Sunie

He trusts you with his whole being. And he will gladly do things that you want. He likes your friends.

But there are two things he doesn't like.

1. You won't have sex with him no matter how much he asks

2. And you best friend Kim Sunoo

You keep telling him you're not ready to go that far yet and that he won't have to worry about Sunoo.

A part of him wants to believe the second one, hes quite confident about Sunoo's sexuality. He's "girly", likes pink, wears makeup. He has to be gay.

He gossips with you.

He holds onto you like you're the man.

The way he talks.

The way he walks.

He assumes you're also happy in your relationship. Maybe you're really not ready to get physically with him, you don't even kiss him on the lips. You told him you were a virgin and he wanted to respect your boundaries.

But there is something that he doesn't think you know, he's been cheating on you since the first time you told him no to having sex. Two weeks into your 8 month relationship.

He IS a good boyfriend, instead of forcing himself on you and begging, he has sex with your "friend".

As the days with you dragged on he felt as if something was off.

You started canceling plans with him to hang out with Sunoo. He would pay for your nails and instead of them being his favorite color they were Sunoo's. The clothes he payed for werent the things HE liked to see you in, they were things Sunoo liked.

Maybe you two had similar tastes.

Hes still sure sunoo likes men.

Well that was until today.

You hadn't been returning his calls or even opening his messages all day. He was going out of town with his family the next day and he wanted to tell you in person with the hopes you would have sex for the first time before he left.

He arrived at your house, he could see your bedroom light was on behind the curtain. He debated on knocking or just opening the door with the spare key you gave him for "emergencies". He chose the latter.

He quietly opened the door so he could surprise you. He could hear faint sounds of your TV play from upstairs and the hushed sounds of...groans?

As he quietly made it up the stairs the sounds got louder and louder l, maybe you were just watching a movie with an intimate sce-

"Fuck sunsun...so good"

That was your voice and you always called sunoo 'sunsun' maybe it was still your movie...

"Shit y/n... cant believe i was your first"

Thar voice... the one he has always hated since he first heard it. Was Kim Sunoo saying your name.

It can't be

The door to your room was cracked open, light from your room spilled into the hallway. He crouched on the floor and crawled to your door as to not make noise. Looking through the crack his heart fell.

You and Kim Sunoo, the man you told your boyfriend not to worry about... were fucking on your bed.

The mix of your moans and his whimpers were almost deafening

"Shit sunsun why didn't we do this sooner" you moaned while throwing your head back and grabbing his hand to play with your bare tits. His other hand was occupied with playing with your cute clit

"Please break up with him -fuck so tight-" he removed his hand from your sopping clit to rub your sore thigh

"Be mine in every way pretty, faster, fuck yourself faster. He whined between gasps. His orgasm was creeping up on him but he wanted to wait for you.

"Yes yes fuck yes sunny -im gonna cum, kiss me again" Sunoo sat up from the bed and smashed his lips onto yours, he licked your bottom lip, asking for approval, which you allowed.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you impossibly closer. The feeling of your slick warm skin against his was euphoric.

Your hips were getting sloppy, your slick was gushing into his lap and around his dick.

"Cum with me pretty, please I want it so bad...God you feel so good"

"I'm gonna cum, im gonna- cumming!" You nearly screamed, your orgasm hit you like a train. Your new nails that your current boyfriend paid for raked down Sunoo's back.

Your nails were Sunoo's favorite color and the same design he showed you.

"Let me cum in you please...oh god" you couldn't speak only vigorously nodded your head yes. Sunoo came with a sharp gasp and his body tensed then relaxed.

You felt thick ropes coat your insides. You both let out gasps and whines as you lifted off of him.

He watched has his release dripped down your thighs and on his pelvis and stomach.

Your boyfriend debated on just leaving and not confronting you two

Sunoo pulled on his boxers while you pulled on the lingerie dress your boyfriend bought you, once again in Sunoo's favorite color

He pulled up your panties to keep his release from spilling more. He pressed deep kisses from your collarbone and up to your lips, the same lips your own boyfriend couldn't kiss.

Sunoo laid back down on the bed and pulled you too him.

"Are you gonna just sit in the hallway or are you gonna come in?"

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice you and sunoo could see him from the crack in the door.

You boyfriend shot up from the floor and barged in. Before he could say anything, you cut him off

"I knew you were cheating on me with Min, she told me. I really wasn't ready to go it with you yet but you just couldn't take it and had to get it from her." You didn't look mad. Maybe it was because sunoo was with you.

"I thought he didn't like women like this" he pointed at sunoo, gesturing to his arm around your waist and in the breast of your dress

"I dont like women... I loooove them. And I loooove this one the most" Sunoo dragged out the word and kissed up your neck. You quietly moaned and tilted your head to allow him more access.

"How long?"

"Guess"

"Why him?"

"I love him"

You never told your boyfriend you loved him, you weren't ready.

Both him and sunoo were shocked to hear you say it

"I broke up with you awhile ago but I guess you never saw it, your stuff has been outside for days"

Your "boyfriend" didnt get another word out before you turned back to sunoo, making out with him.

He slammed your door and ran out of your house and just like you said, his things were outside in bags.

Days after the incident your now ex got a notification from your private story

"Check your hood" captioned on a picture of you and sunoo in your bed, clearly taken from that day

He rushed out to his car and lifted the hood, under it was an envelope

He ripped open the the letter and in it were two pictures, one was a picture of him and Min from the first night he cheated on you and it was dated.

The other was a picture in the same intimate position him and min were in but it was you and sunoo. Something in him told him to flip it over. The photo was dated with the same month and day as the other photo and it was captioned

"He was the guy you should have worried about"

Ir de vacaciones con tu pareja es lo mejor que puedes organizar, manejar juntos por la carretera escuchando música y cantando a todo pulmón o simplemente charlar entre los dos, una intimidad mucho más amplia que cualquier cosa.

Sunoo y su novia finalmente disfrutarían de sus vacaciones de verano, luego de un año lleno de trabajo, pero la recompensa estaba ahí, un pequeño viaje al mar en carretera. Sunoo manejaba la mayor parte del tiempo, mientras su novia le contaba algún chisme del trabajo sin sentido, pero Sunoo amaba escucharla hablar sin parar.

La noche empezaba a caer por la carretera, observando a un costado el atardecer, se detuvieron incluso para tomar algunas fotos y seguir rumbo a su destino. Pero no contaban con que la oscuridad les haría difícil el trabajo de manejar seguros. Llevaban horas manejando, la música suena de fondo, la neblina empezaba a complicar el camino. El cansancio empezaba a pesar, pero también las ganas de llegar a su destino se hacían interminables.

Pequeños gestos de complicidad. Ella posa una mano sobre su rodilla mientras seguía manejando, se echaron unas miradas de reojo bajo las luces del auto en la oscuridad de la noche y la fría carretera, el deseo latente de "ya querer llegar" a la cama y descansar.

El aire acondicionado del auto se siente glorioso después de horas de asfalto durante el calor de la tarde de verano, pero el cansancio ya pesa en los hombros de Sunoo. Ella, siempre serena, le acaricia la nuca y le sugiere parar por su seguridad. Con miedo por la nula vista que tenían decidieron parar en un hotel que casualmente encontraron en el camino, cerca de la entrada a un pueblito de pocos habitantes. Coinciden que es peligroso seguir manejando de noche, ven un letrero de luces de neón parpadeantes.

Al estacionar y entrar al lugar, se dan cuenta de que no es un hotel turístico. Hay ventanas polarizadas, un estacionamiento subterráneo y un letrero que indicaba que se paga por horas, una vibra un poco más atrevida o desgastada. Ambos se miran y se ríen. Ese toque de "clandestinidad" o de estar haciendo algo fuera de su zona de confort enciende una chispa de inmediato.

Al entrar a la recepción, se encuentran con una mujer de mediana edad, la dueña tal vez, con cara de haberlo visto todo, mascando chicle mientras leía una revista.

—Buenas noches. Solo queremos una habitación para pasar la noche, nos vamos temprano, en cuanto amanezca —dice él, sacando la billetera de manera práctica y decidida.

La encargada los mira de arriba abajo, la ropa cómoda de viaje, las ojeras, pero también nota la forma en que ella se apoya con total naturalidad contra el costado de él, y cómo él le pasa un brazo por su cintura de forma protectora y mimosa. La mujer suelta una risita ronca mientras les entrega una llave.

—Apenas amanezca, ¿eh? Claro... —dice con ironía—. En mis quince años aquí, nunca he visto que alguien venga a un motel solo a dormir. ¿Quién vendría a un motel y no tendría sexo? Es casi un pecado.

Entran al cuarto. Tiene la estética típica: luces cálidas, tiras neón color rojo por alrededor de la cama, la misma siendo de un tamaño grande, incluso más que una matrimonial y un espejo estratégicamente colocado detrás del cabecero. Un jacuzzi dentro del cuarto de baño, y una caja con condones de diferentes marcas, características y sabores. El ambiente invita a todo menos a dormir.

Marcado un contraste entre la frialdad de la noche afuera y el calor de la habitación.

Ella se sienta en el borde de la cama, se quita los zapatos estirando las piernas entumecidas y suelta una risita suave, recordando las palabras de la recepcionista. Sunoo, que ya se había quitado su suéter, se acerca por detrás mostrando su lado más empalagoso, la abraza por la espalda y le esconde el rostro en el cuello, llenándola de besos tiernos pero firmes por la piel tensa de su novia.

—Así que... ¿un pecado? —susurra ella, girando un poco la cabeza para mirarlo con esos ojos tranquilos que a él tanto lo desarman.

—Bueno, cariño... sabes que odio dejar las cosas a medias —responde Sunoo con esa sonrisa decidida, tomando el control de la situación— Y no queremos ser la excepción de la regla de esa mujer, ¿o sí?

El alivio de por fin estirar las piernas se transforma rápidamente en tensión física y pesada. Sunoo decide que debe toma la iniciativa, aprovechando que están en un lugar donde "nadie los conoce".

Sunoo continúa besando por alrededor de su cuello, dejando rastros pequeños de saliva por donde puede sentir su pulso, el cual había empezado a subir de ritmo. Descendió sus labios a sus hombros semi descubiertos por una camiseta de tirantes.

— Sun…

Sunoo se movió, rodeando la cama para ahora encontrarse frente a ella, la abrazó por la cintura y besó sus labios. No fue un beso apresurado. Fue uno lento, profundo y cargado del deseo que poseían por el otro, pero también de una deliciosa anticipación. Sunoo inclinó la cabeza para profundizar el ángulo, atrapando su labio inferior entre los suyos con una suavidad que la hizo estremecer antes de mordisquearla levemente con los dientes y sonreí sobre sus labios. Sus manos, que se encontraban protectoras en su cintura, subieron por su espalda, viajando por la línea de su columna atrayéndola aún más a él hasta que no quedó espacio entre sus cuerpos.

Ella, serena incluso en medio de la creciente tormenta de sensaciones y del calor que aumentaba en todas las partes de su cuerpo rodeó el cuello de Sunoo con sus brazos, entrelazando sus dedos en su cabello. Correspondió al beso con la misma intensidad, abrió sus labios para invitar a su lengua, mezclando el sabor a café amargo que había tomado horas atrás junto con el dulzor que siempre lo caracterizaba a él por los caramelos que comía durante el viaje.

El calor de la habitación empezaba a sentirse sofocante, Sunoo se separó un poco, solo lo suficiente para mirarla a los ojos, los cuales se veían nublados por el deseo, sus labios húmedos y ligeramente hinchados. Ambos sonrieron.

— Demasiada ropa — susurró Sunoo contra su boca, su aliento acariciando su piel.

Sunoo bajó una de sus manos hasta el borde de su camiseta de tirantes. Ella, entendiendo la intención, levantó ligeramente los brazos. Con un movimiento experto, él deslizó la prenda hacia arriba por encima de su cabeza, revelando su torso. Sus ojos se fijaron en ella con una mezcla de adoración y posesividad que la hizo sonrojar ligeramente, no de vergüenza, sino más bien de placer.

Sus manos, cálidas y firmes, volvieron a su piel desnuda, acariciando sus costillas y subiendo hasta sus hombros. Ella llevó sus manos al pecho de él, sujetando la tela de su camiseta por un momento antes de imitar su gesto. Sus dedos rozaron su piel mientras subía la prenda, sintiendo la tensión de sus músculos bajo su tacto. Él se dejó llevar, disfrutando de su iniciativa, hasta que ambos quedaron con el torso desnudo.

Sunoo la empujó suavemente hacia atrás haciéndola caer sobre el colchón con un suspiro. Antes de que ella pudiera reaccionar, él ya estaba sobre ella, atrapándola entre sus piernas con su cuerpo pesado encima. El espejo detrás del cabecero reflejaba la imagen de sus cuerpos entrelazados, una imagen que Sunoo no pudo evitar admirar por un momento antes de volver a centrar toda su atención en ella.

Volvió a presionar sus labios esta vez en un beso más fogoso y desesperado, rozando y generando mucha fricción entre sus cuerpos. Ella bajó sus manos por su cadera y buscó con los dedos el botón de sus pantalones vaqueros. De forma torpe lo desabotonó, intentando jalar y bajar la prenda. Sunoo rio levemente.

— ¿Mi pequeña princesa quiere desnudarme?

Ella asintió. Se reincorporaron un poco para que ella le bajará los pantalones a la mitad de sus muslos junto con los boxers. Llevó la mano al pene arqueado de su novio, este estremeciéndose sobre el tacto, Sunoo acaricio su cabello y suspiró.

— Hazme sentir bien, solo como tú sabes hacerlo mi princesa.

Ella lo masturbó, moviendo su mano por arriba y abajo en toda la longitud venosa y dura, presionó en la base y acaricio con el pulgar la punta, provocando que Sunoo gimiera y tirara su cabeza hacia atrás.

De un movimiento Sunoo quedó acostado sobre las sábanas y ella apoyada con las rodillas alrededor de sus pies, dejó un camino de besos por su abdomen y pelvis hasta llegar a su pene, lo metió sin apuro en su boca, cubriéndolo con la calidez de sus mejillas, recorrió con la lengua todo lo que podía mientras Sunoo empujaba levemente de su cabeza hacia abajo, se retiró un poco solo para lamer y chupar el glande, acción que le provoco al chico un temblor junto a un jadeo. Nuevamente introdujo el pene hasta el fondo de su garganta, respirando por la nariz para no ahogarse. Sus movimientos eran acompañados por las ligeras embestidas que realizaba Sunoo con las caderas y las caricias en su cabello.

— Cariño… voy a…

Ella no se apartó, masturbó la base con su mano mientras seguía bombeando en su boca, recorriéndolo con la lengua mientras la saliva se escapaba por sus comisuras. Sintió el cuerpo de su novio tensarse bajo suyo y entonces Sunoo presiono su cabeza hasta el fondo, sujetándola mientras descargaba su orgasmo en su garganta, ella lo tragó por completo y luego se apartó con la respiración agitada.

Sunoo no esperó mucho tiempo para volver a buscar sus labios, mezclando su propio sabor en su boca. Volvió a recostarla en la cama, esta vez boca abajo. Coloco una almohada debajo de sus caderas para elevarlas y entonces el primer lengüetazo llegó. Ella suspiró y enterró el rostro en la almohada. Sunoo devoraba de ella como si hubiesen pasado años separados, recorría con su lengua todos los espacios de su coño y se detenía donde sabía que le gustaba, conocía cada detalle de su novia y sabia a la perfección dónde y cómo tocar.

Introdujo su lengua en su interior, embistiendo un poco mientras que con sus dedos frotaba su clítoris. Ella lloriqueo e intento apartar su mano, Sunoo no se lo permitió y le lanzó un golpe en el trasero.

— No intentes detenerme, princesa

Con su mano libre sujetó de sus muñecas, inmovilizándola. Continúo comiendo de su coño incluso cuando un gemido alto acompañado de pequeñas patadas al colchón le avisaron que se correría. Y lo hizo, y Sunoo bebió de ello hasta la última gota, succionando violentamente de su clítoris, dejándola exhausta y adolorida.

Apartó el rostro de sus muslos solo para colocar la punta de su pene en la entrada.

— ¿Lo quieres? — Preguntó Sunoo en un tono burlón.

— Maldita sea Sun, sabes muy bien la respuesta

El chico rio, metiéndose en ella despacio hasta que sus caderas presionaron su trasero. Ambos gimieron, Sunoo apoyando una de sus manos en su espalda baja comenzó a moverse dentro y fuera, con un ritmo tranquilo pero cada vez que rebotaba dentro provocaba que ella gimiera. Con su otra mano buscó la de ella, la acarició y apretó sobre la cama. Aumentó el ritmo poco a poco, cada vez hundiéndose con más fuerza, su labio inferior ya se encontraba casi morado por la fuerza con la que se estaba mordiendo, y ella era un manojo incontrolable de ruidos sucios. En un momento Sunoo sujetó su cabello en una coleta, apartándoselo del rostro y jaló de ella, arqueando su espalda y separando su pecho de la cama.

— Mierda, Sunoo... Sun…

— ¿Uhm? Dime princesa…

— Ma-más…

Pegó su espalda con su pecho y empezó a penetrar más rápido, con su mano buscó su clítoris y lo masturbó con rapidez, ella gimió fuerte ante el estímulo y sus piernas comenzaron a perder el equilibrio. La folló por unos minutos más hasta que casi simultáneamente llegaron a sus orgasmos, primero ella, cediendo ante el cansancio quedando nuevamente acostada en la cama, y luego Sunoo, embistiendo por última vez mientras se vaciaba en su interior, llenándola con su semen.

Pasarón los minutos, Sunoo no se movió de su interior, pero si había relajado el agarre en su cadera, le estaba dejando varios besos por la espalda y lo poco que podía alcanzar de sus mejillas.

— ¿Todo en orden? — Preguntó restregando su rostro por su cuello.

— Sip… — Respondió ella, con la respiración aun intentando normalizarse.

— Que bueno… Porque no tenía pensado detenerme aún.

Al final, cumplieron con la promesa de irse al amanecer, pero en definitiva durmieron mucho menos de lo que planearon.

requests open / solicitudes abiertas

KIM SUNOO has never truly identified as a man, not in the way society tries to define it.

He was born with what people like to label as "male," but the label never felt like it belonged to him. He's always been one of the girls. Not because he was trying to be anything other than himself, but because that's where he belonged, where he felt seen, understood, and safe. There's no pride in masculinity for him, no comfort in aligning with a category that has done nothing but let him down. Whatever was hanging between his legs didn't mean he owed anything to the idea of manhood, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start pretending it did.

And yet, for all his clarity, all his softness, all his truth—Sunoo, no matter how sharp his wit or clever his comebacks, keeps getting cheated on. It used to be just the straight boys he rolled his eyes at, but the betrayal has evolved. Gays aren't safe anymore either. There's no longer a clean line between "they'd never" and "they did." Gay, straight, bi, whatever — the problem is not orientation, it's the universal mediocrity of modern manhood. There's a plague of emotional negligence infecting them all. He trusted boys who called him beautiful, who knew how to flirt over text, who said "I'm not like the others" — and then turned out to be exactly like the others, but with worse excuses!

And still, the question haunts him: Why? Why does it keep happening? Why do they always cheat? What is it about commitment that scares them so much? He's been good. He's been better than good! He listens, he nurtures, he gives. He doesn't ask for much. Is that really too much? Because it feels like no matter how much effort he puts in, no matter how present he is, no matter how he softens himself to make space for someone else, it never ends with someone choosing him back. The worst part is how often he wonders if it's his fault—if maybe he's just not enough. Not hot enough, not loud enough, not strong enough, not whatever version of "desirable" men have invented that week. It eats at him.

"Good thing you broke up with him. He's not better for you, anyways." Sunoo rolled his eyes, brushing his hair back as he stared blankly at the colorful crochet pieces arranged neatly in front of him. They were at the National Art Celebration, wandering through the Art Museum's marketplace.

He didn't respond to his friend's comment. What was there to say?

His fingers hovered over a small adorable crochet strawberry keychain, the kind of thing he'd usually buy without hesitation but he didn't pick it up, because his mood didn't match the softness in front of him. It hadn't even been a full week since everything crashed. His ex had been sleeping with more than just one person behind his back. Sunoo had confronted him head-on, shaking with anger, and left. The next day, he was at a clinic, filling out forms with numb fingers, waiting for results that thankfully came back clean. Still, the damage wasn't something that a negative result could fix.

"I hope he chokes on his small dick and dies," Sunoo muttered under his breath, not even trying to sound playful about it. He turned from the crochet booth and walked a few steps over to the next one, where rows of stickers were arranged neatly across a dark velvet cloth.

His lips twitched slightly as he noticed a sticker of a cat holding a cigarette in its mouth. The drawing was a little messy nothing like the soft pastel style he usually liked. The rest of the stickers shared the same energy—guitars, ghost-like figures, strange shapes in heavy red and black tones. The entire table had a darker, rougher feel to it, but instead of pushing him away, it pulled him in. Something about the way the lines were drawn, the way the art didn't try to be friendly, and it felt honest, that honesty intrigued him. He picked up the cat sticker, turning it slightly under the light. "This is so cute. Are you the artist?" he asked, glancing up at the boy behind the table.

The boy shook his head with a small grin. "Thank you, but no. I'm just her cousin. She went to grab some food. I'm babysitting her table for now."

Sunoo nodded, eyes still scanning the stickers laid out in front of him. He wasn't even sure where he'd put them if he bought any—his laptop was already full, his tumbler too—but something about them felt worth having. Maybe he just wanted to support someone who clearly put effort into making something different. Without thinking too much, he picked out five more, dropped a bill in the little payment box, and gave a quick thank you before stepping back into the flow of the crowd.

"I'm gonna get the car. Just wait here. The parking lot's, like, so far and it's insanely hot," his friend said, already fanning her face with a brochure as she walked away. Sunoo just gave her a lazy nod and stayed in the shade, sipping his strawberry soda and lightly tapping the tip of his shows against the concrete to keep himself distracted.

It was Saturday, supposed to be relaxing day, but Sunoo's mind didn't know how to slow down. The breakup still clung to him, but even beyond that, the stress of his return demo for nursing school kept replaying in his head. It was getting close, and he still didn't feel ready. His eyebags were starting to sink into his face again, darkening with every late night he spent crying or spiraling in bed, wondering how things managed to fall apart this fast. He'd thought about going out again, just to dance, to pretend, to flirt with someone but he already knew it wouldn't help.

Just as he was about to take another sip from his drink, he froze. His nose twitched — Was that... cigarette smoke? Sunoo immediately grimaced, pressing his fingers over his nose and mouth. What the hell? Who the fuck smokes around here? The whole place was filled with kids and art booths, and there was a giant NO SMOKING sign that was printed in bold red letters, stuck on a wall not even ten steps away. His eyes scanned the shaded rest area until they landed on the source.

There you were—sitting alone on the bench with one leg drawn up, smoke curling lazily from your lips, completely unbothered.

"The fuck?" he muttered, eyes narrowing as another wave of smoke drifted toward him, already starting to irritate his throat. He wasn't trying to start anything, but the longer he stood there, the more it felt like the smoke was reaching out, wrapping around his skin, sneaking into his lungs, clinging to his clothes. He was already dealing with a bad day, and now this?!

You exhaled again, your gaze flicked toward him, catching the look he gave you but you didn't react. If anything, you just blinked, relaxed, fingers still holding the cigarette loosely between them.

Sunoo stood there, clearly expecting you to look guilty or maybe at least pretend to care, but when you didn't, he clicked his tongue in frustration and glanced at the sign again, like pointing it out. "Do you not see the sign?" he said, irritation in every word. "This is a public area, kids are here, and secondhand smoke—do you even know it's worse than smoking yourself? God, the sign is literally right there. It's huge."

You looked at him again, blinking like you didn't quite catch what he was saying. Your hand, holding the cigarette near your mouth, paused midair. Then, slowly, you turned your head to glance over your shoulder, as if making sure he was actually talking to you and not someone else behind the bench.

When your eyes met his again, they stayed on him a second longer. He stood there with a roughness that didn't match the soft features on his face. You let your gaze move over him without shame, noting the little details—the way his hair was clipped back by a cute pink clip, the pale tone of his skin that looked untouched by the sun, smooth, almost too perfect. His lips had a natural flush, a little swollen like he'd been biting them out of stress, and even with that annoyed look carved into his face, there was nothing harsh about him.

What a beautiful man, you thought, not even trying to hide it. You let the moment hang for a bit longer, then flicked the ash off the end of your cigarette with a small movement. Your voice was unbothered when you finally spoke. "You always pick fights with strangers, or am I just lucky today?"

He blinked, caught off guard by how casually you responded. "Start fights?" he repeated, eyes narrowing further. "You're the one breaking the rules. 'No smoking' doesn't mean smoke quietly. It means don't fucking smoke."

You took another drag without rush, then exhaled away from his direction, watching him. "Right. And you yelling about it in public—real mature. Definitely better than me just sitting here minding my own business."

Sunoo stepped forward slightly, jaw tightening. "You're not minding your business. That's the problem."

You shrugged, leaning back just a little on the bench, clearly not moved. "Then move somewhere else. No one's forcing you to breathe next to me. I don't fucking care."

You saw the way the color started creeping into the tips of his ears, how his hands curled into tight fists at his sides like he was holding himself back from saying something worse. He was clearly seething, barely keeping it together. You smiled to yourself then turned your head away to take another drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling softly from your lips.

"Bitch," you heard him muttered under his breath.

You turned your head back toward him, one brow lifting as you exhaled the smoke without rushing. "Excuse me?"

You started to shift, one foot planting on the ground like you were about to stand, but before anything else could happen, a small car pulled up right in front of you. Sunoo didn't waste a second. He walked straight toward it, yanked the passenger door open, and slipped inside as if the vehicle were his escape hatch. He slammed the door, and through the window, you could see the tension still sitting in his shoulders. But what caught your attention was how he didn't look away. Even as the engine came to life, even as the car rolled slowly forward, Sunoo kept his eyes locked on you. His glare was sharp and it's lingering.

You pressed your tongue into your cheek as you took another slow hit from the cigarette, still watching. When the car passed, you caught his reflection in the side mirror, and there he was—still glaring.

You flicked the smoke away from your face, the faintest smirk on your lips as the car disappeared down the road. Hah. He's such a pretty guy. You liked him already.

"Who's that guy?"

Sunoo didn't even try to hide his curiosity as he pointed across the room, eyes fixed on the one person who'd completely pulled his attention. The music was loud, bass thumping through the floor, and bodies moved around the house party in various stages of drunken celebration. It was supposed to be a simple gathering, just something to celebrate surviving midterms and their return demonstrations. He wasn't expecting anything wild tonight. Honestly, he'd shown up mostly out of pressure and to avoid looking like a killjoy. As someone in healthcare, he was all too aware of the risks, especially when it came to hookups. The rise of HIV cases was something that always lingered in the back of his mind, and the weight of what his ex put him through was still fresh. He wasn't exactly in the mood to relive that. But even so... looking didn't hurt, right?

"That's Park Sunghoon," someone answered beside him, casually sipping from their red cup. "Physical Therapy."

Sunoo's eyes narrowed slightly, studying the guy. He was leaning against the wall, laughing, drink in hand, head tilted just enough to show off a clean jawline and that effortless hair. "Does he have a girlfriend?" Sunoo asked, still watching.         His friend shrugged. "I don't know? Maybe? You interested? Go talk to him!"

Sunoo rolled his eyes and sipped from his drink. "I don't even know if he's into men." His friend leaned in, grinning. "Ngeh, I don't know either, but he looks like he's giving off some BL energy. Just try!"

Sunoo didn't respond right away, but his gaze drifted back to Sunghoon, eyes half-lidded from the buzz. There was something about him, the kind of guy who knew he looked good but didn't make a show of it. And okay, maybe there was something about the way he stood that didn't exactly scream masculine authority. There was a softness to it, or maybe just an openness that made Sunoo curious.

He tapped his fingers against his cup, considering. He wasn't looking for anything serious but after everything he'd been through, a little fun wouldn't hurt. And if Park Sunghoon happened to be fun and hot? Well... why the hell not?

With one final sip, Sunoo set his cup down and gave his friend a sly look. "Fine. I'll try."

He took a breath, adjusted his shirt, and began walking through the crowd, weaving past groups of loud classmates and half-finished games of beer pong until he finally reached the corner where Park Sunghoon stood. The table beside them was lined with vodka, soda, and mixers. Sunoo casually took his place beside him, pretending to look through the drink options while stealing a glance at the boy he'd just been staring at across the room.

Sunghoon turned his head slightly, noticed him, and smiled. He raised his cup. "Cheers?" he offered.

Sunoo smiled back, trying not to let it show how fast his heart had just jumped. He reached for a drink off the table, tapping his cup gently against Sunghoon's. "Physical Therapy?" Sunoo asked, trying to keep his tone light, confident and a little sweet.

"Yeah. Nursing?" Sunghoon replied smoothly, and when Sunoo nodded, something about the way Sunghoon smiled deepened, more focused now. That voice—fuck. Sunoo could already feel the heat crawling up his neck. His body wasn't even trying to be subtle about how attracted he was. And God, those hands—Sunghoon reached for the bottle of rum to refill his cup, and Sunoo caught a flash of the veins along his forearm, the easy flex of his wrist, the way his fingers moved with control. For a second, Sunoo lost the ability to form a proper thought. Break my bones. Please. I beg.

They were already halfway through the conversation, and Sunoo could feel himself falling a little too deep for comfort. Sunghoon wasn't just attractive—he was engaging in a way that didn't feel forced. He spoke with confidence in his voice, and Sunoo found himself drawn in with every word. It surprised him how someone could make something as dry as tendons sound this interesting, especially when he usually avoided any talk of lectures once he stepped out of school. But with Sunghoon, it felt different. His voice was soothing, and the way he explained things had a rhythm that made Sunoo want to listen, even if he already knew the topic.

"And you know the tendons that connect from the—" Sunghoon started, his fingers gesturing as he spoke.

Sunoo nodded along, genuinely interested, eyes fixed on him, but then, right in the middle of the sentence, Sunghoon stopped. His posture shifted, back straightening, and his eyes flicked past Sunoo's shoulder like something—or someone—had just pulled his attention. Sunoo frowned, eyebrows drawing together, expecting him to finish the sentence, but instead, he watched as Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, his expression softening in recognition, lips curving upward.

Sunoo glanced behind him, confusion setting in. Then Sunghoon cleared his throat, gave him a polite smile, and said, "Uhh, sorry. If you'll excuse me. Nice meeting you, Sunoo," before lightly tapping his shoulder and walking off.

Sunoo's mouth fell open, completely caught off guard. He barely had time to react before his eyes followed Sunghoon's retreating figure—and then he saw exactly where he was heading. Fuck?!

You were leaning casually against the wall near the hallway entrance, drink in hand, watching the whole interaction. You didn't look surprised to see Sunghoon making his way over. In fact, you barely blinked. The moment he reached you, your body turned just slightly to make space for him. Sunghoon leaned in, said something only you could hear, and your quiet laugh in response said everything else Sunoo didn't want to believe.

Sunoo blinked, chest tight. He could almost feel something short-circuiting inside his brain, like a wire snapping clean. His thoughts were a blur, but one thing was clear—you. His pulse quickened as his body processed the shift, his amygdala practically lighting up with one conclusion: you are a threat.

A threat to his night, his mood, his already bruised ego. God, how was it even possible for someone he'd only met twice to piss him off this much? The universe really had the audacity to let you show up again, and not just exist, but actively ruin his chances at getting laid. Because let's be real—he wasn't looking for love, just something to distract him, and now even that had been snatched by the same cigarette-smoking bitch who couldn't be bothered to respect a no-smoking sign?!

His friend appeared beside him, holding a fresh cup and scanning the room. "Hey, where'd Sunghoon go? You two looked like you were hitting it off."

Sunoo didn't turn to look at her. He just brought the rim of his cup to his lips, finished what was left in a single gulp, and slammed it back on the table. "He went to hell," he muttered. "With someone who clearly lives there." His friend blinked, confused. "Wait—what?"

Sunoo turned to her, face tight with a forced smile. "Don't worry about it. Just remind me next time I say I'm open to meeting new people—slap me."

He exhaled sharply as his eyes drifted back to where the two of you had returned from the hallway. And when he really looked—when he took in your outfit, the way you were dressed like you didn't give a single shit what anyone thought—he almost laughed out loud.

A strawberry shirt? Jorts? Those shoes? That's what Sunghoon left him for? Sunoo scoffed under his breath, shaking his head slowly, barely believing it. He looked down at himself—his carefully styled hair, his clean lines, and then back at you. "Seriously," he muttered, eyes still locked on you. "That's the one?"

He couldn't decide if he was more offended for himself or embarrassed for Sunghoon. Whether you were just a friend, a fling, or something in between, one thing was clear to him now: Park Sunghoon had no taste. And if he did, it was broken.

Anyway, there were plenty of fish in the sea. Sunoo wasn't going to waste his energy sulking over one guy, especially not if you were somehow involved. If Sunghoon had any sort of connection to you then Sunoo would rather tap out early and save himself the trouble. He had enough baggage without adding someone who came with your name attached.

At least, that's what he told himself.

But then again, Sunoo had also said there were so many fish in the sea—yet somehow, it felt like every damn fish was just swimming in circles around you. It was getting ridiculous. He wasn't being dramatic, either. There was always something—some random detail, some little coincidence, and suddenly, boom. You. Right there again.

Date number one: a gym instructor. Hot, yes, a little edgy, had that calm, slow-talking voice Sunoo secretly liked. Things were going okay, until the guy pulled out his phone to show pictures of his niece's birthday party and proudly pointed to a group photo. Sunoo was nodding politely, until his eyes caught on one specific person in the background, holding the cake and grinning. He blinked. Zoomed in. Yup. You. Holding a cake with your horrible strawberry tank top. Niece, cousin, whatever—you were related. Add to that the guy reeked of cigarettes the whole time, and Sunoo was done before dessert.

Date number two: a Med Tech student. Good on paper, clean cut, same healthcare background, probably understood his schedule and stress levels. Sunoo was really trying with this one. But on their second date, as they were walking to a café near the guy's family's shop, Sunoo noticed someone standing out front during a break—leaning against the wall, cigarette between your lips, looking bored out of your mind. You. Again. You even smirk at him! Sunoo didn't even finish the coffee. He went home and ghosted the guy the next morning.

Okay, maybe he was being petty. Maybe, in a community as tight as theirs, having overlap wasn't that deep. But could anyone really blame him? Sunoo could admit it—he was petty, fine. He could own that. His feelings were valid. He was the one showing up, putting in effort, trying to start something new while somehow tripping over you every single time.

And if anyone dared to question why he was so quick to shut people down the moment your name and face got involved, well—he'd like to point them toward basic psychology. According to research, the brain forms first impressions within seconds. These impressions are shaped by appearance, voice, body language, even scent—and they trigger implicit biases, unconscious reactions that color how we feel about someone before they even say a word. And what had his brain learned to associate with you? Cigarettes, interruptions, stolen men, smug grins, and the color strawberry.

So, yes. Sunoo was triggered. And he was allowed to be.

"Damn, my neck is killing me from all these hospital duties. I'm seriously craving mint ice cream right now," Sunoo groaned, letting himself collapse face-first into the couch at Jungwon's dorm. He had no energy left and zero motivation to head back to his own apartment. Everything hurt—his back, his neck, even his brain.

"I'm begging for a break," Jungwon said from his desk, not looking up from his laptop. "God, give me a date."

Sunoo's voice came out muffled, his face still buried in the cushion. "I'm fine with God not giving me a date as long as I get a decent eight hours of sleep."

"What happened with all those dates you went on?" Jungwon finally asked, turning slightly in his chair. "None of them worked out?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," Sunoo muttered, one hand waving in the air like he could physically dismiss the topic. He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Forget it. I'm going to grab ice cream before I start crying about my life again. Want anything?"

Jungwon leaned back and grinned. "Can you buy me some lube?"

Sunoo rolled his eyes so hard. "Get your own, freak."

He stood up, grabbing his wallet off the coffee table and brushing off invisible lint from his pants. He didn't even know if he actually wanted ice cream anymore or if he just needed an excuse to be alone for a bit. Either way, he needed air. And distance. And ideally, a world where you didn't exist in every corner of his social life.

But of course, fate had other plans—because who else would be behind the counter of the convenience store at 10:42 PM but you, punching in his order with that same lazy grin plastered on your face as your eyes dropped directly to the bottle of lube and box of condoms on the counter.

Seriously. How many fucking jobs did you have? Sunoo stared at you, disbelief turning to horror, then to full-blown irritation. "Can you not grin like that?" he snapped, arms crossed. "What happened to discrete and nonjudgmental service? I need to speak to your manager."

You tilted your head slightly and blinked at him with exaggerated innocence, hand pausing over the touchscreen like you were truly offended. The expression only made his eye twitch harder. "That's discrimination," he added, glaring. "I should be allowed to buy whatever I want without being mentally harassed by your face."

Your lips twitched. You tried to play it cool, but the smirk slipped out before you could stop it. There it was again—that look of yours, amused and smug. So ugly!

Honestly, you hadn't expected to see him again so soon. It was the third time now, and at this point, his dramatic reactions were starting to feel like a reward. The moment he walked through the door and made eye contact with you, something in you shifted—your lips curled up instinctively, and the weight of the day suddenly didn't feel so heavy.      "Huh?" you said innocently, your voice small as you tilted your head slightly, letting your bottom lip pout just enough to be annoying.

Sunoo looked like he was one breath away from combusting, especially when his eyes flicked to your mouth and you knew he caught the glint of the piercing on your lower lip, because his gaze lingered just a second too long before his face twisted in irritation.

"Huh?" he mocked, eyebrows raised and lips pushed out as he mimicked your expression, only to immediately roll his eyes so hard. Without another word, he reached across the counter and snatched the bag from your hands, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet. He slapped a $50 bill on the counter, pointedly avoiding your eyes.

"Keep the change and never show your face again," he snapped, already turning on his heel. "God, bye," he added with a dramatic flick of his head, tossing his hair back.

You barely held in the laugh bubbling up your throat. Cute! you thought, bracing your hands on the counter as your smile widened. "Enjoy your night, sir!" you called after him, loud and obnoxiously cheerful.

You caught the twitch of his shoulders as he froze for half a second at the door. Then, without turning fully around, he glanced at you over his shoulder, hand lifting to flash you a very clear middle finger before pushing the door open and disappearing.

You leaned back, shaking your head with a quiet chuckle. Yup. Definitely your favorite regular now.

With Sunoo buried in nonstop clinical duties, he was starting to believe that God had decided to personally test his patience. Every day was a cycle of waking up too early, surviving rounds with barely any caffeine, and crashing into bed with a brain too tired to think but still too anxious to sleep. If this was divine character development, he wanted a refund. But fine, he'd give credit where it was due. At least he wasn't in a relationship. He couldn't imagine juggling a partner on top of exams, hospital reports, and constant reminders of his nonexistent social life. That would've been a mental breakdown waiting to happen.

Sunoo still hated men or so he said. But hatred, as he often reminded himself bitterly, was a slippery slope. The more you hated, the more they crawled under your skin. And men, those confusing, beautiful disasters, were impossible to avoid. The way they smiled, the stupid flex of their arms when they weren't even trying, those veiny hands that somehow haunted his imagination late at night—ugh. It was criminal, really. He wasn't desperate, but he wasn't made of stone either. If he said he didn't miss at least a little action, he'd be lying.

So when Jake asked him to tag along to the university gym because he was meeting a friend there for a commission, Sunoo agreed—reluctantly at first. But the moment they stepped into the gym and his eyes landed on the group of basketball players practicing on the court, all thoughts of regret evaporated.

"I was waiting for my friend. Sorry to drag you into it. I have a commission with her, she told me to meet her here. Is that okay?" Jake asked, casually.

Sunoo could barely hear him over the internal scream in his head. Of course it's okay. It's so okay he might cry. His gaze was locked on one specific figure—Lee Heeseung, the captain of the university's basketball team, currently making shots. Sunoo's mouth may not have been literally on the floor, but it was dangerously close. His eyes followed every movement of how Heeseung's shirt clung to his back, how his arms flexed with every jump, how sweat dripped down his neck—

Jake nudged him. "You good?"

"Peachy," Sunoo replied, voice an octave too high as he cleared his throat. "Just... appreciating," his eyes scanned the gym, trailing slowly over the players until, inevitably, they landed on the captain, Lee Heeseung. Sunoo raised his hands vaguely, motioning toward the court as if trying to justify the way he was staring. "...physical education."

But of course, like in some movies he never signed up for, the metaphorical glass shattered the moment you appeared. Just walked right into his field of vision. The air shifted, his stomach dropped, and his brows furrowed. His expression twisted into something between disgust and disbelief as his arms dropped in surrender. What the hell were you doing here?! Oh God?! You and him are in the same university?!

And then, just as Sunoo thought the scene couldn't get worse, Jake stood up, grinning wide. "There you are!" he said before pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss on your cheek.

Sunoo's entire soul left his body. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Jake was gay—openly and proudly gay—and Sunoo, as judgmental as he sometimes got, couldn't help but squint suspiciously. Are you seriously friends with his friends? Because if anyone was giving homophobic vibes, it was definitely you. Sunoo blinked hard. The math wasn't mathing. Did Jake not feel the same tension he did? Oh no. Jake needed help. Jake needed saving. God, someone had to sit him down and explain a few things before it was too late.

"Oh! Meet Sunoo! He's my best friend from nursing."

And there it was—the inevitable moment where Sunoo had no choice but to lock eyes with you. The second your gaze met his, you smiled so sweetly it made his entire body crawl. You even added a little wave, like this was the friendliest encounter on earth, and not the fourth time you'd popped up in his life. Sunoo felt the twitch in his eye before he could stop it, jaw clenching as he forced the most plastic smile onto his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled with pure performance. He stood up, cheeks already aching from pretending, leaned in for a polite cheek-to-cheek like he wasn't imagining pulling your hair back in pure rage, and was immediately hit with a mix of cigarette smoke and YSL Libre perfume. Ugh.

Jake, completely oblivious to the silent war unfolding, beamed as he gestured between the two of you. "She's a fashion design major! Does commissions too—drawings, paintings, cakes, you name it."

Sunoo nodded stiffly, barely reacting. Inside, he was sighing so loud he could practically hear himself. As Jake went on, clearly proud to know someone like you, Sunoo watched you nod and smile with just the right amount of humility, your tone gentle, polite, soft—like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. This is fake. You're fake. This whole performance is fake. God, Jake deserves better friends. He forced another smile, barely hanging onto his sanity. Because the way you were looking at him right now and you knew he was crumbling inside was enough to make his blood boil.

And worst of all, you looked delighted about it. Bitch. You're a bitch. Sunoo didn't even try to be polite about it in his head anymore. He had fully accepted the fact that you existed in his life for the sole purpose of testing his patience.

But of course, it didn't stop there. Since Jake thought you and Sunoo were getting along just fine, he began inviting you everywhere. Lunch, coffee breaks, study sessions—any time he had a free hour, he'd text both of you like this was some little trio. Fuck him!

And every time you showed up, Sunoo could feel that familiar twitch start behind his eye, the one that pulsed when he was one annoyance away from losing it. Your voice would float into the conversation like you had no idea you were driving him slowly insane.

But the worst part? The absolutely most humiliating part? He was starting to notice things. Little details that stuck with him even though he never asked for them. You smoked Marlboro Reds, but you always kept a strawberry-flavored vape in your bag. You wore outfits like you just rolled out of a punk indie concert, all black with layered chains and boots that could kill a man, but he'd bet money your favorite color was red—based on the red phone case, the red liner under your eyes, the strawberry pins you sometimes wore on your bag. You had a piercing on your tongue—he found that out when you bit into a donut one afternoon and casually stuck your tongue out in surprise because of the powdered sugar.

He didn't mean to remember all of this. He didn't even talk to you. Not directly, at least. Every time Jake tried to bridge conversation between you two, it felt like some weird form of punishment. Sunoo would answer, you'd smile knowingly, and Jake would keep chatting like this three-way exchange wasn't slowly draining Sunoo's soul.

"Jake has a fear of needles, so maybe stop trying to convince him to get a piercing or a tattoo," Sunoo said, not even glancing up from his drink.

He hadn't meant to speak, but with Jake in the restroom and the silence between you two stretching, the words slipped out. His tone was calm but the way his fingers tightened slightly around his cup betrayed the irritation simmering under his skin.

You turned your head, raising a brow slowly as if deciding whether to entertain this or not. "Hmm? I didn't know we were handing out unsolicited advice now," you said, tilting your glass to make the ice clink. "Is that your subtle way of joining the conversation, Ddeuno?"

His jaw flexed the moment the nickname left your lips. He finally looked at you, eyes sharp. "It's not joining if I'm already in it. Jake was talking to both of us. And it's Sunoo. Not that hard."

You smiled, amused by the twitch in his expression. "Sure, Sunoo. But don't you think Jake's capable of making his own choices?"

"He is," he said, voice a touch tighter as he leaned forward and crossed one leg over the other. "Which is exactly why I know he wouldn't have asked if you didn't plant the idea in his head."

You rested your elbow on the table and glanced at him with casual ease. "I didn't plant anything. He saw my piercing and asked. Maybe you're just not used to people being curious about something you can't control."

He scoffed, shaking his head as he stirred his drink, the metal spoon tapping against ceramic. "Right, because nothing screams freedom of choice like peer pressure with a side of aesthetic superiority."

"I never pressured him," you said, eyes locked on his. "But if he wanted to try something new, I wouldn't stop him. You, on the other hand, sound like you'd tackle him to the ground before he could book an appointment."

Okay, fuck this. Sunoo's patience was thinning by the second, and he could feel the irritation rising and rising and rising! He hadn't come here to argue, but the way you kept smiling, like you knew how to push every single one of his buttons, made it impossible to let it slide.

He wasn't trying to control Jake. He was just looking out for him because someone had to. Sunoo had this belief, stubborn as it was, that people who covered themselves in piercings and tattoos didn't exactly value their skin the way they should. It wasn't about being judgmental, it was about keeping things clean, presentable, safe. Sure, he wouldn't tell strangers how to live their lives, but when it came to the people around him? The people he cared about? He preferred them untouched.

