(ᐢ. .ᐢ) ₊˚⊹

You never knew that your emotions, sadness and tears could mean so much to someone. That it could matter, worry and concern someone this much.

But that was probably only because you hadn’t met Baekhyun in your life earlier. Because now, you felt like you always had someone to lean on, a chest to cry to, and a guiding hand to pull you out of whatever pit of sadness you seemed to fall into often.

It started small.

Only a couple of months into dating Baekhyun, when you started to come over to his place for sleepovers, he slowly discovered about your extremely restless sleeping habits, your sleepless nights.

The first time it happened, you sat up in the bed, heaving and gasping quietly to yourself to catch your breath—seriously trying not to accidentally awaken him because then you were worried that he’d see just how much of a pathetic loser you were.

But it wasn’t easy, you just couldn’t seem to calm yourself down and the tears weren’t stopping either, you just wanted a good night’s sleep with your boyfriend but your brain had other plans.

You swore your breathing froze when he stirred beside you, then he was suddenly sitting up, eyes squinting in the dark to stare at your shaking form.

“Baby…?” The words left his lips in such a soft and quiet manner as if you were some scared wounded animal that he didn’t want to startle anymore. Without any questioning or demanding explanation from you as to what happened that lead you to hyperventilating at 3 in the morning, he just moved closer to you.

You opened your mouth to tell him that it was okay, that he should just go back to sleep, that you didn’t want him to see you in such a pathetic state but all the words got stuck in your throat and the only sound that left your lips was this small wet whimper which made you shut your eyes tightly in shame.

Baekhyun didn’t need anymore words, not that you had said anything, he just took you in his arms, your head tucked under his chin as he tugged you closer—almost on his lap as you sobbed against his chest, wetting his shirt. He held you so… tightly, so firmly, so lovingly, as if trying to shield you from whatever was going on in your head.

“Breathe, baby, breathe…”

He didn’t even question you, just held you. His lips pressed to the shell of your ear as he whispered sweet nothings to you, calling you every pet name imaginable while rocking you back and forth.

After your tears had dried down a little, he pulled away, softly asking you if you wanted to talk about it, when you shook your head, he didn’t push at all.

Instead, he grabbed you and just skipped over into the kitchen, smiling softly as he just told you easily, “let’s make a chocolate cake, hm? You can add the star sprinkles on top, pretty girl.”

Like he wasn’t in the kitchen at 3 in the morning, on top of when he clearly had a lot of work the next day, you tried protesting against it but he pressed a finger to your lips while you both got to making the cake, he licked off the frosting off your fingers, blowing some flour on you, just messing around with you, making you giggle.

Being with him like this made all your problems fade to nothing, the devastatingly big amounts of love and adoration in his eyes as his gaze zeroed in on you whenever he thought you wouldn’t notice and was busy whisking the eggs—it seriously made you feel so scared, being loved so intensely and intimately.

You often found yourself questioning if you even deserved such love from him, but then Baekhyun would wipe those thoughts away from your head with the reverent way he held your face while he kissed you, the way he touched you like you were made of the most precious porcelain and deserved to be cherished and worshipped.

Sometimes after a particularly hard day, after you’ve had some problems with your friends—Baekhyun would try his best to cheer you up, ordering your favourite milk cake from the bakery down the road, playing you a love song on the piano, watching your favourite reality show even though he had never really liked it.

He’d do everything just to take that look of utter hopelessness away from your eyes.

But the truth is, sometimes nothing really worked and Baekhyun understood that, he understood that your emotions weren’t like a light switch that he could turn on and off with just a couple of his loving actions.

He always waited patiently, waited for you to open up, crack out of your shell, climb up and out of the tall walls you had built around yourself, sometimes not even letting him in. He understood why, maybe you’d been scarred similarly in your past and that was why you were so wary now to let people in easily.

And when you’d let finally him in, Baekhyun’s heart in his chest felt like fireworks.

It was late and you both had gone to bed, he didn’t push you to talk of it. But maybe you just couldn’t take it anymore.

And as Baekhyun laid there on the bed, wide awake beside you because he was worried about you, he heard you sniffling, your back was to him and he couldn’t exactly see your face but god, did Baekhyun’s heart dropped to his stomach.

He didn’t say anything to you, just moved closer and enveloped you loosely from behind—giving you room to pull away from him if you didn’t want him or his warmth right now. He’d understand.

But when you leaned back into his chest, your sniffling turning into small sobs that twisted his heart, Baekhyun almost felt a sort of relief that you were leaning onto him, instead of just shutting him out and wallowing in your problems all by yourself.

“I’m here for you, sweet girl, hm?” He felt the need to word it for you, for you to really understand that he was here for you and will always be.

When you answered by twisting and turning to face him, your face all teary and red, holding back the sobs. Baekhyun winced at the sight of your absolutely wet face.

He couldn’t help but tug you even closer to him, you buried your head in the crook of his neck immediately and he wrapped his arms your whole body firmly, anchoring you to him.

“Oh, baby… it’s okay, I’m here for you,” was all the words he could get out of his mouth while you trembled and sobbed into his chest heavily. God knows what lead you to be like this and he felt helpless and almost a tiny bit frustrated as he thought about how reserving you were with your emotions, so he knew he couldn’t even ask you about it, afraid you’d only pull away and retreat back into yourself.

Imagine the level of surprise and relief flooding through him when you began speaking, rambling to him through your sobs, “I saw them at the café… the same one that I told them about, the one I wanted to go at with them but they’d told me they were busy… but then they were there, without me.”

“Who, sweetheart? Slow down, it’s okay, tell me,” he spoke in a hushed tone, hand rubbing up and down at your back to soothe you even further.

“My friends.”

“You saw your friends at a cafe? The one you wanted to check out with them, but they went there without you?” He countered softly, trying to get the picture of what you were going through and trying to tell him.

You sobbed and nodded, but then tried to catch your breath to speak a little more clearly to him, you started again, voice shaky, “yes, then they proceeded to be… passive aggressive when I walked up to them and asked them about it? They were weird towards me, said how they thought I weren’t free that’s why they went without me. I… I don’t think—Baekhyun, they don’t like me anymore.”

You fell into a fit of small whimpers and sobs again while you blamed yourself, words muffled into his chest, “maybe I did something wrong,” and a mix of “i always go and ruin all of my friendships.”

“No, baby. What? Are you kidding, it’s not your fault at all, you are the best and the nicest friend they could ever have. That’s clearly wrong from their side,” he was quick to reassure you and made you didn’t fall into the pit of self-blame.

Baekhyun didn’t like that one bit.

How dare your friends make you feel this way and how could you even blame yourself for this, you were the sweetest and nicest girl he knew. You were not a bad friend—far from it actually, but your friends. Well, he never liked them much from the start. Too many red flags.

But he never said it to you, never wanted you to feel that he didn’t like your friends because of his personal reasons, and also knowing how impressionable you were to his words, he didn’t say it to you because he didn’t want you to cut all your friends off and then stop being the outgoing girl you were.

He spent the night holding you and wiping your tears, telling you with that firm voice of his that he only used when he was really worried or serious about something—that it wasn’t on you at all. How you were the best girl ever and you didn’t wed such jerk friends anyways, how you can go and make more friends and perhaps better ones this time.

When you were finally out from it all and Baekhyun had insisted you on a change of your clothes—considering how wet and snotty you had gotten, he finally voiced the idea he had in his mind ever since you started, “so this café you were speaking of? Where it it?”

You replied to him, now feeling better as you pulled the loose t-shirt down on your torso and smiled. It was fairly new and had opened in the downtown.

Baekhyun smiled at you so tenderly while you spilled details and facts about the place, how you’ve heard such great things about the strawberry cheesecake from their menu and wanted to try it, you were so adorable and all he could do was smile as he presented his offer to you, “So, me and you then, this Saturday afternoon? How’s that sound?”

“What? You’ll go with me?”

He nodded sweetly and had to hold back a laugh at how surprised and taken aback you were at his question, though he also didn’t enjoy it much. Why would you be even surprised? He was your boyfriend, your lover. Of course, he’d be at your every whim and request. He’d take you everywhere you wanted to go to and he’ll tag along with you everywhere.

You suddenly ran to him and threw yourself into his arms. Baekhyun let out a chuckle, soft and warm, coming from the depths of his heart as you buried yourself in his arms, thanking him sweetly.

“You’ve got nothing to thank me for, silly girl. Of course, I’ll go with you. What do you take me for, huh? I’m your man.”

You beamed up at him as you settled back into the bed beside him, “I don’t know, I just think it’s sweet of you. I’ll love to go with you, you’ll love their caramel latte for sure!”

Fuck your friends if they didn’t want to go with you and hang out with you, Baekhyun would do all the things with you that required a friend—because he wasn’t just your lover, he was your best friend, your biggest supporter, your everything and every relation in life that you’d ever lacked.

He’ll be your man, your lover, your best friend, your father figure—whatever it takes for you to feel loved and cherished.

True to his word—like always, Baekhyun was there with you and you both found yourself sitting in a cozy dimlit cafe, munching on cheesecakes and cookies while sipping on your coffees.

Even though it might sound wrong, but Baekhyun didn’t—couldn’t hear a single word of what you were saying, something along the lines of how the place was so great and you’d buy their this and that.

“Let’s take one slice of that for home, too,” he just said easily, referring to the slice of New York styled cheesecake in your plate—he seemed to notice that you liked that one the best.

You nodded mindlessly and fell back into conversation while all he could do was just stare at you, the slice of chocolate cake in front of him long forgotten as he memorised all the little details about you—the way your lips tend to curve in a downwards smile when talking about desserts specifically.

“So… did you like the place, too?” You questioned, almost excited to know what he thought of the food and all that.

What an angel, he smiled at you like you were the center of his universe—you were. He reached across the table, intertwining his fingers in yours and he nodded, “of course, I did. You have the best taste, my pretty girl.”

His words gave you a rush like no other, it went straight to your head and you looked down, going lost in your thoughts—thoughts about Baekhyun.

At this exact moment some sort of epiphany occurred to you—you were so in deep, so far deep in love for him. You felt like a woman who had been lost and wandering meaninglessly your whole life and Baekhyun was the guiding hand who held you tightly and never let you go, like he was the one who could soothe the emptiness aching so intensely inside of you, every inch of your body—your existence, your very being, felt like it was made for him. Like he was meant to be your salvation.

Baekhyun looked at you with extreme levels of love and devotion in his eyes as he gestured the cashier to bring over the cheque. You shivered under his gaze, like you always did, helpless to the effect he had on you.

“I love you so much,” he almost whispered like it was something sacred yet the words came out easy and smooth, like he knew you needed to hear it and he said them often anyways.

“I love you more.”

You finished up quietly and just stared into eachother’s eyes in silence.

He’d take you home after this, giggle on the way home as you tell him some funny knock knock joke. Maybe once you’re both home he’d pepper you in kisses, talk stupid shit about how this painter was better than that painter, play chess though he’d let you win even if you suck at it, hold you close after you win, make out with you then maybe fuck you on the couch—slow and deep, before you’re both falling asleep right there in the living room.

And Baekhyun could and would live for eternity like that, that was all he would ever want in his life. Cry, laugh, fight, and do everything with you—even if it was baking a cake at 3 in the morning or just listening to your rant for hours about your favourite song.

He would choose you, over and over again. Always. In this lifetime and in any other one he existed in.

It was you and all you, the meaning to his life, the sunshine after the thunderstorm, the daisies on a warm summer afternoon, the cold breeze drifting through a hot summer night.

You were everything he had ever wanted and more.

And he was your everything, too.

Introduction

This day can’t get any worse.

Your flight is delayed. To make matters worse,you wish you were able to fly out during the day. Instead, you’re forced to fly in the evening since abandoning the class you teach in order to take a more convenient flight is frowned upon, generally. Even then, as you drive to the airport in rush hour traffic, you notice the progressive darkening of the sky as clouds hang low, heavy and full with unshed rain. And sure enough, as you wait in the gate, the first clap of thunder signals to you that you would be stuck here for a long, long time. 

As the flight is delayed for a second time, a full hour after your scheduled takeoff, your phone pings. 

Hi! Do you want to walk to the opening plenary together?

Stella, your first-year advisee, is a sweet girl, smart as a whip and knows more about occupational health than some people on your level, but she has what you affectionately call first-year clinginess, a tendency of first-years PhD students to hide behind their advisors in a mixture of both social anxiety and a hope for a networking opportunity. As if by sticking with you, they’ll magically be given the opportunity of a lifetime; a paper in a top-tier journal, or a tenure-track job at the most prestigious universities. 

