Sweat beat down your forehead as bodies pressed against bodies. It was hot, but not hot enough to make you want to leave. Even if you did, there was no way you could find your way out in the crowd behind you.

The stage was so close, if you reached out, you could probably touch your fingertips to it. You ran a hand through your hair and threw your head back, taking the very small moment between songs to swallow whatever was left in your water bottle.

Heesung’s gaze met yours for the briefest second. You wiped your mouth and turned away, face burning. He was a flirt, you knew that. He flirted with lots of fans—even knowing this, that look still sent shivers throughout your body.

Your thighs pressed together, and for the rest of the night , you tried to avoid watching him. It had just been a weird coincidence. You had just been in the right place at the right time. So—then why did it feel like his eyes were boring into the side of your head every other minute? And just now—he couldn’t be could—

Oh crap!

He was looking. Another coincidence?

You’d been standing in the VIP pit all night, he was bound to notice you, even if it was just a passing glance, and you had been to an ENHYPEN fan signing not too long ago. Maybe he thought he recognized you, but couldn't remember from where?

But he wasn’t turning away, and the concert had just ended so why was he still staring? Why did it feel like you were trapped in a game you hadn’t known you were playing?

Girls around you waved goodbye to the group as they exited the stage—you would have to—but you couldn’t move. You were stock still, his one-way gaze holding you in place. And then you were being escorted toward the exit of the venue by security.

Normal. This was normal.

“Excuse me,” until it wasn’t, “please follow me.”

You paused, covering your mouth with the back of one of your hands. She was wearing all black, and a headset wrapped around her head—it didn’t take a genius to figure it out, but still, you asked. “Who are you?”

“Please,” she smiled, adjusting her mic, "just follow me.”

Who in their right mind would follow a random woman into a dark alcove? But at an ENHYPEN concert, who wouldn’t?

The hallway was wide, the walls a muddy gray, a stark contrast to the brightness that had appeared once the venue’s lights had been flipped on. The headset-girl led you to a room, but there was no name printed on the door. Perhaps it was a waiting room… For… Like… fan-meetings? But as far as you knew, there wasn’t anything set up beforehand, and you would’ve certainly remembered if you’d signed up for something like that—more so if you’d won.

Less things began to add up as you walked around the room. It appeared to be in-use—though there was no one present at the moment—but not for permanent stays.

You ran your fingers over the black, leather couch in the center. Maybe you should turn the lights on so you wouldn't bump into anything—but where were they? Damn, you should have asked that Unni.

Your breath caught in your throat just as you spun around; the door was swinging open and then closing in less than a second, allowing only one person to enter. “Who—” woah, what was going on with your voice? It was trembling. Were you that nervous?

Your hands pressed to your cheeks and you took a step back. “I think there’s been some confusion.”

“What?” It sounded almost like a laugh.

You held your breath as his feet moved him forward. You fell into the middle of the couch, holding your breath as his arm shot out, capturing you between himself and the cushion behind you. “A—misunderstanding...”

Your eyes went wide, your cheeks flushed from more than the heat, and your thighs squeezed without any warning. “I don’t think so.” His eyes were pools of midnight, they captivated you with such intensity that you thought you’d pass out if this didn’t cease.

Your shaky inhale and a shuddering exhale had him grinning. He traced your jaw with the tips of his fingers, trailing them down your neck. He smelled like cedarwood and something tart, and if you didn’t figure out what the hell was going on—wait…

Maybe you were dead?

Dehydration? It was a possibility.

An unwanted whimper fell from your lips when his other hand gripped your thigh. “What’s wrong?” He was mocking you, that expression told you everything.

You swallowed. What the actual hell was going on? “Hey—wait—” You pulled your hands in front of your face. He was so close. Heeseung pried your hands away.

“You always look so pretty.” His breath coated the tip of your ear and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. “I remember you—” he said. “A few months ago.” He pulled away, looking down at you with the hungriest eyes you’d ever seen. “You looked so innocent then, too.”

Confusion warped around explanations in your head. “You know me?”

A cold laugh fell from his lips and he threw his head up. “Know you?” He shook his head, hand shooting out. Long, warm fingers wrapped around your throat and he squeezed, grinding against you. “Of course I do.”

A gasp formed around your mouth when his hand around your neck forced you to look up.

“You’re mine.”

 “Wh—” you choked when his grip tightened.

“I own you.”

One of his fingers slipped between your legs, teasing at your panties.

“Soaked, are we?” He titled his head and damnit if that wasn't the hottest thing you'd ever set your sights on.

You bit down, your jaw locking when his hand slipped past the fabric protecting you. He worked you up slowly, and then he was pumping until you were squirming with pleasure instead of fear.

“That’s right,” he murmured against your temple.

You met his hand with each curl, digging your nails into his shoulder. He strained against your hold, laughing at your whine. He’d stopped moving his fingers, why? You clenched around nothing now.

“Don’t worry.” He undid the clasp of his belt, “I’m still going to ruin you.”

It was too late to realize that this was probably really wrong. He was your idol, your bias—he wasn’t someone who whispered dirty things into your ear and took gratification in toying with your head. You shuddered when he lined his tip with your entrance. Your hands gripped around his forearms.

“Look at you.” He scoffed, forcing your chin down, “Look at what a slut you are.”

His free arm wrapped around your waist, and with one thrust of his hips, he filled you.

Your screams were muffled by his palm and you bit down, saliva coating the soft skin. Tears streaked down your cheeks and he absolutely adored it.

“God—” he groaned as your body convulsed around him, sucking him deeper and deeper. He was losing himself, but hadn’t he already lost?

Before all of this—a few months ago, the second his gaze had caught hers? That moment seemed like forever ago, it seemed like he’d been without her for lifetimes—and tonight, when he’d seen her in the crowd—at the very front, he knew. He just knew he had to have her.

That outfit she wore—clean on the outside—but he knew what lay beneath. It all now lay stretched, drenched, and filthy.

On her main social media, she was a private person—at least that’s what most people would’ve thought when looking at her page. But after digging—lots of digging—he’d discovered another side to her. The side that no one but the night life of Seoul knew.

She was dirty—she was dangerous—but fuck everything if he couldn’t desroy that perfect little image she’d built up. Even if it was in secret like this—she was his. No one else would ever touch her. His. She was his.

He groaned as her walls squeezed around his length. His slut. His.

INSPIRED BY : What You Need - The Weeknd

(+ Slow It Down - Ty Dolla $ign)

What could be worse than going to the restaurant with your boyfriend a week after you found out that he’s been cheating on you? Oh right, you don’t know. Ethan orders for himself without asking what you're having first, catches himself halfway through, and asks you anyway. You already know what you want because you always know what you want here.

His phone sits face up next to his water glass. It lights up twice in the first ten minutes. Both times he glances down, thumb hovering, before setting it back exactly where it was. "Sorry," he says, not looking up from the screen the third time. "Work thing."

You nod like that made sense. You've heard about Heeseung's terrible taste in restaurants, about his coworker’s dog, about traffic on the way here ; three separate stories he's started and abandoned mid-sentence because his attention keeps sliding sideways toward that phone.

"You could put it away," you say, tired enough that it comes out flat.

"I know. I will." He actually doesn't.

The waiter brings your food and Ethan eats fast, he’s already somewhere else in his mind. You ask about his sister's move to Daegu and get half an answer before his phone buzzes again and he actually picks it up this time, thumb moving across the screen, brow furrowed like the message requires real concentration.

You watch him read it. You watch his jaw do a small tightening, and you already know before he opens his mouth. "I have to go in," he says. "They need someone to cover a shift. I'm really sorry, I know we just got here."

Work doesn't call people in at 9:47 at night for office emergencies. You've known things like this for months now, small inconsistencies that don't line up if you actually stack them next to each other, which is why you stopped stacking them.

"Now?" you ask anyway, knowing how it will end up.

"I wouldn't if I didn't have to." He's already reaching for his wallet, already half out of his seat. "I'll make it up to you. Promise."

You tell him it's fine and to go, that you'll finish eating and head home. He kisses the top of your head, distracted, already checking his phone again as he walks toward the door, and you sit there with a plate you've lost interest in and a boyfriend-shaped absence across the table.

Your phone buzzes. Heeseung.

Heeseung [9:54 PM]

you good?

saw ethan's location just switched to "downtown" lol at 9pm

You stare at the message for a second too long before you type back.

Y/N [9:54 PM]

he had a work thing apparently

Heeseung [9:55 PM]

mhm. sure he did

You almost put the phone down.

Y/N [9:55 PM]

please don’t start

Heeseung [9:57 PM]

wasn't gonna say anything. i'm very good at not saying things

Y/N [9:57 PM]

you're the worst at not saying things btw

Heeseung [9:58 PM]

rude.

i've been holding back SO much tonight and this is the thanks i get

You find yourself smiling at your phone, alone at a table for two, food going cold in front of you. Even though you couldn’t care less.

The waiter comes by to clear Ethan's plate and asks if you need anything else, and you're halfway through saying no when your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung [10:05 PM]

where are you?

sending someone to get you before you sit there being sad and pathetic

Y/N [10:05 PM]

wdym I’m not sad and pathetic

Heeseung [10:06 PM]

you're eating alone at a restaurant your boyfriend just ditched. what else could it be?

address please.

You give him the name of the place mostly because arguing about whether you're pathetic or not would take more energy than you have left right now. Fifteen minutes later Heeseung walks in wearing a jacket you’ve seen plenty of times, scanning the room until he finds you, and drops into the seat across from you like he's been there the whole time.

"You didn't have to come, you know." you state.

"I know that very well. I wanted to see you sad and pathetic in person." He picks up the menu even though you're clearly done eating, flips through it without really looking. "Also I was bored."

"Comforting."

"I try." He waves the waiter over before you can stop him, orders a drink for himself, and when the bill comes a few minutes later he reaches over and takes it before you can even move your hand toward it.

"Heeseung."

"Yeah?"

"Give me that."

"No." He's already pulling out his card, not even glancing at the total.

"I can pay for my own food."

"Never said you couldn't." He hands the card to the waiter without looking at you, and something about how easy it is for him : he acts like it costs him nothing and like it’s something he has to do but does it naturally. The inside of your stomach is tingling and obviously not because of the food you had earlier.

"I'm being serious, I don't need you to—"

"I know you don't need me to." He lifts his gaze and looks at you with less joking in it than a second ago. "I want to. Learn how it’s not the same."

"That's not the point."

"What's the point, then?"

You freezes, not an answer or a talk back could reach your mind, and he grins like he's won something.

"Aw, look at that," he says. "I missed that face."

"I fucking hate you."

"You don't. You're just annoyed you can't win an argument about who gets to pay for your dinner, which, by the way, is a very weird thing to be stubborn about."

"It's called having self-respect."

"It's called being difficult for no reason, but sure, we can call it self-respect if that makes you feel better." The card comes back and he signs without checking the receipt, tucks it away, and stands up casually. "Come on. I'm parked badly and I will get towed."

"You fucking asshole."

"You keep saying that like it's news." He holds his hand out, not really an offer so much as an assumption you'll take it, and you do.

He gets in to start the car, and has a cigarette lit before you've even got your seatbelt on. The window cracks an inch, cold air cutting through the smoke smell that's already filling the small space.

"You know those are terrible for you," you say.

"Groundbreaking information. Thank you." He takes a drag, one hand on the wheel, not pulling out of the spot yet.

"I'm dead serious. You should stop."

"I should do a lot of things." He glances at you sideways, smoke curling out the window. "You should stop pretending you don't know your boyfriend's cheating on you. We're both just walking around not doing things we should, I guess."

The car goes quiet except for the engine idling. You look straight ahead at the brick wall of the restaurant, at nothing. "I don't know what you're talking about," you say in a breathy tone.

"Sure you don't." He's not looking at you now either, tapping ash out the window, voice even, done pretending along with you. "His location switches off every other night. He checks his phone at dinner like it's gonna bite him if he doesn't. Tonight he left you at a restaurant for a 'work thing' that doesn't exist, and you didn't even ask him to explain it properly. You just let him go."

"That's not—" You stop and start again. "It's complicated."

"It's really not." He finally pulls out of the spot, one hand on the wheel, cigarette still between two fingers. "You don't want to deal with it. Which, fine, your business. But don't sit there and tell me you don't know, because I’m aware for the phone thing tonight too, and you didn't look surprised. You looked like someone who's done the math already."

There isn't a version of an answer that isn't just agreeing with him. So silence is the best option you could have at this moment.

"I'm not trying to make it worse, okay?" he says, softer, some of the edge gone out of his voice. "I just don't really feel like watching you sit through dinners like that and pretend it's normal."

"Why do you even care?"

He takes another drag and lets it out slow.

"Good question," he says finally without elaborating further, yet you don’t want to know more of it, because you're not sure you want to hear the answer any more than he seems to want to give it.

He drives you around the city for a while then turns left instead of right at the light that would've led back toward your apartment. The road opens up eventually, streetlights getting sparser, and then there's the smell of salt before you see the water. He parks in a mostly empty lot facing the beach, cuts the engine, and the quiet that follows feels different from the quiet in the restaurant parking lot. It’s less loaded.

"Why are we here?" you ask.

"I needed air that doesn't smell like your ex's cologne." He's already pulling his jacket off, tossing it into the back seat. Underneath he's just in a black tank top, and it's warm enough out that it makes sense, summer nights here never really cooling off the way you'd expect. "Also I like it here. Don't make it a big deal."

"He's not my ex."

"Give it time." He says it lightly, already opening his door, not wanting to hear you argue back. "Come."

You get out as sitting in the car alone would feel worse than following him. The sand is cool yet the air isn't, and he walks ahead of you toward the water without checking if you're behind him, hands in his pockets and shoulders loose.

"You could've warned me we were going to the beach," you say, catching up. "I'm in the wrong shoes for this."

"You're in shoes. That's more preparation than I did."

"You're wearing actual sneakers."

"Correct. Preparation." He glances back at you, the corner of his mouth pulling up. "Take them off if you're gonna complain the whole time."

"I'm not complaining, it was just a statement."

"Same thing, coming from you."

You shove his shoulder, and he barely moves as he laughs, low and light, as your annoyance is the most entertaining thing that's happened to him all week. The water's dark ahead of you, waves you can hear more than see, you can feel the knot in your belly loosening up.

"So this is the fresh air you talked about," you say, kicking your heels off like he told you to, sand cold between your toes. "Very noble of you, considering your lungs are probably black at this point."

"They're totally fine."

"You just smoked an entire cigarette in a closed car ten minutes ago."

"The window was cracked."

"Barely an inch."

He stops walking. He turns to look at you, and there's a specific kind of offense on his face, you can see that’s it’s fake. "Okay, you don't get to smoke-shame me and then act like you weren't the one who wanted to eat a hundred tons of sugar last week."

"That has nothing to do with your lungs."

"It's about hypocrisy, Y/N." He's already crossing his arms, which should've been your first warning. "You wanna talk about people ruining their bodies, we can talk about those candies."

"That's not remotely the same thing, and you know it."

"I don't know anything. I'm just a guy with fucked up lungs, apparently, standing here, getting attacked—"

"I didn't attack you, I made a freaking statement—"

"—run," he says, it's not really a warning and it's already happening, he's moving toward you before the word's even fully out. You don't think and you just run, already laughing three steps away, sand slowing you down and you probably look embarrassing and isn't because he's not much faster, both of you stumbling across the beach. He's close behind you, close enough that you can hear him laughing too, breathless, yet you don't look back and just keep going toward nothing in particular, the water loud beside you and your own heartbeat louder, making you forget why you were sad in the first place.

"Slow down!" you yell back at him, though you're the one speeding up. "Your lungs can't take this!"

"They're taking it fine, actually—" He's gaining on you, voice rougher now from the running, the laughing, both. "Better than yours, probably, all that complaining you do about stairs—"

"I don't even complain about stairs—"

"You complained about stairs yesterday. To my face."

"That building has no elevator, that's a legitimate—" You don't get to finish, because his hand catches your arm, hard enough to throw your balance off, and you're laughing too much to fight it anyway.

"Got you—"

"You didn't—"

He did. Your feet tangle in the sand and his do too trying to compensate, and there's a second where it could've gone fine, where you both could've just stopped, but now you're both going down, and he twists at the last second so he hits the sand first and you land half on top of him, knocking whatever air he had left in those apparently terrible lungs straight out of him.

"Okay," he wheezes, staring up at the sky, chest moving fast under you. "Okay, that one's on me."

You're still laughing, you can't stop, face pressed near his shoulder, sand in your hair, in your clothes, everywhere. "You caught me on purpose."

"I caught you very badly on purpose."

"Your lungs are so fucked."

"Please stop talking about my lungs." He's laughing too, you can feel it more than hear it, his chest shaking under where you're braced against him, and neither of you moves to get up right away, and it takes a second before either of you remembers there's a reason you're supposed to pull away from this.

"Great," you say, still not moving off him. "Now I'm covered in sand. This was a bad idea."

"It was my favorite plan I've had all week."

"You've had bad judgment all week, then." You finally push yourself up, brushing sand off your arms, off your legs, a losing battle. He sits up slower, still catching his breath, watching you try to fix your hair with zero success.

"I'm also thirsty," you add.

"There's water in the car."

"Warm water in a car that smells like cigarettes doesn't count."

He stands, holds a hand out to pull you up, and doesn't let go right away once you're on your feet. He looks at you for a second, he seems like he's deciding something. "Come to mine. Shower, water, whatever you need. It’s better than dropping you off covered in sand at eleven at night."

"Heeseung, I don't need—"

"You keep saying that word like it changes anything about what I'm gonna do anyway." He's already walking back toward the car, keys spinning once around his finger. "Come on."

His apartment turns out to be nothing like you expected, which annoys you a little, because you'd built some idea of his place in your head ; messy, small ; and instead the elevator opens straight into something enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows facing the city, furniture that looks like it costs a hundred racks, which does.

"This is insane," you say, standing in the doorway, still not fully inside. "You live here? Alone?"

"Don't sound so betrayed about it."

"I pictured you in, like, a studio apartment with a mattress on the floor."

"Wow. Thank you for that image of me." He drops his keys on the counter, shrugging like the apartment doesn't warrant comment. "Bathroom's down the hall, second door. There's towels in there. I'll find you something to change into that isn't full of sand."

You still haven't moved from the doorway, taking in the size of it, the quietness of a place too clean to belong to someone who bickers the way he does. "How do you even afford this?"

"Very boring answer. Ask me another time." He's already disappearing down the hall, calling back over his shoulder. "Towels. Bathroom. Go before you track sand into my very expensive rug."

You linger by the counter instead of heading for the bathroom yet, arms crossed, sand still clinging to your ankles. "Okay, but—when am I getting home tonight? I have work in the morning."

He reappears from the hallway with a folded shirt and shorts in hand, tossing them onto the couch for you. "Never. You live here now. I've decided."

"Heeseung."

"It's already, what, eleven thirty? You're covered in sand, your options are a shower here or a shower at home in forty-five minutes of traffic smelling like a beach." He shrugs, entirely too pleased with his own logic. "I'll drive you back whenever. Or you sleep on the world's most comfortable couch and I take you home before work. Very generous offer, considering my lungs are apparently on their way out."

"That's not what I asked."

"Yeah, and I answered better questions in my life." He nods toward the hallway, unbothered. "Go shower. I'm not driving anywhere until you stop smelling like low tide."

You get out of the shower first, dressed in the shirt and shorts he left you, both too big, sleeves falling past your hands. When you find him in the kitchen he's just in sweatpants, no shirt, hair still wet, and you stop in the doorway far too long before catching yourself.

"What?" he says, not even looking up from the glass of water he's pouring.

"Nothing. Put a shirt on, it's weird."

"It's my apartment, and it's hot. I'm not putting a shirt on for you." He slides the glass across the counter toward you, finally glancing over, and whatever's on your face makes something shift in his. "Are you flustered right now?"

"No."

"You're a little flustered."

"I'm annoyed." You grab the glass just to have something to do with your hands, and drink half of it too fast. "Some warning would've been nice."

"A warning for what, my own kitchen?"

"For the— " you point directly at him, at the general fact of him, "—situation."

"There's no situation. This is just what I look like." A shit eating grin appears on his face, fully enjoying this, leaning against the counter. "You can look away if it's that distressing."

"I'm not even looking."

"You're looking right now."

"I'm looking at you to argue with you, and you look so dumb right now."

"Sure it is." He pushes off the counter, grabs a pack of cigarettes off the counter, and heads for the balcony door without the will to talk back. You follow, mostly out of spite, and the air outside is warm, the city spread out below, making the apartment's size make a little more sense. He lights up, leaning on the railing, and you stand a few feet away, arms crossed against a chill that isn't really there.

The smoke drifts toward you on the next breath of wind and you cough slightly, covering the lower half of you face with your hand.

His eyes stay on the city while a silent chuckle almost escapes him. He shifts slowly, moving to stand on your left instead, angling himself so the smoke pulls away from you and out over the railing. A quietness installs itself between you.

He flicks ash over the railing, and glances at you. "You want a drink or something? I've got wine, I think there's soju somewhere too."

"Wine would be good."

He disappears inside for a minute, comes back with two glasses and the bottle tucked under his arm, he sets everything down on the small table between the balcony chairs. You sit, and he drops into the chair across from you, pouring without measuring, more in yours than his.

"How did we even meet?" you say, mostly to fill the silence, turning the glass by its stem. "Like, before Ethan and I were even together. I feel like I always just knew you as his friend."

"You did. That's exactly what happened." He takes a sip to give himself time to recoil on the memory. "We met at that party his roommate threw, where it had the terrible speaker system. You spilled something on my shoes and apologized for like ten minutes straight."

"I did not apologize for ten minutes."

"You did. I still remember the shoes, they were new."

"You're exaggerating."

"I'm really not, I still have them." He leans back, glass balanced on his knee. "Then Ethan started talking about you nonstop for like a month before he actually got the balls to ask you out. It was unbearable. I heard about your laugh before I heard you laugh."

You laugh a little despite yourself. "That's embarrassing," you say.

"For him, mostly. I didn't say anything." He swirls the wine, not quite looking at you now. "You were different back then. I mean—Not different-different. I just think that you were, like, less careful about everything."

"Careful how?"

"You used to argue with me for fun. Now half the time you're arguing with me because you're arguing with something else and I'm just the nearest target." He says in a chuckle. "I liked the fun version better. Not that this version's bad, though."

You take your time before replying. Your fingers slowly roll the glass between your palms as you watch the wine reflect the light, letting the silence fill the space while you think.

"I didn't notice it happening," you say finally.

"Fair enough. That's usually how it goes."

He gives you time. He sits beside you in comfortable silence, his glass resting against his knee while the distant sounds of the city soften the moment.

"You know he doesn't deserve the amount of patience you're giving him, right?" he says eventually, not looking at you when he says it, trying to make it easier for both of you. "Whatever he's doing, wherever he's going at nine at night—you're sitting there making excuses for him. I watched you do it tonight."

"It's not that simple."

"It’s obviously not simple, we both know that. I'm saying you deserve someone who doesn't make you rehearse excuses for him in your head before he's even said anything." He looks over at you, his gaze serious. "You're smart. You're funny, when you're not exhausted, which lately is rare. You shouldn't be spending this much of yourself on someone who’s always checking his phone at a dinner with you."

"You don't know everything that's going on, so stop—"

"I don't need to know everything. I already know enough." He sets his glass down, leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "I'm not trying to convince you to do anything, okay? I just don't think you hear it enough, so I'm saying it. You deserve better than what he's giving you. That's it."

You look down at your glass instead of at him, throat tight from what you’ve been holding since you found out.

"Like it matters to you, anyway." you mumble quietly.

He lets the silence settle between you once more. Taking a deep breath, he seems to consider his next words carefully, revealing nothing before he's ready.

"It does," he declares finally. "I'm not gonna make it more complicated than that tonight."

You let the subject rest, and he doesn't volunteer anything more. Together, you sit quietly, listening to the muted sounds of the city while the wine slowly warms in your hands. Somehow, the silence says more than words you could find.

After some time, you both decided to watch a movie to ease everything out. Now, you’re curled up on the couch, the bottle of wine you two polished off leaving a soft warmth in your veins. The TV flickers with some late-night drama that you couldn't force yourself to be invested in even if you wanted to. Your head feels pleasantly light, and whatever usually fuels your arguments has faded, leaving behind nothing more than lazy teasing.

A new scene unfolds on screen : dark lighting, tangled sheets, the actors lost in a heated and sensual moment. The woman arches under her partner’s touch as his hands glide slowly over her body ; caressing, teasing, worshipping. The sounds are low and breathy, filling the room.

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and the wine makes you bold. You glance at Heeseung beside you. "I…I’ve never done that with Ethan," you murmur, voice coming out as a whisper. "Not like that, at least."

Heeseung’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide with real shock. "Wait—what? Never? Not even close?"

You shake your head, biting your lip as embarrassment and frustration mix with the alcohol. "No. It’s always been…rushed. He never wanted to explore things or try new things. Like he doesn’t have the patience for it." Your gaze lingers on the screen for another second before returning to him. "Do you…know how to do that? Like, really touch someone like that?"

Heeseung keeps his eyes on you, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. Something unspoken passes between you. "Y/N…" he starts, voice low and careful, a flicker of heat in his eyes.

You shift slightly, scooting an inch closer on the couch. "Show me? I want to know everything. Touch me the way he’s touching her. Please?"

He swallows, and finally slowly nods, setting his empty glass aside. "Alright. But tell me when it's too much, okay?" His voice has dropped, rougher now. He reaches out, starting gentle. His fingers brush along your arm, tracing slow lines from your wrist up to your shoulder. "Like this," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "Pay attention to how your skin feels under my hand." His palm flattens against your collarbone, sliding down your side in one smooth caress, mapping the curve of your waist through your shirt.

You shiver, the wine amplifying every touch. Emboldened, you lean into him, and he scoots closer too, until your thighs press together. His other hand joins in, fingertips grazing your neck, then trailing down your chest with feather-light pressure.

"Tell me what feels good," he instructs softly, his hand venturing lower, stroking along your hip and the top of your thigh. "Here?" He squeezes gently, then lets his palm glide back up, bolder now.

The space between you disappears as you both shift nearer, bodies turning toward each other. Your hand finds his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat, and slide up to his neck. His breath grows heavier. His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, caressing bare skin ; warm, exploratory, following the line of your ribs.

You look up at him, lips parted. He meets your gaze for half a second before closing the distance. Tongues meet, slow and deep at first, turning more insistent as your fingers thread into his hair. He pulls you closer, one hand firm on your lower back while the other continues its caress, sliding higher under your shirt.