He turned to you again, eyes hard. "There's nothing wrong with wanting the people I care about to take care of themselves properly."

You didn't flinch, just tilted your head slightly, like you were waiting for more. "Tattoos and piercings aren't unhygienic if done right," you replied. "But sure, let's pretend this is about safety and not just your obsession with control."

Sunoo laughed under his breath, the sound hollow. "Yeah? And let me guess—you're the expert now because you sat through a couple needle sessions and watched some tattoo TikToks?"

You leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, gaze unshaken. "No. But I'm someone who understands that self-expression doesn't need your permission."

The tension in the air crackled. And just when it felt like one more word would tip things over the edge, Jake returned to the table, smiling. "Miss anything?" he asked, completely unaware.

You leaned back smoothly, picking up your drink like nothing happened. "Not a thing."

That was it. He couldn't keep letting this slide. As much as he tried to convince himself he was just being overprotective, he knew deep down he was past the line of tolerating your presence. You were a bad influence on Jake—he was sure of it—and sooner or later, someone had to say it. That someone was going to be him.

Later that day, when you'd left first and it was just the two of them walking toward the station, Sunoo finally spoke. "Do you... ever feel a certain vibe from her?"

Jake blinked, looking over at him with an innocent confusion that made Sunoo want to scream. "Huh? Vibes? What kind of vibes?"

Bitch vibes, Sunoo almost blurted out. He had to stop himself from saying it out loud. He cleared his throat, trying to sound more composed. "Just... like, the way she talks. She always has something to say, and it's never just casual. It's like everything's meant to get a reaction."

Jake tilted his head slightly, clearly trying to follow. "You mean, like, she's too witty?"

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. "No, like... she's too comfortable? It's weird. And I don't trust it."

Jake just laughed, brushing it off too easily. "She's just chill. That's how she is with everyone. She's a good person, Sunoo. You just haven't gotten used to her yet."

Sunoo sighed, irritated. "That's the problem. I don't want to get used to her. And maybe you shouldn't either." He let the word slipped on his mouth.

Jake glanced at him, and for the first time, his smile faded a little. "She's my friend. You're my friend. Just... try not to be mean, okay?"

Maybe he had sounded a little too harsh, a little too pointed—but it wasn't like he was being mean for the sake of it. Sunoo knew what it looked like, but deep down, it wasn't about jealousy or drama. He was just trying to protect something that mattered to him before it got tangled up in whatever messy situation. He didn't trust easily, and the way you walked into their lives set off every internal alarm. But Jake... Jake wasn't the type to see danger. Not like Sunoo did.

"Sorry," he said quietly, reaching out to gently hold Jake's hand with a small smile. Jake just nodded and gave his hand a soft squeeze in return, the silence between them filled with a quiet understanding even if they didn't see eye to eye on everything.

Meanwhile, from your side of things, things were quite different.

The more time you spent around Kim Sunoo, the more curious you became. You weren't really interested in men. They were too predictable, too performative, too eager to please and too quick to disappoint. They were fun, sometimes, but they didn't hold your attention. But Sunoo was something else. You didn't even notice when it started. Maybe it was the way he carried himself. Maybe it was the way he bit back when provoked, or how he tried so hard to hide that he cared too much about the people around him.

You'd seen beautiful people before. You'd had flings, hookups, distractions. But Sunoo... he stuck. You were clearly interested. and there were moments that he annoyed you, sure. Challenged you. Threw shade but he made your brain work. He made your skin itch in that specific way only people you couldn't quite figure out ever did. And fine, maybe it was because he looked a little like a girl. Soft skin, pouty lips, those lashes that curled perfectly for no reason. You couldn't stop looking at him.

Well, too bad for you, he didn't seem the least bit pleased with your presence. And honestly? The feeling was mutual. He had that almost condescending way of speaking that made everything sound like a warning label. Foul controlling mouth, always ready with a "don't do this," or a "you shouldn't do that." He was a walking killjoy wrapped in pretty skin, constantly policing the air around him like joy was something to be monitored.

It didn't make sense. How could someone so tightly wound be friends with someone like Jake, who floated through life like a balloon one gust away from flying into the sun? What were they even talking about when you weren't around? Did Sunoo lecture Jake on posture and caffeine intake? Did Jake actually listen?

"Are you getting along with Sunoo well?" Jake asked.

You paused mid-hit with your vape, the familiar strawberry taste lingering on your tongue as you raised your leg up onto the bench, shoulders lifting in a shrug. You exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift upward as you looked off to the side. "Define 'well,'" you murmured.

Of course, Jake would ask. And of course, Sunoo had probably said something. It was expected. That boy had a hard time keeping anything off his chest, especially when it came to people he clearly couldn't stand. Jake sighed, slumping back against the bench like your answer had physically disappointed him. "Aww, come on. I really want you two to get along," he muttered, pouting.

You glanced at him, the corner of your mouth pulling into a faint smirk. "Jake, I don't not get along with him. We just don't operate on the same wavelength." You watched as Jake's shoulders dropped a little, disappointment settling in. There was a pause, not long, but long enough for you to notice the way he kept looking at you like he was hoping for a better answer. So you gave him one, even if it came reluctantly. "He's interesting, though."

That made Jake perk up, turning to face you more fully, hope flickering back into his expression. "You think so?"

And with that soft look on his face, that typical sunshine that you could never seem to say no to, you found yourself giving in. Fine. The next time you saw Sunoo, you wouldn't provoke him. You'd leave his nerves alone for once, maybe even make an effort not to smell like smoke. You already knew that Sunoo probably hated the smell of cigarettes. The way he wrinkled his nose when you were near, how he subtly shifted his body away like he didn't want to breathe the same air, said more than enough.

He was the type who liked rules. Cleanliness. Probably thought smoking was a character flaw rather than a habit. So controlling. But if it meant keeping peace with Jake, you could give it a shot. And you really want to get along with  him, though. Not just a friend.

If men were animals, Sunoo would absolutely agree they were monkeys but honestly, even that felt unfair to monkeys. At least monkeys had a sense of community. They groomed each other, protected their own, had an instinct to care. Men? Men could barely carry a conversation without twisting it to revolve around themselves, like everything was orbiting their fragile egos. And what did it even say about him that he'd still actually tried to be patient with that last one? The man had poor communication skills, grammar that made Sunoo want to cry, a sense of humor so dry it could choke a cactus, and hygiene that was clearly not taught with enough urgency in his household. Sunoo had still shown up, been kind, understanding, even offered grace where he really shouldn't have.

And he got ghosted. After all that effort, after tolerating body spray that didn't cover the scent of unwashed laundry, and laugh emojis used in places where no jokes existed—Sunoo was the one who got left on read.

And as if the universe hadn't done enough damage, this morning, their Clinical Instructor decided to nitpick his grooming. Said his hair was too long and should be "cleaned up to maintain a professional image." Too long? It was barely brushing his ears!

Sunoo slammed his locker shut, lips pressed into a thin line as he yanked his lanyard off and stuffed it into his pocket. "I need a mango shake," he muttered under his breath, storming out of the building. "Or I need a drink. Or I need to get laid. Honestly, at this point, any of the three will do. Fuck this life."

And as if the day hadn't already tried to ruin him, it just kept going. Sunoo tripped over one of the uneven bricks in the university garden—in front of three freshmen and a couple from Dentistry—and his whole body hit the ground like it had something to prove. The worst part? He was wearing his white clinical uniform, freshly ironed this morning, and now it had mud on the knee, a grass stain on the sleeve, and his shoe was ruined. The sole peeled at the side like it was giving up on life, just like him.

He stood there for a moment, fists clenched, eyes locked on the sky like he was daring it to rain. His pride was already dented, his clothes dirty, his patience snapped and now, of course, not a single damn taxi in sight was stopping. He raised his arm again, waved it with enough energy to summon a ghost, but every car either sped past or pretended not to see him. People were staring. He could hear the soft chuckles, see the sideways glances. He was half a second from screaming into the void or kicking a bush, whichever came first.

And then came the low sound of motorbike. He turned his head, expecting just another person speeding past him like the rest of the universe, but the bike slowed down instead. The helmeted rider stopped in front of him, casually lifting the visor.

His eye twitched instantly. Of course it was you. Like the universe had specially selected you to appear right when he had the least energy to deal with anything, especially you. His grip on his bag strap tightened out of habit, maybe even to stop himself from doing something regrettable. The strap strained against his palm as he imagined how satisfying it would be to swing it straight at your little helmet.

You didn't speak but the amused curve of your lips said everything. Your eyes scanned his state—mud on his uniform, one shoe visibly damaged, face flushed with humiliation and frustration—and that damn smile only grew. "Rough day, pretty boy?"

Sunoo closed his eyes, shoulders rising with a deep inhale of your voice. He hadn't seen you in weeks, maybe months, and yet here you were, showing up when his life was at its absolute worst. He opened his eyes slowly, and instead of giving you the satisfaction of a scowl, he gave you a sweet, polite smile. "Fuck off."

You tilted your head slightly, helmet still on, visor up, as if you were genuinely trying to decide whether his attitude deserved a response. "Hmm," you murmured, nonchalant. "Need a ride, or are you into being publicly humiliated? Because you're doing a great job."

"I'd rather crawl," he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight, and instantly regretting it when his soaked shoe made a gross squish. Disgusting. This day was disgusting.

"Great," you replied, gripping the throttle. "Let me know how far that gets you. Good luck."

The engine growled once beneath you as you rolled the bike forward a little, just enough to make it clear you were ready to leave him standing there. And that should've been fine. He didn't need you. He didn't want your help.

Except he did. Because his legs were aching, his socks were wet, and none of the taxis had stopped for the last fifteen minutes, and to make things worse, he had class at two o'clock sharp. There was no way he could show up looking like this, not with the nursing department's obsession with cleanliness and grooming. One look at his uniform and they'd send him straight home. He didn't have the time or energy to risk that.

So, against every ounce of pride in his body, he swallowed hard and called out, "W-Wait."

The second it left his mouth, regret settled in. You didn't even bother to turn off the engine. You just tilted your head again, that damn helmet catching the light, your eyes already locking on his with that same irritating amusement you always wore around him.

Sunoo's eye twitched. His fingers curled tighter around the strap of his bag. Every part of him wanted to kick your stupid motorbike over and walk away barefoot, but his common sense—the part that knew wet shoes, strict instructors, and a late clinical check-in didn't mix—kept him rooted in place.

You raised your brows. "Changed your mind?"

"No," he snapped. "The universe is just clearly mocking me and you're the cherry on top."

You let out a short laugh. "That's not a no."

He clenched his jaw and looked away for a second, like maybe if he didn't see your face, he could pretend this wasn't happening. Then finally, after a long pause, he muttered, "I need a ride. That's it. Don't talk. Just drive."

You patted the back of the seat, without another word, the engine rumbled beneath you as you steadied the bike, shifting slightly to pull your helmet off and offer it to him. Sunoo blinked, hesitating. "You're not wearing one?"

You tilted your head, brushing your hair out of your face as you balanced the bike with one leg. "You're in a clinical uniform. If we get stopped, guess who they'll blame for not following safety rules? Just take it, Nurse."

He didn't reply, just snatched the helmet from your hand and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, I hate you, though it came out too tired to carry any real hatred. He shoved it on, adjusting the strap a little too aggressively before climbing on behind you.

"Jake said your place is near the Avenue, right?" you asked, eyes already ahead. "I'm going the long way. No checkpoints."

Sunoo gripped the back handle awkwardly at first before giving in and placing his hands lightly on your waist for balance, trying not to think too hard about the contact. "Whatever," he muttered. "Just drive."

The wind wrapped around both of you, warm against his face, tugging at his hair and slipping into the space between his collar and neck. He hated how natural it felt to sit there with you, hated how the scent of your perfume still clung to the inside of the helmet. He hates the smell of the strawberry yet he don't know why it was giving him comfort right now.

"Drop me off at that corner," he said, leaning closer to make sure you heard him, pointing toward the shaded part of the sidewalk ahead.

You didn't say anything—just pulled over smoothly and tapped the brakes until the bike came to a steady stop. The second it did, he got off like the seat had turned hot, quickly removing the helmet and smoothing down his messy hair. He held the helmet out toward you stiffly.

You took it, setting it on the handlebars, and exhaled a breath. "You know," you started, giving him a once-over, "for someone who acts so obsessed with respect and rules, you're really bad at saying thank you."

Sunoo let out a breath that was halfway between a scoff and a sigh. "I didn't ask for your help."

You shrugged, hands settling easily on the handles. "Yeah. But you still climbed on."

He looked at you for a moment, lips twitching like he wanted to say something else but couldn't find the energy. Instead, he turned his gaze away, cheeks flushed from heat.

"Fine," he said, barely above a mutter. "Thanks. For the ride."

Your smile widened, "anytime, pretty boy."

He rolled his eyes, turned around, and walked off before you could enjoy the look on his face any longer. But you were already watching his back as he stormed away, your fingers brushing against the helmet. Cute. So damn cute!

"What do you mean you're not going?" Sunoo asked, frowning as he walked alongside Jake through the hallway.

"I'm busy," Jake replied, reaching for his locker and spinning the lock. "Jungwon's coming anyway, right? Just vibe with him for now. You'll survive a night without me."

Sunoo let out a dramatic sigh and stomped his foot, clearly not in the mood to be reasonable. "But I want you there! It's not fun without you."

Jake pulled out a thick review binder and glanced at him over his shoulder. "I've got a summative test on Monday, remember? It's kind of important. We could just crash at my place after, maybe do a sleepover?"

"Ihhh," Sunoo whined, dragging out the sound. "I don't want to sleep, I want to drink."

Jake raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was headed. "Don't tell me this is about that guy from the other school ghosting you. Again."

Sunoo rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "It's not about that. I just... feel like drinking. That's all."

Jake stared at him for a moment, closing his locker slowly, trying to read beneath the surface. "Right. Totally not about him." He slung his bag over one shoulder and sighed. "Look, let me get through these notes first. If I finish early, I'll come join you. But until then, just go with Jungwon, okay?"

Sunoo pouted but didn't argue further. He hated going without Jake, but sulking alone wouldn't change the plan. He was going out tonight, one way or another and with Jake or not, he was going to forget every bit of bullshit the week had piled on him. Even if it meant dragging Jungwon into whatever he was about to step into.

He swore it was going to be just one drink—maybe two, while waiting for Jake but the moment they arrived, it turned out the party was practically a shrine to drinking games. The music was loud, the lights were low, and every corner had someone yelling "bottoms up!"

Jungwon, despite his initial confidence, was barely holding it together after three rounds of some game that involved slapping the table and chanting nonsense. He stood up abruptly, wobbling slightly as he pressed a hand to his stomach. "Oh my God, I feel like I'm going to vomit. Why am I such a loser?" he groaned, and without waiting for a response, excused himself, muttering something about needing air—or a toilet.

Sunoo, meanwhile, wasn't faring much better. His head was spinning, cheeks flushed, and his limbs felt like they were being operated by someone else. He didn't even realize when the giggles turned into sniffles, and the sniffles turned into full-blown tears. He ended up kneeling by the edge of the marble platform near the open balcony, smacking his fist weakly against the cool surface as the alcohol dragged his emotions right out of him.

"Ehhhhhh," he cried, voice cracking pitifully. "I want a boyfriennnnddd!"

Jay, who had been casually sipping beer on the couch nearby, looked up in alarm as Sunoo stumbled toward him with watery eyes. He stopped in front of him, wiping at his cheeks like it would hide the mess.

"Pleaseee," Sunoo sniffled, leaning close. "Find me a boyfriend. I want to be loved. I'm so soft. I'm so kind. Why am I suffering?! Ugh."

Jay blinked, glanced around the party like someone might swoop in and handle the situation for him, and when no one came, he slowly set his beer down. "...Do you want water?"

Sunoo gasped, "I want love, not hydration!" he wailed, continue to sob.

Before Jay could figure out what to do with that level of emotional spiral, someone approached from behind.

"Jay, the owner's already handing us the money—what the fuck?"

Sunoo blinked through his tears and looked up, vision blurry as your voice rang out. You stood just inside the balcony doorway. Red halter sando clinging to your shoulders, he noticed a tattoo. Ink, in a soft pinkish-red tone, winding delicately along your shoulder and upper arm. The design was detailed floral vines and swirls that traced across your collarbone and around your bicep. It was so beautifully done, it almost looked like it was growing from your skin, and that pissed him off even more. Your baggy jeans low on your hips, your hair twisted into a messy bun. A guitar strap slung diagonally over your body, cigarette hanging loose between your fingers. Your eyeshadow was smudged black and glittery, clashing violently with your red lipstick, but somehow you made it work—though Sunoo would never admit that out loud. Not even if he were dying.

There was no smirk this time, no teasing glint in your eyes. Just a quiet kind of concern as you stared down at him. And he hated it. Absolutely hated it!

So, naturally, he raised his middle finger at you with zero hesitation. Jay glanced between the two of you and awkwardly took a step back. "You know him? Can you, like... deal with that? I need to talk to someone real quick." And just like that, he vanished quickly into the crowd, getting the guitar off on your shoulder to avoid any responsibilities.

Sunoo only sobbed harder. You sighed, dragging your foot across the cigarette to put it out before crouching in front of him. "What the hell happened to you?" you asked, eyeing his flushed cheeks, watery eyes, and hands tugging uselessly at the front of his shirt. "Where's Jake? Did he leave you here like this?"

Sunoo sniffled, bottom lip trembling. "I want to get laaaaaiiiid," he wailed, grabbing your shoulder. "Why can't people stay? What's wrong with me?!"

You blinked slowly, barely reacting to him shaking your shoulder with every word. "Maybe... because you're controlling?"

Sunoo froze, then glared at you, eyes wide and offended. "Fuck you! You can't even give me basic emotional support? What kind of monster are you?"

You let out a breath and sat down fully in front of him. "You want emotional support? Fine. You're hot. You're smart. You've got flawless skin and cheekbones people would sell their soul for. Now stop crying like the world ended. You're embarrassing both of us."

Sunoo sniffled again, staring at you with eyes too round and glassy for his own good. "Do you mean it?"

"Yes, I mean it," you muttered, already unlocking your phone to text Jake. "Now let's get out of here before you sob all over someone else's balcony—"

"No!" he snapped, suddenly snatching your phone and stepping back.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your fingers twitching in the air where your phone had just been. Sunoo stood tall now, swaying only slightly, the alcohol clearly still sitting heavy in his limbs, but his grip on your phone was surprisingly solid. "Sunoo—" you warned, reaching for it, only for him to lift it higher. Damn his height.

He looked down at you, still flushed, lips pulling into a mischievous little smile that was way too proud for someone who had been sobbing on the floor five minutes ago. "It's my turn to be annoying," he said, tilting his head. "Am I actually hot?"

"Sunoo—" you sighed through your teeth, rising onto the balls of your feet. "Yes, you're hot. Now give me my phone back."

He raised it even higher. "So I'm not ugly?"

"You're pretty, Sunoo. Very pretty," you said, swallowing a dry knot in your throat as you felt your face heat up. His body was too close again, and this was definitely not where you thought the night would go.

Before you could collect yourself, he slumped forward, head landing against your neck with the weight of all his sadness. "Then why the hell does everyone cheat on me?" he wailed, and the force of him nearly knocked you backward until your spine hit the metal railing.

You stood there, half-pinned under a very clingy Kim Sunoo, awkwardly patting his back as you tried to retrieve your phone. But his grip only tightened.

He pulled away slightly, just enough to look at you, eyes still red, but his lashes clumped and wet and his lips trembling. "L-let's drink?" he mumbled. "You're annoying. I still hate you a little but I'll forget it. J-just... just don't smoke, okay? I don't like it when people smoke, okayyy?"

"Sunoo," you exhaled slowly, adjusting your balance as he kept his weight partially slumped on you, "I'm not drinking. I only came here for a gig. And I'm driving my bike. I have work tomorrow—"

"Owww-kayyy?" he cut you off with a lopsided pout.

You stared at him, unblinking. "I'm going to call Jake now."

"Owww-kayyy?" he repeated, holding your phone.

You sighed and pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose. "Okay," you muttered.

That was all he needed. Sunoo let out a soft cheer, grabbing your hand with enthusiasm as he pulled you back into the party. You thought you were just going to drink with him, maybe a shot or two to shut him up, but Sunoo clearly had other plans.

His version of "let's drink" turned out to mean filling an entire cup with whatever was on the table and practically forcing it into your hands. You barely had time to brace yourself before he was tipping the rim toward your lips, eyes wide and sparkling.

You coughed through the first one, gagged through the second, and by the time the third hit your throat, you were wincing with every swallow. It burned all the way down and you already knew you wouldn't survive the night. For someone who smokes like it's your job, your alcohol tolerance was embarrassingly low and hangovers always hit like a truck. But then again, Sunoo was too pretty to say no to when he smiled like that, even with that annoying bratty glint in his eye.

"Party, partehhh! Yeahh!" he shouted, twirling you into the crowd like you were suddenly best friends.

Somehow, you ended up in the middle of the dance floor. Lights spinning, bass vibrating through your chest, and before you could stop yourself, your body had already leaned back against him. His hands found your waist automatically, and you didn't know if it was the alcohol or something else entirely, but your hips were moving, grinding gently against him in time with the beat.

You tilted your head slightly, cheek brushing his jaw as you muttered, "Maybe... men aren't for you, Sunoo."

He blinked down at you, clearly dazed, but still gripping your waist. "What?" he said, almost laughing.

"Swing for girls this time," you slurred with a half-smile, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek, your eyes struggling to focus. "Girls won't cheat on you."

He snorted. "Women were never my thing, bitch."

Your smile faltered just a little, and you pouted up at him, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone. "In a relationship... or in sex?" You tilted your head and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Because girls? They'll treat you right. They'll adore you. They'll give you the kind of head that makes you forget your own name."

Sunoo's breath caught for a second, but he didn't move away. "I know that," he muttered. "I'm one of the girls."

You hummed, dragging your gaze along his features, watching the way he blinked slower now, how his lips parted slightly as your words pressed deeper. "Mmm. But have you ever been treated like that by a girl?" you asked again, your hips shifted, rolling back just enough to press against the heat of him.

Sunoo bit his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark. He wanted to shove you away, curse you out, remind you just how much you irritated him—but something burned hotter in his veins than the alcohol and it was how intoxicating you looked.

He shouldn't be doing this. You were the last person on earth he should be doing this with, but then again, nothing about tonight was going according to plan. And before he could stop himself, his hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you closer as his lips crashed into yours.

The next thing he knew, the two of you were stumbling into the restroom at the end of the hallway, the door slamming behind you. His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling tight as your back hit the sink. He hated the taste of your cigarette on your tongue, but he kissed you harder anyway. Your hands were already under his shirt, nails scraping lightly down his spine, pulling a sharp breath from his throat.

You feel his tongue exploring your mouth, moving slow, tasting you with a hunger that makes your body respond without thinking. A moan slips from your lips as heat builds between your thighs, your panties dampening at the way he kisses you.

When you finally break the kiss, your lips trail down to his neck, licking and sucking lightly until you reach his collarbone. He presses closer, breathing heavily into your hair, hips grinding into you with shaky rhythm. Both of you moan at the friction, your bodies feeding off each other's heat.

Your hand finds his waistband, fingers tracing the bulge that's been growing harder against you. The shocking huge shape beneath makes you sigh, anticipation curling low in your belly. "Fuckkk," you moan, dropping to your knees without hesitation.

Sunoo's body fell back against the sink, one hand gripping the edge, the other running through his hair like he didn't know what to do with himself. His hands were trembling as he tried to undo his belt, and he almost laughed at how clumsy he felt. But the moment was too charged, his head was light, his blood too loud. The part of him that used to think only about what it felt like to be touched was now spinning with curiosity. This—this was different. He never imagined being on the receiving end like this would feel so... unreal.

He glanced down, and the sight of you kneeling for him, eyes locked on his, lips slightly parted and ready—his mind just blanked. The way your tongue pierced glinted under the light, the tip teasing out like you were offering it, patient and inviting, made his stomach tighten painfully. "Shit," he whispered, voice cracking slightly, pulling his pants and briefs down. You stared up at his cock, your lashes fluttering at the sight. Your mouth watered at the sheer size of him, and without hesitation, you leaned closer, resting your hands on your knees like you were waiting for a command.

He couldn't believe this was what guys saw. No wonder they were obsessed with it. The view of you like that, lips ready, eyes dark with need, tongue out with that cold little metal ball waiting to touch his skin, it was pure insanity. No fantasy ever looked like this. "Fuck," he groaned again, gripping the back of your head gently as he pushed his tip toward your tongue. The second the metal touched him, he hissed, his thighs twitching from the shock of cold piercing against the heat of his cock.

And as you looked up, never breaking eye contact while slowly letting him in—he knew. He knew exactly what he'd been missing.

Sunoo had always been the one with his knees pressed down, the one getting grabbed and pulled and used, and he loved every second of it. But this was different. The way your mouth wrapped around him, how you looked so eager, how your tongue pressed and moved with purpose—his stomach was already tightening with every wet glide and suck.

"Ahh, fuck, fuck..." he whined out, head falling back as his fingers tangled in your hair, pushing you down farther. He heard the sound of your throat struggling to keep him in, your soft choking only making his hips twitch with more urgency. It was too wet, too warm, too fucking perfect.

You stayed steady, letting your throat open the best you could as you followed the rhythm of his grip. Your tongue dragged along the underside of his length, right at the base where you knew it would hit different. His moan echoed across the small room, shameless and wrecked, not caring who could hear him anymore. All he cared about was the heat wrapping around his cock and how your mouth didn't stop. You glanced up again, needing to see him, and the view made you moan around him. His skin was flushed, red climbing up to his neck, his lashes low and trembling, mouth open as he gasped through each thrust. He looked completely undone—eyes barely staying open, hands gripping you like he needed you to stay exactly there.

Your throat tightened as he gave you no space to breathe, and still, you didn't pull away. Your hands stayed planted on your knees, nails pressing into the denim as tears blurred your eyes, your breath hitching through your nose. But the way your pussy clenched from it—the helpless feeling, the rawness of it—made it all the more addictive.

Especially when both his hands now gripped your head tighter and pushed until your nose pressed flush against his navel. "I-I'm close... oh fuck, I'm close, I—I'm—" Sunoo cried out, his voice cracking with how intense it felt. His hips were moving faster now. The sound of your mouth choking around him only pushed him over the edge harder. He didn't think it could feel this good, he didn't even know he could feel this way at all.

And you didn't either. You didn't know why it felt so right, so filthy, so addicting. You'd never had anyone this desperate for you before. And Sunoo had never had anyone take him like this.

His moan was loud, body trembling as his legs struggled to keep him upright. His hips kept moving on instinct, grinding into your mouth until he finally came, thick and hot down your throat. You felt it hit the back of your tongue, swallowing quickly as he groaned above you, the pleasure written all over his flushed face.

"God, fuck... it feels so good," he breathed out, chest heaving while his hands held you there, not even realizing how hard you were trying to breathe through it. Your eyes fluttered shut as you swallowed the last of him, head light and lungs burning.

You tapped his thigh with a shaky hand, and after a moment, he loosened his grip, letting you fall back slightly. You coughed a bit, trying to catch your breath, throat sore but mind still hazy from the alcohol and heat. Everything felt like it was spinning a little when you stood up, your body swaying slightly as the room tilted around you.

Sunoo reached out, catching your shoulder to steady you, and turned on the sink. He cupped a bit of water in his palm, guiding it to your lips. You leaned in, letting the cold water cool your mouth, then wiped your lips with the back of your hand. You coughed again, softer this time, and both of you stood there in silence for a beat—still too drunk to make sense of anything, too tired to care.

"I want to sleep," Sunoo mumbled, voice groggy as his arms hung by his sides. You helped him pull his pants back up, your fingers clumsy, and when you looked up, he was already leaning into you. His lips brushed against your neck, then your jaw, then a small kiss landed on your lips softly, a quiet thank-you or maybe just a mistake.

Neither of you said anything as you stumbled out of the bathroom together. Your feet dragged, his weight slumped against you. When you pushed open one of the nearby rooms, the two of you collapsed onto the bed without thinking. His body pressed into yours, your hand resting on the curve of his thin waist, and with a final exhale, his breathing evened out into soft snores.

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, the night still buzzing in your head, and quietly hoped that come morning, Sunoo wouldn't look at you like it was all just a drunken blur he wanted to forget.

Well. You woke up to a loud squeal beside you, the sound shooting straight through your skull. Your head was pounding, every throb pulsing deep at your temples. This was exactly why you preferred smoking over drinking, at least cigarettes didn't make the world spin like this.

"Oh my God! W–why are we cuddling?! Why are you here in the first place?! D–did something happen to us?!" Sunoo's voice cracked in pure panic, his hands clutching the blanket to his chest. Even though he was fully clothed, he looked scandalized beyond belief.

You groaned and squinted against the light, trying to sit up despite the dull ache in your body. Your fingers pressed to your temples, trying to remember what the hell even happened. The room was unfamiliar, the sheets smelled like detergent, and your mouth tasted like cotton.

Before you could even collect a full thought, Sunoo slapped your back hard. You let out a sharp whine and turned to glare at him. "Aww, fuck! What the hell was that for?"

"Did something happen between us?!" he repeated, eyes wide and clearly on the verge of spiraling.

You stared at him for a second, still processing. "How would I know?" you mumbled, rubbing your face. "I drank more than I should have, and my memory's a blur. You're fully clothed, I'm fully clothed. Relax."

But he didn't calm down. In fact, he froze completely, the color draining from his face as something clearly hit him. You watched as his hands slowly moved to grip his hair, fingers tangling at the roots while his expression twisted into disbelief.

"No. No. No no no—" he whispered, and then gasped. "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God."

He wasn't even looking at you anymore. His eyes were somewhere far away as flashes from last night started to crash into him. Your lips on his, your hands tugging on his belt, your mouth sinking down while he leaned back against the sink. The heat. The noise. The way he came so hard he couldn't feel his legs. His whole body went stiff.

"You... you gave me head," he said in a whisper, voice dead with disbelief. "Oh my God. You gave me fucking blowjob."

You blinked, trying to place it. You remembered the bathroom. The taste. The sound of his moaning echoing off the walls. Shit. "Something did happen to us, you fucking bitch!" he suddenly screamed, face flushed red with shock and rage. "I'm reporting you—I'm serious, I swear—"

You screamed when he lunged and grabbed a fistful of your hair, the shock of it making you yell right back. "Fuck! Let go of me, psycho!" you snapped, swatting at his hand, your own hangover making it feel ten times worse.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he screeched, shaking your head like he could shake the memory out with it. "Why would you—?!"

"Why would I?!" you shouted, finally pulling away, hair a mess and heart racing. "You literally moaned like it was the best thing that ever happened to you!"

"Because I didn't know what was happening! I thought it was a dream! I was drunk!"

"So was I, dumbass! You kissed me first!"

Sunoo froze again, mouth open, his chest rising and falling. You watched him in silence, heart sinking a little at the way he looked at you—like he was scrambling to make sense of something that never should've happened.

Your mouth felt dry again. There was this strange weight in your chest, like disappointment settling in even though you couldn't quite figure out why. You were both drunk. He was gay. Of course it didn't mean anything. And, if you weren't drunk, you wouldn't have done it either. You lowered your gaze, biting the inside of your cheek as that silence started to stretch between you.

"L-let's just pretend this never happened," Sunoo finally said, breaking the quiet as he stood up. His voice was shaky, not angry anymore, just desperate to erase it all. He dragged his palm down his face, then pressed it against his mouth like the words were spilling out faster than he could stop them. "I'm gay... and you're... whatever. Uhh... Let's not tell this to Jake, okay?"

You rolled your eyes as you got to your feet, fingers brushing through your hair while ignoring the lump tightening in your throat. "Whatever you want," you muttered, focusing instead on searching for your socks and bag, anything to avoid the way your chest ached for reasons.

"This will never happen again. God. I feel like I just betrayed my own kind," Sunoo muttered, slapping both cheeks with enough force to make you wince. "I need to go. I need to wash everything. This is disgusting. I'm disgusting."

You didn't say anything. Just watched him from the corner of your eye while pulling your socks on, keeping your back straight and blank face.

Sunoo glanced over, eyes catching on the side of your face. Something about the way you sat there so still, lips pressed together, skin marked faintly made his chest tighten. The memory crept in again—your hands, your mouth, the sound of your moan swallowed around him—and it made his stomach twist in the worst way. He shook his head. He was sober now. He shouldn't be feeling this again.

"Let's never see each other again," he said before leaving without waiting for a response.

You stared at the floor for a long second, blinking slowly. Never see each other again, huh? You almost laughed. As if you'd let him go that easily.

Sunoo didn't even understand why the memory was still stuck in his head, looping in the background of every moment like some curse he couldn't shake. It had already been a seven full days and yet the image of your lips, the sound of your moan, the warmth of your mouth still haunted him like it just happened yesterday. Worse, every time he thought about it, his dick twitched like it had a mind of its own, getting hard embarrassingly fast without warning.

He tried to brush it off as stress. He was tired, overloaded with work, and his hormones were probably all over the place. It made sense, right? Wet dreams weren't exactly rare. They were involuntary, normal even, just a sign of the body releasing tension during sleep. But the part that bothered him the most wasn't the act itself. It was who was in them. Why you? Out of everyone, why was it you? He would've understood if it were someone like Byeon Woo Seok. But no. It was your voice in his ear, your mouth on him, your name falling from his lips as he woke up in cold sweat with a sticky cum in his pajama pants. It was fucking humiliating.

He had just started to zone out again when a voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.

"Erection is normal," Jungwon said clearly, standing at the front of the room with a microphone in hand. The school's seminar hall was full of restless teenagers, and he was doing his best to keep the attention. "It's a biological response to arousal or stimulation, often caused by elevated testosterone levels, especially during adolescence. That's why morning wood or even spontaneous erections can happen—it's not always sexual. Sometimes, it's just hormonal regulation or increased blood flow."

Sunoo swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Great. As if he needed that lecture right now.

"It's also common to have sexual dreams," Jungwon continued. "It's the brain's way of releasing suppressed feelings or stress. It doesn't always mean you're in love with the person in your dream—it could just be your mind reacting to unresolved tension."

Sunoo sat motionless, trying not to roll his eyes. He knew Jungwon probably didn't believe half the words he was saying and was just parroting the textbook to get the presentation over with. Unresolved tension? Please. That had to be the most bullshit, overused explanation. Sexual dreams were normal, just a biological function. A reflex. Wet dreams, erections, the occasional stray thought—they were all just part of how the body worked.

It was only men who liked turning every little reaction into some psychological crisis. Like it wasn't enough that your dick got hard at the wrong time, you now had to wonder why. No. He refused to play into that.

Still, he felt hot under the collar. He shifted in his seat as Jungwon kept talking, his voice fading into background noise while Sunoo's thoughts crawled back where they weren't supposed to go. Your mouth. The pressure of his hands on your head. That one sharp breath he let out when your tongue pressed against him just right. The way he swore he could still feel the metal ball of your piercing even when he was lying awake, sweating in bed, trying not to think about it —

"Sunoo!" His whole body jolted forward when someone suddenly slammed into him from behind. He turned sharply, only to see Jake grinning as he wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Long time no see! How've you been?" Jake beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Sunoo blinked, his heart still racing from being startled. He squirmed out of Jake's grip, pulling his arm away from around his waist with a small scowl. "You fake bitch," he muttered, brushing off his uniform. "You said you'd go to the party last week!"

Jake tilted his head and gave him a sheepish grin. "I did! I just didn't come up to you because you were already with someone," he said, voice light but teasing, his smile carrying that knowing edge that made Sunoo freeze on the spot.

The words hit him like a cold splash of water, cutting straight through the fog of his thoughts. Shit! Sunoo's back straightened as his chest squeezed uncomfortably tight. "I-It's not what it looked like, Jake," he said quickly, voice pitching higher than he meant. "I can explain. N-Nothing happened, I swear—"

Jake raised an eyebrow in confusion, his playful smile returning as he slung an arm over Sunoo's shoulder again. "What are you talking about?" he laughed. "I'm just happy you're getting along with her! You know how much I wanted the two of you to be friends. So when I saw you drinking with her, I thought, finally! I didn't want to bother you two."

Sunoo's jaw went slack for a second. He blinked slowly as Jake's words settled in and then his face flushed with heat, the panic collapsing. You two. Drinking. Laughing. And Jake saw it. He saw it and just... assumed it was some innocent bonding moment. Sunoo nodded stiffly, forcing a laugh that came out more like a wheeze. "Y-Yeah... totally. Just... friends."

Jake didn't notice his discomfort, he just kept smiling, talking about the seminar and how awkward Jungwon looked trying to talk about erections with a straight face, but Sunoo could barely listen. If only he knew that every time Sunoo closed his eyes, it wasn't friendship playing behind his eyelids.

All your life, you've gotten things on your own terms. It wasn't about being selfish—it was about knowing what you wanted, and not being afraid to take the steps to get there, even if it meant breaking a few unspoken rules. You never apologized for it. Why should you? The world had never handed you anything easily, so you carved out space with your own hands, shaping your wants into reality.

You liked pretty things. You liked strawberries. You liked painting girls with soft collarbones and delicate fingers. You liked drawing in sharp eyeliner and wearing red lipstick even when it didn't match your outfit. You liked the way women looked in moonlight, skin glowing and bare emotion written on their faces. Women were softness and power and aching beauty, and for a long time, that's all you thought you'd ever want.

Boys were always just background noise. You flirted with them when you were bored, when you needed a distraction or when you were too tired of explaining to everyone why you leaned toward women. It was easier to let boys talk, to let them orbit around you. Most of the time, they never lasted long. They'd get close enough to realize they couldn't figure you out, and then drift away. It never bothered you. You liked being the one who stayed in control anyway.

But Sunoo was too pretty to be background noise. Too loud in your mind, even in his silence. He was sharp and delicate all at once. Sunoo is not boring. He was vibrant. Infuriating. Complicated. Unlike everyone else, Sunoo wasn't supposed to want you. And you weren't supposed to want him. You didn't chase boys. You didn't even like most of them. But with Sunoo, it wasn't about gender—it was about him. His contradictions. His moral high ground that cracked when his lips were on yours.

Now that you got a taste, you wanted to keep him. You wanted to grab him by that pretty throat and tie a little ribbon around it, mark him, stake your claim. All that fire in him, all that sharp defiance, the self-righteous storm he carried — it would be such a waste to let someone else come along and break him in the wrong way. Someone who wouldn't know how to cherish it like you would.

The wanting was dangerous. But so was he. And it was so much fun to want something you weren't supposed to have. And lucky you—Jake, in all his well-meaning sunshine, handed him right into your lap.

"I'm really glad now that you're friends," Jake grinned, arms flinging around both of you as he squeezed you close. "I can finally call us a trio now!"

You blinked in mild surprise. You hadn't even known this was a sleepover. From the way Jake had worded it earlier, you assumed it was just the two of you catching up over snacks and maybe a few drinks. But now here you were, wedged on the couch with Sunoo stiff on your other side, Jake's warmth pressed between you both. How thoughtful of him. You smiled. Jake was far too kind for his own good and far too generous with forcing proximity, but you didn't mind this time.

Sunoo, on the other hand, looked like someone had physically unplugged him. He was hugging his pillow so tightly it, eyes unfocused as he stared at nothing in particular. His face was blank, but you could read the confliction in every inch of him. Like he was holding himself together by a thread.

What you couldn't see was how hard he was trying to think of anything else besides the fact that he could smell your perfume again and it triggered something in his body. He clenched his thighs together subtly, trying to shift his hips so the growing problem in his pants wouldn't become visible. But the effort was a losing game. God, what the hell was wrong with him? He was still angry, still confused, still mortified that it happened in the first place and yet, his body clearly had no loyalty to his conscience.

What made it worse was Jake who had somehow tricked him into showing up for a supposed movie night and now had them sandwiched together like nothing ever happened between you and him. Jake didn't know, of course. And he couldn't know! Sunoo would rather choke on his own tongue than have to explain why his best friend's not-so-favorite person was suddenly invading his dreams at night and, worse, making him wake up soaked and panting like a hormonal teenager.

"What movies should we watch?!" Jake practically bounced on the couch, his grin wide as he looked back and forth.

You leaned closer, sliding your arm around Jake's. Your gaze flicked to Sunoo, who sat stiff on the other end of the couch, his posture awkward, eyes avoiding yours. "What about horror?" you said as you tilted your head, pretending not to notice how Sunoo seemed to sink deeper into the couch cushions. "Sunoo?"

Sunoo blinked, eyes snapping toward you. "Huh?" His voice cracked, his hand subtly dragged the throw pillow over his lap, fingers clutching the edges.

"Horror is gonna be fun! Imagine the thrill!" Jake turned toward you with shining eyes, already fired up. "Remember Sunoo during Evil Dead Rise? He was screeching like someone dipped him in cold water!" He burst out laughing.

You joined in, not because it was that funny but because you liked the way Sunoo glared at you when you did. His eye twitched, lips tightening in a way that made you want to press your thumb against the corner of his mouth just to see if it would twitch again.

"I didn't scream," Sunoo muttered under his breath. "It was a reflex."

Jake leaned forward to grab the remote, still chuckling. "A reflex that shook the entire floor. I had to check if we were having an earthquake."

Sunoo gave a tight, silent laugh that didn't reach his eyes. You stretched slightly, draping one leg over the other, your foot brushing lightly against Sunoo's knee. "So horror it is," you said.

Sunoo immediately jerked his leg away. "I'm not scared," he snapped, voice thin with defensiveness, eyes flicking toward you but never staying long.

"Who said you were?" you asked sweetly, lips twitching. "But maybe I can hold your hand if you get too nervous."

"I'd rather hold hands with a corpse," he muttered.

Jake, oblivious to the growing tension between you, scrolled through the options. "Let's start with Hereditary. That one's a classic."

You leaned back, settling comfortably against the couch cushion, your arm still loosely around Jake's. But your gaze stayed fixed on Sunoo, watching how he tried to keep his composure. The way he looked everywhere but at you made it all the more tempting to push again.

"Oh my God!" Jake screamed, flinging himself off the couch just as the possessed girl on the screen leapt out from the shadows.

Sunoo jumped, too, not because of the film but because Jake's yell had blasted straight into his ear. "Fuck you!" he gasped, swatting at Jake's shoulder. "You're louder than the demon, you idiot!"

Jake laughed breathlessly, holding a hand over his chest. "I told you it was gonna be scary! I warned you!"

"You didn't say you were gonna be the jump scare," Sunoo muttered, rubbing his ear.

You couldn't help laughing from your corner of the couch. It was warm in the living room, the ambient light from the TV casting deep shadows across everyone's faces. The horror movie had wound itself tight with dread, and now, near the end, the tension in the room had shifted.

Jake reached for the remote to pause it. "Okay, okay, let's all take a break. My heart can't take it. I'm gonna set up the bed and grab more snacks before we finish the last part." He stood up with a stretch, already walking toward the shared room.

You watched Jake disappear down the hallway, the sound of his slippers dragging against the floor fading behind him as he excitedly prepped the bedroom with pillows and snacks, then turned your eyes to Sunoo, who had sunk deeper into the couch, hand rubbing his temple.

Your gaze drifted past him, toward the hallway where the bathroom light glowed faintly at the end. And just like that, the tiniest smirk curled at the corner of your lips. Bingo.

You grabbed the water bottle from the table and tipped it back, pretending to take a long drink—only for the opening to "accidentally" spill, the cold splash soaking the neckline of your shirt and running straight down your chest.

"Shit!" you hissed, jumping slightly as you stood up, swiping at your top with both hands in panic. The fabric clung to your skin, the damp cotton tracing the curve of your collarbone and neckline.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Sunoo's head snap toward you. His eyes widened for a moment before narrowing again, his signature glare sliding back into place. "Are you an idiot who can't drink water like a normal person?" he snapped. His eyes flicked from your face to your soaked shirt and back again before he shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the pillow over his lap again.

You scowled. "It was an accident," you muttered, pinching the hem of your shirt and pulling it slightly away from your body to keep the wet fabric from clinging too much. "I'm going to the bathroom." You turned your back, already halfway to the hall, but then paused just before you rounded the corner. You peeked back over your shoulder with a faux-hesitant voice. "Sunoo," you said sweetly, "can you... come with me?"

He straightened in his seat, eyes narrowed immediately. "What are you, five? You can walk to the bathroom on your own."

You turned around fully and gave your best pout. "But I'm scared," you said, dropping your voice. "What if something jumps out of the mirror and eats me?"

His lips parted slightly in disbelief. "It's literally a bathroom, not a haunted house. Get a grip."

You blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching. "I'm telling Jake—"

That was all it took. Sunoo moved fast. His hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist before you could finish the sentence, his grip is tight, more panicked than forceful. "We agreed to forget that already!" he whispered harshly, dragging you toward the hallway with quick steps. His face was already flushed as he pushed the bathroom door open and practically shoved you inside.

He followed, slamming the door shut behind him and twisting the lock.

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "I meant I was gonna tell Jake you were being mean to me. What exactly were you thinking, Sunoo?"

The color that spread across his face deepened from pink to a furious red, blooming up his neck and across his cheeks. His eyes darted away from yours, jaw clenched so tight you could see the tension ripple along the muscle there. He didn't answer immediately—his thoughts were clearly a mess, the memory of that night dragging up feelings he didn't want to admit were still there.

God, you were such a bitch. A beautiful, infuriating, unreadable bitch. "Fuck you," he muttered through clenched teeth, pressing his back to the door. His arms crossed over his chest, defensive, but it was already too late for that. "What the hell do you even want?"

You smiled, taking a small step forward, head tilting like you were weighing your options. You let your gaze drop slowly—first to his parted lips, then to his hands clenched into fists at his sides—and then back to his eyes.

"Hmmm," you hummed, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the sink behind you as you leaned back, unbothered by how tense he was. "You."

Sunoo's pulse jumped so hard he felt it in his ears, and it really annoyed him.

"I think we're past the point of shyly pretending we're not attracted to each other, don't you think?" you asked casually, your foot tapping against the floor. "I mean, unless you're really going to pretend you don't think about it."

