hey sun—!

Walking out of your door, footsteps echoed anger down the hallway. The music was even louder the nearer you came to your neighbours' door, despite how pissed off you were, you had to stay civil. You knocked once, nothing. Then you knocked a bit louder the next time, their loud-ass speakers were for a certain drowning your complaints out. Getting close to a breaking point, you were hitting your fist on the door until you heard no music.

One of the two people who lived upstairs to you answered the door, clearly irritated just as much as you, bitchiness written all over his face. "What?"

"Wooyoung, I would really appreciate if you two could be a bit quieter. 'Cause I have a bunch of shit to do, and I really need some peace and quiet to focus." You explained nicely to him, hoping he would show some pity.

Wooyoung looked you up and down, "It's your fault for studying this late, how 'bout trying to manage your time better next time?"

If you could choose not to study late, you would. But you didn't have a choice. Went to lectures on lectures for the half of the day, then going to your part-time job—which you recently gotten fired from and now needed to look for a new one, that already took up almost three-quarters of your day, there was no way that you were actively choosing to live like this. You had to study at night because you only had time for it then.

You stopped him before he could close the door, "I'm being serious, can you two like shut the fuck up?! There's also other people living here, some of them can't sleep because of you people blasting music at one in the fucking morning!"

That seemed to offended him more, but the way he responded to you politely telling him to quiet down poked a nerve in you. Wooyoung pushed you out of the way of his door, slamming it in your face, but not before yelling a "Fuck off!"

You couldn't believe this guy, he and his room was definitely the ones in the wrong, why was he being such an asshole over something so trivial? It wasn't like you started off by being rude about it, but he caused the verbal fight to break out first. Worse, his roommate was just looking over at the two you screaming at each others' faces and doing nothing, normally San would have said something but he probably didn't want things to escalate even more than it had. Considering how short-tempered Wooyoung were.

As your last resort, you had to bring this problem to your landlord because Wooyoung was not going to listen to you any time soon. You went downstairs, the floor under yours, the last apartment down the hallway. Taking a breath of air into your lungs, exhaling, you knocked lightly on his door. Not expecting him to actually answer the door, since it was one in the morning. You felt bad having to wake up this old man in his mid-forties with your silly disagreement between you and your upstairs neighbours.

"Do you need something? It's awfully late you know." Your landlord came out from the darkness of his apartment. His stature was tall, overshadowing you easily. Though well in his forties, he was in the group of people who get better with age.

"My apologies in advance, Mr. Song. But my upstairs neighbours are being loud assholes, and I've already personally came up there and ask them to be quiet but they told me to fuck off! So, can you please help me out here?" You pleaded for his assistance after explaining your entire situation.

He let out a sigh, "Alright." Walking out of his apartment, the door was closed very gently since his child was sleeping in the other room.

Mingi had a total intimidating vibe, that was what you always got from your building's landlord. Tall, muscular built, terrifying resting bitch face. As if his side hustle was something shady like hitman or drug lord, but you were sure that wasn't the case. He was not yet retired, working as an average salaryman. You didn't see him all too often, he usually left early to drive his child to pre-k and then straight to work for the next eight hour of the day. Divorced, nearing retirement age, a single dad, he had been through shit. That would explain why he was such a stern, laid-back man.

You gulped silently at the sight of his slightly flexed bicep when he knocked his fist on your upstairs neighbours' door, his toned stomach was peeking out from the worn-out t-shirt. Woah. The music was still as loud as ever, until it stopped when the people inside heard the knocking from outside their door. Footsteps nearing, then the door opened, this time the other roommate answered.

"Yes?" San looked at Mingi, seeing you behind his back. San was the more timid one of the two living above you, imagine a sweet, little cat sharing a place with an absolutely feral dog.

Mingi stared down at the boy before him, his voice calmer than his demeanor, "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

San was the non-confrontational type, he looked like he pick fights but he did, in fact, not. You were hoping for Wooyoung to answer the door to knock down his ego a little, the poor guy just happened to be caught in the crossfire—though he was slightly involved, to be honest.

"I'm so sorry, I've already told him it was a bad idea but he was way too persistent." He bowed, ashamed. "Sincere apologies for the disturbance, we'll be sure to control our volume."

After the situation had already been solved, Wooyoung finally arrived. You heard their conversation muffled through the door, San was as calm and patient as he could be, while Wooyoung was acting out again. You were still wondering how those two were friends, like long-term friends. They had been your upstairs neighbours ever since you moved in to your current place, that was a couple years ago.

Mingi escorted you down to your door, "I have to head back soon, Jongho might start crying when he finds out I'm not there."

"Thanks, Mr. Song."

He rubbed your head, expression as stone cold and distant as ever. Mingi advised before he left, "Don't work too hard."

As he expected, the little one had already broken into tears when he sensed something missing. Mingi went to his child's bedroom, a small figure was kicking the blankets and crying out for him. Picking Jongho up, he rubbed the kid's back as an attempt to calm his distressed cries.

"It's alright, buddy...I'm here, I'm here." Mingi reassured his child—the one who was clinging tightly to his shirt. Ever since he won custody of his child, it has only been the two of them. For the first few months after the divorce papers were completely processed, he was riddled with paranoia, he needed to get his young child out of the hands of his mother as soon as he could. The days leading up to the custody trial in court was hell; for the first time in a while, he was genuinely terrified of losing this battle.

Working his ass off to support him and his child, in his best attempt to try providing for Jongho. He admired you when he saw how hard you were working yourself, you were a good kid, you reminded him of his younger self as well. Mingi didn't mind giving you an extension once in a while when you needed—because he knew you would pay it sooner or later, he was always happy to help you out without a complain. Wether it was your air conditioner not working properly, or your fire alarm was falsely beeping. Just give his door a knock and he would be there to assist.

—

You should have brought an umbrella when you saw the forecast today, but your dumbass thought you would be able to make it back before it start raining. Guess that was not the case, because the sky just had to be unpredictable and rained right after you got out of class. Make a run for it to the train station was your only option, glad you wore waterproof mascara today. Holding your bag above your head, you ran out into the rain. Somehow it seemed like the more you ran, the more it began to pour. You were trying not to slip on puddles of muddy water, both your socks and shoes were entirely soaked. The station felt weirdly farther than usual; you kept running pathetically in the rain, while drenched and coughing.

A car suddenly stopped a few meter ahead of you on the road, the driver's window rolled down as a familiar voice called out loudly. You slowed down your pace, trying to listen in with their words under the overshadowing noise of rain. "[Y/N], get in, I'll give you a ride!"

Mingi opened the door, getting out of the car and into the rain. He took off his suit jacket, putting it over your head to shield you away from the continuous droplets of rain. He ushered you into the passenger's seat, immediately stomping on the pedal to drive away. One hand on the steering wheel, the other putting the seat belt over you. The fatherly instincts talking, always taking care of people regardless of the possible danger.

"I have to make another stop, is that okay?" Mingi asked, adjusting the heater to dry your wet self from the terrible weather.

The wheels stopped in front of a preschool, Mingi told you to stay inside as he grab an umbrella from the back seat. The sound of the rain tapping violently on the window, racing each other down the clear surface. You remained seated, though it was quite uncomfortable from the dirty water that seeped into your clothing. Every strands all combined into individual clumps, they stuck on your face like leftover kisses.

In the distance, you saw Mingi fast paced walking back to the car. Holding the umbrella to keep his child out of the rain, his left shoulder was wet as he tilted the umbrella farther into Jongho's side. What a gentleman he was. The door to the back seat opened up, through the rearview mirror, you saw Mingi strapped Jongho into his seat. This time using the umbrella, weirdly, he had seem to have gotten even wetter than before.

"Papa! Papa! Papa!" Jongho called out, fidgeting in his place.

"Yeah, buddy? You need somethin'?" Keeping his eyes fixed on the road, being the God of multi-tasking that he was trained to be.

"Can you cook jjajangmyeon for dinner?" He kicked his dad's seat in excitement, maybe doing that would help his chances? Despite the disturbance he had to endure, Mingi was as calm as ever. Having to take care of a child really taught him patience, or was he practicing the gentle parenting method as well?

You couldn't help but smile at the adorableness of the two of them, a stressed out father doing his best to give his child a good life. Mingi saw you giggling in the corner of his eyes, it warmed his heart in a bit of sadness. If only he could give Jongho the mother he deserved, someone who he could trust to take care of the little one he would have to leave behind—in the worst case scenario, if something were to happen to him.

Mingi carried Jongho on his hip, still, he went all the way over to the passenger's side to open the door for you. Opening the door after a minute of jumbling with the keys, Jongho ran inside right after being placed down on the ground.

You took off his suit jacket from your shoulders, "Thanks, Mr. Song, I'll get your jacket cleaned as soon as possible."

"No, no, that's fine." Mingi grabbed his jacket from your hands, hanging it on his forearm. You swore your chest started beating quicker when he pushed back his heavily damped hair, exposing his forehead before you. There was no way someone could look this attractive being way passed their prime. Unreal, mother-fucking unreal.

"Hey, uh..." He began, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you have any plans for dinner?"

Caught off guard, the expression on his face was trying to say something, as if...he was trying to flirt with out. Bashful, in an out of character sense, like it was a rare occasion to see him acting this way. Ears slightly reddening, his usual collected image breaking apart the more he threw glances at you.

"Takeouts again, nothing crazy." You told.

"Takeouts? How 'bout...you join us for dinner for a change?" His mouth cracked a smile, eyes slightly squinting in embarrassment. Remarkably charming, his thick rimmed glasses showing hearts in its reflection. So many people thought of him as a player in his younger days, but honestly it was the opposite. Though blessed with a pretty face, his flirting game wasn't strong. The truth was, his ex-wife was the one to pick him up and not the other way around.

"Um...okay, if you don''t mind my company." He seemed happy when you agreed, lowkey not wanting you to go so he could be around you a bit longer.

You wiped the stray water on your face, "I'm gonna go freshen up, I'll come down in a bit."

Was there anything such as the theory of exclusively seeing hot people when you looked like absolute shit? You might consider doing your thesis on that. But really, stop and think for a second! It seemed like the only time where you were surrounded by conventionally attractive people were when you presented in a less than ideal state. Today as an example, soaked from head to toes like a wet cat. And what did you know? A total daddy—pun intended—just asked you to join him for dinner. What was the point anymore?

Your hair was still damped, at least willingly this time, blowdrying would take too long and you didn't want to keep your host waiting. Dressed in something casual, polite enough; since it was disrespectful to show up in your loungewear—it wasn't something fancy too, right? Simply a dinner at his apartment.

You walked down to his door, the door opened before you could place your hand up against it to knock. Everything was already set up nicely, the entire apartment seemed like it had been deep cleaned from floor to ceiling. Mingi ushered you into your seat, pulling out the chair for you. From across the table, his kid was staring at you in what you think might be amazement. Should you be flattered?

"How much noodles do you want?" He asked, holding the pot in his hands.

"Just a bit, I won't be able to sleep if I'm too full." You giggled. You weren't going to sleep anytime soon, there were still a lot of things keeping you up. You ate little because you had to stay up to go over notes, if you were full then you would most probably fall asleep, and that would make you miss a ton of work to catch up on.

Mingi put a little more on your plate than you had originally asked for, "Well, you won't be able to sleep if you're hungry either."

After putting some on Jongho's plate, he finally sat down across from you. You showed your gratitude for the meal before digging in, you would offer to do the dishes after since it was the least you can do for not helping with cooking. The noodle were thick and chewy, the black bean paste were a good ration between salty and slightly sweet, there was a little kick from the spice as well. It was made well, not professional restaurant worthy, but there was love involved in the making that made it so delicious. Jongho seemed to adore his father's cooking, he savoured every little bit. For a little kid, he was a fairly clean eater.

"[Y/N], which major are you in?" Mingi asked, filling in the awkward silence.

"I'm a forensic science major."

"Really? Aren't that exciting." He smiled, genuinely interested in the topic of your studies. Mingi poured more water in Jongho's glass, then pouring more for you as well.

You kept on eating for another few minutes, silence refilled the atmosphere—at the very least between you and Mingi. The big gap in generation contributed to the silence, you weren't sure how to talk to him since he was much older than you, possibly around your parents' age. Small talk wasn't your forte as well.

"Is your...wife around?" Wow, what an ice breaker. No ring on his finger, no sign of a woman in his home, no family pictures, nothing. You just had to get it out of the way, maybe he would open up more.

The question was out of nowhere, Mingi paused for a few seconds, glancing over at Jongho to check on him emotionally. "Unfortunately not, we've been divorced for almost a year by now."

Well, fuck. You shouldn't have asked that, now it was even more awkward than before! Good job, real good job. "I'm sorry to hear."

Mingi let out a small chuckle, he rubbed his son's head. "It's fine, it's fine."

"You can marry [Y/N], papa! She can be your wife!" Jongho suddenly spoke up, looking at his embarrassed dad with bright eyes.

Dot, dot, dot. Mingi looked over at you, and you looked back at Mingi, Jongho was switching his eyes on you and then his dad. While you were obviously a bit embarrassed but you were flattered nonetheless, Mingi was scolding his child on saying things that might give people the wrong idea.

"Apologies, [Y/N], he just like you a lot." Mingi sighed, embarrassed as well from the comment.

"No, no, there's nothing to apologize about, kids say random things sometimes." You gave him a reassuring smile. The hint of pink on his cheeks and his ears seems to indicate something other than sole embarrassment, as if he might consider the idea for real. Jongho hit his father in encouragement, silently rooting for Mingi to make a move, a young wing man.

You offered to wash the dishes since it was the least you can do after he had so nicely filled your hungry stomach with dinner, despite how many times he tried to deny, you continued to push. Your fingers holding the pure white porcelain bowl, the soap and its unnatural scent lingered around, you gently scrubbed away the oil and sauce stains on the surface. Mingi got Jongho ready for bed in the other room, afterwards, he joined you in the kitchen.

"I'll take over, go rest."

"No, you go rest." You denied him again, softly elbowing his arm away from the dirty dishes.

Mingi chuckled, gazing at you with some fondness. "You really aren't going to let me do anything?"

"You've done enough, take a break, I got it." You were aware of how difficult being a single parent was, so you tried to help out as much as you can with hope this man can rest his worn out hands for at the very least five minutes. Mingi smiled in defeat, sitting down at the dining table as he admired the sight of you washing dishes from behind.

Mingi leaned against the back of his chair, looking around his apartment, carefully taking in all the little details he had forgotten over the years. On the shelves were all the little nostalgic things, art projects from his child, framed pictures and vintage records. Everything he ever wanted was right here in front of him, nothing big, just a simple home and a simple life.

"Do you like Shinhwa?"

"I've heard some of their songs before, you're a big fan?" You rinsed the last plate clean of dish soap, setting it on the drying rack above the sink.

Mingi chuckled, letting out a breath. "Oh, weren't they a big hit during the early 2000s." He then got up from his seat, walking over to the old, dusty radio that was kept on one shelf along with a few paper back books. The click of a cassette being placed inside its place, the song opened with the smooth rhythm of an acoustic guitar, then the vocals came in. 'Perfect Man' by Shinhwa played faintly in the background, setting the mood for the both of you.

You leaned against the kitchen counter as you listened, as the chorus kicked in, your body began to move as it danced to the music. You walked towards Mingi, the man seemed to be enjoying your excitement, he sat and looked at you in silence.

You grabbed his arm, "Come on, Mr. Song, come dance with me!"

"I'm old, [Y/N], I can't move the way you do anymore." Mingi smiled, denying the offer. However, you kept pushing. And soon, he was persuaded by your enthusiasm, the way you move and the way you seemed so free. Mingi stood to his full height, holding your hand as he tried his best to keep up with you.

Your eyes meeting his as the climax of the song came, your hands slowly reaching up his arms and broad shoulders. The wrinkles on his face was minimal, smile lines, and the lines that appeared at the corners of his eyes when happiness seeped on his skin. His dark brown hair had peppering of grey in it, maturity showing through the way it was styled. Beauty regardless of age.

Either out of impulse or if he sensed the tension in the air, pressing his lips onto yours as if an opportunity like this only come once. You, weirdly, didn't protest. You allowed your lips to move against his, letting his tongue slowly drag along the shape of your mouth. His lips held no curses, just sole praises and sweet nothing. The way his hands held onto you, keeping you in his grasp. Heavy and hot breaths brushing on your skin, so did the fabric of his layers. Mingi unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt, he brought your hand closer to his body as he allowed you to touch him in all and every way you desired.

"Mr. Song...?" You looked at him, for reassurance and for encouragement.

Mingi brought you back into a kiss, "Call me 'Mingi', you can drop the formality, baby." He melted at your cold fingertips tracing his bare chest, his skin just got hotter with you around. His lips remained on yours as he picked you up, bringing you to bed.

As you laid down on his expensive silk sheets, you never stopped for one second. You unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, pulling the fabric off his shoulders, exposing his brawniness. Mingi slipped his shirt off completely, God, was he jacked. You could feel him tensed up under your fingers, every muscle, every bone you could touch through his hot skin, every twitches and shivers.

"You're so beautiful." Mingi whispered as he kissed your cheeks, trailing down your chin then your sensitive neck. "You smell so nice."

Mingi kept kissing down your body, the small amount of skin exposed from your shirt, he lifted up the fabric barrier as he pressed his lips on your stomach. His pretty fingers curved around the waistband of your pants, pulling them down and off from your legs. He grazed his pointer finger over the lace of your panties, over the mesh material, he smiled as he brushed over your clit through the fabric. Soon after, he got you undressed and bare from the waist down, your panties hanging from one of your legs.