Because that’s what these conferences are, right? People will say that they’re to discuss current research, share findings that will soon be published, “foster knowledge”, as some of the older faculty members who already have job security and respect in the field will say. But really, it’s clout-chasing. Shaking hands and swapping LinkedIn QR codes with people that you will most likely never speak to again. For most, it’s really about a socially acceptable environment to get shit-faced with a bunch of your other nerd friends and trying to find the bars that your students are not so likely to show up to. 

You remember being like Stella, being so anxious about conferences. You would attend a session every hour, try to strike up a conversation with the panelists afterwards, rehearse your elevator pitch every night in your hotel room. But now? You’re lucky if you even make it to more than one reception.

And to make matters worse, your field’s annual conference always conflicts with—

You roll your eyes and focus on the matter at hand. How childish. You begin to type back your response to Stella.

Sorry, my flight is delayed and I’m missing the plenary. I would walk with Kevin if you can find him!

Oh, okay. See you at lab lunch tomorrow!

It takes another hour, but your flight finally takes off. It’s impossible to get comfortable on the flight, because of course it is. Turbulence shakes you awake every time you start to doze off, and the motion makes it impossible for you to do anything productive on your laptop. The only thing you can do is stare at the back of the seat in front of you, praying that if the plane goes down, it will be a quick and merciful death. 

If only this were the end of your misfortunes for the day.

The Uber driver gets lost, and a missed turn adds about twenty minutes to your ride to the hotel. He even has the audacity to ask for your number at the end of it, a sickeningly sleazy smile on his face. By the time you’ve checked in, heading up the elevator to your room, you want nothing more than to just settle in between some crisp hotel sheets, melatonin working its way through your system, a long and dreamless night’s rest before you. 

But of course, because this is the day from hell, you just have to run into him. 

You’re just about to step into your room, literally one foot inside, when the room next door opens up and out walks Byun Baekhyun.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Baekhyun looks up at the sound of your voice. Just like that, his expression hardens, eyes narrowing in greeting. He looks at you like you’re not a person, rather, a problem to solve. He gets that look in his eye that he always gets when he’s thinking, the gears in his head whirring away. “Just getting in?” he asks, and you know you’re not imagining the slight judgment in his voice.

“My flight was delayed,” you say stiffly. “How was the plenary?”

“You know I don’t go to that,” he scoffs. “I’m heading out to dinner.”

“Judging me for just getting in while you’re actively playing hooky.” You tsk your tongue at him. “Honestly, where do you get the nerve?”

Baekhyun shrugs. “It’s networking.”

“You call everything networking.”

“At least I’m actually doing something productive with my time here instead of just hiding out in my hotel room or attending sessions. It’s a conference. Lighten up a little.” He turns on his heel and heads to the elevators, lifting a hand in goodbye. “See ya around! Or not.”

Fuming, you head into your hotel room. God you can’t stand him, haven’t been able to stand him for years. As if it wasn’t bad enough that you have to see him around year after year, especially on the one day a year you would actually like to be pleasant, now he’s your next door fucking neighbor. You close your eyes and exhale deeply through your nose. It’s fine, it’s fine, you tell yourself. He’s never ruined your birthday before, he wouldn’t start now. 

You open your eyes and meet your tired reflection in the mirror. As long as you keep to yourself, keep the interactions with Baekhyun confined to the conference itself, surely things would go smoothly.

“Surely,” you say out loud. The answering silence seems to mock your naivety.

Theoretical Background

You met Byun Baekhyun at your first ever conference. 

At your university’s reception, your advisor, Minseok, waved you over from where you were chattering politely with your cohort. “Come here,” he said, smiling warmly, his cheeks slightly reddened from the alcohol. “I want to introduce you to a colleague of mine. This is—”

“Dr. Kim!” you exclaimed, then turned red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I really love your work, we have a lot of research interests in common.”

“Call me Junmyeon,” he said, laughing a bit in amusement. “And that’s what Minseok here was telling me. And this,” he waved over someone about your age, “is my first-year, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun smiled at you, and sometimes you think of this moment as the last time you ever thought of Baekhyun with anything other than deep-seated resentment and anger. He stuck out compared to you and the other first-years. Where you felt a bit more formal than the other faculty and professionals in the room, stiff and awkward, Baekhyun seemed more relaxed in his business-casual wear, hands buried in his pockets. “Nice to meet you,” he said coolly. He stuck his hand out to shake yours before resuming his casual posture.

“Maybe we can have a bit of a cross-university collaboration?” Minseok said. He nudged Junmyeon in the side. “Be a bit like the old days?”

“Will you sleep in the lab and pretend like you didn’t even though you’re wearing yesterday’s clothes?” 

The four of you laughed good-naturedly. Back then, you thought that this would be the beginning of a beautiful academic relationship, if not a genuine friendship.

That all fell apart the next morning.

You stood in front of your poster, anxiety and excitement bubbling in your chest. Your first conference! Your first poster! You engaged in some conversations with interested passerby, your pitch perfectly polished. It was going really well for the first half-hour.

And then Baekhyun came.

You’ll never forget the way that he squinted as he read your poster, lips moving as he read the words to himself. You don’t know why his approval mattered so much to you at that moment. Maybe it was because he had an advisor you looked up to, maybe it was because he actually knew the material, maybe it was just because you wanted a friend. It didn’t matter, anyway. All of these hopes and dreams fell by the wayside when he turned to you and said,

“This is wrong. Isn’t it?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “What do you mean?”

Baekhyun pointed at your results table. “Your interpretations suggest a full mediation. But there’s a partial mediation in your results, see? So it’s not fully capturing what you’re claiming is the takeaway.” 

Your brows furrowed. “Yeah, but a partial mediation is not insignificant. I say that future research should focus on finding the other explanations for the direct pathway.”

Baekhyun shrugged. “I dunno. It kinda seems like too simple an explanation. Partial mediation is just the easy way of saying, ‘We were wrong.’ Also, you know that this is an outdated concept? Like they’re calling for the complete overhaul of it.”

You had not, in fact, known that. 

You felt your cheeks burning with embarrassment as your mind clambered for something intelligent to say, some sort of comeback that would save this entire interaction. But your treacherous mind couldn’t, so instead, you just gaped at him. 

Baekhyun pursed his lips, seemingly amused at your silence. “I have some ideas about how you can improve the design, we could talk about it sometime. Especially since these days, cross-sectional research isn’t considered good enough for publication.”

You watched as he turned away, already scrutinizing the poster next to yours before you could even reply. Isn’t considered good enough. The words echoed, bouncing around your skull. 

Not good enough, not good enough.

The words followed you through the rest of the day, distracting you from the sessions you attended. You forgot people’s names the moment you met them, leading you to try and look at their name tags without them noticing. They even followed you all the way to the next morning, when you found yourself back in the poster hall. At the time, you told yourself that it was just total coincidence that you found yourself in front of Baekhyun’s poster, but the reality probably was that his name in the agenda had caught your eye and you hyperfixated on it, your body able to carry you there without you even realizing. 

His poster was good. Really good. Thorough, with advanced statistics to back it up. Impressive implications for both academics and practitioners. It didn’t seem like the work of a first-year, no, it was very, very advanced.

Baekhyun turned to you after wrapping up a conversation with another passerby. “Whad’ya think?” he beamed.

It’s good, you thought. But that sinking, icky feeling from yesterday rose like bile in your throat. You sought for something, anything to pick apart on his poster, to bring him down to where he had left you. He looked at you expectantly, smugly, as if he knew. As if he knew what you were trying to do, and that you were unable to do it.

Aha.

“I think your theoretical argument is a little weak. I can think of two other theories that are stronger and point to what you’re actually looking at. For example, have you heard of Work-Home Resources Theory?”

Baekhyun blinked. “Uh… is it similar to Conservation of Resources?”

You nod enthusiastically, your voice picking up speed and volume as you talk, as it always does when you’re excited. “It’s similar, but better. It’s a more optimistic view of the way people treat their resources, rather than from a depletion and conservation standpoint.”

He opened his mouth, then stopped. His eyes sharpened and the gears in his head turned, turned, turned. “Optimism doesn’t make a theory better. Look, if this is about yesterday, I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, I was just suggesting—”

“I’m just making a suggestion too,” you cut in. “This theory takes macro and micro resources into account, as well as the personal resources that an individual builds up over time. If you want to do research that’s more connected with the broader context, you have to take all of those things into consideration.” 

You hated the words coming out of your mouth, a mixture of nonsensical buzzwords that the try-hards around you used to sound smart. 

But you loved the look on Baekhyun’s face even more. 

“You—” For a moment, you saw past his polished yet comfortable attitude, revealing something rawer, electric, inside. The side that all academics had that no one wanted to admit to. Pure, ugly, ego. But just as fast as it had appeared, it melted away, sinking back into the depths of his psyche. “I think we can have a more productive conversation about this some other time, yeah?”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Sure. Anytime.”

You never did have that conversation, and a pattern of constantly trying to one up the other formed. The next year, he returned to your poster, poked holes in your argument with that same smug smile. When he spoke at his first panel, you were in the front row, asking way too many difficult questions. It got so commonplace that when Minseok made you practice your presentations, he asked you to imagine what Baekhyun would say. 

This rivalry continued after school as well, as both of you landed assistant professor positions upon graduation. When you won an early career award, Baekhyun was awarded a prestigious grant. When he landed a publication in your field’s top journal, you secured popular press coverage. It was a never-ending cycle, and neither of you were ahead for long enough to get comfortable before the other person overtook them.

Something your students asked you sometimes when they were in the depths of despair, an experiment that wouldn’t work or a fourth round of revisions, was what motivated you to keep going. You fed them the same bullshit answers that anyone would. Doing this research is meaningful or We’re actively contributing to knowledge or even It’s worth it to mentor students like you. All of these things were true to you, in some way and in varying degrees.

But the real truth, the dirty, bitter truth? What kept you going when it was time to be nice to your hostile administration, or deal with an undergrad who was bitter about you not rounding their grade from a C- to an A, or stay up all night writing a new manuscript? It was the look on Baekhyun’s face when you saw him next when he knew you were two steps ahead of him. Nothing pleased you more than the thinly veiled annoyance on his face, the begrudging pleasantries that he was forced to offer you in the company of your peers. You hated him. And that’s what kept you going.

And there was nothing, nothing that could happen that could change your mind.

Methods

You wake up to your phone buzzing on the hotel nightstand. Groggily, you reach out blindly and accept the call without even seeing who it is. “Hello?” you croak into the receiver.

“Happy birthday, my favorite student!” Minseok chirps.

“Minseok, I already know that you call all of your students that.” You yawn, groaning slightly when you look at the time. “And thank you. It means a lot that you remembered.”

“First off, you’re all my favorite students, so it’s not like I’m lying to you. And second, of course I remembered, who do you think I am? I know you hate it when I mention your birthday at the conference so I figured this was the next best thing.”

“At seven in the morning, though?”

“Conference starts at eight~” he sings. “Anyways, we need to catch up! Lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure. But please don’t make me pick the place.”

“I already have the reservation. I’ll see you around!”

You sigh, rubbing your hand over your face. You had definitely hoped to sleep in for another half hour but at this rate you’d never be able to fall back asleep. You get ready lazily, taking breaks to reply to birthday messages from your family and friends. Despite what your introverted tendencies at conferences may have people believe, you actually have a bustling, active social life. You just choose to keep it separate from work, especially this week. It was the best this way, since conferences had a tendency of turning you into someone that you didn’t particularly like being 24/7. 

You’d tried that once. It hadn’t ended well.

The convention center is just a short walk from the hotel, so you breathe in the fresh, unfamiliar air as you try to blink the sleep away from your eyes. There’s a winding river in between your hotel and the convention center, and as you pass over the stone bridge, you take a moment to look out at the body of water for a moment of peace. If you had the energy for it, you’d like to explore the city, but right now you’re just trying to take it one day at a time. 

As you climb the steps to the convention center, a wave of anxiety suddenly floods through you. What if I don’t see anyone I recognize? What if I do? What if I don’t remember someone’s name but they clearly remember mine? You try to laugh it off as you wrap your hand around the door handle. These are such student thoughts. Surely you’re seasoned enough at this point to know how to do these things. You ignore the fact that there’s still a pit of unease in your stomach, settling to the bottom like a rock in water.