Sunoo swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he forced his expression into a cold and distant. His voice came out with a bite. "I was drunk. Whatever happened, it wasn't real. I'm sober now, and clearly, you're forgetting something—I'm gay." He stepped forward, huffing, defensive, like he needed to say it aloud to remind himself. "Even if I wasn't, even if I magically woke up straight, do you really think I'd be into someone like you? I wouldn't even hold your hand."

You smiled, unshaken. Your gaze dropped to the tile floor for a moment, nodding slowly like you were mulling it over, like you could almost believe him. "Hmmm. Really?" you said again, softly. Then you looked up and held his stare. "That's interesting."

"What happened was a mistake," he pressed. "Stop getting it twisted. You're not going to change anything. I like men—I've always liked men—and if I ever did like women, it sure as hell wouldn't be someone like you."

His words were sharp and cruel, but his voice cracked slightly on the last sentence. Your eyes flicked down to his hands again. Still clenched and shaking, you almost laughed, he was angry because he didn't know where to put this feeling, and his body was betraying him in every way.

"Okay," you said. "Sorry."

You didn't look sorry. You didn't even sound sorry. Then, without warning, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head. Sunoo nearly yelped. "What the fuck?!" he squealed, spinning around so fast. His hands flew up to cover his face. "Are you insane?! Put that back on! Jesus Christ, are you trying to traumatize me?!"

You didn't say anything at first. Just laughed softly, "you said you weren't interested, right? So what are you panicking for?" You rolled your eyes slowly and watched his stiff posture as he stayed plastered to the door. "Relax," you muttered, fingers reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. "I'm wet, Sunoo. I'm not trying to seduce you—I already got my answer. Now, move."

His spine straightened at your words like you'd just smacked him. "What the fuck? Move where?!" His voice rose in panic, still facing away from you.

"I didn't bring an extra shirt. My bag's in the living room," you said flatly, stepping closer. "Now move."

He hesitated, like if he turned around something irreversible would happen. But his curiosity, or maybe his stupidity, got the better of him. Slowly, cautiously, he peeked over his shoulder—and then froze completely.

You were naked from the waist up. Completely bare, with a confidence. Your arms were crossed beneath your chest, body leaning against the sink like you were just waiting for him to get over himself. And God, he should've been used to this. He'd seen breasts before—he had female friends who changed clothes in front of him all the time. It never bothered him. It wasn't a big deal.

He tried to look away and he really, really did, but his eyes kept coming back to you like they were on a leash. Your skin glowed under the light, smooth and warm-toned, shadows carving down your ribs and hips. He noticed the tattoos. The delicate ink on your shoulder had already left an imprint in his brain from that day, but now he saw more. A fine, detailed floral design wrapped along the side of your torso, just above your hip and curling slightly toward your waist. A single lily bloomed in black and soft pink, with gentle shading that made it look almost alive. Watercolor-like strokes trailed from the petals, fading like smoke. The lines followed your curves perfectly.

Sunoo was breathless. He never cared for tattoos, they weren't pretty, but on you, they looked dressed as an art. And fuck, he couldn't stop staring. His gaze flicked to your chest, and a fresh wave of heat rolled through him. Your nipples were tight from the air, drawn and pointed, resting against full, natural curves that made his stomach knot. Why was he getting hard? This didn't make sense. Fuck. You were so hot it pissed him off.

You were staring at him, head slightly tilted, waiting for him to move. "Sunoo?"

Sunoo's fists clenched. He could feel saliva collecting in his mouth, and he swallowed hard like that would put out the fire already crawling down his spine. He blinked quickly, shaking his head. "You—fuck, you need to put something on," he said.

"My shirt's in the living room—"

"I don't care. Put something on," he cut in sharply, brows furrowed and his gaze turned firmly to the wall.

You didn't budge. "Jake already saw my tits, Sunoo. It's not a big deal—"

He didn't even know why it made his stomach flip and his chest burn, but it did. The thought of Jake seeing you like this, made a feeling claw up the back of his throat.

Sunoo was a nursing student. He studied hormonal response, human behavior, and the mind's reactions to stress and desire. But this wasn't in his textbooks. This wasn't just dopamine or misplaced frustration. Human emotions were more complicated than any clinical definition. No scientific framework could fully explain the way you made him feel.

"You're hard."

Sunoo felt his entire body go still. He could feel it too. The tight pressure in his pants, the unbearable way his cock had hardened while his mind scrambled to deny everything. He turned toward the mirror above the sink, refusing to meet your eyes as he muttered, "I-It's normal biological reaction."

The excuse felt paper-thin, almost pathetic in his mouth, but it was the only thing he could reach for. He was clinging to whatever logic he had left, because logic was safer than whatever the hell this was. Logic didn't leave him aching in places he shouldn't be aching. Logic didn't twist his insides just from looking at you.

You were still standing there, unfazed, topless and confident, your arms crossed under your chest like you were waiting for him to catch up. "Sunoo," you said his name softly.

He finally looked at you, eyes glaring. "I told you I'm gay," he said, and he hated how shaky his voice sounded. "This—this shouldn't be happening."

You took a slow step closer, and he didn't move. "You said that," you nodded, voice calm. "But I didn't ask what you are. I just told you what I want."

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to read between your words, searching for an angle, a trick. "So what is this to you? A joke? Some kind of game?"

"No. You're the one making it complicated."

His chest rose and fell unevenly. His mind kept trying to name what he was feeling—confusion, tension, desire, maybe all of it at once—but it was all bleeding together in a way that felt like drowning. "I've never—" he started, then stopped himself.

You waited. "Never what?"

"I've never felt this confused before," he said, eyes searching yours like he was hoping you'd give him a reason to pull away, something to ground him. "I don't even like women. I'm not supposed to want this."

"Then don't want it," you said simply, shrugging your shoulders. "But don't lie about it. Do you want me, Sunoo?"

He hated that. Hated how sure you sounded, how unapologetically honest you were while he was still tangled in his own fear and guilt, still gripping the edge of what he thought was certainty. You made everything seem so simple, so easy to name—want, touch, feel—while he was still trying to unlearn the rules he had been clinging to for so long. He wanted to push you away, wanted to hate you for making him feel like he was coming apart in his own skin. But even as that thought surfaced, his eyes dropped again to your lips, and lingered there too long. He hated how much he wanted you to close the space between you, how much he needed you to.

His breathing grew shallow, his chest rising in uneven waves, and when you leaned forward, he didn't retreat. Instead, his eyes fluttered closed. The second your mouth brushed against his, something inside him cracked open. He kissed you with a kind of desperation that made it clear he'd stopped pretending.

There was no hesitation when he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of your body beneath his hands made his head spin. He held you tightly, anchoring himself to the moment, to the gravity of your touch. His lips moved against yours, his hands trembled as they explored the lines of your back, fingertips pressing into your skin. You knew he was falling, and you welcomed it. You let him cling to you, let him kiss you and when your lips finally parted, you didn't say a word. You just let your hands trail down his chest, eyes locked on his flushed face as you sank down onto your knees before him.

Sunoo's breath hitched audibly. His hands flew to the edge of the sink behind him, trying to steady himself. You looked up at him, gaze dark and patient, and he looked down at you. His cock strained against his pajama, and when you undid the strings, your fingers brushing against him through the fabric, he nearly buckled.

The moment you freed him, he hissed through his teeth. You didn't tease him this time, you took him into your mouth. His hand instinctively reached for your head, gripping your hair too tightly as you slid your tongue over him, slow at first, deepening only when he let out a choked moan that vibrated from somewhere deep in his chest.

"F-fuck..." he whispered, eyes fluttering open, and the sight of you on your knees—bare, hungry, focused only on him. This time, there was no alcohol to blame. No drunken impulse to hide behind. Both of you were entirely sober, breathing the same heavy air. And you were right. You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck...

He bit down on his bottom lip, struggling to hold back the sound threatening to crawl out of his throat when you pulled your mouth off him. The cold air brushed his wet skin for only a second before your hand wrapped firmly around his cock. You were looking up at him with such dark, focused eyes, and the glint of your tongue piercing when you stuck your tongue out made his stomach twist in ways.

His moan trembled out of him, a low, broken thing he tried and failed to swallow. His eyes fluttered shut as you began to stroke him, slow and tight, your fingers knowing exactly where to squeeze, where to drag your thumb. His hips jerked forward against your fist without thought. He was trembling, his thighs already straining, and when his hand moved to your head again, he didn't even register that he was holding you there, like he needed you in that position, grounded and close, while everything else slipped away.

With a choked sound, his release surged forward, hips stuttering as thick, hot ropes of cum spurted from him—painting your face, your tongue, and even your lips. You closed your eyes, but kept your mouth open, breathing heavy, letting it drip and settle across your flushed skin. The sight of you on your knees, panting, tongue out, face stained with the proof of what he'd given you—was too much. He'd never seen anything that fucking beautiful.

Sunoo's breath came out in short, ragged gasps. He couldn't look away. You were absolutely wrecked, eyes half-lidded, mouth still parted, tongue twitching slightly as the last of him spilled from the tip. His knees nearly buckled. And even as shame flickered somewhere in the distance, it didn't touch the way his chest clenched with need.

You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck... in Sunoo's mind— You're really, really, really, attractive. You tilted your head, eyes still soft despite the mess on your face. "It's okay, Sunoo."

And that simple assurance hit harder than anything else had tonight, he had never felt so completely defeated and relieved at the same time.

Sunoo always joked that he was betraying his "gay motherhood," whatever the fuck that meant, but deep down, he was unraveling more than a label. His whole sense of self was spiraling, not because he didn't like men anymore, but because he couldn't stop liking what you did to him.

He was raised sure—sure he liked men, sure of who he was, sure of how the world saw him. But your mouth? Your hands? Your eyes on his body? That changed something. And maybe it wasn't even about gender or attraction or breaking rules, maybe it was just about how good it felt. Because, it did. Every time your tongue slid down his length or your lips curled into a smirk right before you swallowed him whole, he would grip your hair like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

And he still hated it. Hated you. Hated how easily you pulled those sounds from him, how willingly he spread his legs, how badly he wanted to feel your throat tighten around him when he was too stressed to think straight. But hate was a weak word when it came to you because what he really felt was full of hunger and questions he couldn't answer, of relief he couldn't explain, and of moments when he forgot who he was supposed to be.

Somehow, this arrangement—whatever fucked-up kind of companionship it was—had become routine. He was stressed? You showed up, dragged him onto the bed, and made him forget the weight in his chest. You were tired of people? You'd drop to your knees and pull his pants down, muttering snarky words before your tongue did all the talking. When Jake invited you both for café dates, you'd suck Sunoo off in the bathroom beforehand, as if taking the edge off made you more tolerable in public.

And in between all that, without either of you saying it, you started learning each other. You knew the way his breath caught when you traced the tip of your tongue along the underside of his cock, the way he liked his thighs rubbed when he was overwhelmed, the way he pretended to hate your voice but kept asking you to hum while he was inside your mouth. He knew the difference between your smirk and your real smile, he noticed the way you always fixed his collar before he left for class, the way you paused before walking away like you wanted him to stop you, just once.

"Did you see my guitar pick? I was really sure I left it here." You asked, already half on the floor as you looked beneath his bed, your voice muffled against the floorboards. "My pen? Where did you put my pen?"

Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just scratched the back of his head, eyes skimming over his textbook. "Also, I think I left my hoodie here last week," you continued, lifting his blanket and peeking underneath. You spoke like it was nothing, like this wasn't the fourth time you'd been here this week, like you hadn't sucked him off on this very bed two nights ago while the rain beat against his window. "The red one? Oversized. The one you said was ugly."

"Stop leaving your things here and expecting me to be your lost and found," Sunoo muttered with a sigh, rolling his eyes as he stood from his desk. His hands moved to the drawer beside his bed, fingers quickly rifling through the clutter until he pulled out the small pile of things you'd been searching for.

Your guitar pick. A pen with a chewed-up cap. The scrunchie you claimed you didn't care about but had asked about three times. "Yay!" you chirped, voice bright as you threw your arms around his neck without hesitation. Your enthusiasm was full of sunshine and zero awareness of boundaries—not that he'd set any for you lately. Your body leaned into his, so warm, and for a moment, he didn't pull away. He didn't even stiffen. If anything, he just stood there with his jaw tight and eyes soft, letting you hang onto him.

Sunoo had learned a lot of unexpected things from you, but the first was this: you were clingy. Not in the way people usually mean it. You were clingy in the way a storm was clingy, so loud and unpredictable, but always returning, always right on time. You'd barge into his room to ruffle his hair without asking, leave lipstick stains on the rim of his mugs, and curse while crocheting in his living room.

Despite your sharp tongue, your smug smirks, and that bitchy little smile you wore whenever you knew you had the upper hand, there was something about you that kept curling into the edges of his life. The softness you tried to bury always slipped through—like now, as your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, your breath warm on his collarbone.

You hadn't even fucked, not really. Whatever this was between the two of you, it never crossed that final line. Sure, you'd given him head more times than he could count now, slipping between his knees, sometimes right after class or before dinner. Sometimes with a joke still on your tongue, your fingers working his zipper like it was just part of your daily routine. You'd even played with yourself while looking him dead in the eyes, teasing him, daring him, and yet still somehow managing not to strip yourself bare.

Pleasure was always good. You knew exactly what to do to unravel him. But it confused him on the way you stayed after. The way you talked to him about your professors and complained about your classmates, how you crocheted lopsided sweaters and left your yarn all over his room, like you expected to come back and finish them.

It was how you kissed his cheek when he looked stressed, how you'd fall asleep next to him fully clothed while he studied and pretend not to notice when he pulled the blanket over you.

"You need to stop acting like this is your place," he muttered, trying to keep his voice flat.

You didn't take the bait, instead, you leaned in and kissed his cheek loudly. Sunoo's entire face twitched in immediate response. His hand shot up, rubbing his cheek with the heel of his palm. "Eww," he muttered under his breath.

"Sorry!" you giggled, clearly not sorry at all with that look you always wore when you knew you were testing his patience, and then your hands were on his face again, squeezing his cheeks with affection. "You're just so adorable when you're cranky. I can't help it."

He groaned loudly, swatting at your wrists, trying to pry your hands off. "Stop calling me that."

You didn't flinch. In fact, you leaned closer, squishing his cheeks harder, and making a cooing sound that only made him more irritated. He slapped your arm but when you laughed again, that same light, reckless laugh that always made his ears feel too warm, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged.

"Ow, ow, ow!" you yelped, wriggling in place with a pout. You batted his hand away, fingers tangled in your strands, while your eyes stayed locked on his with a mixture of amusement and challenge.

"Leave me alone. I'm trying to review for my exams," Sunoo muttered, barely glancing at you as he rolled his eyes and turned back toward his desk. His hand reached for the highlighter beside his textbook, the yellow ink already bleeding into the edge of a paragraph he'd probably read four times without actually absorbing anything.

You walked over anyway, you squeezed into the tiny space beside him on a chair meant for one, and Sunoo groaned out loud, shifting his body to the side. The chair creaked beneath your combined weight, and your thigh was pressed flush against his. "I just need a favor from you," you said, casually brushing your hand across his table.

Sunoo let out another sigh. He looked over at you, unimpressed. "Favor? Only friends do favors," he replied flatly.

You turned to him with a gasp, placing a hand to your chest in mock offense. "Wow," you said, eyes wide and sarcastic. "Damn, after all the blowjobs I gave you? After the way we've made out on your bed, your floor, and that one time in your fucking kitchen? After all the hours I spent here telling you about my day while you pretended not to listen? You're telling me we're not even friends?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his hand frozen halfway through underlining another sentence. You weren't wrong. You'd been coming around so often that your scent had started to cling to his sheets, your hair ties and red lipstick had begun appearing in random corners of his room, and your laugh had started to echo in his head long after you'd gone home.

You leaned in a little, close enough that he could feel your breath fan across his neck. "If this isn't a friendship," you added softly, "then what is your definition of friendship, Sunoo?"

He made a show of thinking, lifting his eyes like he was searching the ceiling for inspiration, but there was a glint in his expression that gave away how amused he actually was. "I don't know, girl. We haven't even properly introduced ourselves because you were too busy sucking my dick off," he replied, words nonchalant but his ears tinted red. He tried to keep his voice flat, sarcastic even, like that would mask the heat crawling up his neck.

You laughed, unbothered, and leaned your head against his shoulder with a casualness that shouldn't have felt so intimate, but somehow, it did. Sunoo shifted under the contact, scoffing, rolling his eyes, acting like he didn't care but you could feel it in the way he didn't move away.

"Okay, let's do this properly then," you said as you let your hand play with the edge of his sleeve. "I'm twenty. Fashion design major. I work part-time at two different cafés. I play gigs when I can, lead guitarist and vocalist of Jay's band. I crochet, bake, draw, paint—basically anything that can bring in money for tuition. I have three ex-girlfriends, all toxic in very different ways. And I like—"

"Wait," Sunoo cut in, body suddenly stiffening as he pulled back just enough to stare at you. His eyes were wide, lips parted slightly like he couldn't believe what he just heard. "You're gay?!"

Your mouth dropped open, blinking at him as your brain scrambled to rewind what you'd said. "I—I mean, isn't it obvious?" you managed, slightly flustered, though a part of you also found his surprise endearing in a frustrating way.

Sunoo didn't say anything right away. He kept looking at you, brows furrowed, lips parted in a stunned kind of silence like he was trying to piece you together again with this new piece of information you just casually dropped. You watched the flickers of confusion, surprise, maybe even a bit of disbelief in his face, and though you didn't fully understand why it mattered so much to him. "I like girls," you clarified again.

There was a beat of silence. Then Sunoo blinked hard, like he'd just snapped out of it, and his reaction was nothing short of dramatic. "I—I thought you were straight, girl!" he cried out with a squeaky kind of disbelief, and before you could defend yourself, his hand flew out and smacked your arm. Hard. The kind of smack that made your whole upper body jerk slightly from the force. You almost flew off the chair.

"Shit, Sunoo!" you yelped, rubbing your arm and glaring at him with a twisted expression of both pain and outrage.

But Sunoo wasn't listening. He was laughing—loudly, eyes crinkled, hand over his mouth like he couldn't believe what he was hearing and also couldn't stop himself from reacting. "I really didn't like you at first," he gasped between giggles. "Like, genuinely. I thought you were giving homophobic vibes! You were too confident, too flirty, and you stared at me like you were ready to fight or fuck, and I swear to god I thought you were trying to make me your weird little experiment!"

You blinked again, thrown off by the way he said it all so fast. "What the fuck, Sunoo," you muttered, half-offended but also kind of shocked that he thought all that while still letting you suck him off on the regular.

He slapped your shoulder again and kept cackling, his entire body tilted forward as he wheezed through it, completely losing himself in his own joke. "I mean, it makes sense now," he managed between laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "That's why you're such a bitch—because you're gay!"

You didn't hesitate. Your hand landed right on his arm, a loud smack echoing through the room. "Are you forgetting that you're gay too, idiot?" you shot back, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hold back your grin.

Sunoo hissed dramatically, rubbing the spot, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. The teasing should've stopped there—should've stayed in that usual back-and-forth where you both knew the lines and how far to push. But something in his expression shifted. "I still don't get it," he murmured, the laughter dying down to a softer tone, his hand now gently pressing the spot you'd hit. "If you're into girls, then what does that make... this?"

For a moment, you didn't know how to answer. So many things about you didn't fit into the easy explanations people seemed to expect, and honestly, you never cared to try and fit them. "I don't know," you said at last, "I've hooked up with guys before, and it was never really a big deal. I always knew I liked girls more, but that never stopped me from doing stuff with boys when I felt like it." You shrugged, then leaned back a little, giving him space to process what you were about to say. "Sexuality is just a word people use to make sense of themselves. I might call myself bisexual—or gay—but honestly, it never fully explains what I want or how I feel. Labels don't always fit."

He looked at you then, and there was something quiet different in his eyes. It wasn't annoyance or mockery for once. You continued anyway, because you needed him to understand. "All I know is that I like doing things with you. Whether it's talking, teasing, sitting around doing nothing, or yeah... getting on my knees for you. It sounds messy, but it's the only thing I'm sure of."

That made his throat bob. His heartbeat, already unruly from earlier, thudded faster at your words, and he could feel the heat creeping into his face before he could stop it. He wanted to brush it off, wanted to say something sharp or stupid to deflect, but nothing came out.

He forced himself to roll his eyes and gave your shoulder another slap, more gentle this time. "Ewwww," he groaned with an exaggerated squeal, scrunching his nose. "It might be our routine, but could you not say that in my ear? It's still weird hearing you talk so casually about sucking me off!"

You only grinned wider, catching the flush starting to bloom across his cheeks. "What? Are you blushing?" you teased as you reached up and pinched his cheeks between your fingers, delighting in how quickly he tried to jerk away.

He groaned, then reached up to grab a fistful of your hair in retaliation. "You're so annoying," he muttered, tugging hard enough to make you yelp and try to push him off.

"Fuck!" you shrieked through laughter, smacking his arm and trying to wriggle away. But the tangled mess of limbs ended with both of you tipping sideways and falling back into the chair. He hit the floor and let out a long-suffering groan as you collapsed on top of him in a heap.

"Great," he muttered, pressing a hand to his lower back. "Now I'm going to fail my exam with spinal damage." You were still laughing, unbothered as you rested your chin on his chest. Even now, with your weight on top of him and your hair tickling his face, Sunoo couldn't bring himself to shove you off.

Instead, his eyes wandered to the ceiling, mind replaying the words you said earlier. Maybe you were right. Sexuality was just a word. A way to make sense of something that couldn't always be explained. And maybe the way he felt this complicated, frustrating, strangely comforting pull toward you wasn't something that needed a label at all.

"Get off. You're so fucking heavy," Sunoo hissed, snapping himself out of it as he tugged at your hair again, a little rougher this time. But deep down, buried under every eye roll and complaint, he enjoyed doing things with you, whether they were sexual or not. That part, at least, he could admit to himself. Maybe not out loud. Definitely not to you. He'd rather drop dead than say it out loud.

The favor you had asked was to practice your creative makeup on him, get his measurements, and use him as some sort of living mannequin for the designs you'd been working on. It sounded harmless enough when you first mentioned it, though the way you said it—bright-eyed, insistent, and practically buzzing with ideas—made it sound like you were dragging him into something bigger than he could imagine. He hadn't thought much of it back then, especially since hospital duties had swallowed him whole. The weeks stretched on, filled with endless shifts, late nights, and exhaustion so deep he barely had the energy to eat before collapsing into bed.

But still, in the middle of those long nights, he'd catch himself thinking of you. Of how irritating you could be, how you texted him nonsense memes at ungodly hours, how you spammed his phone like you had nothing better to do. He never admitted it, but the absence of your loud presence gnawed at him. The quiet felt heavier without you around to annoy him into feeling alive. That was what made him finally agree to see you again, even if it meant dragging his tired body to your apartment after his shift.

At the bus stop, Sunoo sat slumped beside Jungwon, eyelids heavy as the night air pressed around them. Jungwon let out a long groan, stretching his arms above his head. "Do you want to sleep over at my place instead? Later, I'll order Jollibee. Kinda been craving their spaghetti."

The offer was tempting—comfort food and a soft bed—but Sunoo only shook his head, his lips curving faintly as he pulled out his phone. "Maybe next time. Thanks for the offer, though. I've got some business to attend to."

"Business?" Jungwon repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. "At this hour?"

Sunoo didn't answer right away. His thumb scrolled down the flood of messages on his screen—your name glowing at the top of the chat. Rows of texts, some with too many exclamation marks, others filled with random pictures, all ridiculous enough to make his scrunched-up expression betray him with a small, undeniable smile. Jungwon noticed. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "That's new," he muttered, side-eyeing. "So... where exactly are you going?"

"Just there," Sunoo replied vaguely, sliding his phone back into his bag before Jungwon could ask too much. And then, Sunoo leaned over and kissed Jungwon on the cheek, accompanied by a rare, boyish grin. "I'll get going now. Bye-bye!"

Jungwon froze, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief as he watched Sunoo walk away, his figure retreating down the street with a kind of restless energy. Jungwon's mouth fell open, his thoughts spinning in circles. He looked off to the side, considering whether to press or not, but in the end he only sighed and rolled his shoulders in resignation. "Huh. Weird," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "But whatever."

When Sunoo finally stepped into your apartment, you didn't hold back. You practically launched yourself at him, arms flinging around his shoulders as though you had been waiting for this moment for weeks—which, in truth, you had. The sound of your laughter filled the air immediately, loud and full of the joy that spilled out of you so naturally.

Sunoo, on the other hand, reacted exactly the way he always did when you overwhelmed him with affection. His face scrunched into that familiar look of feigned annoyance as he huffed, one hand coming up to shove your face away. "Geez," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, "it's already ten in the evening and you're still bouncing around? Spare me, please." With a heavy sigh, he slipped his bag off his shoulder and tossed it onto the nearest chair. "I'm just going to change my clothes."

Your eyes widened immediately, and you froze mid-step. "Wait—does that mean you're going to sleep here?"

Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, as if the answer should have been obvious. "What? You really think I'd go home after letting you disturb me at this hour?" he said, his voice dry. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around your apartment for the first time.

It was nothing like his own space. The moment his gaze swept over the room, he felt an odd tug in his chest. Guitars lined one wall, their strings gleaming faintly under the shifting glow of LED lights taped along the corners. The posters that filled your walls, mostly of metal bands he actually recognized—thanks to one of his friends who was just as obsessed with that scene as you seemed to be. There were canvases, too, half-finished and scattered against the sofa. The whole place felt alive, buzzing with your energy even when you weren't moving.

"Missed me?" you teased, leaning closer with a grin.

Sunoo didn't even spare you a proper glance. He rolled his eyes and shoved you lightly away, muttering under his breath as he dug into his bag. "As if. The only reason I even bothered coming here is because your annoying ass wouldn't leave me alone."

You watched him unzip his bag, pulling out a neatly folded set of clothes, and despite his flat expression you noticed the way his shoulders sagged, how exhaustion clung to every movement. He had been working himself to the bone, yet here he was, standing in your apartment at ten in the evening. That alone made your chest warm.

"God, I need to shower," he muttered, already moving toward the hallway without waiting for directions. He pushed open a random door, somehow guessing correctly that it was the bathroom, and slipped inside. The door shut firmly, leaving you behind in the living room with your laughter spilling out in echoes.

You padded after him without hesitation, knocking against the bathroom door with force. "Let me join!" you shouted through the wood.

From inside, there was a short pause, followed by the sound of the shower starting, and then his indignant yell. "Fuck you!"

You laughed so hard you had to lean against the wall for support, the sound echoing through your apartment. There was something deeply satisfying in knowing you could still pull that reaction from him even when he was drained from his long shift.

Sunoo ended up on your bed, sitting stiffly. His eyes moved slowly over your room, taking in the mess sprawl of your belongings. Clothes half-folded, books stacked unevenly, random brushes and palettes scattered across your desk. He bent down with a sigh, picking up a stray eyeliner pencil and a crumpled sheet of paper from the floor before dropping them on the bedside table. "Unbelievable," he muttered, glancing at you. "How do you even live like this?"

You ignored his complaint, too caught up in your own excitement. With the measuring tape in hand, you motioned for him to sit still. He shifted reluctantly, rolling his eyes but letting you circle around him, brushing against his shoulders and arms as you worked. You could feel the weight of his gaze following your movements even though he tried to pretend he wasn't paying attention.

"Our theme is under the sea," you began, your tone lively, words spilling out in a rush. "The makeup I have in mind isn't too heavy—it's soft, glowy, more like a douyin-inspired style, but with hints of shimmer, like reflections on water."

Sunoo raised a brow but said nothing, still trying to sit as if he wasn't secretly curious. "Wait, hold on." You darted to your desk, shoving aside piles of papers and empty cups, searching frantically until you found your sketchpad. The mess you made in the process only made him sigh louder, and when you finally returned, your arms were full of sheets, pencils, and smudged notes. You plopped beside him on the bed without an ounce of care, your hair brushing against his shoulder as you flipped the sketchpad open to the right page.

"Here, look!" you said eagerly, turning the pad so he could see. The drawing wasn't perfect, but it was vibrant, full of details—flowing lines like waves, soft glitter patterns around the eyes, hints of pearlescent tones. You leaned close enough that your knees brushed his, smiling up at him as if waiting for approval.

He glanced at the sketch, then at you, then back again. His face was blank, though his lips twitched as if fighting back a reaction. "You did all this just for practice?" he asked finally.

"Of course," you said without hesitation, tilting your head at him. "You're my muse tonight. Who else would I trust to pull this off?"

That word—muse—hung in the air between you. Sunoo blinked, looking away quickly, pretending to study the messy corner of your room instead. He scoffed under his breath, though his ears betrayed him with the faintest hint of red.

"Whatever, just do your job so I can sleep," he said, voice carrying that familiar sharpness. Still, he didn't shift away when you leaned in, didn't flinch when your hand brushed against his wrist as you measured, nor when you adjusted the tilt of his chin so you could see him better. He stayed still, letting you come closer.

If someone asked you at that moment how you felt, you would have answered easily—you were happy. Happy in a way that was simple yet overwhelming. Happy because lately, it felt like things were turning in your favor, even the little things. Happy because just yesterday you'd gotten a new tattoo for free. Happy because sitting here, in your messy room that never seemed good enough for guests, you had a boy in front of you who was almost too pretty to be real. A boy who had an attitude sharp enough to cut, but whose presence made you feel full.

You weren't known for being soft. People said you were rough around the edges, cunning, always quick with words that made others falter. But with him, it was different. You couldn't help yourself from speaking, from filling the silence with random stories, thoughts, jokes—anything. To most, your voice could be overwhelming, but Sunoo had already grown used to it.

"And Jake was also planning his first date to a hotpot—" you rambled on, your hand steady as you blended shimmer onto his eyelid.

Sunoo let out a heavy sigh, his lips parting slightly as he resisted the urge to open his eyes. He had been sitting there with his lids closed for what felt like an eternity, and still you weren't finished. "Do you ever shut up?" he muttered.

You grinned, your brush tracing along the curve of his brow bone as if you didn't hear the complaint. "Why would I? My voice keeps you awake."

"More like gives me a headache," he countered. You tilted his face to the side, carefully catching the light so you could see your work better. These were just trial runs, after all, and even though you hadn't used foundation or concealer—because his skin was already annoyingly perfect—you still wanted everything to look right. The green-brown lenses had shifted the color of his eyes into softer glow, and with the eyeshadow fanned out at the corners, it gave him a kind of effortless charm that made you pause. There was something about working on his face that always made you fall quiet for a second, like you were afraid any sudden movement might break the moment. His features, up close, were unfairly beautiful—the curve of his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw, the small, barely-there freckles you'd playfully added to give him a more sun-kissed look. Everything about him was pretty in a way that didn't feel delicate, but confident. His lips especially—plump, soft, and just slightly parted while he sat there with his eyes closed.

You turned, rummaging through your pile of lip tints and glosses until you found the shade that instantly reminded you of him. It was a sheer pink with a little bit of shimmer, and you already knew how good it would look. Without warning, you swung your leg over and settled onto his lap, grinning as you balanced your weight. The reaction was immediate—Sunoo's eyes snapped open, brows pulling together.

"Seriously?" he sighed, exasperated, but his hands came to your hips anyway, holding you steady so you wouldn't slip off the edge of the bed. "Are we done now?"

You tilted your head and gave a sheepish smile, not answering as you leaned in to carefully dab the gloss over his lips. The shape of his mouth, the way it gave the tiniest twitch when your finger brushed the edge—it made your pulse jump. You were so close now that his breath brushed against your cheek, and you had to focus hard not to let your hand shake. You wanted to kiss him. The urge sat so close to the surface that it made your chest feel tight, but you didn't. You just pulled back and admired the finished look with a soft exhale.

"Perfect," you whispered to yourself, more than him. You reached behind you and grabbed the mirror without moving from his lap. Sunoo rolled his eyes but took the mirror from your hand. You stayed right where you were, watching with quiet excitement as he looked at his reflection. There was silence at first. He tilted the mirror slightly, studying one angle, then another. He reached up to touch his hair, fixing a stray strand, then let his gaze drift toward his lips. His expression shifted slowly, quiet surprise then the corner of his mouth curled upward.

"Hmm, it doesn't look bad," he murmured.

Still straddling his lap, you leaned in closer until your face hovered just near the side of his neck, taking in the soft scent of his body wash still lingering from his shower. Your voice dropped as you murmured, "You look so much prettier than me."

Without missing a beat, Sunoo gave a soft scoff, his eyes still on his reflection. "Of course. I should be."

That earned a laugh from you. Typical Sunoo. You didn't stop yourself when you leaned forward and pressed your teeth lightly against his neck, a teasing little bite that made him flinch. Sunoo immediately pinched your waist, just hard enough to make you jolt. "Don't leave marks, I swear I'll kill you," he hissed, finally putting the mirror aside and turning to glare at you.

You only grinned wider, pressing closer until your hands slid up to frame his jaw and your nose brushed against his. "What if I want to leave marks?" you whispered.  "What if I want people to know you've been thoroughly used?"

He stared at you, deadpan, though the faintest flush started to bloom across his cheeks. "Used?" he echoed, blinking slowly.

You nodded, the tip of your tongue peeking out as you teased, "Yeah. Like a good little stress toy. I could sit on your face"

His jaw clenched in restraint. "You're disgusting," he muttered, but his hands never left your hips. In fact, they gripped a little tighter now.

"That's not a no," you said sweetly, letting your thumb trail along the curve of his throat. "You're holding me so well. Kinda makes me think you like this. You want me to keep going, Sunoo?"

He inhaled sharply and leaned back just slightly, giving himself space to think. The dim light of the room cast a soft glow across his cheekbones. The red LED strip near the ceiling bled into shadows, blending into the yellow hue of your little desk lamp, illuminating parts of your skin in warm patches. Your hair messily pinned up, strands falling out of your bun, wearing that worn-out Hello Kitty sando and those barely-there shorts. He swallowed hard.

And for a moment, he just stared. The edge of lust in his expression softened. The corner of his lip twitched like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. He was thinking, really thinking. and the thoughts weren't just about your lips or your thighs or the heat pooling between you. He was imagining your face twisted in pleasure, not because you were teasing or in control, but because he was the one making you fall apart. He wanted to see that. Wanted to own it.

His body betrayed him first. You both felt how hard he was getting beneath you, the tension radiating off him as you shifted on his lap and rolled your hips in a slow circle against his clothed cock. Your breath hitched as your core dragged over the growing bulge beneath his sweats, and you felt his fingers dig in harder.

Sunoo bit down on his bottom lip and didn't break eye contact. His voice came controlled, but his expression betrayed how much restraint it took. "Sit on my face, then."

Your entire body tensed. The shift was immediate. The teasing smirk that once played on your lips faltered. Your hips stopped moving, stilling right on top of him. You blinked, staring down at him, wide-eyed and visibly caught off guard. "H-huh?" you stammered, breath shallow.

His hand slid up beneath your sando, fingertips grazing over the soft skin of your waist, then higher toward your ribs, slow and unhurried as his gaze didn't flicker. "Sit on my face," he whispered again. "What's the matter? You seemed so eager earlier."

You could barely form a thought. Your pulse thundered in your ears, your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a plea. "I was just joking," you mumbled, already shifting as if to climb off his lap, trying to dismiss the thought. "You don't have to. I mean—vaginal fluid doesn't even taste good..." You avoided his eyes, flustered and scrambling for your scattered makeup products, needing something to shift the atmosphere. But before your fingers could wrap around the nearest compact, Sunoo moved. He caught you by the wrist and pushed you back onto the bed in one quick motion. You let out a small, surprised squeal as your back hit the mattress.

His body hovered over yours, his knees pinning either side of your hips, eyes fixed on you. "I've let you get me off with your mouth more times than I can count," he said in annoyance. "And now you're acting like I don't get to touch you back?"

Your heart kicked harder in your chest, thudding against your ribs as you stared up at him. "I—" you started, but your voice came out small. "Sunoo, I didn't even shave..."

He didn't blink. He sat back just slightly, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. "And?" he muttered, raising a brow as if that wasn't even a detail worth considering. When you moved to stop him, hands fluttering at his wrists, he caught one and pressed it into the mattress. His other hand cupped you through your panties, his palm fitting against the damp heat between your thighs.

Your breath hitched. Your back arched into his touch instinctively, and you saw the way his eyes darkened, how his lips parted ever so slightly. "You're soaked," he said, thumb pressing a little firmer.

You tried to deflect, though your voice wavered. "Do you even know what to do with it?" Your tone was teasing, but your body betrayed you—already trembling under his touch, heat pooling low in your stomach, breath quickening. You weren't expecting his answer.

"No," he said simply, like he wasn't embarrassed by it. Then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging the fabric down your thighs in one slow motion before tossing it somewhere across the room. "So teach me."

He slid a hand under your thigh, lifting and spreading your legs. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing soft kisses along your inner thigh slowly, all while keeping his eyes on you. The contact made your pussy flutter, a pulse of need tightening in your abdomen. Your breath hitched again, your hips twitching with anticipation. The sight of him makeup still intact from earlier, your lip gloss still lingering faintly on his mouth—made your body anticipate.

He dipped his head between your legs and dragged his tongue along your folds, one long, unhurried stroke from your entrance to your clit. The sensation made you jolt, the sudden wave of pleasure catching you off guard. "Fuck," you gasped, one hand flying to his hair, fingers curling in his soft strands.

Sunoo's tongue was slow at first, careful in a way that almost betrayed how new this was to him but he was quick to find what made you tremble. He closed his eyes, letting the taste of you settle on his tongue as he circled your clit with careful strokes before dragging his mouth lower to collect everything your body was offering. For a second, he could barely breathe.

So this is what pussy tastes like. That thought rang in his head, the warmth, the wetness, the way your whole body jerked when he hit the right spot—it was more than he imagined. He'd spent years scoffing at the way straight guys romanticized it, mocked their obsession, swore he'd never enjoy it. But fuck, now he understood why they bragged about it. Now he understood the hype.

His hands gripped your thighs as he dragged his tongue through your folds again, slower this time, savoring it. He moaned into you when he heard you whine his name, your voice shaky and breathless. The vibration of his voice against your pussy made your whole body twitch, and Sunoo's cock throbbed from the sound alone. If he wasn't already half-hard before, he was fully aching now, painfully so.

"S-Sunoo," you whimpered, hips lifting off the bed in a desperate rhythm that told him just how good he was doing. His mouth moved instinctively—less cautious now, more eager, more confident—as he pushed his tongue deeper, tasting you from your entrance all the way up, mouth hot and greedy. You were clenching around nothing, so tight and needy, and he wanted to bury his face even deeper, get drunk off you.

When your thighs began to tremble and squeeze around his ears, he didn't stop—instead, he pressed your legs apart with both hands, holding you open like a meal he wasn't finished with yet. Your slick coated his lips and chin, dripping down, and he didn't care. If anything, it made him hungrier. He licked through it all, mess and all, letting it smear over his tongue and down his throat as he sucked your clit hard, then softened his strokes just enough to tease again.

"Ahhh!" Your body writhed underneath him, moans louder, messier, fingers clawing at his hair. His nose bumped into your clit as he worked his tongue into you again, his face wet with your slick, breathing through his mouth as he chased the way you tasted.

His mind was spinning—nothing existed in that moment except your moans, the heat of your pussy, and the steady throb in his pants that begged for release. And when you cried out his name again, legs shaking harder, nails digging into his scalp as your hips rocked into his face, Sunoo moaned so loud it vibrated against your cunt, eyes rolling back as he thought—fuck, he could come from just this.

Sunoo's hips were already grinding against the mattress, his clothed cock rutting helplessly into the sheets as he kept his mouth buried between your legs, tongue swirling slow, then fast, then slow again as he tested how you reacted to every flick and drag. But it was your clit that made him obsessed, the way it throbbed, the way you twitched whenever he sucked it, the way you squealed when he circled it just right. He focused there now, licking harder, more deliberate, tasting every ounce of you like he was making up for all the time he'd dismissed ever wanting this.

This wasn't just payback for all the times you teased him, for every shameless comment or cocky flirt that came from your mouth. No, this was Sunoo owning you. Silencing you. Making you feel exactly what you put him through—restless, aching, desperate.

Your moans started to rise uncontrollably, your voice shaky, your fingers now tangled tightly in his hair as your hips rolled in sync with the rhythm of his tongue. "Wait! Fuck!" you gasped, thighs twitching as your climax built hard and fast, threatening to snap. But Sunoo didn't let up, if anything, he gripped your legs tighter, keeping them wide open, anchoring you in place so you couldn't run from it.

He looked up at you, flushed and wrecked, your eyes squeezed shut in overwhelmed pleasure, lips parted as your body trembled. His cock throbbed painfully from just the sight, and his tongue moved faster, dragging flat and then curling upward to suck your clit hard before flicking again.

When you came, it hit like a wave crashing through your entire body, your back arched off the mattress, mouth open in a cry you barely recognized, legs shaking hard in his hold. Your breathing turned ragged, stuttering as the orgasm took over, intense and blinding.

But Sunoo didn't stop. He lapped through it, almost like he was trying to drag more out of you, milking the high as long as he could. His mouth was soaked, face buried so deep you had to push at his head with trembling hands, voice breaking as you choked out, "Too much—fuck, I can't—"

He let you go, finally, pulling back with a smile. His lips glistened with your cum, cheeks flushed, and his hair was a mess from your grip but those green contacts made his eyes look almost unreal in the soft red light. And god, the makeup you'd done earlier was perfect. Smudged only a little at the corner of his lids, giving him an edgier look that made your cunt clench again.

Sunoo was pretty. Too pretty. Pretty enough to ruin you without even trying. What made it worse—or better, depending how fucked up your brain was—was the way his tongue slowly dragged along his bottom lip, catching the last traces of you. "How was it?" he asked, tilting his head to seek of your approval.

You couldn't even answer at first. Your legs were still trembling, thighs sticky and wet, your heartbeat thudding too loud in your ears to think straight. You swallowed, chest rising and falling fast as you tried to catch your breath. Then you looked at him again—at the shine on his mouth, the hunger still flickering behind those pretty green eyes, the way he sat back slightly.

"Not that bad," you breathed out, voice shaky as your trembling legs bent down and your fingers slowly pressed against the hard outline of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweats. You didn't even try to hide how your hand lingered, almost testing him—your palm flat, applying a bit of pressure. Sunoo raised his brow at your answer but you didn't meet it. You were too busy fighting off the embarrassment clawing at your chest from the way you moved so eagerly, so unlike how you usually carry yourself.

"Down to fuck?" you asked, forcing a playful smirk as you tilted your head, though your voice cracked slightly at the end and your legs still hadn't stopped trembling. The moment you saw the way he blinked at you, you almost backtracked, your lips parting, about to laugh it off like you were only playing.

But then Sunoo was already pulling down his sweats. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed and angry-looking, the head pink and glistening, practically pulsing with tension. You stared. Your mouth went dry. Then wet. You swallowed thickly, clenching your thighs, heat crawling under your skin and settling low in your stomach. There was no hesitation in him now, no teasing smile, just hunger written across his face as he sat back on his heels. His hand wrapped around himself, stroking slowly as he watched the way your breath caught. You didn't even try to hide your stare.

Your mouth went dry, your legs pressing together out of reflex, and you could feel your whole body heat at the sight of him. He looked desperate, flushed, needy, barely holding himself back. "W-Wait," you blurted, hand reaching out like you meant to stop him, even though your body clearly didn't agree. Your pulse was racing, and your thoughts were already spiraling, too many emotions crashing into each other all at once—desire, fear, anticipation.

Sunoo let out a rough sigh, dragging his eyes up to your face. His brows furrowed and his lips parted like he was going to say something else, but then his jaw clenched tight. You could see the frustration in his eyes. "What more do you need?" he asked, voice low and strained. "Do you want me or not?"

You swallowed hard, because the truth was yes, more than you'd ever expected to. But something about how exposed both of you were now made it suddenly harder to breathe. "I just..." you began, "I don't want to ruin this. You've never done this before and I—what if it's too much?" It was fear—real and sudden fear. The weight of what you were about to do had finally caught up, hitting somewhere deep in your chest. This wasn't just another messy hookup. Not with him.

Sunoo stared at you in silence. You could see the flicker in his eyes, between disbelief and restrained annoyance. He almost looked like he was about to roll his eyes and shove you back down onto the mattress with that sharp tongue of his, throwing some cutting comment about how ridiculous this was when you were both already naked, your legs trembling and his cock painfully hard between them. But he didn't. Instead, he took a breath, he reached out, fingers brushing gently against the inside of your knee. You felt the warmth of his palm slide up your thigh until it rested there. "It's already too much," he said. "It's been too much since the first time you kissed me."

You swallowed hard as you sat still beneath his touch. Then his hand slid a little higher, his thumb brushing softly against the crease where your thigh met your hip. "So..." he tilted his head, the corners of his lips twitching into a slight smirk that couldn't hide the heat still simmering in his eyes. "Are we gonna fuck or not?"

You let out a shaky breath, laughing despite yourself. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his jaw, feeling the slight tremble in his skin. Your hand slid down between you, curling around the base of his cock, hot and twitching in your grip. His breath stuttered, hips jerking slightly. You looked up at him, lips brushing his cheekbone as you whispered, "Lay back for me. Let me take care of you first."

Sunoo obeyed without a word, his body moving almost too quickly. He leaned back against the headboard, chest rising fast, lips parted as he tried to steady his breath. You saw the way his cock twitched in anticipation, pre-cum glistening at the tip, practically begging for friction.

You pulled your sando off, discarding it somewhere off the bed. The bra came next, your bare form revealed under the room's dim lighting. You weren't shy—at least you tried not to be—but you were aware of the way Sunoo's eyes darkened the moment he saw you fully.

Sunoo stopped breathing altogether. His lips parted slightly, stunned, staring at the shape of you, the ink on your skin, the curve of your breasts, and the subtle shimmer of sweat from earlier. Everything about you was too much. Too fucking beautiful.

You straddled him slowly, settling over his thighs as you reached toward your drawer and took out a condom. Sunoo's eyes didn't leave yours, not even when you tore the packet open and rolled it down the length of his cock with deliberate care. His head fell back against the pillows as he let out a groan, hips twitching up into your hand.