His kisses grow fiercer, nipping at your lower lip before soothing it, bodies pressing together on the couch as the moment spirals deeper.

You automatically swing your leg over, straddling Heeseung’s lap as the kiss deepens. Your knees sink into the couch on either side of him, bodies aligning perfectly. He groans softly into your mouth, his hands finding your waist instantly, gripping you to steady the sudden movement. "Y/N…" he breathes against your lips, pulling you closer.

His fingers dig in a little too hard at first ; eager, hungry from the built-up tension ; and you yelp sharply against his mouth, a quick flash of pain cutting through the haze of wine and heat. He pulls back immediately, eyes wide with concern, his grip loosening right away. "Shit—sorry," he murmurs. One hand gently rubs the spot on your waist where he’d gripped too tightly. "Didn’t mean to. You okay?"

You nod quickly, still breathing hard, the sting already fading into the warmth. "Yeah…I’m fine. Don’t stop."

Relief flashes across his face, quickly renewed by that same heated look. He leans in again, capturing your lips in another urgent kiss. his time, there's a new caution in the way he touches you. His hands glide slowly along your sides, lingering as though giving you every chance to pull away before one drifts lower. He cups your ass firmly, squeezing with just the right pressure ; possessive, appreciative ; as he pulls you tighter against him.

You moan softly into the kiss, rolling your hips instinctively. His tongue slides against yours, deeper and more demanding now, while his fingers knead your ass, encouraging the movement. The kiss turns messy, breathless, both of you lost in the heat as his other hand stays anchored at your waist, guiding you closer. The undeniable spark between you push everything else away.

You’re both breathing heavily when Heeseung pulls back just enough to speak, his voice low and gentle against your ear. "Come off my lap for a second, baby," he murmurs, hands sliding soothingly along your thighs. "Turn around for me."

You nod, a little dazed from the wine and the intensity, and shift off him. He helps guide you, turning you so your back is to his chest. He settles back against the couch, spreading his legs and pulling you between them until you’re nestled against him, your back flush to his front. His arms wrap around you from behind, one hand resting on your stomach while the other strokes your thigh.

"Spread your legs for me," he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "As far as you can. Let me see you."

You obey, parting your thighs wider, heat flooding your face as the position leaves you open and exposed. Heeseung hums approvingly, his fingers teasing lightly along the inside of your thigh, drawing slow circles that inch higher but never quite touch where you’re starting to ache.

"My pretty girl," he whispers, the praise making you shiver. His hand keeps stroking closer and closer until you’re squirming. "Has he ever fingered you?" he asks almost hesitantly, he already suspects the answer.

You shake your head, voice small. "No…He never did. He only ever made me suck his dick and...he was so rushed to put it in."

Heeseung exhales sharply, a mix of disbelief and irritation flashing through him. "Fuck…alright. I’ve got you."

He’s careful ; painfully so. His fingers slide under your clothes, gently parting you before one fingertip circles your entrance, gathering wetness. "Tell me if it hurts or if you want me to stop," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

Slowly, he eases one finger inside you, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch. He moves gently, curling carefully, his other arm holding you against his chest. "Breathe, Y/N. I’ll make it good for you."

He adds a second finger only when you start rocking back against his hand, still cautious, focusing entirely on your reactions as he begins to pump them in a sluggish rhythm. His thumb finds your clit, teasing light circles while he fingers you with patient strokes.

You gasp sharply as Heeseung’s fingers suddenly hit harder, the angle shifting and sending a jolt of pain through you. Your body tenses, a small cry escaping your lips.

He freezes instantly, eyes widening in panic. "Shit—sorry, sorry," he blurts, quickly easing his fingers out of you. "I didn’t mean to—fuck, are you okay? I’m so sorry, Y/N." He repeats the apology under his breath, one hand gently rubbing your thigh while the other hovers uncertainly, clearly rattled.

You catch your breath, the sting fading fast in the haze of alcohol. A smirk slowly tugs at your lips as you look back at him over your shoulder. "Are you really sorry?"

"Yes," he says immediately, voice earnest. "Of course I am."

You turn around fully to face him, still sitting between his legs. "Then get on your knees in front of me."

He blinks, then lets out a short disbelieving scoff, assuming you’re joking. "What? Right now?"

Your expression stays serious, eyes locked on his. "I said get on your knees."

The smirk on his face fades when he realizes you mean it. After a beat of hesitation, he slides off the couch and drops to his knees on the floor in front of you, looking up at you with surprise and growing desire.

"Come closer," you order softly.

He shifts forward on his knees until he’s right between your spread legs, hands resting tentatively on your thighs as he waits for your next instruction, breath a little uneven.

You lean back slightly, looking down at him. "Lick it."

Heeseung’s eyes darken instantly. Without another word, he leans in, pressing his mouth to you. His tongue drags slowly through your folds at first ; warm and soaked ; before he settles into long hungry strokes, focusing on your clit with just the right pressure. His hands grip your thighs to hold you open as he licks you with focused intent, the earlier apology shifted by eager obedience.

You let the pleasure build for a few moments, your hand threading into his hair as his tongue works you over with growing confidence. But then you tug gently, pulling him back.

"Stop." you say, voice breathy yet firm.

Heeseung pulls away immediately, lips glistening, looking up at you with hooded eyes and a hint of confusion. His chest rises and falls quickly.

You smirk down at him, still holding his hair. "You’re not going to continue until you say sorry…while you’re eating me out."

He blinks once, processing the command, then an almost amused smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You’re serious?"

You raise an eyebrow, waiting.

He leans back in without further protest. His tongue returns to you before he murmurs the words right against your core, the vibrations sending sparks through you. "I’m sorry," he breathes, licking a long stripe up your folds. "Sorry for being too rough…" Another slow swirl around your clit. "I won’t hurt you again."

He keeps going, alternating between soft apologies and dedicated licks, his voice low and muffled as he eats you out. "Sorry, baby…fuck, you taste so good." His hands grip your thighs a little tighter as he buries his tongue deeper, still repeating quiet "sorry"s between every lick and suck, the blend of submission and hunger making the moment even more intense.

You lean back further, letting him worship you like that ; his apologies vibrating against you with every stroke of his tongue.

You slide your fingers deeper into his hair, gripping it firmly as you pull him closer against you. Heeseung’s eyes flutter half-closed ; sleepy and hazy with lust ; his ears flushed a pretty shade of pink from the heat and the wine. The sight makes something wicked twist in your lower belly.

"Well, would you look at yourself," you tease, voice breathy but filled with amusement. "On your knees, ears all pink, eyes looking half-asleep like a fucking loser."

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and swollen, a lazy smirk spreading across his face despite the grip you have on his hair. His sleepy eyes narrow playfully. "Loser?" he scoffs, breath hot against your skin. "Says the one who’s been missing out for months and is now dripping all over my face. If I’m such a loser, why are you pulling my hair like you never want me to stop?"

You tug his hair a little harder in response, and he lets out a low, amused chuckle, vibrating right where you need it.

"Keep talking shit and I might actually stop," you warn, though your hips roll forward, chasing his mouth.

Heeseung’s smirk only widens, pink ears burning brighter. "Yeah? Then I guess this loser better shut up and keep saying sorry…" He dives back in with renewed energy, tongue pressing flat and slow, murmuring one last muffled "Sorry, baby" against you before focusing entirely on making your teasing backfire.

You feel it building fast ; the tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core while his tongue works you relentlessly. His sleepy eyes stay locked on yours whenever he pulls back for air, pink ears still burning, that smug little smirk never fully leaving his face even while he’s buried between your thighs.

Your grip in his hair tightens, hips rolling against his mouth as your breathing turns ragged. "Heeseung—fuck, I’m—"

Right as the orgasm crests, right as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls back completely. His mouth leaves you with one last slow, teasing lick before he sits back on his heels, lips glistening, looking far too pleased with himself.

You let out a frustrated whine, thighs trembling. "What the hell—"

He chuckles lowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are sleepy-lidded, but sparkling with mischief. "Not yet," he murmurs, voice rough. One finger lazily traces up your inner thigh, barely brushing where you need him. "You were talking so much shit earlier about me being a loser…thought you could handle a little teasing."

You glare down at him, still panting, the denied orgasm leaving you aching and frustrated. He leans in again, pressing the softest, almost innocent kiss right above your clit, then another on your thigh ; carefully avoiding where you’re throbbing.

"What is it?" he teases, voice low and amused. "All worked up and squirming. Were you really about to cum that fast on my tongue? Cute."

He blows a gentle stream of cool air against your wet folds, making you jolt, then gives you one torturously light lick before pulling away again.

"Beg a little nicer and maybe I’ll let you finish," he says with a smirk, pink ears still flushed as he watches your reaction, clearly enjoying edging you way too much.

Your hand tightens in his hair again, torn between wanting to pull him back in and wanting to throttle him for stopping.

You’re still catching your breath on the couch, legs shaky from the cruel edge, when Heeseung rises from his knees. He climbs over you, hovering above your body with his hands braced on either side of your head. His face is flushed, those sleepy eyes dark with want as he looks down at you.

You bite your lip, heart racing. Slowly, you lift one leg and slide your foot up between his thighs, pressing the sole against the obviously hard bulge straining through his sweatpants. You rub it teasingly with your toes, pressing on it with gentle pressure, feeling him twitch under your foot.

His breath hitches sharply, hips jerking forward into your touch. "Y/N," he warns, voice low and strained.

You look up at him with soft, fakely innocent eyes, a sweet little smile playing on your lips even as your foot continues its lazy; pressing, rubbing, tracing the outline of his cock through the soft fabric.

"What?" you murmur softly, batting your lashes. “You edged me…seems only fair I play with you a little."

He lets out a shaky laugh, forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder for a moment. His arms tremble slightly as he holds himself up, clearly fighting the urge to grind harder against your foot.

"Fuck, you’re evil," he breathes, with only affection and raw desire. His eyes flutter half-closed again as you keep rubbing him so gently, the contrast between your soft gaze and the teasing pressure of your foot making him groan quietly above you.

The air between you crackles, thick with tension as he hovers there, letting you toy with him.

You’re still looking up at him with those soft eyes when he suddenly pulls back. He stands just long enough to shove his sweatpants and boxers down in one motion, kicking them aside. His cock springs free, hard and flushed. Before you can fully process, he’s back on the couch, gently turning you around again so your back is pressed to his chest ; just like earlier.

You blink in confusion, still wobbly. "Heeseung, what are you—?"

While staying silent, he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against him. With his free hand, he guides his cock, rubbing the thick head slowly up and down your soaked core. The pressure is heavy and hot as he glides it between your folds, coating himself in your wetness, letting you feel every inch of his length sliding against your sensitive skin.

"Just feel it," he murmurs against your ear. "Gotta get you used to me first."

The grind makes you whimper, your body tensing as the blunt head nudges at your entrance. Then he pushes in ; slow and gentle. The stretch is intense. You yell out at the burn, your hands flying back to grip his thighs.

Heeseung stops instantly, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "I know, baby, I know," he whispers soothingly, voice dull and tender. "You’re doing so good." One of his hands slides down to caress your lower stomach in comforting circles, trying to ease the discomfort. "I’ve got you, Y/N. I’m right here."

He stays still inside you, whispering sweet nothings against your skin while his fingers keep gently rubbing your stomach. Gradually, the pain starts to melt into a deep ache. When your breathing evens out a little, he begins to move. His thrusts are slothful at first but quickly turn sloppy, messy and uncoordinated from the alcohol and the overwhelming heat of the moment. Wet sounds fill the room as he rocks into you from behind, one arm banded around your waist while the other continues caressing your lower belly.

"Fuck…sorry, it’s—shit, you feel too good," he groans, the pace erratic and desperate, hips snapping up into you with needy and imperfect strokes.

His thrusts are getting sloppier, hips stuttering as the dizziness makes his pace messy and desperate. Next, on one particularly eager push, his cock slips out completely with a wet pop, loud enough to be heard in the entire living room.

You squirm hard in his lap, a needy whimper escaping you at the sudden empty feeling. Your body instinctively rocks back, searching for him again.

Heeseung lets out a breathy chuckle against your neck. "Easy, baby…"

He grips the base of his cock and gives it a couple of lazy slaps against your soaked cunt; wet smacks making you jolt and moan. The head nudges your clit with each tap, fooling you until you’re trembling.

And without warning, he lines himself up and pushes back in with one thrust, burying himself deep into you cunt. You gasp at the sudden fullness, your back arching against his chest as he groans deeply.

"Shit…that sound," he mutters, voice rough. His arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place while his other hand returns to caress your lower stomach. He starts moving again, still sloppy and uncoordinated, but deeper now ; each thrust punctuated by the wet sounds of skin meeting skin.

He kisses along your shoulder, whispering hotly, "You’re so fucking wet…hear how you take me?"

His hips snap up messily, cock sliding in and out as he keeps you pressed tight against him, lost in the pleasure of it all. You’re lost in the flow of his cock sliding in and out of you, the filthy sounds of your pussy filling the room with every sloppy thrust, when your phone starts ringing on the coffee table. The screen lights up with Ethan’s name.

You notice that it doesn't stop Heeseung from doing his work. If anything, his hips snap up harder, driving deeper as he reaches over and grabs your phone. You try to protest through a moan, but he answers the call and puts it on speaker, setting it down nearby.

"Hey, man," he says casually, voice only slightly strained as he keeps fucking you tirelessly from behind. The squelching sounds are loud and clear.

Ethan’s voice comes through, sounding worried. "Heeseung? Where’s Y/N? She’s not home yet and she’s not answering her phone. Is she with you?"

"Yeah, she’s right here," Heeseung replies, one hand gripping your hip tighter as he thrusts up into you again, making you bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. "She’s a little busy though."

You squirm in his lap, embarrassed heat flooding your face even as pleasure keeps building. Heeseung leans closer to your ear and whispers, "Let him hear how wet you are," before picking up the pace.

The obscene, slick sounds of his cock plunging into your soaked pussy echo clearly through the speaker.

Ethan pauses. "What the fuck is that sound? Is she okay?"

Heeseung lets out a low chuckle, still thrusting deeper. "She’s more than okay. I’m fucking her right now, bro. That’s the sound of her pussy taking my cock."

You moan despite yourself as he hits a particularly good spot, unable to stay quiet.

"Can you hear that?" Heeseung asks tauntingly, angling his hips so the wet noises get even louder. "Hear how soaked she is? Those are her moans too. She’s been missing this for a long time."

Ethan’s voice cracks with shock and anger. "What the hell, Heeseung?! Y/N—!"

Before Ethan can finish, Heeseung cuts him off, still buried deep inside you, voice low and possessive as he speaks directly into the phone :

"You might be what she wants…but I’m clearly what she needs."

He hangs up quickly, tossing the phone aside. His arms wrap around you tighter as he resumes fucking you with intensity, mouth pressed to your neck.

"Focus on me, baby," he murmurs hotly. "Just feel how full you are."

The sounds continue as he drives into you, the interruption only making him more eager. You barely have time to process the call ending before your phone starts buzzing repeatedly on the table. Message after message from Ethan lights up the screen ; vibrating angrily one after another.

Heeseung glances at it but doesn’t stop. His hips keep rolling up into you in that same relentless pounding, cock stretching you open with every wet thrust.

"Damn…he’s blowing up your phone," he mutters with a dark chuckle. One arm stays banded around your waist, holding you firmly in place on his lap while his other hand reaches down to rub slow circles over your clit.

He keeps fucking you through the mess. Your phone vibrates again and again ; texts popping up rapidly.

You moan helplessly, eyes fluttering as pleasure overrides everything else. "Heeseung…he’s—"

"I don't fucking care," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. "Let him text. You’re mine right now."

He angles his hips and thrusts up hard, making you cry out as the head of his cock hits that perfect spot over and over. The phone keeps buzzing but Heeseung only fucks you harder, the sounds of your bodies utterly drowning out the vibrations.

His hand on your lower stomach presses down gently, making you feel every inch of him sliding in and out. "Hear how loud your pussy is for me?" he groans, voice rough. "Keep taking it, baby. Just like that."

You’re a mess ; moaning, squirming, gripping his thighs as he continues pounding into you from behind, unbothered by the nonstop stream of notifications. The phone eventually goes silent for a few seconds only to start vibrating again. Both of you wouldn't care less. Heeseung’s only focus is the way your walls clench around him as he fucks you through it all.

So that's what you've been missing out all this time.

⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪

it starts long before he ever lays a hand on you. it starts in the quiet moments where you are just watching him, feeling this terrifying ache in your chest because you realize you would let him completely ruin your life if he asked.

loving heeseung isn’t exactly gentle. it is a sickness, a suffocating obsession that swallowed you whole months ago until there was nothing left of you that didn't belong to him. you track the line of his jaw, the slow rise and fall of his chest when he sleeps, the exact tone of his voice when he calls you baby. every single detail feels like a weight pressing down on your lungs.

you don't just love him. you crave him with a desperation that makes you sick to your stomach. you want to pull him under your skin, to fuse your bones with his so there is no physical space left between you. it is terrifying how much power he has over you without even trying.

and heeseung knows it.

he sees the way your eyes track his every move, the way your breath hitches when he steps into your personal space, the way you practically vibrate with the need to be touched by him. he doesn't pull away from it — he feeds on it. he loves how utterly undone you are for him, how easily he can bring you to the edge with just a heavy glance or a lingering touch. he holds your entire world in his hands and squeezes just tight enough to make you ache, knowing you will only cling to him harder for it.

it is toxic in the sweetest, most inescapable way possible. you are so consumed by the sheer magnitude of what you feel that even when things are peaceful — when his arms are wrapped around your waist and his face is buried in your neck — you are on the verge of breaking. the love is simply too big, too heavy for your body to hold.

and that emotional weight — that sickening devotion — is exactly what bleeds into the way he takes you.

sex between you two was never just physical. it is always a total undoing. a desperate collision where neither of you can ever get deep enough, close enough, or fast enough to satisfy the hunger.

heeseung has learned every single trigger in your body, but more than that, he knows your mind. he knows that the second his hands press into your waist and his weight settles over you, the dam breaks. you cry almost every single time — not from sadness or pain, but because your body literally cannot contain the sheer volume of what you feel when he is touching you. the moment he looks into your eyes, dark and entirely focused on you, the first tear always spills over.

and heeseung is completely addicted to it.

he doesn't pull back when you cry, he thrives on it. the sight of your face flushed, wet with tears, whimpering just because he is loving you, turns him into something ravenous. he treats your tears like proof of your complete surrender. he will pause mid-thrust just to catch a wet trail down your cheek with his tongue, tasting the salt on your skin, whispering sweet, possessive things against your lips.

"look at what i do to you." he would murmur, his voice low and dark, drinking in the sound of your hitched breaths. "you’re so beautiful when you weep for me, y/n."

it is passionate to the point of being suffocating. every kiss feels like he is trying to steal the air straight out of your lungs, every roll of his hips a quiet demand for you to sink deeper into him. he takes his time pulling the tears out of you, worshipping the mess you become until you are sobbing his name into his neck, completely unravelled by his touch.

and tonight is no different.

the air in the bedroom feels thick, almost oppressive, heavy with the unsaid weight of everything you are keeping inside. the only light comes from the faint orange glow filtering through the blinds, casting dark shadows across the mattress where heeseung sits.

he is leaning back against the headboard, just looking at you. he hasn't even touched you yet, but his dark gaze is anchored to your face, tracking the slight tremble in your hands as you sit across from him on the bed.

you feel that familiar tug in your chest — the sickeningly sweet urge to crawl over and beg for his hands on you. your throat feels tight, eyes already burning with unshed tears just from the sheer force of him looking at you like you are the only thing that exists in his world.

he tilts his head, a knowing smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as he notices the faint sheen of wetness in your eyes before a single touch has even been exchanged.

"come here, y/n." he whispers, his voice low and raspy in the quiet room, extending a long-fingered hand toward you. "aw baby… are you already crying for me?"

you don't even hesitate. you crawl across the mattress on your hands and knees, your legs trembling so badly you almost lose your balance. the moment you reach him, heeseung’s long fingers wind around your wrist, tugging you gently up into his lap. you sink into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck, a quiet sob hitching in your throat before he has even slid a hand under your shirt.

"shhh, look at me." he murmurs, his hands warm against your waist as he tilts your chin up. his thumb strokes across your cheek, smearing the fresh tear line. "look at my girl. why are you crying, hmm? i haven't even touched you yet."

"heeseung..." you whimper, your brain completely misfiring. the way he looks at you — so heavy, so focused — makes every coherent thought melt right out of your head. you can't even remember what you wanted to say. all you know is his hands, his scent, his eyes.

"use your words, baby." he coaxes softly, his voice dripping with affection. he presses a melting kiss to the corner of your eye, tasting the salt on your lashes. "tell me what you want."

"i- i don't... i just need you." you stammer out, your voice small and ruined. your hands clutch uselessly at his shoulders, fingers knotting into the fabric of his shirt. "heeseung, please..."

he chuckles, a low rumble against your chest that makes you shiver. "you don't even know what you want? your brain is already turning to mush just looking at me, mmh?"

you nod frantically, resting your forehead against his jaw. "yes... yes, please, heeseung..."

"such a helpless mess for me." he whispers, kissing your cheek, your nose, the corner of your mouth. "i love when you get like this. so soft. so completely out of it."

he moves slowly, excruciatingly so. his hands trace the curve of your sides, pulling you closer until there isn't a single millimeter of air between your bodies. he captures your lips in a kiss that feels too deep — slow and lazy, stealing what little breath you have left.

every stroke of his tongue against yours makes your mind blur even further. you are practically melting in his lap, reduced to nothing but whines and pathetic little noises.

"heeseung, i love you... i love you so much." you sob against his lips, another wave of tears spilling down your cheeks.

"i know, baby." he mutters, pulling back just enough to look at your wrecked face. his eyes burn with a satisfied light as he traces your trembling lower lip with his thumb. "i know you do. you're so full of it, it's making you stupid, isn't it? you can't even think about anything else."

"no..." you whimper, shaking your head, your hands weakly squeezing his arms. "can't think..."

"good." he hums, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your face. "don't think. just feel me, y/n. just let me fill up your head until there's nothing else left."

he gently shifts you, guiding you back onto the mattress. he settles his weight over you, slow and deliberate, resting his body against yours with a grounding pressure. his hands bracket your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he gazes down at you with that suffocating intensity.

"look at me." he commands softly. you force your tear-blurred eyes open to meet his. "you're mine, right?" he asks, his thumb softly tracing your jawline down to your throat. "tell me who you belong to."

"you." you gasp out, a fresh sob bubbling up from your chest because of how much it hurts to love him this much. "you, heeseung... only you..."

"that's it." he whispers, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your trembling lips. "that's my sweet girl. so empty, so pretty crying for me..."

he doesn't hurry to take off his clothes. instead, his long fingers slip under the hem of your shorts, sliding slowly up your inner thigh. the touch makes you shudder so hard your hips lift off the bed automatically, a soft gasp hitching in your throat.

"shhh, stay still for me." he murmurs, his thumb catching a slow tear that spills over your lash line. he brings his thumb to his lips, licking the wet salt off his skin right in front of you.

"heeseung..." you whimper, shaking your head against the pillow. your brain feels like thick syrup, completely bogged down by the heat in his eyes.

"tell me what's happening in that pretty little head." he coaxes, his hand finally reaching the soaked cotton of your underwear. he doesn't pull them down yet, he just presses his palm flat against your core, rubbing in slow circles over your wet fabric. "can you even hold a thought right now, baby?"

"no..." you sob, a high noise escaping your lips as the pressure makes your thighs twitch. "can't..."

"such a stupid girl for me." he praises condescendingly, a fond smirk pulling at his lips. "you get so dumb the second i touch you."

he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down your legs along with your underwear, leaving you completely exposed under his hungry gaze. you try to bring your knees together out of reflex, but his broad hand immediately catches the inside of your thigh, pressing it firmly back down against the mattress.

"don't hide from me." he instructs softly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "i want to see how wet you get just crying for me."

his fingers slide down into your warmth, slicking two fingers in your wetness before sliding them agonizingly slow inside you. you arch off the bed instantly, a loud sob tearing from your throat as your hands frantically claw at his arms.

"oh, wow..." he hums, watching your face twist in overwhelmed pleasure. he curls his fingers inside you, hitting that sensitive spot until your vision goes completely blurry with tears. "you’re soaking wet just from loving me so much."

he leans down, taking his time to tongue away the heavy tears running down your jawline and neck while his hand keeps a relentless rhythm inside you. every curl of his fingers pulls another pathetic whine out of you, your body trembling so hard your muscles feel like liquid.

"heeseung- please, it's too much-" you cry out, hands weakly pulling at his shoulders.

"too much?" he hums against your wet cheek, sounding thoroughly amused. "we haven't even started, baby. you can't handle anything, can you?"

he slides his fingers out, leaving you cold and aching for a split second, before he shifts down between your thighs. you gasp, trying to lift your head, but he places a broad hand on your stomach, holding you firmly in place as he leans down and buries his face between your legs.

the first sweep of his warm tongue against your clit makes you scream softly, your legs locking up as shockwaves rush straight up your spine. he licks you slowly, lapping up your slick like you are something sweet he has been dying to taste all day.

"heeseung! no, heeseung- oh god-" you sob, thrashing weakly under his weight, but his hand on your stomach keeps you completely pinned.

he pulls back just for a second, his mouth slick and shining in the dim light. "shhh... quiet down, baby. let me taste how much you love me. open up for me."

he goes back in, his tongue working over your clit in long strokes while he slides two fingers back inside you, pumping them in a rhythm that drives you straight off the deep end. it is too much sensation — the heat of his mouth, the stretch of his fingers, the overwhelming weight of loving him so fiercely that it feels like your heart is bursting. tears pour endlessly down your face, soaking into the pillow under your head.

your brain completely shuts down. there are no words left, no thoughts, just the blinding white heat of overstimulation threatening to snap your nervous system in half. every stroke of his tongue pulls another sob, another desperate plea from your lips that you don't even realize you are making.

"that's it." he mumbles against your folds, his voice muffled and deep. "get all ruined for me."

he works you until you are whimpering softly, your hips helplessly bucking against his mouth, entirely overwhelmed and clinging to the edge of an unbearable peak. just as your body starts to coil tight enough to break, he slowly pulls his fingers out and drags his tongue up your center one last time before sliding back up your body.

he hovers over you, his mouth glistening, his eyes dark and entirely satisfied as he looks down at your wrecked face. you are practically hyperventilating, your chest heaving, tears streaming down into your ears.