It’s busy, overlapping chatter from dozens of small conversations in the lobby. You don’t immediately recognize anyone you know, and you’re unsure of whether this is a good or a bad thing. You’re looking over the agenda for the morning when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“Hi!”

Stella looks very polished in her crisp blazer and button-down, but you can see a slight nervousness in her eyes, that flighty, overwhelmed look that you used to recognize in your own reflection as a younger student. “Hi, Stella. Are you ready for today?”

“I guess so,” she chirps. “Are you attending any of the sessions this morning?”

“We’ll see,” you say. “I might have a meeting with some colleagues later but I’ll definitely see you at lunch later.” A bold faced lie, but she doesn’t need to know that. “What sessions did you have in mind?”

“I was looking at this one,” she says, pointing at the timeslot in the agenda. “It sounds interesting.”

“Oof,” says a voice that appears to your right. “Well I know you won’t be going to that.”

“Good morning, Kevin,” you say. Kevin, your other advisee, is just like any fourth year PhD student: extremely jaded, chronically tired, and completely fucking over it. “Keep your voice down, hm? We’re not in the lab right now.”

“It’s not like it’s a secret,” he says matter-of-factly. “Everyone in this room would probably lose their shit if they saw you enter that room.”

“What’s wrong with this session?” Stella says, voice hushed and eyes wide.

“Nothing at all,” you reply. “You should go if it sounds interesting to you.”

“Dr. Byun’s student is on the panel, so he’ll probably be in the room,” Kevin says bluntly. 

Even Stella, who hasn’t been a part of this world for even a full year, knows enough to nod solemnly, lips pursed. “Well, I don’t have to go to that, then.”

“I’m just messing with you,” Kevin says quickly. For all his brashness, he at least has a soft spot for her. “I think you should go. It’s not like we have to have an alliance against him.” He casts a sideways glance towards you. “Right?”

You sigh. “No, there’s no alliance. This isn’t a clique, it’s research. You should go.”

Kevin snickers. “Just don’t look Dr. Byun in the eyes. He can smell weakness.”

Stella gulps.

You make it through the morning without attending any sessions, successfully avoiding any wayward conversations until it’s time for lunch. The restaurant is beautiful and bustling with people in businesswear, but luckily you don’t recognize anyone directly. The three of you are seated by a wall of mirrors, reflecting the dining room behind you. Stella looks through the menu with a concerned eye. “All of this is really…”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say. “It’s my treat.”

“...Alcohol too?” she asks softly.

“Welcome to grad school,” Kevin says. “We get paid dirt for five years so you might as well get some free drinks when your advisor’s offering.”

Some faculty might bristle at Kevin’s bluntness, but you welcome it with open arms. It wasn’t long ago anyway since Kevin was exactly where Stella was, nervous and overly polite (as hard as that is to believe). Since your first student graduated, you know that he’s been jumping at the chance to be a mentor. Even if it’s in his own, less than savory way. 

You don’t get a chance to decide whether or not to chastise him before the server approaches the table. “Welcome in, may I start you all off with any drinks today?” she asks.

“Yes, can I just get a mimosa to start with?” you say.

“Can I see some ID?” 

You pull it out for her and wince when she gasps. Shit. “Happy birthday!” she says.

“It’s your birthday?!” Kevin and Stella say in unison.

You put your finger to your lips to shush them. They finish ordering their drinks before they turn their attention back to you. “Happy birthday!” Stella says.

“How come you’ve never mentioned that it’s your birthday before?” Kevin asks. 

“I don’t want to make a big deal out of it,” you reply. “I still don’t.”

“Well… we can pay for lunch if you want,” Stella chirps, ignoring Kevin’s glare.

You smile. “That’s very sweet of you but all I want for my birthday is to pay for your lunches and to not mention it anymore.”

Lunch continues smoothly. You like spending time with your students outside of the lab meetings or campus in general. The conversation drifts into work sometimes, but not often enough to make it seem like an official meeting. Instead, they talk about their lives: what they plan to see in the city outside of conference hours, what their summer plans are, the latest social media thing that you’re blissfully unaware of. It reminds you of your lunches with Minseok when you were in their shoes, and that thought comforts you. It tells you that you’re on the right track, that you’re doing something right with your life.

Kevin’s eyes dart behind you and a shadow of annoyance flickers across his face. “Don’t look now,” he mutters.

You don’t even have to. Baekhyun’s loud, corrosive laugh is warning enough before you see his reflection pass in the mirror in front of you. He’s here with his students too, all seven of them. Of course, ever the overachiever, he didn’t stop at accepting one grad student a year (already a considerable task given that each student needs and deserves enough attention to feel like they’re thriving). He sometimes accepted multiple per cycle, so even without counting any undergraduate research assistants, the size of his lab is easily one of the largest in your field. 

“I wonder if his students are happy,” Kevin hums as they pass. “There’s gotta be some serious favoritism, right?”

“Actually, I met one of his first years at the plenary last night,” Stella says. “She said that Dr. Byun gives them all equal attention, and he’s a really great advisor.” She wilts under Kevin’s stare. “What? I thought we said there were no alliances?”

“There aren’t,” you say pointedly. You pick at the edges of your food, trying to hide the loss of your appetite. 

“Am I… allowed to ask what happened?” Stella says timidly. “Like, is he abusive? Is he someone I should watch out for?”

You sigh. “Baekhyun and I have a complicated history. He is not abusive, and he does good science. If you ever want to collaborate with him, or with any of his students, that is your choice and you are free to do so. I just ask that you don’t involve me.”

Kevin leans over and cups the side of his mouth, whispering exaggeratedly. “That’s professional speak for he’s super smart but he’s a massive asshole.”

On your way out of the restaurant, you pass by Baekhyun’s table. A couple of his students notice you and immediately exchange glances with each other, but for the most part, you slip by undetected.

Or so you think. 

At the last second before exiting the building, Baekhyun coolly looks at you, the corner of his mouth lifting in an infuriating smirk. Bye, he mouths, winking. 

You resist the urge to punch him in the face.

“We definitely need to chat, I just loved your latest paper. Do you want to grab dinner with some friends and me tonight?” 

You nod, lips closed tightly as you swallow the mouthful of champagne. This reception has gone on long enough, you think, even if Jongin, the newest addition to your faculty, is genuinely good company. “I’m actually going to call it an early night tonight, I’m afraid. I don’t quite have the energy of you young kids anymore.”

Jongin laughs. “Well, at least I’ll be close to tenure when I’m where you’re at. I’ll take going to bed early for some job security any time. We should schedule lunch when we get back then?”

“Sure,” you smile, weariness hanging around the edges of your eyes. “Well, good night. Enjoy the rest of the conference.”

You say a quick goodbye to Stella and Kevin before hurrying out the doors and into the cool night. These are the moments of conferences that you like the most: wandering around the streets in a new city alone, alternating between looking at a map on your phone and trying to commit the surrounding streets to memory. You pause by the river again, the water now reflecting a deep midnight shade. It’s nice to have just a moment to yourself, a quiet few seconds where you don’t need to worry about looking professional. You continue on your way, ducking into a local convenience store right next to the hotel to find what you’re looking for: a small, personal birthday cake. The frosting is a little lumpy and the price is maybe a bit too high for what you’re getting, but it will do for tonight.

As you make your way back to the room, you’re too distracted by scrolling through your delivery app to find some takeout for dinner to notice that Baekhyun’s in the hallway.

“Already heading in?”

You nearly drop your phone in shock, narrowing your eyes when you see who it is. He’s already changed out of his business casual clothes and into a sweater and dark jeans.

“Skipping the receptions?” you ask. 

“The one for my university was last night.”

“I thought you went to dinner last night.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “I didn’t know there was a one social event limit per night. Are you my mom now?”

“Nice comeback. Didn’t realize we were in elementary school,” you sneer. 

Baekhyun peers around you, peeking into the plastic bag in your arms. “What’s that? Drugs?”

You laugh sharply. “Even if it was, I wouldn’t share. Go find your own.”

He grins lopsidedly, leaning his arm against the wall. “C’mon, just one peek? I wanna know what you’re getting up to that’s so good you won’t join any of the festivities tonight.”

His tone brings about a burst of anger in you. Usually you’re immune to his antics but it’s your birthday and you’re tired and all you want to do is sit on the floor of this hotel room and eat your cake in some peace and quiet. “It’s actually none of your fucking business,” you spit. 

Your outburst surprises him. You can see it on his face, the way his eyebrows knit together, lips parting ever so slightly. For all the backhanded compliments and petty arguments, you’ve never actually raised your voices at each other. He recovers quickly, running a hand through his hair, though his voice is hard enough to cut. “Well, whatever. Have fun holing up and being a hermit while the rest of us humans actually interact.”

That does it. Something deep within you snaps. Your annoyance overflows, bubbling up to the surface until you’re sure that your face is bright red. You press your keycard to the door and open it, shoving one foot in the doorway while you have one last word. “You know, I’d rather be anti-social and be by myself than spend my birthday with a fucking asshole like you, who thinks you’re better than everyone else just because your h-index is higher. Christ.”

The last thing you see before the door slams shut is the look of pure shock on Baekhyun’s face.

You take a shower just how you like it: scalding hot and incredibly long. While you’re in there, the frustrations of the whole interaction melts away. You’re actually a tad disappointed in yourself. It’s fun to make witty digs back and forth in the middle of a convention center. It’s not so fun to blow up at him, emotions vulnerable and on full display.

You’re in the middle of drying your hair and trying to come up with ways to get back at him when there’s a soft knock on the door. 

Baekhyun looks like a kicked puppy. You can practically imagine his tail tucked between his legs, ears flattened low against his head. In one hand, he holds a bottle of wine and in the other, a plastic bag of takeout.

“This is for you,” he says softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was your birthday.”

You regard him for a moment. You have a chance here to reject him, make him feel as awful as he made you feel. You could slam the door in his face and tell him to shove that wine bottle up his ass. But…

He looks up, dark eyes shining with real remorse. Not even a hint of the smug superiority that you’re so used to seeing reflected back at you. 

You reach out and take the items from him. “Thank you,” you say. And against your better judgment, you open the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

Baekhyun raises his eyebrows. “Oh. I didn’t think you wanted me here. I only got enough food for one. But I have some leftovers that I can grab and I can eat with you if you want.”

“Sure.” He runs next door to his room and the thought settles in that you’re about to spend your birthday dinner with Byun Baekhyun. Past you would never have imagined that it would come to this. Hell, the you from this morning would never have imagined that it would come to this. 

You eye the leftover container in his hands when he returns, identical to the one that you’re currently holding. “Is this from the same place?” 

“Yeah,” he replies sheepishly. “It’s really good! I got you something different though, I remember you don’t like pork.”

“You… remember that?” You remember making some offhand comment about it years ago when he was in earshot, but it’s something that most people don’t really remember, let alone Byun Baekhyun.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I have a really good memory,” he says.

You settle onto the floor across from each other and start digging into your food. The food is really good, and it is nice to have someone with you for your birthday, you suppose. But…

This whole thing is horrifically awkward.

What do you even say to someone who you’ve only spent making passive-aggressive digs at for the better part of a decade who suddenly decides to be nice for a change? After you compliment the food and he agrees with you, awkward silence descends over the two of you like a dark cloud. You don’t know where to look— at him? The food in front of you? The floor? Even Baekhyun, who you’ve never seen fumble at a social interaction in his life, seems to be at a loss for words.

“This is… awkward, right?” you say finally, breaking the tense bubble.

He laughs in relief, the tension in his shoulders releasing. He finally fully meets your gaze. “I’m glad you said something about it. I don’t do very well when it’s quiet.”

“I’m used to it,” you say. “I’ve grown to like it a lot.”

Baekhyun frowns slightly. “How come you never told anyone that it’s your birthday? We have the same circles and no one even mentioned it.”

You shrug. “I’ve always accepted that the conference will coincide with it, and everyone’s always so busy with different meetings and session prep if I’m not busy myself. I just decided that it’s better to not take away from it and just wait to celebrate properly when I’m home with my friends and family. Minseok knows and that’s about it.”

He nods. “Oh, that’s good. I thought that—”

“You thought I was gonna be sitting in here feeling sorry for myself because I had no one to celebrate my birthday with?”

“Well… yeah, kinda,” he says helplessly. 

“I have friends, Baekhyun. They’re just not in academia.”

He hums, looking back down at his food. “Wonder what that’s like.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, so you fall back into silence, only this time it doesn’t feel so oppressive. A few minutes pass before he speaks again.