Your heart was running eighty miles per hour, so incredibly loud and fast paced. Morals were long forgotten, there was no right or wrong anymore. When your leg was over his shoulder, you couldn't think straight to save yourself. A sharp twitch ran across your body as he used his tongue on you, wetting your cunt even more than how it was to begin with. All of the natural lubricant you produced were mixing in with his saliva, the tip of his tongue teased your clit. With his finger adding more to the abuse, slightly poking at the entrance, you could feel his knuckle grazing against your fleshy walls.

You couldn't breathe properly, the air felt so unbearably hot and dense. You didn't know wether or not you should shut yourself up, you didn't want to wake up his poor child who was sleeping in the other room. Holding back every lewd noises you could make, you resorted to softs pants and deep exhales. Though, you weren't sure how long you could keep this up before he draw at least a moan from your lips. His tongue licking your entrance, his soft and plump lips gently sucking on your clit, it was sending your mind to overdrive.

While his mouth was busy, yours finally gave up and ran freely. Moaning and whimpering, words turned incoherent, your head tilting backwards as the pleasure clouded your mind. Your thighs squishing his head as you tried to hide yourself away, but he held them down as he licked a line from your entrance to your clit. Wet tongue slightly pushing apart your fold, he kept on salivating on your cunt as he ate you out as if you were the best meal of the night.

You could not, could not show yourself or look at him the same after coming on his face. The glistening substance on his lips was from you, every single drop was. Even after reaching one high, he was quick to give you another on top of it in a few seconds to ride off the previous euphoria. Hands gripping his hair, legs shaking, back aching. You felt tears in your eyes, this felt unreal. God, his ex-wife must have loved the sex. The way Mingi could service you this crazily well, it showed.

"I hope you're not mad at me, for what happened between us." Jisung said, his eyes were on the floor since he couldn't bring himself to face you. He was not the best at dealing with serious situations like what was unfolding now.

You nodded, "Don't worry, I'm fine." No, you were disappointed, were absolutely furious. But you had to save face, and blowing up on him was not going to solve anything. When Jisung left, your entire group fell apart. As if he was holding them together, because Jisung was close to everyone and was a vital part. So when he decided that he have had enough with all of you, everyone began going on their own ways as well. Only a few you still kept in contact with, remained friends.

"The past is in the past." You told, your fingers digging into the glass surface of your drink.

"[Y/N], even if you are, it's fair, I understand." Jisung added. He knew, he knew it all that back then he shouldn't have left so sudden. And he knew, to ease his mind that would not rest; he had to mend things with the people he had once caused pain. Starting with you, the hardest person out of everyone. You weren't a terrible person per se; it was just that you were mentally straining for him to face. Especially after what he had done to you.

You meant too much to him, too much to bear for a fact. Everything, everything ached inside. His emotional unavailability, your romantic feelings; they didn't seem to mix. At night, he stayed up with his head filled with regrets. If only he could have been a better person for you, if only his dumb self could accept the love you gave him, if only things didn't end this badly. Was he too late already? Now that he was living better without you, it felt wrong to say so. Oh, he wished he could have been this version of himself when you two were still friends. Yet, as much as he hated to admit; he couldn't have progressed if he chose to stay. Maybe it was all written in the book; that he had to go on his own for the story to continue.

Jisung almost wished that you didn't say 'I love you' back then, all of this mess wouldn't have happened; and maybe you two could remain as friends. But no, he was so overjoyed when you asked him out—simply because you were his first relationship. Though there were doubts, he was afraid of something that he couldn't quite grasp just yet. Feelings stood in the way of friendship, no longer friends, but he couldn't comprehend the fact that you two were lovers either.

"How are the others? Have you been talking to them?" Jisung switched topic, an attempt to push away his emotions. Flashing a smile, forcefully, to the point where his facial muscles felt a bit sore.

You changed the direction of your gaze, sipping your drink as you gazed at the scenery out in the window. "I've only been talking to Felix, I'm not sure about the rest."

"Well, is he doing fine then?" He kept going, he wasn't in a good mental state to talk about 'us' right now. However, the more he tried to deviate from the main topic and his feelings with other trivial matters, they came for him when he began to notice how much changes happened in the duration of his absence. Even you, whom he thought he knew well, didn't feel like the you from his hazy memories. You talked differently, dressed differently, acted differently. Not anymore, the you he once fell in love with, the you he called his best friend. Who was this person sitting in front of him?

The atmosphere has never been as awkward as it was in this moment; he was trying not to cry and you were hesitating at addressing the actual problem. You didn't want to hurt him, though, you were denying the fact that he hurt you. Han Jisung disappeared and came back another person, you hated that you still would love him regardless of how much he may change.

"Felix is doing fine, you should give him a call sometime, I'm sure he would love to speak to you." You told, turning your eyes on him.

"What have you been up to, Jisung?" Asked, shifting the spotlight over to him. You were curious of where he went after leaving, he definitely had a glow-up from how much more attractive he became.

You could tell that he learned to take care of himself, developed a sense of style. But you saw right through that shell, after everything, he was still there. The boy you loved before, sitting across from you and chatting with you, as if none of the things that tore you apart ever existed.

A week ahead of this meet-up, he had a dream. Where you were there, in a house party full of people. As soon as he spotted you, his feet gravitated towards your direction. However, in a split second, he physically hesitated. Despite how much his heart yearned for you, his mind couldn't bring itself to be rejected. Maybe it was a way of self-defence, to further maintain the silence, keeping himself away from you was the best option. Much rather he would stay quiet, until you forget about him entirely so you wouldn't get hurt once again.

Though, he didn't know what happened. Because he did approached you, and being face-to-face with his fear was terrifying. That was a sign, dreams were suspected to convey messages of our waking life. He had to, so much regrets and distress had built up throughout the long, lonely years about the same subject, make amends with his best friend—you.

"I missed you, [Y/N]." Jisung blurted out, his eyes glossy as he tried to look at you. His true dream was to be with you.

He couldn't stop thinking about you when he left, and he wondered, did you ever think of him too? Jisung despised himself for one thing, that deep down inside he wanted to see you miserable without him. If you were absolutely shitty when he wasn't in the picture, he would gladly come back to regain the position of the light of your life. But as he matured, he realized that he was the problem. Once making you the antagonist of his story, and everyone else treated him terrible. In actuality, he was the most toxic person. Abuser never really notice their actions to be abuse, guess he was the wolf in sheep's clothing all along. How could he?

Keeping a conversation going was never as difficult as it was for the two of you, there was just this invisible wall of sort that created distance between you and Jisung. The rain had stopped for a bit, hopefully you could get home by the time it start again.

"Do you have a ride? Or I can drive you home." Jisung offered, gesturing to his parked motorbike by the sidewalk.

"Wouldn't it rain soon?" You asked.

"It would be more fun." Jisung smiled, guiding you to his vehicle. You glanced down at his forearm, the scars of the past was still there and has yet to fade completely. You remembered, crying and begging him to not do anything stupid when he walked in with his arms all wrapped in bandages. Seeing them once more was strangely relieving, you were glad that he had chose to stay.

For old times' sake, you got on the back of his motorbike. You used to be the one driving, while he held onto you as you brought him sight-seeing. One time where he received a call from you, just minutes after you bid him goodbye and drove away; caught him off guard when you started crying because you fell off your motorbike on the side of the road. He didn't know what to do, why didn't you call your mom or the hospital instead of him? He was worried sick and was miles away from where you were. Your youth were filled with him, in a way, your friendship was all you knew.

You hugged his waist, leaning your body against his back as you rested your head on his shoulder. Things felt slow, with Jisung around and it was a comatose. If only this moment could last a little longer, and your destination was a little farther. You would absolutely trade anything to have things back to how it used to be—Jisung would happily do the same. As scared as he was to reconnect with you, he desperately wanted and needed to, because he treasured you too much.

You spoke up into the summer breeze, "You know what, Jisung? I am upset, and I hate you! What are you going to do about that?" You didn't want him to come back into your life, just to cause you pain. Both has grown from mistakes, both has came into terms that you and him has hurt one another.

"Uh-huh." You replied just to let him know you were still listening.

"And how it's the most competitive and difficult gig to get in?" He continued, reaffirming common knowledge in the industry you both were in.

M.O.A was one of the top fashion magazine globally. Usually featuring famous and upcoming celebrities, and on some occasions, professional models. The photoshoots were incredibly beautiful, the fashion were trendy and from high-end brands, the makeup were intricate and sometimes deceptively simple.

"I got you into the casting!" A black line slid up your temple in a sudden motion, the eyeliner pen shaking in your palm. Hearing those words that had just came out of his mouth felt untrue, because how?

"What?! How?!" You exclaimed, wiping away the smeared makeup on your face.

Beomgyu smiled, in a definitely not suspicious way. "Let's just say I have connections."

The casting happened on a random Thursday in March, there were models from all over the nation lining up from the casting place to the end of the next street from it. Filled to the brim with stunning visuals, you couldn't help but feel a sense of inferiority while standing there waiting for the same opportunity. You hoped you get in, you really did. If you did, it would completely elevate your career for more and more.

"Look, there she comes!" Someone in line spoke up, gathering every attention and total spotlight. Yeah, there she walked, that beautiful girl with such grace and poised. You didn't stand a chance against her, she was always the victor in all the games. Jang Wonyoung, Gosh, she was so pretty. And gosh, did everyone wanted to be her. The 'it' girl, how could you even compete? As she came into the picture, outshining all the competitions with those elegant vibes.

Beomgyu leaned over to you, though his eyes were definitely looking at her—so were yours, because who couldn't? He quietly whispered, "I'll treat you to a five stars Michelin restaurant if you can get on this month's cover." Glancing at you, just to see an expression that was silently anxious. "But your chances look quite slim, is it?"

Of course, she would be here too. This was a huge, massive opportunity, it was a blessing to even be able to attend the casting. Your hands were shaking, they sweating all of your anxiety. Beomgyu was aware too of how much of a big deal Wonyoung was, he would always be on your side and supporting you. But he also had his own doubts, and one of them was about wether or not you were going to make it to, at the very least, the final selection.

Finally, it was your turn to impress the judges. The room was so bare, surrounded by four white walls, only a small table and a blank backdrop behind where the models would stand. There were three people sitting at the table—the other staff members were in the background. The pressure was real, especially in front of the young fashion powerhouse, Kai Kamal Huening—known professionally as Huening Kai. Ah shit! Beomgyu might be setting you up for failure instead of success.

"[L/N] [Y/N], under Bamtori modeling agency." One of the judges looked through your file, at the same time, reading main points out loud for the others. "Former calendar model, been on five runways, overall good profile."

Another one spoke up, "Alright, could you show us a few poses?"

You began posing, some casual poses that were suitable for fast fashion, some were more vogue-ish poses. They didn't say much, simply looking intently and nodding or shaking their heads. You saw one whispered to Huening Kai, he shot you a glance then returned. You hoped that was a good sign, but all of them were equally hard to read. Gripping the back of your shirt as a way of comfort, eyes trying to find your manager who was somewhere in the room. You were praying, praying on your last hope.

"Thank you, [Y/N]. Next!" That was it? That was all they were going to tell you? You could only nod, thanking them for their time and walked over to the door to leave. As soon as you stepped out of the room, Jang Wonyoung was the next to come. Peering over your shoulder, how the room practically lit up when she stepped in. As if they were expecting her presence more than all of the participants here. Who wouldn't? She knew she was winning, everyone's affection and attention were poured out onto the floor for her.

Such a gorgeous girl that Jang Wonyoung was. A perfect and slim body, a pretty smile that made hearts swooned, looked graceful at whatever she did. She wore the nicest clothes, has the most perfect makeup, has the greatest advances. She was everything that you wished you were, all that you wanted to be.

Beomgyu came by your side, "Good job, take it easy, okay?" You two left the casting place soon after, silent enveloped the entire atmosphere. He knew you felt down, since you barely talk during the car ride, but there was not much he could do for you.

"Hey, even if you didn't get pick, there are still many good gigs waiting for you." Beomgyu smiled, trying to stay optimistic despite himself losing bits of hope along with you. Thoughts flying across your head in a constant manner, Beomgyu's voice of encouragement slipped right into your ear and out the other. Nothing was going to help break out of that blank stare and offline state you were stuck in, he should just give you some space for you to process your own problems.

Beomgyu dropped you off in front of your apartment building, a small and slightly broken-down building with five floors—six if you count the rooftop. Beomgyu had a meeting back at the agency in the afternoon so he must drive back, that was when you two bid goodbyes to each other for the day. You felt bad for your manager, Beomgyu was always working so hard to get you places. He worked his ass out for you to fulfil your dream of getting on the cover of a famous magazine. And worst of all, you just had to burden him with you own internal problems. How could you ever thank him enough?

You sat down on the steps leading to the front door of your apartment building, not wanting return to the lonesome home of yours and drowned in your feelings, at least not yet.

As you were about to contemplate on giving up on modeling, someone entered your vision. Almost come crashing to the ground with their loads of stuff, you were quick to assist. Catching a few large scrolls, them filling up your arms quickly. Your empty hand held the guy to prevent him from falling over backwards.

"Thanks, I would've been dead if it weren't for you." The unknown guy said, his head peeking from behind the large box he was carrying by hands.

"No problem, where are you headed?" You offered to help him carry his stuff to his destination. Poor guy, carrying so much on his own, he was going to risk ruining everything in his possession if he continue like this. You might as well help out when you could.

He kept walking, while you followed behind. "Just a few blocks down."

You two didn't talk too much, exchanging general informations with each other but awkward silent couldn't help itself from interrupting. What was he doing with all of this stuff anyways? You couldn't see his entire face the whole time you have been walking behind him, he didn't turn around once. Not until he stopped abruptly in front of an equally small building as your place, there was an adorable jewelry store on the first floor.

The guy dropped the box onto the front step, finally facing you after the walk to his stop. The build-up to this moment, what was with you and constantly meeting beauts? This random guy that you just met only mere moments ago, had the face of a high fashion model! That outfit, he should be on the cover of ELLE magazine, or a celebrity stylist.

"Thank you, I'm so sorry to make you come all the way here." He apologized.

You shook your head, "No, no, it's okay! I live nearby."

He furrowed his eyebrows a bit, staring at you with strange concerns. Though that expression, he wore it well. Pretty people looked pretty in everything they do, kind of unfair. "Are you crying?"

Panic filled your stomach, what an embarrassment! Immediately wiping away stray tears that stuck on your eyes. To be honest, you didn't know you were crying until someone pointed it out. You probably looked like absolute shit right now, but you would rather gaslight yourself that you looked pretty while brawling your eyes out. Makeup? Smeared. Hair? Messy. Outfit? Wrinkly and full of sweat stains. God, you looked like you have already given up.

"Rough day." You simply explained, to which he could sympathized with. Shit happens, life was just not as easy as what the media might promote it to be.

Encouragement through a sweet smile, "Choi Yeonjun, nice to meet you."

"[L/N] [Y/N], nice to meet you too." You gave a smile back, ignoring the way you presented yourself in front of him.

Yeonjun happily asked, "Do you want to get coffee sometime? I know a really cute café down the street from here." Wether friendly or flirty, you weren't sure. Look at it this way, this invite that now just popped up after the situation you were in, was mostly a way of his to repay for your good deed.

A bit surprised, despite being a fairly well-known model, you didn't get asked out as often as you though you would be. Not to inflate your own ego, but a model should be in some type of high demands, correct? And too, how often does one person get asked out by hot people? Maybe they must have some irresistible charms for getting so many date offers on a daily basis, good for them.

"Yeah...Yeah, definitely!" You replied, your hands shaking once again. Luckily, not because of anxiety but excitement. Exchanging phone numbers, and quiet, awkward glances. That was how you got a date, or a date according to you, solely from how weak your dating game was. Big surprise, you could barely pull to save yourself out of your seasonal depression, especially bad during the month of February.

Beomgyu called you up early in the morning to tell you that you already got booked for a photoshoot, and he was coming over to pick you up in ten. When you received his call, you were still nuzzled in your bed and half-asleep. Literally falling out of your bed like the start of every high school rom-com, almost ripping apart your apartment to find your things. No time to make coffee, no time to make your bed, and absolutely no time to properly wear your shoes.

As soon as you opened the front door of your apartment building, the usual car was already waiting for you with its impatient demeanor. Rushing into the car, you were close to tripping over the steps with one of your shoes still hanging halfway on your foot. The vehicle took no time to began its run, faster than you were able to put on the seatbelt. How the fuck did your manager get his driver license? Beomgyu drive like he was in 'Fast and Furious', like who was he running away from?

"Slow down! Are you trying to get a ticket?!" You scolded, tying the undone laces back together.

Beomgyu glared at you, in the most judgemental way possible. "You are late! Beauty+ magazine is putting you on the cover, and they are waiting at the studio right now." He went back to the road, then at you again. "Did you not brush your hair?"

You pulled down the sun visor, there was a mirror on it for you to check your appearance. Yeah, your hair looked like a mess, bird nest kind of mess. What a mistake it was to immediately go to bed without blow-drying your hair, now those weird, unwanted spikes and curls kept making themselves known to everyone. You felt bad for the hairstylist already, they must hate working with you.

Beomgyu and you ran up three flights of stairs to get to the shooting studio, both having to stop in front of the door to take a breather after that near marathon run. Beomgyu told, breathing heavily through his mouth. "I think I lost my fucking vision."