"Fuck," he groaned, hips bucking just slightly into your hand. His cock throbbed under your touch, hard and leaking. He couldn't believe how sensitive he was. How badly he wanted this.

You smirked at the sound, giving him a slow stroke just to see him twitch again. "First time?" you teased. "You better tell me later what's better—dick or pussy."

He let out a breathless laugh, but didn't answer. Not when you were already lifting your hips and guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. That wiped the grin from both your faces.

As he breached you slowly, you gritted your teeth, trying to hide the way your body resisted the stretch. Your hands pressed against his chest for support, and you felt his hands move instinctively to your hips, holding you steady but not forcing anything. His grip was trembling. So were your thighs. You widened your legs as best as you could, adjusting inch by inch, trying to take him fully without showing how much it burned on the way in. You tried to play it off—tried to look confident even when your face couldn't hide the pinch of discomfort.

The truth was, you didn't have a lot of experience with men. Maybe just one, and that didn't really count. It was fast, fumbling, and forgettable. You'd never ridden anyone before. You knew how to move your hips with girls—scissoring, grinding, finding the angles—but this was different. This was slower, deeper, stretching you in ways you hadn't prepared for. You didn't want to look clueless. You didn't want to ruin the moment.

Still, you refused to back down. You braced yourself, breathing through your nose, trying to remember every move you'd given and received, every grind and swivel you'd learned with women—just enough to give yourself rhythm. You focused on how wet you were and how turned on he clearly was, Sunoo gasped beneath you, both hands tightening on your waist like he was afraid he'd lose himself the second you sank further.

"Fuck—" he choked, voice cracking. "You're so—tight. Oh my god—don't move yet—just—fuck—"

His head tilted back, lips parted in a perfect 'O' as he moaned, eyes squeezed shut. His reaction made something clench in your chest and between your legs, but you held still, letting yourself adjust, letting him calm down before either of you pushed too far too fast.

You looked down at him, sweat already starting to gather at his temples, and leaned over just enough to press your forehead to his.

You finally managed to sink down all the way, and the stretch was so intense it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your mouth fell open in a breathless moan, your walls clenching tight around him, struggling to adjust. The pain hadn't completely faded, but it was being overtaken by a creeping pleasure that curled low in your belly. Still, your legs were shaking violently beneath you, the burn in your thighs making it impossible to lift yourself.

Sunoo blinked up at you, concern slipping into his dazed expression as his hands rubbed your waist slowly, gently. His fingers were trying to soothe you, but he could feel the tremble beneath your skin, could see the panic flicker in your eyes. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

You couldn't answer right away. You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, hiding the stutter in your breath as your hands gripped his shoulders. You nodded, though it was shaky. "I'm fine," you said but it came out weak, and the moment you tried to lift yourself, your legs gave out again. You choked out a sound, "just... g-give me a minute."

Sunoo stiffened underneath you when he felt the hot tear that rolled down onto his skin. His brows furrowed as he turned his head slightly, lips brushing your temple. He almost felt bad, guilty to be exact. He knew what that stretch felt like, that burn of being too full, and for a second, he almost paused. Almost. But then you clenched around him again, and it told him everything he needed to know.

"You're such a liar," he breathed out, a soft laugh slipping past his lips. "All that talk... and look at you now."

You didn't respond—just let out another breathy moan, face still tucked into his neck, skin hot with embarrassment. He could feel how tight you were, feel how you clenched around him every time he moved even the slightest. Without warning, he planted both feet flat on the mattress and thrust upward, driving himself deeper inside you. Your entire body jolted, and the moan that tore out of your throat was loud and desperate. He clenched his jaw at the sound of it, biting back his own curse.

You tightened around him, body clenching in response, and his hips bucked again, this time slower, more deliberate. His mouth moved to your ear, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there as you trembled in his hold. "Let me take over," he whispered. His arms wrapped around your waist, locking you in place, and his hips moved again—shallow but deep, fucking into you from below.

You both moaned out loud. It was past one in the morning and the silence outside made it worse, like every sound would carry past the walls, but Sunoo didn't seem to care. His rhythm picked up, hips snapping against yours with rising urgency, chasing the high he'd only ever imagined.

His thrust hit that perfect spot inside you and your whole body arched, a sharp cry ripping from your throat. Your hands fumbled to hold onto something—his arms, the sheets, your own sanity—but it was already slipping.

Sunoo didn't pause, didn't even look apologetic as he murmured, "Fuck, that's it," like he'd just discovered your weakness. Your pussy was gripping him so tight he could barely move, but that only drove him further. The struggle made it more satisfying.

And then, he pulled out. You barely had time to protest when he shifted your position, guiding you back onto the bed with your legs spread wide. He stared, breathing hard, hands trailing down your thighs before his fingers spread your folds gently. He took a second just to look at you, to admire how wet and swollen you were for him, how much you wanted it. Then, with two fingers, he circled your clit—light, teasing touches that made your hips jerk and your legs try to close on instinct.

So this is why tops get cocky, he thought, watching the way your eyes fluttered, the way your lips fell open in a silent moan. This is why they hold someone down, grip their legs, call them pretty, beg them to take more. He could feel the power of every thrust, feel the way your body reacted. He never understood it before. He always thought tops just liked being in charge, that they were addicted to control—but it wasn't just about that.

"You always run your mouth," he muttered, watching your body twitch with every motion. "But where's all that attitude now?"

He caught your leg, draping one over his shoulder as he lined himself up again. The stretch was immediate, deeper now in this new position, and he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, dragging his cock along your walls until the tip pressed against the spot that made your back arch on reflex.

"You always talk too much," he muttered, groaning at the way you clenched again. "Guess my dick's the one to shut you up."

You sobbed harder, face turning to the side as your hands gripped the sheets. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, tears streaking your cheeks as you moaned his name. "P-please, Sunoo."

Sunoo's stomach tightened at the sound. He threw his head back, letting out a moan that was nearly a growl. His grip tightened on your thighs before he grabbed both, pushing your knees up beside your head as he leaned in close. His arms braced on either side of you, the shift pressing you into the mattress, trapping you with his weight.

Then, he pulled almost all the way out, letting you feel every inch slip from your body before slamming back in with a force that made your eyes roll back. The bed creaked beneath you, the room filled with the slick, wet sound of skin on skin.

"Fuck!" you screamed, arching harder beneath him, your voice cracking on the edge of a sob. Without a second thought, he dropped his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, precise circles. "G-gonna cum, wait! Wait, wait, wait—"  your voice dissolving into a high-pitched wail, so loud and unfiltered that Sunoo instinctively leaned down to kiss you, swallowing the sound against your lips.

The moment his mouth covered yours, your walls spasmed around him, tight and wet and so hot that he couldn't think. Your climax hit, your hips jerking uncontrollably as your pussy clenched around him over and over, fluttering in a rhythm that made his own control snap completely.

Sunoo moaned against your mouth, almost choking on it, his own breath ragged as he held still for a heartbeat but your body pulled it out of him. He couldn't stop moving, not when it felt like this. He gripped your waist tight and kept thrusting, shallow and fast, keeping the head of his cock angled against the soft, spongy spot inside you. He wanted to feel all of it, ride it out, draw it out until you were crying again.

Your legs shook violently as you clung to him, your mouth parting beneath his kiss in gasping, sobbing breaths. You didn't even care that you were a mess now, sweat-slicked, trembling, lips swollen from kissing and crying. You couldn't stop clenching around him, couldn't stop shaking from how intense it was.

And Sunoo, he'd never felt anything like it. That pressure, the way you pulsed around him, the wet squeeze of your walls, the heat, the smell of sweat and sex, the muffled sobs against his mouth—it was too much. He buried his face in your neck as his hips stuttered once, then twice more, before he groaned loud, biting down on a moan that still escaped him in a rush.

"Shit! Ah! Fuck, fuck fuck." He came hard, harder than he ever remembered. His body curled over yours as the orgasm crashed through him, his muscles locking up, breath ragged as his cock twitched deep inside the condom. The sound he made was almost a sob of his own because the moment you clenched around him like that, it was over. He had no chance.

He stayed inside you, breathing hard against your collarbone, trying to get control of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, holding you close. You blinked up at the ceiling, dazed, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. Sunoo pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing hair out of your face with one trembling hand.

"One more?" you asked, voice still breathy as you gave him a weak smile, your lashes still wet with the remnants of your tears. There was a glow in your face from that dazed, post-orgasmic haze.

Sunoo let out a scoff, tossing his head to the side. "My legs feel like noodles. Leave me alone." He covered his eyes with one arm.

You let out a small laugh, too drained to do more than let your body sink deeper into the sheets. You didn't push back with another tease. Sunoo sighed as he finally peeled himself off the bed. He removed the condom carefully, tying it off and tossing it into the trash. His limbs felt too light, a little shaky, and for a second he just stood there, catching his breath with a hand braced against the edge of the drawer.

Most of his exes never really gave a shit after sex. They'd turn their backs, light a cigarette, or scroll through their phones. And Sunoo hated that—hated how cold it used to make him feel, even if he pretended it didn't. He wasn't about to become that kind of person, no matter what this thing was between you two. No matter how casual you both claimed it was. So he pulled on his briefs and then his sweatpants, still trying to recover as he looked at your spent body lying there, eyes fluttering closed, chest flushed and rising slowly. You weren't asleep yet, but you looked like you could drift off at any second.

"Don't pass out on me," he muttered under his breath as he leaned down, arms sliding under your knees and back. His muscles protested immediately. "Shit—what are you eating?" he groaned as he lifted you, stumbling a little. "Why are you so heavy? Fuck, my back hurts."

Your laugh came out as a soft wheeze, your head dropping onto his shoulder. "You're so sweet," you mumbled, not even bothering to open your eyes.

Sunoo let out a sharp, incredulous sound as he adjusted his grip on you. "Sweet?" he scoffed. "Bitch, I'm carrying you to the bathroom so you don't get a UTI. That's not sweet, that's basic sexual hygiene."

You didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed, just groaned and buried your face deeper into the crook of his neck as he trudged down the hall. "Still sweet," you mumbled against his skin, barely audible.

After that night, you truly believed something had shifted between the two of you. And if anyone asked how you felt, you'd say the same thing every time: you were happy. Deeply, undeniably happy.

4 Months Later.

"Ah! Harder!F-fuck, Sunoo!"

Your voice cracked as Sunoo pressed a firm hand against the small of your back, forcing your hips higher while his other hand anchored tight around your waist. He dug his nails into your skin without realizing, the sting only mixing into the heat already flooding your body. His pace grew rougher, steady and merciless, and when your moans pitched too high, he slid his palm up to the back of your neck, pinning your face into the mattress to muffle the sounds.

Sunoo's eyes dropped, gaze fixed on the red lilies etched into your lower back. The ink bloomed outward in delicate, mirrored curves, the lines dark against your sweat-slick skin. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he had become addicted to this view. From behind, with your ass high and that tattoo staring back at him, he always came harder than he thought possible. He'd never say it aloud, of course—he'd just brush it off with some offhand jab about your face being annoying. But deep down, he knew the truth: doggy had become his favorite position because it gave him this sight, this control, and it drove him insane.

His thrusts grew uneven, his groans breaking apart as his orgasm built and finally tore through him. A strangled moan left his lips as he spilled into the condom, his hips stuttering before he slowed to a stop. Breathing harshly, he carefully pulled out, muscles trembling.

He tied off the condom and tossed it into the trash, staring at the small pile already gathering there. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "We should've stopped after the third round. My head feels groggy every time and I still have duty tomorrow."

You collapsed forward onto the bed. "You're the one who kept asking for more," you teased, voice hoarse but playful as you reached for the drawer by your side. You pulled it open and slid your fingers around the familiar box of cigarettes, only to flinch when Sunoo's hand smacked yours away with no hesitation.

"No cigarettes while I'm here," he snapped, eyes narrowing as he shoved the box back into the drawer and slammed it shut.

You turned your head lazily to glare at him, lips jutting into a pout. "Come on, I always smoke outside. Just one, it won't kill me."

Sunoo rolled his eyes and flopped down beside you, his arm heavy as it landed across your waist. "Yeah, and you'll say the same thing tomorrow, and the next day, and then you'll be coughing your lungs out when you're thirty. No thanks, I'm not kissing an ashtray." He buried his face briefly against your shoulder, breathing in your scent, before pulling back with a huff.

You stared at Sunoo for a moment, your palm brushing over his damp hair as you gently pushed it back from his forehead, fingertips catching against the fine strands still slick with sweat. His skin was flushed, chest rising and falling in steady breaths, the aftermath of exhaustion softening his features in a way you rarely got to see. He let out a low sigh at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed just for a second before he opened them again, blinking up at you like he didn't want to move. "Come on," he murmured, "let's take a shower and sleep already. I'm leaving at six-thirty."

You nodded, smiling as you leaned down to nuzzle your nose against his cheek. Your legs slipped around his waist without needing to be asked, body folding into him easily. Without a word, Sunoo shifted and lifted you up, muttering something under his breath about how clingy you were.

It wasn't often he had time like this. With his final year piling up and hospital internships consuming his days, Sunoo was constantly in motion, constantly drained. But when he made space for you, it was always in small, quiet ways—sitting still long enough for you to do his makeup, letting you slip him into the clothes you had designed, experimenting with textures and colors against his skin. He'd roll his eyes, complain about the shimmer on his cheeks or how ridiculous he looked, but he never told you to stop. And more often than not, those moments ended the same way—clothes discarded, skin pressed together, his sharp tongue replaced by soft moans. Always sex.

By morning, you usually woke up first. You'd reach for him half-asleep, sometimes without even meaning to, and he'd let it happen—sleepy eyes cracking open as he let you ride him or even give him a morning blowjob.

He told you to keep things quiet, especially when it came to Jake. Around other people, you played your part, but your restraint never lasted long. When the three of you were together, you couldn't help but lean too close to Sunoo, let your fingers graze over his hand or your palm rest lightly on his thigh. He'd shoot you that withering look, roll his eyes and he'd always yank your hair or slap your hand away.

You yawned as you bent over to pour cat food into Luna's bowl, the dry sound of the kibble clinking against ceramic echoing through the quiet. Your cat was rarely ever home, she rubbed against your ankle before settling to eat, her sleek black fur rising and falling with every breath.

Behind you, Sunoo stepped out from the bathroom, towel draped around his neck, still drying his hair. He passed by silently, stooping to give Luna a little scratch behind the ear before wandering around your room to gather his things. "I ironed your scrubs already," you said, yawning mid-sentence, arms stretching overhead as you turned to face him. "Your bag's on the table."

He paused mid-motion, glancing at you. You weren't the type to hover or fuss over anyone, but with him, it was different. You'd stopped staying at his place, mostly because you knew how little sleep he got. You didn't want to disrupt the hours of rest he did manage to find. So instead, you made sure that whenever he came over, everything he'd need by morning was already in place. Scrubs clean and folded. Bag packed. Sometimes even the lunch you'd made slipped quietly into his bag.

"I bought an energy drink yesterday," you mumbled, already at the fridge, grabbing out a pack of three. "Bring one for your friend. Sungwon, right?"

Sunoo scoffed, eyes narrowing in exaggerated offense. "His name is Jungwon. You've met him—don't act fake now."

You grinned as you handed him the cans, laughing softly as he leaned in and kissed your temple. "Thanks, girl," he muttered against your skin, then he pulled back slightly, still toweling off his damp hair, and gave you a small smirk. "Can you dry my hair and slick it back for me?"

You blinked, a little taken aback. Usually, Sunoo did things on his own, and even when he didn't, he rarely asked for help like this. You nodded without thinking, already reaching for your comb. "Yeah. Sit down," you said gently. "I'll make you look hot so Jungwon doesn't think you crawled out of bed with someone."

"I did crawl out of bed with someone," he quipped back, dropping onto the edge of your bed as you moved behind him, towel still around his shoulders.

You smiled to yourself as you began combing through the strands, towel-drying with care. "Yeah, but no one needs to know she's me."

Sunoo didn't say anything back. His eyes were on his phone, scrolling through whatever filled his morning—probably messages from classmates, schedules, maybe even memes. You didn't ask. You just stood behind him, carefully guiding his hair into a clean, slicked-back style that you knew he preferred when he was headed out for his hospital duty.

The peace felt normal, but something about it pressed against your chest. Still, you stayed silent as he finally set his phone down on the table with a soft clatter and picked up his makeup pouch, moving with ease as he dabbed on light concealer and patted a cushion over his skin. When you finished, you lingered for a moment. Then, without thinking, you leaned forward, wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He groaned in that exaggerated, irritated way he always did when you got too clingy but he didn't push you away.

"I'm just happy," you murmured against his skin in a smile as your cheek rested against his. He didn't respond. Just rolled his eyes and reached for his lip balm, uncapping it with one hand. And even though he didn't say anything, you still held on for a second longer, memorizing how he felt beneath your arms.

Another week passed, and the days slipped by faster than you expected. Between classes, looming project deadlines, and juggling your part-time job, your schedule blurred but you never forgot to check in with Sunoo. You messaged him like always, updates about your day, stupid memes, or little notes like "Don't skip meals." His replies were dry, short, sometimes just an emoji or a thumbs up. But you clung to them anyway.

You were in your living room when Jay flopped down onto your couch, letting out a breath. Your electric guitar rested on your lap, fingers absentmindedly plucking at the strings, trying to memorize the fretwork. "Sunghoon's been asking about you again," Jay said, casually scrolling through his phone. "So, what do you wanna play for the university event this week? You're singing, so it's your call."

You adjusted the tuning pegs, focused on the strings. "Tell Sunghoon I'm not interested," you muttered without looking up. "What about Supermassive Black Hole?"

Jay raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's a hard pick. You really think you can handle both vocals and electric?"

You shrugged, chin tilted slightly as your fingers slid back into place on the neck of the guitar. "I've done harder."

Practice didn't go as smoothly as you wanted. Your mind wandered more than it should have, eyes flicking to your phone every other minute. Jay tried to stay patient, but the third time you missed your cue, he slammed his palm lightly against the back of the couch.

"Can you focus, please? You're the one who wanted this song," he said. "We barely even see you these days."

Kai, sitting behind the drum kit, tossed his sticks onto the floor with a sigh. "You keep zoning out. It's starting to get annoying."

You didn't even defend yourself. Because in that moment, your phone vibrated and your heart jumped. Sunoo was calling! You nearly knocked your guitar off your lap as you scrambled to answer, pressing the phone to your ear before the first ring ended. "Hello!" you said, voice too eager and too bright. It was the first time Sunoo had ever called you.

Kai made a face, motioning to Jay to take over. You turned away, trying to keep your voice low, your heart pounding.

On the other end, Sunoo didn't even greet you. His tone was flat, a little rushed. "I left my record book at your place. Can you get it for me?"

You blinked, straightening a little. "Oh—yeah, okay. Where are you now?"

"I'm on duty," he said, barely giving you time to respond. "At the hospital. Can you make it quick?"

There was no softness in his voice, no hint that he missed you or even cared that you answered. He just sounded tired, and you understand it since being in a healthcare is not a joke. You looked over your shoulder at your bandmates. Jay met your eyes but didn't say anything, just waved you off. "Yeah, okay. I'll head over now," you said quietly, gripping the phone tighter.

"Thanks," was all he said before the line went dead. You didn't waste time. Back in your room, you found his record book tucked between his internship folders and some folded clothes he had left the last time he stayed over. The edges were a little bent from being stuffed into your shelf, and you smoothed them gently with your palm before grabbing your helmet.

Jay's voice followed you from the couch as he sat up, confused. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Something important," you answered quickly, pulling your jacket on. "I'll be back later. Just need to drop this off."

Kai muttered something under his breath, likely a curse about your priorities, but you didn't stop to listen. You slipped out the door and rode your motorbike across town like muscle memory guided your body, even if your mind was still stuck on the way Sunoo sounded.

When you pulled in on the parking lot, the first thing you saw was him. He was leaning against a pale concrete wall near the entrance, half in shadow. Even from a distance, he looked worn down to the bone. His scrubs hung slightly loose on his frame, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were stark against the paleness of his skin. He wasn't even looking at his phone, just staring off, hands limp at his sides.

Your steps were careful as you approached, "Sunoo..." His head turned, eyes sluggish to find you. You stopped in front of him and took a breath, holding the record book out with one hand, the other brushing lightly against his forearm. "Are you okay, baby?" The nickname slipped out unconsciously, concern laced around the softness in your voice.

"I'm fine." He reached out and took the record book from your hand without looking you in the eye. "Just... duty being toxic."

You nodded, swallowing down the worry bubbling up your throat. "Have you eaten yet? You look—Sunoo, you look really out of it." You stepped closer, trying to meet his gaze. "Can I bring you something? Coffee? Bread? I'll wait for you until you're off."

His lips tightened, jaw locking like he was holding something back, but you continued. "What about we go to the—"

"God, can you just stop?" he snapped suddenly, voice louder than it should have been. You flinched. He immediately looked away, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. "I don't want any of that shit. I just needed the damn book."

You blinked, stunned for a second. Not because it hurt—though it did—but because it was the first time he'd ever raised his voice at you like that. Your fingers curled tightly around the edge of your jacket as you tried to steady your breathing. "I know," you said quietly, forcing your voice to stay even, "but you sounded upset. And I was worried."

Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just stood there, shoulders rising and falling as he breathed through whatever storm he was holding inside. "Look," he said, voice lower but still strained. "I just need to get through today. I don't have time for anything else right now."

You nodded slowly, though your chest tightened at the way he phrased it. Anything else. That included you. You took a small step back, out of understanding, even if it stung.

"I'll go," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just... take care of yourself, okay?"

He didn't respond. Just turned and walked back toward the sliding doors of the hospital, the record book clutched in his hand.

You've been meaning to apologize to Sunoo ever since that day, but every time you thought of dialing his number or dropping a message, you paused. He was under so much pressure already, barely sleeping between hospital shifts and classes, and you didn't want to be another thing that made his chest feel heavy.

You sat alone at the campus cafeteria, your fingers working over the delicate rows of yarn as you crocheted slowly, the hook moving again and again. A small collection of handmade tulips lay across the table in a neat cluster—pinks, reds, a few white ones that hadn't taken shape yet. Your brows were furrowed, not from the difficulty of the pattern, but from the thoughts you couldn't seem to untangle from your mind.

"You've been zoning out a lot," Sunghoon's voice cut through the silence. He slid into the seat across from you, his tray untouched. "Jay said he's one tantrum away from kicking you out of the band."

"I'm not zoning out," you answered without looking up, looping the yarn again. "I've just been doing something more important."

Sunghoon leaned in, resting his elbows on the table as his eyes scanned the colorful flowers in front of you. "These commissions? I thought you stopped doing them."

You didn't respond, the sound of yarn slipping through your fingers filling the silence instead. He watched you for another moment before asking, "Are you seeing someone?"

Your hands faltered slightly, just for a second, then picked up again as if nothing had happened. "No," you said quietly, eyes fixed on the work. "It's for a friend."

Sunghoon gave a soft hum, like he didn't believe you but wasn't going to press. "You know I've liked you for a while, right? Since high school."

You finally looked up, just enough to meet his gaze for a brief second before dropping your eyes again. "Sunghoon, I don't have the energy for one of your talks right now."

"I'm not here to make a scene," he said, more gently this time. "I just... I know how you are when you start liking someone. You act like you're fine, like everything's under control, but you start giving too much of yourself without realizing it."

Your jaw tensed, fingers tightening slightly around the hook. "You let your guard down," he continued. "And you start doing all these little things—waiting around, making things for them, dropping everything just to show up. Even when they stop treating you the same way, you keep giving."

"Sunghoon, stop," you muttered.

"I'm not judging you," he said, watching the way your hands moved a little slower. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again."

You didn't bother to look at him. The words weren't new. You shoved the last tulip into the paper bag and stood from your seat, brushing your hands on your jeans as if to shake the weight off. "It's none of your business," you said. "I do what I want to do." You left before he could answer.

Lately, everything felt like a blur. The hospital was suffocating, patients piling up, charts demanding constant attention, the head nurse always finding something to criticize. Sunoo hadn't slept in two days, and even when he did manage to collapse onto his mattress, his chest stayed tight. There wasn't room for anything else. Not for laughter, not for texting back, not even for eating. And eventually, not even for you. He didn't realize how much time had passed since he last answered your messages. He hadn't even opened them. He kept telling himself he would later, when his head wasn't pounding, when he could at least form a sentence that didn't sound like a sigh. But later kept moving farther away.

So when he opened his apartment door and saw you standing there at 9 PM, hands clutching a paper bag with that small, nervous look on your face—he froze. "S-sorry," you muttered, voice soft. "I will not disturb you, just rest. I-I just need to drop this, and wish it make you feel better."

He blinked. Then looked at the bag. Then at you again. He didn't think. He stepped forward and pulled you into his arms before you could even take a step back. The paper crinkled between you, but he didn't care. The second he buried his face into your neck, something in him cracked. A quiet sob escaped before he could hold it in, his hands shaking slightly against your back.

He couldn't remember the last time someone had brought him anything without asking for something in return. "I've never received any flowers," he mumbled. "No one's ever given me anything like this."

You didn't say anything, but your hand was there. The warmth of your touch made his chest ache in a different way. "I'm sorry for being an asshole," he whispered, breathing in your scent, a small comfort in the chaos of his days. "I didn't mean to push you away. I just—everything's been too much."

"I know," you murmured, your chin resting on his shoulder. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."

But he wanted to. You didn't deserve silence. You didn't deserve to be left hanging, wondering if he even cared. He just couldn't bring himself to say it all, but not now, not while his throat was tight and his eyes were stinging and your arms were the first place he felt human all week. "I should've answered. I just... didn't have the energy."

You didn't move away. You didn't scold him. You didn't ask for anything. You just stayed. He pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to look somewhat composed. "Do you want to stay? Just for a bit?"

You nodded without hesitation, and the two of you ended up in his room, laughing your ass out.

He let out another burst of laugh as he leaned over to look at your tablet. "What even is that supposed to be?"

"Wait, I drew you!" you blurted out, your finger swiping across the screen excitedly. You tapped on a picture and turned it to show him—the chibi version of him with devil horns, an exaggerated pout, and glitter under the eyes.

Sunoo squinted, then narrowed his eyes dramatically. "You little shit," he muttered, before slapping your shoulder.

You shifted without thinking, climbing into his lap, your back settling against his chest as you held the tablet up between you. His arms wrapped around your waist loosely, his chin resting over your shoulder

"Wait, you drew this one too?" Sunoo's voice pulled you from the moment. He pointed at a little sticker design on your tablet—a black cat holding a cigarette between its tiny fingers. "I bought this! From the Art Museum's student booth a few months ago. I stuck it on my old clipboard."

You turned your head slightly to meet his stare. "Are you serious? That was my booth. That's literally my design!"

Sunoo's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "What the hell? Why weren't you guarding your own booth?! You're such a bad artist!"

You scoffed, turning to half-face him, "Excuse me, I had a nicotine addiction to maintain. I took a break."

He groaned. "Turns out it was you sneaking off to light up under a 'No Smoking' sign."

"You bought my sticker and called me a bitch. How dare you insult me and support me at the same time?"

"I didn't know it was you!" he defended, laughing again. "But honestly, you deserved it. I hate people who smoke where they're not supposed to."

You twisted slightly in his lap, now facing him more directly. "So do you still hate me?" you asked, teasing, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your fingers played with the hem of his hoodie.

Sunoo didn't look away. He rolled his eyes like he always did. His voice was soft, almost playful. "Yes. Obviously. You're still annoying."

You pouted at his answer, dragging out a whine. His smile lingered, and even though his words were stubborn, his hands had tightened just slightly around your waist. "I'm not joking," he added, resting his forehead against yours. "You're so, so, sooo annoying."

The night ended up your thighs trembling around his head, your hands tangled in his hair, your voice broken from the way his mouth worked between your legs. He made you come three times with his tongue alone, not stopping until you pushed at his shoulders with tear-brimmed eyes and slurred, begging words. Then he let you ride him,  your back turned to him, your head lolled to the side as his hands gripped your hips.

The next morning, the weight in your chest had lifted. You didn't feel guilty for smiling. Even when Jay clapped his hands together loudly the moment you walked into the studio and said, "You're in a good mood, thank God," you just grinned wider and grabbed his electric guitar, pretending to tune it like nothing had happened.

"You want a hit?" Kai asked, waving his vape your way.

You shook your head without even thinking. "I already quit smoking," you said casually, even though that choice had been harder than you liked to admit.

You and Sunoo didn't put labels on what was happening—not yet—but things fell into place anyway. There was a rhythm to it. You spent weekends at his apartment, usually coming over late Friday, falling asleep on his couch after watching movies and ordering junk food. Saturday mornings meant waking up tangled together, cooking breakfast with your hair a mess and his arms still lazy around your waist, and Sunday nights usually ended with you riding him slowly before passing out from exhaustion. Mondays, he walked you to your motorbike before his duty started again.

One Sunday afternoon, sprawled on his bed while you were half-scrolling through TikTok and half-dozing on his lap, he suddenly shoved his phone in your face. "I think this type of style suits you more," he said, showing you some random Pinterest board filled with soft, layered outfits—more structured, a little feminine, clean silhouettes with warm tones. "You need to upgrade your wardrobe."

You squinted at the screen, unimpressed. "Hmm. I think you're just projecting your type in girls on me," you teased, nudging his thigh with your elbow.

Sunoo rolled his eyes, clearly expecting that answer. "No. I just think it looks presentable. And it would look good on you."

You looked down at yourself—baggy ripped jeans, an oversized acubi-style shirt, sneakers worn down from all your bike rides. Not exactly the most polished look, but it was comfortable. You shrugged with a small grin. "Okay, I'll try," you said. "Anyway, can we visit that new café that opened last week? I saw it on Instagram and they have a bunch of Bon Jovi albums on display."

Sunoo blinked. "Bon Jovi?"

"Yeah, like actual vinyls. The post said there's a listening booth too." You leaned closer, eyes brightening. "And the interior looks so nice. Real vintage vibe. I figured you'd like it."

He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm... okay, maybe next week?"

You nodded, trying to keep it casual, but the smile that broke out on your face gave you away. Excitement bloomed in your chest like it was something new. It wasn't just another plan. It wasn't just a random meet-up. This one felt different. You kept thinking about it all week. Every small moment your mind wandered, it wandered to that café. To how you'd sit across from him, to the lighting, to the smell of the place, maybe to the way he'd laugh when you'd try to act cool about your favorite album being on display. You weren't even sure if it counted as a real date, but you were choosing to believe it did. That belief made your stomach flutter.

By Saturday, you had cleaned your room twice, even reorganized your crochet materials—something you only did when you were nervous. Your playlist was full of Bon Jovi songs now, looping endlessly while you stared at your closet.

That morning, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection longer than usual. Your piercings were gone—well, mostly. You'd taken out the ones on your face, letting the skin breathe, letting yourself look softer. The change made you feel exposed, a little too bare, but also like you were trying.

"Do you think I look presentable now without the piercings?" you asked, turning slightly in front of the mirror. The floral dress you wore was one of the few pieces in your closet that wasn't oversized, black or red. You smoothed the fabric down nervously, then glanced at Jay who was lounging nearby.

Jay lifted his eyes from his phone, a cigarette loosely held between his fingers. His face twisted slightly like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or roll his eyes. "What's with all this performative energy? You still look like an emo girl who got dragged into church."

You shot him a glare. "I'm being serious."

"So am I." He took a drag, blowing the smoke toward the window. "You look like yourself, just with fewer metal parts. That's not a bad thing, by the way. It's still you."

"You don't get it," you said quietly, adjusting the straps of the dress again. "I need to look like I have my shit together. I'm going somewhere... and I want to be seen a certain way."

Jay rolled his eyes, walked over, and stood behind you, he stubbed out his cigarette on the ceramic ashtray near the window and reached toward you, pushing your hair behind your shoulders without asking. He squinted as he examined your face. "You'll look better if you tie your hair up," he mumbled, the filter of his half-lit cigarette still stuck between his lips. "Ponytail or something. The dress opens your collarbone. It works."

You blinked at him, surprised by how serious he sounded, then reached up instinctively to gather your hair into your hand. You tilted your head, testing the look in the mirror. Something about it clicked. You could see it now—the way your eyes opened up more, how your features looked cleaner without the strands framing your face. A bit bare, sure. A little too soft maybe. "I think you're right," you said with a small smile, already grabbing a scrunchie from your pocket. "That actually helps."

Jay shrugged. "Whatever. You asked."

You turned to face him, grateful even if he looked bored out of his mind. "Thanks, Jay. Really."

"Wow, you look really good, girl."

The compliment came with a spark in Sunoo's eyes the moment you stepped inside the café, and it sent a flush creeping up your neck. His gaze lingered, tracing your figure with genuine awe that he didn't even try to hide. You hadn't brought your motorbike today—not in a dress like this—and walking into the café with heels clicking and your hair tied back suddenly felt worth it.

"Only good?" you teased, pouting as you twirled the hem of your floral dress playfully in front of him. With a soft push of your fingers, you tucked your hair behind your ear and tilted your head, smiling shyly as you searched his face for a better reaction. You wanted him to say beautiful, maybe even breathtaking, but even without the words, the look in his eyes told you everything.

Your heart had been thumping ever since you saw him seated by the window, casually checking his phone. Now, up close, it was worse. The sunlight streaming into the café highlighted the soft brown fall of his hair, the gentle curve of his cheekbones, the way his denim shirt hung open over a simple white tank top. He looked effortless—too effortless for someone who always drove you to such nervousness. And yet, despite that nervousness, you found yourself loosening.

The longer you stayed in his presence, the easier it was to talk, to laugh, to let go of the performance. There was something so calming about talking to him about things you loved, sharing songs you liked, memories from art class, favorite old movies, dumb fashion trends—simple things, but they became important because you were sharing them with him. Talking about your likes with someone you liked—it felt too rare to take for granted.

That's when it hit you. Maybe it was finally time to talk about what was happening between the two of you. The affection, the growing intimacy, the weekends together, the sleepovers that blurred the line between casual and committed—it had all been there. But neither of you had dared to define it. He had always been honest with you. In the four months you'd been tangled into each other's lives, he never lied about what he felt or where he stood. So maybe, it was time for you to take the risk again and ask.

As the two of you wandered near the wooden display cabinet filled with vintage Bon Jovi and Queen albums, your fingers reached for his and laced through gently. He let you. Your hands stayed linked, a quiet statement hanging between you, even while your mouth continued to talk about vinyl sleeves and weird 80s cover art. That peace only lasted seconds before a familiar voice cut through the space.

"Sunoo?"

Sunoo's body tensed before he turned around, his eyes wide in surprise. You perked up too, smiling with recognition, you gasped as you waved at the approaching figure. Jake, lively as ever, grinned brightly as he made his way to you.

But just as you were about to speak, Sunoo let go of your hand. The action was subtle, but it was sharp. His fingers pulled away quickly, and his body leaned ever so slightly to the side, creating distance between the two of you. You tried to ignore the way your smile faltered, tried to hold it together as Jake reached you both

"What are you doing here? Are you two bonding?" Jake asked with his usual exaggerated pout before leaning in to kiss your cheeks in greeting, then doing the same to Sunoo. "Without me?"

Your mouth opened, ready to answer, to explain but Sunoo spoke first. "No, we just ran into each other," he said too quickly, a small nervous laugh escaping his lips. "And we couldn't help but talk for a bit. It's been so long since we last saw each other, you know?"

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. And your heart sank. Jake, ever the extrovert, nodded along cheerfully, completely unaware. "Ahhh! That's so cute! I'm just glad you two are hanging out again. We seriously need to set up another sleepover, right?"

You forced a small chuckle, brushing your hand along the side of your skirt. "T-that's a great idea," you said, trying to match his enthusiasm. But your eyes flicked back to Sunoo. He was tapping his foot against the floor, fast and impatient, not meeting your gaze.

It was like something had shifted in an instant. And now you were standing in that silence again, not sure if the version of Sunoo who held your hand minutes ago was still there... or if he had just vanished with Jake's arrival.

Even after Jake finally waved goodbye and disappeared down the street, your mood stayed where it dropped. Sunoo stood next to you like nothing happened, releasing a sigh and forcing a new topic as if the tension wasn't heavy in the air. He spoke casually, talking about a song he'd heard recently, about trying a different drink next time, anything to ignore the silence growing between you. But you couldn't pretend like him. You couldn't look him in the eye or laugh at something meaningless when your chest felt like it was being squeezed in slow, deliberate pulses. You kept your gaze down, watching your feet move with every step, barely hearing a thing he was saying.

Sunoo started to notice. His tone shifted—less patient, more irritated. The lightness in his voice faded and was replaced with annoyance. He didn't like when you shut down, and now it was clear he was blaming you for the sudden weight between you.

By the time you reached the door of his apartment, you knew the conversation was inevitable. He stepped in first, then turned, and before you could even take your shoes off, his voice came tight and harsh.

"Are you seriously getting all moody just because I let go of your hand when Jake showed up?" His eyes narrowed, his words clipped. "We agreed to keep this between us, not to say anything to Jake. You knew that. Why are you acting like this now?"

You stayed by the doorway, not moving. "It's not just about that," you murmured, your voice already thin. You didn't want to argue. You didn't want to cry either, but your body was already betraying you, tightening up.

He scoffed. "Then what is it? Because I didn't hold your hand in front of him? That's it?"

"It's just..." you took a breath, and even that was hard to push out. You felt like the words were caught in your throat, slicing through. "You looked—ashamed."

Sunoo didn't pause. He didn't soften. "Of course I'm ashamed," he blurted, not even giving the sentence time to sit. "How the hell are we supposed to explain that we're what—fucking each other? What do you want me to say to him?"

You flinched at his word, you looked up slowly, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears. "It's not that hard to admit, is it?" you said, your voice shaking as you took a step forward, eyes stinging. "People do that all the time. Fuck buddies aren't a secret anymore. It's normal. You think Jake would've been shocked?"

"That's not the point—"

"It is the point, Sunoo!" You cut him off, your voice rising despite the tremble in it. "We've been doing this for months. We spend every weekend together. We sleep in the same bed. We talk like we mean something to each other, so why is it so hard to tell him that we're — something?"

You didn't expect him to shout back, but he did. "Because I'm supposed to be gay! Do you get that? I'm not supposed to feel like this about you!" The words came out angry. "And you keep pushing it like it's that simple."

You stared at him, your face falling, your fists curling. "Who fucking cares if you're gay? I never made you not be." You took a step back, voice cracking. "Just say it. Just say you're ashamed to be seen with me."

Sunoo's face twisted, but he didn't back down. His chest was heaving now, like something in him had snapped too. "You're projecting your insecurity on me! You act like I owe you something just because you decided to catch feelings! I never promised you more than what this was. That was you. That was always you!"

Your breath caught in your throat, and you stumbled back, blinking fast as the first tear broke past your lashes.       "You're the one who came back after that night," he went on, voice rising with frustration, like he couldn't stop himself anymore. "You kept showing up, acting like this was something serious, like this was going to turn into something. I just—" he stopped, looking away like he couldn't even look at you when he said it, "I just gave in. You were tempting, okay? You made it hard to say no."

All the blood in your body seemed to rush to your ears, and still, you couldn't hear anything but the sound of your heart breaking. Another tear slipped down your cheek, and your lips parted like you were going to respond—but nothing came out.        Sunoo blinked, realizing too late what he had just said. The way he looked at you shifted instantly, as if he wanted to take it back, but the damage was already there. "...Wait," he whispered, reaching for you instinctively. "I didn't mean—"

But you just nodded, slowly, painfully, like someone waking up from a dream they didn't want to end. "I- I get it," you said quietly, stepping past him and walking out his door like your legs weren't shaking. You didn't even turn to look at him. "I'm sorry," you added, trying to keep your voice steady, though the sound cracked anyway. You wiped under your eyes, but the tears kept falling, soft and warm against your skin. "You were right. I was annoying. I was pushy. I caught feelings, I shouldn't have. I thought maybe... I don't know what I thought."

You paused to breathe, your throat tightening as you tried to keep the sob from escaping. "What could I even expect, right? You're still a man. Of course this meant n-nothing."

Sunoo's chest tightened so hard he couldn't breathe for a second. He wanted to stop you, to wrap his arms around you, to tell you it wasn't true—none of what you were saying. That he did care. That this wasn't nothing to him. That he didn't think you were annoying, or a mistake, or something to be ashamed of. But he couldn't get the words out. The fear clenched too tightly around his ribs.

"I'm sorry," you said again, a whisper this time. Another tear slipped free and this time you laughed, short and broken. "God, I sound pathetic. S-sorry, Sunoo. I'll go. I'll leave you alone. You won't have to worry about me again."

You turned, fast, footsteps uneven as you tried to get away before he could see the full collapse happening inside you.

Sunoo didn't stop you. And you broke. You didn't wait to cry. The tears came fast and violent, your chest aching as you stumbled down the street, wiping your face on the back of your hand like it would help. At the bus stop, you sat hunched on the bench, arms wrapped around yourself as if holding your own body could keep you from falling apart. On the bus, you curled near the window, staring out at the dark streets, your reflection barely visible through the glass. You didn't care who saw you. The ache inside you was louder than embarrassment.

By the time you made it to your apartment, your hands were trembling. You didn't even bother turning on the lights. You made your way straight to your room, tugging the dress zipper with shaking fingers. When it wouldn't budge, frustration bubbled up, too hot to contain. You gritted your teeth and yanked, but it wouldn't move, so you grabbed the fabric near your shoulder and ripped it down your back with a cry of frustration. The fabric tore, seams giving way under your rage.

You tossed it to the floor like it burned you. Chest heaving, you stormed over to your nightstand and grabbed the crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds. Your fingers trembled as you pulled one out, jamming it between your lips, and fumbled with the lighter until the flame caught. You inhaled sharply, letting the smoke burn down your throat as you collapsed into the chair near the window.

"Stupid," you muttered under your breath, blinking away more tears that wouldn't stop coming. "So fucking stupid."

You thought you were strong enough not to let this happen again. You thought you could handle it. But what did you expect? You were so obsessed with ruining him when you first met, so fixated on getting under his skin, that you didn't notice he was already getting under yours. You didn't even get the chance to ruined him—he got to you first.

• ───────────────── •

Sunoo had never experienced a heartbreak that ached like this. He had felt sad before—moments of longing, fleeting attachments—but those had always passed with time, fading within days, maybe a week at most. They never lingered, never left anything permanent behind. So why the hell had he been sulking for nearly a month now, barely able to focus, barely able to sleep, staring blankly at the tulip bouquet on his desk like it could somehow explain what went wrong?

He told himself he should be relieved. There were no more complications in his way, no emotional distractions to deal with. He was finally free to focus on his demanding internship, on his future, on everything he had planned for years. And yet every late-night shift, every quiet weekend, every exhausted morning waking up to silence felt impossibly hollow without you. You used to send him silly selfies while he studied, comfort him through voice notes when he ranted about how hard nursing was, remind him to eat when he was too tired to remember. Now, all he had was the buzzing of lights, the clinking of stainless steel, the silence of the hospital—and that goddamn tulip bouquet collecting dust in the corner.

His eyebags were darker, heavier, like they carried the weight of everything he never said to you. His thoughts were loud, looping over what he should've done differently, what he should've said the moment he saw your face fall.

Fuck. He missed you so much it made his whole body ache. Every fucking night he lay in bed, biting his fist to muffle the cries. Were you okay? Were you eating? Were you still crying? Were you still thinking about him? God, he hoped not. He didn't deserve your thoughts, your sadness, your softness—but deep inside, he still wished he lived rent-free in your head the way you haunted his.

He wanted to hold you again, to collapse into your arms after a hard shift, to hear your voice teasing him when he whined about school. He wanted to kiss your neck like he used to, trace the little freckles on your collarbone, let you thread his hair through your fingers while he laid on your lap. He wanted to watch you feed your cat, complain about his bad taste in coffee, laugh when you purposely messed up his eyeliner just to annoy him. He wanted the boring things with you. The quiet, gentle things he once brushed off like they were nothing. He regretted every time he took you for granted.

"Sunoo!" Jungwon's voice jolted him out of his thoughts. His friend clapped him on the back, grinning. "Congrats! Why do you look like someone just died? We're graduating! Where's the joy, girl?"

Sunoo forced a weak smile, shrugging his shoulders as he kept his gaze locked on the soccer field in front of them, watching the high schoolers running laps, laughing with no clue how cruel it was to grow up.        "You've been M.I.A. lately," Jungwon continued, nudging him. "Not cool. You ghosted everyone. No more parties? No more hangouts? We should celebrate. It's not fun without you."

Sunoo exhaled quietly, shoulders sinking. "Jungwon," he said under his breath. "I think I got infected by men's emotional negligence," Sunoo muttered bitterly, eyes still locked on the field, watching a soccer ball bounce and roll across the grass

Jungwon blinked at him. Then snorted. Then burst out laughing so hard he doubled over, hitting Sunoo's back again. "What? What are you saying? You're not even dating anyone! You've been so secretive about your love life lately, I thought maybe you were going through a dry spell or something." He leaned back, grinning. "But don't worry—men are assholes. It's honestly safer to hurt them first before they get the chance to hurt you—"

"It's not a man," he said quietly.

And Jungwon stopped laughing. He stiffened beside him, eyes blinking wide. "Wait. What?"

Sunoo didn't look at him. He just kept watching the field, the blurry shape of a boy chasing a ball, the sun dipping lower behind the school buildings. "It's not a man," he repeated. "I wish it was. It would've been easier."

His lips curled bitterly as he looked down at his white sneakers, scuffed and dirtied from weeks of walking to class in silence. "I miss her. No shit. I miss her so fucking bad."

There was a small and self-deprecating laugh, tugging at the edge of his voice, but it cracked halfway through. "It's stupid, isn't it? It hurts more when you know it's your fault. I keep thinking about all the things I told myself I'd never become. I always talked about how men treat people like shit—how they use and walk away, how they never apologize for the damage they leave behind. How they shrink from softness because they're scared of what it says about them."

He rubbed at his chest with the heel of his palm like it might ease the tightness building there, but the pressure only grew heavier. "I always swore I'd never be like that. And then I went ahead and did it anyway. I made her feel that way, Jungwon. Like she was something to be ashamed of. Like she was just a mistake I wanted to keep hidden. Like the feelings she gave me were inconvenient." He let out a shaky breath, shoulders caving in slightly. "And the worst part? I never even told her how much I liked her. How much she meant to me."