“You know…” he says sharply.  “I don’t look down on people if my h-index is higher than theirs.”

You stifle the urge to laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, really. Besides, yours is higher than mine.”

Now you laugh. “Oh, so you care enough to know whose is higher, though.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, but a smile settles on his face. “Just with you,” he replies easily. “I only care if it’s you.”

“Glad to know the feeling is mutual.” You take another bite of your food before the next thing to say pops in your mind. “Congrats on the Nature publication, by the way.”

“Thanks.” He pauses. “That’s it? No snarky comment?”

“I’m feeling generous. It’s my birthday after all.”

Baekhyun smirks. “We’ll see how you feel when the Nature paper bumps my h-index up. Then you’ll probably write a commentary hit piece on it calling it juvenile.”

“Come on, you know I wouldn’t. I’d rather just wait until next year and give you a couple of jabs here and there.”

“You’re right,” he smiles crookedly. “You wouldn’t do anything that would require any extra work.”

You fake a gasp. “Maybe I will write a commentary piece then.”

“Maybe you should.”

“I will.”

“Fine.”

You hold his gaze defiantly for a few seconds before you sigh. “I can’t. It’s actually a really good paper, Baekhyun.”

The corner of his mouth twitches before settling into a genuine smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“It helps that you cited me too.”

“Yeah, well.” He waves his hand in the air. “Something something, you’re one of the leading scholars in this research area, something something.”

“Aw, Byun,” you coo. “You almost said something nice about me.”

He snorts. “Don’t get used to it. Anyways, what was in the bag? I’m kind of hoping it’s drugs now.”

“Don’t get too excited.” You fish in the bag and pull out the cake. “You want a slice?”

“Fuck yeah, I want a slice. Do you want me to sing for you?”

“Please, no.”

He pouts. “You’ve never even heard me sing. Some have described it as life-changing.”

“Baekhyun, I can barely handle your academic ego on a good day, please don’t have one about other things too.”

“Okay, fine. I won’t sing if you promise to go out with me tomorrow.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Out? Like…?”

“Oh my God, please, don’t make it weird,” he says quickly. “Me, Chanyeol, whoever else wants to come. You can even invite someone if you want. If you don't, I'm gonna sing happy birthday to you at the top of my lungs.”

“I don’t know Baek—”

“HAPPY—”

“Okay, okay! I’ll come. Shut your fucking mouth or you don’t get any cake.” 

He laughs, really laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling up around the edges in an endearing way. You roll your eyes when he pushes the clean side of his takeout container forward, eagerly snapping his mouth shut in an exaggerated manner, but you can’t stop yourself from smiling. 

Results

Something’s… different.

You feel lighter, more at ease. You navigate the conference with less pressure on your shoulders, waving to people that you recognize and not even feeling a pit of dread when the more eager ones stop you to talk. You even sit in on a random session just because it looked interesting. When was the last time you did that?

Minseok notices this too. “You seem really good,” he remarks on the walk back to the convention center after a pleasant lunch. “Conference treating you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s nice,” you say. “I went to this really good session about empathy in the workplace for different work-family conflicts. It gave me a little idea for a potential study.”

Minseok nearly stops in his tracks, eyes wide. “Okay. Who are you?”

“Careful,” you joke. “Or I won’t ask you to advise.”

“Ah, there you are,” he replies, falling back into step beside you. “But seriously, I’m happy for you if this is what you want. Don’t force yourself to go too far.”

“I won’t.”

“Seriously.” He looks at you solemnly. “I worry about you sometimes, you know? I don’t want what happened in your fourth year to happen again.”

You wince. “It won’t, okay? I promise that I’m doing this because I want to.”

He sighs. “Alright, I trust you. Hey, is that…?”

You follow his gaze and your stomach turns. It’s Baekhyun, because of course it is, and he’s heading directly towards you. 

Before last night, you would have handled this the way you always have: a stiff nod of the head, some backhanded comment about his latest achievement, and then off on your merry way. It’s gotten so common that Minseok knows not to scold you for it anymore. But now you don’t quite know where things stand. 

You think that maybe you’d just pass by each other in awkward silence before Baekhyun decides how to handle the interaction for you. He stops in front of you and…

Smiles.

“Hey,” he says. “Hi, Dr. Kim. Having a good conference?”

“Hello, Baekhyun,” Minseok replies. If he’s surprised by the friendly atmosphere, he’s doing a really good job at hiding it. “Yes, I’m having a good time. I was surprised to see you’re not presenting this year.”

“Yeah, I decided to take a more supportive role for my students this time. I think this is my first conference ever not presenting. It feels a bit strange, to be honest.”

“You’re wearing glasses,” you blurt out. 

The thin, wire frames sit prettily on the bridge of his nose, and you had never known of their existence in all those years of knowing him. He touches the side of the frames somewhat self-consciously and chuckles. 

“I didn’t get a chance to put my night contacts in last night,” he says sheepishly. “I don’t really like wearing them out, but hey, what can you do? By the way, we haven’t decided a place for tonight yet but let me get your number so I can text you?”

“Uh, yeah sure.” You pass your phone to Baekhyun and let him text himself, ignoring the way that Minseok’s gaze is currently burning holes into the side of your head. You keep studying Baekhyun’s glasses. It’s weird how something like this seems to change not only his appearance, but the entire image that you had of him in your head. It’s not like you expected him to be static all this time, to be the same year after year, but… maybe you did, actually. 

“I’ll try to let you know as soon as I can,” he says, handing your phone back, completely oblivious to the way you’ve been staring. “Bye, Dr. Kim.”

As soon as Baekhyun’s passed you, Minseok clears his throat. “Do I want to know?”

“There’s nothing to know,” you say.

“Right.”

The lounge is an upscale one, one where you have to squint at the menu to read it in the candlelight or risk the social awkwardness of pulling out your phone flashlight. The pages are full of wildly inventive cocktails with ingredient pairings only someone with way too much time on their hands would think to put together. It’s a strange group gathered here: you and Baekhyun, sworn academic enemies until about 24 hours ago; Chanyeol, someone you vaguely remember as being from Baekhyun’s graduate cohort; and Jongin, who nearly tripped over himself with excitement when you invited him along. 

“I wish Baekhyun didn’t veto my suggestion of the club down the street,” Chanyeol frowns, taking a sip of his drink. “Places like these make me feel so stuffy.”

“Well, that’s the most popular club in the city, and I’m sorry for not wanting to see my students blackout drunk,” Baekhyun snorts. He’s changed out of his conference clothes, swapping his button down shirt for a black turtleneck that even you have to admit makes him look really good. The candlelight glints off the metal of his glasses, constantly drawing your attention to them. “I think that’s taking the advisor-advisee relationship a bit too far.” 

“Should have just gone applied like me,” Chanyeol says. “Don’t have to worry about students, don’t have to teach classes, I make about twice as much as you…”

“It’s not all about the money,” Jongin pipes up. “What about, y’know… fulfillment?”

Chanyeol laughs and claps Jongin on the back good-naturedly. “Oh, to be young again.”

“Blech. No more job talk.” Baekhyun leans forward and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, smiling wickedly. “So, Jongin,” he says, jerking his head towards you. “What’s it like working with her? Is she as much of a hard-ass on everyone as I think she is?”

You roll your eyes. “You don’t need to answer that, Jongin.”

“No she’s— you’re really great.” Jongin smiles. “It’s only my first year, and she really helped me a lot with the adjustment. She even helped me pick my first incoming advisee for the fall when I couldn’t decide.”

“Aw,” Baekhyun coos. Jongin isn’t fluent enough in Baekhyun-isms to know he’s being made fun of, so you shoot him a dirty look from across the table. “How cute.”

“And she sings really well too.”

Baekhyun’s eyebrows lift. “Oh? You sing around the office?”

Your ears burn bright red as Jongin continues, oblivious to your embarrassment. “No, we went to a karaoke bar one night after the conference submission deadline. Of course I sounded like a dying bird, but she really killed it.”

“Karaoke bar?” Chanyeol perks up. “We should go to one right now!”

“No,” you and Baekhyun say flatly in unison. 

“Can I at least buy us a round of shots if you’re not going to be any fun?” Chanyeol whines. 

“Sure, Yeol.” Something unreadable passes through Baekhyun’s expression, a slight flicker in the dark. “Make them doubles.”

“So… Jongin seems nice.”

The night air is cool, not holding any of the humidity present during the day. You and Baekhyun walk side by side through the back roads, away from the hustle and bustle of the main areas where other tourists and conference-goers roam. You can see your hotel just a block away. Your feet are killing you in your heels, but you resist the urge to take them off and walk the rest of the way barefoot. Somehow that seems too… intimate in front of Baekhyun.

“Hm? Yeah, he’s nice. A little skittish, but who isn’t during their first year?”

“You were?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “I always pictured that you entered that university and made everyone your bitch. Professionally, I mean.”

You laugh. “Well, no. I was a nervous wreck. I kept napping in my office because I would get so stressed during teaching that I would just crash after.”

Baekhyun nods. “And you hang out with him… casually?” 

“Just the one time. Why?”

“I dunno. I guess I’m so used to picturing you one way that it’s weird when there’s evidence to the contrary.”

“What, like, you picture me as some kind of girlboss, takes no shit from anyone, eats manuscripts for breakfast?”

“Well… yeah, kinda.” Baekhyun holds the front door of the hotel open for you. “So hearing about you going to karaoke with Pretty Boy back there kinda messes with my head.”

You stop in your tracks and glare at him. 

“What?” he asks, oblivious.

You scoff, taking off towards the elevators. Baekhyun stalks after you, calling your name. “What the fuck did I say this time?” he huffs.

“If you’re implying that there’s something unprofessional going on between Jongin and I then you’re way out of fucking line,” you say harshly. 

“Hold on, I wasn’t accusing you of anything. It was just an observation.”

The elevator dings and the two of you get in. You all but punch the button for your floor. “Just because it’s an observation doesn’t make you any less of a dick,” you mutter.

Baekhyun throws his hands up. “I’m sorry for just stating the obvious.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “The obvious?”

He laughs dryly. “Don’t be stupid. He clearly wants you.”

“Oh wow. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding.”

“The kid was practically drooling hanging onto your every word. So, my bad for thinking that something was going on there.”

The elevator doors open and you rush off to your room, but Baekhyun’s hot on your heels. “Hey, it’s fine. I’m pretty sure if the two of you wanted to have a salacious affair it wouldn’t be a big deal, just don’t fuck on campus.”

You whirl around. “Jongin and I are just coworkers. And even if we weren’t, what’s the big deal? Is it that unfathomable to you that someone would find me attractive?”

“Well, of course it’s not.”

You freeze. Suddenly, your heartrate feels like it’s tripled, thudding in your ribcage. “What?”

“You heard me. Of course Jongin finds you attractive.”

You wait for the other shoe to drop, for the punch line to this cruel prank. But it never comes. He just stares at you earnestly, gaze brimming with something dangerous beneath the surface. 

“If this is a joke, this is really mean, Baekhyun,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“This isn’t a joke.” He takes a step closer. “Do you need me to spell it out for you? Of course Jongin finds you attractive, because you are really fucking hot.” He slowly reaches out to cup his hand around your arm, drawing you even closer to him. “Especially when you’re pissed,” he whispers.

“You’re drunk,” you say incredulously.

“Stone cold sober. Do I seem drunk to you?”

He doesn’t, and that’s what scares you. He seems as sharp as he always is, the gears in his head whirring away. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were eyeing me earlier when I ran into you and Minseok.”

You gape at him. “You noticed that?”

“Of course I noticed. You were shameless.” 

“Shut up,” you whisper, but your voice doesn’t hold any heat in it anymore. 

He draws in closer, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. His hands travel down to your waist, hovering on the edge between polite and uncharted territory. “Just tell me how badly you want this. If you don’t, I’ll go to my room and we will never speak of this again. Promise.”

You swallow. Your head is spinning, heartbeat stuttering. You feel like every breath you take is much too loud in the silent hallway. He lets out an exhale, his warm breath traveling across your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine.

You don’t know why you say the next three words. All you know is that it’s true. 

“I want this,” you whisper.

Baekhyun crashes his lips against yours, your back hitting the wall. It’s a messy, frantic kiss, hungry and possessive. Your breath hitches in surprise as your brain tries to catch up with your body, your arms wrapping around his neck. You kiss him back with equal fervor, tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth.