You opened the door, "Hi, sorry we're late, we ran into a few difficulties on the way."

A staff member came over to you and guided you to the stylists to get you ready, while the others ran over the photoshoot details with your manager. They had put you in a very natural look, subtle makeup, a monochromatic outfit. Embarrassment filled you when you heard the hairstylist physically sigh when they walked into the room, putting down the curling iron and grabbing a spray bottle to wet the hell out of your hair.

Another staff member brought you out to the set, with makeup artist and hair stylist making final re-touches before shooting. It was a simple set-up, a blank cream colour backdrop and a single wooden stool in the middle. You sat down on the stool, flattening your clothing for the pictures. Props to the stylists, for being able to turn you from a seven point five to a ten and a half, trash to treasure with how you showed up to the studio earlier.

"Yeonjun?" You suddenly blurted out, seeing the one holding the heavy professional camera. "Is that you?"

The guy you thought was Yeonjun looked up from his camera, and sure it was him. Flashing the same smile from yesterday, as charming as you remembered, the Yeonjun you just met last night after a terrible casting day. "[Y/N], so you're my model, what are the odds?"

He came closer to get a better look at you, "Wow, you look lovely."

You blushed, saying nothing since nothing came to mind. What a coincidence, was it? The night before, you kept thinking about when you would get to see him again. 'Sometime', so vague, when is this 'sometime' going to be? No fixed date, no specific time period, no text message saying 'let's meet up tomorrow.' Maybe you might be giving yourself false hope, you two literally just met yesterday. Look at you, already obsessed with him. Slow down your heart, you idiot.

The photoshoot went well as per usual, a few snaps and editing, Yeonjun showed you each and every pictures until you were satisfied with how you looked on camera. The majority were denied by you, it was one of those days where everything was not to standard. Your smile in the third picture looked weird, you didn't like how your face practically expanded, that outfit made you seem to weight a little more than you actually did. Only five pictures out of the dozens that was taken got your approval, that was not a lot but enough for them to work with.

However, when you saw your magazine cover at the store next to hers, all the doubts about this career you chose to go into and about the perception of your self image. Maybe this weren't meant for you, not to discredit the amazing team that you worked for this photoshoot, and the talented photographer, but you hated this. You left, couldn't bare taking another look at that magazine cover.

"You look beautiful on the cover, you really fit this type of style." Yeonjun complimented, gazing at the magazine cover across the table from you. His iced Americano halfway finished, the coldness of the ice melting outside down the glass and onto the coaster.

"You think so?" You asked sadly, smiling over your emotions. "Don't you think Jang Wonyoung would fit this more?"

Yeonjun dragged his eyes towards you, thinking for a few seconds before giving his opinions. "She is really pretty, she can pull off tons of style. She does have quite a face and figure for modeling."

You gripped your drink, there weren't anything new about that opinion. Heard from hundreds or thousands of new sources and magazines, sometimes even luxury fashion designers, that she was one of the most beautiful person in the entire nation. No chance of winning ever, forever stuck being a runner-up to someone so great like her. For the next couple years, you were sure no one was going to steal her place anytime soon. It seemed that not a lot, or anyone at all, can surpass a unique kind of beauty such as Jang Wonyoung.

"Don't worry 'bout others too much, think about yourself too." Yeonjun smiled, one held a hidden layer of adoration that lit up in the glints of his eyes. Over a near hundred pictures he took of you last week, he loved every single one of them. There was something in your expression in some of the pictures, so sad yet strangely captivating. A tragic beauty, longing for something unreachable out there. He thought you were genuinely attractive, comparing both the you from the night you two first met to the one in the studio, you were an attractive person in his eyes. In whatever state you were in, regardless of how put together or rough you looked, Yeonjun adored how authentic you were.

You gazed at the magazine with her face on it, "I knew I wouldn't get in."

Yeonjun took the magazine from you over to his side, M.O.A magazine newest model in collaboration with the most admirable fashion designer of the era. He gazed back at you, "You went for the casting?"

Letting out a sigh, exhausted with yourself. "Yeah...Beomgyu went out of his ways to get me in. That's one more luxury dinner missed."

"I'll treat you to dinner." Yeonjun blurted out.

"What?!" You spoke out, dumbfounded in front of the date offer that appeared out of the blue.

Calm and acting like everything was normal, making you think that whatever he felt for you was completely platonic, it was his comfortable personality that acted up. "Do you like steaks? Or maybe you're a lobster person?"

"Wait! Wait a minute!" You interrupted him, feeling a bit overwhelmed with the all the things that was happening at once. "Are you asking me out on a date? 'Cause I— I really have to get that out of the way!"

Yeonjun held your hand, the same enthusiasm on his face. "Yes! Yes, I am asking you out! Was my intentions not obvious enough?"

Unsure if it was anger or bewilderment, or something else in between, were you upset or happy about his proposal. "I thought that was just how you are! I didn't know you took a liking to me?!"

He furrowed his eyebrows, absolutely flabbergasted by your assumption about him. "What do you mean by 'that's just how I am'?! God dammit, I like you, [Y/N]! I think you're such a beautiful person, and you make everything great when you're around, and I would happily choose you to be on the cover of M.O.A if I could!"

At this point, yours confusion had turned into a compliments battle. People in the café didn't know if they should be annoyed or happy for the both of you, they were quietly rooting for the two of you to get together, but was it necessary to be screaming at each others' faces in an absurdly loving manner? But whatever, go you!

You have never heard of this restaurant up until Yeonjun introduced it to you, getting reservations was quite hard as you heard from many of the wealthier people in your neighbourhood. You were wondering how he could afford to eat at an extravagant place like this, especially with a salary of a photographer. Well not to wage shame, it wasn't like yours was any better—could be worse, depending on the time of year.

You two had a good table, with the night view and the summer breeze on the balcony. Starters with a bottle of fine red wine, and some bread with rich oil dipping. Apparently, the restaurant here was given three Michelin stars, which was already an incredible title to have.

"I got a few things for you." Yeonjun began. First, giving you a small box the size of your palm. Inside was a minimalistic bracelet, chic and simple, with only a few teeny tiny white gemstones.

"Do you remember that jewelry store under my place? My friend, Soobin, made all of the jewelries himself. I got the bracelet from him." He explained the origin, helping you put it on your wrist. He has an eye for things, it was one of those accessories you could wear with any type of outfit and it wouldn't look out of place, and look how much it complimented your skin.

Yeonjun put his hands under the table, "And I made you this." He handed over to you a magazine.

This was so cute, using his talents on useless yet endearing gifts. In bold letter was M.O.A, and usual layout that the actual magazine used. The only thing was, it was you on the cover. An absolutely not illegal issue of M.O.A magazine, with one of the headlines being 'the nation's sweetheart.' The contents inside was filled with just pictures of you, from your instagram posts and past photoshoots you did, and even recent unseen photographs from when he asked you to model for his 'creative profile.'

"You're joking!" You laughed, "This is the confidence boost I need!"

Yeonjun placed his hands on yours, intertwining his fingers. "I take it that you want a second date?"

You laughed a bit louder, blushing in joy. If you got accepted into the M.O.A magazine that day, you wouldn't have met him. Yeonjun bombarded you with compliments on how breath-taking you looked,

He cussed under his breath, poorly scored with being below fifty percent which instantly meant that he failed. There was no way in hell he could explain this to his parents, this one subject really fucked him over. What did he signed up for art in the first place, it wasn't mandatory to have an additional elective?—Music was his original choice. Chan could not let one bad final grade to fuck up his reports completely, a mindset of a perfectionist. Definitely could not make any more mistakes during his senior year, he was nearing his graduation soon in about two or three months of school left.

Minho looked over, noticing the other's distressful state. "Bad score? Show me, what did that geezer give you?"

Chan sighed, silently sliding his final piece to Minho's space of the desk they shared together. "Minho, watch your mouth, what is with you and [Y/N]?"

Expressing disgust as he gazed at the bold red numbers on Chan's final piece, "I don't like [Y/N], he's such a bitch." Minho wasn't entirely sure why he hated you, more like conflicted as you were nice yet overly strict at points, that made him despised the bipolar behaviour of yours and you all together.

You were young, early-twenties it seemed, you have only been teaching for about two years which meant you were fairly new. Your students mainly comprised of juniors and seniors, but you had other freshmen and sophomores when operating after school club. In charge of standard level IB art, you weren't a big deal.

The bell rang loudly, signifying the end of fifth period. Chan stayed behind, waiting for everyone to leave the classroom so he could get this conversation over with. Minho wished him 'goodluck', before he was about to come face-to-face with the devil.

"Bang Chan, I think you're fully aware of why we are having this talk, right?" You leaned on your desk, resting your head on your hand as you focused your gaze upon him.

Without sugar-coating anything, "You're failing my class." You told sternly. "You know this is IB level art, correct? It's also your senior year, you can't turn back now."

Chan let out a dragged breath, "I...I'm not satisfied with this grade."

You simply nodded, a bit of deviousness in your tone of voice. "I figured, are you asking me for a second chance?"

He was crazy for going through with this, an IB diploma? He remembered now, he signed up for art was because of his goal of diversifying his profile for future academic opportunities. If his first and prioritized major didn't work out, he had multiple back-up plans with such a powerful diploma. But now here hopeless with his IB diploma jeopardized, all that hard work down the drain in less than a minute.

"Is there something I could do for extra credits? [Y/N], please." Everyone called you by your first name, despite being in the higher position of a teacher. In repay for letting your students get comfortable and dropping almost all formality, you would break them down even harder than the shape they used to be. If they failed with the same comfortability, you wouldn't come save them, too bad!

But Chan, Chan in particular piqued your interests. You caught on with the looks he gave you during class, he glanced and shyly waved when you two would passed by in the hallway. He had many potentials, you liked his ideas and perspective, however he lacked experiences and techniques.

"You come to my class after school, you'll do a gouache painting for me. How does that sound?" You suggested, even though you knew beforehand that he was going to accept nonetheless.

“When should I drop by?”

“Thursday, and I expect you to arrive on time.” Chan was usually late when class took place during sixth period—which is the last period of the day. Only late to your class, you heard from your colleague who taught global politics during sixth period that Chan has always been on-time except for some rare excused absences. Odd was it? As if he didn’t want to see you, or he dreaded attending your class almost. Students these days, gosh!

This week has been hectic, final projects from multiple different classes, a mock exam coming up soon on next Tuesday, and now he has to worry about fixing his damned grades. One more bad day and he was going to actually lose his mind. Prom was coming up as well, and if all of this wasn't resolve by next week, he might not be able to attend.

Thursday rolled around, after all the classes during the day, he came over to the art room on the south corridor—where your classroom was located. Chan was supposed to be tutoring Jisung on calculus today at the library, but now he has to reschedule with the younger. If he could get this stupid final piece over with, he might be able to make it to the tutoring session.

You were in the midst of setting up when he barged in, "Oh great, we'll get started right away! Just take a seat, I'll go get you a new spatula."

After placing a brand new spatula on the small stool in front of Chan, next to the five tubes of gouache paint, you went to lock the door. There were barely anyone at school at this hour, but just as an extra precaution.

"Well, your assigment is simple really. You'll do a painting with a nude model in roughly two hours time." You explained.

"So when is the model coming in?"

"They're already here, you'll be painting me." You smiled at the bewildered look on his face, his ears slowly getting redder by the second. So, this was really happening? Unbuttoning each and every button on your loosely-fitted shirt. A little bit of skin, then your entire shoulders, and then your bare torso on display before his eyes. Off with your dress pants, the rest being discarded along with it, until the cool air was your only article of clothing worn on yourself.

You sat on a couch in front of his station—one that was moved around often for other figure drawing excercises that you had for your students. Leaning back down at the cushion, you chose a pose that you would be comfortable in for the next few hours. Though the pose itself was quite normal, nothing too crazy. But the gaze you had on him made it all the more suggestive, almost like a sex invitation.

"Your time starts..." You glanced at the hanged clock above the blackboard, "Now."

Chan got into work right away, squeezing out paint from the small tubes onto the palette. Chan was a bit embarrassed to look at you, his teacher who he had been with for a whole year, was now naked from head to toes and sitting there with this look in his eyes. To come completely clean, he did thought about your naked body under the clothes you wore during your lectures from time to time, he was a bit surprised to be able to see the real thing.

Painting in the essential shapes as a quick base before he went in with the details a little later. His hands were shaking, his heart was bouncing around his chest like a mad man, he kept turning to his painting then at you and then again. He couldn't keep his eyes off you to save his life, and his pants felt a bit tight too! All he could think about was your bare self on display. Each inch of your skin, each strands of hair that fell on your face, each pinky shade of your cock.

"What's the matter? You look on edge." Asking with half legitimate concerns.

His Adam's apple moved up and down for a split second as he gulped down his saliva. God, he was having a massive boner, and he could not have you know about it. Using his mixing palette as a shield of sort, hopefully covering the tent that formed on his pants away from your knowledge.

"Is it me?" You smirked, your intentions clear on your inviting lips.

"Well...um..." He couldn't think of anything to say, the entire atmosphere between you two were all sexual tension. He wanted to fuck you, but it wasn't like he could say it out and proud.

You put on your robe, lazily drapping it over your nude body. Each step reaching towards him, he couldn't help but wanting to drop everything and take you then and there. You stood just inches away from him, grazing your fingers over his broad shoulders as if you were feeling expensive fur at the store.

Admiring his unfinished piece, "Wow, you're making quite the improvement." You commented.

The shading and the colours were all carefully made decisions, the brush strokes made things looked smoother and more polished in the earlier state. In a way, an artist's painting was their own perspective on the world surrounding them. With that philosophy, that was how Chan saw you through his own eyes. And damn was it also filled with his inner desires.

"You know," You began, "I like your pieces, they all have such a distinct personal touch." Keeping eye contacts, you held his hand and slowly guiding it down your bare chest under the silk robe. Holding up his chin slightly, you placed your lips on his. Out of the blue, yet, you both were expecting this to happen. As if manifested throughout time, every single time he thought about wanting to get freaky with you contributed to this moment.

Young people were bold, Chan was not an exception. He was quick to shove his tongue in your mouth, pump lips crying out for yours. Almost feeling like you were close to passing out with how aggressive he was, you had to pull away for air.

You brought him over to the couch, pushing him down as you got on your knees before him. Undoing his pants, immediately placing your wet and hot mouth over his throbbing cock. Chan's breath hitched, his rough hand grabbing your hair as he squirmed and twitched in his place.

"Oh my God, [Y/N], keep sucking me like that, you're amazing." Chan breathed heavily, hips slightly jerking up. Tongue flicking over his sensitive tip, sending shivers all over his body. Technically screaming for you with his little whimpers, breathy moans turning you on.

Your mouth felt full as he emptied his load, a few drops even leaked out the corners of your mouth. You swallowed the entirety down your throat like the dirty whore that you were for your student, an action that brazen made his face blushed like an after party.

Before he could unbutton his uniform shirt, you were already disrobed and stradling him. Your lips were back to kissing him, at the same time, you were lining up his cock for the next event. Steadily sitting yourself down on top of him, his hard cock stabbing slowly into you, your fleshy and warm walls wrapping over.

Chan placed his hands on your hips, securing you in place. The next minute, and you were bouncing, grinding on him as if none of this was wrong. His head tilting back, the fucked expression on his face was pleasing to the eyes. "Yeah, baby. Feels good to be inside of me, right? You wish you could just fuck me everyday."

Half-lidded eyes, hair sticking to his forehead, way too lost to reply. "If you're this fucking great, I guess I have to let you pass." You complimented, gripping a handful of his brown locks, slaming your lower body down on him. He came so much that you felt it dripping out onto the couch—that meant you would have to get it clean up, what a difficult story it would be to tell the cleaners.

After cleaning up the brushes and paint, you were officially finished for the day. You placed Chan's piece on the drying racks, you would never be able to look at this painting without being reminded of what went down today. Though, now you knew how vast his skills were.

Of course, going to school was a struggle when you have a disability. You couldn't rely much on your peers, the pacing of each subject was different but all were equally difficult to keep up when you weren't able to listen in with the lecture. It was scary going into middle school as a deaf kid, yet, it was another kind of terror to go into high school.

"You okay?" Wooyoung asked verbally while signing at the same time. Though this was your third year already, the sound of your heart felt like it was the first day of school. Riddled with anxiety, you hesitated to leave your brother. But you nodded nonetheless, half not wanting to further bother him, half just wanting to get everything over with.

"Text me if you need anything." Your brother signed to you before bidding goodbye. There was a new homeroom teacher this year, and some of your classmates from last year were also changed around. Which meant you were back in the position of having to familiarize yourself with everyone, and having to inform people that you were deaf all over again.

Your friend changed homeroom this year, you wouldn't be able to see him too often then. You barely know anyone here, either because some of them were newcomers or you just haven't met them before. The new people looked oddly intimidating, maybe it was the anxiety talking? But there was something about them that made them seem unwelcoming.

Laying on your desk, tired from the night before since you didn't get a good night sleep. Too anxious to go to school, worried that you might overslept, or ruin your uniforms. All the worst case scenarios kept popping into your head, not letting you rest until you worn yourself out and fall asleep.

A subtle vibration sent across the surface of your desk, gently notifying you of something, a presence. You weren't expecting anyone to approach you, since everybody were occupied with their own businesses, you minded your own too. You saw his lips moving, but you could not make out anything he was saying. Terrible at reading lips, and the other person wasn't aware that you were deaf.