Jungwon's mouth opened slightly, stunned into silence by the sight of Sunoo—the usually sharp-tongued, composed Sunoo—sitting beside him with tears slipping quietly down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," Sunoo whispered. "You can laugh at me now. Tease me. Say I got soft. Say I turned my back on my sexuality. Or that I lost my mind over a girl when I always said I wouldn't—"

"Girl," Jungwon interrupted, his tone softer than as he scooted closer and draped an arm across Sunoo's back. "Relax. Why the hell would I laugh at you for this? You're clearly hurting. I'd have to be heartless to find that funny."

Sunoo sniffled, wiping his face. Jungwon sighed, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "You know, I think sometimes we get so wrapped up in the idea of who we're supposed to be, or what we're supposed to feel, that we forget we're just... human. You always said you didn't want to be like the guys who hurt others, right? Well, maybe you fucked up. Maybe you acted like one of them. But you realized it. You're sitting here crying because of it. That already makes you different from most."

Sunoo didn't speak, but his jaw trembled, and the tears didn't stop. Jungwon tilted his head, speaking more gently now. "Men can be assholes. A lot of them are. But being born with a dick doesn't mean you're destined to be one. What makes someone a real man is taking responsibility. Owning up to your shit. Making it right when you can."

He paused, then smiled faintly. "We might be one of the girls, sure. We squeal, we wear blush, we cry over small things, and we talk too much when we drink—but we also carry the weight of things like this. Of hurting people we care about."

Sunoo's breath hitched again, and this time when he wiped at his face, he was a little slower, a little calmer.        "You know what you need to do," Jungwon said, nudging him gently. "If she meant something to you... you owe her more than silence. And you owe yourself more than sitting here pretending you're okay."

"Do you think it's too late?" he asked finally.

"I don't know," Jungwon admitted. "But people forgive stupid things when they see you're actually sorry. And you are. I see it. Maybe she will too."

"You're definitely insane," Jay said. "Because why the hell would you decide to do your nails when you know you have to play electric guitar tomorrow?"

You didn't even look up. Your fingers were too focused on the torn fabric in your lap, guiding the needle carefully through the jagged tear. You tugged gently at the thread, the tension sliding through the cloth as you murmured, "It's just minor chords."

Jay groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Minor chords and you're still skipping practice like you've got this down. God, you're making my head hurt."

"I said I'll show up," you replied flatly.

Jay scoffed in the background, but you ignored it. Let him roll his eyes. Let him sigh and throw another fit about perfection. It wasn't like he'd understand anyway. The nails weren't the problem. Jay and his perfectionist self always had something to complain about when people didn't bend to his rhythm. But you liked your nails. You liked how they shimmered when the light hit them. They made you feel decent—like maybe, just maybe, you were still capable of taking care of yourself.

Except you were too stupid to realize you'd chosen that exact shade of mint green. That soft, sweet color he once said reminded him of summer. The one he jokingly suggested would look cute on your nails if you ever ditched the blacks and reds you usually wore. The color had haunted you since then, just like everything else tied to him.

You stared down at your fingers, freshly painted and curled slightly as you guided the needle through the torn seam of the dress. You had sworn to never touch it again, but here you were, piecing it back together with trembling hands.

Heard from someone that Sunoo made it into the Latin honors list. Top of his class, just as you expected. And good for him. Really. You hoped he was sleeping well, smiling like he always did, charming everyone with that beautiful, soft voice and those ridiculously perfect eyes.

You hoped he forgot you — Because it wasn't fair that you were still waking up thinking about him.

"Fuck," you hissed, jerking your hand back as the needle pricked the pad of your finger. Blood welled up, a small drop blooming at the surface. It smeared faintly against the fabric—right over the seam you'd been trying to fix. "Ugh, shit," you muttered, staring at the new stain forming on the pale material.

Perfect! Just perfect. You sucked on your finger for a second, breathing hard through your nose, trying to hold everything back.          "You could've just bought a new dress, you know." Jay said, looking at your face.

"I didn't want a new one," you said quietly, still looking at the ruined thread. "I wanted to fix it."

If someone asked you what exactly you were feeling right now, you wouldn't know how to answer. There wasn't a word that fit—nothing specific. You were functioning just fine. You got out of bed. You drank your coffee. You worked. You smiled when people talked to you, even laughed when the joke was decent enough. So, you were fine, right?

But then why did everything feel so dull? Why did the silence in your room stretch too long, and why did the nights feel colder, even when the fan wasn't turned on?

Maybe it was because you quit your part-time job. Maybe it was because you'd thrown yourself into freelance commissions, desperate to stay busy, desperate to drown out the thoughts by making yourself useful. Drawing until your eyes hurt, until your hand cramped. It worked for a while—until even the deadlines stopped scaring you.

The truth was, you had too much space now. And all that extra room made it harder to ignore the feeling gnawing at the edges of your chest.

Jay had once said, "That's why it's hard for me to watch you fall in love. You're the kind of person who gives everything without realizing it. You show up without fail, but somehow still feel so far away."

You didn't understand what he meant back then. Thought he was being dramatic, maybe too sentimental. But now you did. You were always present, always dependable. But your heart? You'd locked it away for years, guarded and watchful, convinced no one would be careful enough to hold it.

And when you let your walls down. You gave in completely, all at once, as if you'd been waiting your whole life for a reason to. And he didn't stay... Now you sat alone again, trying to rebuild the barricade you'd once worn. You tried patching yourself up with work and distractions, thinking if you filled your days enough, the ache would fade. But some nights, it came back stronger. A ghost knocking on your ribs, reminding you of the softness you once allowed.

You regret letting him see you that clearly. Regret peeling yourself open, showing the tender parts you swore no one would ever get close to. You used to be so good at keeping people at a distance, but you ruined yourself when you made an exception.

"Putting my defenses up, 'cause I don't wanna fall in love."

Your voice rang out, echoing through the crowded room. You stood at the front of the stage, clutching the mic, and the lights hit your face just enough to make everything outside the spotlight blur into nothing.

"Never put my love out on the line..." The lyrics spilled from your lips. Your eyes drifted to the floor where your foot tapped in rhythm, then to the strings of your guitar as your fingers pressed down the chords. "Never said yes to the right guy. Never had trouble getting what I want..."

A faint smile tugged at your lips. "But when it comes to you, I'm never good enough..."

You looked up then, stealing a glance toward your bandmates. They were all focused on their instruments, lost in the music like they always were, eyes down or closed, rocking slightly with the beat. None of them looked at you. You were glad for it. You didn't want them to see the way your hands were trembling on the fretboard, or how your throat threatened to close the moment his face flickered in your mind. "When I don't care, I can play 'em like a Ken doll..."

You swallowed thickly and tried to stay in rhythm, tried to keep your tone playful like the song intended—but your mind was far from the lyrics now. It drifted elsewhere. To him.

"Won't wash my hair, then make 'em bounce like a basketball..." Your breath hitched, but you kept going. "But you make me wanna act like a girl..."

You closed your eyes then. "Paint my nails and wear high heels..." Your fingers slid along the guitar strings automatically. And then, without warning, his face appeared—soft eyes, dimpled smile, that maddeningly gentle voice. Sunoo.

"Yes, you—" You faltered. "—make me so nervous that I just can't hold your hand."

You pushed through the chorus, the words twisting in your throat. The beat thundered in your ears, drowning out the sound of your own thoughts. You didn't miss a note, but you felt every crack forming inside you. And when the song finally ended, the stage lights dimmed and the crowd's cheers erupted like static in your chest, you barely smiled.

You brushed your hair back, exhaling hard as you stepped off the stage. The adrenaline was already wearing off, leaving only the sweat sticking to your skin and the tightness in your throat. You grabbed the water bottle waiting for you and took a few long gulps, letting the cool liquid settle your nerves.

"I thought you hated pop songs."

You turned your head slightly, recognizing Sunghoon's voice before you saw his face. He was already beside you, grinning. You sighed, long and loud, then handed him the water without looking, forcing him to take it. "You're annoying," you muttered, adjusting your loose sando, tugging the strap back up your shoulder and trying to fix your tangled hair with one hand. "You know I didn't pick the setlist."

"But you sang the hell out of it."

"Don't push it," you warned.

Then his voice dropped again, quieter but curious. "You got a new tattoo?"

You stilled for a moment. Your hand went to your nape instinctively, brushing over the still-healing skin just below the red ink etched across your upper spine. You didn't answer, just gave a hum of acknowledgment before slipping your hand down your back. Without shame, you reached beneath your shirt and unhooked your bra, letting your chest finally breathe after hours under the stage lights.

Sunghoon didn't say anything for a moment, but you felt his gaze linger. "Are you free tonight?" he asked. "Thought maybe we could hang out. Talk or something. Just us?"

Another sigh escaped you, this one heavier than the last. You didn't try to hide the exhaustion in your voice this time.           "Sunghoon..." you started, turning to finally face him properly. "You're a good friend. You've been sticking around for longer than most people would, and I get it. You think there's something here, maybe because I let you hang around or because I'm too tired to fight your flirting half the time."

He opened his mouth to say something, but you raised your hand. "But I'm not interested," you said, carefully but clearly.

He blinked. The corners of his mouth twitched, like he didn't know whether to frown or fake a laugh, but then his lips settled into a small, almost understanding smile. "You're not interested in boys," he said, a little too quickly, trying to soften the blow for himself.

"No," you cut in, sharper this time. "I'm not interested in you."

Sunghoon looked down, then up, that crooked smile still hanging on his lips. "You know I won't stop, right?" he said, brushing off rejection with a joke.

You raised an eyebrow. "That's your choice," you replied plainly. "But don't expect me to change my mind."

"Okay," He nodded, his gaze dropped before you even finished your sentence, trailing down lazily across your chest.

Your fingers snapped in front of his face. "Seriously?" you said with irritation.

Sunghoon blinked, caught, his mouth twitching up. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled quickly. His eyes flicked back up to your face. "Is that a new piercing?"

You didn't respond right away. You crossed your arms instead, trying to hold onto your patience and bite back the exhaustion blooming across your shoulders. The days had been long, your emotions threadbare. "Ni-ki did it," you said finally, eyes narrowing as your annoyance deepened.

When your gig finally ended, you let out a long breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. You made your way toward the bar where the owner usually handed out the cut for the night, hoping it wouldn't take long because all you wanted was to go home and lie down. But before you could even reach the counter, you were nearly knocked off balance by someone throwing their arms around you.

"Oh my God! I haven't seen you in forever!" You tensed instinctively, blinking as you looked up—Jake. He pulled back slightly, still gripping your shoulders, eyes shining.

You forced a small smile. "Hi. How are you?" you asked politely, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. "I've been... busy. Really busy. You know how it gets."

Jake nodded eagerly, releasing you as he leaned against the edge of the bar. "Yeah, I get it. It's fine. Just figured I'd bump into you sooner or later. Hey—are you attending Sunoo's graduation this week?"

You froze. Your fingers twitched slightly as you curled them into the hem of your shirt, the smile on your face faltering before you managed to hold it steady again. "I—" you started, stumbling over your words. "You know we're not... that close anymore. So..." You trailed off with a shrug, trying not to look too affected even though your heart had suddenly picked up its pace.

Jake tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was about to laugh. Not in a cruel way, but in that clueless, teasing way. You didn't give him the chance. You pushed the conversation forward before he could press further. "But how was he?" you asked quickly, pretending not to care too much even though the question burned on your tongue.

Jake leaned back and sighed dramatically. "I don't know! That bitch is ghosting everyone—just like you!" He chuckled, nudging your arm. "The only time I ever saw him was when he was at the university doing paperwork for his graduation. He's been MIA otherwise. You? Any dating updates?"

You gave another tired smile. "Not really my priorities lately," you replied, brushing your fingers over your wrist, suddenly aware of how cold your skin felt. "I'm glad he's graduating though. That's good for him."

There was a pause. Jake didn't seem to notice, already moving on with a laugh.

"What about you?" you asked before he could dig any deeper. "When's your graduation? I pity you guys. I still have two years."

Jake groaned, rubbing his face. "Ugh, don't remind me. I'm stressing because my coat won't fit."

You laughed softly as Jake rambled beside you, jumping from topic to topic like someone trying to make up for lost time. He was always like this—talkative, friendly, too eager. You tried your best to follow along, nodding when appropriate, giving short answers even though your energy was already hanging by a thread. Every bone in your body felt heavy after the performance, your shoulders stiff from standing so long, your throat dry even after the water.

He launched into another round of questions, asking about your gigs, your commissions, and whether or not you'd finally taken time off. Then, inevitably, he brought up Park Sunghoon.

"People still think we're together? Fuck that shit." You let out a grunt.

"They just like to talk," Jake offered with a shrug, as if that made it any less irritating. "You know how it is."

You rolled your eyes and tucked the bills into your bag, already thinking about what cheap meal you could get on the way home. "Then they should talk about how I'm not interested in anyone right now. Spread that."

"Not even Shin Ryujin?" he said, clearly enjoying how far he could push the conversation. "I swear you used to have the biggest, fattest crush on her. I mean—she agreed to model for you! That's a move, right?"

You tilted your head slightly. "Or maybe she just liked my art."

Jake paused for a beat, as if waiting for you to say more, but you didn't. He smirked, already forming a thought to your answer. You just shrugged, like you didn't care anymore, you wish it did. None of them ever made you feel the way he did.

Let Jake think what he wanted to think. Let people gossip and spread whatever they wanted. You were too tired to keep defending your disinterest, too tired to explain that the only person you'd really wanted was Kim Sunoo. Fucking Kim Sunoo.

And ironically, the universe had its own cruel sense of humor.

Jake didn't expect to see Sunoo the very next day—standing in front of a flower shop. Without warning, Jake squealed and slapped him on the back so hard that Sunoo's entire frame jolted forward. His eyes flew wide, mouth parting in surprise as he turned to glare.

"Fuck you," Jake laughed, hitting him again before he could dodge. "Who's the lucky person, huh? Don't tell me you're finally confessing to someone?"

Sunoo winced, rubbing his stinging shoulder and trying not to groan. "Can you not hit so hard? Shit."

It had taken him three whole days just to muster up the courage. Three days of Jungwon talking sense into him, helping him run through scenarios and worst-case outcomes, of typing and deleting countless drafts of what he wanted to say. Three days of checking your schedule like a lovesick stalker, memorizing the time and place of your fashion show just to make sure he'd catch you when you weren't buried in fabrics or fixing last-minute outfits.

He didn't really know what he was doing. The idea of bringing flowers felt old-fashioned, maybe even stupid, but he clung to it because it gave him something to hold—something to fill his trembling hands with when he finally stood in front of you. Because if he admitted it to himself, he really fucking missed you.

Jake, as usual, wouldn't shut up. He rambled about school, his thesis, some fight in a group chat he got dragged into, asking random questions in between like Sunoo was giving him the attention he wanted. Sunoo tapped his foot impatiently, nodding absently, eyes flicking to his wristwatch. He knew your show was scheduled to start soon. Jungwon had confirmed it just last night. If he moved now, he could probably sneak into the venue and find you. He wasn't sure how it would go, but he knew he didn't want to delay it any longer.

But then, Jake said your name.

"She looked so good last night, by the way. I talked to her after her gig," he said, chewing on his gum, unaware of the way Sunoo's shoulders tensed. "And I think she's dating that model of hers."

Sunoo stopped tapping his foot. Slowly turned to face him. Jake kept going. "You know Park Sunghoon? He really, really likes her! But she's totally into this girl—Shin Ryujin. If Sunghoon finds out he got rejected again for a girl, he's gonna be pissed."

The bouquet almost slipped out of Sunoo's hands. "Wait, what?" he asked.

Jake blinked, startled by the shift in tone. "Well, I mean—not confirmed or anything. But it looked like it, right? I mean, come on! If you know Ryujin, she's hot! They had crazy chemistry onstage."

But Sunoo didn't hear the rest. His pulse pounded so loudly in his ears it drowned everything else. The bouquet in his hands felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, the crinkling paper suddenly unbearable beneath his tightening grip. He could feel that familiar burn in his chest. The weight pressing down on his lungs, stealing the air from him. It wasn't just surprise, or confusion. It was anger.

No. That can't be true. Jake said it wasn't confirmed. He said maybe. But even maybe was too much for Sunoo.

Because that wasn't just anyone. That was you. His you. Even if he hadn't been able to say it properly before, even if he spent weeks keeping his distance, fumbling over his feelings, even if he was too much of a coward to tell you when he should've—he never once stopped wanting you.

And the idea of someone else having you, touching you, making you smile the way he used to, hurt more than he thought it would. His stomach twisted with jealousy. His mind raced with every memory he had of you—your laugh, your stubbornness, the way you always acted like nothing touched you until he looked close enough to see it did. He hated the thought of anyone else getting that close. It didn't matter if it was a guy or a girl. No one else could understand you like he did. No one else deserved to.

"I need to go," Sunoo muttered, already turning on his heel.

Jake blinked again, stepping forward. "Wait, go where? Sunoo—hey!"

But Sunoo didn't answer. He didn't look back. He walked faster, feet moving, bouquet still clenched tightly in his hand.

All he could think about was the image of you standing beside someone else. Laughing for someone else. Looking at them with the kind of softness you used to show only to him. The thought alone made his blood boil. He wasn't just jealous. He was angry. How dare someone else think they could have you like that?

No. That's not how this ends. He wouldn't let it. Even if it was his fault for waiting this long, even if he messed everything up from the beginning—he wasn't going to let someone else win. He wasn't going to stand on the sidelines any longer. Not when he still had something to fight for.

You were his. You've always been his. And he was going to prove it.

Sunoo made his way toward the university, his stomach twisting with every step. Most of the Fashion Design majors were still holed up on campus despite the start of summer break, preparing for the big event. He didn't know fashion shows involved this many people, this much movement, or noise. Navigating through all of it felt like trying to breathe underwater. He should've asked Jungwon for more specifics.

The halls were lined with racks of clothes, students rushing in and out of rooms, arms full of fabrics, makeup brushes, clipboards, and coffee. Sunoo tried to ask where the waiting room was, but everyone was too preoccupied to answer. He turned corner after corner, scanning every face with increasing frustration—until his eyes landed on someone painfully familiar.

Standing outside the theater room, arms crossed and relaxed was Park Sunghoon. Just seeing him made Sunoo's eye twitch. His jaw clenched so tightly he thought it might crack.

"Sunoo, right?" Sunghoon greeted him, smiling as if they were old friends. Sunoo glanced down at the flowers in his hands. Suddenly, they looked ugly. The colors didn't look as soft anymore. The petals looked dull. He couldn't believe he ever fell for a face like that.

He forced a polite sweet smile, his lips twitching with the effort. "Sunghoon," he returned. "Where do fashion majors usually stay? I need to deliver this to someone." His tone stayed casual, but he had to bite down the irritation growing inside his chest.

Sunghoon beamed. "Oh! I was just heading to the backstage area too. Come with me."

Sunoo's jaw ached with how hard he was grinding his teeth behind another fake smile. Every muscle in his body screamed to walk the other way, but he needed to get to you. If that meant dealing with this guy, so be it. Still, it took everything in him not to roll his eyes or punch the smirk off Sunghoon's face. How dare he stand there so casually, acting like he belonged beside you?

"Is the eyelash glue irritating your eyes?" you asked Ryujin, checking the final touches of her makeup. Your fingers hovered near her temples, adjusting the corner of her lashes even though they looked fine. "And your heels? Are they stable?"

"They're fine, I promise. You don't have to worry," she said gently, offering a small smile.

You turned to Beomgyu, voice tighter this time. "The fabric on the lining—is it itchy? Are you uncomfortable at all?"

Beomgyu tilted his head at you like he was trying not to laugh. "You need to stop freaking out. I already told you I feel great in this."

Your chest was heavy with nerves, and your stomach churned, not just with anxiety but with the familiar, dull pain of your first-day period cramps that made everything ten times worse. The weight of responsibility was pressing on your shoulders. What if the seams tore? What if the models tripped? What if the fabric wrinkled wrong under the lights?

And before you could spiral further, a voice cut through your thoughts. One you recognized instantly.

"Sunghoon," you said wearily, not even trying to hide the exhaustion in your voice.

He stood there with a smile too bright for the atmosphere, holding out a bouquet of flowers to you. "Good luck later! I know you're going to get so many compliments for this."

You took the flowers without much thought, fingers curling around the stems as you exhaled through your nose, trying to keep yourself from snapping. You closed your eyes, drawing in a deeper breath. "Why are you here?" you muttered, already rubbing your temple. "This is our waiting room. You shouldn't be—"

"I came with Sunoo!" Sunghoon interrupted brightly. "Didn't know he was your friend too!"

And that stopped you. Your body tensed instantly. The flowers in your hand suddenly felt like they were cutting into your skin. You looked up, already feeling your throat tighten. And there he was.

Sunoo approached you slowly. Without saying a word, he reached out and gently took the flowers from your hand—the ones Sunghoon had just given—and replaced them with the bouquet he brought. Then, with a calm that felt almost too controlled, he handed the previous bouquet back to Sunghoon, whose brows furrowed in confusion.

Your fingers stayed frozen around the fresh flowers now in your hands. Sunoo stepped closer, voice dropping low as he met your eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Can we talk?"

Something in your chest pulled tight. You forced yourself to swallow the lump rising in your throat, jaw tensing as you tried to stay composed. You could already feel Ryujin and Beomgyu watching silently, even as Sunghoon stood there, confused and observant, his brows lifted like he could sense there was something here. "I'll be back," you muttered under your breath, barely glancing at them. Then, turning to Sunoo, you gestured with a subtle wave of your hand for him to follow.

You walked fast, ignoring how your heart was pounding too hard in your chest. The backstage halls were tight and filled with noise, but the moment you stepped into the music room and closed the door behind you, everything else faded out. The silence between you was loud. "What are you doing here, Sunoo?" you asked, turning to face him. You hated how soft your voice sounded. You hated that he still had that effect on you.

Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just looked at you, his lips parted, trying to decide how to speak, what words wouldn't end in a disaster. Then he said, carefully, "Is it true? That you're dating your model?"

You blinked. That's what this was about? You let out a harsh breath and rolled your eyes, pressing the heels of your palms into your forehead. "Seriously? That's why you're here?"

He flinched at the tone. "Is it true?" he repeated, almost like he was afraid to hear the answer. "You and your model. Are you—"

"Where the fuck did you even hear that?" you snapped, your patience finally cracking. "You think I'd seriously let rumors decide who I'm sleeping with now?"

Sunoo opened his mouth to speak, but you didn't let him. "Why are you even here, Sunoo?" you pushed. "To say sorry? To wave some flowers around and pretend like that's enough?"

He didn't answer. He just stood there, looking at you, his silence impossibly loud. You exhaled, your shoulders sinking with the weight you'd been carrying alone since he left. Your voice dropped out of emotional exhaustion. "I'm tired," you whispered, almost like admitting defeat. "I have a show to finish. I have deadlines. People are counting on me. And if all you came here for was a half-hearted apology, then don't bother—because I've stopped thinking about that night."

But your voice cracked on the last word, and you hated that he might've heard it. "I still think about that night." He said and that made your heart clench.

"You were right," he said quietly. "I came here to say sorry." He looked at you fully now. "And to tell you that I want to make you mine."

You blinked, stunned. "What?"

Sunoo stepped forward, his voice trembling even though he tried to sound certain. "I hurt you. I pushed you away. I made you cry and I said things I'll never stop regretting. I ran because I was scared, and I was selfish enough to believe I could come back when it was convenient for me."

And then, to your absolute disbelief, he lowered himself to the floor, dropping to his knees. His hands found yours, gently curling around your fingers, then pressing your palm to his face. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into your touch. "Every time I close my eyes, it's you," he murmured. "Every time I wake up, I hope it's a day I get to see you again. It's always you. "

Even though his voices cracked, Sunoo pushed through it. "I hated seeing that Sunghoon guy give you flowers. I hated thinking about you with your model even if it's not true. Because I want to be the one. I want to be the person you choose, over and over again, even when I don't deserve it. Even when it's hard, and messy, and complicated."

"I didn't come here just to be forgiven," he continued, voice cracking now as his forehead nearly pressed against your hand. "I came because I want you. Because I love you. And because if there's even a part of you—any small part—that still wants me, then I'll do whatever it takes to prove that I'm worth that second chance." He looked up at you, eyes glistening, his knees still on the ground.

You didn't realize you were crying until you felt the tear slide down your cheek. The warmth of it startled you. No matter how much you tried to build walls around yourself, he had always been able to slip through. Even now.

He looked up at you from where he knelt, eyes glassy, red-rimmed. Your fingers trembled in his hands, but you didn't pull away. "You hurt me, Sunoo."

His expression broke completely, a quiet whimper escaping from his lips as he held your hands tighter, desperate. "I know," he choked out. "And I hate myself for that. I'd take it all back if I could. But I can't... so all I can do now is ask you to let me fix what I ruined."

The silence stretched again, before he whispered, almost breathlessly, "...Please?"

That single word cracked something inside you. You sniffled, blinking fast as more tears welled in your eyes, and without thinking, you slowly lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. You leaned in, heart pounding wildly, and kissed him. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was tender—heartbreaking in its softness, and yet full of everything you'd been holding back. The pain, the longing, the anger, the love—it was all there, pressed into the seal of your lips against his.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of your eyes closed, breath mingling in the small space between you. "I never stopped wanting you," you whispered, your voice hoarse from the tears. "Even when I tried. Even when I told myself I should."

He shuddered at your words, his breath catching, fingers lifting to cup your cheeks. "I swear I'll spend every day proving I can be someone you deserve," he murmured.

You nodded faintly, your forehead still resting against his. Then, slowly, you leaned in again, brushing your lips against his—soft at first, searching, before you kissed him fully. This time, you didn't hold back. Your lips moved against his with purpose, and he responded just as eagerly, his head tilting to meet you, to match your rhythm.

When you deepened the kiss and your tongue slipped into his mouth, his breath hitched. He moaned softly, the sound catching in his throat as he melted further into you, hands tightening at your sides. "I missed you," he whispered breathlessly between kisses.

You smiled into his mouth, sniffling as your hands cupped his damp cheeks, wiping at the tears that kept trailing down. "Missed you too," you whispered, your voice breaking as you kissed him again, even longer this time. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

He kissed you like he was making up for lost time, like every second he spent away from you had left him starving. His hands slid gently under your arms before he lifted you and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. You could feel the way his breathing picked up as he moved, sitting down on the old couch in the corner of the room, never letting his lips stray too far from yours.

You settled on his lap, knees bracketing his hips, your mouths still moving together in sync. You could feel the way his body was reacting—how tightly he held you, how his hands gripped your back. "I love you," he whispered against your lips.

Your breath caught, your heart thudding as he pressed a trail of kisses down your neck, slow and open-mouthed. His hands, once tentative, slid to your chest, cupping you through your clothes before he gently kneaded one breast in his palm. The sensation made you shiver, your back arching into his touch instinctively as you sucked in a breath.

"Say it again," you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut.

He leaned back just enough to look up at you, both hands still resting on your waist. "I love you. I'm not letting you go again."

You leaned forward to kiss him again, your lips brushing over his. His fingers slipped under your shirt, tugging it up carefully, revealing the curve of your breast and the soft lace of your bra. His breath hitched when he saw your nipple, the silver glint of the heart-shaped piercing catching the light. He paused, stunned, swallowing hard, the outline of his arousal now pressing clearly against his pants.

"W-wait," you breathed, your hands clutching at his shoulders as his face dipped lower. "It's not fully healed yet..."

Sunoo froze, his lips just grazing the swell of your breast. He pressed the gentlest kiss on your areola, lips lingering as his thumb toyed with the other nipple through your bra, tracing slow circles that made your hips twitch above him. Your body reacted, grinding slightly against the solid pressure beneath you. His breath grew ragged against your skin, hands sliding up your back, holding you tighter.

You rocked your hips against him with slow pressure, letting the friction build until the heat between your bodies felt like it might burn right through your skin. His hands moved restlessly, tugging at your waistband, already working to unbutton your pants.

But your hand caught his wrist, halting him. "N-No... we can't," you murmured, your voice ragged from panting. You glanced down at him beneath you—his brows were drawn together in frustration and confusion, his face flushed with heat, sweat starting to gather along his hairline, and his lips—red and kiss-swollen—were parted.

"I... I have my period."

He blinked, then tilted his head slightly like he couldn't understand why that would matter. His hand slid back down, cupping you through the fabric of your underwear, right over your pad. You gasped, the heat of his touch making your body tense with shame and anticipation. Your cheeks flared hot with embarrassment.

"I-It's not clean," you whispered, voice wavering. "It's messy..."

"And?" he muttered, his gaze never left your face. Without waiting for your approval, his hand dipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, carefully maneuvering around the pad as his fingers brushed against your pussy.

His finger slipped in, and your jaw dropped open, a soft cry catching in your throat. The feeling was slow, filling, a deliberate push deeper until he bottomed out and curled his finger inside you, testing your sensitivity. "You know," he began, "orgasms help relieve cramps. The body releases endorphins that ease pain. It's not gross... it's your body asking for what it needs."

You whimpered, unable to argue. Especially not when his finger began to move—slow at first, then building pace, retreating and sinking back in until your hips were grinding helplessly against his palm. Each stroke hit something deeper than just your body, pulling breathy moans from your throat.

"S-Sunoo—" you choked, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. His other hand slid up your shirt again, pushing the fabric away so he could lean in and press his mouth to your chest. His lips wrapped around the soft swell of your breast, and the sharp contrast of your piercing against his tongue made him groan. "I-It's gross."

"No, it's not." He whisper, biting your neck, tongue swirling at it, he mumbled against your skin before adding another finger, spreading you wider. "It's hot. You're hot."

Your only answer was a louder moan, your thighs trembling as you rode his fingers, your body clenching around him. The pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter, until everything snapped all at once. You came hard, body clenching around him as your head tilted back, breath stuttering and vision swimming.

Sunoo shifted you easily, guiding your body until you were bent over the couch, his grip firm and sure as he moved you exactly how he wanted. But then he stilled, breath catching when his eyes landed on your back. His palm slid over your spine, tracing the ink.

"Fuck," he hissed. You felt the way his fingers trembled slightly, how he cupped your hips and coaxed you into an arch, dragging his touch down the trail of black lines and crimson lilies that ran from your shoulder blades to the curve of your lower back. "You always know how to drive me crazy... and now you go and get this?"

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sound as he pulled your pants lower, exposing the heat between your legs. He groaned behind you, dragging the tip of himself along your entrance, already soaked and messy, your blood mixing with everything else. It should've made you feel embarrassed but instead, it only made the tension between you burn hotter.

"Please," you breathed, turning your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

Sunoo didn't need to be told twice. He eased into you slowly, his body pressing close, chest flush against your back as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, anchoring you to him. His breath stuttered against your skin, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he moved deeper, his other hand gripping your waist so tightly.

Your eyes caught sight of his hand, streaked with red from earlier, and instead of disgust, all you felt was a strange kind of thrill that twisted low in your belly. You clenched around him involuntarily, another moan slipping from your lips.

He kissed your jaw, then your cheek, then finally your mouth again, hungrily this time, tongue sliding against yours as his hips found a faster rhythm. His hands trembled where they held you, but his movements were certain, desperate. "Ah—fuck—I love you," he gasped, his voice cracking open as the pace quickened. "I love you so much. So fucking much."

Your breath caught, heart slamming in your chest. "Sunoo—wait—" your voice was barely audible between moans, "you're not wearing—ah—no condom—!"

He stilled for a second, his breath rough in your ear. But instead of pulling away, he leaned in closer, murmuring, "I know."

Your pussy clenched around him on instinct, as if reacting to the rawness of it all, to the fact that he was really inside you like this. The feeling of his bare cock dragging against your soaked walls was overwhelming, hotter, slicker. Your eyes rolled back as a loud moan escaped your throat, your fingers tightening on whatever they could grab.

"F-fuck," he whimpered, as your walls fluttered around him. Sunoo sounded like he was unraveling in real time. His hands gripped your waist harder, his breath shaking as he slowly pushed back in, deeper this time. He whined against your skin, overwhelmed, almost breathless at how good it felt. "I missed you. Missed this—missed you so fucking much."

His voice cracked, raw emotion bleeding into every word. "Don't leave again, hmm? Please. I'll treat you better this time. I swear—I love you. Fuck, I love you. I'm so fucking in love with you."

He didn't give you time to answer. His fingers slid down between your thighs, finding your clit without hesitation, rubbing slow, dizzying circles that made your knees buckle. His cock hit your g-spot mercilessly and your voice broke into a scream, loud and unfiltered, but you didn't care—the music room was soundproof, and even if it wasn't, you wouldn't have stopped him.

"S-Sunoo—I'm gonna cum," you choked out, your voice hoarse, hips jerking uncontrollably from the way his fingers pressed harder into your clit. Your pussy clenched down around him, and the orgasm crashed into you so fast it nearly knocked you off your feet. Your whole body shook and your thighs quivered, but Sunoo held you tight through it, one hand gripping your waist as the other kept you grounded, kept fucking into you with more force, chasing his own high.

"God, I love you, my baby," he whined. His hips started stuttering, the sound of skin slapping echoing faintly against the padded walls, getting messier, needier. "C-can I cum inside you? Please—let me?"

You couldn't speak at first, just nodded frantically, your fingers digging into his arm where it hugged around your waist. "Yes," you breathed, still panting, "Yes, yes—Sunoo, please—cum in me. I love you."

He let out the loudest, rawest moan of the night, something close to a sob, his whole body tensing as he came hard. You could feel it flood inside you, the warmth of it thick and hot as he kept fucking you through it, like he couldn't stop, like he needed to push it deeper, make sure it stayed.

Even after he was spent, his hips kept rocking slowly into you. His cum leaked around his cock, dripping down your thighs, and still he stayed buried inside, forehead resting against your shoulder, breath warm on your skin.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment, just the sound of ragged breathing filling the space between kisses—gentle ones now. He kissed your neck, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. "I love you," he murmured, then kissed your temple, eyes shut, holding you.

You turned in his arms, legs shaky, body still pulsing from the aftershocks, and cupped his face with both hands, pulling him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. "I love you too," you whispered.

EPILOGUE

Sunoo made his way to the stage with a confidence he hadn't felt in a long time, holding up his medal and certificate for the photographer with a proud grin. Applause echoed through the auditorium, and for a moment, all the weight he had carried over the years—every sleepless night, every self-doubt, every quiet breakdown—seemed worth it. Sitting down on the chair at the side of the stage, his heart swelled with something deeper than relief. He wasn't just happy—he felt fulfilled. Things were finally going his way, and more than that, he had done it on his own terms.

"You look so good—God, I love your makeup!" Giselle said beside him, nudging him with her shoulder. He turned to her with that signature Sunoo smile, wide and sweet. "Your blush is perfect. It suits you so well," she added.

He smiled softly, cheeks glowing with more than just the highlighter dusted on them. "Thanks. My girlfriend did my makeup."

Giselle blinked, then gasped. "Wait—did I hear that right?"

Sunoo didn't respond, just chuckled to himself. When the program ended and the crowd was released into the open hall, he barely waited before slipping into the crowd, eyes scanning eagerly for one person. He weaved through clusters of families and graduates, ignoring the flashes of cameras, until his eyes finally landed on you. His whole face lit up instantly.

Without a second thought, he squealed and ran straight into your arms, wrapping you in a tight, all-consuming hug. You squealed too, and the sound made a few people turn their heads, curious. But Sunoo didn't care. You were in his arms, and that was all that mattered.

"Congratulations, my love!" you beamed, pinching both his cheeks before kissing his forehead.

He immediately slapped your hands away with a playful pout. "Stop! You're gonna mess up my makeup."

You laughed and leaned in. "I could always retouch it, dummy. I was the one who did it, remember?"

Sunoo squinted, finally taking a proper look at you now that he wasn't rushed or nervous. You had left before him earlier, after helping with his look, and now he was seeing you fully—your hair tied neatly in a bun, soft clean makeup that felt too tame for you, and a bright, modest outfit that covered every inch of your skin.

His gaze lingered. "You... took off your piercing?"

You nodded and gave a small shrug, your smile faltering. "Yeah. I figured... maybe you'd want me to look presentable today. Like, for your big day. It felt like the right thing to do."

He tilted his head slowly, eyes narrowing as he looked you over again. "Presentable?" he repeated. "I love the way you look with your piercings on, your tattoos showing, your red lipstick. That's you."

Your chest tightened, emotion catching in your throat so fast you couldn't even respond with words. Instead, you stepped forward and hugged him again, burying your face into his neck as your arms wound around his waist. "I love you," you whispered against his skin.

Sunoo's eyes widened slightly. Then slowly, he melted into your hug, wrapping his arms around you just as tightly. He rested his chin on your shoulder, and for a moment. "I love you more," he murmured softly. Then, pulling back a little to meet your eyes, his brows furrowed. "Wait—did I make you feel like I didn't want you to be yourself? Like I was forcing you to be someone else? I'm sorry."

You shook your head, tears beginning to pool despite the smile on your lips. "No... It wasn't you. I just... I didn't want to mess anything up today. I thought maybe if I toned myself down, it'd be easier."

Sunoo's eyes shone with emotion as he wiped your tears with his thumbs. "You could never mess anything up just by being yourself," he whispered. "Especially not with me. I want you loud, and messy, and bright. I want you with the piercings, with the tattoos, with whatever the hell makes you feel like you. That's the person I want beside me, every day. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I was changing you. Forgive me, hmm?"

You leaned into his touch, forehead resting against his. "Then I'll never tone myself down again."

"Good," he smiled, brushing a kiss to your nose. "Because we've got a lot more milestones coming. And I want all of them with the real you."

You laughed lightly, the tension in your chest finally melting as you cradled his face. "Our only problem now is how to tell Jake without him fainting."

That made Sunoo snort before leaning in again to kiss you properly, his smile still pressed to your lips. You could hear a few surprised gasps from the crowd nearby, but you didn't care—and clearly, neither did he.

"It's fine," he whispered playfully, nuzzling close again. "We'll just plan a sleepover. That way, when he faints, we'll already be somewhere private... and have all the time in the world to celebrate without interruptions."

You smirked, squeezing his hand as it found yours. "I have a gift for you later when we get home."

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he raised a brow. "Hmm... A blowjob?"

You gave his shoulder a soft shove, rolling your eyes with a laugh. "No, not that, idiot."

He broke into a laugh too, the sound warm and carefree, then reached for your waist and pulled you in close again. His hand rested securely there, thumb drawing small circles, grounding you both in that moment. "Thank you for loving me as I am," he whispered against your ear. "Even on the days I forget how to love myself."

You leaned in, letting your head fall against his shoulder, smiling as his lips pressed a kiss to your temple. "I love you in every version of you, Sunoo," you whispered, and you meant every word.

The two of you continued walking hand in hand through the crowd. And if someone had asked you what you were feeling at that exact moment you would've said that you were in love. You were content, completely at peace with who you were and who you were becoming. And more than anything, you were happy, so much more happier than ever. Because Sunoo was beside you.

END.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

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You’d recently joined your university’s severely underfunded manga club under the guise of picking up a new hobby. And whilst it was partially to pick up a new hobby, there was another underlying reason you probably wouldn’t tell anyone else about; You were grieving.

‘Rotten Peonies.’

The greatest piece of erotic femdom manhwa to ever grace the digital shelves, in your personal opinion. It was your favourite manhwa of all time and it was everything you could possibly ever want in a piece of media, as if it were a rare fruit hand picked specially just for you, that it was pretty uncanny how much it suited just to your own taste buds.

You waited eagerly every week to read the latest chapter and it was what kept you going when uni life and just every other aspect of life got too hectic, too stressful, too…much. It was your escape and you were so attached to all the characters by now, but mostly the male lead, Choi Taekbae. From his pretty character design with the shaggy wolfcut, brown doe eyes and rosy cheeks, to his funny, playful, golden retriever-esque personality, and the way he orbited around the female lead like a lovesick puppy, he was completely your type to the T. And the way he acted around and treated the female lead, submitting to them, letting them do whatever they wanted to him, never ceased to make you giggle and sigh out at your screen.

Taekbae was completely unlike how real men were and the manhwa was made totally catered towards the eyes of women: gorgeous art style and fashion, well thought out characters, real chemistry, and just the good amount of filthy. It understood what women actually wanted to see. Unlike all that other grotesque, borderline pedophilic slop men wrote. With the highly unrealistic female characters reduced to boobs ridiculously the size of hot air balloons, yet they always had a stick thin figure somehow, body proportions way off to be real. And of course, they always had to make them act child-like too, always in need of saving by their way too muscular toxic, alpha man. That’s why you liked ‘Rotten Peonies’ and taekbae so much, it was refreshing.

Real men will always end up disappointing you one day. You lived by that, you’d seen it happen many a times, had it happen to yourself a few times too. They’ll let you down, they’re all the same, some just take longer to show their true colours. It’s only a matter of when it will happen, not if.

You did not know who the writer was, appearing under a pen name ‘CBG’, but you’re so certain it’s a woman because there was no way in hell a man would ever have the capabilities to write such a masterpiece. A very cool, very feminist, very cultured, intellectual woman with impeccable taste. You admired her art and looked up to her so much.

But it wasn’t just how deliciously drawn the panels of Choi Taekbae were when he was getting fucked with pretty, teary eyes—which you meticulously saved to your camera roll—that you were drawn to by now, the plot was captivating and you were also incredibly emotionally invested and attached to the storyline as well. Surprisingly, the story was quite sweet and butterflies-in-your-stomach inducing, making you also read it for the cute, romantic moments between the main characters, while cursing the universe for not handing you your own Taekbae.

Which is why your stomach had completely dropped, utterly devastated after you had eagerly anticipated the latest chapter like you usually do, giggling into your pillow and kicking your feet at taekbae until the very end, then biting your nails at the very tense cliffhanger. It’s alright, you just have to wait one week, you’d told yourself. You’d absentmindedly scrolled down to read the author’s note, and thats when you saw the two words that shattered your entire world:

On hiatus !

‘Sorry I’m just not having much inspiration at the moment to continue anymore!’

No, no, no. This can’t be. What were you supposed to look forward to anymore?! Some series’ remain on hiatus for so long and never end up coming back. What if CBG never writes for it ever again? What if you never find out what happens next, what became of Taekbae and the female lead? What were you supposed to do without seeing new panels of taekbae anymore? Were you supposed to just keep on living? Without closure?

So, maybe you are being a little bit too dramatic, but it doesn’t matter, your beloved manhwa!

You were beyond distraught, completely devastated, which led you to joining your uni’s manga club in the mean time to cope. At least it would have you looking forward to something else every week. You also just wanted to learn about the actual process of making comics, since you always found it intriguing how your favourite author could even possibly make such art, could evoke so much emotions from you with a single panel. And who knows, maybe you could even create your own little stories and characters, your own world to escape to sometimes.

Being at the manga club had made you completely empathetic towards your favourite author. You could perfectly understand why they might have went on a hiatus now, it was hard work and there was a lot that actually went into it. And, despite there being not many members, it was very insightful. You were starting to enjoy it a lot, picking up a new hobby instead was actually really fun. Or, it would have been.

“So do we get free snacks, or was that false advertising or something?”

Choi Beomgyu.

“They’re not technically free.” Kai, your club president, had explained politely, still giving him a friendly smile. “Everyone takes turns each week to bring in snacks or bake them for all the members to eat.”

“Cool.” He’d leaned in, ripping open a packet of crisps with ill manners, not bothering to listen for the rest of the meeting.

That was your first impression of him, and you can’t say you’ve seen him in a better light, in fact, it only consolidated your thoughts about him. He’d joined around the same time as you and he was pretty insufferable. He was lazy, never took the lessons seriously like how you did, irritatingly, inexplicably handsome—not that it matters—and he made the most annoying, eye rolling commentary and jokes ever during the sessions.

While the rest of you actually tried to analyse storyboarding techniques, effects, and how to create and draw backgrounds, beomgyu spent most of the club meetings sprawled across the folded chairs, legs spread wide and munching on snacks obnoxiously loud, saying stupid things for attention like, “Do you reckon Shonen writers have a kink for dead parents or…? Like, why do they always have to add that?” You’d watched, eye twitching as his crumbs scattered over the stack of carefully arranged Shonen volumes on the table. Why he was here, at your nerdy little club, you didn’t know.

Actually, you were absolutely sure he was only here for the free snacks, which it wasn’t like that was just a mere speculation anyway, the dead giveaway being that he’d eat and shamelessly pocket away half the snacks on the table.

He was exactly the type of man you hated in this world, that made you pray, hopefully, somewhere out there in this world, there could be a choi taekbae.

Kai cheerfully clapped his hands today, earning everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone! We’re going to pair up and try to create a short one-shot manga based on the shoujo genre. Doesn’t need to be perfect, it’s just for fun and to show to everyone else next week!”

You sat straighter in your chair, excited at the sound of the project. It was totally up your alley, maybe you’d even make something inspired by Rotten Peonies, something worthy of CBG herself.

But, with you and beomgyu being the newbies, of course, everyone had made their own tight knit group of friends by now, already pairing up with their best mates, which unfortunately left just you and choi beomgyu on your own. You look around the room desperately crazed, frantically hoping there was someone else left on their own, but to no avail, there was no one else you could work with.

And so, you were forced to partner up with him. This was going to be utter hell.

“Guess we’re partners.” Beomgyu smirks, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. “Don’t worry. I’m a creative genius. You’re in good hands.”

You scoff incredulously at him. “Yeah, right.”

That’s how you ended up at beomgyu’s dorm, sitting cross legged on his bed, a notebook between you as you both tried to brainstorm ideas together.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” You ask, narrowing your eyes as beomgyu tapped his pen on the paper repeatedly with creased brows in exaggerated concentration.

“Yes,” Beomgyu says confidently. “Actually, I’m pretty experienced.” He looks up at you with infuriatingly self assured eyes, twirling the pen around his fingers, doing, admittedly, pretty impressive pen tricks. “It’s my passion.”

You don’t believe that, leaning back and crossing your arms at him. “Well, do you even know what shoujo is?”