His mouth travels lower, down your jawline, sucking on the delicate skin behind your ear. “Baekhyun,” you murmur. “Inside.” You scramble around blindly for your keycard in your pocket and tap it against the door, unable to untangle yourself from him for even a second.

The moment you’re inside he’s pulling at your top, clumsily tearing it off your body as he walks you backwards towards the bed, the backs of your knees hitting the mattress. You fall backwards onto the sheets, chest heaving as you look up at him. “God,” he says raggedly, staring at your body with ravenous desire. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Hurry up and fuck me,” you pant. 

“So mouthy,” he huffs. He slips his ring and middle fingers past your lips, pressing down on your tongue. “Get them wet for me.”

You swirl your tongue around the digits, hollowing your cheeks as if they were his cock. He stares at you, jaw going slack. With his other hand, he fumbles with your pants and underwear, pulling them down past your thighs just enough for him to slip his hand through. He takes his fingers out of your mouth, spit trailing across your chin, before he slips them inside your cunt.

You exhale breathily as he begins to pump his fingers in and out of you, leaning down to leave kisses all over your neck and chest. Your fingers thread through his hair, holding him close to you as the pleasure builds, the slick squelching sounds of your wetness growing louder and louder. Still, even as electricity starts to thrum in your blood, you refuse to give in entirely to the feeling, your lips pressed shut in a thin, firm line. Call it pride, call it ego, but you refuse to let Byun Baekhyun of all fucking people earn your moans and praise so easily.

“You’re holding back,” he calls you out. He switches the angle of his hand, grinding your clit with the heel of his palm with every thrust. “What do I have to do to hear you, hm? You want my mouth?”

“Just do better, maybe,” you bite back, raising an eyebrow. 

In a flash he’s off of you, tugging your clothes completely off of your body and discarding them somewhere on the floor. You don’t even get the chance to be self-conscious about being fully bare in front of him. He simply bends you in half, your thighs to your chest, and buries his tongue into your pussy without preamble.

“Holy fuck!” you cry out, hooking your hands around the back of your knees to hold yourself open for him. It’s sudden, your body jerking with the shock, eyes squeezing shut.

“There she is,” Baekhyun murmurs, clearly pleased with himself. His fingers resume their position deep inside of you, parting his fingers slightly to make room for his tongue between them. 

“Don’t fucking stop,” you gasp, chest heaving with exertion. The onslaught of sensation is so intense, more intense than anything you’ve ever felt before. He’s messy, spreading your wetness all over your inner thighs, but skilled. He alternates between sticking his tongue inside of you, to giving hard licks against your clit, to sucking on the sensitive nub. You look down at him to find that he’s just as wrecked as you feel, eyes half-lidded, nose and lips dripping wet, glasses askew. You bury your fingers in his hair, tugging harshly at a particular devastating suck.

He groans, eyes rolling back briefly before he changes the angles of his fingers again. This time, he hits your sweet spot dead on, your back arching off the bed.

“Fuck, right there, right there,” you whimper. You struggle to hold your legs open as he hits it again, and again, each time increasing the overwhelming tidal wave building inside of you. “I’m gonna cum,” you manage to choke out before your orgasm overtakes you, rolling through you in waves of white-hot fire. You drown in it, sparks behind your eyelids as it sears through your blood, body trembling like a livewire under his touch.

Baekhyun stands and strips himself quickly, stepping out of his clothes before climbing back onto the bed. He urges you to roll onto your stomach, propping your hips up with a pillow. You turn your head back to look at him as he settles over your thighs. “Keep them on,” you say hurriedly when he lifts his hand to take his glasses off.

He smirks. “Oh? Why’s that?” 

“You’re such an egomaniac, oh my God.”

SMACK. You jolt as his hand strikes the skin of your ass, a surprised moan ripping from your throat. “Don’t think I won’t walk out of here,” Baekhyun warns, soothing the reddening skin with his hand.

“Oh, please,” you deadpan, even as your skin tingles. “You need this just as badly as I do.”

“Maybe,” he replies. He spreads you apart and teases your hole with the head of his cock. “But judging by how fuckin’ wet you are, I’d guess that you need this pretty fucking bad. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

You don’t get to reply before he’s pushing all the way in, sheathing himself fully inside you. You both gasp in tandem, your head dropping forward onto the sheets as he pulls back out all the way, torturously slow. 

“Tell me how badly you want this,” he says, thrusting the tip of his cock in shallowly. 

“Seriously?” you whine.

He drapes himself all the way over you, his chest pressing against your back. He reaches around with one arm and holds you in a headlock, your neck stabilized between his forearm and bicep. His breath is hot against your ear, voice pitched low and gravelly.

“I said…” he murmurs, pushing the blunt head of his cock back inside of you inch by inch. “Tell me how fucking badly you want me to ruin you.”

Your head is reeling, so dizzy with want that you can’t even care anymore about keeping up this facade. You try to arch into him but he presses down on your hip firmly with his free hand. “I need it so bad,” you breathe. “Please.”

He kisses your temple and chuckles lowly. “Good girl.” He winds back and buries himself inside you, slamming his hips against yours. He lets go of your throat and pins your wrists behind your back, holding them down firmly.

You bite the covers beneath you in an effort to not be too loud, but you know deep down it’s all in vain. “Fuck, Baekhyun,” you moan, voice muffled. “More.”

“More?” he laughs breathily, upping the pace of his hips. “So greedy.” 

It doesn’t take much longer for you to feel the crest of your orgasm beginning to form. You squirm, hips wriggling underneath his weight to no avail. He has you firmly underneath him, and the thought just turns you on that much more. 

“I’m getting close,” you whimper.

You feel his hand in your hair as he presses your face into the mattress, slightly cutting off your air flow as he pounds into you. Your head grows fuzzy, voice pitching higher and higher until all that comes out are choked, pathetic whimpers. “Baek—” you mewl. The searing feeling low in your gut is hot enough to burn. “Close— please.” 

He suddenly jerks your head up, pulling your body taut. You gulp in air greedily, the sudden shift in the angle bringing about your second orgasm with an unprecedented ferocity. You shake in his grasp, mouth falling open as your body succumbs to the sensation. 

He flips you over onto your back and enters you once again, your thighs twitching through the aftershocks. Now that you can fully see his face, you can see just how wrecked he truly is. For all his taunting dirty talk, he seems just barely holding it together, a fucked-out, intense expression on his face. His hair damp with sweat, cheeks and ears flushed pink, glasses hanging low on his nose. It sends a thrill through you, seeing him like this, a sick sort of satisfaction blooming within you that comes from the knowledge that he’s just as desperate as you are. 

“Fuck, look at that,” he rasps, looking down at where your bodies are connected. You’re soaked, fluid slickening both of your inner thighs, a creamy white ring forming around the base of his cock. It’s so dirty but you can’t look away, can’t stop watching his cock slide in and out of you, the fluid roll of his hips, the tensing in his thigh muscles with each movement. 

“Feels so good,” you whimper, drawing him close to connect your lips with his.  “You’re fucking me so— mm, so deep.”

He shudders, hips stuttering. “Fuck,” he groans, eyes fluttering shut. 

“You like that?” You rake your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands at the nape of his neck. “You like it when I tell you you’re doing a good job?”

“Y-Yeah. I like it, shit.”

Your nails drag lightly down the sides of his neck, over his collarbone and down the expanse of his chest. “Good boy,” you coo, emboldened by his sudden gasp at the pet name. Your nail passes gently over his nipple, catching slightly over the raised bud.

“O-Oh, fuck,” he keens suddenly, tucking his head against his chest. His words are slightly slurred, drunk on the sensations, drunk on you. “I’m not gonna last long if you do that again.”

You hook your legs around his waist, locking him against you. He sputters, and you take the opportunity to slip your thumb into his mouth, cupping the side of his face with your hand. He sucks on it obediently, eyes wide and dark with wanton desperation. “Admit that you were jealous and then you can cum.”

“Jealous of what?” he huffs.

“You were jealous of Jongin earlier.” Your other hand reaches up to tug at his hair, making him whimper. “Weren’t you?”

“Yes— fuck I was.” He snaps his hips harder at the memory. “You happy?”

You smile, satisfied. With your other hand, you drag your nails back down his chest, making sure to pass over his nipple. “I want you to fill me up,” you murmur. “Cum in me, make a fucking mess.” He cums with a heated growl, pushing his hips flush against yours, cock throbbing inside of you as he empties himself inside of your cunt. He gasps for breath, leaning into your touch, nudging his face against the side of your hand. 

“Good boy,” you say, trying to steady your own voice. 

Baekhyun’s eyes suddenly open with a renewed intensity, a wicked grin forming on his face as he pushes back in. “Not fucking done,” he rasps, bending down to press your foreheads together. “Need to feel you cum one more time.”

It’s slower, softer, but no less intense, the way he winces with sensitivity, elbows shaking as he holds himself up. It’s a disaster between your thighs, his cum seeping out, dirtying the sheets below, but you’re simply too needy to care. Every thrust sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, and you don’t know whether to try and push away from it or surrender yourself to it entirely.

Baekhyun leans back, holding your hips steady with both hands as he rocks into you, head tipping back as he loses himself in the feeling. He looks like sin itself, red trails that your nails traced blooming across his chest, skin flushed and damp, lips wet and kiss-swollen. A steady stream of noise falls from his lips, barely audible over the slick noises of sex. 

“I’m close again,” you choke out, one hand gripping the sheets below you and one gripping his forearm. He presses his thumb against your clit and then you’re gone, shaking all the way through it, whimpering his name one single, broken time.

He collapses on top of you, brushing your hair out of your eyes. He kisses you tiredly, clumsily, borderline missing your lips entirely until you align your face accordingly. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. It’s different from the way he said it before. Where back then, it could have been a one-off statement said in the throes of heat, here it feels reverent. Here it feels true.

It makes you more embarrassed than anything else that just transpired. You don’t respond, don’t trust yourself to. You just hold him close to your chest in silence until darkness clings to the back of your eyelids, dragging you deep into a restful sleep.

Discussion

You wake up to the feeling of an arm around your bare waist and a body against your back. It’s comfortable, warm sunlight streaming through the windows. You sleepily watch the shadows cast by the blind slats dance across the wall, your gaze drifting down to the nightstand, then to the hotel clock.

8:32

Fuck.

You immediately spring out of bed, haphazardly pulling your outfit of the day out of your suitcase, clumsily stuffing your legs inside your slacks. “Shit, shit, shit,” you mutter under your breath.

“What the fuck?” Baekhyun mumbles. “What’re you doing?” You look back to see him sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes. His hair is a disaster, sticking up every which way, but you don’t even have the time to take in this new image of him.

“Stella has her first session at nine. I told her I would meet up with her a bit early to give her a pep talk. Fuck, I have to go.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” He’s more alert now, your adrenaline contagious. “Please tell me you’re not leaving today.”

“No, my flight’s tomorrow afternoon.” You examine your appearance and try to figure out a way to look presentable and less I just got fucked in about five minutes or less. “Baekhyun, I’m not trying to be a dick, but I literally don’t have time to deal with this right now.”

“Will you be able to deal with it tonight?” His expression is timid, maybe even hopeful. It’s certainly the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. 

“Maybe? Probably? I’m sorry, I can’t think right now.” You stick your toothbrush in your mouth, trying to enunciate as best as you can around it. “Again, I’m not trying to be a dick, but…” You look pointedly at the door.

“Right. Yeah, I hope she has a good session.” He quickly gets dressed in last night’s clothing and puts on his glasses, heading towards the door. 

“Last night was—”

“Baekhyun.”

“Sorry, sorry.” The corner of his mouth quirks upward as he pauses to look back at you. “You look pretty.”

“You have twenty seconds to get out of here before I literally wring your neck with my bare hands.”

He yelps, finally pulling the door open and exiting your room hurriedly. He doesn’t see your smile when you turn back to the mirror, and how it doesn’t fall off your face for several minutes afterwards. 

You bumble through the doors with less than four minutes to spare. Up at the podium, Stella catches your eye immediately, waving her hand in a half-greeting, half-cry for help. You collect yourself and walk to the front of the room. “Sorry I’m late,” you say. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m about to throw up and faint at the same time,” she says through a perfectly polished smile. It’s actually pretty impressive, if not a little scary. “They changed the order last minute and I’m first. I don’t think I can do this.”

“You can. You’re incredible and you’re gonna kill it. We’ve gone through it a billion times and you just get better each time. You know this paper like the back of your hand.”