He was confused as well by how you were not responding, if you were intentionally ignoring him while maintaining eye-contact. You placed a single notebook on your desk, 'communicating book'—it said on the cover, written in black marker ink. This one was your fifth or seventh one, you have lost count after going through several during middle school up until recently.

'Hi, my name is Jung [Y/N], and I'm deaf so I apologize in advance if I don't response to you immediately. We can talk through this notebook!'—Holding up the notebook to him, the first page was written beforehand. You slid a pen over to him, implying that it was his turn to 'speak'. That was how most of your conversation usually begin, on very rare occasions, you might be lucky enough to meet someone who could speak sign language. But for the majority, you spoke through the pages in your notebook.

The other wrote down something on the next blank page, he then showed it to you, 'Sorry, I didn't know. I'm Choi Jongho by the way, I don't think we have met before.'

Jongho was a new student, he spent the last couple minutes at the assembly to meet the other classmates, he must have missed you back there. Though you did leave with Wooyoung right after the opening ceremony this morning, so you two wouldn't meet either way. You couldn't understand what they were saying, why would you stay there any longer?

You two seem to clicked well, he even invited you to join him for lunch already. It was a bother having to write out everything you wanted to say to him, there were just way too many topics you wanted to share. Yet, he sat there, writing down every single sentence, every thought he had on his mind to keep the conversation going until the bell would eventually break you apart.

"Mom made you lunch, be sure to eat it. Do you want to sit with me and my friends?" Wooyoung spoke along with his hands. Your brother could be quite protective at times, it made sense since you were a deaf kid running around school without one warning sign. If something were to happen to you, he might blow up.

You replied, "No need, I'm sitting with a friend." Taking out the lunch box from your bag, wrapped up delicately in a light blue plaid cloth. You could already smell the pleasant aroma of the grilled chicken your mother prepared.

"You made a friend? That's good. I'll see you later!" He pat you on the shoulder, before leaving your classroom. Jongho was sat at a table, waiting for you by the time you got down to the cafeteria. You spotted him easily by the warm brownish colour of his hair—which stood out from a majority of natural black. You sat down across from him, placing your items on the table. The lunch today didn't look all too bad. Normally you would eat the lunch provided at school, but home-cooked lunch box was a thing your mother did every first day of school, a good luck ritual of some sort.

'You brought your own lunch, what are you eating?' The words displayed on Jongho's phone screen. You shrugged, not knowing for sure. You smelt chicken, and eggs, and stir fried vegetables, that was all you could guess.

Gosh, she went all out with the presentation, you felt bad eating it now that the bear head was made out of brown rice. The vegetables were cut out like stars and hearts, decorative picks were included on top of fruits. You appreciated the effort, but a bit of embarrassment stuck in your stomach. Would the other kids make fun of you for still having your mother make you adorable lunch boxes? You wouldn't know, but you wouldn't enjoy the teasing nonetheless.

Jongho smiled, he even giggled at the sight of your lunch box. "Don't laugh!" Signing towards him, a bashful expression stood on your face.

'It's just so cute~!' He typed out on his phone, chuckling at your pouty face at his comment. At least he didn't make fun of your lunch, its childish appearance simply asking for talks. You got out your utensils that was wrapped with napkins, finally began to ease your empty stomach.

Mid-conversation, Wooyoung came by to disrupt your peace. His intentions were clearer than day, you knew him far too well to be suspicious. He came to check out your new friend, having to meet his approval to continued hanging out with you. As a compromise, he bought you the soda you liked. Though, Wooyoung could freely be as skeptical and disapproving of Jongho all he wanted. Because you, yourself, felt Jongho was genuine.

You let out a dragging sigh, 'Don't mind my brother, he acts up every time I befriend someone new.'—Explaining to the other person after you were sure your brother was a far enough distance from the table you two were sitting.

'You two seems close.'—To which you just nodded and returned to eating. Wether or not these were intrusive thoughts, unwilling to admit the fact that he found you cute when you are frustrated. All pouty and grumpy, your cheeks protruding as they were stuffed with meat, rice, and vegetables. An angry chipmunk was the only suitable comparison.

Though you established many good relationships with your peers, you mostly spent your time hanging out with Jongho. After Jongho's multiple requests of being seated next to you, your homeroom teacher finally agreed to arrange you two together. Would it be better anyways? He could assist you with academic matters when he is closer to you, win-win situation!

‘You’re learning fast!’ You excitedly complimented. Recently, he has been picking up sign language to less burden you with always having to write as your only source of communication. You were glad to help him since he was learning on his own. Again, you slowly signed each character of his name with your hand, getting him familiar with the alphabet.

“Like this?” He asked as he started moving his fingers to sign.

‘Did you just sign my name?’ Jongho only smiled after reading your text, admiring the stunned look on your face. He knew more than you had originally thought, at this pace, he would be fluent in no time!

Feeling a strong vibration ran through your forearm, his phone lit up in a split moment. It was Wednesday afternoon, which meant you had clubs to attend. Jongho held his fist under his mouth as if he was holding a microphone, he was off to practice his singing for the upcoming school festival that his band will be playing at. Before he went, he turned around to look at you one last time as good luck. You just gave him a gentle smile, while moving your opened hand in a circular motion above your fist.

You were contented with the never-ending silence you had been born into, even so, there were definitely times you wished you could hear. After you met Jongho, you have never stressed over your disability more than you were now. Every-time you passed by one of his rehearsals, seeing all the girls and guys cheering him on with so much amazement in their eyes, you couldn't help yourself from feeling left out from the crowd. You have never heard your best friend's voice, and you desperately wanted to.

"[Y/N]!" He couldn't hide his excitement when he spotted you at your desk, calling out your name as he began running towards you. Taken back by how your immediately turned your head to him, like you heard every syllable that he had just now produced.

Jongho leaned on your desk, "Did you hear what I said?" Actually, not quite. Sounds were all over the place, you have never heard your name be spoken up until recently. You took a good week to recover for your cochlear implants, during it, you had gotten a little more used with your family members' voices and the way words were pronounced. However, you would need a lot more time to learn how to talk, and learn to live with all the noises of life.

You have never knew how loud life could become, like how the sound of rain was strangely calming, but the summer of cicadas were annoying. The most pleasant sound to your ears was Jongho's voice, soft and mellow, and full of fondness. That was one of your many exceptions.

"I'm not used to this quite yet." You continued to speak with your hands. You wanted to take your hearing devices off but your mother insisted you keep it on during school, she didn't realize how much that overwhelmed you with all the new noises everyday.

Jongho brought his hand out towards you, opened and asking you for something. A bit stuck, hesitating in seconds before you took off both of your hearing devices and placed them on his palm. Instantly, every and all sounds cut off, washed out and silenced.

Solely his gentle aura remained, smiling at you with the same look as the first time you met. Though you were able to hear now, there was just this special type of noiselessness around Jongho, a comfortable silence where you didn't have to speak to keep things moving. You liked that, you liked that quiet atmosphere when you were with him. Not entirely quiet, your heart kept beating violently, making your whole chest vibrated in an inexplicable excitement. It was calling out his name, and you couldn't even talk.

You were fine with being deaf, but you adored his voice way too much to remain living like that. You would happily trade any and all other noises to only hear his in your ears. As it echoed in the depth of your heart, you wanted to push yourself more with your hearing devices just to listen to him talk and sing to you.

"Better?" He asked in signs.

"So so." Replying, fiddling with the two devices in your hands. There were so much you wanted to say to him, but you couldn't quite express them neither verbally or through signing, they were all too complicated to be accurately translated.

The day of the school festival finally came, and you were most looking forward to Jongho's performance with his band. You came with your brother at first, but then he dipped to go with his friends—which left you wandering alone around school grounds. There were many vendors in the courtyard, selling handmade goods and delicious food items—most of them were operated by clubs, and some were from sponsors that the school invited.

Seeing some of your seniors selling sandwiches, you decided to came by as support. Yeosang was one of your brother's friends who was on the working shift that hour, he immediately greeted you upon seeing your arrival at his food stand. "[Y/N], how are you?"

"I'm good. What kind of sandwich is this?" Yeosang understood sign language quite well, you didn't know how he did, but he did. He was the some of only seniors that you were friends with—though many knew you due to your connections with Wooyoung.

"Just a grilled ham sandwich with cheese and strawberry jam, do you want one? I'll make you a new one." Yeosang put on a pair of disposable plastic gloves. What an odd combo, but it could be one of those rare gems for all you know.

As you were digging into your wallet for money, Yeosang stopped you. "It's okay, it's my treat. Just don't tell anyone." Though you tried paying, Yeosang kept refusing to take any money from you.

Despite the weird mix of ingredients, it was surprisingly tasty. You might ask Yeosang for the recipe to make some at home, or some for Jongho since you couldn't leave him out from experiencing good food. And speaking about Jongho, you haven't seen him at all. You figured that he was caught up with practicing and final rehearsals since his band was the only other performers besides from the indie singer that was invited for a gig.

A song suddenly erupted from your pocket, pulling your phone out as you saw Wooyoung's name above his number, he was asking to face-time you. You placed the phone on a bench before answering, since you couldn't quite speak well and would definitely have to rely on your hands to communicate.

"[Y/N]! Where are you? I'm with Jongho if you want to talk to him!" Wooyoung's face was very close to the camera, almost shoving his nose to screen.

Hearing noises from phones like calls was still a difficulty, and sometimes those darn glitches occurred and messed up everything. You had to tell him to move the camera farther away because you couldn't quite listen in with his voice blasting in the mic, and he all-together looked stupid. "I'm sitting in the courtyard, you left me, asshole!"

"Sorry, sorry, but Seonghwa came to visit so I had to see him." Wooyoung pouted, signing an apology through the screen.

"I want to see Jongho, put him on." You told.

The camera shook violently as your brother ran to Jongho, putting the phone in front of the boy for you to see. There he was, sitting with his lyrics in hand and warming up his vocals. His chestnut hair was styled nicely, he was dressed equally more stylish than he usually was, was that really your best friend? "Jongho, say 'hi' to [Y/N]!"

"[Y/N], I'm glad you came! Are you going to see my performance later?" Enthusiasm obvious through the glints in his sweet doe eyes, under that bad boy exterior which he had on today, your Jongho still shone through.

"I'll be cheering you on in the crowd!" You assured him of your presence during his stage performance soon later. "Good luck!" Before ending the call, you moved your hand in a circular motion above your fist as something extra that you wanted to tell him. Then the call ended, as they could only see your contact flashed on the screen for a split second and fading away afterward.

Jongho turned to his senior, "What did [Y/N] sign at the end? I haven't learn that one."

Wooyoung let out a giggle, patting the younger's shoulders before dropping a bomb. "They said they love you." He gathered with his friends, "Anyways, good luck on your performance, I'll see you!"

Oh...Oh! Jongho was shaking, in a good way. The pressure wasn't about pleasing the crowd, it was about impressing you now—which was so much harder, he really wanted you to have the best of everything. Each step he took leading to the stage, you were the only thing on his mind. This performance have to be perfect, because the one he love was going to be there cheering for him. Though he couldn't spot you between the sea of people, and he was running out of time to do so. Yet, he knew you were there, somewhere. Wherever you were, please know that he felt the same.

"Everyone, let's show some support for our performers!" The crowd began sending applauses throughout the gymnasium, band members pouring out onto the grand stage with their instruments. Taking a few short minutes to get plugged in and in tuned, sound checking the microphone and amps on stage. For the first time in your life, you got to experience your first concert.

It was an original song, God, the lyrics was so him. Jongho did have quite a stage presence there, and oh did his voice sounded amazing. You hated to admit, that hearing him sing was worth all the waiting you did before you got your implants. The sound made your heart vibrated, and everything as well. Speaking metaphorically, it was love, tugging on your heartstrings as some might put it.

After the performance ended, the stage entertainment was on hold for the next ten to twenty minutes to get the other set ready. You used that free time to go find Jongho. When you found him backstage, he was already helping his other bandmates with packing their instruments and bringing amps and cables back to the music room. Not wanting to distract him since those things were heavy, you waited outside for him to finish up with post-performance stuff.

The bassist, a senior that you only have seen in school and have yet to talk to, she spotted you outside. "Are you waiting for Jongho?"

You nodded simply, a bit shy to communicate with new people today. Even though you two have never spoke to each other before, she knew that you were Jongho's friends, because of how often he brought you up in conversation during practices and rehearsal. About how he desperately wanted you to hear his songs, how he wanted to know what your voice sounded like and if you would be a good singer, and how in love he was with you.

"Jongho, hurry up, your lover is waiting for you outside!" No warning, none at all, she yelled out. Filled to the brim with embarrassment, praying that he didn't hear the last part, or wishing that your device was malfunctioning back then so you wouldn't be caught in this situation.

After a few minutes, your heart pacing in your chest, trying your best to remain calm and not lose your mind. Finally, Jongho walked out. You were on the floor, contemplating wether or not you should take off your hearing device after what happened earlier. How could someone caught you lacking like that?

"Hey, sorry for making you wait." Jongho spoke up, scaring you with the sudden emerge of sound after it was quiet for a long while.

"No! Not at all! Should we go check out the vendors together?" You awkwardly asked.

He looked a bit on edge, as if there was something he was concealing away. The smoothies didn't help out with easing him much, and you were unsure of how to bring it up to him. Did the performance not go as planned or something? The silence between the two of you was never uncomfortable like it was now.

"So...um...I love you too." He spilt out. Quietly, lacing his fingers with yours as both your hands hugged each other.

You wanted to sign in reply, but he wouldn't let go so you had to sign with an extra weight. "Who told you?!"

His pointer finger slightly curving against his middle finger which stood up straight, the others curled in. "Wooyoung?! How could he?!"

Jongho technically saved your brother from getting killed, pulling you into his embrace before you could burst and go beat up Wooyoung. He felt nice, like a cuddling bear—at least if you could ignore the studded leather jacket he was wearing. You were hinting him all this time, confessing all of your feelings through sign language. Was it obvious? Definitely. Did he know that it was a sign that you liked him romantically? Eh.

Why didn't you contact him first? You would, you wanted to. But every one of his social media accounts had you blocked for some unknown reason. His number was changed too, it seem. When you called, the line was out of service. And before you knew it, you had stopped trying to reach him all together.

That wasn't until one rainy day in the middle of August, incredible winds, raindrops falling from the sky throughout the entire daytime, all the way into the evening. Your phone rang, sending vibrations on the surface of your desk. Before it got a chance to jump off, you picked it up, just to see an unknown number calling you. Half expecting it to be the company you applied for calling you back with good news, the other half expecting a salesman of which you could easily hang up on.

"Hello?" You spoke first.

"[Y/N], finally!" Almost dropping you phone in utter shock and anger and relief, your hands were shaking as you tried your best not to break down. You could not be mistaking, that was, for a certain, Felix's mellow deep voice.

The other line let out a tired chuckle, "Oh God, I would've called sooner. But I couldn't, for the life of me, remember the digits to your number."

Your ears tuned out all of his rambling, as he went on and on about things you had no clues. A sniffle echoed through the telephone line, momentarily, silencing everything. Except the rain outside kept pouring with no sign of stopping, you wondered if it would rain this whole weekends too, that would be quite a pain. Maybe not as painful as his presence.

Your voice full of long-term anguish, screamed, "You asshole! What took you so long?! Why did you even bother to show up now?!"

Throat tightening, all the unspoken words of the past timespan, the things he had no time to tell you, an apology. He held back his tears, filling in with giggles to dilute the tension which resulted in little to no success. As he listened into your distressed cries, the guilts rising inside of him once more. Felix cried often, many things could easily bring him to tears. Yet, right now he couldn't shed a tear even if he desperately wanted to. Because it wasn't his turn to cry, it was yours.

"[Y/N], I..." His mind was a blank, nothing came up to be spoken as comfort. What should he do now? What could he do now?

Felix paused, then he talked to you again. "Hey, let's meet at the café near your place."

"Are you crazy? The rain will wash me away out there, and besides, how do I know that you're not going to ghost me?" You replied coldly. You were sure that you were not going to survive through this type of weather, a running nose or a cold at the very least. Crazy how that café was still opened all those years, it basically witnessed your complete relationship with Felix, ever since the beginning until this moment.

You had your first date there as well, he asked you out if you remembered correctly. You still owned the same sundress you wore that day, you got tons of compliments from Felix when he saw it. Youth years were absolutely insane, wild and stupidly in love with one another. Each time you initiated affection, each time you told each other your feelings, each time you vowed to live and die for each other. Those years were the happiest, they were dreams, they were the peace between chaos.

Felix simply assured, "I'll come pick you up then, be there in twenty."

Giving you no time to process or protest, the opposite line hung up. Caught in a state of panic and confusion, you quickly scrambled around your room as you were unsure of what to do. You looked like a hot mess, tear stains and disheveled hair, your clothes told the public that you had given up. Despite how mad you were at him, and how the weather being in absolute disorder, you still dolled up yourself for him. Putting on makeup, brushing out your hair, changing your outfit in a time crunch.

You rushed down the stairs as soon as you heard the bell rang, your hurried footsteps echoed throughout the apartment building, possibly disrupting your neighbors who also lived here. For the first time in a long while, you saw him. Holding an umbrella, patiently waiting for you to come, he was dressed in unfamiliar attire—not in his usual style, a huge improvement if you could put it as so.

“[Y/N],” Felix admired your appearance, “you look beautiful.”

You opened your own umbrella, stepping the small puddles towards him and into the rain. The walk was quiet, the air was tensed. Felix was a sociable person, but in this situation you two were in, he couldn’t start a conversation to save his failing relationship. There were so many things to say, yet no one could bring themselves to talk.