"look at my pretty girl." he whispers, petting your damp hair back from your forehead. "fuck baby… i’m getting so hard from watching you cry."

"heeseung..." you sob weakly, reaching up with trembling hands to touch his face, your mind completely turned to mush. "please... please fill me up... i need you..."

"i know you do." he hums, kissing your crying lips, letting you taste yourself on his mouth. "i'm going to take such good care of my sweet girl."

he shifts between your knees, and for all his mocking composure earlier, his hands are shaking against your thighs. he is just as ruined by this as you are — completely undone by the sight of your wrecked face, the wet sheen on your skin, and the bottomless depth of how much you worship him. his chest heaves against yours, his dark eyes wide and unhinged, burning with a desperation that matches the fever in your own blood.

"y/n..." he breathes out, a desperate rasp that vibrates straight into your chest. "look at what you’re doing to me."

he lines his tip up against your swollen entrance. he doesn't just push in, he sinks into you with excruciating slowness, his throat catching on a ragged groan as your body stretches around him. you arch your back, a strangled sob tearing through your lips because your nervous system is already so completely fried, so overstimulated from his tongue and fingers, that the sudden fullness of him feels almost unbearable.

"heeseung-" you choke out, fresh tears spilling out in hot streams. "heeseung, please, it hurts- i love you so much-"

"i love you too, baby." he stammers against your lips, kissing you with a frantic sweet intensity, drinking down your sobs like a dying man. his long fingers tangle into your hair, holding your head still as he slow rolls his hips, pushing all the way inside until there isn't a single breath of space left between you. "it hurts me too. it fucking kills me how much i love you."

he pauses deep inside you, buried to the hilt, just trembling against your body. his face drops into the crook of your neck, his mouth hot and wet against your skin as he keeps licking up every stray tear that trickles down your jawline. he is addicted to the salt, addicted to the sound of your whimpers, completely intoxicated by how easily he can turn your brain into complete white noise.

"you're so soft." he murmurs, his tone shifting into that condescending purr even while his own voice shakes with need. "such a stupid girl for me... look at how your mind just completely shuts off the second i put myself inside you. can you give me one single thought?"

"no... can't..." you whimper, clutching at the broad line of his back, your fingers digging into his warm skin like you are trying to anchor yourself in a storm. "just... just you..."

"mmh." he whispers, a dark smile pressing against your skin as he begins a slow, deep rhythm. every push is languid, thick, and heavy, making your hips twitch helplessly beneath him. "nothing in that pretty little head except me."

he pulls almost all the way out, letting you feel the cold void of his absence for a fleeting second, before sinking back in.

"heeseung, please- i'm dying, please-"

"you're not dying, sweet girl." he hums, his tone dripping with patronizing affection as his thumb reaches up to gently trace your wet lower lip. "you're just drowning in how much you love me."

he leans up, pinning your wrists to the mattress beside your head, his knuckles white with the force of his grip. his face is flushed, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a terrifyingly sharp devotion. he is breathing so heavily his chest slams against yours with every thrust, matching your frantic heartbeat.

"i need you to look at me while you cry." he commands, his voice dropping an octave, raspy and dark. "let me watch you fall apart. let me see how stupid i make you."

you force your tear-stained eyes open, your vision blurred and swimming with salt, but all you can see is him. heeseung. the center of your universe, the sickness swallowing you whole. a fresh sob bubbles up, racking your whole frame as he rolls his hips deep into that sensitive spot inside you.

"that's my girl." he groans, his own composure snapping just a little more as he sees the raw devotion in your eyes. "cry harder for me, y/n. show me how completely i've ruined you."

but even through the hazy fog of your overstimulated brain, you can feel the rigid tension vibrating through his entire frame. you can feel the way his thighs are locked, the way the muscles in his arms are straining against the mattress to keep from crushing you. he is holding back. even with his eyes looking so unhinged, so violently consumed by you, he is gripping your wrists to anchor himself, forcing his hips to maintain that torturously measured rhythm because he thinks you will break.

you look up at him through the heavy blur of tears, your chest heaving so violently it hurts. you don't want his restraint. you don't want him to be careful with you when your whole soul is screaming to be completely consumed by him.

"heeseung..." you choke out, your voice cracking on a pathetic sob. you twist your wrists in his grip, wanting him to feel how desperately you are chasing his touch. "don't... don't hold back. please. you can be rough... ruin me, heeseung. please."

he freezes for a fraction of a second, his breath hitching so sharply it sounds like a gasp. his dark eyes lock onto yours, wide and completely feral, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle feathers under his skin.

"rough?" he rasps out, his voice dropping into something terrifyingly dark, completely stripped of that gentle warmth. "baby, you're already crying like a fucking baby just from me moving slow."

"i don't care." you sob, your hips lifting off the bed in an uncoordinated tilt, begging for the fullness of him. "please... go harder... i want it. love me harder."

that is the final thread of his control snapping.

heeseung lets go of your wrists, his broad hands immediately flying down to your waist, his fingers digging so deep into your skin that it hurts. he drags his hips all the way back, pulling nearly completely out of your soaking warmth, before slamming back into you with punishing force.

a loud scream tears from your throat, completely muffled as heeseung drops his mouth onto yours, devouring the sound in a messy kiss. the pace snaps instantly. the agonizingly slow rolls are gone, replaced by a frantic rhythm that rattles right through your bones.

he drives into you hard and fast, his chest slamming against yours with a bruising weight. every single thrust forces a breathless sob from your chest, tears flooding out of your eyes so quickly they soak your entire face.

"fuck, y/n... look at you." he growls against your skin, his voice rough and breathless as he pulls back. his hair is completely messy, falling into his eyes, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your flushed chest. his composure is totally gone, replaced by a feral desperation. "you wanted this? you wanted me to fucking ruin you? look at how you're choking on it."

he hits you deep, hitting that breathless spot again and again until you are hyperventilating beneath him. his words get meaner, rougher, but the sheer passion in his voice is suffocating.

"you're so fucking tight. it’s ridiculous how good you feel." he pants, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, pinning them wide against his hips as he rams into you without an ounce of mercy. "stretching you out so fucking deep... i'm going to make you lose your mind, y/n. you're mine. you don't belong to anyone else."

"heeseung- ah! heeseung, please-" you wail, your head shaking frantically against the pillow, your vision completely drowning in salt.

"i fucking love you." he snaps out, the words torn straight from his chest as he buries himself into you, making your whole body shudder. "i love you so much it makes me crazy, y/n. it fucking ruins me. tell me you love me too. sob it out for me, baby. let me hear how much you need me."

"i love you- i love you so much, heeseung, oh my god-" you scream out, your hands clawing blindly at his wet shoulders, completely overstimulated. the friction is blinding, your nervous system completely shorting out under the sheer speed and force of him. you can't think, you can't breathe, you are nothing but a shaking extension of his brutal rhythm.

"such a good little mess for me." he groans, a dark praise slipping from his lips as his rhythm gets even faster, meaner, pushing you straight over the edge. "cry harder for me, y/n. let me fuck you until you can't even remember your own name."

the words are barely out of his mouth before the final shift happens.

heeseung hitches your legs up high, pinning your knees almost to your chest to expose you completely, destroying any remaining distance between your bodies. the angle lets him drive in even deeper, bottoming out against you with an unrelenting speed that makes the bed creak violently against the wall. you are completely helpless under him, your hips forced to take every single bruising thrust.

"heeseung- i'm- i'm going to-" you scream out, your voice completely shattered, your fingers clawing weakly at the damp bedsheets as the white-hot tension inside you coils tight enough to snap.

"come for me, baby." he growls, his voice an unhinged command right against your ear. his breath is scorching hot, his chest soaking wet with sweat as it slams relentlessly into yours. "break for me. let me feel how much you fucking love me."

with one more brutal strike, your body completely gives out. the orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, violent and blinding. your internal muscles clamp down around his cock in tight waves, and a high-pitched sob tears from your throat. you weep hysterically, the sheer physical and emotional overload fracturing what little sanity you had left. your vision goes totally black, tears pouring down your temples and soaking into the mattress as you shake uncontrollably.

but heeseung doesn't stop.

he groans out loud, his eyes widening in feral pleasure as your body squeezes him. instead of slowing down to let you breathe, he locks his jaw and drives right through your climax, his rhythm getting even meaner.

"heeseung, please! stop- i came! it's too much-" you wail, thrashing your head from side to side, your voice entirely ruined. your nerve endings are raw, and every single hard thrust against your hyper-sensitive core feels like an electric shock straight to your brain. it's pure overstimulation, a sensation so intense it makes your stomach flip.

"i can't, y/n, fuck... i can't stop." he pants, his voice desperate, entirely swallowed by his own unhinged obsession. he grips your waist so tight his knuckles turn white, forcing himself deep inside your spasming warmth over and over again. "you feel too fucking good. i know you can give me one more, baby."

he leans down, pressing his face into the wet mess of your neck, his mouth open as he devours your frantic sobs. heeseung is completely unraveled, his own release chasing him down, driven insane by the way you are weeping beneath him.

"i love you." he chokes out, the words sounding almost like a confession of pain, raw with a devotion that borders on terrifying. "i love you so much, y/n. look at what you do to me. i'm going to fill you up so deep you'll never forget how much you belong to me."

"please- heeseung-" you whimper, completely dumbfounded by the pleasure, your brain turned useless as he continues to wreck your overstimulated body. you can't form a thought, you can't even process the physical sensation anymore — all you know is the suffocating weight of his body, the brutal rhythm of his hips, and the absolute certainty that you would let him ruin you like this forever.

every trace of his usual control is officially gone, melted away by the sound of your hysterical sobbing and the tight pulsing of your walls around him. he lets out a loud moan against your neck, a sound so raw and uninhibited it makes your stomach drop. he is not just taking you anymore, he is drowning in you, driving himself into your sensitive core with a blind desperation. he hitches your thighs up high, draping your trembling legs over his broad shoulders so your hips are tilted back at an agonizing angle, exposing the slick heat of your core completely to his dark gaze.

he plunges back in, a devastating stroke that bottoms out so deep you can feel the blunt stretch of him in your gut. the sound of wet skin clapping against skin is loud and frantic, keeping perfect time with the violent rattle of the headboard against the wall.

"fuck... ah, y/n..." he moans out, the sound deep and completely uninhibited, escaping his throat in rough gasps as he drives into you again. his thighs are shuddering against yours, his entire body throwing its weight into a punishing pace. "you're so fucking tight... god, it's so hot inside you."

"heeseung- ah! heeseung, please!" you scream out, your voice completely shattered, your fingers clawing weakly at the damp bedsheets. the relentless friction of his pelvis grinding hard against your swollen clit with every deep plunge sends blinding white sparks behind your eyelids. you try to arch away, just to catch your breath, but heeseung’s broad hands clamp down onto your waist like iron vices, pinning you to the mattress.

"don't move away from me." he growls, his voice a raw command right against your ear. "take all of it. you asked for this, didn't you? tell me you wanted me to fuck you this hard."

"yes- yes, please, heeseung, i love you- oh god, i love you so much." you sob hysterically. the sheer physical and emotional overload is too much, your tears completely soaking your face, tracking down your neck and pooling onto the sheets.

"i fucking know, baby." he stammers against your skin, his voice cracking with a terrifyingly deep passion. he leans up, his face flushed a deep crimson, his eyes totally blown out with lust as he looks down at your wrecked face. "it drives me crazy how much you love me. it makes me want to completely tear you apart."

he drives inside you even faster, hitting that breathless spot until your internal walls clamp down around him, forcing a second orgasm to rip through your core. a broken wail tears from your throat, your whole body shaking uncontrollably.

but heeseung just lets out a loud groan, his jaw clenching so hard the veins in his neck bulge. your climax only makes him wilder once more, he refuses to slow down, driving right through your release with short thrusts that completely short-circuit your brain.

"heeseung, stop- i'm coming again! it's too much-" you whimper, completely dumbfounded by the sheer overstimulation.

"but you feel too fucking good." he groans out loudly, a dark chuckle hitching in his chest despite how completely unraveled he is. he grinds his pelvis hard against yours, rubbing relentlessly against every raw nerve until you are wailing. "squeeze me, baby. keep squeezing me just like that while you cry for me."

he leans down again, his mouth open as he devours your frantic sobs, tasting your salt and sweat.

"so helpless... crying so hard because you can't handle how much i love you. tell me who you belong to, y/n. tell me whose name is stuck in your head."

"yours... always yours... heeseung, please, i'm yours-"

"god, yes... ah... god, y/n... yes..." he roars out loudly, his voice completely breaking as his entire body goes rigid.

he cocks his hips forward one last time, burying his length to the absolute hilt with a bruising force that leaves you entirely breathless. a long groan escapes his lips as he releases inside you, his thighs twitching violently as he spills his hot cum deep into your pulsing core, holding you pinned beneath him until you are both nothing but a tangled mess.

he stays collapsed on top of you for a long time, his chest rising and falling in ragged gasps against yours. the room is entirely silent except for the sound of your quiet whimpers and the wet friction of his skin against yours as he slowly slips out, leaving you instantly cold and completely empty.

your body is still twitching from the aftershocks, your nerve endings so fried that even the cool air of the bedroom feels like too much on your highly sensitized skin. tears are still leaking steadily from your swollen eyes, catching in the messy strands of hair stuck to your flushed cheeks.

heeseung shifts, rolling onto his side and pulling your trembling body right against his chest. his long fingers are surprisingly gentle now as they sweep the damp hair away from your forehead. he tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him with your blurred vision.

"look at my baby." he whispers, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he uses his thumb to smear a fresh tear across your cheek. his voice has returned to that low purr, full of absolute satisfaction. "still weeping for me. you can't even move."

you just nod weakly against his chest, clutching at his shoulder with fingers that have no strength left. you are completely exhausted, hollowed out by the sheer magnitude of how much you worship him.

"my messy girl." he murmurs, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your wet eyelid, tasting the last of your salt. he wraps his arms around you even tighter, burying his face in your hair and anchoring you to him so completely that you can barely breathe. "sleep now, y/n. i’ve got you. you don't need to think about anything else ever again."

You were always a bit scared of Sunghoon, you don't know him well but from what you know, he's the flirty type. Your friend, Jang Wonyoung, used to have a crush on him before immediately getting icked out when he tried to get in her pants on the first date. That was how her and now girlfriend, Yujin, actually kick-started their relationship, so you supposed one good thing came out of him. As for his friends, you didn't know them well at all, besides the fact that Heeseung went to highschool with you. You only vaguely remember him, since he was two grades above you, and you thought he was handsome, however, never really considered talking to him since he would always stare at you kinda funny. You think of the times when you had interacted with him, smiling when passing in the hallways and handing him flyers to promote yours and Beomgyu's slime shop (which was a total hit, by the way)

You gently push past some people, mumbling apologies as you do until you find yourself in front of the bathroom. You turn your head, left then right. 'Where could they be..?' You quirk your lips into a subtle pout as you lean against the wall, keeping your eyes out for any signs of Sunghoon anywhere.

You perk up and straighten yourself against the wall after you see 4 tall figures approaching you. Your eyes meet Sunghoon's first and your shift your face into a practiced smile to seem polite.

"Hey, did you wait long?" Sunghoon returns your smile with a cordial one of his own as you shake your head "no, I actually just got here". Sunghoon doesn't seem to see past the fat lie you just told, as he nods again "right well uhh... these are my friends" he ushers to the other 3 boys watching you.

The one that stood out the most to you was the tallest guy. Lee Heeseung from highschool. You had to admit, he did grow up to look really good. His stare was the same as it was a few years ago, he looked at you the same way a wide eyed doe would. Jake cautiously glances over at Heeseung to gauge how he's reacting, his jaw dropping at Heeseung hiding his SHAKING hands before he quickly shuts his mouth.

"Nice to meet you. Yn, right?" Jay coolly says, offering a hand shake, which you take "uh, yeah.. nice to meet you too". Jake takes your hand from Jay to shake it himself "And I'm also here. Hi, my name is Jake" you slowly nod at him, straining a smile "my name is Yn.."

You turn towards Heeseung, who slightly jumps before gently taking your hand. Heeseung felt a spark in his heart, adrenaline running up his veins, so much that he genuinely felt like he could do 30 backflips in a row. He looks down at you with a smile as he introduces himself and felt, oh, so happy when he watches your lips crease up, revealing your teeth as you dissolve into laughter "that face you make is really funny" Heeseung raises a brow as Jay turns his back, not bearing to watch.

"What face?"

"That creepy smile you made"

"... this is my normal smile"

You slowly nod, breaking your laughter as you take his hands. "... I.. I'm so sorry.. I didn't mean—"

"Is everyone ready to head out now?" Jay promptly steps in as Jake and Sunghoon behind him avoid eye contact with Heeseung. "Yeah, let's go, I'm seriously soo tired" Jake steps in as well to break the awkwardness as Sunghoon begins leading everyone towards the exit and to the parking lot.

The car ride is quiet, and a bit squishy in the back seat with Heeseung and Jake on either side of you, broad shoulders hitting your own smaller ones. Jake, especially was a bit annoying with the way he would manspread, pushing your legs closer to Heeseung's. You open your phone, lowering the brightness down and sending a few texts to your sweet boyfriend. Anton was most likely sleeping by now, that was the kind of guy he was, the kind of guy you fell hopelessly inlove with. He never partied, never stayed up late, passionate about food, sleep and studying. He'd be the type to build a stable life, the kind of guy your parents would just adore.

Heeseung glances to his side to see what you were doing on your phone, glaring when he sees the contact name 'Anton Sweetie'. His good mood was just ruined now. He wanted to break something, but he did his best to suppress it, he didn't want to scare his baby after all.

Sunghoon parks in a spot in front of your building and watches through the mirror as you unbuckle your seatbelt and awkwardly climb over Jake's lap to get out of the car. "Thank you guys so much" you beam at the 4 through Sunghoon's open window as you wave goodnight.

taggies: @yoisoobin @moontmoochi @jenlunes @dina-10s-blog @jakeycakeys @megamatt43 @heeluv4ever @royallycraftyimp @love-and-w3r

i just had caramel cake im so happy okay um bye

“We said we would,” he replies quietly, voice steady in a way yours isn’t. He took your hand in his, before kissing it. “I’m right beside you, baby.”

You swallow, nodding once, more to yourself than to him, before reaching forward again. Your finger hovers over the screen for a second too long.

Three years of dodging questions.

Three years of silence. Of subtle hints.

And now… this.

“Okay,” you murmur, barely above a whisper, before pressing the button.

The screen flickers.

For a split second, it’s just the two of you—unchanged, unseen.

Then, YOU ARE LIVE! shows up on the screen.

Numbers begin climbing faster than you expected. Comments flood in almost instantly, too quick to read, too loud even in their silence.

“Hi everyone,” Heeseung starts first, his voice calm and grounding, but you could feel the excitement in it.

welovetheace: WOAH THIS NEW

dialtragedy2790: wait i’m scared r they announcing a pregnancy?

You choked on your saliva at that. “What—No! No pregnancy announcement,” You reply with a huff in which he just laughs at.

“We’re here today because…” He looks at you, smiling before turning to the camera again. “…We want to talk about us. Answer questions and reveal things we never did over the past few years.”

“That’s right, I know all of you are dying to know—we went public three years ago, but that’s just it. Just an official statement from our agency and that’s basically it.”

You laugh, “Some of you even accused us of being a PR stunt!” narrowing your eyes at the screen while Heeseung smirks.

“Not so PR stunt if I kiss you right here, no?”

ynlover: oh here mr flirtypants go

heedagoat: she’s stronger than me i would’ve died

hevanly: the way you can tell she’s used to his bs 😭😭

You clear your throat as you change the topic.

“So, I told you guys to ask me some questions about our relationship on Instagram and to say the least, we were entertained by your questions!”

You smile at the screen, your hand ready with your phone full of questions—some picked by you, some Heeseung and of course, filtered by the assistance of your dedicated Manager, Jen.

“Let’s just get into it, then?” He looks at you, gaze loving.

lovestrucked2508: he is looking at her like she’s his whole world… I’m sick.

———

“The first question—What’s something fans were right about—but you never confirmed?” You read, Heeseung hums.

“Oh! That we were already dating during that award show, remember?” He grins at you,

“The one that you wouldn’t stop staring at me?” You scoff, he nonchalantly shrugs.

“In my defense, that dress? With the split? You were killing me, baby.” He holds his heart, as if you are actually assassinating him.

You can already imagine what the comments are like.

“Oh stop it, you were not helping it. Even other celebs were suspecting it that time!” You laugh.

number1ace: WE WERE NOT CRAZY AFTER ALL

You read another question, “Who gets sulky more easily?”

“Heeseung.”

“Y/N.”

You gasp, mock-offense. “You do! I literally have to put up with your little pout every time I say no!” Your finger boop said pout he’s forming right now.

“Well, I can’t help it. That’s just how my lips are. Besides, what type of girlfriend refuses her boyfriend’s cuddles?”

“The type that has schedules to attend, and not stuck in bed with you all day!”

He pouts.

jujuprincess: THAT POUT omg she’s so strong to deny him

“Okay, moving on!” He reads. “How did going public affect your relationship emotionally?”

He thinks of a second, before answering.

“To be completely honest, nothing. Both Y/N and I are aware that once we go public, the lack of privacy, interrogations, people over analyzing our actions and words— are a given,” He turns his attention to me. “I guess, we’re both mentally strong people?” He chuckles.

“Because while yes, the world knows us as each other’s person, but the moments that we kept to ourselves? That’s what ground us as a couple. Because the Y/N off screen is for my eyes only, and that made me feel like…nothing really changes.”

You smile at his sentimental answer, while agreeing with him.

“What’s your ‘normal date’ actually like?” He reads another one.

“It’s our favourite, actually. Locking our doors and spend the whole day sleeping,” I chuckled.

“While hugging each other, of course.” He laughs, “We both have demanding schedules, so when we’re tired and have eachother? Y/N becomes my teddy bear.”

You roll your eyes, faux annoyed. “His grip—God—It’s like he has magnets in him.”

“But I never see you complaining.” He winks at you.

f4taltroubl3: why is she calmer than me and I’m not even in the relationship

The questions continue, some light-hearted and funny, some headliner-worthy you could feel your manager stressing out as she monitors your live from her screen.

“What’s a moment where you felt proud of each other as artist?” You read, and immediately answer.

“Uhm, while I am proud for all the awards he achieved…what makes me even prouder of him is that his tendency to stay commited to his intentions. By his side, you can really see how much hardship he went through.” You continued.

“However, through it all—his mindset never wavered, and that’s so significant in this fabricated and chaotic industry. As a fellow artist, I respect him so much. As a lover, I’m so proud of him.” I held his hand, and smile.

Heeseung’s breath hitches as he stares at you answering.

“That means so much to me, baby.” He says, voice soft enough it passes as a whisper only you hear.

LHS1COMINGSOON: the way u can tell they protected this relationship a lot, oh my heart.

He reads another one: “When was a moment you felt ‘this is my person’?”

He smiles before answering, “Before her, I’m someone who avoids talking to people or in general shut myself out from the world when things get tough, and then get back on track myself. But…when we started dating, I realised instead of wanting solitary, I crave her. In my silence, I search for her. She grounds me even more that past me can do it myself.” He chuckles.

“Loving Y/N is so easy. You just can’t not fall in love with her.” He kisses your hand again, and you feel your face heating up, as well as the lump in your throat forming.

“Tch, what a sap.” You smile, blinking quickly to avoid tearing up.

He just grin at that.

beliftlabdestroyer: The way they talk about each other is so gentle

heeseung4life: No wonder he fell for her

“Who is more affectionate in private?” You scoff, “I fear this is obvious, you guys.”

Heeseung looks at you, before smirking.

“Oh really now?” His hand creeping up your inner thigh.

“Yup.”

“But the last time I checked, it wasn’t me who was on their knees last n—”

“Okay—! Next question.” You glare at him, “Have you talked about your future seriously?”

Heeseung hums, “Future…” He shrugs. “Both of us really hold onto the concept of Carpe Diem, but…” He tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m so sure we’re each other’s future too. Maybe a family of our own?” He smiles.

You grin, “Well—that’s a given. But, too early to talk about that.”

gojosatoruineedthatdih: wait lowkey imagined a kid with both of their genes….we’re not ready

After the last question fades and the comments slow just enough to breathe, you glance at Heeseung, unsure who’s supposed to end it. For a moment, neither of you speaks—until he quietly thanks the viewers, his voice softer than it’s been the entire time.

“Thank you for supporting us,” you add, voice steadier than you expected.

You reach for the screen to end the live—

—but he stops you. Just for a second.

Not dramatic. Not obvious.

Just enough to gently intertwine his fingers with yours and kiss your temple.

“Now you can end it,” he murmurs.

And of course—

the camera catches everything.

Yunjin didn’t even blink. She just stared at you over the rim of her iced americano, unimpressed. “You haven’t even heard the details.”

“I don’t need to,” you replied smoothly, setting your drink down. “I already have plans that day.”

“Oh really?” she leaned back, crossing her arms. “What plans?”

“…Important plans.”

She raised a brow. “Name one.” You hesitated for half a second too long. “Laundry.”

Yunjin snorted. “You’re skipping a once-in-four-years reunion… to wash clothes.”

“It piles up,” you defended weakly. “Hygiene is important.”

“Right. Because you’ve totally never let laundry sit for a week before.”

You ignored that. “Also, I might be tired. Work has been very, extremely exhausting.”

“You literally just told me yesterday you’ve been bored out of your mind.”

“…I can be tired and bored.”

“Mm-hmm.”

You grabbed your cup again, taking another long sip just to avoid her stare. “Plus, I don’t really like crowds.”

Yunjin blinked. “You went to a concert last month.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“…There was music.”

“There will be music at the reunion.”

You paused. “…I don’t like that kind of crowd.”

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm, eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re running out of excuses.”

“I’m not making excuses,” you said quickly. “I just don’t feel like going. It’s not that deep.”

“It’s very deep,” she shot back. “You said no before I even finished the sentence.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

Okay, maybe that part was true.

Yunjin tilted her head, studying you like she was trying to crack a code. “What is it, then?”

“Nothing,” you said immediately.

“Liar.”

You let out a small groan, dropping back into your chair. “Why do you care so much if I go or not?”

“Because,” she said simply, “you used to love this kind of thing. Reunions, gatherings, all that nostalgic stuff. And now suddenly you’re acting like it’s a life-threatening event.”