“Yeah, Shoujo is catered towards girls-” He says, looking pleased with himself but then breaks off, frowning as if struck by a revelation, tossing the pen onto the bed and suddenly getting up. “Wait a sec.” Before you could ask what he’s doing, he hops off the mattress and disappears for a bit into the kitchen without another word. A few minutes later, he returns triumphantly with a pack of gummy sweets, chewing on them.

You raise a brow at him.

“What? I love gummies.” Beomgyu tilts his head, muffled with his mouth disgustingly full with them, cheeks all round and puffed.

“At this age?”

He shakes his head at you, tutting. “Wowww. You’re ageist. I’m going to twitter and I’m gonna cancel you.”

“They’re way too sweet for anyone who’s not nine.” You roll your eyes and retort.

He makes a deeply offended look your way and plops himself back down onto the bed, stuffing four more of the sweets into his mouth all at once, not even bothering to ask you if you’d like them too, or asking if you’d like to eat or drink anything for that matter. Some host he is.

“Right. Ideas?” You sigh, waiting for him to diligently chew the sweets he’d gobbled up at once before he can speak again, his mouth still full and frankly, looking like he was struggling.

Finally, beomgyu swallows with a cartoonish gulp and then brightens up instantly. “We should make a parody of shoujo tropes. It’s usually romance, set in high school, there’s holding umbrellas out for the heroine, someone gets sick and the other nurses them back, school trip to the beach, someone confessing during firework festivals, an annoying ex comes back from the dead, they’re locked in a storage room, there’s only one bed, blah, blah, you know all that stuff.”

He’s strangely pretty informed on this. You nod in approval, a parody could be a good idea. You’re a pretty competitive person, and whilst it’s not even being judged, you still have this need to be the best out of everyone else and to impress your club president. “Uh huh. Okay. We need character ideas.”

“Well, there has to be a hot guy. Girls love that.” Beomgyu draws a large, lopsided stick figure on the paper, labelling it ‘HOT GUY.’ He grins stupidly and shoves the notebook proudly towards you. “This is our male lead. This is Hot Guy.”

You stare at it, unimpressed. “I don’t think we can hand that in. I’m gonna be honest.”

Beomgyu rolls his eyes, “Obviously not. We just need to figure out who he is first.”

“A cliche bad boy?” You suggest.

Beomgyu dramatically scribbles ‘BAD BOY’ drawing out an arrow from the stick man.

You pinch your nose bridge. You don’t think you’ll get a lot done today. “Let’s give him a name then.”

“Timmy.”

“WE’RE NOT CALLING HOT GUY THAT.”

“What? Timmy is iconic. I’d swoon over him.” Beomgyu theatrically places a hand over his chest in mock sincerity.

Shaking your head, you grab the notebook and pen out of his grasp, ignoring the accidental brush of his warm, soft fingers against yours- Clearing your throat, you cross out Timmy and write Seojun instead.

“I still think it’s a good name. Timmy…” Beomgyu mutters mournfully.

You ignore him. “Okay we need to give Hot Guy Seojun a personality.”

Beomgyu pouts but perks back up and contemplates, tapping his chin and looking up to the ceiling in deep thought. “Maybe…everyone thinks he’s this bad boy but he’s actually not at all, what if he’s actually a scaredy cat? Shy? If it’s a parody, what if we reverse the stereotypical gender roles? Make the female protagonist the bolder one?

“Ooh. That’s kinda good.” You nod, eyes lighting up, slightly impressed that he could even form any ideas. “Write that down.”

The both of you get excited now, beomgyu clearly very happy that you liked his suggestion, smiling back at you with little crescent moon eyes. You draw out arrows, bouncing ideas back and forth, adding traits to your male protagonist, what he likes and dislikes, what he could look like, what he could wear. Once you were done, it was time to properly sketch Hot Guy Seojun out.

“I’ll do it,” Beomgyu volunteers, snatching the pen before you could argue. You watch him fully skeptical, ready to mock whatever doodle he comes up with, expecting another one of his lopsided stick figures. But once he’s done and pushes the notebook pridefully your way to see, you’re taken by complete surprise.

Because it was good, like, really good.

A very handsome man with messy hair, fox like eyes and a sharp jawline stares up at you from the page, a drawing exactly like how you’d expect a male lead in a comic to look like. His art style was surprisingly so pretty, it almost reminded you of CBG’s, but it’s probably a common style. Clean, expressive, precise. His line work and perfect inking had this polished look to it that you’d only ever seen in actual professional manhwas and mangas.

“…You can draw?!” You blurt out, astounded.

Beomgyu tilts his head innocently, feigning offence. “Of course I can. I said I was experienced. This is my passion.”

“Why did you join the manga club?” You query, still in awe at his drawing skills.

Beomgyu shrugs, spinning the pen in his hand. “I like making comics in my spare time but I’ve been struggling with it lately. Thought if I joined I could learn more and get my motivation back maybe. What about you?” Beomgyu asks curiously, “Why’d you join?”

“My favourite manhwa series went on hiatus.” You confess. “I didn’t have anything else fun to do anymore so I joined the club because I wanted to learn about the process and maybe make my own.” But you couldn’t refrain yourself, once you started talking about it, you couldn’t stop, couldn’t help but go on a long, impassioned rant. “—She left us on such a big cliffhanger! And the main guy, Taekbae, oh my god, he’s my favourite character ever, he’s literally perfect and so cute and funny and my type and-”

Suddenly beomgyu pauses mid pen spin, eyes slowly going wide. You were too busy, gesticulating animatedly to notice though. “You’re a big fan, huh?” Beomgyu asks carefully, slowly.

“I’m her biggest fan,” you declare. “I was so heartbroken when I saw the hiatus note.”

“Huh.” A grin slowly spreads across his face, “Yeah… i’ll get to it eventually.”

You blink at him. “Huh?” What was this dude even going on about?

He leans forward, looking insufferably smug. “You’re talking about Rotten Peonies. I’m CBG.”

You stare at him. He stares back. Then you snort, incredulous. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious!” Beomgyu says, still grinning. “CBG. Choi. Beom. Gyu. That’s me. I drew it, idiot.”

“No. No, you didn’t.” This was a very weird joke of his. But then again, you’ve never quite understood his type of humour. Although, you don’t know how he knew you were talking about Rotten Peonies, though saying taekbae’s name might have given it away. Still, why would he even know that?

“Yes I did.”

“You didn’t.”

“Did.”

“No.”

“I literally did!”

“Prove it!”

Exasperatedly, beomgyu flips to a blank sheet and in a minute, sketches out an exact perfect replica of a Rotten Peonies panel of taekbae and the heroine. “Believe me now?”

You gape. “Okay…that’s…scarily accurate. But this still doesn’t actually prove anything. You just copied it out.”

Beomgyu sighs, getting up to rifle through a folder on his desk. Out came piles of drafts, storyboards, covers. He even pulls up his publishing account on his laptop, in which you can clearly see he was the author.

Your jaw hit the floor. “Holy shit—” You just blink at him, utterly dumbfounded, brain short circuiting.

He was CBG.

How was that possible?

CBG was a girl! Okay, it was never actually stated, but how can a man write so much emotional depth, actual good erotica? And most of all, Choi Beomgyu, the guy who manspreads and leaves crumbs all on the shonen mangas, who makes the dumbest commentary?!

Then, you grab his shirt in both fists, eyes wild, shaking him hysterically, “YOU MUST WRITE THE NEXT PART! I HAVE TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS AFTER THEIR ARGUMENT ABOUT BEING MORE THAN FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS AND THE WHOLE SHIT WITH BAEKHYUNG!”

“Wha-hey! Okay, okay.” Beomgyu flails and yelps, slightly freaked out by you. “You’re…very intense.”

“I’ve been going insane.” You snap, still clutching onto his shirt, just accepting the maddening information you found out, there were more pressing matters here, your beloved manhwa was on the line.

Beomgyu sheepishly sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly, I’ve been struggling with the sex scenes. They feel… I dunno. Unrealistic? Like I’m not doing it right.”

You knit your brows, you’ve never thought that. Everything was perfect. “Why do you think that?”

“Because I don’t…” Beomgyu hesitates, cheeks blooming pink. “I…I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” You press him.

Beomgyu sighs again. “I don’t actually know what it’s like..” he winces, ears also going a very vivid, bright shade of red.

Your eyes go wide. “No way. You mean, you’re a virgin?”

“Shut up.” Beomgyu mumbles, completely embarrassed and averting your gaze.

You laugh so hard your sides hurt. “You’ve been drawing porn this whole time, and you’ve never even had sex?”

Beomgyu groans, burying his face in his hands which only makes you giggle even more at him. It’s quite cute.

And that’s when it hits you.

The wolfcut. The shy, embarrassed flush. The way his puppy eyes dart away like he’d die of shame. You gasp. “OH MY GOD. Taekbae’s literally just a self-insert because you can’t get laid! You mean I’ve been thirsting over your self-insert this whole time?!

Beomgyu’s head shoots up, furrowing his brows in denial. “What-NO! Self insert?? No, he’s nothing like me.”

“You literally gave him your hair!”

“That’s a coincidence!”

You arch a brow, unimpressed, giving him a stern, deadpan look as if to say ‘come on, it’s so obvious.’

He deflates under your gaze. “Well, okay, maybe a little-”

You cross your arms and huff, but you’re heavily amused right now, narrowing your eyes as you stare at him cryptically, slowly grinning. You just thought of an absolutely brilliant idea. “So…what you’re saying is that you’d write again, get inspiration, if…someone actually fucked you?”

Beomgyu opens his mouth then closes it, utterly speechless.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” You shrug.

“You’ll—what?!”

“I’ll pop your cherry. You better write that next part.”

You could tell he was nervous, practically hyperventilating, chewing on his bottom lip raw.

“Relax, beomgyu.”

“I am!”

“No…you’re not. I know I’m hot and all, but breathe.”

You sat behind him, your chest pressed against his back, your legs spread as he sat in between them, your breath tickling the side of his neck and making goosebumps arise on his skin and his whole body, visibly shuddering. Beomgyu squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

You sigh, placing your hand onto his thigh thinking it’d calm him but it only makes him jolt violently. You try again, voice softer, rubbing slow circles on his skin. “If it’s too much you’ll tell me, okay?”

Beomgyu’s throat bobs, his sharp adam’s apple moving up and down as he nods, a little more relaxed, but still only a little. “Mmh.”

You bring your hand to hold his bare cock, thumb pressed on his slit, very lightly, only slightly, swirling your thumb around on his fat, pink, leaky tip. The effect is immediate, beomgyu sucks in a shaky breath, gazing down at what you’re doing to him, so flustered at the sight. You try to calm him down some more, trying to loosen him up as he sat so stiffly, so on edge, only keeping those light, slow ministrations for him to be able to get used to it. Your other hand combs gently through his soft hair, massaging his scalp as he leans into your touch.

“M-more…” beomgyu speaks up after a while, faint but needy, feeling a lot more comfortable now.

You stilled. “You sure?”

He nods so quickly you almost laugh, and so you slowly start sliding your hand up and down, smearing the slickness on his length. Beomgyu’s thighs tremble, a little closed whimper escaping from his mouth. Your free hand grabs onto his thigh again, digging your nails into the pretty plushness, partly to stop them from shaking, but also because you heavily enjoyed his reactions when you touched his thigh.

“Jesus, are your thighs that sensitive?”

Beomgyu attempts to shake his head, but you can see the way his eyes already glaze over just from your slow movements on his dick and your hand gripping his thigh, “N-no-!” You rake your sharp nails down them, dragging and leaving a little trail of faint, reddened lines onto the skin that was once unblemished. A squeaky, startled noise leaves beomgyu’s mouth at that, bucking into your hand, hips jerking. You want to leave his thighs filled with all sorts of marks and scratches and bites and kisses, they’d look prettier like that.

You hold onto his thigh harder, squeezing the flesh, bringing your pace on his dick a little faster and your hand wrapping a little tighter around his girth. Beomgyu clasps a hand to his mouth, eyes squeezed shut in overwhelming pleasure and trying to quiet down the loud moan he just let out.

“Why are you slapping your hand to your mouth? We’re at your dorm?”

“O-oh right…” Beomgyu removes his hand from his mouth, placing his hand down and balling it into a tiny little fist on his lap instead, still trying to fruitlessly suppress all the noises he’s making, incredibly shy and bashful and you can’t help but giggle at him. The next noise that spills out of him is a strangled whimper, caught halfway between embarrassment and overwhelming pleasure.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s just you and me here. No one else can hear.” You coo at him, bringing your hand to play with the soft locks of his hair once more, “I want to hear your pretty moans. Don’t hide them.” You ghost your lips over his neck, gently placing kisses on the delicate column of his neck, but of course, his neck is sensitive too.

You lick a slow stripe up the side of his dainty neck, watching the way he shivers as you chuckle, now sucking hickeys onto it, seeing how they slowly appear on his skin like ink blotches seeping into paper, violet and maroon and magenta, an assortment of colours on his porcelain complexion.

His fairy-like ears are so cute too, so red, and small, you catch his ear lobe in between your teeth, pulling and tugging and then licking a stripe along them too as beomgyu’s squirms and whimpers at the feeling, sucking nastily on his ear, watching him writhe.

You pick up the pace of stroking his cock, pumping him up and down, thumbing at the slit, twisting your fist at the base, and it’s all too much for him, breath faltering with every stroke. He throws his head back, resting it on your neck, succumbing into you and slumping onto your own body, you’re basically holding onto him, definitely not stiff anymore. His deep chesty, restrained moans, becoming breathier and whinier as times goes on, losing himself completely, “H-hahhh…” beomgyu pants as you whisper a mix of filthy words and praises into his ear.

Another grab at his thigh and digging your sharp nails deeper into them, and you feel the spurts of his cum reach your hand with a ragged cry. He orgasms fast, but that’s what you expected anyway, he’s a virgin after all. Beomgyu turns his head, hiding his face and panting into your neck, “Woah…t-that was…”

You scoop up his pretty cum onto your index and middle finger, bringing it to his face, “Open your mouth, puppy.”

Beomgyu widens his eyes, but the pet name clearly fries his brain, because he accepts, opening his mouth for you obediently. Of course being called puppy gets to him, it’s obvious, if not for the light pet play that appeared pretty often in the manhwa he wrote. Beomgyu’s tongue peeks out, letting you stuff your fingers into his mouth, he looks at you as he wraps his lips around them, sucking and licking his own cum clean off your fingers, doing it so well, moaning around your fingers, his eagerness and the way his eyes were fixed on you filthy and obscene but so sexy.

The sight was too familiar. You’ve seen this in Rotten Peonies with taekbae, his puppy eyes looking up at the female lead as he diligently sucks on her fingers, swallowing his own cum, you’ve saved it to your camera roll, added it to your hidden file. This was so strange. You can’t say you didn’t like it though. Especially now that you’re seeing the resemblance with takebae and beomgyu, god this freak was really just writing his own fantasies.

“You’ve been dreaming of this haven’t you, virgin?” You tease but beomgyu just nods, unable to say anything. “Pathetic.” You spit out, as if the sight of him wasn’t making your pussy flutter and making you so incredibly soaked through your pants, as if this wasn’t everything you’ve pretty much wanted in real life.

You pull your fingers out of his mouth slowly, watching the connecting string of saliva from his mouth and your fingers stretch. Then you grab his shoulders, pushing him down onto the bed and you crawl on top of him, straddling him. He immediately tenses again, getting nervous all over.

You take your bottoms off, leaving you in your underwear and you seat yourself on his bare cock, sliding your clothed pussy on his sensitive dick. Beomgyu nearly chokes, breath catching in his throat.

You roll your hips lazily, moving and grinding against him over and over, your own lips parted as the friction bumps with your clit, your panties drenched by now and leaking onto his own wet dick. Beomgyu’s head falls back into the pillow, throwing his forearm over his face, other hand curling into the sheets tightly, clearly not being able to take it.

“Beomgyu,” you murmur, grinning at his fucked out expression. “Take my shirt off.”

Beomgyu freezes like a cute little deer in headlights. Slowly, awkwardly, he tugs at the hem until you help him yank it over your head. He freezes again when faced with your bra, staring dumbly, seemingly bewildered.

“And my bra.” You deadpan.

He reaches up, attempting to, nervously fiddling with the fabric.

“Are you serious right now?”

“I’m trying!” Beomgyu protests and whines. And after far too long, the clasp finally comes undone. At the sight of your tits, beomgyu’s mouth falls open, flustered beyond belief and eyes completely glued to them in awe, like he’d never seen boobs in his life-which, you guess he hadn’t.

“You’re so hot. So pretty…” He doesn’t even move, still staring and gawking at your breasts in disbelief.

Rolling your eyes, you grab his hand and press it firmly to one of your breasts to which he lets out a gasp. “You’re allowed to touch, you know.”

“O-okay…”

Beomgyu cups one of your tits in his hand, still in awe, squeezing inexperienced, too timid, too unsure, just little presses and squeezes, bringing his thumb to slowly brush over, feeling your nipple, and gaping. “It’s so soft…and squishy.”

You laugh, almost, fondly at him. He writes and draws all this filthy shit, and yet he acts like this. “You’ve drawn countless panels of porn, how are you so clueless?”

Beomgyu furrows his brows, his face on fire. “Drawing and doing are two very different things you know!!”

You giggle once more at his expression, voice dripping with mockery. “Come on, even taekbae knows this much.”

He just hides his face in his hands, those small, little breathy moans and gasps still escaping him as you continue to hump his dick, grinding down on him, sliding your clothed pussy along him.

“Aw, my dumb little virgin. You want me to fuck you? Do you wanna know what it feels like to be inside me, hm?” you purr, leaning down just enough so your breath ghosts against his ear.

Beomgyu just nods along to your words stupidly like a bobblehead, moving his hips mindlessly with yours, speechless and unable to speak up, eyes half lidded and his thick long lashes fluttering.

You grab his chin in your hand, grinding down harder on him for emphasis. “Use your words, dumb puppy.”

“Please,” he blurts out immediately, voice cracking so high, “please, wan’ you to fuck me…Want you to take me.”

“You wouldn’t be cumming inside me within seconds like a little virgin, would you?”

“No, nonono.” Beomgyu shakes his head wildly, “Promise I won’t. Want to be inside, please. Please?”

The desperation of his voice goes straight to your core so you lift yourself off him to rid yourself of your drenched underwear, discarding it carelessly. His big eyes follow every single one of your movements like a starved, waiting dog, gaze snapping back up to you when your hand wraps around his cock. You grab his dick, using the head to rub your clit, drawing little stuttered gasps from his lips, sliding him over your slicked entrance and folds, the feeling of your pussy actually on his dick, too much for him already, his hips twitching helplessly beneath you. Beomgyu mewls, head thrashing against his pillow. “O-oh—fuck—please—”

“Are you really sure, beomgyu?” You ask him again, gently, sincerely, scanning all over his face for any uncertainty.

“Yeah, yes-want it so bad.” Beomgyu pants needily, hips jerking up desperately just at the thought.

You inspect his face once more for any hesitation and then take a hold of his dick, hovering, just about to sink down on his fat tip, the head of his cock pressing right against your entrance, and suddenly, he panics.

“Fuck, fuck, shit, okay. I’m kinda scared.” Beomgyu comically breathes in and out, his heart racing, bracing himself.

But you find it quite endearing and entertaining, laughing softly at his expression. “Scared of what?”

“I don’t know!”

“Do you want to be inside me or not?”

“Fuck, I do.” Beomgyu whines, seemingly in a dilemma.

You lean down, staring at him assuring and serious, cupping his face, pressing his hot cheek to your palm and you feel him melt and relax instantly at your touch. “It’s okay gyu, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. You have to tell me though.”

Beomgyu nods, looking into your eyes too. “Y-you can do it. I want you to.” he says finally, voice trembling but certain.

So, you ever so slowly, sink down all the way onto his dick, inch by inch until he’s buried inside to the hilt. It knocks the wind completely out of beomgyu, gasping for air, throwing his head back so theatrically, moaning out so long and loud, it doesn’t sound like it could be real, straight pornographic, his entire body arched. “Ohh. oh my g-Oh my god…”

“Is this okay?”

“Y-yeah…ffuck…”

Beomgyu reaches his hand out like a man drowning, grasping and taking a hold of one of your hands in his, and interlocking them as if grounding him, holding onto it so tightly as he tries to catch his breath, panting deeply. You don’t move, waiting for him to get used to the feeling of being inside your pussy first.

“Shit, ‘m okay. You can keep going.”

You swivel your hips around him, then leisurely, for his sake, start riding him. Beomgyu reacts to everything, every roll of your hips, every shift of angle, sending him spiralling further, literally so sensitive it’s unreal, every sensation so new to him, his appearance and the noises he makes are priceless, cute, deep, yet whiny little cries slipping past his lips.

As time goes on, and you quicken your pace, bouncing on his sticky dick, still holding his hand, beomgyu is long gone, not knowing how to endure being fucked. The most dumbest, debauched, dreamy expression taking over his entire face, genuinely drooling, dribbling down from the corner of his mouth and onto his chin. Apparently, you’d fucked him so dumb already.

“Puppy, does it feel good?” You taunt, even though his expression was already answer enough.

It takes beomgyu a while for him to even register you’d asked him a question, and an even longer while to actually formulate an actual thought and an answer to it.

Beomgyu’s eyelids droop heavily with pleasure, sweat beading his brow, slurring his words and his lisp fully coming out, “ughh is sso goood, ugh-ah, pussy sso perfect. It’s ssso…” he was meant to say more, but he doesn’t bother continuing, cutting himself off, his eyes flickering down, getting hypnotised, watching as your boobs jiggle with every bounce right in front of his face, wonderstruck by this. What a perv.

He looks just like how taekbae looks when he’s getting fucked right now, so delirious, he sounds so wrecked, definitely looks like it too. His messy, sweat ridden bangs of his brown wolfcut falling into his eyes. All you can see now are his glossy, glistening, plump, round lips parted and stustained in the perfect shape of an ‘o’.

This entire predicament is still so crazy to you, you’re basically fucking your favourite character in a way. You can’t believe he’s still CBG who you looked up to. The annoying idiot from your manga club who scoffs all the snacks. You also can’t believe you’re seeing Choi beomgyu like this, and you never thought he’d be a virgin.

“Will you kiss me?” That cuts your thoughts off.

“Huh?”

“Please. Kiss me?” Beomgyu looks up at you with devastatingly vulnerable, sparkly, round, big, eyes, his voice small. He looks like he’d cry if you say no to him, pleading at you, needing the intimacy.

You can’t say no to that, leaning down, you capture your lips with his, kissing him softly but messily, tongues tangling together. Beomgyu whimpers sweetly into your mouth, closing his eyes and so into kissing you, his hand that has been interlaced with yours this entire time, refusing to let go, squeezing even tighter as you ruthlessly ride him. Wet, filthy sounds of you fucking him take over the room, as well as a plethora of beomgyu’s pretty, euphonious moans he emits into your mouth that you gobble up, increasing in volume and reaching an octave higher, music to your ears.

You bite at his bottom lip, dragging your teeth and he pulls away for air, “y/n…I’m soo closee...” Incoherent words of begging and your name, falling past his lips, face contorted with overwhelming bliss and ecstasy. You clench around his cock so tightly on purpose, earning a mangled, raw scream from him and he cums immediately after, cumming so hard from being fucked for the first time and shooting a substantial amount of his load inside that it overflows, and when you pull yourself off, it all stickily oozes back onto and around his dick, his breath coming out in ragged sobs and gasps of disbelieved pleasure. “Fuckfuckfuck—” Beomgyu cries out, astonished and just totally overwhelmed with everything right now.

He doesn’t last long again, you not even being able to have your own orgasm, but you can’t even be annoyed at him. He’s so cute. His gorgeous reactions to everything and the way he was so sensitive was so much more worth it and rewarding than any orgasm, and even better than reading any of the manhwa panels, the images of beomgyu fully engrained in your head, it’s fine, you can get off to it later.

You let him ride it out, cooing soft praises for his first time, calling him a good boy and saying that he did so well as he clings to you. You pull him in for another kiss, thinking he’d appreciate it but he can barely kiss you back, his body literally limp and boneless. He still doesn’t let go of your hand, bringing his other hand up so he can hold your other one too, quietly whimpering into your mouth.

“Well,” you murmur when you pull back, still perched on top of his convulsing frame. “Was that inspiration enough?”

“Uh huh…” Beomgyu pants raggedly, a far away look in his eyes, barely conscious.

So, perhaps there are real men like taekbae out there. Well, only one.

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

A/n: yipeee. I hope you guys like this 😭 idk if it turned out the way people were expecting but ! I think this would be a good series where they fuck so beomgyu gets inspiration and ideas for his manhwa 😭 but I’m not gonna write it loll.

“come on, just come with me after this. I don’t wanna go alone.” Your friend, yoon, nudges you, not so discreetly chatting to you once you’re nearing the end of your two hour lecture.

Your eyes flicker from the board, which you’re still trying to concentrate on, but also, your attention is wearing thin and you’re waiting until the painfully slow last few seconds go by and it finally ends. “I don’t get it. Is this some kind of society?” You whisper back to her.

“Kinda…yeah, it’s a host club-” You don’t hear the rest of what she says, everyone starts chaotically packing up their laptops and notes, abruptly leaving the lecture hall once it ends and flooding the exits with traffic.

You do the same, and so does yoon. Once you’re out in the hallway and away from the trampling stampede, she begins animatedly trying to sell the idea to you again.

“I went to that badminton taster session for you because you wanted to go! And I got hit in the face with a racket, so that means you totally have to come with me this time.”

You sigh inconveniently, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. You supposed you could go to it for her, you were free the rest of the evening. “Fine, what’s it actually about again?”

She rubs at the back of her neck, pausing, looking sheepish and surprisingly hesitant for a second. Your eyebrow raises at this.

“You really don’t know? Surely you must have heard of it? It’s really popular.”

You shrug your shoulders, very intrigued. “No.”

“What rock are you living under...” Yoon exasperatedly mumbles, “Well…you know like, a normal host club? Where males entertain people with like, alcohol and pretend to be like, their boyfriends? Well….we have one. At the university. Except, it’s more like a tea-and-conversation, flirting, with the five most handsome and richest students here.”

You stop walking. She stops walking. Someone behind you nearly bumps into both your backs, giving you both an irritated glare as they walk past. You study her face, but she’s looking at you with complete sincerity. “Oh my god. You’re serious.” You start walking again, faster this time, shaking your head. “You rich people are bizarre.”

When you’d joined the university on a scholarship, you had come to find out just how terrible and outlandish these nepotism children really were firsthand. They operated on an entirely different plane of existence. This manages to top the cake though. They really do fuckall with their time, anything but actually studying. It’s not like it really matters though, they’ll still become heirs of multi-million pound companies anyway.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. Truly!” Yoon insists, jogging to match your pace.

“How is this allowed?”

Yoon shrugs. “The creator’s family is like, the main funder of the university.”

You’re not surprised. “Of course.” You tighten your hold on the strap of your bag. “So, these people are whoring themselves out basically?” How is this ethical?

“Come on, it’s harmless and fun! It’s Furry Friday!”

“Furry…what?” You try to blink yourself awake, staring off into the end of the hallway, dissociated. Why do you even bother anymore?

“Yeah, and there’s Maid Monday too…it’s just like a cool events cafe. There’s themes. It’s cute!”

“So, do these people sleep with their guests too?” You joke, casting a sideways glance at your friend, giving up with the actual questioning of the existence of this club at a prestigious university.

Yoon looks to her left and right, covering her mouth with her hand and whispers. “Ssh. That’s more of an underground thing. They’re very selective about it and it’s superrr expensive.”

Your face drops. “What?” This is not right. You drag a hand down your face, sighing heavily. “You really want me to go to this with you?”

Your friend nods her head enthusiastically, clasping her hands together. “Please. I need to get over my last scarring situationship.”

You give your friend a pointed look. “Didn’t she like, borrow £700 off you and you never saw her again? There’s not much to get over.”

Yoon grimaces as if she’s living through it all again, not wanting the reminder. “Yes, she had some gambling issues. But, she was so perfect other than that.” Yoon sighs wistfully. “Come on, I paid for both our entry fees already. Food’s included.”

Your ears perk up at that, staring at your friend who now has a sneaky little smile creeping up on her face, knowing she’s already won. You pause. Food is included? You wouldn’t pass up on free food…Damn that your friend knows you well. You huff resignedly. “Okay…I’ll go with you.”

Yoon squeals, bringing your hands to hers and jumping up and down aggressively. “Thanks! You’re the best.”

Now, you stand in the endless queue of other students waiting to get into the club, a snake of a line going right to the end of the corridor and around the corner. It really must be popular. How had you never heard of it before? There’s a permanent sign on the door reading ‘TXT HOST CLUB’. They even have their own personal room at the university? Even from outside, you can already hear loud squealing and high pitched screams at whatever is going on in the room.

Finally, eventually, it comes to both your turns, reaching the front. Yoon shows some ticket online and you’re allowed in, the big gilded doors opening, and you’re momentarily blinded by a sudden light.

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting, but it’s definitely not this; five guys in animal ears and paws, dancing to some girl group song on a raised platform. The spacious room is all pink with even pink marbled floor, fancy chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and ribbons and streamers decorating the walls and pillars. There’s cardboard cutouts of the members all around the room in absurd outfits, vampires, maids, fairies, princes, sanrio, mermaids, knights, traditional clothing, and more.

You’re escorted onto a free table with Yoon. Even the tables are decorated so lovely with floral lace cloth and a vase of flowers in the middle. There’s tiered cake stands with the yummiest looking sandwiches, cakes, pastries, tarts, and macarons. Laid too, are expensive-looking intricate painted tea sets and teapots. Maybe, perhaps, you could get behind this for the food.

Yoon doesn’t pay attention to anything on the table though, she’s too busy watching the performance, entirely enamoured and delighted by it, clapping and cheering them on.

“Oh, wow…” You watch it too, in disbelief, still trying to process your surroundings. All of this feels like a complete, bizarre, fever dream, but you have to admit, they were surprisingly pretty good at dancing, synchronisation quite insane for a bunch of random pompous dudes.

“I should introduce you to them all!” Yoon shouts over the music, excitedly pointing at one on the far right. “That’s taehyun! He’s super smart and stoic,” then she moves her pointed finger to the left each time, “that’s Kai he’s super sweet and cute! Oh-and that’s beomgyu he’s super emo and plays guitar, that’s soobin he’s a sweet posh boy and the president, and that’s…” Yoon sighs dreamily at the man on the far left, clasping her hands together, “that’s Choi Yeonjun. The It boy. He’s my fav. He’s such a prince.” She swoons. The poor descriptions weren’t all that insightful to you, to be honest.

Their performance ends with claps and screams, and then, you can finally tuck into the foods on the table, trying every single different assortment of pastries. The hosts had stepped off the platform, coming to the guests and their tables, speaking and chatting to them, the music lowered to soft ambient jazz. You can hear giggling… and barks and meows, and the strange things some guests are requesting for.

“Kai! Do a bark, do a bark!”

“Woof, woof!”

“Soobin, can you say that I’m your owner?”

“Beomgyu, I wanna be your pet!”

“I just wanna be your dog!”

You may have lost your appetite a little. But you try for it not to deter you.

One second, you’re looking down, scoffing the sandwiches on your plate, then you’re looking back up and you’re suddenly surrounded by the five men out of nowhere, looming over your table. You’re terrified, freezing mid-bite. Yeonjun, who you’d recognised as yoon’s favourite, comes to smoothly kiss her hand.

“Ah,” he sighs, “My lovely Yoon. Our loyal guest, will you be requesting for me again?”

Your friend is blushing and giggling, looking moments away from fainting. You raise a brow, gulping down the food in your mouth, turning your head her way with furrowed brows. “Again? I thought you’d never been here before. You didn’t want to come alone?”

Yoon coughs, embarrassed “Uhhm. Ahem. I never said I hadn’t been here before. Simply just wanted your company this time…”

You shake your head, finishing the rest of your sandwich, still feeling self conscious at the men still by your table. When were they going to leave?

“Ooh we’ve got a new guest, guys!” One of them says, noticing you, you think his name is Kai. The others lean in curiously at you, zeroing in. You feel like an animal at a zoo. This is very odd. Especially since they’re the ones still wearing pet ears and furry gloves.

Yeonjun theatrically reaches for your hand, kissing the back of yours too, grinning and winking. “Pleasure to meet you, beautiful being. I’m yeonjun. Choi yeonjun. What’s your name, pretty?”

“They look frightened…” Taehyun whispers to kai.

The rest of them introduce themselves, shaking your hand like a normal person.

Once you’re done with shoving the last bit of your sandwich down, you quickly dab around your mouth with a napkin and you abruptly rise from your seat, standing up, ready to leave. Your time here is more than done, and you so desperately want to get away from this uncomfortableness. “Well! Lovely to meet you all. Must get going haha...”

“Wait! You haven’t chosen a favourite yet!” Yeonjun stops you.

“Everyone picks one.” Beomgyu, the one with multiple facial piercings says with his hands in his pockets.

“Usually under twenty seconds.” Taehyun adds, checking his extravagant watch that probably costs more than your tuition fees. “The average is 17.83 seconds.”

“Yeah. Which one of us is the most handsome?” Soobin pushes the glasses he’s wearing gently up his nose bridge, tilting his head at you.

They all come even closer to you simultaneously, crowding you, staring at you intensely and expectantly, awaiting your answer. All of their jaws are raised up, sweeping hands through their hairs confidently, and posing for you, doing weird expressions with their faces as if they were in some modelling photoshoot.

“Um…I wouldn’t know.” They’re all very good looking. How were you supposed to choose just one? And how would you have a favourite already?

Taehyun crosses his arms. “You don’t know?”

“Just choose one! Come on!” Kai urges you, jumping on the spot.

“Yeah.” They all start saying and agreeing together, growing impatient and slightly agitated, wanting you to choose one of them already.

So, you try again, staring at each of their faces individually, trying to be pragmatic about it so you can finally get out of here. First, you analyse yeonjun, silky blonde hair, fox-like sharp eyes, piercings all on his ears. Then soobin, soft black hair, glasses, a bunny like nose and mouth, wearing a cute sweater vest. Then beomgyu, brown shaggy messy wolfcut, soft brown eyes, but dark thick eyebrows with a piercing on one of them, a dermal piercing, and lip rings too. Then at kai, fluffy white hair, angelic features overall and a pretty nose, holding a stuffed plush penguin toy in his hand. And finally, at taehyun, big round eyes, high cheekbones and a chiselled face, wearing a whole ass corporate suit for some reason.

“I really don’t know!”

“You have to. Gun to your head. Three—” Beomgyu raises three fingers.

“TWO.” All five of them start to join in, shouting in unison.

“Why are we counting?!”

“ONE.”

“ZER—”

The counting down, for some reason, and the fact that five absurdly attractive, very tall men are still crowded around you and shouting, makes you panic and stress and you feel very under pressure.

“Okay, okay! Oh-umm!-uh-Yeonjun!” You blurt out frantically. You don’t know why you say that name, you just choose the most memorable one to get them off your back.

There’s silence and the others recoil dramatically, betrayed, and they give you such disgusted looks.

“Terrible taste.” Taehyun clicks his tongue. The others are shaking their heads at you.

Meanwhile, yeonjun looks moments away from ascending, “I knew it!” Yeonjun’s eyes are practically shining, grabbing your shoulders excitedly, ecstatic and smug and violently shaking you. He runs a hand through his blonde hair once more, sighing out at himself as if he were in some sort of shampoo advertisement. “I knew you’d pick me.” He punches your arm playfully.

“Ow…” You rub at your arm to soothe it, it actually hurts. He punched you pretty hard. He looks like he’s about to hit you again in excitement, you back away as far as you can, taking a few steps back, fearfully.

You bump into something behind you. It wobbles. And that’s when you hear something smash so distinctly loud and hard onto the pink marble floor, exploding. Hesitantly, you slowly, dreadfully, turn around, thinking you already know what might have happened.

You had caused a very expensive looking sculpture of the five boys with roses in each their hands, to collapse straight onto the ground and smash into millions of smithereens, thousands of tiny little pieces scattered across and flying everywhere.

Everyone in the room turns their heads at the dissonant sound, gasping, teacups freezing halfway to their lips. You stare at the scene completely mortified. You can feel your soul departing your body, mentally already digging your grave to lie in. You could literally cry.

“Oh my god!” Yeonjun runs and drops straight down to his knees at the death of the artwork. “Our most expensive sculpture, all the way from Italy! Custom made from the renowned artist Angelo Pasquarelli, he passed away recently! This was the last remaining piece of art he ever made!”

Well, that doesn’t serve to make you feel any better. At all. You don’t even know what to do. You don’t have any parents that can pay this for you. You can’t even begin to imagine how much it actually costs and how you’ll ever be able to repay it, and how much debt you’ll be in now. “I’m so sorry! Oh my-I’m so, so, so sorry! I don’t know-i wasn’t looking where I was going.”

You can feel how ironic this is. You came here for the free food, now you’re massively in debt somehow.

Taehyun, the treasurer of the club, comes to crouch down beside yeonjun, staring at the remnants with visible pain and anguish too. “This was supposed to be an art investment for the club…I told you we shouldn’t have kept it out here in the open.” He murmurs sharply to yeonjun.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t afford to pay for this.” You admit. “I’m literally only here on a scholarship. Is there any other way I can help? I’ll do anything. Anything at all.”

“Hm. You can’t afford to repay for the damage?” Soobin raises a brow at you, thinking. He pulls the rest of the boys into a huddle. You hear intense whispering as they deliberate your fate.

Yoon panics for you, stepping in. “It’s going to be okay!” She reassures you, feeling slightly guilty as she was the one who brought you here when you hadn’t particularly wanted to in the first place. “I’ll try and pay for some of it for you!”

“No, that’s alright. They won’t have to pay for any of it. No one has to.” Soobin speaks up, all of them finally pulling apart.

You feel so relieved, clasping a hand to your heart that had minutes before giving out entirely. “Oh. Oh my god. Thank you, thank you-”

“You’ll repay us in another way.” Soobin thoughtfully explains. “Next week, the host club is holding a special events week.”

“For the first time ever,” Kai interrupts excitedly, “each host gets their own solo event where we can do whatever we want!”

Soobin nods. “Yes, we’ve never done events purely by ourselves before and we’ll need additional assistance.”

“You,” yeonjun says, flamboyantly pointing directly at you, “are going to become our assistant!”

“Monday to Friday,” Soobin confirms. “One host per day. You’ll help organise events, carry things, run errands, and deal with guests. You’ll work off your debt to the host club.”

“Just five days? That’s it?” That didn’t seem too bad at all, it’s an alarmingly good deal. You were expecting something significantly worse. How hard can it be? Only working five days to pay off the debt for a supposedly very valuable and rare sculpture? You can definitely do that. “Alright. I’ll do it.” You shake soobin’s hand, determined than ever.

“Yayy! Yippeee!” All five of the boys start clapping and cheering delightfully at you. You don’t know why they’re so happy.

“And guess what?” Yeonjun grins gleefully. “My event is the first one.” He takes your arm in his, interlocking and hooking your arms, and then completely drags you away. You throw one last pleading look at yoon through the gilded doors in case it’s the last time you ever see your dear friend again.

But she just giggles at you, calling out. “You’ll be fine. It will be fun!” She cheerfully waves at you being hauled out of the host club room.

“Woah.”

You stand in the doorway of yeonjun’s sleek studio apartment in awe, which hardly looks anything like student accommodation. You wander further inside, taking it all in. It is massive, everything down to the furniture and interior looking way too luxurious, with a fancy kitchen, living room, a big en-suite bathroom, and a walk in closet filled with designer clothes. That doesn’t seem to be enough though since there’s clothing racks near the windows too with garments, a mannequin, framed fashion sketches and artwork pinned on a wall, designer magazines stacked on a unique-looking coffee table.

It’s Buckingham Palace compared to your place. Your student accommodation was one tiny shoe box room, a shared bathroom and kitchen. But you had chosen the very cheapest you could afford.

“Do you like it? It’s a bit small. My bedroom is bigger than this in my mansion, but this is still cool and cosy.” Yeonjun stands in front of the wide floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the city skyline. He looked genuinely apologetic about it too.

“Mansion…” You shouldn’t be so surprised by now, so many people you have met at the university do live in them, but it still manages to shock you a little no matter how many times you hear it casually mentioned.

Yeonjun turns around excitedly. “Hey, maybe we can go to my house after this and I can show you! Get you to meet my parents already, ay?” Yeonjun winks at you. “It’s just a five minute walk!”

“A five minute walk?” You gawk incredulously, “If your house is so close to campus, why would you ever waste money getting student accommodation?” It fills you more with slight disgust at the wastefulness rather than jealousy.

Yeonjun huffs. “My parents said the same thing. But I wanted to have that uni experience, you know? Plus, I needed to be more independent. It’s a good thing. That student lifestyle, it’s pretty hard sometimes.”

“So…you've achieved this student lifestyle by moving five minutes away from your mansion into a luxury apartment?” Wow, this is certainly going on the list of out of touch things you’ve heard students say.

“Yep!” The confidence with which he answers is quite commendable.

“Oh, okay, so you’re paying for it yourself?” You don’t mean to pry, you’re just genuinely trying to understand a bit.

“No…my parents pay for it.”

You nod. “Right.”

“Oh! Would you like anything to drink or eat by the way?” Yeonjun politely offers you.

“Just some water is good.”

He grabs two high-end bottled waters from his high-end fridge too and passes one to you. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” Both of you come to plop yourselves on his sofa. “But you cook?” You ask him assumedly.

“I don’t know how. But my chefs come from the house every morning to make me meals. It’s lovely.” He obliviously beams at you, lounging comfortably against the cushions, one arm draped across the backrest.

You just nod along at this point, sipping on your water. You noted chef was plural, but you’re not sure where the independence is. “Well, anyways,”

He sits up right again, shifting closer to you, a bit too close. “Yes! Let’s plan my event.”

“So,” you say, “any ideas?”

“I already know what I want to do.” He seems very proud of this. “Fashion is my passion- Hey, that rhymes! Maybe I could be a poet too.”

“Sure.” You say tiredly, waiting for him to tell you what he’s got planned.

“Flirty Fashion Workshop.” He stares back at you expectantly, smirking like he was expecting some sort of praise for this.

Your face scrunches up. “What the hell is a ‘Flirty Fashion Workshop’?”

Enthusiastically, yeonjun explains. “They’re sewing, I’m showing them how to use the sewing machine like this-” he leans into you, placing his hands over yours as if he were showing you how to work some phantom sewing machine, feeling his breath on your neck as he guides your hands.

“Okay, I didn’t need a personal demonstration on it.” You swat his arms away.

Yeonjun shrugs but winks cheekily at you once again. “Your loss. People pay for this, y’know?” Undeterred, he continues to explain more of his idea, “I’ll make step-by-step, visual demonstrations on how to make basic articles of clothing and they can decorate it however they want with different fabrics and beads and embroidery and creativeness. I’ll come around, helping and flirting, of course. Then, once everyone is done, we’ll have a little fashion show where everyone can model and show off their work! Isn’t that so great?”

You can see the appeal for it, from what you saw earlier, you have no doubt it’ll work and keep guests very satisfied. It’ll probably be a huge success. You nod at him. “Hm. What we need first is all the equipment and materials for this then.”

Yeonjun nods too. “I’ll ask to borrow all the sewing machines from the fashion department. We just need lots of textiles and fabric, threads, scissors, pins, beads, buttons, decorative materials, and other things.”

“Where should we get all of that from?” You query.

“We’ll buy it, of course. Taehyun made a spending card for the club. Off to the city centre!”

“After you.” Yeonjun gentlemanly opens the car door for you, rushing out of his to come around unnecessarily for yours.

The walk to the city centre was just under fifteen minutes, but he had insisted on his chauffeur driving you both there anyway.

Yeonjun leads you to a bustling street with independent craft & art shops and fabric markets. The energy is so totally different compared to the commercial, homogeneous high streets you’d passed on the way, it’s bright and welcoming and filled with such unique characters of shops.

First, you buy lots and lots of fabric as you’ll be needing a lot of those. He seems to really be in his element, ecstatically showing you and speaking words about materials and their compositions only someone studying fashion would know, making you touch and feel them all too.

All of the vendors even seemed to recognise him, happily greeting and conversing with him, faces lighting up whenever he walked in, acting like he was some sort of long lost son of theirs whenever he stepped into a different shop. Yeonjun is very chatty, talking to them all for a while. One elderly woman even abandoned a conversation halfway with another customer just to pull yeonjun in for a hug and squeeze his cheeks. He’s not just famous in the host club, you observed.

You’re lugging along countless heavy bags of materials you’ll need for the workshop by now, shoulders and arms aching, you and yeonjun exhausted, hours blurred and overloaded by endless textiles. But it was a little fun, there’s a certain beauty in watching a person be passionate about something, oddly fascinating to follow yeonjun along.

You make one final stop to buy packs of sequins, and finally, you have all the equipment you need. Both of you make a turn on a street, noticing a brightly coloured ice cream shop. All the shopping, conversing and carrying must have clearly gotten to yeonjun, he’s drawn to it instantly like a moth to a flame, trudging you along with him, allowing you little time to protest.

He’s staring at the menu in deep concentration, brows furrowed but practically salivating. “Could I have the largest tub with one scoop of tiramisu and one scoop of rose please?”

You take a little longer to decide what you’ll like, settling on the smallest tub (it’s cheaper), and ordering a scoop of strawberry cheesecake and chocolate. Before you’re about to put your own card down, yeonjun dramatically steps in, practically shoving you out of the way and slamming his own down instead. “No. It’s on me, of course. A prince never lets anyone else pay.” He puts one hand to his heart, closing his eyes like he was reciting something religious.

“Oh, thank you.”

The ice cream scooper seems more affected by the gesture than you are, completely swooning at yeonjun. “Wow, what a gentleman!”

Yeonjun giggles at the compliment. “Hehe. Thank you!”

“You’re such a handsome young man. Ah, young love. Go on, I’ll give you both an extra scoop.” They lean in over the counter, hushing.

Yeonjun gasps. “You’re so kind! Thank you so much.”