Not until you reached your destination, still on the same street, still radiated the same cozy vibes, still brought to you much nostalgia. He said his first 'I love you' here, right in this booth you two were sitting. The usual order of hot chocolate with marshmallows, too sweet but just as hot enough to filed up one's chest. The chocolate ran down its warmth inside to the stomach, grazing each and every ribs, poking at the heart. Felix loved those, he still did, and he would only order them when he is with you. To be honest, you were sweeter and warmer than any hot chocolate he ever had.

"Alright, make it quick, I have an early shift tomorrow." You told as you stirred your cup of tea in annoyance. Actually though, you wanted to stay for as long as the both of you possibly could. At the same time, you didn't want to have this conversation at all since you knew for a fact, he would make you cry.

Felix nodded, understanding your current frustration. He took a sip of hot chocolate, the marshmallow splitting under his teeth. Sweet on top of sweet, the amount of sugar that seeping into his tastebuds. Some of the cream stuck on his top lip, forming a messy mustache. Before he could get rid of it himself, as an act of habit, you were wiping it away with the tissue you had in your hand.

“Ah, um…sorry—”

“Thanks, [Y/N].” The way he spoke your name with his deep tone still stirred you up in ways you had forgotten, awfully sweet yet quite personal at times.

“Anyways,” He smiled gently, gazing up at you with the pure fondness he had since the very beginning, “How have you been?”

Slightly furrowing your brows, not too pleased with how he decided to start this conversation, it felt awkward, which shouldn't happen between two people that known each other for years already. Though there was an endearing undertone about it, first date kind of feel, like getting to know one another all over again. Hobbies, then family, then might as well get into TMI territory.

"Good, you?" You gave a short answer, expressing your bit of refusal to cooperate.

"I...um...sorry that I left so suddenly. I know that was inconsiderate of me, but I had no choice at the time." Felix apologized, running his fingers through his bleached blond hair—used to be a dark brown colour, he has gotten rid of his natural hair.

"Not even one text? I was waiting for you in the rain!" Frustrated, you exclaimed.

"I know, I know! I don't blame you for feeling upset, I swear, I'll make it up to you!" Felix pleaded.

Silence rose upon the two of you once more. He hurt you, now he was trying to mend things. Selfish of him to left you behind as he chased his dreams alone. Felix hated to admit, the fact that he actually forgot about you. Right, how could he possibly? But life just simply gets in the way of relationship, especially when he spent his time being so far away from you. He was touring around the world, the thought of you crying and begging for his return seemed to slipped his mind. Because he was having too much fun out there, fans cheering his name in grand stadiums and arenas, caught up with polishing his skills, performing on elaborate songs on multiple stages with his band members. With all these things happening around him every day and night, he forgot about you. Fame got to him, that was what the professionals would comment.

Felix quietly touched your balled up fist, "Did you do something to your hair? It suits you well."

Who were you kidding? You couldn't stay mad at him forever, your heart was too weak to make a sweetheart like him cry. Your fist loosened, letting him laced his fingers with yours. As if time stopped, everything became slow, allowed you two to savour this moment a bit longer.

"I miss you, I'm such a horrible person." Felix laid on his arm, gazing at your eyes with more admiration than he ever had.

One thing led to another, it happened faster than you expected. You were at the café, and now you two were making out on your bed. His sweet lips bound you to him for life, like a curse so cruel yet so exhilarating. Felix held you in his arms, fearing he might forget you again, therefore he held on tightly to this pure happiness. Foolishly in love, crazily in love, immensely in love with one another.

"You're an amazing person," placing a kiss on your neck, he whispered, "I have never love someone like I love you."

Trailing kisses down your bare figure, he was gentle and handled you as if you were the most delicate thing. As he went lower, his mouth kept dropping praises nonstop. His hands were shaking as they touched your body, scared that he might hurt you like he did before.

You breathed heavily, holding back a moan. Breasts, stomach, hips, thighs, rear, almost no place that could draw lewd sounds from you was left behind. His thumb pushed against your clit, immediately sending a jolt up your body. Heart beating violently against your ribcage, it was going to jump out of your chest at any given minute. With his slender finger inching bit by bit inside you, lubricated nicely by your natural wetness.

Before you know it, there were already two fingers inside of you. Going in and out as it preparing your for the main event. You could not keep your mouth shut, despite knowing your neighbours were most probably sleeping by now. Whining and moaning, you gripped at his shoulders, making marks on his soft skin. Definitely, some scandals and rumours were going to be stirred up after this.

Coming onto his fingers, already quite breathless since you haven’t gotten intimate in a while. Your stamina used to be great, you could go on for hours, but how come you were so worn out just from one round. You didn’t even got to the main part yet!

“I love you, [Y/N].” Felix told, entering you. Your walls hugging his cock, it felt like he had gotten bigger since last time.

Starting slow, then gradually building up to a faster pace that brought both of you to a new state of pleasure. Felix breathed out, “Oh God, you’re so good to me, baby.”

Each thrust told you exactly how much he missed you, how much he loved you, how much special you were to him. Though he might be in a different place every single day, no place will be as amazing as being with you. He must leave by tomorrow morning, however, he wouldn’t make the same mistake like he did earlier.

A decade long project of creating the perfect companion, proved how societal isolation has taken a toll on your mental health. It took years, it took blood, sweats, and tears. You poured everything of yours into your invention, your time, your health, and even your bits and pieces of your fragile soul. This was a project that you kept in secret, locking it away and never telling half a word to anyone.

After multiple demo models and the entire coding system crashing due to overload, going from blueprint to blueprint, you finally made it! The android’s eyes opened, slowly blinking as he admired his surroundings. An unnatural blueish grey, piercing through you like icicles. That was fair, he was in every way shape or form, unnatural.

"My tag is 'SKZ-03202K', would you like to give me a name, dear maker?" Monotonous, lacking every and all possible kind of emotions. Default speech full of formality, you haven't heard anyone speaking on that level of respect in a long while—made it a bit uncomfortable to hear.

You took a good look at him, from head to toes and back. "Your name is..." Pausing in order to make up something in your head, then it struck. "Hyunjin."

Hyunjin seemed pleased with his new name, 'Hyunjin'—as he mumbled his name once more for it to completely seep into his system. It sounded pleasant, however, not as pleasant as to when you said his name with your subtle, sweet voice. Pronouncing each syllable clearly, your mouth broke into a slight smile when you reached the last sound.

When did his hair got so red? The synthetic strands that you used for his hair was a translucent white when you first got it, it held no colour at all from the market all the way back home. What an eyesore shade of red, guessed you'd have to get used to it since there was no way you could afford new strands at the moment—the ones you got for Hyunjin were way out of your budget. Jeez, he stood out a hell of a lot looking like this, people would be sending weird stare left and right if you were to go out in public with him.

He looked very human, as if a random stranger had broke into your place and standing here in front of you. Although, his features were just a little off to be completely human. You made his face plate yourself, Hyunjin was a combination of multiple male celebrities you adored, a Frankenstein of some sort if you may say so. His slanted fox eyes, plumped and full lips, straight and prominent nose bridge. Air brushed and carefully carved every teeny tiny details on his face, the one mistake you made while painting him ended in a beauty mark that enhanced his entire face even more, happy accident?

"Call me [Y/N]." You smiled, admiring your creation. Congratulation, you had made a new friend! Literally. It wouldn't be as empty now, he could fill that void in your woeful heart. "Let's get you dressed." Setting the table to stand horizontally, you said.

The floor was made of wood, white oak wood in specific. A four-walls prison of which you called a laboratory, painted a white that encouraged anxiety and stress. He watched his feet, taking his first few steps. Under his artificial finger nails, he could see a blue light sneaking through—must be his internal machinery, built with solely bolts and steel. His entire body was a glossy paper white, except for some clear windows on his limps and torso that showed everything inside of him. Though he was man-made, in no sort of way was he, himself, a man.

“Here, you can wear this for now.” A minimal white button-up with a collar that wouldn’t stand, greyish brown straight-leg pants that were too short on him due to his tall stature. These were old clothes, they didn’t even belonged to you, one day it appeared out of nowhere and has been here since.

Hyunjin couched down beside you on the floor after putting on the clothes you gave him, he asked attentively “Are you hungry, [Y/N]? Would you like me to make you a meal?”

Your stomach grumbled in hunger, hasn’t been feeding yourself properly due to being hyper-fixated on your work—building Hyunjin, finalizing a few research papers that you were doing for an additional income, maintaining an almost full-time job at a engineering firm. There were barely anything inside the fridge that could be used to make food, you were surviving on whatever you could find around your apartment and convenience store-bought food. Sighing, realizing the amount of things you needed to take care of before you could rest in a comfortable bed and do absolutely nothing.

“No, I think I’m going to head straight for bed tonight, early shift.” You stood up and walked pass him, towards your bedroom.

Hyunjin followed you, “How would you like your room temperature to be, do you prefer warm or cold?”

“Cold, not too cold though, I might be sick by the time I wake up.” You told, slowly getting in bed after drawing the curtains. As you were about to turn off the lights, you saw Hyunjin blankly staring at you at the end of your bed.

Avoiding his intense gaze, “Don’t watch me sleep, it creeps me out.”

“Well, what should I do then, you might get hurt during the night and I should be here to tend to you at all times.” Explained, his logic wasn’t wrong but maybe don’t protect you in this way?

You blushed, not knowing what to do. “I don’t know, you can shut off during the night or something? Just don’t watch me sleep, okay?”

Hyunjin stepped outside, giving you back your privacy, he closed your door as he bid you goodnight. Tonight had not one single star on that dark canvas. only the nonstop gleaming moon that always lingered above everyone. Out into the balcony, the second most beautiful thing he saw today, the moon showered him with its light. The city scenery that stretched out into infinity, was this what you saw every day? What did you think of whenever you admired the busy evening out here on your balcony? Did you dwell on the past? Did you strive for bigger in the future? Or were you here in the present time, enjoying and stuck in the moment like everyone else?

His purpose? To take care of you, to be someone that you could leaned on and rely. He knew where he was born from, the mud and thorns of your mind. A creation from desolation and madness, each part of him was you losing senses of reality in bits and pieces. Hyunjin was a recreation, a breaking point, a last hope. Perfect being made by imperfect being, the irony that was he.

Morning came, he didn’t sleep—not that he needed any since he didn’t function like how human did—all the thoughts kept him up pondering without one logical answer. You woke up half an hour before eight o’clock, a habitual routine that you followed every day. No matter what you did, you would always be at the table having breakfast at eight fifty exact, then leaving on time as per usual.

Today you didn’t forget to pass by the supermarket for groceries on the way home, traffic was surprisingly well managed for rush hour and you got home a lot sooner than you expected on a Tuesday evening. Hyunjin was already waiting at the front door, he could pick up your distinctive footsteps all the way down the corridor from inside of your apartment.

“What did you do today while I’m gone?” You asked cheerfully, it was nice to know that there was someone at home waiting for your arrival. Hyunjin began listing household chores, which perfectly explained why your entire place was spotlessly clean—some of the furniture also got reorganized in the process.

You placed the groceries you got onto the marble counter, “Try making something out of these ingredients, I don’t know what I bought.” You didn’t remember anything that was in that bag, you could not list a single item that was on the receipt. You went to the supermarket, blacked out, and came out with a bag full of stuff that has little to none correlations to one another.

Confident that Hyunjin could make do with anything, after all, you programmed him to know almost everything. He did not disappoint, serving you one of the best meal of your short lifespan. Interesting, watching your every movement. Chewing food, breathing, using your utensils with your hands, your eyes blinking each millisecond. He found it endearing to observe you, you were such a fascinating being to him. Could he say, he felt happy for the first ever time?

“[Y/N]?” Hyunjin hesitantly called out, a bit afraid to meet your angry glare every time something went wrong. For a long time living in the same space as you, he has learned quite a lot of human emotions, especially all the negative ones that you had presented on accident.

Not startled, numb to the usual occurrences and mishaps that happened. Nonchalant, you replied in a question “What is it?”

Met with his set of burgundy colored hair, Hyunjin was hiding his face from you by keeping his head low. In his hands, a large piece that had broke off from his face plate. Slowly moving his head up to face you, this bashful look that he was wearing on his ruined face. A whole eyeball, some of the wires were hanging out, gears and tiny pieces laid exposed since he broke a large majority of his face.

Let out a deep dragged breath, gently removing his face and its entirety from his head, you got your tools ready to fix it. It now has became a normal thing, you got multiple spare copies of Hyunjin’s faceplate purely from how often he would break his own face. Prying the heavily damaged faceplate off, replaced with a new one in just a short couple minutes.

“Hyunjin, this is your second one this month, how did you broke it so badly this time?” Questioned you, seeing how his eyes were avoiding yours, you figured he didn’t want to answer.

Compared to last year, his appearance changed into a completely different person in such a subtle manner that you only noticed now. Hair from a vibrant red to a deeper, more close to brown hue. His skin received more pigments, it looked more like real human skin with yellows and reds and blues all mixed up together. His irises has changed color as well, an icy blue that transitioned smoothly into a pale brown. What was going on, did he caught a virus by any chance?

Hyunjin too, caught onto the sudden changes that was happening to him gradually throughout the years. He looked more and more human, he began to become more reactive, his tone of voice gained more life than before. As if he was becoming human. This was utterly unreal, a fever dream—if he could even have any dreams from the start. He wasn't human, but maybe now he wasn't too far from being one.

"Hyunjin, look at me when I'm talking to you." You noted to him, those eyes were still trying flee from your stern gaze. A sudden light wave of pink washed across his face, was he...blushing? Though his cheeks was still cold to the touch, his surface texture still the half way point between matte and glossy. You should really check out his internal system, there was, for a definite, something wrong going on inside of him.

To be honest, his coding was not done by you—at least not everything. You originally bought the vital core that initially made Hyunjin function properly off an unknown second-hand robotic parts market. The owner prior to you that had this core must had been the one who coded his entire programming, you only went in and altered a few minor details like his voice frequency or deleted codes that suggested corruption. There was one file in particular that denied you of access, you couldn't quite get rid of it as well, permanently locked to your knowledge. To take further measures, in special cases if something bad were to happen, you placed a digital wall that prevented computer viruses—not separating it from the others, since you might accidentally block crucial codes that would ultimately contribute to his performance.

"You seem stressed, can I do anything to help relieve it?" His sweet, generous inventor looked so worn out and full of exhaustion, he could not help himself but feel something for you. What it was, he didn't know yet.

You dismissed him, "Just give me some space, I can't deal with any more trouble right now."

Trouble? Did you meant him, was he a bother to you as you two spoke, were you stressed because of him? Guilty, was that the right word? He felt guilty, like he was of no use to you and you would always has to rescue him from himself. [Y/N], please don't be mad at him. Hyunjin one and only goal, his purpose of creation, was to make you happy. And if you weren't happy, were distressed and angered. Each sighs and groans that left your lips, you no longer smiled when you pronounced that last syllable of his name, it broke his faux heart.

You said you were lonely, and you created him in the midst of your mess, now why were you pushing him away? The more he spent his immortal lifetime in this era with you, the more sentient he became. God, look at him, he couldn't even recognize himself anymore. There were so much colours and shades on his skin, his hair grew so long that you had to cut some inches off, his system was overheating more often whenever you were around. This was not right, everything was getting out of his abilities. He was supposed to be an android, he wasn't anywhere human, but why did he felt alive?

Was this something terrible? Or was this love? How come love was so painful, how come he even felt pain in the first place? Hyunjin couldn't cry, he didn't have tear ducts. However, his fake heart that pumped fluid the thickness of blood was aching. Shut down, shut down everything, he would tell himself. Reboot your system, wipe every line of codes that signified a sense of adversity, get rid of it all. Go back to how it was should be, go back to when you felt nothing and were nothing but a tool to help your inventor achieve euphoria. These feelings, these human feelings weren't meant for you, they weren't yours and would never be.

"[Y/N]," Hyunjin called once again, he made up his choice, he loved you. This massive error in his system, was because he had developed feelings for you. You turned back, staring with the same distanced expression you wore previously. "please disassemble me."

"What?" Not a word of asking for clarification, you heard him loud and clear.

Turned away for one second, back and he was looking more like one of your kind than before. Hair, no hints of red, black as the sky the night he awoken. His eyes, the same fate, dark as never before. Hyunjin, was more alive than you, despite what he was. As if a levanter had blew the essence of what it was like to be human into him, he was not the Hyunjin you once made with your bare hands and lonesome. He had became his own person. The physical embodiment of your solitude, he received himself a soul from it. He wasn't a perfect masterpiece since he was now deemed imperfect, but imperfection was what made him to be considered as human.

Simple enough, humans were unlike artificial intelligence or androids like him. Humans has limitations, humans has flaws, human has empathy. Humans were imperfect. While androids and artificial intelligence excelled at everything, they were better at manual labours, better at gaining knowledge. Yet, they were not better at being human. An outlier such as Hyunjin, he wasn't mortal with blood and organs, he didn't need oxygen or nutrients to survive. Somehow, he felt joy, felt sadness, felt anger, felt pain, felt all of these complex emotions that was beyond his system comprehension.

"I can't bear to watch you wither away, while I'm stuck here 'til the end of time, or 'til I run out of energy." Hyunjin confessed, saying this now so you both could save yourselves. Maybe in another life, he would be breathing the same air, he would be eating the same food, loving the same person as he was doing now. Maybe in another life, being alive and feeling all these overwhelming emotions wouldn't be so wrong on him.

bang chan—...