You fiddled with the straw in your drink, pushing the ice around. “People change.”

“Not that much.”

Silence settled between you for a moment, filled only by the low hum of the café and the occasional clink of cups.

Yunjin softened, just slightly. “Look, I’m not saying you have to stay all night. Just… show up. Say hi. Exist for a bit.”

You stared at your drink again, watching the condensation slide down the plastic cup.

“…What if it’s awkward?” you muttered.

“It will be,” she said without hesitation.

You looked up at her.

She grinned. “For, like, five minutes. Then you grab a drink, talk to a few people, and suddenly it’s not a big deal anymore.”

You exhaled slowly, unconvinced. “Or it stays awkward.”

“Then we leave,” she shrugged. “Simple.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re not going to ditch me there, right?”

“Wow. I’m offended.”

“That’s not a no.”

She placed a hand dramatically over her chest. “I would never. I’ll be glued to your side the whole time.”

“…That sounds worse.”

Yunjin laughed. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here I am, being forced into social events against my will.”

“You’re not being forced,” she corrected. “You’re being strongly encouraged.”

You huffed, tapping your fingers against the table. “I just don’t see the point. It’s been years. Everyone’s doing their own thing now.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Which is why it’s interesting. You get to see how everyone turned out.”

You raised a brow. “And what if I don’t want to know?”

“Too bad,” she shot back lightly. “Curiosity is part of being human.” You shook your head, but a small smile threatened to break through.

She caught it instantly. “There it is.”

“There what is?”

“That face,” she pointed. “The ‘I’m about to give in but I don’t want to admit it’ face.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” You held her gaze for a second… then looked away first.

“…I’ll think about it,” you mumbled.

Yunjin lit up like she’d just won something. “That means yes.”

“It means maybe.”

“It means yes.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you love me,” she shot back effortlessly.

You sighed, reaching for your drink again.

“…We’ll see,” you said, trying to sound firm—but it came out a little too uncertain to be convincing.

Yunjin only smiled, completely unfooled.

And a week later, you arrive at the specially booked restaurant, arms locking with Yunjin, who has the brightest smile on her face people would mistake it for her birthday party.

You look around, already noticing familiar faces. Classmates who you shared one class with, those who you met on frat parties, and even those who you have worked with in the college’s management before.

“Holy fuck. Everyone’s here.” You sigh at Yunjin, who just chuckles. “That’s the point, darling. A reunion—Oh! There’s Minjeong! Hi!” She smiles.

Kim Minjeong, another mutual friend of yours who you’re quite close to, has been overseas a lot lately, so it’s been hard to keep in touch. She isn’t technically outgoing, but when hanging out with her, it’s plenty of fun.

“Hey, girls! It’s been ages!” She goes in for a hug, which the both of you reciprocate.

“You’re the one traveling around the world. I still meet this girl every week.” Yunjin blurts out, while Minjeong passes two glasses of champange.

You politely decline. “I’m driving.” You smile, but Yunjin wriggle her eyebrows. “Or you don’t wanna make some stupid drunk mistake again?” In which you pinch her side, making her yelp.

Fuck.

Minjeong claps her hands, as if remembering a completely significant detail in her life. “Right! I heard it from Yunjin, I was so wasted I missed it.” She laughs.

You can feel yourself heating up from embarrassment. “You both remember yet you still ask me to come?” You grit your teeth.

“Relax…it’s bee…what, 4 years? I kid you not no one in this room remembers.”

Just as she say that, a group of four men enters the room. Your eyes wander to one of them, and you already feel like throwing up.

“I can’t do this.” You are about to turn away from them, removing Yunjin’s arm.

“Girls!” Jay, the ever-so-loud and familiar goes up to your group. The other three followed him without hesitation.

“Wow…you guys barely change..” Yunjin says, analyzing their faces as if so much could change in a matter for four years.

“Can’t say the same to you guys, you guys look more mature now.” Jake teases while the three of you try your best not to give him the stinkiest stare known to mankind.

While they kept on conversing, your eyes landed on the last guy in the group.

Features as sharp as you remembered, only more defined now—time had carved a quiet confidence into him. His hair was a little longer, styled like he didn’t try too hard but still got it right, and the way he carried himself… steadier, grounded.

Older.

Familiar.

Dangerously so.

Lee Heeseung.

His eyes capture yours, and years of attempt to bury the past seems to fail you right there and then.

4 YEARS AGO

Your head is hazy.

The music is too loud—bass pounding through your chest, lights blurring every time you blink. Everything feels warm, unsteady, like the floor might tilt if you stand still for too long.

You shouldn’t have had that last drink.

Or the one before that.

Or… any of them, really.

But it’s too late now.

Because across the room—

You see him.

And suddenly, the noise fades just enough for your thoughts to latch onto one thing.

There he is.

Your heart lurches, something bubbling up in your chest—something that’s been sitting there for far too long.

It feels big.

Too big.

Too loud to keep in anymore.

Before you can think better of it, you’re already moving—pushing through people, brushing past shoulders, ignoring the way someone calls your name from behind.

By the time you stop, you’re right in front of him.

He looks surprised.

“Hey—are you okay?” he asks, eyes scanning your face.

You stare at him.

God, why does he look so… normal?

Like he hasn’t completely rearranged your brain chemistry just by existing.

“I need to tell you something,” you say, words slightly slurred but determined.

His brows pull together. “Maybe not right now, you look—”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “No, I have to say it now.”

A few people nearby glance over.

You don’t notice.

Or maybe you just don’t care.

Because your heart is racing too fast, your thoughts tripping over each other as they try to come out all at once.

“I like you, Heeseung.” you blurt.

There it is.

Out. Done. No taking it back.

Silence.

His expression freezes—caught completely off guard.

“…You do?” he says after a beat, like he’s trying to make sure he heard you right.

You nod, a little too hard. “Yeah. Like—like a lot. For a long time.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Too long.

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly scrambling for something to say. “I—I didn’t know that.”

“Well, yeah,” you let out a shaky laugh. “That’s why I’m telling you now.”

“Right,” he nods slowly, still processing. “I just—uh…”

He hesitates.

And that’s all it takes.

That tiny pause.

That flicker of uncertainty.

Your chest tightens instantly.

Because in your head, it already sounds like a no.

“I mean,” he starts carefully, “you’re really—”

“Oh my god,” you cut in, the words hitting you all at once. “You don’t like me.”

He blinks. “Wait—no, I didn’t say—”

“It’s fine,” you laugh, but it comes out sharp. Too sharp. “You don’t have to do the whole ‘you’re really nice’ thing, I get it.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, stepping back slightly. “No, it’s cool. Totally cool.”

Your heart is pounding now—but not in the same way.

Hot. Embarrassed. Defensive.

“Wow,” you let out another laugh, louder this time. “I really picked the worst time to say that, huh?”

He looks genuinely concerned now. “Hey, maybe we should talk when you’re a bit—”

“What? Sober?” you shoot back. “So I can be rejected properly?”

“I’m not rejecting you,” he says quickly.

But you’re already shaking your head.

“No, no, you are,” you insist, like you’ve already decided it. “It’s fine. You don’t like me. Great. Awesome. Love that for me.”

“Can you just—listen for a second?”

You scoff, folding your arms. “Oh, now you want me to listen.”

“I’ve been trying to—”

“Save it,” you cut him off, your voice rising without you meaning to. “You hesitated. That’s all I needed.”

A few more people are definitely watching now.

Still—you don’t stop.

“Honestly, it’s whatever,” you ramble, words spilling out faster now. “You’re not even—like, all that.”

His brows lift slightly. “…What?”

“Yeah,” you nod, doubling down. “You’re just—there. Like, I don’t even know why I—”

“Okay, that’s enough.”

A hand suddenly grabs your arm.

You turn to see Yunjin, eyes wide and mildly horrified.

“Abort,” she mutters under her breath.

“Wait, no—” you try to pull back, pointing at him. “He needs to hear this—”

“He really doesn’t,” she says, already dragging you away.

Another friend appears on your other side, helping her pull you back through the crowd.

“You’re making a scene,” Yunjin hisses.

“I’m not—!” you protest, twisting to look over your shoulder. “I just think it’s funny how he—”

Your words fade as the distance grows, the noise swallowing everything again.

The last thing you see is him standing there—

Still.

Confused.

Like he didn’t even get the chance to finish what he was going to say.

By the time graduation rolled around, you had a plan.

A very simple one: Get your certificate. Take pictures. Leave.

No lingering. No wandering around. And most importantly—no running into him.

“Okay, one more!” Yunjin called, already dragging you back into place with the rest of the girls.

You forced a smile, adjusting your gown as the camera flashed again.

Click.

Another one.

Click.

“Wait, wait—this lighting is good, don’t move!” someone said, pulling you slightly to the side.

You laughed, letting them reposition you, arms slinging around familiar shoulders as you leaned in.

For a moment, it felt normal.

Easy.

Like nothing embarrassing had ever happened.

“Family next!” your mom called from behind the crowd, waving you over.

“Coming!” you replied quickly—maybe a little too quickly.

You slipped out of the group before anyone could stop you, weaving through people until you reached your family. Your mom immediately fussed over your hair, your gown, your everything.

“Stand properly—smile nicely,” she said, fixing your collar.

“I am smiling,” you insisted.

“Not like that. A proper smile.”

You forced one, holding it as the camera flashed.

Click.

Another angle.

Click.

“Okay, now one more—”

“How many is one more?” you muttered under your breath, but stayed in place anyway.

More flashes. More poses.

You nodded along, played your part, laughed when you were supposed to.

But your eyes—

Your eyes kept moving. Scanning. Just in case.

Just to make sure.

“Alright, done!” your dad finally said, lowering the camera.

“Great!” you replied instantly, already stepping back. “Okay, I’m just gonna—uh—go find the girls again—”

“Wait, one more with your aunt—”

“I’ll come back!” you said quickly, already inching away.

You didn’t wait for a response.

You turned.

And walked.

Fast.

Not running. Definitely not running. Just… walking with urgency.

In the opposite direction.

Away from the crowd.

Away from—

“Hey.”

You froze. Oh no.

Slowly, you turned. And there he was.

Standing just a few steps away.

Of course.

Of course this would happen.

Your brain short-circuited for half a second before you forced out the most normal response you could manage.

“Oh—hey,” you said, like your heart hadn’t just dropped to your stomach.

There was a brief pause.

He looked like he wanted to say something.

Anything.

You didn’t give him the chance.

“Congrats, by the way,” you added quickly, words coming out a little too fast. “On, you know—graduating. Obviously.”

Wow.

Incredible.

He blinked, a little caught off guard. “…Thanks. You too.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” you nodded, already stepping back. “Okay, I’m gonna go—my friends are—uh—waiting.”

They weren’t.

But that didn’t matter.

“Wait—” he started.

“I’ll see you around!” you cut in, already turning away.

And then—

You bolted.

Actually bolted this time.

Straight back into the crowd, not daring to look over your shoulder.

You didn’t stop until you found Yunjin again, grabbing onto her arm like a lifeline.

“Hey—what—” she started.

“We’re leaving,” you said immediately.

“Now?”

“Now.”

She blinked. “But we haven’t took pictures with—”

“I said now.”

She stared at you for a second… then glanced past you, as if piecing things together.

“…Did you see him?”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

Yunjin sighed, already gathering her things. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Please,” you muttered.

She shook her head, but didn’t argue further.

And just like that—

You made your exit.

Quick.

Clean.

And determined to never, ever relive that moment again.

PRESENT TIME

You find yourself spacing out the whole time the group talk to each other, reminiscing old memories, fun times at parties, late night study sessions that ends up in a movie marathon.

However you can’t seem to focus.

Not when he’s literally sitting beside you, while the others talk like everything’s fine.

To be fair, everything is fine. You’re the one that’s having issues right now, while the others clearly moved on from that incident.

“Not drinking?” You hear his voice beside you.

You turn to him, and his eyes are already on you.

You shake your head. “I’m on the wheel back home, and I don’t trust Yunjin driving me back.”

He lets out a small laugh. Eyes wrinkling and his smile soft, like always.

“Don’t make that your limitation. The cabs are always there.” He says, motioning you the untouched glass of champagne.

You wonder did he see you eyeing everyone’s lips as they took sips of their own drinks, feeling envious—or he’s trying to force you to drink.

You immediately dismiss the latter. No way. He’s not the type. Definitely not.

So, carefully, slowly, you lift your drink to your lips, forcing your hand not to shake. You tip it just enough to take a sip, letting the liquid slide down like a quiet, private concession.

And when you set the glass down, your eyes flicker to him again.

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t comment. Just… watches.

Something about the way he looks at you makes your chest tighten in a way you can’t name yet.

He leans slightly closer as if to be heard over the music, tilting his head with that familiar, careful expression. “So… how’ve you been?”

You blink, caught off guard. It’s casual, normal—easy—but somehow it makes your stomach twist. “I… I’ve been good,” you say, keeping your voice steady. “Busy. You know how it is.”

He nods, the corners of his mouth tilting up just slightly. “Yeah, I do. Still working in journalism?”

You grin faintly, a little proud despite the nerves. “Yeah. Mostly features and interviews now. I cover some big events, travel occasionally… keeps me on my toes.”

He whistles softly. “That’s… impressive. I didn’t realize you’d gotten that far.” His tone is easy, conversational, but you catch the hint of genuine interest in his eyes.

“And you?” you ask, leaning slightly forward. “Still with media? Behind the camera side of things?”

He chuckles, a low, easy sound that makes you almost forget the pounding of your heart. “Yeah, same scene. Producing mostly, sometimes directing. We haven’t… crossed paths though, have we?”

“Nope,” you say, shaking your head. “Funny how that works, right? Same world, just… never colliding.”

He laughs quietly, almost ruefully. “Guess some things just take their own time.”

You glance at him, noticing the subtle change in his expression—something softer, more open than you remember. The air between you feels… lighter, and yet, heavier, in a way that keeps your fingers gripping your drink a little too tightly.

“So,” he says, leaning back slightly, “what’s the craziest story you’ve covered recently?”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling despite yourself. “Crazy is subjective, but I might have a few that would make you spit out your drink.”

He grins, and for a moment, it feels like no years have passed at all.

—

The conversation between the both of you are going smoothly.

Infact, too smooth.

Like the fact that you crashed out in front of him and possibly humiliate yourself and him a little did not happen.

That you went all out in front of him years ago. That night. The one that was supposed to be your big, humiliating, heart-on-your-sleeve confession.

You almost expect him to bring it up. Maybe a teasing remark, a half-laugh, an eyebrow raise, something subtle. But he doesn’t. Not even a flicker of recognition.

Your chest tightens just a little, a mix of disbelief and nervous amusement. Did he even remember? Or is he just… choosing not to?

You take a slow sip of your drink, letting the liquid steady your racing thoughts.

“Feels like we’re actually having a normal conversation,” you say, trying to mask the strange flutter in your stomach.

A few drinks in and you finally feel it—the subtle, creeping warmth spreading through your chest and limbs, the light buzz at the edges of your thoughts.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you realize just how… relaxed you feel. Not fully drunk, not sloshed, but that gentle, teasing tipsiness that makes your laugh come a little easier and your words just slide out without overthinking them.

You take a slow sip of your drink, letting it wash over you, and notice your fingers brushing the glass a little too often, your hand trembling ever so slightly.

You blink a few times, trying to steady your gaze, and that’s when you notice him watching you. Not in a pointed or intrusive way—just… observant, like he’s quietly taking stock.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, careful.

You let out a soft laugh, brushing a hand over your forehead. “Yeah… just… maybe a little tipsy.”

His eyes flicker with something—concern, perhaps, or maybe just mild amusement. “You’re starting to look it. Head’s a little heavy?”

You tilt your head, the movement slow, a little clumsy. “Yeah… maybe. Just feeling… tired, I guess.”

He leans in slightly, not too close, but close enough that you notice. “Want me to get you some water? Or maybe sit down for a bit?”

You shake your head, smiling faintly, a little embarrassed. “No… I’m fine. Just… didn’t realize how much the day caught up with me.”

He nods, accepting your answer, though his gaze lingers a moment longer than necessary, making your chest flutter. “Alright… just… don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”

You glance at him, catching the way his eyes soften when he speaks. “Yeah… I’ll try.”

And just like that, the buzz in your head feels a little warmer, a little more bearable—not just from the drink, but from the quiet care in his tone.

“Why are we acting like it never happened?” you ask, searching for his eyes through your hazy ones.

Literally what is wrong with you?

He blinks, caught off guard by the directness, and for a moment, his carefully composed expression falters. “…We… what?”

“That night,” you insist, tipping your drink slightly, letting the amber liquid catch the light. “Graduation party. Me, completely falling apart, confessing… probably embarrassing both of us. That night. Why are we pretending it didn’t happen?”

He exhales slowly, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at his lips. “I… I don’t know. I guess I just… didn’t think it mattered. Didn’t want to make it more awkward than it already was.”

You squint at him, teasing but still slightly accusatory. “Not awkward? You mean the part where I’m yelling at you, convinced you were rejecting me, and my friends had to pull me away?”

He winces slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay… yeah, fine. That was awkward.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Awkward? That’s one word for it. Humiliating would be more accurate.”

He chuckles softly, like he can’t help himself. “I didn’t want you to feel like I was judging you. Honestly, I was… surprised. And kind of… baffled.”

“Baffled?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Baffled is the nicest word I’ve ever heard used to describe that disaster.”

He shrugs, grin teasing but gentle. “Hey, you made it memorable.”

You groan, pressing a hand to your face. “Memorable. That’s exactly what I wanted—my nightmare plastered in my memory forever.”

He laughs quietly, and you feel a little of the tension in your chest ease, even as your cheeks burn.

“See?” He mutters, “This is why I can’t act like it didn’t happen.”

He leans back slightly, looking at you with something softer in his gaze. “Alright. It happened. And… honestly? I’m kind of glad you brought it up.”

You blink, caught off guard. “…Glad?”

He nods, grin small but real. “Yeah. Makes this… easier. Us talking now, I mean. We’re past it.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the tipsy warmth in your chest suddenly feeling a little lighter. “Past it… sure. I’ll try to believe that.”

And for the first time in years, the memory doesn’t sting quite as much—mostly because it’s not just a memory anymore. You’re here, talking. Laughing. And he’s still looking at you.

You fan your face instinctively, heat creeping up your cheeks. Just talking to him—him—makes your chest flutter and your stomach twist, like it used to back in college.

Or maybe it’s the booze. Probably the booze.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but the warmth lingers anyway. Fingers tapping nervously against the rim of your glass, you force a laugh, brushing at your hair like that will hide how flustered you feel.

He notices, of course. His gaze softens, just a little, and it makes your chest clench in a way you’re not ready to admit out loud.

“Too much?” he asks lightly, a teasing edge that makes your ears burn even more.

“N-no,” you stammer, fanning yourself again, probably looking ridiculous. “Just… warm. Hot in here, I mean.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, raising a brow, clearly unconvinced but letting it slide.

You sip your drink quickly, hoping the liquid will do more than cool your throat—that it’ll calm the frantic beat of your heart. But even as you set the glass down, you know the truth: whether it’s college nerves or the booze, just being here with him has you all twisted up again.

And god, it’s thrilling. Terrifying. And completely unavoidable.

Before you can fully protest, you feel his hand brush against yours—and then grasp it firmly.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice low, steady. “Come with me for a sec. Get some air.”

Your heart does a little stutter. “Uh… outside?” you ask, trying to sound casual while your fingers tingle where his hold lingers.

He nods, tugging gently but firmly. “Yeah. Just… a quick breather. Trust me.”

You hesitate for only a fraction of a second before letting him lead you out. The restaurant door swings open, and suddenly the noise—the music, the chatter, the clinking glasses—falls away.

The night air hits you like a wave, cool and sharp against your flushed cheeks. You inhale deeply, letting it settle in your lungs, fingers still lightly entwined with his.

“You… didn’t have to,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

“I know,” he replies quietly, his thumb brushing your hand in a small, unconscious gesture. “But you needed it. I could tell.”

You swallow, feeling your chest tighten. The world feels quieter here, simpler, like the space between you shrinks in a way it never did back in college.

“Thanks…Hee,” you whisper, almost embarrassed by how sincerely you mean it.

He gives a small, easy smile at the nickname, one that somehow makes the tipsy nervousness in your chest melt just a little. “Anytime.”

You realize, as you stand there under the dim glow of the streetlights, that maybe—just maybe—it’s easier to breathe when he’s around.

You start staring at him, and suddenly it all clicks—the reason your crush had lingered all those years.

He’s… stunning. Not just good-looking, but the kind of presence that lingers in your chest like a low hum. His voice drifts to you, soft and deliberate, saying your name like it’s fragile, like you might vanish if he’s too loud.

And his eyes… they’re honest. Sincere. Like when you meet his gaze, he’s not just looking—he’s pulling, gently, hypnotically, drawing you into the orbit of him without any effort at all.

But the part that steals your breath? His aura. Quiet, commanding, just a little dangerous. Back in college, everyone wanted Heeseung. He was the silent one in the friend group, keeping mostly to himself, but that quietness only made him magnetic. Girls would orbit him, laugh at his half-smiles, and before anyone even realized, he’d slip away with them upstairs, private and mysterious.

And now, standing here, just talking, just existing… all of it is clear. The looks, the quiet confidence, the way he moves without needing to draw attention—he’s still the same Heeseung, and somehow, somehow, it’s even more intoxicating than you remembered.

Your chest tightens, your pulse picks up, and you realize… yeah, this crush? It never really faded. Not then, not now.

—

You shake your head, trying to push the thoughts away before they spiral any further. With a shaky breath, you let him guide you back inside, reminding yourself to focus on something else—anything else.

But the moment the door swings open, reality hits.

Your friends are already there, dragging both of you toward the dance floor. The crowd presses in like sardines, bodies bumping, brushing, too close for comfort. The bass rattles through your chest, and you can barely see through the mass of people, let alone move without stepping on someone’s toes.

You glance at him, half-expecting him to protest, but he just lets out a small laugh, brushing an invisible piece of stray hair from your face. You force a smile, gripping his hand lightly—half for balance, half because the warmth there is grounding.

Somehow, you’re swept along, the tipsy buzz in your chest mingling with the chaos around you. Every movement, every laugh, every brush of someone else’s arm against yours makes your heart race just a little faster.

And you can’t help but wonder… if he notices how much closer you’re holding on, or if he’s lost in the crowd as well.

As the crowd shuffles and sways, Yunjin suddenly bumps into you from the side, jostling you back. Before you can steady yourself, your back hits him—Heeseung—and instinctively, your body freezes.

Instead of stepping back or letting you go, a warm hand settles on your waist, steadying you. His touch is firm, deliberate, grounding against the chaos of the dance floor.

You feel the press of his front against your back, the faint brush of his chest along yours, and your breath catches in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

He sways slightly with the movement of the crowd, and you realize his hand isn’t just keeping you upright—it’s guiding, moving with you in a rhythm that matches the music, subtle but intimate.

Your pulse hammers, and for a moment, the noise of the dance floor, the heat, the crowd—all of it—blurs away. There’s just the warmth of him behind you, the gentle sway, and the sharp awareness of every accidental contact.

You inhale sharply, fingertips brushing against his hand at your waist, and you know the tipsy heat in your chest just got a lot more dangerous.

The press of his body against yours is subtle at first—just a nudge here, a sway there—but with each accidental brush, the tension coils tighter in your chest.

His hand on your waist doesn’t move, doesn’t falter, just… stays, guiding your body slightly with the rhythm of the music. Every small shift makes you hyper-aware: the warmth of him behind you, the faint scent of his cologne, the way the beat makes your bodies move closer without any real thought.

Your stomach twists, heat pooling lower, and you realize just how intimate this accidental closeness has become. The tipsy warmth in your head mingles dangerously with the awareness of him—his strength, his scent, the way he’s so steady—and suddenly every sway, every brush, feels loaded.

You glance over your shoulder, heart hammering, catching his eyes in the briefest of moments. There’s a faint smirk on his lips, and the look in his gaze is… unreadable, teasing, but undeniably deliberate.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, and you know you’re far too aware of him, far too conscious of the way your bodies are pressing, rubbing, moving together despite the chaos of the crowd.

And just like that, what should have been an innocent brush in a dance floor sardine-fest has started to feel… suggestive. Too suggestive. Too thrilling. And definitely, definitely impossible to ignore.

“Screw all this.” He mutters and brings you out outside again.

He steps closer, and before you can even process what’s happening, his hand gently presses against the wall beside you, trapping you in the small space between him and the brick.

Your breath catches in your throat as you glance up at him, heart hammering painfully in your chest. His eyes search yours for a fraction of a second, soft and steady, before his lips meet yours.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, and warm, melting the last of your tipsy haze into something sharper, more urgent. Your fingers curl at his shoulders, holding on as if letting go would make the world collapse, and every nerve in your body lights up with awareness—his warmth, the press of his chest, the taste of him.

He deepens the kiss just slightly, careful but insistent, and you realize there’s no part of this that’s accidental. Every movement, every touch, every brush of his lips is intentional—and it leaves you dizzy, breathless, and entirely captivated.

For a moment, nothing exists outside of the two of you: the night, the faint hum of distant music, the cool air on your flushed cheeks. There’s only him, only this kiss, only the overwhelming pull you’ve felt for years finally becoming real.

“Heeseung…” you whisper, still catching your breath, pulling back just enough to look at him.

He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze lingers on you, intense, dark, and impossibly magnetic. Then, finally, he reaches for his phone, thumbs moving quickly. “Cab’s coming,” he says, voice low, a rough edge to it that makes your chest tighten. “I can’t drive like this… but I want to get us somewhere… private.”

The words hit you, sharp and urgent, and your stomach flips. You feel his hand brush yours, almost brushing your fingers against the hem of his palm, grounding you even as your pulse races.

He drapes his jacket over your shoulders without a word, his hand lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. You shiver—not from the cold, but from the heat of him, the closeness, the way he looks at you like he’s been waiting years for this moment.

The cab arrives, and he gestures for you to step inside first, letting his hand hover near yours in a silent promise of care and anticipation. You slide into the seat, the leather cool against your skin, and he follows, closing the door with a soft click.

The hum of the engine and the blur of city lights outside do nothing to quiet the electricity between you.

You steal a glance at him, heart hammering. His eyes catch yours immediately, dark and serious, and for a second the world shrinks down to just the two of you. Every inch of closeness, every brush of warmth, makes it impossible to think clearly.

And as the cab moves through the night, the air between you thick with unspoken desire, you realize… this is far from over.