Yeonjun is giggling, the scooper is giggling back too. You’re affronted by the whole exchange. Is life just this easily kind to Choi Yeonjun? But, you say your thanks too, not complaining about more ice cream for free. Everyone seems to be absolutely smitten by this dude’s charms. Sure, he’s attractive and he’s got great social skills, but people act like he’s above human. Are they seeing something you don’t?

Eventually, you can sit down at the tables, dropping the weighted bags to your feet. You’re in a much better mood after sitting down and once you’re eating the well-deserved ice cream, the creaminess and flavour melting on your tongue, plus the fact yeonjun paid for it is a great bonus, both of you happily talking more about yeonjun’s event between spoonfuls.

“Wanna try my tiramisu flavour? Say ahhh.” Yeonjun brings his spoon to you in an attempt to feed you, wriggling the spoon around your face, a generous scoop of pale brown ice cream perched upon it.

You flat out refuse, instead, bringing your own spoon to take a swipe of his yourself. “Mm. It’s good.”

Yeonjun watches you continue to eat without offering your own. “I wanna try the strawberry cheesecake one too.” Yeonjun leans forwards, tasting yours without asking. He’d taken quite a large amount too. “Mmh! This is yummy! I must get this next time.”

“Hey, I never said you could try mine.”

“Let’s take pics of our date.” Yeonjun ignores your complaining, getting out his phone and taking a series of selfies with you.

You stop and stare at him across from you before you can take another spoon of ice cream. “It’s not a date.”

Yeonjun shrugs again, unbothered. “Did you know I have a seventy percent request rate?People would pay a lot to go on an ice cream date with me.”

You set down your spoon in the tub, reminded of something you wanted to ask. You don’t get it. “Why would you make a host club when you don’t need any of the money?”

“I love entertaining people. It’s my thing. I’m good at it.” He’s not looking at you, his brows are furrowed as he tries to fish out the last bits of his melted rose ice cream from the edges. You’d noticed he furrowed his brows a lot when concentrating on something.

“Fair enough.” You nod in understanding, you can’t deny that. From today alone you’ve witnessed just how many people he can amuse. It seemed people easily gravitated towards choi yeonjun.

“But also I don’t have any siblings.” He pulls his full lips into a slight pout, continuing, brows further furrowed, “I always wanted one, so many of them actually. I kept begging but my parents didn’t want any more. And it got pretty lonely when they were overseas so often. I’ve always wondered what it felt like to have siblings. Now I’ve got them!”

It’s your turn to furrow your eyebrows. “By…making a host club?”

“It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. I personally sought out all the members myself. Now, they’re all like my four brothers! I cherish them and the club a lot. It’s very important to me. They’re my family.” Yeonjun warmly beams.

He has that glint in his eyes from earlier on when you were in the fabric markets, and like before, you can’t bring yourself to actually hate on it, he’s clearly passionate and sincere about it, so you just hum in agreement.

“That’s actually…sorta nice, still bizarre though.”

Yeonjun grins. “Did that woo you?”

“No.”

You’re back in yeonjun’s studio apartment. It’s completely dark outside by now, the city skyline view from his big windows look different after the sun had set, now it’s all just lots of constellations of scattered lights. You sit on one end of yeonjun’s sofa in the living room with the warm glow of orange and amber lamps he’d put on instead of his main lights, playing low music in the background from his turntable, the ambience nice to focus in.

Yeonjun is on the opposite end of the sofa, a large sketch pad sitting on his lap as he draws out the step-by-step demonstrations for the simple garments, you can hear his constant scribbling from his pencil meeting paper too. You are on your laptop, currently focused on the duration and structure of what should be happening in the workshop and making a small slideshow for it.

“Does it look fine?” Yeonjun lifts his sketch pad for you to see the diagrams.

You scan the illustrations briefly. “Mhm. They’re easy to follow.”

You continue typing. By the time you finish the final slide, your shoulders ache slightly from hunching over the laptop. You lean back against the sofa, stretching your limbs, eyes drifting to the other side of the sofa. Yeonjun is still sketching, completely absorbed, eyebrows characteristically drawn together as he focuses, lips in a slight duck-like pout and his blonde hair now having more of the resemblance of honey under the colours of the lamps.

“Done admiring me? Daydreaming about kissing me?” Yeonjun looks up, lazily grinning as he notices your stare.

You heavily roll your eyes at him. “You’re not my type.”

“I’m everyone’s type.” He confidently states. You shake your head, sighing out at his ego, but he starts again, “Hey, you’re the one who picked me as the most handsome.” Yeonjun puffs out his chest, still pleased by that.

“Yeah, under duress. I only picked you because your name was the first I remembered.”

For some reason, he remains proud. “So what you’re saying is that I’m very memorable.”

You drop your head back against the sofa and the wall behind you. “Lord…”

“You’re bluffing. Bet you do actually daydream about kissing me.” Yeonjun goads. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

You snort. “Kissing? You wish.”

He places his sketch pad away from his lap and onto the part of the sofa next to him, smirking at you. “Oh, I do wish.”

You narrows your eyes at him. “Really? What about?”

He cockily moves and leans forwards, coming close to your face, his stupid smirk never leaving, humoured. “Lots and lots of things.”

You know he enjoys flirting without you doing anything back, meaninglessly flirting with you countless of times today without you reacting. You know he gets a kick out of it, so you decide to retaliate back this time, having had enough of it. If Yeonjun wants to play this game so badly, then maybe it's time somebody plays it back. You’ll see what he does then.

“You know what I think?” You grab him by the collar of his shirt, pulling his face even closer to yours, grinning yourself and making your voice sultry sounding. “I think you’re all talk. Bet you couldn’t actually even kiss me.”

He instantly pulls his face away, flustered, shocked by what you say, eyes wide, not expecting you to say something like that back to him. Especially since you hadn’t entertained anything else he’d said this entire day. “What?” Yeonjun’s face flushes immediately, turning unmistakably bright, beet red from his neck and ears too. His mouth clamps shut. And for perhaps the first time since meeting him, yeonjun seems quite speechless. The legendary flirt of the host club couldn't handle being flirted with back, he was accustomed to being the one in control of every conversation.

There’s an attempt to regain his composure though, clearing his throat and trying to confidently smile back. “I could and I would. Do you want me to?”

“Yeah. Go on then.” You challenge him, chin raised high, poking the bear with a stick.

He’s not sure if you’re serious, and yeonjun hesitates. “Fine.” He leans in, face close to yours again, staring at you falteringly with his narrowed feline eyes, but trying to make it seem formidable. Close enough once more that you can see the mole next to his eye, see the shadows the dark warm lighting casts on his cheek bones, making them that much more prominent, and smell the faint scent of his expensive cologne. You’re equally staring back with heated, daring eyes. You’re so sure you’ve won. He’s not going to do it. It’s all just talk.

Your eyes flicker down to his pouty lips, his rich, cushiony lips. They had such a pretty, distinctive shape to them that you’ve never seen before. For a small second, you wonder what they’d feel like against yours if he did actually lean in more, but you shake it away. Are you slowly being charmed too? Has he put a spell on you? Is this how he does it?

At last, yeonjun draws back, running a hand through his hair.

You’re just about to laugh in victory, knowing he’s lost, knowing his words hold no meaning to them, but then, yeonjun suddenly surges forwards, grabbing your face. His mouth mushes with yours fiercely and you gasp into it, startled. You find your lips move back with his, perhaps you’ll still win if you’re not the first to break away.

Both of you continue kissing for a long time, mouths sliding together, teeth over lips, taking it in turns to suck his bottom lip, then his upper lip. You don’t know if this is still part of the game but it’s starting to feel less significant as time goes on and your lips meet again and again, colliding with soft breaths. You’re enjoying it, yeonjun’s heavenly lips feel good on yours. You definitely feel like you’re under a spell right now, all almost hypnotic. Maybe he’s a witch. You’d like to believe that more than any of this being of your own will.

Barely an inch separates when you both pull apart for some air. Yeonjun is staring at you, entranced and dishevelled with rosy cheeks. His usually perfect hair has fallen into his eyes, and his plush lips were beyond swollen and tinted so red, all the blood vessels rupturing there from your kissing and biting. His breathing is totally uneven. The image and how stark it is makes your stomach flip and flutter.

Then, you’re kissing him again.

You’re touching and gripping onto each other’s bodies in different places as you continue to make out. Your lips reach yeonjun’s angular jaw, then down, brushing against the warm skin of his neck, leaving kisses and still being able to smell his lingering, delicious cologne that’s been able to last the whole day. He lets you, tipping his head back as his eyes flicker closed and his hold on your waist tightens.

Playfully, your hand reaches down to stroke his thigh and then his crotch, grinding the palm against the hardening dick in his pants. You like leading the whole of this, it’s amusing. Yeonjun goes completely still with a sharp, shaky intake of breath, mouth falling open. But just as you’re about to pull his dick out to actually touch him, his hand slaps against your wrist, stopping you. “N-no. Let me.”

You tilt your head. “Huh?”

“Let me eat you out.”

Wow. You thought yeonjun would just want to get his dick wet. He certainly looks like he needs a hand wrapped around it right now, but he’s offering to tend to you instead.

You shrug. “Okay.” You’re definitely not one to complain. So, you lie on your back for him.

Yeonjun sheds off all the articles of clothing of your lower half, grabbing the back of your knees to push you closer to him on the sofa. He spreads your legs, his sharp eyes heavily lidded at the sight, practically salivating. “Pretty…”

He wastes no time in diving into your pussy immediately, shoving his face in and licking up a long stripe of your cunt, before completely messily making out with your pussy, groaning and grunting against you, holding onto the flesh of your thighs tighter. You satisfyingly sigh out at the dim ceiling your eyes are fixed on before closing your eyes all together, biting your lip.

You grab ahold of yeonjun’s hair, fingers threading through the soft messy blonde locks and tugging just hard enough to make noises escape his throat in response.

Yeonjun attaches his perfect pretty lips to your clit, sucking, suctioning so vigorously until the bundle of nerves are even puffier than his lips. They feel even better on your clit, like they’re made just for that. He focuses completely on your pleasure, furrowing his brows as he eats you out, humming and whining and groaning, licking and sucking. The sounds of him smothered in your pussy are so audible, taking over the music still playing on the record player, and so obscene, so wet, you can only oddly describe it as if yeonjun is hungrily devouring a bowl of ramen, enthusiastically slurping and inhaling it all.

“Am I finally pleasing you? Weren’t pleased with anything I was doing before.” Yeonjun lifts his head up to look at you desperately and obsessively. He clearly takes this very seriously, intent on making you feel good.

“Mmh, sure. Keep going.” You don’t really care for anything he’s saying, barely listening, you’re nearly reaching the edge, so you grab more of a fistful of his hair, grinding down on his face. You guess he wasn’t wrong about being good at entertaining people.

Knowing you’re close, yeonjun brings his signet ringed fingers to your hole, quickly fucking them into you and lapping at your clit with his tongue, flicking over and over again, your slick gushing out as he does this. It manages to bring you over, thighs clenching around his face and cumming all on him. You moan out loud and so does yeonjun at the view of you orgasming, nuzzling into your cunt further and licking up everything you give out.

Eventually, he lifts up from between your legs, your juices coating all around his enlarged lips, that they look like he put on some kind of really shiny plumping lip gloss. With a happy, drowsy smile, yeonjun licks it all off around his mouth. Then, licks his fingers clean off too, his family heirloom ring, dripping in your cum. Usually effortlessly confident yeonjun, looks incapable of forming any actual thought.

“Fuck me.” You tell him, looking down at the way his dick is practically crying to be let out of his pants, slight patch of precum dribbled out on it. You pull his zipper down, freeing his dick and pumping his achy red, leaky cock, rubbing your thumb over the tip and swiping at the fluid on his sensitive slit. Yeonjun curses, hips bucking and mouth hanging open, blissed out at the stimulation.

“Fuck you? Sure…Yeah… I-i can do that.” Yeonjun breathes out, so far gone already.

“You want to make me feel good, don’t you?” You spread your legs again, holding his gaze.

“Yes.” It seems to snap whatever restraint he has left. Yeonjun quickly goes to grab condoms from somewhere, nearly knocking something over in the process. When he finally gets ahold of one, he comes back, tearing the packet open with his teeth in a rush. Which you’ll admit, does something to you.

He frantically pushes the condom onto his cock, and you can only describe yeonjun’s face as purely debauched after he lines up his swollen fat tip to your pussy and pushes in, bottoming out completely, your walls sucking and swallowing him in so good, filling you up so good, both of you gutturally groaning. “Oh my g-ughh…” He moans every single time he pushes back in, mouth slack, long pretty whines and cries escaping him.

You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer and sheathing his dick deeper into you. Your hands slide up his back, digging your nails into the muscles there and yeonjun’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head at that. It’s not long at all until yeonjun just completely loses himself in the feeling of you, his thrusts quickly building up in speed, slamming his hips harder and deeper, erratically.

He’s so unrhythmic with it, sloppily still trying to fuck you as his brain turns to absolute mush, he can barely do it, his pretty lips staying parted with how delirious he is. Yeonjun’s hips are practically shaking with every roll and you think he might actually fall on top of you. He tries to hold onto you, face falling into the crook of your neck, biting down there, utterly wrecked, drooling all on your neck now with muffled moans and groans.

You’ve had enough of his dumb useless rutting, growing tired of the position. You roughly pull at his hair to bring his face back up and away from your neck. He looks at you practically cross-eyed, slurring. “Shit, you can’t even fuck me. Pull out.” You tell him.

Yeonjun panics, confused, shaking his head. “Huh? What-please, please.”

“Just pull out.”

He does as you say, whining and wailing at you like a hurt animal. You roll your eyes at his dramatics, shoving him down onto the sofa instead. “Calm down. I’m fucking you myself.”

“No, I-i can fuck you. ‘m sorry. I can do it.” Yeonjun tries to beg, profusely apologising, not wanting to feel useless to you, wanting to make you feel good, tears appearing in the waterline of his eyes from how muddled his mind is.

“Sssh. It’s okay.” You stuff two of your fingers into his mouth to shut him up, but also, wanting to watching him suck your fingers because you’re weirdly fixated on his gorgeously shaped, plump lips now. The sight of him sucking with sparkly tearful eyes is so hot and debasing.

Pulling your fingers out of his mouth, you straddle yeonjun, grabbing his dick. You place it at your entrance and unceremoniously sit down on the whole of his dick fast in one go, taking him all in to the hilt, until your hips meet his. It knocks the air out of yeonjun, theatrically throwing his head back and it has you sighing in pleasure at having his cock inside you again, stretched out at a more delicious angle.

“You need me to fuck you, baby. Don’t you?” You hold onto his abdomen, swivelling your hips around him and then beginning to ride him as yeonjun moans and mewls out so brazenly loud.

“Yeahyeah-mmm.” Yeonjun is fickle as shit, not complaining at all once he feels your pussy, in fact, he likes it more now since he’s not doing any of the work.

You lift yourself off and slam back down, bouncing on him faster and faster at an unrelenting pace and yeonjun just lays there underneath you, looking pretty and almost doll-like with his blushed cheeks and glossed lips in the shape of an ‘o’, happily taking it all in pure ecstasy, tongue lolling out and contently moaning high pitched like a girl.

You can’t help but chuckle at the view of yeonjun beneath you, brushing a strand of damp hair from his sweat-beaded forehead. “You’re more like a princess than a prince, yeonjun. Maybe you should be the princess’s host club instead.”

You thought he might objectify but yeonjun just mindlessly nods. “Kay…long as you’re still fucking me.”

You giggle, bringing your hand to the side of his hot face, stroking your thumb sweetly on his cheek. “You like being taken care of by me?”

Yeonjun nods, leaning into your touch, purring like a cat. “Uh huh.”

You can feel yeonjun’s dick twitching uncontrollably inside of you. “Aww, princess, are you close?” You teasingly coo.

Yeonjun helplessly whimpers. “Yes, so close. Kiss me.”

You tut at him. “You’re not even going to ask nicely? What a spoilt princess.” But you do it anyway, leaning down, capturing his addictive lips with yours, kissing him hungrily, filthily, tongues tangling and swirling together as you ruthlessly ride him, both your brains clouded up by the other, sucking on his tongue nastily too. You clench down on yeonjun’s cock purposefully and he satisfyingly cries into your mouth, you swallowing down all his needy sounds.

You continue to bounce wetly on yeonjun’s girthy cock, going up and down at a mercilessly cruel speed as it creates sticky squelchy sounds, fucking the life out of him whilst his cries accelerate, your ass smacking his full balls every single time, grabbing his shoulders hard to hold onto as you do this, intent on reaching both your highs.

“Ohhhmy god. I’m cummingg!” Yeonjun cums first with garbled, mangled, pornographic whines, spilling his seed and filling the condom with his white gooey substance, back lifting off the sofa and arching as he sees stars everywhere. He pants and heaves, throwing an arm over his face at the overwhelming sensation, trying to come back down to earth, going boneless, feeling like a pile of nothingness, like melted ice cream in the sun.

You continue to use his spent dick and yeonjun just lets you, his lips bitten raw, so close to your own orgasm too, so in reach as you keep jumping on his cock hard, reaching up in a gummy spot inside of you, prodding it every time so good, eyes squeezed shut in complete bliss, sweating so much, thighs aching. You don’t stop though, bringing your hand to rub at your clit too and you’re quickly able to let go, cumming around yeonjun’s throbbing overstimulated dick. You stay there, riding the after waves of it, slowly still moving on yeonjun’s cock, trying to prolong it until you can’t anymore and it stops feeling good.

You collapse on top of yeonjun’s body, utterly exhausted, allowing him to weakly grab and cling onto you as you both drift off.

“Shit, yeonjun. Wake up.” You attempt to shake yeonjun.

The both of you had managed to pass out on the sofa until the next day after the event planning had very abruptly turned into something else entirely. And now, you’re running a little bit late to set everything up for the workshop, neither of you remembering to set an alarm.

Yeonjun stirs in his sleep but doesn’t wake up, pouting with knitted eyebrows.

“Yeonjun.” You shake his shoulders more aggressively, shoving him.

“It’s too early.” He whines.

“No it’s not. Check your phone.”

He groans, but reaches over to grab his phone, checking the time with one eye open, dragging a hand down his face. “Ugh. We have to go already.”

“Yeah.”

He gets up and so do you, quickly getting ready the best you can, grabbing the bundles and armfuls of supplies of everything you need and running over to the host club room.

Both of you rush to get everything prepared, checking the number of attendees, placing all the supplies each person and table will need, such as needles, measuring tapes, embroidery, fabric, scissors, pins. You make sure the screen and PowerPoint is up and ready. Yeonjun had gone to the printer to make individual copies of the demonstrations so everyone has one on a table. The sewing machines also needed to be carried one by one, all the way from the fashion department building and back to where the host club room is, which takes a considerably long time and effort. By the fifth trip, your arms genuinely felt like they were going to fall off and slither to the ground.

The room was finally ready, guests would start arriving any minute. You collapse into a chair, yeonjun dropping down on the one next to you.

And the event goes satisfyingly well. As you had expected, the guests love the idea, following the steps and learning how to sew simple clothes, particularly loving when yeonjun comes around to flirt individually and help with the sewing machines, giggling and blushing into their sleeves. As the assistant, you go around table to table, checking in and giving extra supplies when guests need them, making sure everything is running and working the presentation on the projector as yeonjun confidently talks and teaches. You have to admit, It feels nice and rewarding to watch the whole event actually come to together, seeing everyone enjoy it after planning it for a long while yesterday.

Yeonjun insists on you being his model, wanting to make a top fitted for your measurements.

You groan. “Why do I have to be it, though? There’s plenty people who would love to be your model.”

“You’re my assistant, so you’re my model. Plus, you’re gorgeous enough.” Yeonjun deviously winks, corners of his mouth curling upwards as his eyes rake over you.

You shake your head and defeatedly sigh. You thought his flirting would stop after you had retaliated back, but he’s flirting even more so.

You don’t have much of a choice in being his model, so you stand before him, letting him get to work. You get to see his fashion designing skills in action. He’s very focused, it’s a little endearing, measuring tape draped around his neck, pin held between his lips, catty eyes squinted in concentration. Yeonjun measures, cuts, sews, creating the top and then decorating it. It’s a very pretty beaded, well fitted top with a gaping heart hole. There’s tiny red crystals, sequins and beads on the edges of the heart, cascading downwards like dripping blood, elegant and slightly unsettling. He even manages to make one for himself in the short time frame, making a matching one with a similar concept for himself. His featuring a similar heart motif, though slightly larger, with black crystal embellishments spreading across the chest like fractured veins.

Once everyone is done creating their pieces, there’s loud music playing on speakers as everybody shows off what they made, walking down the makeshift platformed stage acting as a runway, all the guests cheerfully, clapping and supporting each other, the lovely atmosphere is quite infectious. Yeonjun grabs your wrist to walk down the runway together, yeonjun ridiculously posing, hands on his hips, flicking nonexistent long hair as guests scream and whistle so concerningly loud, losing their minds. You do the same, posing too, actually having fun as yeonjun does jazz hands around you.

The aftermath of the event looks significantly less glamorous, the room is a beyond mess, looking like some sort of natural disaster had taken place in it, and unfortunately, both you and yeonjun have to be the ones to tidy and put everything away. The sewing machines nearly killing you off yet again when you have to return them all back to their long journey home.

“Ice cream?” Yeonjun suggests once you’re finally done with clearing the room, panting and sweat ridden from all those cursed sewing machines.

“Yes.” You immediately agree, tired eyes lighting up, wiping sweat off your forehead yourself.

You don’t bring yourself to complain about getting yeonjun’s chauffeured car to the ice cream shop now, despite how within walking distance it is, every muscle in your body so sore. You order the tiramisu flavour and yeonjun gets the strawberry cheesecake, swapping ice creams, having liked what the other got more last time.

Yeonjun jokingly offers you a scoop of his ice cream again to feed it to you, holding it out across the table for you. “Say ahh.”

You narrow your eyes, but challengingly accept, eating it just to watch the shocked expression appear on yeonjun’s face as he hadn’t expected you to actually let him feed you. But then, the stunned reaction changes, the idiot is glowing, widely smiling.

“You’re helping with soobin’s event tomorrow.” Yeonjun says after a bit, resting his chin in his hands and smiling at you across the table.

You had almost forgotten that this wasn’t the end, and only the start. Four more events remained, and four more hosts. The thought alone was exhausting. Tomorrow would be soobin's event and you had absolutely no idea what it would involve.

“Hopefully, you don’t like him as much as you like me.” Yeonjun jokes, but keeps his eyes still lingering on you, something almost faintly wistful about it, though he’s still smiling.

Now that you’ve come to think of it, you’ll never likely be working with yeonjun again after this, feeling the tiniest bit melancholic about it. But you snort anyway. “Who said I liked you?”

“You have to have liked me a little, otherwise sleeping with me would have been a very strange decision on your part.” Yeonjun raises a brow at you, grin only deepening.

You burst into laughter despite yourself, and so does yeonjun.

“Unless,” he adds, placing a hand over his chest in wounded exaggeration, “the sex was so bad and you like me even less now, which would be quite sad.” A dramatic pout pulls at yeonjun’s lips.

As bizzare as yeonjun is, you supposed you get how people can be charmed and pulled in by this man now, because you do find you’re no different than anybody else who likes him anymore.

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

A/n: I’m so sorry if this is shit and everyone hates it 🤣🤣 Im too scared to read it all back and then change it all and never post it 🤣🤣 i kinda hate this sm. yes I am aware the ending is so poorly written 🤣 Ughh i do have a love hate relationship w this bc I do feel I could have done it wayy better but I just don’t think I would have ever actually posted it so I’m making my peace. but ayyy yeonjun debut on my blog ! I actually have another fic idea for jjun that I want to write so badly too

Taglist: @seoulsonyobeom @rafs127 @soobelie @boba-beom @allmywish @simp4gyu @flowzel @beomfait @sp1derst0rrr @christel109 @itsyagurllay-lay4 @mysteryfem @angel-in-the-living-room @kenmasabg @tubatudiary @ilikelych33 @blueastheoceanlove @divydivyy @heartynoo @yethoughts @v1-xo @nainai112 @idontwantoeatspicy @matchacake2 @swangyu @solomondang @imdefinitelynotamunch @lirinovo @soobhns @taehyunsloves @i4tzy @gordazepam @crashingonneptune @w44nderers @jjunniecoree @bratgyu @bakugosbottombitch @gyubearoo @strawberryshoujosundae @seokqt @hatersblog @soobinz-wife @woahwoahwoahummmmm @desireesbk @idklin0 @evangelicai @elizaldedulce @0leelina0 @snoopxastry @lun4mizuka @tobiofy

he short-circuits for a moment as he tries to think of an appropriate response. he’s never had anyone try to get him to do chores for them, but maybe this is some sort of weird roleplay? maybe you want him to act as a house husband for you before doing the deed, which isn’t necessarily a problem since he’s well-versed in acting, but there’s just one issue.

“i don’t know how,” he tells you honestly.

“you don’t know how to do dishes?” you ask curiously, 

“it’s not in my programming,” he replies. if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s embarrassed because of the way he hesitates and looks away from you when he says it. he can’t possibly feel that, though, so it must just be your imagination.

“oh… that’s alright. okay, do you know how to clean a room? mine’s kind of dirty,” you try. 

“n-no,” he says, and he wishes the earth would just swallow him whole. he’s never failed at living up to expectations, and never so badly, at that. just what kind of fetish is this? 

“that’s okay,” you sigh, and he may not fully understand it, but he can sense your disappointment. “well, what can you do?” and the question is not asked maliciously, but with what seems to be genuine wonder. ah. he knows how to answer this one. slowly, he walks up to you and loosens your hair. you look up at him in shock, but he just cups your face, swiping his thumb across your lower lip. 

“i can do whatever you want me to, baby,” he whispers alluringly. “just tell me how you like it.” you’re so stunned at his switch in demeanor that you forget how to speak for a moment, but you quickly recollect yourself and pry his hands off of you.

“i don’t want you to do anything,” you insist. “i’m just tired. if you can’t help me clean, that’s alright. you can watch something if you’re bored. i think that’s it. well, goodnight.” beomgyu is malfunctioning at the moment. he thinks the gears in his head might be sparking while he tries to understand this new development. you don’t give him time to process it, though. you just slam your bedroom door shut behind you. he thinks he hears you lock it, too.

genuinely at a loss at the thought that he has nothing and no one to do, he sits himself on your couch. he tries not to make himself too at home at first, just barely making a dent on it and scooting to the very edge of the cushion as to not appear to be too relaxed. what if this is some sort of test? what if you’re actually going to come out soon so you two can fuck? until then, what should he do next? thoughts like this plague him until he accepts the fact that you are actually sleeping. your obnoxiously loud snoring is a dead giveaway, and he finally, finally feels brave enough to fiddle with your remote control. 

he scrolls for something to watch. movies and shows have been on as background noise during sex before, so he’s somewhat familiar with them, but he’s never gotten the opportunity to pick for himself or actually pay attention to what's happening on screen. he settles on a romantic movie about a robot who joins human society. the robot falls in love with a human girl, but in the end, the robot has to leave the girl because the town won’t accept him, even after using him. she marries a human man and has children, and eventually grandchildren, too. she still loves the robot even though he’s gone, which he thinks is supposed to make him feel sorry for her, but all he can feel is pity for the robot, who spends the rest of his life alone. 

it’s enough to make him cry, which he shouldn’t be able to do in a non-sexual setting, but he does it, anyway. it’s just so unfair to him. the girl is able to live a normal life while the robot is doomed to be alone forever. why? because he was born different? it’s not his fault that he was invented, but he spends the rest of his time on earth paying for the crime of existing in a world not built for him. the more beomgyu thinks about it, the more wronged he feels. he’s outright sobbing by the time you plop down on the couch beside him. he jumps up and straightens his posture while trying in vain to regain his composure.

“yeah, this movie makes me cry, too,” you quietly remark. he’s silent, not because he didn’t hear what you said, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to act after being caught red handed.

“beomgyu?” you ask in lieu of his lack of a response.

“yes?” he feebly answers.

“why are you crying?” you question with a tilt of your head, but something in him tells him that you already know.

“because the movie made me sad,” he admits after a pause.

“are androids supposed to feel things like that?” 

“... no,” he replies after a pause. 

“then why can you?” 

“i… i don't know. just please don’t say anything to my owners,” he pleads. he knows that if the company that owns him were to find out about this, he’d be scrapped in a heartbeat. or worse, they’d analyze him like a labrat to try to find the anomaly within him. his “life” as a sexbot will be over, and he’d really rather be a box of scraps than live as a case study in a lab somewhere. 

“it’s okay,” you tell him with a reassuring smile as you watch him trying not to spiral. “i won’t tell them. it’ll be our secret.” beomgyu has never had a secret to share with anyone before, so he feels an overwhelming amount of excitement at the idea that he will finally have one. his chest feels warm at the thought.

“thank you,” he says with a grateful smile.

“no problem,” you reply with a yawn. “i’m tired, so i’m heading back to bed. i just wanted to get some water. goodnight, for real this time.” 

“goodnight,” he murmurs softly. you return his words with a sleepy smile and go back into your room. he finds that he’s smiling even when you leave. 

he spends the night consuming as much media as he conceivably can before he has to leave. usually, he'd be powered off after he’s done being used, so he greedily savors every moment he can. who knows if he'll ever get this chance again. when you wake up, you're surprised to see that he's exactly where you left him, still watching the screen intently.

“good morning,” you say while stretching your arms. 

“good morning,” he replies. 

“are you ready to be returned?” you ask. 

“... yes,” he lies. 

“okay. i think somebody will be here to pick you up in an hour or so. you hungry?” 

“i don't really eat,” he bashfully answers. for some reason, he's embarrassed at the fact that you're treating him like a human while he's unable to fully act like one.

“oh. i guess that makes sense,” you nod. 

things are quiet until he’s picked up, but it’s not an awkward silence. you sit next to him on the couch as you wolf down some breakfast and let him watch whatever he pleases. when he eventually hears knocking at your door, he feels an incomprehensible sense of dread.

“i think that's them,” you remark, breaking the silence. 

“y-yeah,” he replies. 

“well, it was nice to meet you,” you say, reaching out your hand for him. he’s unsure what to do with it. not missing a beat, you gently grab his hand and shake it. he's stunned at the physical contact, and he's still reeling when you let the man from the rental company in. you have a brief conversation with him before he walks towards beomgyu.

“goodbye,” you tell the android with a smile and a little wave. 

“... good—” and the man switches him off.

-

the next time beomgyu is powered on, he’s in your house again. relief floods him when he realizes it. you don’t seem as exhausted as the last time he saw you. when that was, he has no idea, but if he had to guess, he’d say it was just last night because of the fact that he’s so popular he’s rented almost every day.

“hey,” you greet him with a smile. he’s still feeling relieved before he realizes that tonight might be the night where you ask him to have sex with you. maybe you were just tired last night and had no desire to fuck, but he can tell that you’re feeling more energetic tonight. 

“i didn’t catch your name,” you add. 

“... beomgyu. i’m part of the choi line, but i’m a custom model, so they gave me a name,” he tentatively replies.

“nice,” you nod, and you briefly introduce yourself before asking if he wants to watch a movie. 

“watch… a movie?” is this some sort of euphemism for fucking? it wouldn’t be the first time he’s heard of something like this. as mentioned before, some people like movies as background noise. 

“yeah, you can pick,” you say, casually plopping down on the couch and patting the cushion next to you. he hesitantly takes your cue, and he’s mentally preparing himself for what comes next before you take a blanket and cocoon yourself in it so tightly, it’d be impossible for him to touch you.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, and he jolts a bit when he realizes that he’s been staring in disbelief. “oh, are you cold? do you want a blanket, too?” 

“‘m fine,” he replies.

“are you sure? the clothes they make you wear look a little thin,” you observe with your nose wrinkled, and he feels impossibly small under your surveying eye. “here, i’ll get you some sweats. i think soobin left some the last time he was here.” 

“who’s soobin?” he asks a little too quickly. so quickly, in fact, he doesn’t even have time to process why he even asked.

“my friend. stay here, i’ll grab them for you.” 

when you return, you have a long pair of sweatpants in hand and a big t-shirt. 

“you can change in the bathroom. it’s down the hallway and to the left, okay?” he nods in response.

he strips his clothes off as best as he can, and it feels like he’s shedding a second skin. when he’s finished undressing, he pulls on the clothes you gave him and stares in the mirror. it’s in his programming to always be mindful of how he looks, but he feels especially self-conscious now that he’s wearing a normal outfit. he fixes up his hair and clears his throat before exiting your (messy) bathroom and making his way back into your living room. he finds you fiddling with your phone before you look up at him.

“took you long enough,” you tease, and he blushes, which stuns you. just how human is this guy?

“s-sorry, i —” 

“hey, i’m just kidding. you’re fine. you look pretty good in those clothes — soobin would be jealous,” you chuckle. his ears perk up at the mention of soobin again. is he your boyfriend? he must be. why else would he have clothes at your house? is that why you don't want to sleep with beomgyu? because you have someone already? if that's the case, why rent him at all? but he is not brave enough to ask these questions, so he settles for a soft “thank you” and returns to his spot on the couch.

you toss him the remote and he catches it with ease before unsurely flipping through your streaming services. he finds something that piques his interest and turns to you with an uncertain look before you nod encouragingly. he selects it and lets it play. he doesn’t mean to, but he finds himself sinking further and further into the cushions as it progresses. 

it’s a sweet movie — a romantic comedy about an amnesic woman whose memory is wiped clean every morning, but a man falls in love with her, anyway. she never remembers him, so he has to make her fall in love with him in a new way every day. he finds himself smiling throughout it, but a particularly funny scene has him actually laughing for the first time. it’s a squeaky sort of thing, and he has never laughed before, so he’s somewhat surprised as it leaves his throat. he looks to you in trepidation, but you just smile warmly and respond with a soft chuckle of your own. he finds that he looks to you every time a new development occurs, and you always answer encouragingly. 

the end of the film surprises him. it’s bittersweet in that she never does get her memory back, but the man makes a video recounting their entire love story for her to watch every time she wakes up. it ends with them living happily together in spite of everything, and it’s enough to make him sob. he turns to you and sees that you’re teary-eyed as well, but you seem to be enjoying his reaction so much that there’s still a grin on your face. after the film ends, you can tell that he has something on his mind.

“what’s wrong? didn’t you like it?” you gently ask.

“i did. i just don’t understand,” he replies timidly.

“don’t understand what?” 

“why he would do all of that for her, i guess,” he says. 

“because he loves her. when you love somebody, you’d do anything to be with them. you always find a way,” you tell him, and the sentiment seems to strike a chord within him.

“even if they’re that different?”

“of course.”

-

beomgyu spends the following nights with this same routine. he’s switched on, sees you standing in front of him with a smile, gets comfortable, and watches as much media as he possibly can while you two chatter away about every scene. he learns much more from it than he ever did from experience with his previous renters, and he finds himself becoming more and more emotional by the day. you never try to question him or press him to explain any of his feelings, and it just makes him feel even more comfortable with you. 

one day, he even feels comfortable enough to ask you a question. the question. 

“can i ask you something?” 

“of course! what is it?” you reply in earnest. beomgyu has never directly inquired about you.

“why do you rent me? i mean, i know we watch stuff together now, but why rent me in the first place?” and even when he feels exponentially more at ease with you than he ever has in any other context, he’s still nervous when he asks it. 

“oh, my friend did it as a joke, i guess,” you shrug. “he thought i needed to get laid or something, but i’m not into stuff like that, so i just thought i’d ask you to help me clean. obviously, that’s what i actually need,” you giggle. what he feels at your words can only be described as disappointment. “stuff like that”? so you’re not into sleeping with sexbots? is it because you find them disgusting? is it because you find him disgusting? he’s not sure what he expected, but this wasn’t it.

“oh. so why don’t you buy a cleaning bot?” he asks softly, and while you are usually pretty perceptive of his emotions, you don’t register the fact that he’s at a loss right now.

“i dunno. my parents were always against that sort of thing. they thought it was wrong, i guess, so i didn’t grow up with them like everyone else did. i didn’t really have an opinion on them until i met you,” you tell him while grinning and lightly nudging him with your elbow. he tries his best to smile because, in theory, your words are really sweet. you see him as more than just another android, so why does he feel like that’s not enough? 

the fragile connection you two have made seems even more fragile now. at least, it does to him. you only met each other because of a joke your friend just so happened to make, not because of fate or the divine intervention that he always sees in the movies. maybe in another world, your friend rented a different sexbot. maybe you’d even treat them the same way you treat him. the thought alone makes something ugly burn in his chest. 

still, you are oblivious to the internal war raging within beomgyu. 

“hey, i’ve got an idea,” you tell him, and he perks up a bit. “have you ever listened to music?” 

“not really,” he replies solemnly. people have played it in the background of their sexual escapades, but he hasn’t really gotten the chance to listen the same way humans do. you finally register his crestfallen appearance, but you chalk it up to him feeling like he’s missing out. 

“why don’t we listen to some? i can play a bunch of different genres so you can find what you like,” you suggest, and he agrees to it. truthfully, he doesn’t fully understand how music can be better than movies and shows, but he is curious to find out what makes it so special. 

and special, it is. he doesn’t like every song you play, he realizes, but that’s only natural given how different they are from each other. he finds himself being drawn to the more emotional and moody ones, but he can’t help but enjoy the way you quietly sing and nod along to the more upbeat tunes. 

as you continue to sit together, you begin to fiddle with your hair. you’re scoffing and loosening it for the umpteenth time before you’re about to give up, but beomgyu stops you.

“let me do it,” he says.

“do you know how?” 

“i think i can. i’ve been watching you,” he says simply.

“... okay.” 

you turn your back to him to give him access to your hair and he scoots closer to you. closer than you’ve ever been. his touch on your head is careful as he gently gathers your hair and begins to braid it. you’re not sure how much time passes because he’s actually quite slow, but it’s relaxing all the same. you find yourself softly humming to the tune of the song playing. the lyrics are a little dark, but you follow along in earnest, and beomgyu thinks he finally understands why people like music so much. for moments like this. he tries to soak up every detail he can, from the way the light hits your frame to the melody you hum, and he wishes this moment could last forever.

but you only have so much hair, so the moment does have to end, eventually. he ties up your hair and you pull out your phone camera to admire his handiwork. admittedly, it’s a lot better than anything you could’ve done. it seems that he’s a fast learner.

“this looks perfect! thanks, beoms,” you say warmly. he’s stunned for a second at the nickname.

“beoms?” 

“yeah, like beomgyu. beoms,” you say with a casual shrug, and something in his chest blossoms. “i give all of my friends nicknames.” and something in his chest explodes at the title of “friend”. 

“you do?” he asks excitedly.

“yeah. like, i call soobin ‘soobinie’ or ‘soobie’, sometimes,” you giggle, and the bloom of hope in his chest dies with it. 

“are you two close?” he asks, even though he knows the answer will probably hurt him.

“very. he’s my best friend,” you answer fondly. oh. you’re beomgyu’s best friend — you’re beomgyu’s only friend, and tentatively at that. the idea that the deep connection he feels with you is even deeper with someone else, at least in your eyes, makes him feel sick. do you let soobin play with your hair? do you hum along to songs you’ve shown him while he does it? do you smile at him after he’s finished and compliment him on his skills? probably, probably, probably. the ugly feeling that was previously completely foreign to him now takes it's usual place in his chest, and it makes his stomach hurt so much that if he could vomit, his metaphorical dinner would be all over the floor.

“oh,” is all he can say. 

-

days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months, but every time beomgyu awakens, he finds you smiling up at him. this can’t be good for your bank account — he’s quite expensive to rent, after all — but he’s far too afraid to actually bring it up. what if you realize just how much money you’re sinking into him and want to stop renting him? what will he do if you don’t want him anymore? he feels an incomparable sense of dread at the thought. 

he prepares to sit on the couch and watch something, listen to music, or even play a video game with you. you two have gotten into them recently, and he’s discovered that he very much enjoys playing with you, even when you’re yelling at him and demanding that he stop letting you win. he can’t help but grin when he thinks about it. you start playing a song, and you do, indeed, invite him to sit on the couch, but you don’t sit  down next to him and start babbling away about your day like you usually would. 

“do you think you could do me a favor?” you ask. 

“what, do you want me to wash your dishes?” he jokes, and you share a laugh before you say your next words, but all laughter and joy is profusely sucked out of him when you say them.

“no, smartass, but can you braid my hair for me? i’m going over to soobin’s tonight, and i want it out of my way.” 

“soobin’s?”

“yeah, it’s been a while since i’ve stayed the night, and he said we’re way past due for it,” you tell him, and the world as beomgyu knows it comes crashing down around him. 

“you’re staying the night with him?” 

“mhm. he’s right, it’s been too long; but don’t worry, i bought a pass so you can play video games online. there’s even a headset so you can talk to people, if you want. maybe you’ll even make some friends,” you say while playfully waggling your eyebrows. beomgyu’s silence is pensive, to say the very least, and you worry that he’s apprehensive of making a friend that isn't you. 

“seriously, you might like it. it’ll be good for you to meet more people, honestly. i’m sure it’s driving you crazy to only have me to talk to,” you jokingly add, but to beomgyu, it’s the worst joke he’s ever heard. no, it does not drive him crazy to only talk to you every day. in fact, even though he’s not conscious during the time you spend away from each other, he thinks, deep down, that he still somehow misses you when you’re apart. and no, he does not think he needs to have anyone but you. you are more than enough for him, so how could you ever think he needs more? again, he is taunted by that same strange and implacable feeling he’s been having ever since he met you, yet he can’t quite put his finger on it, even when he nods and tells you that he’ll try making new friends. 

but as he brushes out your hair and you sing along to the words:

i’m glad i didn’t die before i met you

but now i don’t care

i could go anywhere with you

and i’d probably be happy

he finally understands what that feeling is. that warm, all-consuming feeling. that feeling of comfort, safety, and unconditional understanding. that feeling of infinite  curiosity about the other person. that feeling of wanting to known and be known in a way so profound it physically aches. 

yes, as he gathers your hair and ever-so-gently twists it in his hands in preparation for you staying the night with a man you clearly prefer over him, the feeling becomes clear as day. love. what he feels for you is love — an emotion he should never be able to even fathom, yet he does. 

and it makes him loathe himself to a degree he never thought he was capable of.

he’s so put off by this sentiment, he almost can’t finish the braid because his hands are shaking so much, but somehow, he finishes, anyway. 

“are you done?” you ask as you fiddle with your hair and look back at him.

“mhm,” he replies. 

“yay! thank you!” you say giddily. 

“you’re welcome,” he mumbles. you’re not stupid, so you notice that something is off about him, but you just assume it’s because he’s nervous about being left alone to make new friends. you feel guilty in a certain sense, but it’ll be good for him to branch out and meet new people, so you tuck the feeling away as best as you can before packing your nightly essentials and getting ready to leave.

“i’ll be back tomorrow morning,” you tell him, and he only nods with his lips pursed, which makes your heart feel sour.

“try not to miss me too much,” you tease, but it doesn’t seem to cheer him up in the slightest. 

“have fun,” he replies weakly, and your previously sour heart now kind of aches, but you have to do this for him. you can't always be beside him for everything, right? besides, it's only for the night.

you open the door to leave, but before you go, you turn back to him and he senses hesitation in you. before he can question it, you’re opening your arms, and his eyes widen when he realizes you’re inviting him in for a hug. you almost regret doing it as soon as you open them for fear of making him uncomfortable, but he embraces you before you have time to process such feelings. on beomgyu’s end, he has always been wary of touch for obvious reasons, but he gravitates towards your open arms like he was meant to be in them.

he rests his chin on the top of your head for a moment and you spend an unknown length of time just standing with your arms wrapped around each other. 

“i’ll miss you,” you admit, and before you can smack yourself for being so dramatic and sentimental over what will ultimately only be one night, you can swear you feel his grip tightening even more around you.

eventually, you break away and look up at him with a smile. you ruffle his hair and promise to see him later, and he answers you with a nod. then, you're leaving and locking the door behind you.

immediately, beomgyu feels a sense of loss he’s never felt before. after all, to experience loss, you must have something worth losing in the first place, and he has never had anything like that. at least, not until you. so he stands at the door for who knows how long, just like a puppy waiting for his owner to get home. 

-

soobin can sense you’re out of it before you even finish crossing through his doorway, and it puts a halt to your typically overdramatic greeting. 

“what’s the matter? are you feeling okay?” he questions concernedly as he pulls you in for a hug. you nod before you break apart from him and walk through the threshold. 

“y-yeah. it’s just, i don’t know, i guess i just feel bad about leaving beomgyu all by himself,” you tell him as you plop down on his couch. 

“the android you’ve been renting?” he asks incredulously. “i’ve been meaning to ask you about that, actually. why’re you renting it so much? i barely even see you anymore. is the sex that good?” 

“you know i don’t use androids like that,” you snap in annoyance, partially because he’s calling beomgyu “it”.

“i know, which is why i’m so confused. why rent it in the first place if you’re not getting anything out of it?” 

you struggle to answer his question. you promised beomgyu you’d keep his secret, but you trust soobin, and you know he won’t judge him, or worse, report him. besides, it’ll be good to have an unbiased third party weigh in on the situation. with this in mind, you tell him about beomgyu, skipping over some of the more personal details. he’s in disbelief at first and actually thinks you’re just fucking with him, but as you tell him more and more about the time you’ve spent together, his smile falls and his face turns serious. 

“so that’s why i feel so guilty about leaving him alone,” you finish with a deep sigh. he’s silent for a few moments before collecting his thoughts.

“god, i can’t believe this is actually happening,” he whispers.

“i know. it’s insane, but it’s true. he’s just so… human. you should've seen the way he looked at me when i told him i was leaving. i don’t think i’ve ever seen anyone look so sad before.” 

“well, you’re right about him needing to make friends,” he says with a nod, and it validates all of your misgivings about leaving him alone. “but don’t you think you should, i don’t know, think about what all of this means?” 

“what do you mean?” you ask, and in that moment, he knows you have no idea about the way beomgyu probably feels about you. he’s not 100% confident in his deductions, but the way you describe how beomgyu acts around you pretty much tells him everything he needs to know. 