You didn’t tell him beforehand about getting your nipples done. And if you did, boy would he give you an earful.

When he saw them in person however, he was stunned—in a good way of course. He would have talked you out of getting such a risky piercing, but damn did it turned out looking hot as hell.

“Um…They— They looked nice.” He smiled shyly, hiding his reddened face with your shirt. It made him a little excited, if he’s completely honest. The metal shining under the bedroom light, bringing the focal point to your nipples.

"Did it hurt?" He questioned, gazing at the silver metal on your perked nipples.

You smirked, "Like hell, the girl who was doing it had to play around with them so she could get the angle right." Getting this piercing done was an interesting experience to say the least, it would be so much more fun if he was there with you. Maybe they might have him getting you up since he's your boyfriend.

The coldness gliding upon his lips as he kissed your chest, other hand toying with the metal on your nipple. Weirdly, this mix of temperature enhanced your sexual desires. Shit, you might be into temperature play?!

lee know—...

To be completely honest? He finds it pretty hot if you asked him. Though, he wouldn’t recommend you getting this piercing but he have to admit that you pulled it off well.

The fact that you didn’t reveal a word about having your nipples pierced, saving it until it was one of your more ‘intimate’ nights made it such a great surprise. He was making out with you like how he would usually eased you into the main course, slowly getting rid of your clothing. That was when his eyes met with two shiny metal on your nipples as he finally took off your shirt.

“Oh, this is new?” He was a little taken back by your bold move, teasingly yet curiously examining them in with his fingers.

You smiled, “Do you like them?”

Minho leaned down, laying his lips on your torso as he slowly moved down to your hard nipples. “You look pretty with them, baby.” Speaking while his hands began to knead them, drawing lewd sounds from your mouth.

changbin—...

At first, he didn't quite know how to react. He likes you, but doesn't really like that piercing in particular. And now you both came into one, it's just a bit much to handle!

However, after a while, he began to like it more. Every-time seeing it peeps out from under your shirt, he can't help but get a hard-on. You look so god-damn sexy with them on every-time he gets to see them in its entirety.

"I think you're starting to like them a little too much." You averted your gaze, trying not to make any loud noises. He kept touching your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt, kneading them gently between his fingers.

He grinned sweetly, "I don't know, they're just kinda fun to play with, especially when I get to tease you like this~" That's fair, you like gropping his buff chest so guessed this is payback.

hyunjin—...

That's quite...a reckless move for you. Sure, he support and everything but damn. He didn't think you would go this crazy, though, he isn't saying that he's any better. With the image he is going for himself, you two look more like a couple than you ever did.

"You're kinda bold for getting your nipples pierced." Hyunjin commented.

"Yeah, said the bitch who dyed his hair an obnoxious red." Immediately at each other's throats. Oddly enough, I think he would get it on himself if he wanted to.

han—...

You didn't tell him, he had to figure out for himself. While cuddling with each other on the couch during one of your movie nights, he got distracted midway through the movie when he kept staring at the thing poking from under your shirt. What is that? Did you recently developed a skin condition of some sort? He's a little concerned.

The thought doesn't leave his mind all throughout the next twenty minutes of the movie playing on the T.V screen. Finally, it got unbearable, he just have to know what that is! You felt shivers running down your spin, his thumbs was brushing against your nipples through your shirt.

"Jisung...? What are you doing?" You asked, even if he couldn't see your red blushing face, he could still tell from the bashful expression you have on your face.

Pulling his hands away in a panicked manner, "Sorry! It's just...there's something under your shirt."

In a very casual, as if it was not big news. "Oh that? I got my nipples pierced." Jisung was immediately taken back, wide eyes staring in a confused amazement.

"You need a better look?" You teased, gently grabbing his hands.

felix—...

He knew beforehand since you had personally asked him to come acompany you. Out of confusion and pure admiration, he went along. Felix might try to talk you out of it, even though he is all for 'your body, your choice.'

"Are you sure you want this? Do you need to hold my hand?" Bombarding you with questions regarding his concerns, while you were taking off your shirt as calm as ever.

He needed to hold your hand, he needed support more than you it seems. It was a quick process, two stabs and done. Though he was asked by the piercer to play around with your nipples to get it up, which he was embarrassed to do in front of an audience.

"You look nice!" He beamed like always, maybe it was because your were his lover so he is clearly biased, but he genuinely thought they were not too bad.

seungmin—...

“Like on your nipples?” Seungmin did understand what you say, he was just the very bit dumbfounded as he tried to digest the information you had sprung onto him. Should he stop you before you make a reckless decision? Or let you do whatever you please since it is your life anyways, and he isn’t paid enough to care too much?

You said nothing, simply lifting your shirt up for him to see. “Oh.” A word passed his lips, gazing intently at the shining metals that adorned your nipples.

Gradually, as you could see the tint of red surfacing on his cheeks till his ears. He had nothing to say, his mind had nothing to say. God, this was out of nowhere.

i.n—...

Put it away! Put the nipples away! When he said he wanted confirmation, your words are enough, there’s no need for showing him without a warning like that! Hiding his face behind his hands, he turned around with wanting to be respectful.

“Do you like them?” You smiled innocently, holding your shirt lifted. He looks so cute when he is embarrassed, you would like to tease him a bit more!

His whole face was entirely red, “If I say I do, will you put down your shirt?”

“Yes, compliment me now!” Replied to him, you toyed around with the metal piercings on your sensitive nipples in attempt to entice him.

The more he tried to hide himself, the redder he became. “They’re nice! They’re really nice!” He gave you a quick response, which of course didn’t satisfy you.

“Please, [Y/N], just a couple months.” Jisung pushed over the phone, you could tell he was outside from the loud and slightly muffled noise that the speaker picked up upon.

Sighing, your soft spot for him would be the death of you. Agreed with hesitation, since you were glad you were out of the dorm life and regained your privacy, but it seemed that life had came to pull you back in. Jisung should be expecting your complaints if something bad happened between you and your new housemate.

From the first initial meeting, you got some of the weirdest vibe from this guy. Maybe it was the amount of black and leather he was dressed up in, or the bitchy look on his face that could kill with a single stare. How the fuck was Jisung friends with a person like this? They were the complete opposite of one another, the guy looked as if he committed first degree murders as his favourite past-time. What you meant was you were convinced that he was a sociopathic killer, and he was probably plotting yours and Jisung’s death soon.

For one person, he sure did had a lot of stuff. You three brought around eight or ten different sized carton boxes up to your apartment, not counting the two gigantic suitcases that he had to take a second trip with Jisung to go get. He must have been living in his old place for very long to have that much stuff, wonder why he got kicked out? Possibly because the landlord found the bodies with how sharp his eyes always glared at.

“Don’t worry about the rent, Minho can pay for his half.” Jisung reassured, starting his car. The engine roared loudly, it had been through a rough day of carrying all that stuff to here.

Before he left, Jisung told you one last thing. “Oh, and don’t be afraid to ask him for help around the house, Minho may look intimidating but he’s quite a sweet guy.” With that sentence stuck in the back of your head, he drove away. If you could even have enough courage to ask him to take the trash out, maybe that statement would be proven.

You did all the house chores yourself, you didn't ask for any assistance from Minho. Wether it was because you were used to having to do everything yourself, or he was just still as unapproachable as the first time you two met. But he too, barely talked to you. You heard his voice once or twice when he was on the phone, but he did not speak a full sentence to you and ought for short few words replies.

"Do you need any help?" Another voice emerged from behind your back, offering assistance.

You pulled the trash bag out of the can, "I'm good, thanks,"

"Whatever, suit yourself." Minho walked away. Not even a bit of small talk? It frustrated you of how aloof he was acting, he didn't want to get to know you at all. However, it pissed him off just as much, you would always shrug him off every-time he offered to help you. As you two had made it clear before, you hardly knew each other, and here you were living together as people of unfamiliarity.

You didn't know his last name, or how he met your three years best friend—Jisung. Neither did he held any personal information about you, he wasn't even sure which variation of your name was the correct one. Already a month has passed by and no one was willing to start up a conversation with the other person. This ice between you and Minho just kept getting thicker and colder.

Ranting on the phone, "I'm telling you, I can not get through him! I think he hate me!"

"Calm down, [Y/N], he doesn't hate you." Jisung reassured, sighing as this was the third phone call of the month that you were expressing your discontent for the same subject. "It's simple, just talk to him, even if it's small talk."

Hearing the front door opened, "Fuck, he's back, I'll talk to you later." You didn't let Jisung say 'bye', hanging up in the midst of his sentence.

Minho worked a nine-to-five job, you weren't sure of his occupation in particular. You got a sense of his routine, he would leave the house at exactly seven-fifty in the morning and usually came home around five or six—depending on the traffic that day. On few occasions, he was nice enough to bring food home for the both of you.

"Hey, you're back quite late today?" You asked, seeing the clock already hitting six at the moment.

He set down a few plastic bags on the table, "I got groceries on the way, I'll cook dinner." He explained shortly, bringing ingredients to the kitchen for preparation.

That was a first, he had never offered to cook before, much less thanking you for the meals you made for dinner. Guessed he was just hot and cold like that, and this was his way of showing his gratitude. You weren't mad, on what normal day would you have someone cook for you enjoy? You technically did everything yourself when you moved out a few years ago.

Watching his figure diligently cooking in the kitchen, it comforted you in an unusual way. He was like your own personal boyfriend—for tonight at least, he would cook and then sit at the table with you to eat, maybe he might even offer to wash the dishes. A fine, hard-working young man? Anyone who could scored him would probably be winning in life. You couldn’t hide your jealousy if he ever bring home a date.

He walked over to you, holding out a spoon with a small portion of thick orange liquid. Minho asked, “Try it, tell me if it suit your taste.”

The tangy flavour stood out immediately, he must have put something citrusy as it melt into your tastebuds. It was good, no, amazing even! This hidden talent of his was worth all the waiting you had done, you never knew Minho could be such a great chef. For a while, you thought this guy couldn’t possibly hold a knife correctly, yet you were proven wrong of your assumptions.

You nodded, the sound you made when encountered good food already told him enough. Everything smelled so mouth-watering, and the presentation was tempting you to devour everything in on sitting.

"Thanks for the food!" As soon as he placed the last dish onto the table, you immediately picked up your utensils. You could not hold yourself back when face with good home-cooked food, good home-cooked food made by an equally good-looking guy.

Minho sat down beside you—he usually sat across from you which kept a nice distance between the two of you—he was very close today. Asked he, "How is it? Good?"

You didn't hold back on your praises, "God, why didn't you cook sooner? This is actual heaven~!"

He simply smiled in a humble manner. Your face was a little puffed up when you eat, which he found quite endearing. Watching you stuffed your entire face with rice, sweet and sour ribs, and eggrolls. Flattered by how much you were enjoying it, yet concerned from how fast you were eating.

"Slow down, wouldn't want you to choke." He gazed at you as he advised.

"Unless you like it like that." Immediately, you started coughing profusely. A grain of rice flew up to your nose, making everything worse the longer it stayed stuck up there.

Minho patted your back, "Woah, are you alright?" Uh, obviously no?! You were coughing out rice over here, how could you even be remotely okay? And how did he expect you to be okay after that suggestive comment he just made? This guy was unbelievable. The smile laced with deviousness, as if he was silently planning something that would catch you off guard—which certainly did a minute ago.

He picked up a single rib and ate it with his chopsticks, he probably mind getting his hands dirty from that sticky sauce he used. How could Minho looked so graceful while eating while you were here devouring everything down like a fucking caveman. Work on your image a bit, would you? Especially when you were living with someone that wouldn't use their hands to eat ribs.

"Have you been talking to Jisung recently?" Minho suddenly questioned, setting down his bowl as to show respect.

You turned to him, confusion sitting on your shoulders and your heart sinking with a bit of guilt. By any chance, did he overheard your conversations? "Yeah, I have." Continued by another question, "What? Are you two not talking?"

Minho's eyes was bigger than you expected, now seeing him a bit closer from your distance from each other. It curved in a very pretty way, and glistened upon every reflections of his soul. You couldn't help, couldn't help but get a little sad every-time you gazed into his eyes, or when they would unknowingly stared back at you. He looked at you, as if through his eyes saw you as the most precious person to exist in the short timespan that was the human life.

"He haven't been answering my texts and calls, I don't know if he's upset with me or something?" Minho sighed, "Can you...just ask him for me?"

In a bit of hesitation, "Would it be a bit rude for an outsider to chime in? Whatever it is you and Jisung are going through, it's best if you two worked it out together...privately." You told, trying to offer other solutions.

Minho let out a tired breath, "I don't know, I'm not sure what I did wrong that made him upset with me, that's what I'm most worried about."

You patted his back, "Just talk it out with him, communication is key!" How ironic, you could hardly hold a conversation with him, and now you were here giving out communication advise? Unreliable source. You knew you shouldn't interfere with whatever beef Jisung and Minho was having between each other, but you were making it seem like you wouldn't ask Jisung for details. Or Jisung would tell you himself from how much he like to rant to you.

Minho flashed a genuine smile towards you, "Thanks, I owe you one!"

Your heart skipped a beat, just one enough for your whole system to go the very bit haywire. You were finally making some good progress with Minho, and his entire intimidating and remote façade all came crashing down when he smiled. Keep up the good work!

“Are you and Minho back on speaking terms yet?” The other line went quiet for a few seconds, you heard a sigh being let out.

Jisung replied with a question, “He told you?”

Fuck, your nosy tendencies were acting up again, it slipped out of you like a natural instinct. “No—um, yeah he did but I don’t know the details or anything! He was just wondering if you were mad at him or something since you stop contacting him.” You went on to explain, trying to tell Jisung that you weren’t intending to be impolite and simply wanted to help your friend out.

The other giggled at your tone of voice, of how freaked out he got you. You acted as if the people you were working for to take down started suspecting you to be a double agent, but unlike those action films, you were terrible at hiding the truth.

“My girlfriend don’t like the fact that I’m still friends with my exes, so she wiped out their contacts from my phone.” The whole problem was finally solved as the explanation came out.

Wait, one thing. “Minho is your ex?!” You exclaimed at the sudden realization.

Jisung was absolutely enjoying this from the other line, “What? You want him?” He teased.

Your face went red, denying the question thrown at you. This whole time, this was the relationship your housemate has with your best friend? And he had never cared to tell you about anything regarding this romance he once had? All these people do was lie. Struggling through your words, you outwardly rejected the idea. “No—! No– I don’t! I—!”

Jisung interrupted, “It’s fine, he’s all yours.”

You tried denying, “No, I don’t want him—!” Quickly being cut of by Jisung once more.

“And he’s a really great kisser—”

“Jisung, shut the fuck up!” You hanged up in embarrassment, throwing your phone away in a state of panic. Why would he tell you that? As if you needed to be more careful around Minho now that you knew these things about him. God, how did he expect you to continue living with this knowledge? Unlike Jisung, you saw Minho everyday of the week.

The door to your bedroom suddenly opened, “Are you okay? I heard a thud.” Minho was still in his work attire, a tad bit sweaty from the heated summer air, the first two buttons of his shirt were left undone. Solely from the condition of his appearance was in, you were mentally restraining yourself.

“Did you just came back?” You asked, begging that he didn’t heard your conversation with Jisung on the phone a few minutes ago.

He replied shortly, “Yeah, I’ll go shower now so we can eat.” Closing your door as he left without another word, left silently with knowing what you said earlier. He heard enough of your phone call, you were too caught up with talking that you didn’t hear the front door open. Minho was halfway across the hall to his room when he heard you shouted, his name fell out from your mouth as clear as day.

Oh, Jisung never told you that he and Minho were a thing? Now it was kind of awkward for the both of you. But if you wanted him, he wanted you too. He saw the way you would look at him, stealing glances from across the table. He was a very attractive guy, you were sure he wholeheartedly knew this, and he used it to his advantage.

Coming out of a cold shower, his hair was wet and dripping water down his back and shoulders, but at least have some respect for you by covering up his entire bare torso. At the dinner table? Was he going to be half-naked for the whole duration of dinner? He wanted you dead, you boldly claimed.

“So…how was work?” You opened up a topic, hoping he would start talking to fill the silence that was ongoing between the two of you.

Minho let out a chuckle, "Not fun." Handing you a pair of chopsticks and a ceramic bowl. That was understandable, he did looked quite worn out coming home after work.

"What do you do, if you don't mind me asking." You raised a question into his occupation.

He began picking up food from the many plates into his bowl, the wondrous scent controlled his chopsticks faster than his mind. Minho answered while pouring the meat broth over his rice, "I'm an accountant."

An accountant? Was that a code word for sex workers? No one in their right mind would go into accounting. Minho out of all people, worked as an accountant? You had no negative comments on his intelligences, or his work ethics. But accounting sounded so boring for someone as interesting as Minho, you thought what he said was a joke of some sort. Maybe he had a side hustle doing unconventional and dirty jobs.

"It's not fun, but I got bills to pay." Minho joked to lighten up the mood, filling in the empty pauses with yours and his joyful laughs.

He shook his head in a subtle yet prominent dissappointment, smiling to hide his actual emotion on his feeling of unfulfillment. "I wish I became a singer back then."

What he said piqued your interest, you looked up at him with a spark of excitement. Straight into his eyes, you asked. "You sing?"

His vocals was almost professional singer level, for a first in the short timespan of knowing him, you saw such happiness on his face. Holding the microphone as he sang you a love song, the amount of money you spent on that karaoke machine paid off. Minho wasn't wrong or thought too highly of himself when he said he should had became a singer, you would have said the same thing if you knew him sooner. And if he did, you would support him with your all.