Your hands rest on your lap, fingers twitching nervously, when you feel him gently brush against yours. Just a graze at first, teasing, testing—but then he takes your hand in his.

He doesn’t squeeze or hold too tightly, just… plays with your fingers, tracing subtle patterns, sliding your fingers between his, rolling them lightly, letting you feel his warmth without saying a word.

You catch your breath, tipsy warmth twisting into something sharper, something electric. Every touch makes your heart hammer, every movement of his fingers against yours feels deliberate, intimate, like he’s silently marking you as his.

You glance up at him through the dim glow of the cab lights. His eyes meet yours, soft but teasing, watching your reaction like he’s savoring it. And somehow, just the act of his hands on yours, the closeness, the quiet intimacy, makes everything else—the embarrassment, the crowded dance floor, even the alcohol—fade away.

You can’t stop the small shiver running through you. He’s just playing with your hands, and yet it feels like so much more.

—

The moment the front door clicks shut, everything snaps back into focus—too close, too fast, too much.

Before you can even turn properly, his hand finds your wrist, then your waist, and suddenly your back meets the door with a soft thud.

Your breath catches.

And then he’s kissing you again.

Not like before—this time it’s urgent, like he’s been holding himself back the entire ride and finally gave up. His lips crash into yours, warm and insistent, and your fingers instinctively clutch at his shirt, grounding yourself as the world tilts.

The faint scent of him surrounds you, familiar and intoxicating, and the quiet of his place makes everything louder—the sound of your breathing, the soft shift of fabric, the way your heart pounds like it might give you away.

He pulls you closer, one hand still firm at your waist, the other bracing against the door beside your head. There’s no space left between you now, no room to think, only feel.

You melt into it despite yourself, responding, your hands tightening slightly against him as the kiss deepens just enough to make your head spin.

For a split second, he pauses—just enough to catch your breath, his forehead almost brushing yours, his voice low and uneven.

“…We can stop,” he murmurs, even though his grip doesn’t loosen. “If you want.”

But the way he looks at you—like he’s been waiting, like he’s barely holding on—makes your answer feel inevitable.

You shake your head, pulling him even closer. “Please, I want it.”

Heeseung responded eagerly to your confession, his hands roaming over your body, pulling you closer to him. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a heated, passionate dance.

His eyes darkened with a possessive gleam at your words. He picked you up easily, his hands gripping your thighs as he carried you to the bedroom like a prize.

Laying you down on the bed, his body covering yours. He captured your lips in a fierce kiss again, his hands roaming over your body, his touch burning hot. "Are you sure about this, Y/N?" He asked between ragged breaths.

You nodded, looking directly into his eyes before saying: “I trust you.”

Heeseung's expression softened at your words, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and something deeper—something protective. He exhaled sharply before pressing his forehead against yours.

"Then I'll make sure you don't regret it." His voice was rough but tender as he slid a hand under the hem of your shirt, fingertips tracing slow circles on your skin.

As his mouth moved from your lips to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down your throat, His hand traced over your waist, his touch leaving a trail of fire on your skin.

"You're so beautiful." He murmured, his voice low and ragged. "Obsessed with you. Always been." He murmurs into your skin.

He took his time exploring your body with gentle, teasing touches, his fingers tracing over the curve of your hips, his lips teasing at sensitive spots that made you shiver.

You let out a small whine when the heat gets to you and you want nothing but your clothes off right now, and he understands just that.

Heeseung's hands moved with slow, deliberate care as he peeled off your clothes. His eyes darkened as more skin was revealed to him—his gaze hungry but worshipful.

"God..." he breathed out, his fingertips ghosting over newly exposed areas like he was memorizing you. "You’re so fucking pretty. I might cum from just looking at you like this."

His lips followed the path of his hands, kissing down your collarbone, lingering on the swell of your breast before looking up at you through hooded lashes for permission.

“Please,” is all you say.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound rough and wanting. His hands cupped your breasts with reverence before he lowered his mouth to one peaked nipple.

"Fuck—so good," he muttered against your skin, tongue swirling teasingly before sucking hard enough to make you gasp. His free hand pinched and rolled the other nipple between his fingers while he watched for every reaction on your face.

He switched sides with a dark chuckle, "Tell me if I'm too much."

You clench your thighs when he said that making his grin widen, stroking the skin between them.

“I’ve got you, sweet girl.” He says, “Just tell me if I need to slow down, okay?”

His mouth trails lower and lower and his delicate hands pulls your underwear down.

Heeseung's breath hitched as he pulled off your underwear, his eyes roaming over the newly exposed area with a possessive hunger that made your breath catch.

He took his time, his touch trailing up from your thigh, his fingertips leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake.

"So beautiful. So perfect." he murmured, "I want to taste you—can I?"

As you nod, he lets out a small noise. “Words, baby.” He nips your inner thigh making you yelp, “Yes! Please, taste me!”

Heeseung groaned, his hands tightening on your hips as he lowered himself between your legs. His tongue traced a slow, teasing line up the center of you—just enough to make you shudder.

"Fuck," he muttered against your skin, "You taste even better than I imagined."

Then he dove in fully—sucking and licking with an intensity that had stars bursting behind your eyelids.

Each stroke of Heeseung's tongue was a spark of fire, lighting up every nerve. He took his time, learning your body like a favorite song, every sweet spot, every little sound, just another part of this perfect dance.

The alcohol is really messing up your mind, you whine, feeling needy and impatient.

Heeseung chuckled against your skin, feeling your impatience. He lifted his head, his lips glistening with arousal.

"Someone's needy, huh?" He teased, before sitting up and grabbing your thighs. "Turn over. Hands and knees."

Heeseung's hands guided you, helping you turn over, until you were on all fours in front of him.

"Good girl," he said, his voice rough with desire. "Just like that."

He ran his hand down the arch of your back, admiring the view before him. "So pretty."

The tip of his finger trailed further down your spine, just barely grazing the sensitive skin of your rear.

"Can you take me like this, baby?" He asked, his voice a low purr.

You let out a another soft moan, nodding.

Heeseung groaned, unable to hold back a smirk at the sound. The way you responded to him, it lit a fire within him. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your skin.

"That's my girl." He praised, his hand roaming across your skin possessively before he shifted on the bed, positioning himself right behind you.

His fingers slid into you with slow, deliberate pressure—curling just right to drag a choked gasp from your lips.

"Fuck, so tight," he gritted out between clenched teeth. His thumb pressed firm circles against that sweet spot as he scissored his fingers inside you. "Gonna make sure I get every damn sound out of you."

He leaned over further, his chest pressing against your back. He wanted to feel you closer, so close that he could hear every beat of your heart. His lips brushed the shell of your ear.

"You ready for me, pretty girl?"

Your moans became louder, but he isn’t satisfied.

Heeseung chuckled, the sound dark and rough as he nipped at your earlobe.

"That's not an answer." His fingers curled deeper inside you—punishingly slow—just to feel how wet and desperate you were for him. "Say it. Tell me what you want."

"I want you. All of you." I said, my voice thick with wanting.

Heeseung shuddered, the words sinking into him like a drug, the alcohol’s influence isn’t helping either. It was exactly what he wanted to hear.

"Such a good girl." He murmured, his words punctuated by a sharp bite to your shoulder. Then his hands left your body—leaving you empty—and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of him fumbling with his clothes.

"I'm gonna give you all of me."

When you turn your head to look at him, he was already bare, the sight of him make your stomach flip. He looked like a goddamn marble sculpture come to life—all hard muscle and smooth skin, every line of him taut with tension. But it was his size that made you gasp.

"See something you like?" He teased, his eyes dark and hungry as they traveled over you, taking in the flush on your skin.

“Please go slow, I’m gonna tear.” You said, still baffled at his ridiculously large size. He’s huge, way huge than the other guys you’ve experienced sex with.

Heeseung's smirk softened into something tender at your plea. He cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

"It’s alright, I got you." His voice was rough but gentle as he pressed a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I'll go as slow as you need me to."

He positioned himself at your entrance, one hand bracing against the bed while the other guided his length in with agonizing patience—letting you feel every inch stretch around him until tears pricked at the corners of his eyes from holding back so hard.

He paused then, letting you adjust to his size. He pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses over your shoulder, your back, your neck. He was everywhere, surrounding you with his presence.

He whispered in your ear: "You okay?"

He let out a ragged groan, his entire body tensing as he tried to keep control. His hands tightened on your hips, fingers pressing into soft flesh as he fought the urge to just take.

"Fuck, you feel too good." His voice was wrecked already, strained with restraint. He pressed his forehead at your back and exhaled hard. "Tell me when I can move."

You nodded, taking a moment to adjust to the overwhelming fullness before giving him a shaky nod a few seconds later. "You can move."

Heeseung groaned at your words, relief and desire warring within him. He eased back at a slow, steady pace, his hands steadying you. After a few more thrusts, he turn you around so that you’re facing each other.

"Wrap your legs around me." The command was growled out, barely recognizable as his own voice. "I want you closer."

His breath hitched as he watched you obey, his body trembling with restraint. The second your legs locked around him, he snapped—burying himself to the hilt in one rough thrust.

"Shit—!" His voice broke on a groan, fingers digging bruises into your hips as he held you there for a torturous moment. "You take me so damn well baby,"

His control was teetering, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold back. He leaned forward, pressing you down into the bed with the weight of his body.

"You know just how crazy you make me?" He murmured, his lips brushing your ear with every word. "That night, and then graduation, you left without me having any say,"

He ran a hand down your side, his touch possessive, almost greedy as he mapped every curve, every dip and arch. “Not letting me tell you how much I wanted you too..”

You clench harder at his confession.

Heeseung's entire body shuddered as he felt you clench around him—tight, wet, perfect.

His grip on your hips turned bruising as a ragged groan tore from his throat.

"Thought about you every—shit, baby relax—" he choked out between gritted teeth. The sensation was almost too much to bear; the way you pulsed around him had his vision whiting out for a second.

"You trying to kill me?" he rasped, hips jerking instinctively into yours despite himself.

You laugh at him, finding him silly before another sharp thrust making you fall apart.

Heeseung's breath caught in his throat at the sound. The way you laughed and then immediately fell to pieces, moaning for him? It was like music to his ears.

Heeseung smiled against your neck, his grip tightening on you as he pulled back just enough to watch the way your body responded to him. “Oh fuck, Heeseung! Like that—“

"Like this?" he teased, dragging his hips forward in a slow, filthy roll—letting you feel every inch of him stretch and fill you all over again. "Or do I need to go harder?"

You moaned, “H-harder!”

His eyes darkened with a primal hunger at your plea. A rough sound tore from his throat as he reared back—then slammed into you, hard.

"Fuck—fuck—!" His hands clamped down on your hips, fingers pressing bruises into soft flesh as he pistoned in and out of you with brutal precision. "You take it so damn good."

A bead of sweat trailed down his temple; the room filled with the lewd slap of skin-on-skin and ragged breathing.

Without warning, he flipped onto his back and hauled you atop him—your thighs straddling his waist as he smirked up at ya from beneath hooded lashes. "Ride me.”

The second you took control, his hands flew to your hips, fingers digging into soft flesh as he watched—transfixed—while you bounced on top of him.

"Fuck—yes, just like that," he growled, his voice wrecked. The sight alone was enough to make his vision blur; sweat dripped down his temple as he struggled not to lose it too soon.

"You feel so goddamn good."

His hands were everywhere—roving across your skin in scorching paths that left your nerves singing. His touch was feverish, desperate, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you. He leaned up and captured your mouth in a hard kiss.

"Look at me," he muttered against your lips. His hand came up, fingers grasping your chin and tilting your head back so he could see your face—eyes dark with a primal hunger. "I want to see you fall apart for me, can you do that baby?"

You could only obey, lost in a haze of pleasure. His eyes—God, his eyes—seemed to see straight through you, right into your soul.

The intensity of his gaze was almost too much to bear and yet, at the same time, it was what you wanted most, needed in this moment.

You felt exposed, vulnerable, but paradoxically, you also felt safe—known. Loved.

You lean down, Heeseung groaned and met you halfway, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, holding you in place. He kissed you like a man starving, all teeth and tongue—almost desperate in its urgency. His other hand roamed over your body, pulling you impossibly closer until you were pressed flush against him.

"You're so goddamn perfect," he muttered, his breath hot against your mouth. "And mine."

He groaned low in his throat, his body going taut beneath you when he feels you clench around him again.

"You like that, sweetheart?" he chuckled, his hand moving from the nape of your neck down your spine so his fingers could curl over your hip, gripping you tightly.

"That I'm calling you mine? That you belong to me?"

You nod, and he smiles. “Then let’s move on with that, baby. You’re mine. All mine. And I’m yours—Fuck, so tight baby,”

You can feel the tight coil in your stomach about to burst, your moans grow even louder.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice rough with a note of command that sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes locked with yours, dark and intent, his expression a heady mix of tender and feral. "Let me see you."

He set a brutal pace, every thrust deep and rough, his hand snaking up to cup your cheek. His thumb traced a line across your lip, the touch almost tender as he watched you—eyes blazing with a mixture of possession and adoration.

And when you fall apart? He’s there to catch you.

Heeseung's eyes shut tight, a guttural cry torn from his lips. The feeling of you surrounding him completely was overwhelming, the intensity sending shudders down his spine.

His hips stuttering beneath you as he chased the high with reckless abandon. His hands clamped down on your waist—fingers bruising—as he drove up into you one final time.

"Fuck!" he snarled, back arching off the bed as pleasure ripped through him in white-hot waves. He spilled inside you in hot pulses, his breath ragged and uneven while sweat dripped from his brow onto your chest.

"...Lord," he muttered dazedly, "You're gonna be the death of me."

You whine in response, too overstimulated and sensitive to reply verbally.

Heeseung let out a shaky laugh, his fingers tracing soft circles over your skin as he tried to catch his breath. He gently maneuvered you off of him, laying you delicately on the bed beside him.

"Sensitive, baby?" he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead as his hand came up to brush the sweat-soaked hair away from your face. He could see the effect he'd had on you, the flush on your cheeks, the faint tremble in your limbs.

“You’re with me? You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” You murmur, dazed with the aftershock and alcohol.

Heeseung's expression softened as he scooped you up effortlessly, his arms strong and steady around you. He carried you to the bathroom with surprising gentleness—no teasing now, just quiet focus on making sure you were taken care of.

"Let me," he murmured when he set your feet down by the toilet. His hands hovered near your waist in case you wobbled before turning to wet a cloth under warm water.

"You did so good for me."

The words sounded almost reverential as he wiped you clean with the cloth. He was careful, tender even, his touch feather-light on your sensitive skin as he took his time making sure every remnant of what they'd done was erased.

"You're so damn beautiful," he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder.

“Let’s get back to bed.”

—

The next morning, a sharp ringing in your head drags you out of sleep—loud, relentless, unforgiving.

You groan, burying your face deeper into the pillow, hoping it’ll stop. It doesn’t.

Your head pounds. Your throat is dry. Your entire body feels heavy, like it’s been weighed down by something you can’t quite name yet.

The alcohol.

Right.

That explains the headache. The dizziness. The way your limbs don’t feel entirely like yours.

But then—

Your eyes snap open.

Memory doesn’t come back all at once. It trickles in. Slow. Dangerous.

The reunion.

The drinks.

The laughter.

Him.

Your stomach drops.

No.

No, no, no—

You push yourself up slightly, wincing as the room spins just a little too much, your heart starting to race for an entirely different reason now.

The dance floor.

His hand on your waist.

Your breath catches.

The cab.

His fingers playing with yours.

His place—

“Oh my god,” you whisper, voice hoarse.

And then it hits you.

The kiss.

The way he thrust up into you.

The way you didn’t stop him.

The way you didn’t want to.

You freeze, every nerve suddenly awake despite the pounding in your head.

Slowly—very, very slowly—you turn your head.

And that’s when it sinks in.

You’re not in your room.

Not your bed.

Not your sheets.

Your grip tightens on the blanket as your eyes scan the unfamiliar space, heart thudding louder with every second.

This is his place.

Which means—

You swallow. Hard.

A soft, hoarse voice from right beside you.

“…You’re awake.”

You freeze.

There he is.

Hair messy, eyes barely open, voice still thick with sleep as he shifts slightly on the bed, one arm tucked under his head. He looks… different like this. Softer. Less composed than last night, but somehow even more real.

Your heart does something dangerous in your chest.

“You’re staring,” he mumbles, a faint, sleepy smile tugging at his lips without even opening his eyes fully.

You immediately look away. “I—no, I wasn’t.”

“…You were,” he murmurs, voice still rough, but there’s amusement in it.

Your face heats up instantly, memories flashing back in fragments that make your stomach flip all over again.

Silence lingers for a moment.

Then—

“You okay?” he asks, quieter this time, a little more awake now.

You hesitate. “…Define okay.”

That gets a soft huff of laughter out of him. He shifts again, turning slightly toward you, propping himself up just enough to look at you properly now.

“Head hurts?”

“…A lot.”

“Yeah,” he nods, like he expected that. “You drank more than you think.”

You groan, dragging a hand over your face. “Please don’t remind me. I’m already regretting my entire existence.”

He watches you for a second—really watches you this time.

And then, softer—

“…Do you regret last night too?”

The question lands heavier than anything else so far.

You go still.

Because suddenly, it’s not just about the headache anymore.

You swallow, forcing yourself to meet his eyes despite the way your chest tightens.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer.

He just looks at you—really looks at you, like he’s been expecting this, like he knew the second you woke up this would be where things go.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly, voice still rough from sleep. “We do.”

The air shifts.

No more teasing. No more distractions. Just the two of you, the morning light creeping in through the curtains, and everything unsaid sitting heavy between you.

You sit up a little, pulling the blanket closer around you, suddenly too aware of everything—your surroundings, him, last night.

“I don’t… fully remember everything,” you admit, glancing away for a second. “I mean—I remember enough. Just… not in order.”

He lets out a small breath, nodding. “Same. Bits and pieces.”

That somehow makes it worse. Or maybe better. You can’t tell.

Your fingers tighten slightly in the blanket. “But I do remember… the important parts.”

His gaze doesn’t leave you. “Yeah?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

Silence stretches for a second, thick but not uncomfortable—just… honest.

Then you exhale. “Look, I just—” you stop, gathering your thoughts, then try again. “Last night wasn’t just… random for me.”

Something flickers in his expression.

“It wasn’t just the alcohol,” you add quickly, like you need him to understand that part most.

He shifts closer, not touching you yet, but close enough that you feel it. “It wasn’t impulse either.”

Your heart stumbles.

You look at him again, searching his face for any hint of doubt, hesitation—anything that would make this easier to brush off.

Bu there’s none.

Just that same steady look.

“…Then why,” you ask softly, “did it feel like we were pretending nothing ever happened? All those years?”

He exhales, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Because I didn’t know what to do with it.”

You frown slightly. “With… me?”

“With you. With what you said. With how you looked at me that night,” he admits, quieter now. “I wasn’t rejecting you. I just—wasn’t ready. And you were drunk, and everything was happening so fast…”

Your chest tightens. “So I just… misunderstood everything.”

He shakes his head immediately. “No. I didn’t explain anything either. I just stood there like an idiot while you spiraled.”

You huff out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Wow. Love that for us.”

That earns a faint smile from him.

“But I didn’t forget,” he adds, more serious now. “I just thought… you’d moved on. And I didn’t want to come back and make things messy again.”

You stare at him.

“…Too late for that,” you mumble.

He lets out a quiet laugh, eyes softening. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

Another pause.

This one feels different.

Lighter.

You glance down at your hands, then back at him. “…So what now?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reaches out—slow, careful—giving you enough time to pull away if you want to.

You don’t.

His fingers wrap gently around yours, warm and steady, grounding in a way that makes your chest ache a little.

He then sat up, while you follow suit.

“Y/N,” He started.

“Heeseung.” You reply, a small smile on your face.

“I like you. I have been in love with you, since freshmen year. In fact, since orientation.” He started.

“Wait what?”

“You heard me. For me, it’s always has been you. During that party, I went home and got even more wasted, because I felt stupid for letting you go on and on and I just—stand there…like an ass.”

“Lowkey, you were.”

“And I’m regretful.” He took your hands to his lips, pressing a grounding kiss on it.

“It’s been four years though?”

“May I remind you that a certain someone had been avoiding birthday parties, small hangouts? I even thought you won’t be there last night.”

You look at him sheepishly. “I just—that party really ruined it for me, you know?”

“You regret going last night?”

“Never.”

He smiles, before picking you up, and walk to the shower, peppering soft kisses on your face.

“Then I’m keeping you forever and we’re going to spend today and tomorrow onwards making up for the past four years.”

You sigh at the thought, blaming the pounding in your skull on last night’s cocktails with your girl friends and the tiny hairs still sticking to your damp shirt from a morning shower. You’re not ready for polite family small talk, questions about your job or relationship—or the endless commentary about how “you should really be settling down.”

You pull over your parents’ street, already noticing a whole luggage outside the house.

“Seems like she’s here.” You mutter to yourself, as you got out the car, quickly looking at the mirror to make yourself presentable, and totally not hangover.

Grabbing your bag, you try to summon your most convincing “I’m totally together” expression. If your mom’s friend was anything like she described, this was going to be a lot of chatter, a lot of smiles, and probably a few pointed questions about your love life that you weren’t ready to answer.

You knock on the door. “I’m home!” you annouce, and almost immediately, you hear your mom’s footsteps scampering over to open it. You chuckle at her cuteness—always so excited to see you, even when you barely had your life together.

“Finally!” she exclaimes, practically dragging you inside. “You’re just in time—she’s already here!”

You groan inwardly, bracing yourself for endless small talk and awkward introductions, but couldn’t help smiling at your mom’s enthusiasm.

When you came inside the house, in the living room, a middle-aged lady—seemingly the same age as your mom—sits on the couch, her posture polite but relaxed. She looks around with a warm smile that could make anyone feel immediately welcome, though your hungover brain mostly registered her as an interruption to your carefully curated morning recovery.

“She must be Mrs. Lee,” you say, glancing at your mom, who was practically glowing with excitement. You couldn’t help but grin despite yourself—your mom always had a way of lighting up a room, and apparently, it was contagious.

“Oh, my, she had grown up to be such a fine young lady!” Mrs. Lee greets with a smile, hugging you warmly.

You return the hug with a polite squeeze, your head still pounding from last night and your brain screaming too early for this kind of energy. “Thank you,” you mutter, secretly hoping your slightly messy hair and damp shirt weren’t too obvious.

“I’ve been telling her so much about you!” your mom chimes in, practically beaming. “All good things, of course.”

You smile faintly, wondering exactly how much she had told her friend about your chaotic, fun-filled nights out with friends—and mentally prepare yourself for a gentle roasting session disguised as small talk.

But Mrs. Lee just look at you softly, a motherly smile plastered on her face, as if she could see right through all the bravado you were trying to put on. It was the kind of smile that made you feel both warm and a little… exposed.

“What about your boy, Lee?” Your mom asks and Mrs. Lee claps her hands as if remembering a completely important detail.

“Right, right!” She laughs. “I told him to buy us some fruits at the supermarket! We can’t stay here and come empty-handed.” She smiles, in which your mom joking hits her arm. “What a hassle! But, thank you anyway,”

Mrs. Lee looks over to you. “I feel like you and my son could be such good friends too!” She grins, in which you awkwardly smile.

Great.

Another one of your mom’s friends trying to set you up with their good-for-nothing sons.

“Honey, help her get her luggage inside!” Your mom says, walking to the kitchen, already arms in arms with Mrs. Lee. You nod before walking towards the entrance.

That’s when you heard a car pull up outside.

The sound of tires against the pavement cut through the room, followed by the soft thud of a door closing. Your mom glanced toward the window almost instinctively, her face lighting up even more than before.

“Oh, perfect timing,” you can hear Mrs. Lee’s voice from inside. “That must be Heeseung!”

You decide to pay no mind to it, as you walked over to carry her luggage.

“Shit, what does she pack in here?”

“Clothes enough for two weeks.” A voice answers your little mutter to yourself.

A familiar one—deep, oh so soft, and far too recognizable—making your breath hitch as you stand straight.

“Do you feel good? Am I making you feel good?”

“Let go for me, baby.”

Your mind suddenly betrayed you, replaying the words spoken in that same voice two months ago—back when you’d been careless, impulsive, and not so smart.

Heat rushed to your face as the memory collided with this current moment. You turn to look and there he was, still wearing the soft eyes you had been so enchanted by that night.

Evan. Evan Lee. At least that’s what he introduced himself as.

The same eyes that had studied you under dim hotel lights now widened, just barely, before masking it with something polite and unreadable.

Mrs. Lee came out before you could even say anything, her voice bright and proud as she introduced you. You barely registered the words, too focused on the way he straightened beside her.

He nodded, polite and distant, the kind of courtesy reserved for strangers. “Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly, without a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

Then he smiled—easy, effortless—before turning to follow his mom into the house. He picked up her luggage, handling it with practiced care as he walked past you, close enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne.

He didn’t even glance back.

So he didn’t remember.

You had both been drunk that night, after all.

…

Dinner is already laid out by the time everyone gathers around the dining table a few hours later. The familiar smell of your mom’s cooking fills the room—warm, comforting, painfully normal for a moment that feels anything but.

You take a seat near the edge of the table, choosing distance over comfort. Across from you, Heeseung pulls out his chair and sits down smoothly, posture relaxed, expression polite. To anyone else, he’s just a guest—your mom’s friend’s son, well-mannered and quiet.

To you, he’s the man whose voice still lingers in the back of your mind—whose hands had memorized you in the dark, whose lips had left impressions you were foolish enough to think time would erase.

Conversation flows easily between your mom and Mrs. Lee, laughter spilling over shared memories from high school, old teachers, stories you’ve heard a hundred times before. You nod at the right moments, pushing food around your plate, forcing yourself to eat despite the tight knot in your stomach.

“So, Heeseung,” your mom says brightly, turning to him, “Are you okay with the spare room? Her brother hasn’t been home since his marriage, and she doesn’t want to give her childhood room for guests,” Your mom turns to you and snickers.

“That’s because I visit you and dad all the time, I still need a room here.” You groan softly, while Mrs. Lee laughs.

“Yes, ma’am. The room is just nice. Very well-kept.” Heeseung smiles at her.

“Well, that’s good,” she continues. “By the way, you two are around the same age. You should show him around a bit, don’t you think? This isn’t a city he always comes by.”

Your grip tightens around your utensils.

Before you can answer, Heeseung looks up—briefly, carefully—meeting your eyes for the first time since earlier. There’s no recognition on his face. No spark. Just polite interest.