Stella takes a deep breath in. “I just don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“You won’t,” you say. “And if you do, no one will remember it next time, okay?” You catch the sideways glance from the moderator and nod in acknowledgement. “Alright, you’re up.”

“Kevin has a seat for you in the front row next to Dr. Kim,” she says. “Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You turn and take your seat between Kevin and Minseok, who both look equal parts concerned and relieved to see you. “How was she this morning?” 

“Freaking the hell out,” Kevin replies. “She’ll be fine, though.”

“Cutting it a little close,” Minseok whispers in your ear. 

“Sorry. Had a crazy night last night.”

Minseok grimaces. “Okay, stop. I don’t want to hear anymore.”

The session begins and Stella crushes it. You never had any doubts that she would. Watching her up there is like looking into a mirror, watching your younger self, all her dreams and ambitions and anxieties on full display. She is far from the worst speaker on the panel, delivering her presentation with an ease beyond her years. She even gets a few questions directed towards her at the end, and she answers them with the kind of confidence that you could only dream of at that age.

Stella meets the three of you outside in the hallway after the crowds have died down a little. She squeals in happiness, jumping up and down. “I did it!” she cheers.

“You did! And it was incredible,” you smile. “You handled all of the questions really well.”

“Especially that one asshole,” Kevin rolls his eyes. “I would have told him to fuck himself but your response was good too.”

“Thank you.” She sighs dramatically, her breathing rushing out in a big woosh. “I got super nervous when Dr. Byun walked in.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. “What?” You have to stop yourself from swiveling your head wildly to look around for him.

“Yeah, he walked in right when the session started and he stayed in the back row. Left as soon as we wrapped up too.”

You and Minseok share a glance. Baekhyun showing up to any of your panels was a sign of trouble in past years, but showing up to each other’s students' presentations was entirely unheard of. It was especially unlike him to enter and leave without saying a word. 

“Well, you handled it like a professional,” you say. “You guys should celebrate tonight.”

“We are!” Stella chirps.

“I’ll tell you what bar so you can stay away,” Kevin deadpans. “See you next week.”

The two bicker as they walk away, and you and Minseok head in the opposite direction. “There’s something weird going on between you and Baekhyun, huh?” he asks.

You snort. “Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

“In any case, I support it. You have this spark in your eye that you used to get as a student. I missed it.”

You smile softly to yourself. You always thought that your biggest motivation came from trying to one-up Baekhyun. That idea is starting to change, slowly but surely. “Thanks, Minseok.”

Can I come over?

The text stays delivered for almost an hour. You’re nearly fully packed by the time you get a response, the vibration against the nightstand almost going unheard.

Yeah

Sorry about the mess

You head next door and knock softly, only having to wait a second before Baekhyun opens it. His hair is wet, and he’s dressed in sweatpants and a black t-shirt, glasses slightly askew on his face. “Sorry I missed your text, I just got out of the shower,” he says sheepishly.

“No problem. Can I come in?”

He swings the door open wider and you enter, eyes widening slightly at the clothes and various items scattered around the floor. Baekhyun notices your stare and winces. 

“I would’ve cleaned up a little before you came but I didn’t want to leave you waiting any longer.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s just…” You laugh. “I thought you would have been really tidy. Like American Psycho clean.”

“God, I wish,” he says. “I’m kind of a disaster.”

“We just keep surprising each other this week, huh?”

“Yeah, speaking of…” His voice trails off. “Should we have the adult discussion now?”

The two of you settle next to each other on the bed, leaving a few inches of space between you that feel like miles. You don’t know what to do with your hands, so you settle them firmly in your lap. 

“Do you have any regrets about last night?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “None at all. You?”

“Not really.”

Silence.

“Um…” Baekhyun laughs self-consciously. “Is that it?” 

“I guess so.” You laugh too, a hysterical bubble that rises in your throat. “You’d think we’d never slept with anyone before.”

“I’ve never slept with a colleague,” he says, fake-scandalized. 

“Aw, are we colleagues now, Byun?” you coo. 

“What else would we be?”

Friends, is the first word that pops into your head. Lovers is the second. 

“Thorns in each other's side?” you say instead. 

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, his body language already considerably more relaxed. “I guess another thing I wanted to ask is if this was just a one-time thing.”

You shrug. “I guess so, right? We’re so busy during the year and we don’t even live on the same side of the country. And last night was good but I’m not getting on a plane for a booty call.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Baekhyun mumbles. His hand drifts across the empty space between you, slowly reaching out until his pinky is pressed against your thigh. “Can it… be a two-time thing?”

You scoff, but you’re the one who kisses him in the end. 

It ends up being more than a two-time thing. He empties himself inside of you while you ride him hard, gripping his shoulders and grinding your hips down into him until his voice cracks around the edges. Later, you suck him off as a reward for getting all of his things off the floor and properly packed into his suitcase. And finally, he kneels before you in the shower, making you cum on his tongue, your moans echoing against the tile. You now lay side by side in the dark, clean and spent, although a fourth round was considered for a few minutes. Neither of you explicitly say anything about you spending the night, but the thought of returning to your own quiet room makes your stomach churn.

“Do you need to put in your night contacts?” you ask.

“I think I’ll leave them out again.” He smiles playfully. “I get the feeling that somebody really likes my glasses.”

“Oh, who might that be?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling, before falling back into comfortable silence. “Stella was really good on the panel today,” he says quietly, tracing the love bites on your neck with the pads of his fingers. 

“She was, wasn’t she? She said she saw you come in and it scared her.”

He laughs. “I deserve that, probably. I realized after I left this morning that I’ve never seen your students present. You’ve taught them really well.” He purses his lips in thought. “She reminds me of you.”

“God,” you close your eyes. “Thanks. I hope she doesn’t end up like me.”

“Believe it or not, that was supposed to be a compliment. You know that.”

“How could I know that?” Your eyes fly open and you turn on your side towards him. “We’ve spent our entire professional lives coming at each other’s throats. You hate me.”

Baekhyun’s eyebrows furrow. “I don’t hate you. Do you hate me?”

“Well…” Your voice falters. “I do. Or, did.” You wither under his gaze. “Oh, don’t give me that look. If you don’t hate me you sure have a weird way of showing it.”

“I thought that what we did was just banter,” he whines. “Friendly competition.” 

“Do you have ‘friendly competition’ with anyone else?”

“No,” he replies, hurt visible on his face. “You’re the only one that I thought was smart enough to take it.”

“Then why make all those comments about me being antisocial?”

“Oh, that?” He sighs, rolling on his back to look at the ceiling. “I guess that did come from jealousy. I feel like… I feel like I’m performing all the time, y’know? It’s not enough to be smart to make it in academia. You have to play the game, know whose asses to kiss. In grad school I felt like I was a circus animal, and everyone was just lining up to see me dance for peanuts.” He looks at you. “You never cared about any of that, but you’re as successful as you are. So yeah, I got a little jealous.”

You stay silent for a bit, picking your words carefully. “I used to be like that. You know I almost dropped out?”

Baekhyun doesn’t have a big reaction. Doesn’t gasp or widen his eyes. He just says softly, “I didn’t know that.”

“I did everything. I kissed up to everyone I needed to kiss up to, I did so much service, I mentored like six undergraduate students. I would have little bouts of burnout but I just accepted it as part of the job. It didn’t matter that I was getting sick all the time, or that I had about one weekend every quarter off. I kept telling myself that it was going to be worth it. Conferences were the worst. I barely slept because I was planning what I was going to say to everyone I wanted to talk to. My days went from seven to two in the morning the next day, just because I was afraid of missing out.” 

You shake your head as the feelings come back to you. “In my fourth year I hit a breaking point. I went through three rounds of R&R for a paper I had started in my first year, and then they rejected it. They said that the political context had changed so significantly that it wasn’t relevant anymore, and just like that… They killed my baby. If they had found reviewers faster, or if they had even done the reviews in less than six months at a time maybe it would be published. I could have accepted it if it just wasn’t good enough. But everything being out of my control… that was too much for me to handle.”

The memories are painful, but you keep going. “I just felt so hopeless. I had given this everything and it couldn’t even give me one thing in return. I stopped going to class, stopped going to meetings. I didn’t reply to any of Minseok’s emails. I just disappeared for like two months. To me, it felt like my entire world was ending. I grieved that paper. I grieved all the hours I put into it, all the things I had turned down to work on it. I went to Minseok’s office one day to tell him I was done, but before I even got the words out he told me to take the rest of the semester off. He told me that I had to remember what life was like outside of everything.”

Baekhyun nods. “That’s why you graduated a semester late. And you didn’t present anything that year because you missed the submission deadline.”

“Yeah. I was super embarrassed to graduate after you did, but honestly? That semester off might have saved my life. I became a person again. And now everything I do is to make sure that I still am a person outside of my work, and make sure my students are their own people as well. I don’t play the games, I don’t dance. And yeah, it’s made me lose out on some opportunities, but I’m still happy with where I am. It’s a fulfilling job and I’m proud of my work, but it’s not everything I am.”

Baekhyun’s quiet for several beats, processing the information that you’ve just given him. The gears in his head turn, and turn, and turn. 

“I think… I think it might be everything that I am.”

He closes his eyes, and you see his lip trembling in the darkness. “Ever since I knew this was what I wanted to do, it’s all I’ve had time to think about. Everything is so… loud all the time. Up here.” He points at his temple. “I don’t think I’ve stopped thinking in fifteen years. I can’t even enjoy the good parts sometimes, it’s always what’s next or how can I be better?”

Baekhyun sniffs. “I don’t really know how to be a person,” he whispers, voice delicate and sensitive. “This job gets me up in the morning but without it, I don’t think I’d ever wake up again.”

The vulnerability of his statement makes your heart twist in your chest. “Hey.” You reach a hand out and lay it on his chest. “Why don’t we practice being people tomorrow before we fly home, yeah? Let’s just walk around the city and explore. No work talk allowed.”

He doesn’t respond for a long while. “Baek?”

He inhales shakily, then intertwines his fingers with your own. “Yeah. That sounds nice.” He squeezes your hand. “I like it when you call me that.”

You hadn’t even noticed, the nickname slipping out as easily as Sunday morning. You squeeze his hand back, and you fall asleep just like this, holding onto each other in the darkness. 

Conclusion

You leave early the next morning, as early as you and Baekhyun can bear to disentangle yourselves from each other. He’s clingy when he sleeps, wrapping himself around you, mumbling nonsense while lost in his dreams. You take a moment before heading back to your room to gather your belongings to look at him, all of him. The way his hair is a total bird’s nest, how the corners of his mouth droop down into an even poutier frown. He calls your name softly, half-asleep, his voice rough around the edges.

When you return, he’s fully awake, shuffling around the bathroom to finish getting ready for the day. Bleary-eyed, he draws you in and kisses you on the forehead, almost as though he doesn’t realize that he’s done it. It’s too domestic, too endearing, and you busy yourself with adjusting the straps of your backpack until the heavy, flustered feeling goes away.

After you check out and store your luggage for the day, the two of you head out with no plan and no agenda. It’s a beautiful, sunny day, the kind with a gentle breeze that keeps you from feeling too hot. “I’m not used to just… wandering,” Baekhyun says. “I don’t even know where to go first.”

Your stomach rumbles. “How about we start with some food?”

You duck into a bakery that you happen to pass by and order some coffees and pastries to go. There’s a bit more walking before you find a nice bench by the river. You eat, watching the passerby go about their mornings. Most people leave the conference on the last day to avoid having to pay for another night at the overpriced hotels, so all that remains are the local joggers, the young parents pushing babies in strollers, elderly couples taking a morning walk.

“So, who are you outside of all of this?” Baekhyun asks. “You said that you make sure that you’re a person outside of work.”

“Well,” you say, wiping the corner of your mouth. “I read. Fiction, not journal articles. I run and hike sometimes when the weather allows. I keep a spreadsheet of all the coffee shops in my city and I’m trying to complete it by the time I’m up for tenure.”

“A spreadsheet?” He wrinkles his nose. “I bet it’s color coded and all that shit.”

“Well, of course it is. How else are you supposed to sort them?”

Baekhyun snorts. “See, you’ve surprised me a lot this week but some things are pretty predictable.”

You toss your crumpled up parchment paper at him and he yelps. “What were you like before grad school?” you ask.

Baekhyun wipes the crumbs off his hands. “I was in a band, actually.”

“No kidding.”

“Yep,” he says, popping his lips on the p. “I wasn’t lying when I said I was a good singer. I also played a lot of video games. I haven’t done anything like that in a while.”