The atmosphere got a bit hotter and hotter as the night went on, with alcohol entering the table as an uninvited guest. When a sensual song came on, the mood totally changed for better or worse. His loose t-shirt was showing some skin, it was too a little short as it was showing peeks of his toned stomach underneath. Your mind was going places, wether it was because of the alcohol getting you tipsy or it was your inner desires for intimacy.

Minho did not broke eyes-contact with you, in a hushed voice, stating that you were the only beauty he would keep in his sight tonight. Gently holding your hand in his, he placed it on his chest. Did you feel it? Under the warm and shaking palm of yours. His heart beating at a tiny bit quicker pace than usual, beating for you with all of these temptations in him.

"Minho, I should go to bed now, it's getting awfully late." You told, diverting away in a flustered mess. Yet, despite your attempt at diluting the air, Minho persuasion didn't seem to back down. Too heated, too close as you could now smell his liquor-laced breath.

Eyes half-lidded which made his desires just the more prominent, he was serious with no control. Before your lips could touch one another, a loud vibration emerged abruptly that pulled both of you out of that drunken trance.

Blindly grabbing for your phone, your eyelids were giving up as each minute continued to pass by. You didn't look at the contact name, the alcohol was taking over your system like a pernicious poison. A voice echoed out from your phone speaker, it took you a few seconds to register the other line’s speaking and its distinct frequency.

“Where is your report?! [Y/N], you are driving me crazy with your constant delays!” They roared at you, annoyed and angered.

You got off from your place on the couch, walking away with your phone in hand as you used your last few excuses to save yourself. “Seungmin, it’s not really a good time right now, can I call you back?”

Seeing you caught up with work on the line, he figured he would clean up this mess you two made on the coffee table for you. For a moment, he thought you felt it too. He might had read the room wrong, but the way you tried to avert from the situation felt almost like a reassurance for him. As if you wanted to go further with him, go little deeper, but you were unsure if he was onboard as well. He thought of apologizing, after you sober up more than the state you were in at the moment.

You swore, you couldn't remember anything from the night before. Went to bed at nearly one in the morning, woke up head-empty and half of the blankets and pillows were off your bed. Come on, you could confidently say that you did not exceed your limit. Yet as shown this morning, you had a rough night yesterday with the leftover liquor running through your veins.

You were absolutely dumb-founded when he said he was sorry for what happened last night, as if you remembered everything clearly to its very details. Let's see, you ate dinner, you talked, sang a couple songs out of boredom you assumed, then it all when foggy after that.

"What are you on about? I have no idea of whatever the hell you are apologizing for." Telling him straight up, you could not register anything he was saying to make any sense.

Frustrated, and a bit taken over by the shame from yesterday. "No, it's okay, you're better off not knowing anyway. Sorry for making a scene so early in the morning."

Minho finished the few last sips of his Americano, grabbing his laptop bag from under the dining table in a hurry. "I have to go now, see you again at six." He bid goodbye at the front door.

Before he go for the next ten hours, you told him tonight's plan. "I have a few friends over tonight, if you don't mind their companies."

"How many are coming?" Minho asked.

You tilted your head as you tried to remind yourself of the size of your party, maybe even the identities of your guests as well. "Just three. Jisung is going to be there too, if you want to see him."

You could forget anything, anything that you deemed important. But one thing that you couldn't seem to shake off your mind, as it has been bugging you ever since you knew of it, was the bygone romance Minho had with your best friend—happened to be Jisung. Now that you were non-actively trying to persue the guy, it left a bittersweet taste in your mouth. Though Jisung had affirmed that the past was in the past, you could court his ex-boyfriend all you want.

Minho looked down, "We'll talk later, okay? I'm late for work." Leaving things unfinished between you, he closed the door as he left.

You didn't work until around noon, you could work from home if you wanted, yet you still came into the office everyday since things moved faster with you being physically there. But after that call from Seungmin—head of your department, you were already considered brave for the mere thought of showing up. Despite how nice Seungmin actually was, his anger was incomparable to anything you had ever seen.

After your short shift, you went back home to get things prepare. On the way home, you had already picked up a few ingredients. Said ingredients were just a six-pack of cold beers and Gochujang sauce for the beef. The others wouldn't come for another hour, for the time being, you would have to get everything ready by yourself.

Pray to god that the table grill was still working today since you haven't brought it out for a good few years now, it was collecting dust in the very far back of your cupboard. The hangout had been planned for a little while already, you got most of the things a day or two prior.

Was Minho going to join you? His expression carried a bit of hesitation when you asked this morning, though you would be happy to have him if he did changed his mind. The more the merrier!

Hyunjin and Jisung came over just a tiny bit earlier than Felix, guessed he was caught up with some baking for desert. You and your friends were all gathered up together at the dining table, it felt crowded by how small of a space you had to eat for four people. Happy that Hyunjin’s beer wasn’t on the floor since it was standing so confidently at the edge.

“When is Minho coming home?” Jisung suddenly turned to you.

“I don’t know, usually he would be back by now.” You shrugged, just now noticing today’s abnormalities. Maybe something came up at the office, or he had something else he needed to do beside from work matter. Whatever it was, you just hoped he would get home safety.

Speak of the devil, not even ten minutes had passed and the front door softly rang of clicking keys. You came to open the door for Minho, meeting his slightly stunned expression. His glossy tired eyes under the dirty frames of his glasses gazed back at you, his hair disheveled and sticking to his forehead as if he ran his way home. God, he looked rough, but so strangely enticing at the same time.

"Hey, we were just talking about you!" You beamed.

"Sorry, I'm late. My digital files got corrupted, so I had to get I.T to check that bitch out." Minho sighed deeply, you could imagine how long it took to resolve it purely from how worn out he presented.

The others greeted him at the dining table, getting a stool for him to sit since you were out of chairs. Minho was sandwiched between you and Hyunjin, one he knew, one he didn’t. He felt the tiniest bit uncomfortable sitting in such a tight spot, especially when yours and his thighs were rubbing against each other. He didn’t mind it too much, he liked you anyways.

“Ah, Minho! This is Hyunjin, and that’s Felix, they’re my college friends.” You introduced. Though he was a year older, they treated him with a casual formality. Felt more like meeting old friends than new people, your group broke the ice a lot quicker than he had previously expected. Soon you all were drinking and chatting, learning a bit too much about each other for the first meeting.

Felix tapped out, “No more, I’m driving tonight.” With Jisung following along as most had already decided to stop drinking, including you.

You placed your hand on the shoulder of the person next to you, “Are you still going? Damn, you must know how to handle your liquor.”

Minho stared back at you as you spoke to him, his eyes half-lidded like the night before. The first few buttons were unfastened, his bare and defined chest laid underneath the thin fabric. A sheer cast of sweat made his body glistened by the overhead light, his glasses was slowly slipping off his nose bridge which reflected the sweat even more than it should have. His face was flushed red and pink everywhere, flushed from a love confession of a drunken mind. Any minute now, he might just be making out with you.

His heart and guts was burning up with these carnal desires, if your friends weren't here, you could bet he would be fucking your brains out like how you so desperately wanted him to. He wanted you just as much, so shamelessly wanted you.

Minho leaned in suddenly, his lips and hot intoxicated breath lingered your ears. Whispered gently with his mellow, sleepy tone of voice, "When are they leaving?"

“We’re just going to have some tea and brownies, they’ll be on their way soon. Why do you ask?” You returned, asking in with a bit of hesitation in the back of you mind. Could it be he was overloaded enough, or did he not like your friends? You doubted the second one, since they had so much fun together. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen.

He didn’t further elaborate, ending the subject then and there with no other explanation. His intentions were unclear, as if he was hiding something from you but you couldn’t figure out what it was. Hopefully not something shady, or would leave you with a bad image of Minho. Keep it simple, he was probably tired and he needed a bit more peace and quiet. And he couldn't get any peace and quiet if your friends were here, right?

You wanted him to take off his shirt, take every single piece of fabric on his body off, let you admire all of his grace and beauty. Occupied with drooling over your housemate, the teapot seemed to had slipped your mind.

"Fuck!" Yelped you, the heat of the hot tea finally burned your skin.

Hearing pain from your voice, Minho and the others were already there to aid you. Especially Minho, he grabbed your hand into his as soon as he noticed. Luckily for you, the injury was minor and running it through cool water was good enough.

Minho really has you in a chokehold, metaphorically speaking obviously—unless. If you two did become a thing, would it be a little awkward? Maybe not for Jisung, but you were unsure of how or what to think in a situation like this. Though, despite how much you might try to push the idea away due to having quite a lot of repect for your best friend, you couldn't help yourself.

Seduction existed in his eyes and body language, it was subtle yet effective. An absolute disaster that the two of you also lived together, which pumped you up with an amount of hormone that a high-school student would have.

The way he dressed may be ordinary, office worker fashion. His shoulders flexing in his fitted button-up, straight dress pant hugging his thighs. His thick frame glasses further accentuated his winsome features. There was no exaggeration that he, for a definite, has a lot of admirers from work. You too, would be weak on your knees if Minho was your colleague.

It was around eight o’ clock by the time you finished up, which wasn’t late—at least to your definition—but tomorrow was still a work day. Especially for Hyunjin, who was flying out of the country for a business trip, of which it was crucial for him to leave early morning for his flight.

“I’m catching a cab home.” Jisung answered when you asked him how he was going to get home without a car, since the other two already left on their separate ways.

“No, I’ll drive you home.” You offered kindly.

“You drank a lot tonight, you really shouldn’t be driving, [Y/N].” Jisung denied, pointing out the slight alcoholic haze you were in. He wasn’t wrong, you were a literally beast with the bottle. However, you were awake enough to still talk normally and sort of think, like being half asleep.

Reassuring you that he would be fine on his own, and that he would be sure to text you when he arrived at his place. You knew Jisung for too long for you to be worried about him on trivial things, it simply felt like the right thing or a common habitual saying you had going on. You just wanted to take extra precautions since you both had been drinking the whole night, and there were quite a lot of problems existing because of it.

"Don't worry about me too much," Jisung soothed you once more. However he had no regards for what a sentimental moment that was happening between the two of you, immediately back to his ways of joking to dilute the air. "You should be worrying about if Minho can keep his dick in his pants near you."

You smacked him on his shoulder, "Shut up, he's right over there!"

"I mean...I see the way y'all look at each other, we all know, [Y/N]." He commented, giving you a playful look. You wanted to murder Jisung, and you would make it look like an accident too. Were you being that obvious about your feelings? But the way Minho acted around you didn't help too!

Jisung waved goodbye to you and to Minho—who was in the kitchen, washing up dishes and shot glasses. "I'll see you on Saturday for coffee if you can even get out of bed, bye!"

Nodding, as you watched him walk away from your apartment to the main elevator, realization hit later than expected. You yelled out in annoyance but Jisung would definitely laughed it off and ignore you. "Hey, we're not fucking!"

You had to stay up to finish a few reports and lone documents, so that meant you wouldn't be able to see Minho during his morning coffee. Coming over to offer another hand in cleaning up, it wasn't a big mess but was a mess nonetheless. You might take care of everything for Minho to get some well-deserved rest that he has been needing.

Minho turned around as he felt a tap on his shoulder, "Let me take it from here, you should be getting ready for bed by now."

"No, I'll help." Minho single-mindedly refused your offer. "And too, I can't sleep with this raging boner you gave me."

Too sudden, too out of nowhere, your neck snapped to him when you heard him said those words. His expression was neutral, as natural as if he had said and had done nothing wrong. Still washing dishes and bowls, scrubbing and rinsing like he has been doing the same thing for years. Did he heard himself at least, or was it a thought that went loose.

"Oh, sorry." What the fuck were you supposed to reply to that? Thank you? Was that a compliment in disguise of some sort? Feuling the fire even more, the desires becoming stronger and intense, he had agreed to throw away his principles already.

Minho inched closer to you, his eyes on yours as he asked nicely for attention. "If I tell you that I want to fuck you right here right now, would you be mad?"

Face flushed, hot as when you would place your hand on your tea cup to check the temperature. He was evil, disregarding your state of mental stability by saying things of the same kind so out of pocket. He, for a fact, waited for the right time to confess his sins. The kettle was boiling all night, the heat and steams were his deepest thoughts.

You turned off the sink, your hands cool and wet and smell of dish soap from the water. For a split moment, you were solely looking at each other, begging either one to make a move. Minho leaned in towards your direction, his bare forearms brushed gently against yours. The alcohol in both of your bodies made the moment all the more intimate, slowly yet steadily closing your distance between each other, breaking down the wall of sexual tension you had unconsciously built that stood with all its might.

The faint taste of his strawberry chapstick on your tongue, his lips was a little sticky but so soft that you didn’t quite mind. There was no way of stopping him, as you too, did not want to stop the thrill ride that was ongoing. Letting out heavy breaths as he sucked dark red marks onto your skin, lips painting your blank canvas. May he be the only alcohol you would get drunk on, let you drink him up like your sorrows and distress.

“Oh, Minho.” You breathed, moaning out his name as his hands rushing to take off your pants. Hot tongue making a line on your stomach down to your sex, freely as his mouth worked on you like how you dearly enjoyed his food. Both your legs resting on his broad shoulders just did nothing but helped spread you wider.

Your sweet voice singing out to encourage him, using his tongue in all directions that favoured you. Stomach knotting with alcohol and dinner and a heaven he had created for you, coming onto his lips, a result of prolonged temptations.

Every fabric that touched yours and his bodies that day were all scattered on the floor by second round. Never even seen your best friend naked, and here you were admiring his ex-boyfriend’s entire unclothed figure with no ounce of shame left in yourself. You could not keep your hands away from him, so greedily touching him in different places.

Neither could wait any longer, deciding to lay each other’s pride out on the dining table. Minho placed his lips on yours, closing his eyes yet still seeing the vivid image of you in his dark mind. With each passing second, his cock making its way into the very depths of you. You hugged him quite tightly, as if you haven’t scored anyone in a while.

Your eyes told him everything he needed to know, you body twitching and squirming under his embrace, the silent language that told him every one of your secrets. Thrusting faster and harder, wanting to hear you make some more music for his aching soul. Minho grabbed your legs, pushing them against your torso as his cock went deeper into you. You could barely keep your eyes open, or could you stay present with him. This pleasure felt like a dream, a dream that softly pulled you in.

Minho kissed your lips once again, “Baby, don’t sleep on me, I’m not done with you just yet.”

But as much confidence that he may has in him, he was nearing his high and coming apart for you along the way. Minho’s vocals were heavenly when he sang for you, and were just as heavenly when he came into you. He kept going despite being out of breath and tired for you, he started something and he was going to finish it.

His name was Felix—not anyone you knew in town, the population was fairly small so everyone seemed to know everyone. He didn't care to tell you even his last name, and he had diverted the attention off him by asking more about you. A man that had a way around words, he charmed everyone with his tongue. Sentences dignified, the gentle smile felt like propaganda.

He looked, how should you put this? Out of place. Appearance-wise, his hair and eyes the colour of silver coins, they stood out like a sore thumb among the crowd of commoners. The attire he wore felt as if they were in fashion for a century back, long black cape and ruffles that was too formal for a casual outing. And the most noticeable detail was the amount of precious jewel that reflected light on every corner of which he was adorned in. Personality-wise, he was just as weird as how he presented himself to the naked eyes of mere mortal beings—he meant humans.

“Ma, you’re not being serious, are you?” You questioned, but seeing your mother avoiding gaze already answered your confusion. The betrayal you felt overpowered your disappointment, you mad, furious might be more correct. Your own family, your own blood and flesh had chosen to sell you away to the devil.

Your sister spoke nothing, quietly sewing in her chair as her ignorance shouted out loudly. And so did you brother, he only gave you a sign to behave and refused to interfere or have any participation in the topic. They were giving you away like a property, and all had agreed in silent with no thought of stopping what had been put in motion.

Felix was definitely feeding off of your frustration, he knew beforehand that his victory was set and could not be change. He had foreseen your faith as becoming his lovely wedded bride—at the very first sighting of you. Something was drawing him to you, wether it was the particular smell of your blood or melody of your heartbeat. It was something, he was sure, yet unbeknown to him.

You simply smelt exquisite, and it was tempting him every second as he shared the same atmosphere as you. A desire deep down of wanting to eat you alive, tear you apart and devour your fresh blood and guts. Not to the knowledge of yours, he was holding himself back from such a sinful act. Some sense of humanity must remain in him, if he let himself go feral, things wouldn't be too good for everyone.

With the awareness of not quite being human, at least unlike you and your family, he must to be careful of the things he was capable of doing. He could slice you open then and there with his sharp razor-like nails, your skins so frail and soft under his beastly touch.

"I'm not marrying some guy I've just met! You never let me have anything of my own!" You exclaimed, walking off to the garden behind your house. As if trying to talk it out with you, would help, you were of the stubborn type so there was no point of negotiating if you weren't going to listen. But in the end, there was nothing you could do to change your destiny. Betrothed to a man out of your will, you were put on this earth to only suffer it seemed.

You held so much resentment in your heart, you hated seeing even a glimpse of him in your sight. Wether hatred or fear, you couldn't get through his exterior. You wanted nothing to do with him, you did not want to be seen as his, and the power he now held over you. Up until the wedding, you still glared at him with the same coldness you had on the first face-to-face meeting.