“If she’s free,” he says simply.

If you’re free.

You force a smile. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The lie settles between you, heavy and unspoken.

Under the table, his foot shifts slightly—close enough to make your breath hitch, close enough to make you wonder if it’s accidental. He still doesn’t look at you. Still doesn’t acknowledge the past.

But your body remembers a different name.

And for the first time since he walked past you without a second glance, you realize something unsettling.

Heeseung might not remember you.

But Evan would have.

After dinner, the house settles into silence faster than you expect.

Laughter fades. Doors close softly. The hallway light dims until only a thin strip glows beneath bedroom doors. You lie awake longer than you should, staring at the ceiling you’ve known your whole life, listening to the unfamiliar rhythm of another presence in the house.

You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Just an old insignificant memory overstaying its welcome.

Eventually, thirst wins.

You slip out of bed, careful not to let the floorboards creak, padding your way toward the kitchen. The house smells faintly of detergent and leftover dinner, comforting in a way that almost makes you forget why your chest feels tight.

Almost.

The kitchen light is already on.

You freeze in the doorway.

Heeseung stands by the counter, sleeves rolled up, a glass of water in his hand. His hair is slightly tousled now, stripped of the careful neatness he wore earlier. He looks… different. More real. More like the man you left sleeping behind hotel curtains two months ago.

He looks up when he hears you.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake anyone.”

“You didn’t,” you reply, voice steadier than you feel. “I just—couldn’t sleep.”

He nods, accepting that without question. No tension. No recognition. Or maybe too much control to show either.

You grab a glass from the cupboard, deliberately choosing the one farthest from him. The tap runs. Too loud in the silence. You focus on the sound, on anything but the awareness of him standing only a few feet away.

“Your mom’s cooking was really good,” he says after a moment. “She didn’t exaggerate.”

You let out a small breath of a laugh. “Her cooking is the best.”

A pause.

Then, softer, almost absent-minded: “You mentioned earlier you don’t live here?”

“Not anymore,” you answer. “I moved to my own apartment a year ago.”

“Oh,” he says.

The word hangs between you.

You take a sip of water, finally glancing at him. He isn’t looking at you—his attention fixed on the counter, jaw relaxed, expression unreadable. If he remembers, he gives nothing away. If he doesn’t, then this ease is genuine.

You hate that you can’t tell which one hurts more.

“Well,” you murmur, setting the glass down. “Good night.”

He looks up then, meeting your eyes fully for the first time since dinner.

“Good night,” he says.

Still nothing. No crack in his voice. No hesitation. Just calm, polite distance.

You walk past him toward the hallway, careful not to brush his arm, careful not to slow your steps. Behind you, you hear him turn off the light.

In the darkness of your room, you lie awake again—heart louder now, thoughts sharper.

You were the one who left that morning.

You were the one who chose silence.

And yet somehow, standing in your parent’s kitchen, it feels like he’s the one holding all the control.

…

Morning comes too soon.

Sunlight filters through the curtains, thin and pale, landing across your face like an accusation. For a moment, you forget where you are—until the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen reminds you that you’re back in your parents’ house. And that you aren’t alone.

You sit up slowly, rubbing at your temples. The night had offered no answers. Just silence, politeness, and the unbearable calm of not knowing.

By the time you make it to the kitchen, your mom is already bustling around, apron tied, hair pulled back. Mrs. Lee sits at the table, sipping tea, looking far too refreshed for someone who traveled across the country.

“Morning,” your mom chirps when she sees you. “Perfect timing.”

You hum in response, reaching for a glass of water.

“Could you help Mrs. Yang walk her dog later?” she continues casually. “You remember—next door. You used to do it all the time when you lived here. Besides, little Jungwon is in Uni now, so no one is there to help her.”

You pause.

“Maeum? Yeah,” you say. “I can do that.”

Mrs. Lee’s face lights up. “Walking outside right now would be so refreshing,” she says warmly. Then, almost as an afterthought, she turns toward the hallway. “Heeseung!”

Your stomach tightens at the sound of his name.

He appears a moment later, sleeves rolled up again, hair still slightly damp like he’s just washed his face. He looks… awake. Calm. Completely unaffected. “Hm?”

“You should go with her,” Mrs. Lee says easily. “It’ll be good for you to get some fresh air after traveling.”

Heeseung blinks once, then nods. “Sure.”

Sure.

Your mom smiles, clearly pleased. “Perfect! Two birds with one stone.” You force a smile of your own, even as your pulse starts to pick up. “Yeah. No problem.”

Heeseung glances at you—not searching, not curious. Just attentive.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says.

As you step outside together a few minutes later, the morning air feels too crisp, too quiet. The street looks the same as it always has. Familiar. Safe.

And yet, walking side by side with him, you’re painfully aware of the space between you—and how little it would take to close it.

You’re the one who left. It’s a one-night stand.

You remind yourself of that as you head toward the neighbor’s gate.

So why does it feel like this walk might be the first step toward something you can’t walk away from again.

Heeseung kneels slightly as Maeum charges toward him, tail wagging like it could knock him over.

“He’s… lively,” he says, keeping his voice casual as Maeum circles him, sniffing, then jumping up in excitement. A low chuckle escapes him, and you feel your chest tighten unexpectedly.

“Yeah, Maeum’s a handful,” you reply, gripping the leash before he decides to chase a squirrel or something worse. “But he’s harmless… mostly.”

Heeseung brushes a hand along Maeum’s back. “Mostly is good.”

Maeum barks happily, spinning between the two of you. There’s a brief moment where the dog seems to notice the tension radiating off both of you, but of course, he can’t name it.

“Shall we get going?” you ask, starting toward the sidewalk.

Heeseung falls into step beside you, careful not to crowd, careful not to overstep. Close enough to notice the little things: the way you tense when Maeum yanks, the faint crease in your brow, the subtle sway of your hair in the morning sun.

The street is quiet. Early birds call from the trees. Leaves rustle under your shoes. Maeum dashes ahead, then back, sniffing everything in sight.

“So…” you begin, trying to sound casual, “long drive yesterday?”

He shrugs. “Enough to make me remember why I prefer flights.”

You laugh softly. “Fair enough. It is kind of chaos on the road here sometimes.”

Silence falls for a few steps, filled only with Maeum’s padding and your own heartbeat.

Then Maeum stops abruptly, sniffing at a patch of grass right between you and Heeseung. The leash jerks. You stumble forward slightly, and his hand reaches out before you can think, steadying you.

Fingertips brush.

A fleeting touch—but it’s enough. Enough to spark memory, enough to make your stomach twist.

Heeseung doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t say a word. He takes Maeum’s leash and keeps walking.

And that’s the worst part.

Because whether he remembers—or is pretending—you have no idea.

And it leaves the quiet hanging between you like a question that refuses to be answered.

Maeum slows near the corner, distracted by something only he seems to find interesting. You stop with him, shifting your weight as you wait.

Your fingers curl in on themselves without you noticing.

A slow fist.

Tight enough that your nails press into your palm.

Heeseung’s gaze drops.

Not immediately. Not obviously.

But it lingers just long enough.

“You do that often,” he says.

You look up. “Do what?”

He nods toward your hand. “That.”

You follow his eyes, startled, and force your fingers open. Faint crescent marks bloom red against your skin.

“Oh,” you say lightly. “I guess I clench my hand when I’m waiting.”

“Or when you’re holding back,” he replies, tone even. Too even.

The street feels quieter suddenly.

You laugh, trying to brush it off. “You’re very observant.” He doesn’t smile. Not quite.

“Hard not to notice,” he says.

And just like that—

Your mind betrays you.

Dim light. Your back against unfamiliar sheets.

His voice low, close, asking something you can’t quite remember the words to—only the way your hand had curled then too, nails biting into your palm as you nodded instead of answering.

You remember looking down afterward.

The half-moon marks.

The way he’d gently pried your fingers open, thumb brushing over the indents like he was committing them to memory.

The leash tugs.

You blink, pulled back into the morning air, the quiet street, Maeum wagging his tail impatiently.

Heeseung is already looking ahead again, expression unreadable.

“You good?” he asks, as if nothing had happened.

You nod, heart racing, and start walking again.

But your palm still tingles.

Both of you continue walking with Maeum tugging on his leash once in a while, before stopping infront of a convenient store near the park.

“I’ll buy us drinks, anything you like?” He asks. You look at him as you shake your head. “Anything’s fine.”

He nods, entering the store while you wait outside while Maeum settles at your feet. Through the glass, you watch him move with easy familiarity— scanning the shelves without hesitation.

He came out a few minutes later with two drinks in his hand. Americano for him, and another for you.

Green Grape Ade.

“Green Grape Ade?” His voice rings in the loud bar music, looking at you with precise judgement, while you mockingly glare at him.

“What’s wrong with it?” You ask, voice slightly loud trying to drown out the music at the bar. He smiles.

“You’re original.” He clinks his glass againts yours, the ice chiming softly over the music.

“I just prefer sour drinks. Especially from the convenient store.” You drink as your gaze turn to him. He’s already staring at you.

He hums. “That’s why your face so sour?” He teases in which you gasp, mock-offense.

He laughs, before shaking his head. “That was a lie. You might just be the sweetest girl I’ve ever met.”

The memory fades as quickly as it came.

You’re back outside the convenience store, the morning air cool against your skin. The bottle in your hand is cold, condensation slick against your fingers.

Heeseung is already walking ahead with Maeum, Americano in hand, posture relaxed like he hasn’t just reached into something you never gave him permission to keep.

You take a sip. It tastes exactly how you like it. How you were imagining it when you were admant on telling Heeseung or Evan it was your favourite at the bar.

And for the first time since you woke up that morning, you wonder if leaving first had really meant leaving anything behind at all.

You catch up to them, glancing at Heeseung. He has a questionable smug look on his face.

“What?” You ask. He shrugs before looking at you.

“I have a lot of things I remember about you.”

…

A few hours pass.

The afternoon drifts by slowly, measured in the ticking of the clock and the occasional sound of movement elsewhere in the house. You spend most of it in your room, half-lying on your bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone without really reading anything.

Every so often, you hear his voice. Muted through the walls. Calm. Easy. Laughing lightly at something your mom says.

It shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

When hunger finally wins over avoidance, the sun is already dipping lower in the sky. The house smells faintly of reheated food, warm and familiar. You take a breath before leaving your room, practicing a neutral expression in the mirror.

The kitchen is quieter now. You’re just about to turn the corner toward the kitchen when you hear your mom speak.

“…She’s been a little off today,” she says, voice gentle. “Probably tired. Or avoiding something.”

You pause without meaning to. Heeseung answers after a beat. “She does that.”

Your chest tightens instantly.

Your mom chuckles softly. “Does what?”

“Pulls back,” he says, careful. “When she doesn’t know how to react yet.”

Silence. Then the faint clink of a spoon against a bowl. “You sound like you know her pretty well,” your mom says lightly.

Another pause. Short. Measured.

“I had an impression,” Heeseung replies. “A while ago.”

An impression.

Your fingers curl at your side.

“Huh,” your mom hums. “That’s funny. She actually does leaves impressions on people,”

There’s a smile in Heeseung’s voice when he answers. “Yeah. She does.”

Your mom moves on easily, talking about dinner, about how long Mrs. Lee plans to stay. The conversation drifts, harmless again.

But you don’t move because impressions aren’t made in passing. They’re made when someone sees you up close. When you let them.

You step back quietly, retreating before either of them can notice you there. Back in your room, you sit down slowly, heart still racing.

He didn’t say you’d met.

He didn’t say when.

But he didn’t say you were strangers either. And somehow, that middle ground feels far more dangerous.

A soft knock echoes through your room a few minutes later.

“Hey… you awake?” Heeseung’s voice—calm, controlled, but just close enough to make your heart stutter.

You freeze. Your chest tightens, your pulse spiking. Act normal. Just act like you weren’t eavesdropping.

You smooth your hair with a trembling hand, blink rapidly, and open the door. “Yeah… just woke up,” you say, voice a little too bright, trying to sound casual.

Heeseung steps into the doorway, just enough to glance around your room. His eyes flick over you—not accusatory, not teasing—just aware. The way he looks at you makes the air between you feel suddenly heavy, like it’s charged with electricity you both can’t ignore.

“Your mom’s calling,” he says softly. “Everything’s ready.”

You nod quickly, gripping the doorframe as if it can anchor you. “I’m… not that hungry,” you murmur.

Heeseung tilts his head, that faint, knowing curve of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Uh-huh,” he replies, voice smooth, steady, and sharp enough to cut through your attempts at calm.

You step aside, but your foot catches on the edge of the rug. You curse under your breath, forcing a laugh. Too loud. Too sharp.

He doesn’t comment. He doesn’t need to. The silence itself feels deliberate, heavy. The space between you is so tight that you feel him even when he doesn’t touch you.

“I’ll be eating downstairs,” he finally says, straightening, eyes lingering just long enough to make your stomach clench.

“Okay… see you there,” you say, breath uneven, heart hammering.

He nods once, easily, and leaves, closing the door softly behind him.

The click echoes like a verdict.

You press your back against the door, sliding down slowly, hands trembling.

He knows I was listening.

He remembers… more than he should.

And he didn’t say a word.

The thought alone makes your stomach twist.

You straighten abruptly, forcing yourself to move. Down the stairs. To the dining room. To the table.

Every step is a battle between calm and the chaos churning under your skin.

Because you know tonight, nothing is going to feel casual. Not with him. Not after this.

The whole time during dinner, you caught him staring at you. Shamelessly at that, gave you a sheepish smile when you eye him suspiciously. He’d move his leg closer to yours, it’ll bump a few times, but he doesn’t pull away.

After dinner, you volunteer on doing the dishes. Your mom and Mrs. Lee’s voices fade into the living room, laughter and chatter blending together.

You take a steadying breath and move to the sink, rolling up your sleeves. Warm water runs over your hands, steam curling around your wrists. For a second, it almost feels normal. Almost.

Then you sense him before you hear him.

Heeseung steps beside you, quiet as a shadow. You tense instantly, shoulders stiff, fingers tightening around a plate.

“Need some help?” he asks softly, tilting his head. Not teasing, not accusing. Just calm, measured.

“I’ve got it,” you reply quickly, eyes trained on the suds, forcing the tone casual.

He doesn’t insist. He simply picks up a stray plate, moving closer than necessary, letting his hands brush yours ever so slightly as he rinses it. You flinch, heart hammering, but he doesn’t comment, doesn’t linger. Just present.

The silence stretches, heavy, almost oppressive. Every splash of water, every clink of a dish, echoes too loudly.

You scrub a pan a little harder than needed, trying to focus on anything else—the warmth of the water, the smell of garlic, the mundane rhythm of washing—but his quiet presence keeps threading through every thought.

He moves another plate, sets it down. Your hands brush again.

You feel your pulse spike, your chest tightening. Every subtle movement, every glance he doesn’t make—it’s all charged, all deliberate.

The kitchen is small. Empty. Safe. Except it isn’t. Not with him here.

You swallow hard, scrubbing away your nerves as the quiet stretches on, aware that he notices everything, even the things you think he can’t.

And somehow, that makes it impossible to breathe normally.

The sponge squeaks softly as you scrub, the rhythm steady but your thoughts anything but. You’re just about to reach for another plate when he speaks again.

“You know,” Heeseung says, evenly, like he’s commenting on the weather, “you’re not very good at pretending.”

Your hand stills.

“…Pretending what?” you ask, eyes fixed on the sink.

“That you weren’t listening earlier.” He sets a plate onto the rack, movements unhurried. “In the hallway.”

Your chest tightens. You swallow. “I wasn’t—”

He cuts you off gently. “You were.” Not accusing. Just factual. “You always stop breathing when you do that, though your eyes give it away, that you’re pretending everything’s fine.”

That makes your fingers curl instinctively around the sponge.

You let out a short laugh, more defensive than amused. “You don’t know what I ‘always’ do.”

He glances at your hand, then back to the dish he’s drying. “I know because I’ve seen it before.”

You twist the dish towel in your hands, knuckles whitening. The quiet stretches too long, presses too hard against your ribs.

“Are we really doing this?” You snap, turning to look at him directly.

He raises his eyebrows, “Do what?”

You gesture vaguely between the two of you, before sighing. “Implying things happened, without really saying it?”

He watches you for a second, expression unreadable—not defensive, not amused. Just… attentive.

“I’m not implying,” he says evenly. “You are.”

That only makes your chest tighten.

You scoff, turning back to the sink and reaching for another plate you definitely don’t need to wash. “Right. Of course. Because I’m the one who keeps bringing up impressions and ‘remembering’ and—whatever this is.”

He lets out a quiet breath, more tired than annoyed. “I brought it up once.”

“And you’ve been hovering ever since,” you shoot back, voice sharp but not loud. “So tell me—are we pretending we don’t know each other, or are we circling around it until I crack?” The words hang between you.

He sets the towel down, slow, deliberate. “I’m not trying to crack you.”

“Then what do you want?” you ask, finally facing him again.

He meets your gaze, steady. No smile. No games. “I wanted to know if you leaving meant what I thought it did,” he says simply.

Your throat tightens. “And what did you think it meant, Evan?”

His breath hitches at the usage of his other name, “That you didn’t want to stay,” he replies. “Not just that morning. In general.”

You laugh softly, but it’s brittle. “It’s a one-night stand.”

He nods once. “It is, but I clearly told you before we fell asleep, that I’d prefer you staying.”

Silence settles again, thicker now. The kitchen light hums overhead. Somewhere in the living room, your mom and Mrs. Lee laugh at something on TV.

“I didn’t leave because of you,” you say finally, quieter. “I left because staying would’ve made it… complicated.”

His jaw tightens just a fraction. “And now?”

You hesitate. “Now it already is.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, then exhales slowly. “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

Neither of you move back to the dishes, he wipes the last plate before walking out of the kitchen.

APRIL 2025

The room is dim, lit only by the city glow slipping through the curtains. Everything feels slower, warmer—like the night hasn’t quite caught up with you yet.

You’re tangled in the sheets, limbs heavy, head resting against the pillow. Your skin is still buzzing, your thoughts pleasantly loose around the edges. Somewhere nearby, Heeseung shifts, the mattress dipping slightly as he turns onto his side.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, a little rough around the edges.

You hum, half-laughing into the pillow. “I think so. Might need a minute to remember my name.”

He chuckles softly. “Fair.”

The pause lingers, easy and unforced. The city light paints soft lines across the ceiling, and for a moment, neither of you moves.

You’re the one who breaks it first.

“Evan,” you say, voice lazy, still warm with alcohol and comfort. “What do you actually do when you’re not… here?”

He exhales a quiet laugh, turning his head slightly toward you. “That’s a loaded question.”

You smile into the pillow. “I’m serious. You feel like someone with a very normal answer and a very complicated explanation.”

He considers that. “I work in the music industry. Producing. It sounds fancier than it is.”

“Everything sounds fancier at night,” you mumble. “Especially after drinks.”

“True,” he agrees. Then, after a beat, “What about you?”

You shrug, the sheets rustling. “Still figuring it out. I bounce around a lot, job-hunting.”

He smiles and run his hand on your hair, as if wanting to see your face clearly. “You’re tense, like there’s a lot going on here.” He softly taps on your temple.

You huff a quiet laugh, eyes fluttering shut at the gentle touch. “Is that your professional opinion?” you murmur. “Because I didn’t realize producers did mind-reading too.”

He chuckles, thumb brushing lightly through your hair, unhurried. “Not mind-reading. Just… paying attention.”

You turn your face toward him then, cheek sinking deeper into the pillow. “There’s always a lot going on,” you admit. “I just don’t like sitting still long enough to sort it out.”

“Why not?” he asks, not pushing—just curious.

You think about it for a moment, gaze drifting to the ceiling. “Because if I do, I might realize I’m not as put-together as I pretend to be.”

He hums softly, fingers still tracing slow, absent patterns. “That doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mumble. “You seem like you’ve got things… handled.”

He smiles faintly. “I’m good at looking like I do.”

You glance back at him. “Really?”

“Really,” he says. “I just learned how to keep the chaos quiet.”

That earns a small smile from you. “Guess we’re not that different then.”

“Guess not,” he replies.

The room settles again, the air warm and slow. His hand stays in your hair, grounding, gentle—like he’s in no rush to let the moment slip away.

Neither of you says it, but the thought hangs there between you, soft and dangerous all at once:

This feels easy.

Too easy.

He pulls you closer, lips pressing on your temple as he sighs.

“I’d love it if you stay.”

And you felt your heart breaks a little when you doze off.

…

Three days.

Three days until he leaves.

And for the past two, he hasn’t said a word to you.

You can feel it in every glance across the kitchen, every step in the hall, every time the front door opens and closes. He’s there, moving around the house, calm and composed as ever, but the silence between you? It’s deafening.

You try to keep yourself busy—laundry, dishes, scrolling mindlessly through your phone—but the tension follows you everywhere. Even sitting in your room, pretending to read, you can hear him talking to your mom in the living room, laugh light and easy, and it makes your chest tighten.

Your mom insists on taking Mrs. Lee and Heeseung to the city’s famous park for a “little sightseeing and fresh air,” and somehow, you’re drafted along.

“Come on,” your mom says, practically bouncing. “You’ll enjoy it! The weather’s perfect, and it’s not a usual thing that we all went out together!”

So here you are, in Heeseung’s car with your moms at the back chatting mindlessly, pointing out shops, telling stories, laughing easily, while you sit in the passenger’s seat and him driving beside you.

He doesn’t say much, just drives with that calm, effortless composure that makes your stomach twist in ways you’re not ready to name. Your mom and Mrs. Lee chatter nonstop behind you, oblivious to the tight coil of nerves in the seat beside him.

You glance at him occasionally, catching his profile in the sunlight, the way his hands rest lightly on the wheel, the faint line of concentration in his jaw. He doesn’t meet your eyes, but you can feel the awareness there, quiet, unspoken, like a weight pressing just enough to make you swallow hard.

“I hope you like walking,” your mom says suddenly from the back, as if reading your tension, “the park’s beautiful this time of year. Lots of trees, fountains—perfect for photos!”

“Yeah,” you murmur, keeping your voice neutral, though your chest is still tight.

Heeseung hums softly, not answering but shifting slightly in his seat, just enough that you notice.

The car slows, pulling into the park lot. Sunlight streams through the windshield, glinting off the pavement and the scattered autumn leaves. Your mom practically leaps out first, Mrs. Lee following close behind, both chattering excitedly.

You take a deep breath, adjusting your bag, and slide out of the car. Heeseung steps out after you, calm and measured, slipping into the rhythm of the park like he belongs there—yet you feel every step he takes, each one a quiet reminder that the past two days of silence haven’t lessened the tension between you.

As the group moves along the tree-lined path, your mom and Mrs. Lee wander ahead, comparing flowers and pointing out fountains. Heeseung falls in step beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, walking slightly behind but close enough that you can feel the space between you shrinking.

“Nice day,” he says finally, casual.

“Yeah,” you reply, voice careful. “Not too crowded either.”

He hums softly, and you feel that subtle glance he throws your way—quick, unobtrusive, but enough to make your stomach twist again.

The silence between words is heavy, but not hostile. It’s loaded. Sharp. And as you continue along the winding paths of the park, you realize these three days—and these stolen moments in the quiet—might be harder than anything you expected.

You barely get a chance to say more to him before your mom is already digging through her bag.

“Phone—where’s my phone?” she mutters, then brightens. “Oh! There it is.”

Mrs. Lee laughs beside her. “You’re just as excited as ever.”

“Of course I am,” your mom says. “When do we ever get everyone together like this?”

Everyone.

You glance at Heeseung without meaning to. He’s still looking around, taking the place in quietly, like he’s memorizing it. First time here. First time seeing your city like this.

“Alright,” your mom says, raising her phone. “Group photo first.”

You shuffle closer, standing beside Mrs. Lee. Heeseung ends up at the edge, half a step apart from you, hands in his pockets.

“Wait, no,” your mom frowns. “Heeseung, come closer. You’re getting cut out.”

He obeys, stepping in just enough that his shoulder brushes yours—brief, accidental, but it sends a jolt through you anyway.

Click.

“Again,” Mrs. Lee says. “That one was blurry.”

You barely have time to reset before your mom adds, “Okay, now just you two.”

“What?” you and Heeseung say at the same time.

“It’s nice to have one of the younger generation,” your mom insists. “For memories.”

You exchange a quick glance with him—too quick to mean anything, too loaded to be nothing.

“Just stand there and act normal!” your mom says.

Easier said than done.

You stand side by side this time, not touching, but close enough that you’re aware of his presence—his warmth, the way he’s careful not to move too suddenly.

“Smile,” your mom sings.

You do. Heeseung offers something polite, restrained.

Click.

“That’s nice,” Mrs. Lee says warmly. “You both look good.”

You almost laugh at that.

As your mom reviews the photos, muttering happily to herself, you step back without thinking. Heeseung does the same.

You don’t make it five steps more into the park before your mom stops again.

“Wait—stand there,” she says, already lifting her phone. “The trees look really nice from this angle.”

Mrs. Lee nods enthusiastically. “Oh yes, the lighting is beautiful.”

You exchange a look with Heeseung. Not a look—just a flicker. A silent here we go.

Click.

You start walking again. Ten steps this time.

“Oh!” your mom gasps. “The fountain—Heeseung, you’ll love this. You two, go stand near it.”

“We just took one,” you say weakly. “That was over there,” she replies, like it explains everything.

So you move again, standing side by side while people pass behind you. Heeseung keeps his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, expression neutral. You keep your arms crossed, suddenly very aware of where you’re standing.

Click. Click.

Mrs. Lee laughs. “You look very natural together.”

You almost choke on air.

The walk continues. The photos do too.

By the flower beds.

Near the bridge.

In front of the pond.

Each time, your mom adjusts angles, steps back, waves you closer, tells you to smile more, tilt your head, stand straighter.

“You don’t have to look so tense,” she tells you at one point.

You laugh, tight. “I’m fine.”

Heeseung glances at you then, quick and unreadable.

At some point, he murmurs quietly, just for you, “If we keep this up, we’ll have enough photos for a family album.”

You blink, surprised.

“…I’m sorry,” you mutter. “She gets like this.”

He hums. “I noticed.”

There’s no edge in his voice. No teasing. Just observation.

Another photo.

Your shoulder brushes his this time, accidental. Neither of you move away immediately.

Click.

“Perfect!” your mom says.

You step away first.

The walk goes on, but your nerves don’t settle. If anything, they tighten with every forced smile, every staged moment, every second you’re made to look like something you’re very much not.