“What about socially? Do you at least do things with other people?”

“Well, yeah, they’re just all in the field. Y’know, I have Chanyeol, some others. I’m not like… completely lonely and hopeless, you know.”

You hold your hands up in defense. “I’m just making sure! What about meeting new people? Do you go on dates?”

“I mean…” He waves his hand noncommittally. “I hook up sometimes but I don’t really do dates. Didn’t have a lot of luck on the apps and just decided it was for the best.”

“Really?” you say a bit too loudly.

“...What?”

“I just… find that hard to believe, that’s all.”

“Why?” He grins cheekily. “Tell me why you think that.”

“No.”

 “Aw, come on. Is it my good looks? My charm? My irresistible intelligence?”

You stand up abruptly. “Let’s keep walking.”

“Y’know, I think you’re really starting to like me,” he says, following close behind. 

You walk aimlessly for a long time. You somehow end up in a small square of sorts, a sprawling park with an old church in the background. Baekhyun spends a while taking some photos of the scenery, then a couple of you posing in front of things. You sneak some candids of him in turn while he explores. The more time that passes, the more he starts to seem less and less like the Baekhyun you thought you knew, morphing into something more true and real right in front of your eyes. 

“We probably have time for one more big thing,” you say, checking your watch. 

“Hm…” Baekhyun scans the surrounding area, lips pursed as he thinks. “Oh! What about that?”

Your eyes follow where he’s pointing to see a large aquarium. You nod. “That looks cool, let’s do it.”

It turns out to be a combination of an insectarium and an aquarium. 

It also turns out that Baekhyun is terrified of insects.

“I literally cannot get any closer,” he says, holding his arms to his chest in defense. He stands several steps away from the exhibit, mouth drawn in a frown.

You’re just inches away from the glass, looking at the giant spiders crawling around in the tank. “But this one’s so cool! I think he’s waving at me.”

Baekhyun fake gags. “He wants to eat you.”

“Look, I think he’s waving at you too.”

A shudder passes through his body. “Please, can we move on?”

You hurry through the rest of the insect exhibit, only stopping to look at the bugs that genuinely interest you. Baekhyun’s nice enough to keep the commentary to a minimum, although he makes no progress in getting even closer to the glass. When you transition into the aquarium section of the building, he breathes out an audible sigh of relief.

“Thank God,” he gasps. “I thought I was gonna faint.”

The aquarium is quieter. Peaceful. You float through each of the exhibits at a relaxed pace now that Baekhyun’s no longer squeamish. You pass through the themed halls, stopping at each tank to give each fish an equal amount of attention. He starts out taking pictures of all the ones that he finds pretty, or interesting, or scary, but soon his hand stops reaching into his pocket for his phone. He merely… looks. 

He has a slight smile on his face as he walks, sharp eyes darting around faster than you can comprehend, drinking in everything in front of him greedily. He coos, and ahhs, and points out his favorites to you, but for the most part he just… exists.

For the first time since you’ve known him, the gears in his head have finally stopped.

The two of you pass through a large tunnel, surrounded by water on all sides. You take a minute to rest your aching feet at a bench, sitting side by side and staring up at the sharks and fish passing overhead.

“This was so great,” Baekhyun murmurs. You turn to look at him, the lights and shadows from the water casting his face in cool shades of shimmering blue. “I feel… like I finally got some peace.”

“I’m glad.” You jostle his shoulder with yours. “Promise me you’ll do stuff like this from time to time?”

He smiles, the corners of his pink lips curving upwards. It’s a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I will. It’s more fun with you, though.”

Your gaze drifts down towards his lips and you feel a pull towards him deep in your chest. Part of you wants nothing more than to kiss him right here. Another part of you hesitates. Just as Baekhyun doesn’t know who he is outside of work, what are the two of you together? What are you outside of the conference, the hotel room? What will you be as soon as you walk out of these doors? As soon as you board your plane?

For someone whose entire job is to help explain the unknown, the unknown feels fucking petrifying right now.

“I think we should go pick up our bags now,” Baekhyun whispers. His gaze is broken wide open, vulnerable and scared. He feels it too. You’re sure of it.

“Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse. Neither of you moves until a small child barrels through the tunnel, hollering at his parents, and just like that, the spell is broken.

Baekhyun laughs, your favorite, crinkly-eyed laugh of his. “Let’s head back,” he says at a normal volume.

You nod and stand, leaving this place behind together.

The ride to the airport is quiet. It’s funny. Even though quiet hasn’t been a stranger in the last twelve hours, this twenty minutes of silence feels heavy. But every time you look over at him, the words die in your throat. The further away you get from the city, you can’t help but worry that this was a one-time thing. You won’t see him until next year. Would things stay like this? Do you even want them to?

“I’m a bit late so we need to hurry through security,” you say when you get dropped off. You’re already taking off in the right direction, Baekhyun hurrying close behind you.

“Doesn’t your flight board in like… an hour?” he asks.

“Yes?”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “Of course you’re a ‘two hours early at the airport’ person.”

“You never know what could happen!” you sputter. “There could be a backup at security.”

“You have to buy me a coffee if security takes less than ten minutes.”

“Fine,” you say. “But you have to buy me one if it’s more.”

Fifteen minutes later you’re sipping your coffee victoriously. 

“This is stupid,” he grumbles, taking a sip of his own latte. He lightly kicks your ankle under the table, maybe by accident but probably not. “You’re still stuck waiting here for 45 minutes.”

“I like the airport,” you say simply.

“You like the airport?” he asks incredulously. He shakes his head, laughing into his cup. “You’re so weird.”

You giggle, then a thought occurs to you suddenly. “I never even asked you when your flight was.”

He shrugs, chugging the rest of his coffee. “Don’t worry about it.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “It means don’t worry about it.”

Behind him, you see that there’s a screen with the list of all the upcoming flights for the day. You take off for it, leaving him behind.

“Hey wait—”

“Too slow!” you call back. You scan the list for his hometown airport. Then lower. Then lower.

“I wasn’t going to tell you,” he says glumly, catching up to you.

“Baekhyun, your flight isn’t for another eight hours.”

He smiles sheepishly. “I need to catch up on grading anyways.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked.”

“It’s not your fault. I never told you any different and I said I’d come with you from the start so why wouldn’t you assume that my flight would be soon?” 

“But still. You could be doing literally anything else right now.”

He shrugs, suddenly turning pink. “I just thought… I wanted to spend as much time with you as I could. Y’know, since it’ll be a while before next time.”

You fall silent then, the weight of the situation settling onto your shoulders. Suddenly the next forty minutes seem incredibly important.

“I’ll make it up to you. We can do whatever you want until I have to board.”

Whatever he wants turns out to be heading to the nearest convenience store and raiding it for snacks. You lament at the egregious price of the peanuts and he sneaks it into his basket when you’re not looking, slipping it into your hands as you walk out. 

You walk towards your gate together, swapping handfuls of each other’s snacks, talking about anything and everything as the minutes slip by. He’s invited to one of his students’ weddings in the fall, and you’re planning a weekend-long hike in the mountains. He thinks matcha is gross and you vehemently disagree.

It’s so unfair, you think, looking at his face, trying to commit all the details to memory. Just as soon as you've started to like him, really like him, you have to leave him. 

The intercom buzzes to life and they announce that your boarding group has finally been called up. “This is me,” you say quietly.

Baekhyun nods, smiling softly, sadly. “Are we close enough for a hug now?” he asks.

You have half a mind to say something snarky, some wisecrack about all the salacious things he’s done to you in the last 48 hours but he can’t hug you in public, but all you can manage is a small nod. He wraps you in his arms, the fabric of his hoodie soft against your skin. You breathe in deeply, as if doing so will make the memory of his scent stick longer. 

“Bye,” you whisper.

“It’s not goodbye. I’ll see you next year.”

You don’t know why, but you feel the sting of tears prickling behind your eyelids. He releases you halfway to look at you, and with a start, you realize that his eyes are similarly misty.

“Are you crying?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Fuck you,” he laughs. “You’re crying too.”

He lets go of you, and with a heavy heart, you turn towards the gate.

“Wait.”

A firm hand wraps around your wrist, holding you in place. You whirl around to meet his expression, a whirlwind of frenetic emotions on his face.

“Baekhyun, I need to catch my flight,” you whisper, your voice stuck in your throat.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. But please just listen to me.” His eyes are frantic, desperately combing over your face. “This sounds crazy but I think I might be falling for you.”

“What? Baekhyun, I—”

“It might be way, way too soon to say this, but after this week I just feel like something is different between us.”

“So what are you saying? You’re in love with me?” you snort.

He huffs, frustrated. “I’m serious,” he says firmly. “I think there’s something special between us, you and I. I think maybe there always has been, and we’ve been too— I’ve been too egotistic to see it. But you’re miles ahead of the smartest person here, and you’re funny, and you’re magnetic, and you’re so beautiful, God, you’re so beautiful.”

“We live on opposite sides of the country, Baekhyun,” you say, the logical part of your brain fighting for attention, ringing every alarm bell you have. “This would never work.”

He licks his lips. “I’ve been wanting to leave my institution for a while and I’ve been interviewing. I got an offer at a university near yours. It’s an associate professor position.”

“What?”

“I haven’t told anyone. I almost passed on it because I thought that being close to you would be difficult. But fuck… the thought of going home right now and not seeing you for another year is just too much to fucking bear.”

Your head is spinning, reeling from the sudden declaration. You don’t know what to think. On the one hand, this week hasn’t been anything short of life changing. You think back to the aquarium, of the patterns of light as they dance along his face, and how the only thing you wanted in that moment was to kiss him right there. You think of the night you spent together, how you don’t think you’ve ever felt so connected to anyone before. You think of how relieved you felt to spend your birthday with someone else for a change. 

But on the other hand, the decade of hurt is almost too much to bear.

“We only just started being able to stand each other this week,” you say. “I don’t— I don’t know you, Baekhyun.”

“You do know me.” He puts his hands on both sides of your face, looking deeply into your eyes. “You know the worst parts of me. I’m a workaholic, I’m too impulsive, I have a massive ego. You’ve seen me be jealous and narcissistic and ambitious to a fault. But I hope this week you got to see the other sides of me too. The sides that I want to share more of with you.”

The way he remembers your dietary preferences years after you’ve mentioned them. The way his hair is a mess in the mornings. The way his eyes crinkle around the edges when he laughs, really laughs. The mole on the side of his lip, on his thumb, in the shell of his ear. 

You’ve spent almost a decade trying to be one step ahead of Baekhyun that you never even considered what it would be like to walk alongside him. 

“This is a lot to take in,” you say.

“Okay, yeah.” He nods. “I’m not asking you to make any big decisions now. But just… consider it? I can visit you when the semester’s over and we can spend some time together without any of this bullshit. Just us. We’ll see how we are together when there’s no work involved.”

You take in a breath. “Okay. We can do a trial run.”

Baekhyun beams, a beautiful smile reaching from cheek to cheek. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But don’t think that this means I’m gonna stop being competitive with you.”

“God, I hope not.”

He sweeps you into a kiss, one hand cupping your chin and the other resting on your back. In that moment, you forget about it all: the conference, the competition, your feelings and how they’ve changed so quickly. All that matters is the softness of his touch, of his lips against yours.

“I have to board now,” you whisper against his lips. 

“I know,” he says. He kisses you again.

“Baek.”

“Say my name like that again,” he murmurs. 

“You’re so insufferable.” You pull away from him and shrug your backpack over your shoulders, trying to feign annoyance, even though the crimson dust on your cheeks give you away. 

Baekhyun smiles softly at you, taking in one last look at your image before you leave. His eyes go soft, tender in the ways that you’re only now just getting used to. You hope that there will be many more times you see that expression.

“You like it,” he says cheekily. 

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. Everything’s already been said. 

You turn toward your gate and jog to make it before they close boarding. You only look back once. He’s still there, watching you go, lifting a hand to wave goodbye.

You wave back. 

He smiles. 

You smile.

Bye, he mouths, winking.

Bye, you mouth back.

You turn your back to him and board the plane, an indescribable light feeling in your chest. It feels good. It feels right.

References

This day can’t get any worse. 

It’s the third time you’ve circled around the airport. You have a massive headache starting behind your temples, and if you get honked at one more time it might just be your fucking breaking point. You park firmly into a waiting space and put your hazards on, letting your head sink into your hands.

You’re only there for thirty seconds when you hear a knock on your driver’s side window. You groan into your palm before rolling your window down a fraction.