His deadly pale skin contrasted heavily with his black suit, the red detailings just farther killing him. You felt dirty when he held you, a desire to throw up when he kissed your lips. But you must save face, your entire family was watching in the crowd. Your wedding wasn't held in a church like your mother had wanted, as he reasoned that it was too traditional. Though, he was nice enough to ask for your input, you got to chose the venue, the colours, the flowers. You, however, wanted no participation. Refusing to speak half a word to him despite how much you wanted to express your thoughts against this marriage.

"My dear, I'd love to see your smile." He smiled, holding your hand dearly in his. Your eyes sent daggers, you were never going to smile for the likes of him. Thought you were strong? You were like glass to him, he saw right through your frightened anatomy. All the fear and all your darkest desires. From under his scarlet lips, your husband canines looked particularly sharp for a person—as if it was miniature blades coming out from the inside of his mouth.

Felix leaned in, his velvety lips and hot breath lingered around your ears. In a threat, he whispered. "I'm going to eat you whole."

Felix's voice has always been in the deeper range, and you had gotten used to it the more you were forced to spend time with him leading up to your wedding. But when he said those words to only you to hear, you couldn't help but sense some demonic undertone—he had a double voice of some sort.

You kept that in the back of your mind, since no normal person would ever say that in a non-joking sense like he did. Dirty jokes, sure, you would get it. But when he pierced you with those grey eyes of his, sending his words to your ears of warning you, so to speak. This guy you were sealing your faith with, might just be a literally psychopath. And whatever he had up his sleeves, it was not of good intents. You wanted to protest, but you knew should not cross the line.

Your family gave you up completely after the wedding ceremony, and the only thing that you could keep for yourself was your name—since now you has officially belonged to him. This mansion that contained you felt like a prison, its doors and windows were iron bars. You dreaded having to sleep on the same bed as him, sharing the same sheets and the same sleep. The wedding ring you wore were shackles, it tied you to him. Its blood red ruby shined under the lights only reminded you of your union with a foe.

"You should eat, my dear, your food is getting cold." He tried feeding even though he, himself never ate.

You poked the steak with your knife, "This is too rare, I can't eat this?" The meat he served wasn't rare, it was straight up raw. As red as it could possibly be, fresh out of a recently slaughtered cattle. The watery blood was dripping all over your plate, you lost your appetite by simply looking at it.

"Oh, is that so? I'll tell them to make it again then." He grinned, flashing his fangs before your eyes. Grabbing you plate, he walked away with it. You wished you didn't see him licking away at the blood on your plate, that sight unsettled you.

You hated how dark this place was, and how filthy in a strangely organized manner. The curtains were always drawn, he had almost no lights and resorted to using only wax candles. A haunting feeling enveloped the entire atmosphere, this place has been here for centuries it seemed.

Whenever it was time for dinner, the dining table where you sat face-to-face with each other. You would rather starve yourself to death than having to eat dinner with him. The food wasn't bad, but the dishes he served you could be exotic to say the least. While you enjoyed some, most you shied away from. Even so, your husband always insisted that you eat, and he made sure that you wouldn't skip any meals.

"Don't touch me." You pushed his hands away, distancing yourself from him in bed. No matter how many times he tried to initiate affection, you weren't going to allow him to dirty your skin even more—especially how he left you felt on your wedding day. He should have been grateful that you agreed to sleep in the same bed as him, and he shouldn't push his luck. When you belonged to him, that didn't mean he could take away every one of your natural rights.

Your resistance excited him, it fuelled the fire of his heart. Solely being this close of a distance to you was agonizing, your bare skin peaking out of your sleepwear. The subtle line of your collar bone to the movement of your Adam's apple bouncing as you swallowed. God, and you smelt so nice after that bath, the scent of sweet innocent peony. Oh, you should be scared for your life.

Felix gently ran his fingers down a lock of your hair, "I want to taste you, my dear." To kill you would be a waste, 'cause he quite adored you, he must admit. He saw potential in you, unlike the others that he had went through. Not only were you a source of food for him, but a fun toy for him as well. He liked this bride of his, may you spent your entire insignificant life beside him.

This place was too spacious for your liking, you prayed to God everyday to give you the courage to run away. Whatever this thing was that was keeping you as his bride, hoped for the rain to wash you clean of your fear, for you to be able to slit his throat. The kindness he showed had intentions, he calculated every moves on this chest board. A monstrous being in disguise as a charming fellow, you saw those eyes flashed its true colours before, he was a breathing lie.

"I going to see my family for the weekend." You requested, watching his slim figure stood behind his desk. Pitch blackness as the light had been swallowed by the dark, a sky of which had not a single star shining. The moonlight poured against his body alongside the shadows. You couldn't see his face, or any of his beautiful features. As he hid himself within the gloom, away from you.

No response, the silence continued to fill in for his voice. "Felix, did you hear what I said? Stop ignoring me, are you deaf?"

Your husband has been acting weird all day, actually, what so different? But unalike from his usual abnormality, today he wasn't quite himself. And that has been disturbing you, despite the fact that you had never been bothered. He was fine the first few moments of dawn, but when he came back after having to go outside for a business meeting, he didn't look all too well.

You figured it could had been the heat waves, he might have gotten a heatstroke with the weather being that excruciatingly hot. Skin paler than before, sweats running down his face, his head was aching violently. For the first time in the eight months of your marriage, he was the one to push you far away from him. Every of your scolding and words passed his mind, he ignored everything and went to lock himself in his office. Fine, do as he please! You didn't want him around anyways.

"Felix—" You began.

"Leave!" He screamed out of your expectation, interrupted you. Two glowing eyes emerged from the darkness, boring its wild gaze into you.

Run, your whole body told you. Never once had he raised his voice at you, and what he did just now terrified you to your core. You could not, for the life of yours, turn around and flee. Stone had your legs became, the blood in you began to circulate in the opposite direction. This was actual horror, everything he once said came flying back into your head. And it came back in circle, to a conclusion that he was going to devour your poor mortal soul.

"Fine! If you want to raise your voice at me, I won't come home until you apologize!" Your decision was for the best. Unknown to you that if you had just stayed for a bit longer, you might not come back alive. That night, there had been a full moon. It hid him under a monotone filter, the truth would be unfold if you look a little closer.

The days you spent back home with your family were some of the greatest time of your life, you didn't like your family that much—especially what happened when he inserted himself into your life—you were simply happy to finally be away from him. Barely been a year and you already begging to be back in your parents' house.

However, like what had happened before. He showed up unexpected one morning, holding an umbrella even though there was no rain falling off the upper level. "Good morning, my dear, how did you sleep?" He asked, giving you the smile that charmed your whole family into letting him marry you.

You glared at him, not saying anything. You were upset that he took his sweet time to come win you back, but at the same time, you were irritated with the fact that he stood here face-to-face with you once more. What devotion, you must be quite special for him to be so persistent.

"My sincere apology for acting out, I can't let one bad day hurt my dearest husband. I want you back home, my dear, let's get going." No other explanation, he had made himself clear enough. Giving you less time to think then to gather your belongings, dragged you out by the wrist as his pointy nails wanted to cut your skin. Though you were scared to say the very least, but the adoration he has for you was even a lot for him to handle.

This time, you were setting your distance from each other. You were being nicer before, after he blown up at you that sent you into a state of distress, he has to make it up to you. Instead of sleeping on his bed with him, you went out to the couches in the other room to slumber in. Felix liked holding you in his arms when you two slept, now that you began your chain of denying him, he had no interest in sleeping anymore—wasn’t like he needed any, he only slept because you did.

You shoved your plate off the dining table, shattered pieces of china and gold spread over the floor beneath. “For the last time, I told you I can’t eat raw meat! What is wrong with you?!”

Maybe it was the kindness in him, the leftover humanity that you scraped clean off. He was too sweet it seemed, so teeth rotting sweet to the point where you has began to push your luck. His jaw clenched, gritting his teeth together as way to hold back. It was still present—his bit of wrath, but he wouldn't show you that. You were fucked up to ever think he was a great person, you should regret every thoughts and ideas that praise him. Remember, he was not human like you. It was all a façade, escape while you still could.

Felix grinned, picking up the broken pieces of porcelain. WIth his bare hands, you wondered if he would be clumsy enough to cut himself. He didn't make a single sound when he did, he kept the same expression of general joy on his face, even though he had made a fairly big cut on his finger. A deep black substance dripped out of his wounded finger, colouring the pure white into a dark grey. That wasn't quite right, that wasn't quite red.

"Behave, [Y/N], I don't want to be upset at you." He softy advised, walking away with the mess you made. Whatever act of protest this was, you were sure to be closer to the boundary line.

The youngest born, your parents last of hope of a son. That probably why you were the way you were, a spoiled brat. Even though you had no background of coming from a wealthy name, your parents always gave you the best things among the three of you. The love they showed had turned you sour, you never asked for those things, they gave it all to you by their own wills. You acted out the most, you were verbal and physical at times.

Because they wanted the best for you, they laid out everything for you. You should have talk back more, forcing them to acknowledge the fact that you wanted nothing to do with their plans. You hated this marriage with all your heart, he just put more salt upon your open wounds. He made this unruliness of yours to intensified, it left a bitter taste in your mouth whenever he called you his husband.

To be honest, you were a bit repulsed by the idea of getting marry to a man. Sure that time has changed but you had a lack of interests in guys. There was two reason why you agreed on letting him marry you. One, because your family forced you into this foolish marriage. And two, 'cause the femininity of his reassured you a little—but you felt threatened by it as well.

If he was born a girl, you would feel more comfortable being around him. A pretty face that you would never want to see dripping with tears. But since Felix was not one, you felt perplexed and hatred every day. You hated him, but God did you find him absolutely breath-taking. He was a guy full of charms and he was just too amiable for your liking, you almost felt bad for treating him like shit.

"I don't care, I'm not going." You crossed your arms in front of your chest, telling him with the same distant look on your face.

Expression monotonous then turned slight annoyed, but he smiled it through. "Dear, we never do anything together." He began, "Let's use this opportunity to work on our relationship, I'm really trying but I'm not seeing you putting in effort."

"Take the hint, this marriage was out of my will!" You coldly spat. That was the truth, he admitted. Your vexation was totally acknowledged, but one with such patience as him could get irritated meant you were taking this all out of hand. He tried, his determination to get you to like was admirable. So persistent, the devotion to you was driving him into absolute insanity. An internal debate kept going on in his mind the more you stayed with him, wether to kill or not.

Because of you, he has not went out for hunts. But also because of you, he desperately needed one. He did saw you as food for the first few months, however he knew that you worth more than that. Your insides were red, and red excited him. Desire to explore every part of you, he wanted your whole heart. Hearing your heart beating every night, under your soft and fragile layer of skin. Oh, how much control he had learned to keep himself from tearing you open. In a way, you urged him to commit a sinful act with you simply being you. After marrying you, he was sure that his place in hell was set.

His nails inches away from cutting you, "Don't be bad." He warned once more.

Like your whole false happy marriage, you were forced out of the house for an event you strongly did not want to go. He chose your clothes for you, since the clothes you wore from your parents was very in with the beggars. Learn to accept your new status after marrying into a name of nobility. How could you wear a ruby ring while your clothes has rips and tears? This should not be allow, how could he let his husband go out and dirty his title like that.

You could not be more uncomfortable, in these obnoxious clothing and in this crowded atmosphere of unfamiliarity. You had only Felix to rely on, you were stuck to him 'cause you had none other choices. This room reeked of rich snobs, flaunting their wealth and power in your face. You would never believe someone would actually want to live a life like this, surrounded by material goods and shallow people. Was it only the status that kept them going? You would rather be poor and begging than be in a pathetic state like you were right this moment.

When he was busy talking to others who were of his level, you had accidentally strayed away. Standing in the reception with a glass of champagne in hand, tonight you were going to drink all your sorrow and regrets away. If you run now, what were the chances of him searching for you? Running home to your parents would be shameful of you, and there was no way you would survive another hour in these clothes. The corset you wore felt as if it was crushing all your ribs, pressing your guts against each other unlike how they were supposed to be. This was inhuman, you declared!

"Hey, aren't you a pretty thing?" A voice of a siren called, his eyes fixed on you.

You glared at the stranger, "I'm not some chick, leave me be." Some drunkard must had thought they might have a chance to get lucky tonight.

"Your husband," The unknown man began, "you know he's going to kill you, right?"

That was weird conversation starter, why was some random guy telling you things of this matter? Your husband was going to kill you? As if you haven't picked up on these clues, you could see the madness in the glints of his ashen eyes. He was out for blood, and you were quite convinced that you had made the mistake of marrying a sociopathic killer.

Bringing the glass to your lips, "So? Death is better than being married to that crazy bastard." If Felix ever heard you talking bad about him like you were doing with a complete stranger, he wouldn't be surprised but it would still be enough to make him sad. You made him want to give up, yet at the same time encourage him to try harder. Until all the things you would say about him was only praises and total fondness.

"Do you want me to kill your husband?" The man asked, the question absolutely unexpected.

You smirked, "Oh yeah? Not if he gets to you first."

He chuckled, his laugh soon died down as the tone shifted. "Trust me," Pulling out a pistol from his coat's pocket, "I've been at it for years, one shot and he's gone for good."

Wooden stake had been updated into another modern solution, now that some individuals has firearms. From wood to bullets, specially made for eliminating vampires. A single silver bullets laced with the poison of a single morning-glory, it was said to break down vampires from the very inner core for the most efficient result.

"If you're so good at whatever it is that you do, go on and kill my husband." You set down the empty glass, wiping what it left on your lips. "My thanks in advance."

You walked back into the venue, the party was still going on for what already seemed like hours on end. As you saw your husband looking for you in the crowd, you laughed knowing his foreseen fate you had just set up for him. After this, you were going to pack your stuff and take all his money. It seemed, you were the one with straight-up malice in this relationship.

"There you are, my dear, I thought I lost you." Felix wrapped his arm around your corseted waist.

You said nothing, you wore a cheery expression to cover up your sins. God may has mercy on his pitiful, immortal soul, but you had none. You suffered from being in his hands to toy with, now he would suffer too. To your beliefs, people were filthy and born unholy. None could ever fully cleanse themselves of their own natural wickedness. Wether it was from your hands or the ones of the hunter you unknowingly encountered, you wanted him dead.

Caught in your beauty, a deadly trap that held him in a trance. Before you could blink, it ended all too early. One of his earlobe split in two, the black liquid began to dripped out of him again. The ruby stud he had on dropped to the carpeted grown beneath.

Felix grabbed your throat, "You're going to fucking pay for this!" He knew, he knew it all along. He knew how much you hated him, you despised every part of him. And to think that he did not foreseen the possibility of you wanting to get rid of him, he could not be more disappointed in himself. But what he could not forgive himself was that he was still so fond of you, despite the fact you had someone carried out an assassination on him.

His hand held tightly on your wrist, pulling you out of the event venue. No words were exchanged during the car ride home, he was enraged that he did not notice his sharp nails digging into his bleeding arm. There was a reddened ring around your wrist, printed onto your weak skin.

"If you say a word," He interrupted the prolonged silence between you two, "I can't promise your fate tonight."

You kept your mouth shut, there was no turning back—as if you even could do so. Sealed, between you and him, this god-forsaken marriage. Who won? Was it you or him? This love felt like a game of Russian Roulette, you were shooting your bullets and seeing what hit. But in the run, you shot yourself dead. You were the cause of your own downfall, this attitude wasn't getting you anywhere.

Sitting on the bed you two should had shared, he brought you back to the place your dreams twisted and turned into never-ending nightmares. He was pacing around the room, angrily screaming nonsense that slipped your mind. The frustration knitted on his eyebrows, your lack of respond just further fuelled his blazing flame.

Felix grunted, "How could you? Your enmity for me is apparent, and even I recognized."

A face of utter woe, pure bewilderment that he unwillingly bore. HIs tone filled you with sole guilt, "But to think you would go as far as to try getting rid of me? I expected better from you, and you let me down with no remorse it seems."

He glared at you, death laced the glints on his pale hue eyes. "To label me as heartless, I think I lost it to you."

Taking the tight corset apart for you, finally letting you breathe comfortably after a long while. But before that sweet relief could enter your bloodstream, he stole another one from you as he tore the many hooks of your garment. It fell off your figure, your dignity laid bare for him to feast on.

"What are you—?!" His tongue on your neck cut in between your sentence, wet and hot all over you like candle wax. His fangs lingered as honed blades readied to cut into you. Your strained breath hitched, an agony sunk into your skin and into your veins. Grasping the fabric of his shirt for support, the blood that once ran through your body had now turned to a new direction.

A moan escaped your shaky lips, so painful yet this guilty euphoria was killing you. He was quite greedy, kept wanting more and not give a single care for your sanity. You were close to falling out of your own head in his arms, he pulled away before you were able to. He was right to save you for this time, every second of his hard work was poured into this one innermost moment. His devotion paid off, at least 'til the end of your days, he would be faithful to only.

You didn't want to let him have his ways, but the lust he filled you up with couldn't hold back. As his mouth worked on you, licking up your hardened cock. His fangs teasing you as it gently brushed on the shaft. You hid your face, the humiliation you were being subjected to.

"Felix—" You shamefully called out, his many soft silver locks wrapped nicely around your fingers.

Felix kissed your tip, going back in without another break. Yet before you high came for you, he pulled away. The saliva and stray blood left over on the corners of his poisonous lips, it ached you with the abrupt pause. Your heart was beating faster than it ever had, you could not take a proper breathe with him edging you on like this.

You whined, begging him to bring you back to that state of pleasure. The first ever time you would lose all your self-respect, you threw it away to be his.