And the worst part?

Heeseung never once complains.

He just keeps walking beside you—calm, composed—letting the photos pile up like quiet evidence of something neither of you is ready to name.

You make it halfway up the stone path before it happens.

“Wait—wait, here,” your mom says suddenly, already lifting her phone again. “This spot is perfect. The water, the rocks—very scenic.”

You glance down at where she’s pointing and feel a flicker of hesitation. The stones near the edge of the stream are uneven, damp from the spray of the fountain nearby. The drop isn’t dramatic, but it’s enough to make you cautious.

“I don’t think that’s—” you start.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Mrs. Lee says cheerfully. “Just be careful.”

Famous last words.

You step forward anyway, because of course you do. Because this is not the hill you’re dying on today.

Heeseung follows a step behind you, quiet as always.

“Stand just there,” your mom says, framing the shot. “Yes, yes—perfect.”

You shift your weight slightly to adjust your footing.

And then your shoe slips.

It happens fast—too fast for you to catch yourself. One second you’re steady, the next the ground tilts and your stomach drops, breath punching out of you as you instinctively reach for anything.

Strong hands grab your arm.

Another slides to your waist, firm and immediate, pulling you back before you can even gasp.

You stumble—not forward, not down—but straight into him.

Your back hits his chest, solid and warm, his grip tightening just enough to keep you upright. For half a second, you’re frozen there, heart racing, fingers clutching at his sleeve.

He’s close. Too close.

You can feel his breath near your ear, feel the tension in his hold, the way his body adjusts automatically to steady yours.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, voice low—meant only for you.

You nod, a little too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, I—thanks.”

He doesn’t let go immediately.

Just long enough to make sure you’re steady.

Just long enough for the moment to stretch thin and dangerous.

“Careful,” he murmurs, almost instinctively.

Then—click.

“Oh my goodness!” your mom exclaims. “That was scary! But—oh, wait. Hold on.”

You stiffen.

“That one looked nice,” Mrs. Lee says, peering at the phone. “Very… natural.”

You finally step away, cheeks burning, suddenly very aware of how his hands had been on you, how easily he’d caught you, how familiar it felt in a way that made your chest ache.

Heeseung straightens too, composure snapping back into place like nothing happened. Hands back in his pockets. Expression calm.

But when you dare glance at him, his eyes linger on you just a second longer than necessary.

Your mom laughs. “See? Good thing he was there. You’d have fallen otherwise.”

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a laugh. “Good thing.”

The walk continues, the photos continue, but something has shifted.

Your heart doesn’t slow down.

And every time Heeseung walks just a little closer after that, you can’t tell if it’s accidental—

—or if he’s making sure you won’t fall again.

…

After dinner, you decide to hog the living room all by yourself, continue binge watching another C-drama you have postponed watching for the longest time.

It’s almost midnight, the moms had already wished you goodnight. You smile to yourself at the very well-earned time to yourself.

Or not?

Heeseung appears at the bottom, slightly disheveled, hair tousled like he’s just run a hand through it one too many times. He’s in simple grey sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt, the kind that clings just enough to show he didn’t bother thinking about how he looked.

His eyes are still half-lidded with sleep as they settle on the TV screen, expression calm.

He looks at you, before taking a seat.

“I watched this one.” He says softly. Voice hoarse with sleep.

“No spoilers, please.” You says, turning away to look at the TV. He laughs.

“Nothing too extreme, it’s a rom-com. Nothing can be a spoiler.” You clutch your heart, dramatically looking at him.

He shrugs. “What? It’s true. You know in the end they end up together.”

You sigh, leaning back. “Well, true that.” He lean back too, making your shoulders touch.

“Why did you wake up?” I look at him. “It’s barely midnight.”

“Can’t sleep. I mean, I kept waking up.” He replies, fingers tapping on his thigh. You nod, continue watching the romantic scenes on the TV.

“You enjoy stuffs like these?” He asks, not looking at you.

“Anything feel-good is enjoyable.”

“So the concept of romance, you like it?” He asks, carefully.

“Where are you going with this?” You look at him, eyes narrowing. He meets your gaze, his expression looking more earnest.

“Just wondering, if you’d like it in real life too.”

You scoff. “You and your nonstop bull—“

“Is it bullshit, really?” He asks, seriously this time. You felt your heart beating fast, you look away, just anywhere. Not sure where to look when he’s all up in your space like this.

“Evan.” You started,

“No, let me tell you this.” He straighten up, body now fully facing you, as he look directlt into your eyes.

“I’m sorry if I ever come up as pushy, talking about you with your mom, hinting at our past to her, making you feel things you don’t like, that wasn’t my intention.” He winces.

“I just…I just wanted to get to know you, really look at you. No dim lights of the bar, no dark night sky as we walk back to some hotel, and certainly no dark hotel room where I spent the whole night feeling good with the woman I knew nothing about.” He sighs.

“It’s just a one night stand, I get it.” He scoffs, “but what if I told you that I wanted more? That I regret waking up without your presence the next morning, how every sound you let out that night made me fantasize the sounds you’d make if it wasn’t casual?”

At this point, you were looking at him speechless. You’re not trusting your voice right now.

“Evan—“

“Heeseung.” He corrects. “Evan saw you first, but Heeseung fell for you.”

You fall silent again. Just staring at him like he didn’t just pour his heart out while you’re watching some corny C-drama.

“Say something. Anything.”

The TV continues playing, characters confessing under scripted rain.

But this?

This isn’t scripted.

And you’re not sure which feels scarier.

Your throat feels tight.

The drama’s background music swells dramatically, the male lead on screen confessing under artificial rain, but it feels distant—like white noise compared to the very real, very raw man sitting inches away from you.

You swallow.

“Heeseung…” you finally manage.

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t interrupt. Just waits.

“You’re leaving in three days.”

It’s not the response he expected—but it’s the only one that makes sense in your head.

His jaw tightens slightly. “I know.”

“So what is this?” you ask, your voice quieter now. “You confess, we… what? Start something? And then you’re on the road back home in another city?”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his already messy hair. “You think I haven’t thought about that?”

“I think you’re being impulsive,” you snap, but there’s no heat behind it—just fear. “You’re here. It feels intense. Nostalgic. But when you go back—”

“It’s not nostalgia,” he says firmly.

The way he says it makes you pause.

“It wasn’t just that night,” he continues. “I’ve tried to brush it off. I’ve tried to tell myself it was just chemistry. But then I see you here. The way you argue. The way you laugh with your mom. The way you pretend you’re tougher than you are.”

You glare at him slightly. “I am tough.”

His lips twitch faintly. “I know.”

That softness again. It’s worse than teasing.

“I don’t expect you to promise me anything,” he says. “I just needed you to know that I’m not playing around.”

Your fingers tighten around the blanket.

“You don’t get to say all that and then expect me to just… be calm,” you whisper.

“I don’t want you calm,” he admits. “I want you honest.”

The word lands heavily.

Honest.

You look at him then—really look at him. There’s no arrogance. No flirtation. Just a quiet steadiness that makes your chest ache.

“You think this is easy for me?” you ask softly. “Seeing you in my house. At dinner. At the park. Acting like we didn’t—”

Your voice falters.

“Like we didn’t matter,” he finishes.

You nod.

Silence settles again, but it’s no longer suffocating. It’s fragile. Balanced on something sharp.

“I didn’t plan to fall for you,” he says quietly. “It just happened.”

Your heart pounds harder at that word.

Fall.

“You don’t even know me that well,” you argue weakly.

“Then let me,” he replies immediately.

That catches you off guard.

“Let me know you properly,” he says. “Not just the version from one night. Not just the version that pushes me away when things feel too real.”

Your breath hitches.

“You’re scared,” he says gently.

“Of course I am,” you admit, almost frustrated. “You’re leaving. I don’t do long distance. I don’t do uncertainty, I…certainly don’t just date from one good sex.”

“And I don’t do pretending I don’t care,” he counters.

The drama on the TV ends its confession scene with applause-worthy music. You grab the remote and mute it.

The silence now is entirely yours.

“What are you asking from me?” you whisper.

He leans a little closer—not touching, just closing the space enough that you feel his presence fully.

“A chance,” he says. “Not a guarantee. Just… don’t shut the door before we even try.”

Your pulse is loud in your ears.

Three days before he leaves.

Three days to either build something—or protect yourself from it.

You look at him, eyes searching, trying to find a reason to dismiss this as temporary emotion.

You don’t find one.

And that’s what terrifies you.

“Say something,” he murmurs again, softer now.

This time, you don’t look away. You stare at him for one long, overwhelming second.

Your heart is racing too fast. Your thoughts are colliding into each other. Three days. Confessions. “A chance.” It’s too much. Too sudden. Too real.

You stand up abruptly.

“I—I need time to think,” you say, words tumbling out before you can filter them.

Heeseung rises halfway from the couch instinctively. “Hey—”

But you’re already stepping back.

“I just… I can’t answer you right now,” you add quickly. “It’s a lot.”

His expression tightens, but he nods once. “Okay.”

You don’t wait for anything else.

You bolt down the hallway, heart pounding, shutting your bedroom door a little harder than necessary. You lean against it, breath uneven.

Why now?

Why three days before he leaves?

Why does it feel like if you answer wrong, you’ll lose something you didn’t even realize you were holding?

You slide down against the door and press your palms to your eyes. You needed time. You just didn’t expect it to feel like this.

The next morning smells like butter and coffee.

You frown, your mom does not wake up early on weekends.

You shuffle out of your room, still half-asleep, hair messy, expecting silence. Instead, you hear the sound of a pan sizzling. You blink.

Heeseung is in the kitchen.

Sleeves slightly rolled, apron tied awkwardly around his waist (clearly borrowed), hair still soft and unruly from sleep—but this time he looks very awake.

Focused.

Your mom and Mrs. Lee are seated at the table, watching him like he’s some kind of five-star chef.

“He insisted,” your mom says the moment she sees you. “Said we should let him cook.”

He glances up at you.

Not smug, not teasing. Just steady.

“Morning,” he says.

You clear your throat. “Morning.”

He turns back to the stove. “Scrambled eggs or sunny side up?”

You blink. “What?”

“For you,” he clarifies. “How do you like your eggs?”

Your mom gasps softly. “He even asked me what you usually eat.”

You shoot her a look.

He continues like this is completely normal. “I made toast too. And there’s fruit.”

You step closer to the counter, still confused. “Since when do you cook?”

“Since always,” he replies casually. “You just didn’t stay long enough to see.”

Your ears burn, looking over to your moms if they notice it, they don’t.

He plates the food carefully—neatly, intentionally—and sets it in front of you first before sitting down.

That alone makes your stomach flip.

He doesn’t bring up last night.

Doesn’t push.

Doesn’t corner you.

Instead, he talks to your mom about the park photos. Asks his about souvenirs to bring home. Clears plates without being asked.

Too proactive.

Suspiciously proactive.

When your mom mentions needing to run errands later, he immediately says, “I can drive.”

When Mrs. Lee talks about wanting to visit a bakery nearby, he says, “Let’s go after breakfast.”

You watch him the entire time.

He’s not performing.

He’s consistent.

Intentional.

When your mom leaves the table to grab something from her room, and Mrs. Lee follows, you’re briefly alone in the kitchen.

He stands by the sink, rinsing dishes.

“You don’t have to… do all this,” you say quietly. He doesn’t turn around immediately.

“I know,” he replies then glances at you over his shoulder.

“But I want to.” There’s no pressure in his voice, just effort.

You swallow.

“You said you needed time,” he continues calmly. “I’m giving it to you.” The water runs softly between you.

“But I’m not going to act like I didn’t say what I said.” Your pulse stutters.

“I meant it,” he adds. “So I’ll act like I meant it.”

You stare at him and he turns the tap off and dries his hands slowly.

“I’m leaving in three days,” he says. “I don’t want to waste them pretending.”

And somehow, that hits harder than the confession itself.

…

From the moment breakfast ends, he doesn’t leave your side. Not in a suffocating way. Not hovering. Just… present.

When your mom asks you to help bring laundry out to dry, he’s already reaching for the basket before you can. When you struggle with the stubborn sliding door, he steps in quietly, fixing it without making a show of it.

“You don’t have to follow me everywhere,” you mutter at one point, adjusting the clothespins.

“I’m not following you,” he replies lightly. “I’m staying here temporarily too, remember?”

You glance at him. He looks almost amused—but there’s intention behind it.

Later, when you head to the small grocery store nearby because your mom forgot coriander, he walks beside you without even asking if he should come.

The afternoon sun is warm. The air smells like pavement and fried snacks from a stall down the street.

“So,” he says casually, hands in his pockets. “What did you want to be when you were younger?”

You blink. “What?”

“When you were eight. Ten. What was the dream?” You huff softly. “That’s random.”

“It’s not,” he says. “It tells me things.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You analyzing me now?”

“Maybe.”

You roll your eyes—but you answer anyway.

“I wanted to be a novelist,” you admit. “I used to write stories. Cringey ones.”

His eyebrows lift slightly. “You still write?”

You hesitate. “…Rarely now, in my notebooks in my apartment, or my notes app.”

“Why’d you stop wanting to be it?”

The question is gentle. Not invasive. Just curious. You shrug. “Reality. Expectations. It didn’t feel practical.”

He nods slowly, absorbing that like it matters.

“It still matters,” he says after a moment.

You glance at him. “What does?”

“The fact that you wanted to create something.”

Your chest tightens slightly.

He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t brush it off. Just lets it sit there like it’s important.

Back home, when your mom asks you to help reorganize some old boxes in the storage room, he follows again.

It’s dusty. Warm. Dim.

You crouch down to open a box of old photo albums. He kneels beside you, shoulder nearly brushing yours.

“That’s you?” he asks, picking up a picture of you at maybe twelve years old, hair shorter, smile wider.

You snatch it lightly. “Don’t judge.”

“I’m not,” he says. And he isn’t. He studies the photo like he’s memorizing it.

“You looked happy.”

“I was a kid.”

“And now?”

You look at him sharply. “What’s with the interrogation?”

“I told you,” he reminds you quietly. “I want to know you.”

There’s no rush in his tone. No desperation.

Just steadiness.

The day continues like that.

When you wash dishes, he dries them.

He asks about your university. Your friends. What stresses you out. What makes you laugh. What kind of music you secretly listen to when you’re alone.

At one point, he says, “You hum when you’re focused.”

You freeze. “I do not.”

“You do,” he insists softly. “You were doing it while cutting fruit earlier.”

You didn’t even realize.

“The thing you do with your hand? That too.” He points out, while taking your hand, opening it and see the crescent marks on your palm.

“You notice too much,” you murmur.

He doesn’t deny it.

“Someone has to,” he replies.

The living room is dim, only the lamp by the window casting a warm glow across the space. The TV is on but forgotten, some late-night rerun playing to fill the silence.

You’re curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under you. Heeseung sits beside you—not too close, not too far—close enough that you’re aware of him without feeling crowded.

He’s been quieter tonight. Observing.

“Can I ask you something?” he says eventually.

You glance at him warily. “You’ve been doing that all day.”

A faint smile. “Humor me.”

You sigh. “Fine.” Only because you can’t resist his charming smile.

“That night,” he says carefully, “why were you really there?”

You stiffen slightly. “At the bar?”

“In another city. On a random weekend.”

“It wasn’t random,” you reply automatically.

He waits.

You stare at the muted TV screen for a long moment before answering.

“I party a lot with my friends,” you say finally.

He doesn’t react. Just listens. “More than people expect,” you add.

“Why?” he asks softly.

You let out a small breath through your nose. “Because it’s loud.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“Because when the music’s blasting and the lights are flashing and everyone’s moving,” you continue, “I can’t hear my own thoughts.”

The honesty surprises even you.

He doesn’t interrupt.

“You know how exhausting job hunting is?” you ask quietly. “Applications. Tailoring your resume for every company. Writing cover letters that feel fake. Preparing for interviews. Smiling. Selling yourself.”

His expression shifts—more focused now.

“And then the emails,” you continue, voice flattening. “‘We regret to inform you.’ ‘After careful consideration.’ ‘We’ve decided to move forward with other candidates.’”

You laugh softly, but there’s no humor in it.

“Sometimes they don’t even reply.”

Silence stretches.

“It gets to you,” you admit. “You start wondering what’s wrong with you. If you’re not good enough. If everyone else is moving ahead while you’re just… stuck.”

He doesn’t look away.

“So yeah,” you shrug lightly, though your chest feels tight. “I party.”

“To forget?” he asks.

“To breathe,” you correct.

You shift slightly, hugging your knees closer.

“When I’m out with my friends, I’m not the girl refreshing her email at 2 a.m. I’m not the candidate who didn’t make it to the final round. I’m just… me.”

He studies you carefully.

“And that’s why you were in another city.”

You nod.

“We’d just gotten two rejections that week,” you admit. “Back-to-back. I felt so stupid for getting my hopes up.”

Your voice lowers.

“So we booked a cheap place, took a train, and told ourselves we deserved one reckless weekend.”

“You call it reckless,” he says quietly. “But you sound calculated.”

You frown slightly. “What?”

“You didn’t go there to ruin yourself,” he says. “You went there to survive.”

That makes you blink.

“I like dancing,” you add quickly, deflecting. “I like dressing up. I like feeling wanted without having to prove I’m competent or impressive.”

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly at that word.

“Wanted.”

“It’s simple,” you say. “No resumes. No interviews. No expectations beyond having fun.”

“And me?” he asks gently.

You swallow.

“You weren’t part of the plan,” you admit.

His eyes don’t leave yours.

“I wasn’t looking for something serious,” you continue. “It was easier that way. Temporary city. Temporary connection. No future to mess up.”

“You think you mess things up?” he asks.

You give him a look. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“I’m not,” he says evenly. “I’m trying to understand.”

You hesitate.

“When you don’t get chosen enough,” you say slowly, “you stop expecting to be.”

The words hang in the air.

He goes very still.

“That night,” you continue, quieter now, “I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow. I just wanted to feel good. To not think about rejection emails. To not feel like I was behind in life.”

“And I was… what?” he asks softly.

“A distraction,” you answer honestly.

The word lands heavy.

But before he can retreat into it, you add—

“A good one.”

His gaze sharpens slightly.

“You were easy,” you explain. “Not in a bad way. You didn’t interrogate me. You didn’t act like you were doing me a favor. You just… were there.”

He exhales slowly.

“And when I woke up alone,” he says quietly, “it didn’t feel temporary.”

You look at him.

“I didn’t want to be just a distraction,” he continues. “I wanted to be something that stayed.”

Your heart stutters.

You look away first. “I don’t know how to let things stay,” you admit.

“Because you’re used to them leaving?” he asks.

The vulnerability in the room shifts everything.

He doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t crowd you. He just sits there, steady.

“You party to break free,” he says after a moment. You nod.

“I’m not here to take that away from you.”

You glance at him cautiously.

“But I don’t want to be another escape,” he continues. “I want to be something you choose even when the music stops.”

Your chest tightens again.

Outside, the night is quiet. No music. No flashing lights. No crowd to drown out your thoughts.

Just him.

And the terrifying possibility that this time, you won’t be the one walking away before you can be rejected.

The room feels smaller after that.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

The lamp beside the couch casts a soft golden glow across his face, catching in his eyes. The TV is still muted, forgotten entirely now. Outside, the world is quiet—no music, no city noise, no chaos to hide behind.

Just you.

And him.

“I don’t know how to let things stay,” you admit again, softer this time. “Nor how to stay.”

He doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He doesn’t try to fix you. He just watches you like your words matter.

“Then don’t decide forever,” he says gently. “Just decide now.”

Your heart pounds.

“That’s how it starts,” you whisper. “Now turns into later. Later turns into expectations.”

“And expectations scare you,” he says.

“They fail,” you correct.

He studies you for a long moment. Then he shifts closer—not abruptly, not cornering—just enough that the space between your knees and his disappears.

“I’m not an interview,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to impress me.”

Your throat tightens.

“I already like you,” he continues. “On your stressed days. On your stubborn days. On the days you party too hard to feel free.”

You huff softly. “I don’t party too hard, I still control myself.”

He almost smiles. “You know what I mean.”

The tenderness in his voice makes your chest ache.

“You don’t have to earn staying,” he says.

The words hit somewhere deep.

You look at him, really look at him. His hair is still slightly messy from earlier. He’s not styled, not composed like the first night you met. He’s just… him.

And he’s looking at you like you’re not temporary.

Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. “You’re leaving.”

“In two days,” he says.

“And then?”

“Then we figure it out,” he replies. “Or we try. Or we fail. But at least we won’t be wondering.”

Your breathing feels uneven.

He lifts his hand slowly, like he’s giving you time to pull away.

When you don’t, his fingers brush lightly against your cheek.

The touch is soft. Careful.

Nothing like that first night.

That night was heat and impulse and dim lights and stolen glances.

This is quiet.

Intentional.

His thumb traces gently along your jawline, barely there. You feel your pulse everywhere at once.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You swallow.

He doesn’t laugh at you.

Doesn’t tease.

His hand shifts slightly, cupping your cheek fully now. Warm. Steady.

“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly.

You don’t.

Instead, you lean in first.

It’s small. Barely an inch, but it closes the distance.

His breath brushes your lips before they meet. Slow. Careful. Testing.

When he kisses you, it isn’t rushed.

It isn’t hungry.

It’s soft.

Like he’s asking a question.

Your fingers clutch lightly at the fabric of his T-shirt without thinking. The kiss deepens just slightly—not intense, not overwhelming—just enough to make your heart feel like it might burst.

He pulls back a fraction, forehead resting against yours.

His voice is low. Almost unsteady.

“This isn’t an escape,” he says.

You nod faintly, breath mingling with his.

“I know.”

He kisses you again.

This time with more certainty.

Not claiming. Not demanding.

Choosing.

Your hand slides up to the back of his neck, fingers threading lightly into his hair. He exhales softly against your lips, one hand moving to your waist—secure, but not pulling you in without permission.

The world outside the living room feels nonexistent.

No rejection emails.

No interviews.

No expectations.

Just this moment.

When you finally pull back, your lips feel warm, your thoughts scattered.

“Now,” he murmurs softly, echoing his earlier words.

You let out a shaky breath.

“Now,” you repeat.

And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like something you’re running from.

It feels like something you’re choosing.

The living room feels impossibly small after that kiss. Your pulse is racing, every nerve on fire, yet your mind is dizzy in a way that makes thinking impossible.

Heeseung pulls back just slightly, his forehead still resting against yours, and you can feel the warmth of him everywhere. For a heartbeat, neither of you moves, the air thick with unsaid words.

“I—” you start, but your voice falters.

“I’ve got you,” he says suddenly, firm but gentle. His hands slide under your arms, and before you can protest, he lifts you effortlessly.

Your stomach flips. “Heeseung! Put me down!” you squeak, half-laughing, half-panicking, but you don’t resist.

“I don’t want to,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the side of your temple as he carries you toward your room. His voice is low, intimate, and the closeness makes your chest tighten even more.

Your room feels impossibly far and yet too close. The walls, the soft glow of your lamp, the familiar smell of your space—all of it is suddenly charged.

He sets you down gently on your bed, but the tension doesn’t leave. His hands linger near your waist, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of your shirt. You feel the deliberate weight of his gaze on you, assessing, quiet, patient.

“Are you… okay with this?” he asks, voice husky but careful, and you can’t tell if he’s asking about the kiss, being alone together, or everything.

You swallow hard, your pulse loud in your ears. “I—I think so,” you admit, your words trembling just enough to betray your certainty.

He shifts closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand resting lightly on the mattress near yours. You’re inches apart, every movement amplified. The air feels electric, charged with anticipation and heat.

His eyes trace your face slowly, almost like he’s memorizing every line, every shadow. “You’re warm,” he murmurs, voice softer now, almost a whisper.

Your breath catches. The room is quiet except for the distant hum of the city outside. Your fingers twitch at the edge of the blanket, trying to ground yourself, but he leans in, closing the space further.

His hand moves to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, brushing against your jaw as he does. You feel your own hands rise, unconsciously resting on his forearm. The intimacy is subtle, teasing—every touch deliberate, careful, yet charged with something unspoken.

“You’ve been on my mind,” he admits quietly, gaze locking with yours. “All day. Since breakfast. Even when we were doing the dishes… I couldn’t stop thinking.”

Your chest tightens. The honesty in his tone, combined with the nearness, makes your head spin. “Maybe you also have been lingering in my head all along for the past two months.”

“I—” you start, but he leans in closer, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It’s slower, deliberate, exploratory—but there’s a hunger there too, restrained yet unmistakable.

Your hands find his chest, fingers brushing against the fabric of his T-shirt, feeling the solid warmth underneath. The kiss deepens slightly, teasing, suggestive, daring—but still measured.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, reading your reaction, searching for consent in your gaze. Your pulse is racing, your thoughts scattered, but the answer is clear in the flutter of your heartbeat.

His lips hover over yours again, close enough that you can feel the warmth and breath, and for a moment, nothing else exists: no hesitation, no past regrets, just the two of you, the quiet room, and the thrilling, dangerous pull of something more.

And then he whispers, low and husky, “Do you trust me?”

Your answer is a shiver, a nod, a soft, “Yes,” barely audible—but it’s enough.

The air between you thickens, charged with a suggestion, a promise, a question that doesn’t need words—because the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s close enough to touch, it says it all.

…

Heeseung’s lips trail down your neck with a slow, teasing warmth—each kiss featherlight at first, then lingering just enough to leave faint tingles in their wake. His breathing is uneven but controlled, clearly trying to balance the haze with focus.

“Always smell so good.” He murmur between kisses. One hand rests tentatively against your shoulder while the other tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before continuing his path lower.

Then he pauses abruptly near your collarbone as if remembering something, “I don’t have condoms with me,” He looks at you.

You huff, turning to your handbag. Pulling out the small foil packet, he smiles at you. “For your other one night stands?” You laugh.

“That was the plan, but I stopped doing those after you.” He doesn’t question it, You tug at his shirt, signalling you want it off.

Heeseung makes quick work of his shirt, tossing it aside before popping the button on his pants. His movements are fluid—confident but not rushed—as he steps out of them and kicks them toward the floor.

“Better?” He asks, voice low as he reaches for you again, now only in his boxers.

His fingers are gentle but eager as he helps you out of your own clothes—each piece discarded with care until there’s nothing left between you. His touch lingers on bare skin, like he’s relearning every curve after months of yearning.

"God… I love this,"he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “So beautiful.”