“i mean, you basically have a completely sentient creature who relies on you for everything. if he’s as human as you say he is, then he can probably feel everything that we do. right now, i’d guess that he feels like you’re all he knows.” and the sneaking sense of guilt that was previously threatening to creep up on you is now completely overwhelming. you’re all he knows. and you left him all alone to fend for himself and make his own friends. yes, he needs to learn how to make connections, but how could you expect him to know how to do that? it took weeks for him to finally seem comfortable around you, so how could he possibly know how to make them on his own? moreover, even though it's nothing to you, you're his entire world. he must feel like you abandoned him.

“i’ve gotta go,” you mumble.

“what?” he asks. 

“i–i’ve gotta go home,” you repeat as you hurriedly stand up and hug him goodbye. 

“wait! i think you should —” 

“love you, bye!” you shout as you book it out of the doorway. 

-

when you return home, you open the door to see beomgyu listlessly staring at the television screen. when he hears you, he turns to look at you with watery eyes. he looks so lost in this moment, and all of your suspicions are confirmed.

“beoms, i am so sorry,” you tell him as you rush over and throw your arms around him. 

“for what?” he asks with a gulp as he stays in your embrace, shakily wrapping his arms around your waist.

“i’m sorry for leaving you all by yourself. i thought it was just for one night, so it’d be alright, but you don’t have anyone but me right now; and i realize that it’s unfair for me to expect you to meet other people all on your own when you’ve never had to do it before. if you want friends, i’ll help you, okay? i’ll be there with you as you do it,” you tell him, and you feel his body trembling. 

“i-i’m sorry. i know it’s not a big deal, but when you’re not with me, i feel so scared. i… i don’t know how to do anything by myself. i’m s-sorry i need you so much,” he whispers, and your heart breaks. 

“don’t be sorry,” you say gently. “how about this: i’ll join you online and we can talk to people together. then, when you’re ready, you can start hanging out with my friends in person, too, okay? we can keep going until you don’t need me anymore.” beomgyu outwardly agrees, which seems to put you at ease, but there’s just one issue: he’ll always need you.

-

gaming online is actually really fun, but making friends is hard for someone like beomgyu. he’s quiet and a little awkward at first, but after a few nights and with your help, he finally warms up to the people he games with. he gets so comfortable, in fact, that he’s even able to shit talk with them a little. 

“fuckkk, that’s so unfair!” his new friend, kai, wails over the headset. 

“it’s not unfair, you just suck,” beomgyu chuckles, and kai whines again. you laugh at their interaction before kai continues.

“how are you so fucking good at this game? you’ve only been playing for a few nights, and you’re already better than me!” he pouts. 

“i’m just gifted,” beomgyu boasts.

“very true,” you add, and he beams, but kai’s next words throw him off-kilter.

“whatever. stop asking your girlfriend to argue with me — you two make me sick,” he jokes with his signature maniacal laugh, but the two of you are too stunned to laugh along. you look at each other in sheer embarrassment, and you can see beomgyu’s ears turning bright pink beneath his blond hair. you’re not sure why you feel so mortified, but you do. this is beomgyu, for god’s sake. there’s no earthly way you could ever see him in anything other than a purely platonic way, so why does your heart feel uneasy at the notion? while you’re still too stunned to speak, beomgyu tries to pipe up and respond.

“sh-she’s — we’re not, uh —” 

“damn it!” kai yells as his character dies yet again, and any momentum beomgyu previously had to clear up the misunderstanding is killed stone dead in its tracks. 

he turns to look at you unsurely, but the awkward moment seems to have passed for you as you laugh at kai’s character’s death. if only he could be as unfazed.

after kai goes offline, you two decide to quit gaming for the night. you turn to beomgyu nervously, and he immediately knows that you’re going say something serious. he hopes beyond hope that it’s not about what kai said.

“can i ask you something?” and his heart sinks. oh god, you probably caught onto his feelings. he’s not sure he has the confidence to tell the truth, but how could he lie to you?

“y-yes,” he replies, voice a bit unsteady.

“okay, you can say no if you want, but soobin invited us to a get together he’s having pretty soon. it’s not anything too crazy, so there’ll only be a few of us. i think it’ll be a good start for you. maybe you’ll even make some new friends, you know?” he’s silent at your words just out of sheer shock. he’d definitely missed the mark when guessing your intentions. 

“it’s okay to say no,” you hurriedly add, “but my friends are really nice, and i’d be with you the entire time. even if you don’t talk to anybody, you can talk to me.”

“okay,” he agrees before he can even really think about it. he guesses he’s just relieved that you still don’t know about his feelings, but part of him aches even still. 

“really?” you ask incredulously. “oh my god! i have to tell soobin — he’ll be so excited!” you babble, and his lips curl upwards at how happy you are. he wishes he could always make you happy like this, and it seems that he’d agree to absolutely anything if you were the one asking.

-

work has been especially taxing today, which is nothing new, but you have this insatiable suspicion that something feels… off as you finish up for the day. as you’re about to head out for the night, you wonder what beomgyu will want to do once you get home. maybe he’ll want to play games with kai, or maybe he’ll want to watch a movie with you. maybe he’ll let you cuddle up to him for warmth, which he’s been very willing to do, lately. the unspoken rule that you two will never touch has become blurry for some reason, but you’re pretty touchy with all of your friends, so it only feels like a matter of course to you. 

you’re thinking about all of the potential ways tonight could play out when it hits you: you didn’t reserve beomgyu. you spit out a curse and hurriedly take out your phone to book him, but it’s too late. he’s already assigned to someone for the night. fuck.

when you get home, you’re anxious beyond belief. you haven’t spent a night without beomgyu in months, but more importantly, he hasn’t spent a night without you. you try not to think about how scared he will be when he’s powered on in a stranger’s home. you hope he’s able to just switch back to his initial programming, but somehow, you just know it won’t be that easy. you feel sick with worry when you think about how someone so human will have to involuntarily turn his feelings off and pretend to enjoy something he’s being forced to do — with no compensation, no less. he must think you abandoned him. he must think you don’t care about him. how could you forget to reserve him when he needs you so much? fuck how busy you were with work, his wellbeing should have been your first priority.

so you sit and watch the hours tick by. you try to relax. you try to tell yourself it’s only for one night, and he’s been doing it for years, but something just feels wrong, wrong, wrong. you’re about to try to force yourself to go to sleep so the night ends more quickly when you hear a rapid knocking on your door. it’s strange for someone to call on you so late, indeed, but when you look through your peephole, you see none other than the very boy you’ve been worrying about. 

“beomgyu?” you say incredulously when you swing open the door. immediately, he embraces you, and you feel hot tears streaming down your neck as he nuzzles his face into it. you hold him as best as you can as you rub circles into his back and try to shush his cries.

“it’s okay, i’m here,” you tell him, and he whines. you try to break away to get a good look at him, but he just pulls you in even closer, as if you’re his only lifeline in this world, and in a way, you are.

after his breathing slows and his sobs die out, he reluctantly parts from you, so you hold his hand and lead him to your couch. his eyes are swollen and bloodshot while his nose is a bright pink, but he never once takes his eyes off of you for fear of letting you out of his sight. in his mind, you can’t leave as long as he can see you.

“are you alright?” you tentatively ask, hand still holding his and soothingly caressing it in an attempt to calm him down. he goes to nod before stopping himself and shaking his head in the negative. your eyes soften even more at the action.

“do you want to talk about what happened?” you try, and he nods before clearing his throat.

“i, um, i woke up and i was at this woman’s house. she… she wanted me to get undressed, but i didn’t want to, so she started doing it for me.” you wince at his words, but he’s not finished yet. 

“she kept touching me, and it was so disgusting i just — i just couldn't stand it, so i ran away and came here. i don’t mean to make your life harder, and i won’t ask for you to stay the night with me anymore, but if you could just let me stay here, i promise i’ll learn how to clean or do anything you want. please, just don’t make me —” 

“beomgyu, stop it,” you say softly, but firmly. “you are not making my life harder. you can stay here as much as you want and do whatever you want while you’re here. i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean for this to happen. i was just so busy with work, and by the time i realized it, somebody had already booked you. i promise you that it’ll never happen again, okay? so you don't have to be afraid. i’m not leaving you, and i won’t let anyone hurt you, either.” 

you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone look so relieved before. it looks as though you just saved his life, and to beomgyu, you essentially did. he holds your hand even tighter, as if you’re the only thing keeping him from falling off the face of this planet. 

“wait here, i’ll get you some clothes,” you say gently, but as you go to leave, he holds you even tighter. your eyebrow quirks in a silent question at his actions, and he looks sheepish for a moment before saying his next words.

“c-can we just stay like this for a bit? just for a little while? i’m still scared,” he mumbles, and your heart melts.

“of course. come here,” you beckon, and he falls into your arms and rests his head on your shoulder, breathing your scent in as he tries to imprint this moment into his hardware. you stay like that for a while before you finally convince him to change out of his uncomfortable clothes. he reluctantly lets you go, and his eyes follow you everywhere you walk. 

that night, you stay up later than usual to spend more time with him. he stays glued to your side and ensures that he’s always touching you in some way, which is endearing in a way you can’t seem to put into words. when you’re about to head to bed for the night, you swear you hear him whimper, but he lets you go, anyway. as you lay your head down and get comfortable under the covers, you hear a timid knocking on your door. you call him in, and his gaze shyly flickers between you and the floor. 

“c-can i stay with you tonight? i won’t bother you, i swear. it’s just — i just still feel weird. y-you can say no! i just thought that —”

“come here,” you softly interrupt, and he doesn’t hesitate to listen. he closes the door behind him and shuffles towards you, stopping uncertainly at the edge of the bed in a silent plea for permission to enter it. you feel a weird, warm feeling in your chest when he does it. you scoot over and pat the open space next to you before he gathers enough courage to slide in. you cover him with your blanket, and he stiffly accepts it. you giggle at his awkwardness and cuddle up to him, placing your arms around his waist before thinking better of it. how could you just invade his personal space when he’s clearly traumatized? you go to remove your arms and scoot away before he firmly locks you in place.

“it’s okay,” he whispers, settling himself into your embrace and mindlessly toying with the ends of your hair.

“are you sure?” you ask.

“i’m sure.”

it isn't long before beomgyu hears your breathing slow down, and eventually he hears you begin to snore. he smiles at the sound. he can't really sleep, but he's perfectly content with watching you rest. he continues to play with your hair, and you nuzzle into his touch every so often. he doesn’t want to repeat the events leading up to tonight, but he would do it all over again — any number of times — with a smile on his face if it meant he got to be with you like this again. 

-

the next morning, beomgyu waits for the usual delivery guy from the company to pick him up, but it’s currently way past the usual pickup time. he’s most certainly not complaining, but you don’t seem even remotely fazed by the matter. however, while you’re casually flipping through your streaming catalog literal hours after he’d already be gone, he can’t stop himself from asking:

“um, d-do you know when i’m being picked up?” you pause, and he worries that he may have said the wrong thing before you turn to him.

“do you want to be picked up?” you ask solemnly.

“n-no! of course not. it’s just, you know, i’d usually be gone by now, so i —” 

“do you want to stay here? with me, i mean,” you interrupt.

“i… i do,” he replies with a gulp. usually, that’d be all you get from him, but it feels like the perfect opportunity to be honest about his feelings. “i always want to stay with you, but i know i’m expensive, and i don’t want to be a bother.” he looks ashamed as he admits it, but if he had the courage to look in your eyes, he’d note the fondness that lies within them.

“i told you that you’re not a bother to me. i also told you that you could stay here for as long as you want, remember?” and he does, so he nods. 

“alright. i meant it when i said it last night, and i mean it now. if you want to be here, you can stay for as long as you’d like. you don't have to worry about your owners anymore, i promise.” and he thinks he’s never seen you as serious as you are now. he wonders what you mean before it dawns on him.

“you… did you buy me?” he asks in disbelief.

“y-yeah. i’m sorry, it sounds so gross when i hear it out loud, but that doesn’t mean that i own you or anything. what i really wanted to buy was your freedom, so you can stay as long as you want, but that also means that you can leave whenever you want, too.”

“i’m so sorry,” he says in a hushed, hurried tone. “i know i'm expensive. i’m really sorry.”

“money is not an object to me,” you dismiss in faux arrogance with a wave of your hand in hopes that it’ll lighten the mood, but beomgyu can’t stop the tears from falling over his waterlines, and you’re afraid your attempt to help him only made him feel more indebted to you. all worry is promptly washed away when you feel him pull you into his arms. 

“thank you,” he just barely breathes out. “i don’t know how i’ll ever pay you back, but i’ll try, i swear.”

“you don’t have to do anything for me, beoms. i should’ve done it a lot sooner, but i’m just a little slow, i guess,” you muse, and he chuckles softly into your neck.

-

sleeping with beomgyu should’ve only happened once, but every night when you say you’re heading to bed, he looks at you with puppy eyes and you find yourself inviting him to come along. each time, he looks so excited that if he had a tail, it would most certainly be wagging. he obediently follows you to your room and settles into the empty space next to you before holding you in his arms as you drift off. he’s even taken to humming the tunes of songs he likes when you struggle to settle down, and his baritone voice lulls you to sleep like a charm every time. he spends his time by just looking at you and trying to reconcile with his new reality. this is real. he gets to spend however many nights he wants next to you, as per your own words. even if you didn’t mean them, he plans to take them seriously. he is perfectly content with spending the rest of his life just sleeping with you, looking at you, being with you. 

-

soobin’s get together is tonight, and you look different than usual. your typical look is very casual, which makes sense because you’re only ever at home when you’re with him, but you are now primped and ready to be seen, and it makes him anxious because you look even more lovable. he knows these people are your friends, so they must’ve seen you dressed up before, but that only makes him all the more uneasy; they know a side of you he is only now seeing, and it makes that same old ugly feeling he's grown so accustomed to sprout in his chest. 

when you arrive at soobin’s place, the first thing you do when soobin swings open the door is jump in his arms like you didn’t just see him a week ago. he spins you around with a dimpled grin that’s so sincere, beomgyu feels emotionally decimated by it. you both giggle as you break apart, and the jealousy beomgyu feels brewing within feels unpacifiable. 

“is this beomgyu?” soobin asks, grin still very much apparent.

“yes! you’re gonna love him,” you answer giddily. 

“it’s nice to meet you,” soobin says warmly while stretching out his hand, which beomgyu awkwardly shakes while he tries to force his lips to curl upwards in what he prays is a believable smile.

“nice to meet you,” he mumbles.

“everyone’s already here, but you’re late as always,” soobin playfully chastises, and you pout in response.

everyone greets you when you walk in, mostly by hugging you and lightheartedly scolding you for not coming out anymore. they’re very clearly bantering with you, but each reproach feels like a knife to beomgyu’s heart. he’s the reason you haven’t seen them in so long. 

clueless to it all, you introduce him as your friend to everyone, which only makes him feel worse, somehow. he is just one friend out of many, meanwhile you’re his entire world. you’re far too caught up in the joy of seeing some of your favorite people after so long to notice his dismay, however.

you lead him to soobin’s couch to have a seat with you and one of your friends, taehyun maybe, offers him a drink, to which he awkwardly declines. you quickly follow up with something to the effect of “he isn’t much of a drinker,” and beomgyu nods in affirmation. you try your best to include beomgyu in conversation, but they’re all talking about people and places he doesn't know. all he knows is you, and the world you two built together seems smaller and smaller with every new topic of conversation. 

he notices that soobin seems to be eyeing him somewhat strangely, though he tries his best to play it off. he could just attribute it to surface level curiosity, but his intuition tells him it’s much deeper than that. is soobin sizing up his competition? maybe so, but there’s not much to see. beomgyu is handsome, and he knows it, but soobin knows a side of you beomgyu has only ever heard stories about. you’ve told him about your friends and the goings on between you and your coworkers, but it pales in comparison to actually meeting them. he makes an internal note to ask even more questions than he usually does the next time you’re telling him about your day. until then, he sits as close to you as humanly possible and clings onto your arm, which is so second nature to you, you don't even notice that he’s doing it. 

soobin, who is usually not the inquisitive type, can’t help but question the dynamic between you and beomgyu. at first, the lingering glances and intimate gestures were innocuous enough to be written off as mere friendliness, but when you whisper something in beomgyu’s ear and he flushes a bright pink, soobin knows he can’t ignore it any longer. he especially can’t ignore it when you turn away from beomgyu and he raises a hand to the ear you just whispered into as if he’s reliving the moment. well, time to test his theory. 

soobin slides into the open cushion next to you and begins excitedly chattering about how pretty you look tonight, and he even takes your braided hair into his hands and twirls it between his fingers.

“your hair looks pretty,” he muses.

“beomgyu did it, actually,” you grin, and soobin glances over to said boy, who is currently glaring daggers at him. the look in beomgyu’s eyes is so intense, he almost wants to back off, but he has to get to the bottom of this. 

“did he? you know, it’s been a while since you stayed over. wanna have a sleepover tonight? you have some clothes here from last time, and we can cuddle, i know you like that,” he says as innocently as he possibly can. 

before you can even reply, beomgyu is slamming his hands on the coffee table. you turn to face him in surprise, and the look on his face is the angriest you’ve ever seen him. his eyes are dark and his nostrils are flared as he heavily breathes. he’s never been angry at all in front of you, actually, so to say you’re taken aback is the understatement of the century. 

“beoms? what’s wrong?” you ask concernedly, completely turning away from soobin. your voice is enough to somewhat placate him, but before he can fully calm down, soobin is saying his next words.

“i’m sure he’s fine. beomgyu, you can find your way home tonight on your own, can’t you?” beomgyu is positively seething at this. before you can question him again, he’s gripping your hand so tightly it’s like it’s the only thing keeping him from drowning, so you excuse the both of you and drag him to the bathroom for some privacy.

“are you alright?” you ask, frantically scanning his figure for some sort of sign of pain or discomfort. 

“i-i’m fine, i just, uh, i don’t feel good,” he says flatly. 

“what’s wrong? is it too much? do we need to go home?” he’s so flustered, he barely registers that you’re calling your house “home”, but he still notices it in spite of everything, and it’s like a balm on his aching heart. 

“y-yeah, can we go home? please?” he pleads, and you hurriedly nod. 

“of course, just let me say bye to everyone before we leave, okay?” and he wants to say no, but he’s as weak as ever in front of you, so he relents.

that doesn’t stop him from gripping your hand, though, as you say goodbye to everyone. you go to give soobin your usual hug, but beomgyu pulls you back to him even more tightly. you write it off as him not feeling well and just wanting to leave as soon as possible, to which you oblige, and before you know it, you two are scurrying out of soobin’s place like there’s something chasing you.

as you’re driving home, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket, but it isn’t until you’re walking through your doorway that you check it. 

soobie: we need to talk. call me as soon as you get home

you’re worried beyond belief at his serious tone, so you tell beomgyu that you’ve got to make a call before ducking into your bedroom. you don’t shut the door behind you, because why would you? 

you quickly call soobin and the line connects after just one ring.

“what’s wrong?” you ask anxiously, and soobin just sighs, which makes you all the more anxious.

“we have to talk about beomgyu.” 

“beomgyu? what about him? is something wrong?” you question.

“yeah, i mean, maybe. this might sound crazy, but i think — i know — he likes you.” you’re stunned silly for just a moment before bursting into laughter.

“likes me? what the hell are you talking about?” you dismiss, and you sense his agitation even through the phone.

“i’m serious. i had a feeling before, but tonight just confirmed it. he likes you.” you’re silent for a moment, just trying to process his words, but once your mind somewhat clears, you can’t help but deny, deny, deny.

“you’re wrong. it’s not like that at all. i’m just the first person who’s ever treated him nicely, and i —” 

“you’re not listening,” he cuts in irritatedly. “he looked like he wanted to skin me alive tonight. how else do you explain that?” 

“soobie,” you sigh. “you’ve got it all wrong. maybe you’re right and maybe he was feeling insecure, but that’s probably because i’m the only person he knows. he most likely just felt like you were stealing my attention away.” 

“you’re always so dense about these things, you know?” he groans. “okay, look, i’m not sure how they came about, but i do know that he has feelings for you. maybe it started out as dependence, i’m not sure, but it’s definitely much more than that now.” 

“that’s impossible,” you snort, actually feeling a bit impatient now. how could he possibly think that your relationship with beomgyu was anything other than platonic? 

“why? because he’s a robot?” oh, that shuts you up. “just think about it. if he were a human, would you still be saying the same thing? like i said before, if he’s as human as you say he is, he can feel the same way we do, and he’s definitely capable of feeling love, too.” you are, again, stunned into silence. suddenly, as if there was a fog that covered your brain before, things that you never really considered become clear to you. the soft touches, the gentleness. sleeping in the same bed and waiting for you to get home. wanting you — needing you — around all the time. the way he plays with your hair. the way he’s so interested in everything you have to say. the clinginess, the dependence. it all makes so much more sense to you. 

“i —” you begin, but you just so happen to glance up and see beomgyu right outside of your doorway… looking absolutely devastated. 

“i’ve gotta go,” you tell soobin as you hang up, not even bothering to say your usual goodbye. 

“beoms, did you hear us?” you ask tentatively, and he flinches a little bit before looking down at the floor and nodding.

you’re unsure of how to navigate this situation from here, but while you’re still trying to figure it out, beomgyu speaks.

“i-i’m so sorry,” he says hurriedly. “i understand if you don’t want me anymore.” 

“w-what? no, i —” 

“i’m just really sorry,” he says, looking as ashamed as a person ever could. “i know it’s wrong, i know it’s disgusting, but i —” 

“beomgyu.” 

“but i can’t help it. i wish i could, but i just can’t; and i understand if you want to return me or whatever, but if you could just —” 

“beomgyu, stop it,”  you interrupt firmly, no room for argument. he stares at you with defeated eyes, and you feel your heart break in two. “i am not disgusted, and i don’t want to return you.” his eyebrows furrow as if he doesn't quite understand, so you continue. 

“your feelings are not disgusting to me, don’t ever say that again, okay? please? it makes me sad,” you plead, and he hesitantly nods. “i think it’s normal, actually. you don’t really know anybody else other than me, so of course you’re confused.” 

“confused?” he asks incredulously, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

“confused,” you nod. “it'll change once you meet more people, i swear.” you try to smile reassuringly, but suddenly, you see tears welling up in beomgyu’s eyes. 

“beoms?” you carefully try.

“i don't need to meet more people. i just need you,” he chokes out. “don't tell me i'm confused because i'm not. i-i'd rather you just say you don't want to be with me than tell me that.” your heart clenches at his words, but he continues. 

“i just want to be with you, no one else,” he tells you desperately. “i can understand if you don't feel the same way, but i can't stand to hear you say i don’t love you, because i do. i really, really do.” and as if you're dissociating, your mind is bombarded by times where he's shown you this exact sentiment. again, you go back to every intimate moment you two have ever shared. it was easy to just chalk it up to his lack of experience, but when he's telling you that's not the case so earnestly, is it truly possible to still believe it’s nothing? after a while, you decide that it most certainly is not. 

the question is: do you feel the same way? you try to put a name to the feelings you have when you’re with him. the trust you have, the understanding. the desire to share everything you know and like with him, no matter how mundane it may seem to others; and consequently, the endearment towards him when you see how eager he is to listen. more than that, the intimacy between you two. how you like waking up to him smiling down at you, and how when something happens, he’s the first one you want to tell, good or bad. how when you listen to new music, you feel excited at the prospect of sharing it with him. 

you realize you want to know more about him, the happy things and even the sad things. why he is the way that he is, why he thinks the way he thinks. the peace you feel when he’s running his fingers through your hair and holding you close when you watch the same film for the dozenth time. you try to picture a world where somebody else rented him. a world in which somebody else got to see him as soon as they wake up or as soon as they get home from a particularly grueling day at work, and you finally understand that you wouldn’t like that at all. but why? you’ve only ever thought of him as a friend, right? so why does it matter to you? 

your eyes focus on beomgyu again, and you notice how utterly defeated he looks. his heart is on full display for you — and you alone — as tears stream freely down his pretty, doll-like face. are these tears just for you? you think so. is it safe to trust that these feelings he has for you are real? you’re not sure, but you want to. still, there’s something stopping you.

“i think… i think i feel the same way,” you admit, and his previously downtrodden appearance immediately lights up with hope. “but we shouldn’t.” and the words are like lead in your mouth. 

“why not?” he asks, clearly distressed. you just gave him an inch, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take a mile. he never in a million years would have thought that you’d ever reciprocate his feelings, so he can’t just let them go so easily.

“i just… it’s just not something that i can —” 

“is it because i’m an android?” he questions, voice teeming with self-loathing. 

“n-no! i mean, we’re just so different,” you tell him, trying to skirt around the topic as best as you possibly can, but he won’t have it.

“whatever it is, i’ll change it. please? i can do anything,” he pleads. 

“it’s not like that. i want to, but we can't. i-i'll get older. i won't look the same — i won't be the same,” and it’s embarrassing as hell to admit it out loud, but you mean it. beomgyu’s urgent gaze softens, and he inches closer to you before he’s standing before you. he reaches out to gently cup your face and tenderly pushes your hair behind your ears.

“and what about me?” 

“what about you?” you scoff, but you don't pull away from his touch, though your eyes do dart away. “you’ll still be you, and i’ll be old and —” 

“what about when my parts start creaking? what about when i don’t remember things like i’m supposed to? you’ll still love me then, right?” he asks, but he already knows, and your eyes snap back to his.

“th-that’s different. you can get repairs. i can’t —” 

“then i won’t. you’ll get old and gray and i’ll get rundown and out-of-date. i don’t care what happens, as long as i’m with you.” you’re silent in the wake of his heavy words, so he quickly continues.

“you told me that when you love somebody, you’d do anything to be with them. you said you always find a way, and i want to find a way to be with you.” your heart simultaneously warms and aches at this sentiment. 

you consider what it would be like to be with him. things would be difficult, yes, but not impossible. maybe you’ll come to regret it someday, but you don’t want to think about that right now. you feel like the luckiest girl in the world when you think of the fact that somebody so beautiful, inside and out, wants to be with you. you don't think you’ve done anything particularly special for him, but he still wants and accepts you for everything that you are and ever will be.

“okay,” you say shakily, and you finally recognize that his hands are still very much cupping your face, fingers lovingly rubbing against your cheeks. he smiles in pure relief at your answer, but he makes no move to break away his hold on you. 

you notice how his gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips, and you decide you'll have mercy on him as you lean up to him and press a chaste kiss on his pouty lips before parting. he’s visibly red at the action, and you grin at how flustered he looks. on beomgyu’s end, he feels another bloom of excitement and swell of hope threatening to overcome him. when he looks at the playfulness in your eyes, he smiles even wider. 

“i love you,” he whispers affectionately.

you pause before you tell him:

“i love you, too, beoms.”

-

that night, beomgyu is even clingier than usual. he sticks like gum to your side. when you head to sleep, he eagerly nestles in your bed and holds his arms wide open. you follow his lead and settle into his warm embrace. he sings you one of his favorite songs you’ve ever shown him. the last words you hear before you sink into sleep are:

“to die by your side

is such a heavenly way to die

to die by your side, well

the pleasure, the privilege is mine”

notes pt. 2: sfw work ends here!

you and beomgyu have been “together” for a few weeks now, so the relationship is still very new. surprisingly or not, things seem more or less the same. you guess you never realized just how intimate you two have always been until you put a label on things. the only tangible differences are that instead of just a mere hug when he greets you, he plants kisses all over your face before finding his ways to your lips. and when you’re watching movies or even just talking, he’ll steal a kiss or two. and when you head to bed, you know you can expect him to catch your lips like a man starved before you sleep. things get heated, sometimes, but they never lead to anything besides labored breaths and promises to calm himself down. you take his hesitancy as him wanting to take it slow and treasure your first time together, and you realize he still may be traumatized from the years he spent as a sexbot. 

you have apologized to him for telling soobin his secret. you let him know your reasoning for telling him, and he accepted your apology quite graciously. honestly? he was never mad, and he tells you that very clearly, but you still feel somewhat guilty even when he says he understands. your guilt is only absolved when he says he’s thankful you told soobin because things may have never changed without his wise input. he says that he’s grateful to soobin for being a voice of reason in the face of your emotional density. you blushed when he told you this, and apologized for being so slow on the uptake, but he just assured you that he wouldn’t have you any other way, which made you love him even more, somehow. 

you’re now about to go to soobin’s again for another get together with your friends. second time’s the charm, you cheekily told him when you brought it up, and he blushed in response. when you two walk through the doorway, everyone cheers. you greet everyone as usual, and beomgyu tries his best to keep his searing jealousy at bay, but his anxiety starts clawing at him as soobin seats himself next to you and asks you how you are. 

you giggle and tell him you’re doing well, and he responds by updating you on his tumultuous work life. beomgyu immediately wonders why you haven’t told soobin about your new relationship. are you embarrassed to be seen with him? it’s not like he doesn’t understand, what with him technically being made out of wires and machinery. of course a human like you wouldn’t want to be seen with a metal man like him. you could have the entire world in your hands if you wanted, so what’s the point of playing pretend with a fake like him? maybe, if he were you, he’d be embarrassed, too. he likes to think that maybe you aren’t like that, but at the end of the day, how could you not be? he’s nothing more than a robot masquerading as the real thing. 

his anxiety worsens the more in depth your conversation with soobin gets. you try to include him by briefly giving him context about the stories soobin tells, but he can’t stop himself from worrying. again, he feels like soobin is stealing you away from him, and his mood sours. 

your other friends try to talk to him, too, but he’s very obviously in a bad mood as he watches you two continue to laugh together. when you finally do turn to beomgyu, you immediately notice how awful he looks. 

“beoms? are you alright?” you ask gingerly, but beomgyu’s discomfort is not at all placated even at the term of endearment. 

“‘m fine,” he mumbles, and you’re genuinely in shock ar his change of attitude. soobin looks very concerned, but he excuses himself to get a drink so you two can work it out, though he has an inkling of an idea of what’s triggering beomgyu. 

“what’s wrong with you?” you ask concernedly, but he shakes his head sulkily.

“do you wanna go home?” you offer, and he immediately nods. you look torn for a second, but when you see how sad he looks, you know you can’t deny him.

you say your goodbyes to your friends and apologize for leaving early, but everyone says they understand. soobin makes you promise to host the next get together, though, to which you happily agree. 

the ride home is mostly silent, but you look over to beomgyu in concern every so often. you grab his hand and squeeze it in a way you hope is comforting, but he doesn’t look any better at all.

when you enter your house, you immediately head to your bedroom, and he follows you in silence. you sit on the bed and pat the space next to you. 

“beoms, what’s the matter?” you ask pleadingly as you grab his hands, and his heart, which was previously aching, is (a little) soothed by your concern. 

“i-it’s nothing,” he answers, but you can tell that he’s lying because of the way he refuses to make eye contact with you. 

“baby, i can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong,” you say. you’re right, and he knows you’re right, but you’re already doing him the favor of a lifetime just by deigning to be with him. how could he dare to ask for more? he’s ashamed at the thought, but you look so sincere, and he knows in his metaphorical heart that he needs to be able to communicate with you if you two are going to have any shot at a lasting relationship.

“i-i’m just j-jealous,” he sputters. 

“oh, baby, why?” you ask. 

“because i’m not like you,” he admits after a pause. “i already feel like i’m not good enough for you, so seeing you with someone who actually is makes me feel awful.”

“who? soobin?” and you’re absolutely petrified when he sheepishly nods. 

“honey, it’s not like that at all,” you tell him. “we’re just friends, i promise.” 

“but it would be so much easier to be with him. you wouldn’t have to be ashamed about telling everyone you’re with an android,” he argues. 

“beomgyu, i am not ashamed of you. i just wasn’t sure if you felt comfortable with me telling everyone. if you want me to tell them, i’ll happily do it. you’re so good, how could i ever be embarrassed of you?” his eyes soften.

“do you mean it?” he asks, and you nod. 

“do i not show it enough? how much i love you, i mean.” he furiously shakes his head no, but you know it’s a lie. beomgyu himself will admit that he needs more validation than most people, and it’s going to take him a while to ever get over it because of his own issues. that doesn’t mean you can’t try to help him, though, so you brush his cheek with your hands before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. 

“does this make you feel better?” you ask after you pull away, but he still looks somewhat depressed, so you pull him in again before pressing your lips against his. this time, you swipe your tongue on his pout, which makes him gasp. you tease your tongue against his and electricity thrums between you two when you do it. he reciprocates your enthusiasm immediately, and before long, you’re both sucking and teasing each other until you’re out of breath.

you pull away again and rest your forehead against his. 

“better?” you question.

“a little,” he says. “m-maybe a little more?” you grin at his coquettishness, and you go in for another kiss. your tongues tangle, but you don’t stop there. your mouth travels, peppering kisses down his jaw to his sensitive neck. he shivers at the contact when you swipe your tongue over his unmarred skin before lightly sucking. he lets out a broken moan when you do it, and it reverberates throughout your entire body and straight to your core. 

“better?” you ask again.

“m-more,” he pants. 

“anything you want, baby,” you tease before your lips hungrily capture his. one of your hands snakes its way up his shirt, and he gasps when you roll his hardened nipple between your fingers. beomgyu is more sensitive than most people, as is the nature of his model, so every little touch drives him crazy. 

you seem to have noticed this, so when your other hand palms his hardened length through his sweatpants and he almost screams, you have to bite back a giggle. 

“d-don’t tease,” he begs, and you’d do anything for beomgyu, really, but not this time.

you palm him even more harshly and his breath catches in his throat. 

“more?” you ask, and he fervently nods. you oblige, sliding your hand under his waistband and teasing the sensitive skin around his length. your fingers brush against it every so often, and he involuntarily bucks every time you do. 

“c-can i touch you?” he practically implores.

“of course, my love,” you tell him as you remove your devious hands and pull your top off before unclipping your bra. 

his mouth waters when he sees you, and you can see him gulp almost comically as his big hands meet your breasts. he copies your movement from earlier, rolling your sensitive buds between his very clearly experienced fingers. you let out a contented sigh at the action, but you won’t let this be all about you, so your hand sneaks it way back down his pants. this time, you grab his girthy cock and give it a harsh tug. his actions stutter, and you smirk devilishly at how fucked out he is when the fun part hasn’t even begun. 

you pull at his waistband, and he eagerly tugs his pants and boxers off as soon you do it. he even goes as far as to tear his t-shirt off over his head before he pulls your half-naked body flush against his, falling onto the bed as he desperately kisses you for everything that you’re worth. eventually, he situates himself on top of you, rutting his thick, long cock onto your still clothed thigh. you didn’t really get a chance to get a good look at him before, but you’re able to look down at him now, and you realize his dick is gorgeous. just like every other part of him. it stands tall, blushing profusely at the tip and practically weeping precum. it’s a bit hooked, too, no doubt to elicit the most pleasure out of his clients. your pussy is drenched just thinking about how it’ll feel when it’s inside of you.

he almost rips your bottoms off of you and his mouth waters even more at the sight of your pussy, all slick and glistening in anticipation for what’s to come. 

“so gorgeous,” he whispers as he prepares to lay himself between your legs, but you hook them around his waist before he can do so. tonight will be all about him, you’ve decided, so you tug him closer and put one of his pretty nipples in your mouth, swirling your tongue on it and occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin. your other hand continues to tweak the other one before you alternate between the two, causing him to let out a low, guttural groan. 

eventually, he goes in for another kiss, all tongue and teeth and saliva, and you take one of your hands and harshly clench around the base of his throbbing cock. 

“is this what you needed, beoms?” you tease, and he nods pathetically as you tug again, harder this time, and let your hands stroke all the way up to his reddened tip. your thumb glides over his slit, and he’s seeing stars. 

“i don’t know why you’re so jealous of someone else, my love. you’re so perfect,” you praise, and his ears get even redder, somehow, in spite of the situation you’re both in.

“i — nghh — i don’t like when you’re with him,” he pants, in spite of everything you're doing to him. “only want you with me.”

“oh, baby, you have me,” you coo. “always.” and with that, you begin to feverishly jerk him off with one hand while the other returns to his nipple. his hips buck with every movement, and his eyes are screwed shut. you can tell he’s about to come before you completely take your hands off of him. 

“n-no! w-why?” he asks with a crack in his voice, watery eyes shooting open at the sudden action.

“don’t you wanna come in my pussy, instead? it’s warmer and wetter than my hand,” you ask with faux innocence with a tilt of your head, and his previously aggrieved demeanor morphs back into pure lust. 

“that’s what i thought,” you giggle as you grab his length and rub it against your slickness. he groans at the feeling, but you don’t immediately take him in, opting to instead roll your hips up, just barely letting his flared head catch against your entrance. 

“baby, please,” he whines, and with a smirk, you finally wrap your legs around his waist and line him up with your entrance. you just barely take the tip in, easing it into your pussy, before you force him out again. he gasps raggedly at how tight you are, and he’s wound up so much, he feels like he’s on the brink of exploding. he’s about to take matters into his own hands before you guide him back inside of you, and he feels your walls struggling to accommodate him. 

“s-so tight! h-how are you so tight?” he hisses, eyes reddened and face strained, but you’re far too busy with the euphoric feeling of him finally inside of you to reply. he eases in inch after throbbing inch, and it is a snug fit, indeed. he almost wonders if he’ll even fit, but though the stretch burns you, the pleasure is too great to ignore. finally, your walls slightly relax, and he’s able to completely sheath himself in you. you both moan as his tip pulsates against your cervix, and he considerately gives you time to adjust, walls contracting wildly around him, before he attempts to pull out and really begin. 

“stop,” you command before he can do so, and his eyes fill with worry at your words. 

“w-what’s wrong?” he stutters. 

“oh, nothing,” you say between pants. “i just want to see how long you can last.” 

“w-what do you —”

and you interrupt him with a kiss. he ravenously reciprocates it, and he can’t help but unconsciously thrust his hips, tapping deliciously on the deepest parts of you, but you prevent him from ever fully pulling out. you tangle one of your hands through his hair and grip it — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him groan into your mouth. 

“c-can i move?” he pleads, but you shake your head no. 

“why?” he whimpers, but you just smirk as you kiss him again and bite his bottom lip. 

he doesn’t know how long you two stay like that, but it’s far too long for his liking. he feels his dick swell, and you still refuse to let him move, but you teasingly scrape your fingers against his balls and it’s all he can do not to come. 

“p-please let me move, it hurts,” he cries, tears now flowing from his eyes. for once, sex is all about beomgyu and what feels good to him. he could cry just from the sentiment alone, but his current tears are the direct result of how you’re teasing him.

“and where does it hurt, baby? use your words, i know you can.” 

“h-hurts, my c-cock hurts,” he sputters out. 

“and would pounding my pussy make you feel better?” you goad, and he whines even louder at the imagery. 

“y-yes,” he sobs, and you smile as you say your next words.

“such a good boy. you can move.” and that’s all it takes, really, before he’s pulling out despite your cunt’s attempts to suck him back in, and ramming himself back inside of you again and again.

the curve of his cock hits places previously untouched, and your walls spasm around him at the sensation.

“does it feel good, beoms?” 

“s-so good,” he mumbles as drool pools off of his tongue and out of his mouth, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “so warm and t-tight.” you clench against your will at his filthy words, and it makes a strangled cry leave his throat. 

“pussy so good, baby. your pussy is the b-best,” he babbles, and your lips meet his again before your mouth travels down, sucking a blooming hickey onto his neck. he trembles at the pain that comes with the pleasure, but somehow, he still has the presence of mind to roll his skilled fingers against your clit. just a few touches, and you already feel your orgasm approaching. he can feel every spasm of yours, and it makes his dick twitch inside of you as he wildly fucks you open. 

he’s drilling into you so hard, you have to dig your fingernails into the skin of his back to keep yourself grounded. with each thrust, you feel more and more like you’re about to burst. 

“gonna come!” you whine. 

“do it, baby. c-come all over my cock,” he pleads.

“come inside? want it so bad,” you mewl.

“of course, my angel. a-anything for you,” he tells you as he tenderly brushes your hair out of your sweaty face, and he hammers himself into you at an inhuman pace as you feel the pressure in you crescendo into a searing hot orgasm. you clench even tighter around him while you come, gripping him so forcefully he can barely pull out, so his thrusts become sloppy and uncoordinated before he rams himself into you one last time and paints your inner walls with his cum.

you two stay like that for a while, just panting and basking in the feeling of closeness you feel. he presses a kiss on your forehead as he relaxes his arms and lays on top of you. you giggle at the intimacy and he finds himself sharing your laughter, your joy. 

“you’re so beautiful,” he says between breaths, nuzzling his face into your neck and sighing. “i love you.”

“i love you, too, beoms,” you tell him, and you do love him. unconditionally.

notes pt. 3: :,) :,) :,)))))) i'm very sorry if this was disappointing but i hope it was worth it! i would love to hear your thoughts or answer any questions you may have about this fic/universe. feedback is needed to a disgusting degree bc i need validation to survive #sorry

[taglist]

permanent (sfw only): @defnotleee @yaoizee

permanent (sfw/[n]sfw): @my313 @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @midwinterblizzard @everythingvirgoes @sooberryworld @20-cms @inkigayocamman @hyueika @boba-beom @vicurious28 @blossommi @lickingan0rchid @katsukis1wife @binniebakery @notevenheretbh1 @shymexican @that1sadgrl @archoive @paegesoobin @buttercreamerie @ifwtxt @softesyoongi @serenityism00 @fairfootedflekk @kyanmeai @definitelynotherr @hyunj00 @taehyunluvrs @m00gyu @denleave1088 @hwanghyunjinismybae @bmo-bri

an iron man: @beomieboi @eunwoo-headquarters @theresstardustinmyblood @prince-jjae @kodzukengaming @va1ry @explosiveyogurt @run4gyu @luv-joonie

Not when you decide to look over at him, only to find that his arms are wrapped around a new girl. You roll your eyes. “I fucked him Yunjin. That’s what I did.”

You expect the gasps in horror and “I told you to stay away from him”, “he’s literally a manwhore!” but Yunjin only rolls her eyes making you blink rapidly in shock. “What? I already know you guys are fuckbuddies babe, that doesn’t explain why he’s been attached to your hip the past three hours. Until, well, now.”

You snap your fingers. “You noticed it too right? It’s weird! It feels like he’s jealous but then he goes and sucks another girls face right in front of me—God.” You cut off your tyrant as you feel the sudden urge to vomit watching the girl and Yeonjun get more and more handsy right across from you.

You don’t miss Yunjin’s mutter as she drags your hopeless ass away from the scene, “Fucking manwhore.”

—

Of course the pious Choi Yeonjun, lining up with his behavior the entire night, pulled you by the wrist to a quote secluded area at the party. It’s dark but not entirely…private.

Yet you always fall back into it, you’re always in his arms, despite the setting, not anyone else’s despite being far from exclusive. It’s not your fault he finds you when you’re most horny. Which is why he has you pinned against the wall as he fucks you with the same, if not more eagerness in him.

“Shh baby, we don’t want an audience now do we?” he whispers, taking the lead—you blink away tears, slightly making out the dyed hair had plastered onto his forehead.

You nod frantically as his hand pressed over your mouth, no doubt smudging your lipstick, slowly slips. You squeeze your eyes shut when he rolls his hips against you, thrusting sharply into you, making you slightly jolt up against the wall.

“No, no don’t shut up completely, wanna hear you. Moan my name princess. Only for my ears.” he slurs, the tipsiness evident in his voice.

“Yeonjun.” you gasp for air, “Yeonjun—no, f-fuck.”

“What?” he breathes, busying himself with pressing kisses all over your neck, stably holding you up against the wall with his arms, pressing his body flush against yours.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

It’s like he didn’t expect the sudden aggression, pausing his hungry attack to your neck for a second—until you feel his lips curl up into what you assume to be a smile against your skin again. He’ll always be a cocky prick.

You feel his breath fan, as he picks up a more rhythmic speed. “Hm?” he hums, like he’s innocent. Sly fox.

You scratch at his back, curling his shirt’s fabric into your hand, breath hitching the more he hits a spot, like he’s brutally digging into your cervix. “Don’t—don’t act dumb. Pulling me away like a child from Juyeon like that was so-” suddenly, he drives his cock further, having your body bounce like a fucking ragdoll. It’s like he’s trying to shut you up.

“It was so—mmf-embarrassing.” you manage to mewl, trying not to let yourself fall into a headspace.

“Aw. Was it?” he mocks, scoffing, hand slipping down to rub at your clit, making your legs weak like jelly all the more as they tremble to keep wrapped around his waist. “You know what’s embarrassing? Everyone knowing you’re mine yet you still having the audacity to whore yourself out.”

You gasp, scandalized—though the shock doesn’t linger on for too long—not when he’s practically splitting you open.

He hides his face between the junction of your neck and shoulder, suddenly biting down having your body jolt in pain— you let out a string of hissed curses. “Laughing at every dumb joke Juyeon makes? You know he’s not even that funny right?”

His tongue licks, then he sucks, over and over again.

“God, and then slapping his shoulder, smiling at him like he’s the shit.” He dryly laughs, getting rough the faster he rubs, “So fucking annoying.”

“Yeonjun.”

It’s like he knows what you’re going to say, and he’s trying his absolute hardest from getting you to say it, so he immediately presses his lips against yours, your moans drowned out against his. It’s sloppy, but he doesn’t stop. He kisses you, again and again and again, finding your hands to intertwine with his, pinning it against the wall. It’s so…oddly intimate.

You don’t get it, you don’t. The last time you had seen him, he was about to fuck a girl right then and there for all to see then the next he’s pulling you away like an angry boyfriend who caught his girlfriend cheating.

In fact, this isn’t even the first time. Hes always acted like a boyfriend, so much so everyone was sure you guys were together for a period of time before he was off fucking some other bitch again.

It …pisses you off.

Your orgasm washes over you, the tightening finally snapping as you finally get to breathe, heaving, seeing white as you catch your breath while simultaneously feeling Yeonjun cum in you, again. Was that the issue? Letting him keep doing that? Was that your first mistake?

“Fuck, that was nice.” He says, out of breath, staying inside for a couple more seconds before finally slipping out of you.

But you’re out of it, staring at the ground. “Hey, you good?” he asks, as he pulls up his pants. “Want me to get tissues real qui-”

“Yeonjun. We’re not exclusive.”

He pauses for a second.

Then, he laughs, buckling his jeans, “No shit?”

“So…why do you act like we are?”