingers dip just under the curve of your ass—possessive, but gentle. When it finally beeped, he checked the number and cursed under his breath.

“39.2. Yeah, we’re cooling you down properly tonight.” He set the thermometer aside and tilted your chin up so he could look at you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown with a mix of worry and hunger. “I’m going to take care of you. Shower again later if the fever spikes. Lots of water. My knot when you need it. Whatever you want.”

Your eyes fluttered, a fresh wave of slick warmth blooming between you at his words. You pressed your forehead to his. “I know you will. You always do.”

Jay kissed you then—slow, deep, and unhurried. Not frantic. Just full of that first-year-marriage devotion that still felt brand new and ancient at the same time. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

“My perfect omega,” he whispered.

Why were they acting like that anyway? You slowly grew to know some of them better over the years, through Jongho. You thought you had become friends at the very least.

Their reactions honestly had your skin crawling for a second. Their gazes felt more dangerous, like something... bad was about to unfold. It just felt off. You don't even want to find out what that something might be. More thoughts come swirling in your mind as the pit of anxiety in your stomach grows.

You put your hands deeper in the pockets of your warm jacket.

In your peripheral you see Jongho, your trusted friend of a couple years, turning his head towards you. His eyes undoubtedly trying to read the expression on your face. He clears his throat softly.

"So, still up for a study session tomorrow? A senior lent me some useful notes for our law class," He casually shrugs his shoulders. "I thought it might be nice to look through them together."

Finally, you turn your head to look him in the eyes. The sincerity on his face makes your heart skip a beat.

You sigh and give him a soft smile, "Yeah... I don't really have plans after class anyway. Thank you, Jjong."

He nods his head and gives you a small smile in return.

Flustered, you look away as you both keep walking, your arm still occasionally bumping into his. Except now, your nerves were settling down a bit.

Whatever happened back there, you were going to figure it out another time.

Your steps halt as you make it to the front door of your apartment building. You didn't live anywhere particularly big or fancy, but the place was livable enough and close to your campus. It also was the only place you could afford at the moment, you know, after...

Jongho is already moving closer before you finish that thought. He seems to think about his words carefully before he inhales.

"Look... I don't want to leave before making sure that you...," He looks away for a second, closing his eyes in thought before they settle on you again, his gaze more careful than before. "Do you want to talk about... do you want to talk? Yeah... just- catching up? If that's okay."

Your heart squeezes a bit at that. As much as you wanted to be left alone for the rest of the night, a caring Jongho was hard to push away.

You had learned that much in the short span of your budding friendship.

Still, you try to hide your expression, head hanging down, as you answer sharply, "Talk about what, Jongho? I mean, yeah that was weird and all your friends probably hate me or something,"

You dig for your keys as you keep rambling.

"Enough to not wanna have me in your house it seems-"

"Woah woah hey, that's not what happened-"

"Then WHAT happened? Jongho? Are you really going to tell me that we're all cool and chill with each other when they can't even stand to share snacks? Huh? When everyone acts so strange and secretive around me?" Jongho is stumped in silence, unsure of what to say. You think you might be overreacting at this point, but the moment your hand finds your keys, you reach for the door to unlock it.

Right when you're crossing the doorway, you hear his voice murmuring softly.

"See you in class tomorrow, don't forget your textbook."

You close the door before he has the chance to see your face.

Breathing out a strained sigh, you try to clear your head from all the confusion this night had brought along.

Your ears pick up the soft sound of footsteps walking away.

You didn't hold anything against Jongho. You didn't even know who you felt strongly against. Was it the guys? I mean, you've always just hung out casually, and they never did anything strange unlike today.

You take the elevator up to your floor and enter your room, tiredly tossing away your shoes.

Your gaze shifts to the cabinet on your right, upon a small and worn-out picture frame sitting on top. On the photo were two hugging children, surrounded by a man and a woman, all smiling happily for the camera.

You don't recognise that smile on yourself anymore. Not since that dreadful night.

Bitter memories are quickly shoved away.

You step deeper into your empty living room.

Taglist ⟡ @emilysecresy

Erm-- so yeah this semester kicked my butt harder than I initially thought? Whoops! I guess it has been a couple months now, sorry for that! 🙇‍♀️

Thank you emily for being my first tagged :>

This was everything I could cook up in a short enough time, I hope I'll have more time to write during summer vacation🫣

Until then ♡