Heeseung trails kisses downward—slow, deliberate—each one hotter than the last. His hands follow, mapping your body like he’s memorizing it anew. When his lips finally reach the place you have been dying for him to touch, he glances up at you through his lashes, smirking.

“Want me to touch you here?”

You nod, he tsks. “Need to hear you, baby.” As his breath brushes your open folds.

“Yes.” You gasped, “Yes, please.”

He smiles, Heeseung doesn’t waste another second—his mouth sealing over you with practiced devotion. Every flick of his tongue, every hum against your skin is calculated to unravel you.

And it works.

His free hand grips your thigh, holding you steady as he focuses entirely on pleasuring and loving you—like this is the only mission that matters tonight.

Heeseung zeroes in on your clit instantly—his tongue circling it with just the right amount of pressure before sucking lightly. His eyes stay locked on yours, gauging every twitch and gasp to adjust his technique.

"This okay?" he murmurs against you, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear you say it anyway.

You nod, he hums in approval—taking your nod as permission to double down. His tongue flicks faster now, alternating between broad strokes and precise little darts while his fingers slip inside you, curling just right.

You yelp at the sudden intrusion, Heeseung pauses immediately—pulling back just enough to check your expression. His brows furrow in concern, but he keeps his fingers still inside you.

"Too much?" he asks softly, ready to adjust at your slightest hint. You shake your head, “It’s good, s’good..”

He exhales in relief—his tension melting into renewed focus. He resumes with even more care now, his movements deliberate and gentle as he coaxes you toward pleasure rather than overwhelming you.

"That’s it," he murmurs, lips brushing your inner thigh between words. "Just relax… I’ve got you."

“I’ll make you feel better than that night.”

He adds a second finger—stretching you gradually as his thumb replaces his tongue, rubbing slow circles over your clit instead. His eyes stay locked on your face, tracking every flutter of pleasure.

“Tell me if anything’s too much," he reminds, voice thick with concern beneath the desire.

Heeseung's touch remains gentle and attentive, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm that builds pleasure without rushing you. Every now and then, he glances up to make sure you're still comfortable—his expression soft with care even as desire burns in his gaze.

“So good for me, you’re so good for me.” He murmurs againts your skin, words warm and reverent.

He senses you're close—your breaths hitching, your body tensing around his fingers. He presses a final open-mouthed kiss to your clit before murmuring,

"Come for me, baby.”

His words are the last push you need—your climax crashing over you in waves as Heeseung rides it out with his fingers, his touch never faltering. When your tremors subside, he presses a kiss to your inner thigh and slowly withdraws his hand.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, crawling up to claim your lips in a deep kiss—letting you taste yourself on him.

“Need you, now.” You breath againts his lips

Heeseung groans at your words, his body responding instantly. In one fluid motion, he flips onto his back—pulling you atop him, before rolling the condom on with practiced ease.

“Ride me,” he rasps, before teasing his tip on your folds and guiding himself to your entrance. He hisses as you sink onto him—his hands flying to your hips, gripping hard as he adjusts to the sudden tightness. His head falls back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut for a second before he forces them open again, needing to see you.

"Fuck," he grits out, "You feel…"

Words fail him—too overwhelmed by how perfectly you take him in.

His breath comes in ragged bursts as you start moving—his hips instinctively bucking up to meet each of your descents. One hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you down into a searing kiss while the other presses possessively against your back.

He loses himself in the rhythm you set—every roll of your hips sending sparks through his veins. His hands roam your body, worshiping every curve as he murmurs praise against your skin.

“Gonna kill me like this, baby.” He cups your breasts as he pinches one of your nipples, you moan.

His control starts to fray—his thrusts becoming less measured, more desperate. He can feel his climax building rapidly, but he refuses to let go until you do first.

Heeseung flips you onto your back with surprising gentleness despite the urgency in his movements. The second he’s nestled between your thighs again, he surges into you—each thrust deep and deliberate.

"Look at me," he demands softly, cradling your face as his pace turns relentless. "Want to see you when we finish."

His thrusts grow erratic—his breath coming in sharp gasps as he chases his release. But even now, at the peak of pleasure, his focus stays on you, making sure you’re right there with him.

“Searched for you like crazy, kept..kept..asking around.” He went down to latch on your nipple, sucking softly and twirling his tongue making you whimper underneath him.

“Need the girl that made me fall hopelessly from just one night.”

Heeseung’s eyes lock onto yours, the intensity in his gaze nearly overwhelming as he pushes you both toward release. His thrusts grow sharper—each one hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb circles your clit with just enough pressure, making your moans slightly louder than before.

"Close?" he rasps, voice strained with restraint.

You nod frantically, your body coiling tight with impending pleasure. Heeseung’s answering grin is fierce—he can feel it too.

"Then let go," he urges, his own rhythm faltering as he chases his own peak alongside you.

The moment your climax hits—waves of pleasure crashing over you in relentless succession—Heeseung follows with a broken groan. His thrusts stutter before he buries himself deep, shuddering through his release as he holds you close.

For several breathless seconds, all either of you can do is cling to each other, sweaty and spent but utterly satisfied.

“Don’t go. Don’t leave this time.” He says, pressing a lazy kiss on your shoulder.

“Can’t run even if I tried,” you laugh, finally aware that you guys fucked in your childhood bedroom, in your parents’ house. With his and your moms just a few doors away.

…

Morning comes softly.

Not with alarms. Not with loud footsteps downstairs.

Just sunlight.

It slips through the thin gap in your curtains, warm and golden, stretching slowly across your walls, across your desk, across the edge of your bed.

You blink awake gradually, consciousness returning in pieces.

The warmth against your back registers first.

Then the weight around your waist.

Then the steady rise and fall of someone else’s breathing.

Your heart stutters.

Heeseung.

His arm is draped securely around you, palm resting flat against your stomach like it belongs there. Your back is pressed lightly to his chest, his face buried somewhere near the back of your neck, breath warm against your skin.

For a second, you don’t move, you just lie there and lets the reality settle.

Last night wasn’t loud or reckless or fleeting. It wasn’t dim bar lights and alcohol-blurred edges.

It was slow.

Intentional.

You remember how careful he was. How he kept checking in. How he looked at you like this wasn’t just physical.

Your cheeks warm at the memory.

Behind you, he shifts slightly. His arm tightens instinctively when you move.

“Mmm,” he hums, voice thick with sleep. “Don’t go.” You freeze.

“I’m not,” you whisper, even though you hadn’t actually planned to.

He exhales softly against your shoulder, clearly not fully awake yet. His fingers flex slightly against your waist, like he’s grounding himself.

The sunlight climbs higher.

You slowly turn your head just enough to glance at him.

His hair is a mess, falling into his eyes. His lips are slightly parted, expression relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before. No guarded composure. No teasing edge.

Just him.

Peaceful.

He blinks awake a moment later, eyes adjusting slowly.

There’s a brief second of confusion.

Then recognition.

Then something softer.

“Morning,” he murmurs. Your heart flips.

“Morning.”

Neither of you moves away.

Neither of you makes it awkward.

He studies your face like he’s making sure you’re real. Like he half-expected to wake up alone again. “You’re still here,” he says quietly.

You swallow. “So are you.” A small smile touches his lips.

He lifts a hand, brushing his thumb gently along your cheekbone. Not suggestive. Not urgent. Just… tender.

“Regrets?” he asks carefully.

You consider it. The sunlight. The warmth. The quiet. His arm still wrapped around you.

“No,” you answer honestly.

Relief flickers across his face so subtly you almost miss it.

“Good,” he murmurs.

Silence settles again, but it’s comfortable.

You’re suddenly aware of the house. Of your mom downstairs. Of Mrs. Lee probably already awake.

Reality creeping back in.

“We should probably get up,” you say softly. He groans lightly. “Five more minutes.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move. His fingers trace lazy patterns against your waist absentmindedly.

“Last night,” he begins quietly, “wasn’t just… heat.”

You turn slightly to face him more fully now, the blanket shifting around you.

“I know,” you reply. His eyes search yours.

“I meant what I said,” he continues. “About wanting more.”

The weight of it is still there. But this time, it doesn’t feel suffocating. It feels steady.

You reach out, brushing a piece of hair away from his forehead. “I’m still scared,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” he says immediately.

“But I don’t want to run,” you add.

Something shifts in his expression—something hopeful. “We’ll figure it out,” he says quietly. “One step at a time.”

He leaves tomorrow.

But right now, he’s here.

Warm. Real. Looking at you like you’re not temporary.

His hand slides into yours under the blanket, fingers intertwining slowly.

SEPTEMBER 2025

Three months later, your apartment feels both fuller and emptier at the same time.

Fuller — because his hoodie is draped over the back of your chair. Because there’s a mug he likes that you bought “accidentally.” Because your call logs are filled with his name. Because there’s a toothbrush tucked into the corner of your sink like it belongs there.

Emptier — because right now, he isn’t here.

Long distance wasn’t glamorous.

It was: falling asleep on video call, propping your phone against your pillow just to see his face, texting “reach home safe” every long rides he takes back home, syncing up dramas and pressing play at the same time,

It was him visiting every three weeks without fail. No excuses.

He comes by Friday night, spends the weekend before saying goodbye Sunday night. Sometimes with a small bouquet.

Sometimes with your favorite snacks.

Once with nothing but a tired smile and open arms.

And every time he left, the goodbye got quieter. Less dramatic. More heavy.

But you were trying. Both of you were.

Tonight, you’re expecting him again.

You’d cleaned the apartment earlier, even though he’s seen it messy before. There’s a faint scent of citrus from the candle you lit. Your heart always beats a little faster on visit days.

When the knock finally comes, you don’t pretend to be calm. You open the door.

Heeseung stands there with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

And that smile, the one that makes three weeks feel like three seconds.

You don’t even greet him properly—you just step forward and hug him. He laughs softly, arms wrapping around you tightly, lifting you slightly off the ground for a brief second.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs into your hair. When you pull back, you notice something. He looks… different.

Not physically.

But there’s a weight behind his eyes.

“What?” you ask immediately. He exhales lightly. “Can I come in first?” You narrow your eyes but step aside.

He drops his bag near the couch, looks around your apartment like he always does—taking it in, grounding himself.

You close the door.

“Okay,” you say, crossing your arms. “What’s going on?”

He runs a hand through his hair—a nervous habit you’ve come to recognize.

“I have news,” he says. Your stomach drops slightly.

“Good news?” you ask cautiously.

He hesitates just enough to make your heart pound.

“I’m moving.” The word hangs in the air.

Your mind scrambles. “Moving?” you repeat. “Where?”

He steps closer. “Here.”

You blink. “…What?”

“I got a transfer,” he continues, the words coming faster now. “There was an opening in the branch here. I applied a month ago.”

“A month ago?” you echo.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to promise something that might not happen.”

Your heart is racing now. “I got it,” he says quietly. “It’s finalized.” Silence fills your apartment.

“You’re… moving here?” you whisper.

He nods. “I don’t want to do long distance anymore,” he says. “Not when I don’t have to.”

Your brain is still catching up.

“But your mom? Your place? Producing?”

“She supports it,” he replies. “And my job is still my job. Just different location.”

You stare at him.

“You did this… because of me?”He steps closer until there’s barely space between you.

“I did this because I want a life where I don’t count down weeks just to see you,” he says. “Because I don’t want to miss small things. Your bad interview days. Your random 2 a.m. thoughts. Your victories.”

Your throat tightens. “I don’t want to visit you,” he continues softly. “I want to be here.” Tears prick at the corner of your eyes before you can stop them.

“You’re serious,” you whisper.

He cups your face gently, thumbs brushing just beneath your eyes.

“I’ve never been more serious.”

Your laugh comes out shaky. “You’re insane.”

“Probably,” he admits. “But I’m yours.”

note: freaking finally! i know i promised you guys this a month ago, and yes i’m alive. just wanted to wrap things up with my semester and have a small break after stressing out for finals, but alas! here we are! first work kinda nervous >< hope u guys love it!

Three AM in this building always smells the same: stale air conditioning, reheated coffee, and that grey carpet that seems to swallow up everyone's sound. The basement hallway is pitch black, save for the sliver of white light bleeding out from under his studio door.

You don't knock. You know that if you do, it’ll take him a solid three minutes to react—or worse, he’ll slip on that automatic "I'm fine" mask before opening up. So you just swipe your keycard against the reader. The electronic latch gives way with a dull click, and you step inside.

The room is freezing. The first thing you notice isn't him, but the computer screen dominating the desk, flickering with the waveforms of an editing program that has been paused on the exact same second for God knows how long. The bluish glow gives the entire space a clinical, almost hospital-like look.

He's sitting on the floor, his back against the expensive ergonomic chair, legs crossed and posture slouched against the furniture. He’s wearing an oversized black hoodie about three sizes too big, the hood half-pulled up, and grey sweatpants. His head is tilted back, resting against the edge of the seat as he stares blankly at a dead spot on the ceiling. His headphones hang loose around his neck like a chain that’s just too heavy to carry.

"I told you not to come," he says. His voice is scratchy, thick from disuse and built-up exhaustion, dragging over the words as if it takes too much effort to move his tongue.

You don't answer. You toss your bag onto the small leather couch in the corner and walk over to him with slow, quiet steps, barefoot because you slipped your shoes off at the entrance so you wouldn't break the heavy silence that has settled in the room.

As you sit on the floor right beside him and take a closer look at his profile under the blue light, the image of the flawless boy who dances under the spotlights completely shatters. There are deep, almost purple dark circles under his eyes, contrasting sharply with the sickly paleness of his skin. His lips are chapped from biting them out of anxiety, and there's a barely noticeable twitch in his right eyelid.

Heeseung looks strangely small. Vulnerable. It’s as if the entire weight of the expectations he built for himself has collapsed right on top of him, crushing him.

"Have you eaten anything?" you ask, keeping your voice low, barely a whisper so you don't disturb the atmosphere.

He lets out a dry, bitter breath that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Finally, he drops his head and looks at you. His eyes, which usually hold a sweetness that softens anyone, are completely dull, glassy, and fixed on you with a mix of relief and deep shame. He hates that you're seeing him like this, but at the same time, it’s blindingly obvious he was terrified of being left alone with his own thoughts for another hour.

"I'm not hungry," he replies, reaching out a trembling hand to rub his face harshly, leaving his skin flushed from the friction. "I can't get it right, you know? The bridge on the third track... it's trash. Everything is trash. I don't know what I was thinking.

"His voice cracks a little at the end, and that's where you see the fracture. The perfect plan he had in his head—the solo project that was supposed to be his grand statement to the world, his redemption—has turned into his own cage. Things aren't going the way he wanted. The numbers, the demos, the meetings where executives tell him what to change... it’s consuming him alive. The incorrigible perfectionist has run into a reality he can't control, and the frustration is driving him insane.

He runs his fingers through his messy hair, tugging desperately at his blonde roots.

"Everyone expects me to be perfect. To fix it. To be who I’ve always been," he continues, and this time he turns fully toward you, shuffling a few inches across the carpet until his knees brush against yours. His eyes lock onto yours with an obsessive, almost sickly intensity. "But I can't. I feel like if I take one more step, I'm going to break. I'm scared they'll realize I'm a fraud."

He doesn't take his eyes off you. He bites his lower lip so hard you can almost see the skin turn white, searching for any physical pain to distract him from the ache inside his head.

You don't offer any cheap, cliché comfort. You know better than anyone that it won't do a thing. Instead, you close the distance between you both, sliding across the floor until you're right in front of him. You reach out, slowly, and brush away a strand of hair that had fallen over his left eye.

"Look at me," you tell him softly, forcing him to focus those glassy, exhausted eyes on yours. "You are not a fraud. You're just fucking exhausted.

"He lets out a shaky breath, completely surrendering. He drops his forehead straight against your shoulder, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His breathing is heavy and hot, and you can feel the frantic thumping of his heart beating against your own chest. His arms, long and heavy, wrap around your waist with a nearly desperate force, as if he’s truly terrified you’ll vanish into thin air if he lets go.

"Everything hurts," he murmurs against your skin, his voice so muffled it makes your stomach knot. "I can't sleep. I close my eyes and I just keep hearing the same damn melody over and over again. I feel like I'm going to go crazy if I stay cooped up in here.

"Your hands slide down his back, tracing the line of his spine over the thick fabric of his hoodie. You can feel the muscles in his shoulders completely knotted, stiff as stones. You begin to give him a slow massage, pressing down with your thumbs to work out the tension built up from so many days of rehearsals and stress.

Heeseung lets out a low groan, a whine of pure physical relief that echoes right in your ear. You feel his body finally begin to untangle, yielding to your touch at last.

It breaks your heart to see him so vulnerable, so you gently run your fingers through his hair to lift his head from your shoulder, tilting your face up to his. You brush your lips against his temple, leaving a tender kiss there, then another on his cheek, moving slowly down the line of his jaw. He lets out a hitched breath, his eyes closed, completely letting you take over. He nudges his face up, searching for more, and you give him exactly what he wants—sliding down to his neck, leaving soft kisses that make him shiver, soothing the storm inside him with pure tenderness.

When you finally look up, Heeseung is already searching for you. His lips find yours in a slow, deep kiss, the kind that hurts because of how good it is. It’s a warm kiss that tastes of desperation, but also of immense affection. You feel the heat of his mouth parting naturally, his tongue brushing against yours with an addictive slowness that makes your head spin.

As the kiss grows wetter and deeper, his hands react. Heeseung’s palms slide down from your back to your waist, squeezing the bare skin beneath your shirt. He pulls you so close you can feel the heat radiating from him, but it doesn't seem to be enough. His hands slide a bit lower—firm, large—until they cup the curves of your ass possessively, lifting you slightly off the floor without breaking the kiss.

You catch the message instantly. You part your legs slightly and straddle his lap, sitting directly over him with a leg on either side of his hips.

Heeseung lets out a husky sigh right into your mouth the moment he feels your full weight on him. You settle onto his lap, shifting your hips in a soft grind that makes him catch his breath. His hands remain firm on your ass, but you notice he barely has the strength to guide you; he’s so overwhelmed by the exhaustion and anxiety that he prefers to completely surrender to whatever you decide to do with him.

You pull back from the kiss slightly, looking down at him. His eyes are hooded, locked onto you, his cheeks flushed dark.

"Let me take care of you tonight, okay?" you whisper, caressing his cheek.

"Do whatever you want..." he murmurs, his voice cracked and deeper than usual. "Anything, just don't get off me."

Without breaking eye contact, you bring your hands to the hem of your shirt and sports top, stripping them off in a single motion and tossing them somewhere onto the floor. You're left completely bare in front of him. Heeseung’s pupils dilate instantly; he has always had a massive weakness for your chest, and seeing your breasts right there, so close to his face under the dim studio light, makes him snap out of his daze.

He lets out a low groan and reaches his hands out to cup your breasts, squeezing them with a mix of adoration and anxious clumsiness. The heat of his palms makes you arch your back.

"You're so good to me..." he gasps, leaning forward, unable to hold himself back any longer.

He opens his mouth and latches onto one of your nipples, sucking on it hungrily while his tongue swirls around it. The contrast of his hot, wet mouth sucking you makes an acute whimper escape your throat, echoing against the four walls. Heeseung groans against your skin, thrilled by your reaction, and slides a hand up to squeeze your other breast, kneading it to the rhythm of his mouth.

Taking advantage of the fact that he’s completely lost between your breasts, you lower your hands to the waistband of his sweatpants. You slip your fingers underneath the elastic, gently sliding the fabric down, dragging his boxers along with them until his half-erect length slips free.

You stop moving your hips so you don't lose your balance, and lower one of your hands to the base of his penis. You wrap your fingers around it and begin to slide your hand up and down in a slow, smooth motion.

Heeseung freezes. He stops sucking your breast instantly and throws his head back, resting it against the wall with his eyes shut and his jaw clenched tight. A husky, long, choked groan escapes his throat as his pelvis gives a subtle upward twitch, chasing the pressure of your fingers.

"Does this feel good?" You say softly, using your free hand to caress Heeseung’s jawline.

He lets out a whine of approval, his breathing completely shattered, but you’re already moving. You lean on his shoulders for stability and push yourself up just enough to strip off the rest of your clothes. You pull your pants and underwear off in one quick motion, letting them drop to the floor right next to his hoodie. When you settle back down onto his thighs, your bare skin presses against his, the heat of your wet core brushing directly against the tip of his heavily throbbing erection.

Heeseung snaps his eyes open, completely unraveled. His hands immediately slide up to your hips, digging into your skin to guide you, but you maintain control.

Before sliding him inside, you slowly grind forward and backward against him. You let the head of his cock, glistening wet with pre-cum, drag and press directly against your folds and your clit. The friction of his thickness against your most sensitive spot draws a sharp gasp from your throat, making Heeseung arch his pelvis upward, desperately chasing the hilt.

"Fuck... please," he begs, his voice raw, squeezing your hips so tightly his knuckles turn white. "Put it in already, I can't take it anymore.

"You're burning up too. Leaning forward, you brace your hands on his shoulders for balance and slowly lower your body, letting yourself drop onto him. His wet, hot length stretches you open centimeter by centimeter, filling you completely. Heeseung throws his head back with a low, deep groan that vibrates in his chest the second he feels you take all of him. The fit is perfect, so tight and hot that you both freeze for a second, soaking in the sensation of being completely joined together like this.

The clinical silence of the studio is broken only by your hitched breaths. Beneath you, you notice his chest rising and falling erratically, and when you look down to find his eyes, you realize Heeseung’s eyelashes are completely wet. All that emotional instability and the pressure built up over weeks are overflowing the only way he has left: a silent sob, a raw release triggered by the sheer intensity of having you so close, of finally feeling safe and contained.

"Hey... Hee, my love," you whisper in your sweetest tone, pausing your movements for a moment.You cup his face with both hands, using your thumbs to brush away a couple of stray tears escaping down his cheeks. Heeseung opens his eyes, completely unraveled, looking up at you with a shyness and devotion that makes your heart ache. He looks like a little boy seeking shelter in the middle of a storm.

"I'm sorry..." he manages to choke out, his throat tight. "It’s just... it's too much. I feel like I don't deserve you being here, putting up with all my shit."

"Don't say that," you interrupt him, pressing a tender, wet kiss to his lips, tasting the heat of his mouth. "You're doing amazing. You are the most talented and strongest person I know, Heeseung. You're already perfect. I love you just like this, exactly as you are right now. Even if the world turns its back on you, my place is still right by your side."

Your words seem to heal something inside him. Heeseung lets out a choked sob, a low, tearful whimper that gets lost against your neck as he buries his face there, wrapping his arms around your waist with an almost desperate strength. He clings to you as if you were his lifeline, losing himself in your scent while his hips give a subtle, deep upward twitch, making you gasp.

"Tell me again... please," he begs against your ear, his voice broken, completely surrendered to you. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours, Heeseung. Only yours, my love," you repeat against his ear, sealing the promise with a soft bite on his earlobe that makes him shiver from head to toe. "I'm right here, and I'm staying right here."

You start out slow, giving him a couple of deliberate, circular grinds that squeeze a sharp whimper from his throat. But the friction of your completely drenched core against his base and the stifling heat of the studio set your blood on fire. Without warning, you shift gears. Bracing yourself hard against his thighs, you begin to ride him fast, slamming your hips against his with a savage urgency.

The sudden shift catches him completely off guard. Heeseung throws his head back against the wall, his eyes rolling back as a broken, long, acute groan escapes his lips. The wet sound of your bodies slapping together mercilessly—a rhythmic clapping of skin against skin and the echo of your mixing juices—fills the freezing room, turning it purely obscene.

"Fuck... you're going... you're going too fast," he whimpers, his voice completely shattered from the extreme sensitivity. His large hands dig desperately into your buttocks, trying to slow you down a bit, but he has neither the mental nor physical strength to stop you. He’s too soft from the crying before, yet too hard from the pleasure.

"You like it like this, don't you?" you tease him, panting, rolling up and down his length without giving him a single second of truce.

He opens his eyes, unfocused with ecstasy, looking up at you from below. Seeing your breasts bouncing to the frenetic rhythm of your hips and your face contorted with pleasure drives him completely insane. He tries to match your pace clumsily, pushing his pelvis upward in needy spasms, but every time he tries, your fast rhythm crushes him, bottoming out all at once and forcing a choked sob from his chest.

"Yes... Fuck, yes, I love it," he growls, slurring his words, completely overwhelmed. His brows furrow so tightly it looks like he's in pain, and his Adam's apple bobs frantically as he gasps for air. "You're going to make me come so fast..."

You can't hold out much longer either. The constant friction of your clit against his pubic hair, paired with the sheer heat of every downward stroke filling you to the brim, is pushing you straight to the edge of collapse.

Heeseung feels those first contractions of your orgasm perfectly around him. He lets out a choked, low, raspy groan, and his hands on your hips tighten with an instinctive firmness, pinning you completely against his pelvis so as not to lose a single millimeter of contact. His breathing is a total wreck, pure fire against your neck.

"Heeseung... I'm going to come," you confess in a pant, unable to keep up the pace any longer, letting yourself fall heavily onto him as your core squeezes tightly around his length

."Do it..." he replies in a broken whisper, squeezing his eyes shut as his own pelvis gives a couple of slow, deep, agonizing upward thrusts. "Do it, my love."

Your orgasm hits you hard, forcing you to arch your back and bury your nails into his shoulders as you twitch over him in an already erratic rhythm. That tight, burning pressure is the final push Heeseung needed.

His entire body tenses so much that the muscles in his arms and back ripple beneath your touch. With a long, muffled, shattered groan tearing from his chest, Heeseung buries himself deeply inside you.

You can perfectly feel the first pulse of his length releasing the load, a hot stream shooting straight against your depth. His pelvis gives three hard, successive spasms, bottoming out as much as possible as he fills you completely. The heat of his semen begins to flood your inside, a thick, liquid sensation blending with your own wetness. Heeseung sighs with his lips pressed to your shoulder, letting out the air he was holding in a low whimper of pure physical and mental relief, his length still pulsing inside you, leaving every single drop of his warmth.

Silence settles over the studio once more, but this time it’s a completely peaceful silence, broken only by the sound of your breathing trying to quiet down.

It takes Heeseung a few minutes to react. When the trembling in his muscles finally subsides, he relaxes his arms around your body, but he doesn't let go. He slides back a bit against the wall, adjusting you better on his lap so you don't have to make any effort. You notice a warm trickle of your mixed juices beginning to lazily slide down your thighs from just how much he came inside you.

He holds you with infinite tenderness, hiding his face in your hair while caressing your back with a sweet, slow rhythm.