“Ma’am, if your passenger isn’t here you need to circle around,” the airport employee says. 

“Please,” you beg. “I swear he’s coming, just please let me wait for one more minute—”

“I’m here!” Baekhyun’s voice cuts above all the noise. Your back door is yanked open, carry on suitcase and backpack haphazardly thrown into the seats. “I’m here,” he says again. The employee nods and moves along. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Baekhyun pants, climbing into your passenger seat. His glasses are hanging on by a thread, his hair disheveled and messy. It’s gotten longer even though it’s only been a couple of months, curling around the nape of his neck. “They closed down like half the terminal so I had to take these insane detours and everything was just so chaotic—”

“It’s okay,” you cut in. You’re smiling, grinning like crazy. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says breathlessly, a smile of his own spreading across his face. “I made it.”

You don’t let him get another word in. You reach across and take his face in your hands, kissing him deeply. His lips are so soft and he smells so good and he’s finally here. He smiles against your mouth, giggling like a lovesick teenager. 

“What happened to the trial run?” he asks. 

“This is still a trial run,” you say in between kisses. “You have to really impress me this week, Byun. Then we’ll decide if you get tenure or not.”

Someone behind you honks, but you pay them no mind. All that matters is what’s in front of you, the man in your arms, and the endless, countless days ahead.

Appendix (aka where mai overexplains a bunch of things for anyone interested. the fic is over now, so feel free to stop reading, i'm just nerding out)

Revise and resubmit refers to the decision that journals make when reading submissions in which authors have a set amount of time to address some concerns, and then it goes back in for consideration. It's not a guaranteed publication if all the issues are addressed, it's more like a "maybe." It's very rare that submissions don't go through at least one round of r&r before acceptance

Baekhyun and reader are both meant to be about 4-5 years into their careers as assistant professors. Reader is about to be up for tenure, which means she will get a huge pay bump and job security basically for life. Sometimes you can move to another university and immediately secure tenure, but that's contingent on you doing well at your prior university (publishing a lot, getting good student evals, etc.) This is the position Baekhyun's in by the end of the fic.

h-index refers to a metric based on how often a person's publications are referenced. A higher h-index means that your work is referenced often, and is generally a marker for prestige and respect

Work-Home Resources Theory and Conservation of Resources theory are both valid theories. WHR was actually developed with COR in mind. Reader is wrong in her critique.

Mediation statistically explains why X -> Y. Full mediation means that the relationship between X -> Y is fully explained by M (X -> M -> Y), while partial mediation means that M explains some of the relationship, but there's something else also at work ex., social media use -> reduced self esteem -> depression vs. social media use -> reduced self-esteem + poor quality of sleep -> depression. Partial mediation is a valid finding. Baekhyun is wrong in his critique.

Originally the outdated concept Baekhyun references is named (LMX) but I took it out because this section was getting too nerdy even for me and I decided to keep it vague. The idea of LMX being outdated is very controversial. It's still being used constantly to this day.

Baekhyun having seven students at a time is basically unheard of (in my field). I know of a prof who has five students at a time and they are all pretty miserable or neglected. Baekhyun is superhuman.

I was sort of vauge about their specific field on purpose but at the risk of doxxing myself (as I wrote this from experience so their field is the same as mine) i'll just say that it's a social science (although i fear it's pretty obvious)

Nature is a very very prestigious interdisciplinary journal. To my knowledge it's hard for people in my field to publish in it, so this is a massive deal for Baekhyun.

Stella and Kevin are OCs but their namesakes are meant to be Stella from h2h and Kevin from the boyz

The structure of this fic was stolen from my favorite academia-esque au ever (baekhyun and kyungsoo: a scoping review) even though it doesn't really make sense in my case and is mostly for aesthetics

whew thanks for coming on this journey if you read this far. if you're new here i don't usually yap this much but this was very personal and fun for me to write. love ya for sticking around <3

You were still drained from last night and whatever reckless truce that happened.

The mattress shifted as Junmyeon moved, his heavy arm finally lifting from your waist. He didn’t bother being gentle as he untucked the covers, leaving your naked body exposed to the morning chill. You let out a frustrated whine at his sheer lack of manners.

“You’re remarkably annoying this morning,” you muttered into your pillow, your voice muffled, as you tried to tuck yourself into the sheets. “It’s dark outside, c’mon!”

Junmyeon let out a low, mocking laugh. Of course, he did it on purpose. “You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice grating on your nerves. You heard the metallic slide of a zipper as he stepped into his jeans. “Sunrises are inspiring, y’know?”

“Get out!” Tired of him and his effortless energy, you bolted upright, grabbed the decorative pillow beside you, and hurled it with every bit of strength you had left. Junmyeon leaned to the left, letting it thud harmlessly against the doorframe.

“Better luck next time,” he threw back, his laugh raspy and entirely too triumphant. “See you later, loser!” He was already halfway out the door.

Frustrated, you tried to make yourself sleep again, but when you were about to fall asleep, the distinct shut of the main door echoed through your quiet apartment. He was finally gone, heading back to his own place, which happened to be right next door.

The rivalry between you and Junmyeon was built in your first week; the air in the office seemed to sharpen whenever you both occupied the same room. You didn’t just disagree on everything; you two were capable of sabotaging each other if that meant the end of the other’s ego.

If you hit your sales goals, he tripled his. If he delivered a flawless presentation, you spent the next three hours perfecting a rebuttal that made his data look like a rough draft. You were both relentless, stubborn, fueled by a mutual, unspoken agreement that there was only room for one of you at the top. The “Seller of the Month” wasn’t just a prize anymore; it was the ultimate proof of superiority, and you’d rather work yourself to the bone than let him win.

The office had grown used to that tension between you. They joked about your rivalry, and saw the way you rolled your eyes when he spoke, and the way his jaw tightened whenever you took the lead in a meeting. They called it a personality clash, seeing it as an actual show.

Then came that team dinner.

The atmosphere was loud and celebratory, but you and Junmyeon were locked in your own private war. Both drunk, at the end of the table, arguing over a lead he’d clearly stolen from you.

The tension followed you on the shared taxi all the way home, finally boiling over as the elevator doors slid shut. You were barking at him, your face inches from him, fueled by months of suppressed adrenaline, ready to tear him apart—your finger poking into the fabric of his chest.

Junmyeon was tense. He didn’t argue back, at least, not with words. He moved closer, one hand slamming into the metal wall, the other one sliding down to grip your waist with bruising force. His mouth crashed onto yours to silence you. It was a collision. Stunned, you tasted his rage, but didn’t stop him. You pulled him into your space with a violence that surprised you both, your nails clawing through his shirt, searching for skin to punish.

By the time the doors opened to his—and your—floor, the war transitioned into something deeper. You two stumbled into his apartment, mouths still locked in a battle for dominance, trying to rip each other's clothes off.

The drinks had blinded you, blurring the hatred into a raw heat. Junmyeon backed you onto the bed, his movements jagged and demanding. He didn’t have to ask; your eyes said everything. You watched him drop between your legs, his eyes dark with hunger as he stripped away the last of your defenses.

When his mouth finally made contact with your soft skin, it was electric. He clearly knew what he was doing, tracing the sensitive lines of your inner thighs before focusing entirely on your pussy with a relentless hunger. Junmyeon was eating you out like he had been starving for months, his fingers hooked into your hips to hold you still while he drank you in.

“Shit—Junmyeon!”

Your fingers pulled his hair enough to make him moan against your folds. The sounds of wetness and his ragged, hot breath were so erotic that your legs were already shaking. He pushed harder, swirling his tongue in rhythmic circles until you were sobbing his name again, and again.

“Fuck…” he groaned. “You taste so fucking good.”

Junmyeon was winning. He knew it. You knew it, too. And yes, he wanted to be the only thing you could feel, the only thing you remembered as long as your inner thighs clamped his face, and your inner walls clenched at anything, already trembling against his mouth, knowing he was making you have the best orgasm in a long time.

But you weren’t finished. As soon as he tasted the last drop and hovered over you, your mouth crashed against his with possessive strength. When he finally sank into you, the sensation was overwhelming. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to force him to stop being gentle. Of course, he got your silent beg and fucked you like your body had been made specifically for him. Each trust was a claim, each movement a silent way to call you his.

You traded bites on the shoulders and neck. You scratched down his back, your fingers tangled in his hair as you arched up to meet him, like you were competing to see who would break first. Every time he hit that perfect, sweet spot, he’d let out a growl against the crook of your neck, and you’d respond by pulling him deeper, refusing to let him have the final word.

When the end finally came, it was a mutual destruction. Junmyeon collapsed over you, his skin slick with sweat and his breathing ragged, his weight pinning you to the mattress. You weren’t any better, your fingers trembling, debating whether to hold him or not. But... both of you refused to really move.

“T-this was a mistake, Kim,” you breathed, breaking the ice, your voice a shaky whisper.

Junmyeon shifted, his jaw tightening as he looked down at you, his eyes still dark and unhinged. “The worst one of my life.”

However, his hand was already sliding back down to your hip, his thumb tracing the jagged mark he’d left there. Of course, you did fuck again that night, and the next days after... and the next weeks, like hooking up and hating each other were part of a balance.

You walked into the office with your jaw set and your stomach growling, the lack of breakfast making your temper a live wire. The moment you rounded the corner, you saw him.

Junmyeon was leaning against the edge of your desk, looking infuriatingly composed in a charcoal three-piece suit that hugged his shoulders perfectly. The silver-rimmed glasses perched on his nose were a direct insult to your exhaustion—he looked stupidly, effortlessly attractive for 9 AM, especially for a man who had spent the night losing his mind in your sheets.

“You’re a minute late,” he noted, checking his watch with a slow, deliberate movement. A small, mocking smirk played on his lips. “Having trouble getting out of bed this morning?”

“Move,” you snapped, dropping your purse onto your chair with a heavy thug, “if you don’t wanna die today.”

Junmyeon let out a soft, raspy laugh. “Rude.”

“Get off my desk,” you shot back, finally meeting his eyes. “Go hover over somewhere else and let me work.”

“Easy, easy. I was just making sure you hadn’t fainted from exhaustion,” he whispered, leaning in just enough for you to catch his scent. “You seemed quite drained.”

“In your dreams,” you hissed, your eyes flashing. “Now get out before I report you for being a pain in the ass.”

Junmyeon straightened up, adjusting his cuffs with a smug, triumphant look. “See you at the briefing. Try to keep up.”

He could be incredibly annoying for no reason, and the urge to punch his perfect features was clear now, but he escaped before you could do anything.

And just like that, the rest of the morning was a blur of spreadsheets and mounting irritation.

“Hey, Junmyeon,” Chanyeol said, pointing toward his own neck. “You okay? You’ve got a couple of marks right there.”

You froze. Your hand was hovering over the print button, almost crumpling the documents in your other hand, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Junmyeon didn’t even flinch. He reached up, casually adjusting his tie, his expression the picture of bored indifference. “Oh, those? Just a mosquito. A very aggressive one. I think it got into my apartment last night and wouldn’t let me sleep.”

“A mosquito?” Chanyeol asked, skeptical. “That looks more like—”

“Yeah,” Junmyeon interrupted, his voice flat and professional, though you caught the way his eyes darted toward you for a fraction of a second. “Anyway, about those quarterly projections…”

You had to bite the inside of your cheek. The mental image of Junmyeon growling into your ear while you sank your teeth into his neck was a vivid memory from last night. You kept your back to them, staring intently at the printer tray, trying to erase it from your mind.

Later that day, the only thing more hollow than your stomach was your patience. You marched into the break room, desperate for a caffeine fix to dampen the hunger pangs, only to find the source of your misery already there.

Junmyeon was standing by the counter, leaning over his mug with an air of smug tranquility. Just as he reached out to lift the steaming cup to his lips, you swiped it from under his hand with a fluid, practiced motion.

“Hey!” he protested, his hand clutching at empty air as he turned a sharp glare toward you. “That’s mine. Get your own.”

“Consider it a tax,” you snapped, taking a long, defiant sip while looking him dead in the eye. “It’s entirely your fault I haven’t eaten a single thing today.”

Junmyeon let out a low, raspy chuckle, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. The movement made the charcoal fabric of his suit jacket pull tight across his chest. “Are you really this worked up over a yogurt? It was a strawberry. You don’t even like strawberries that much.”

“It was my strawberry yogurt, you thief,” you hissed. “And you knew exactly what you were doing when you cleared it out of my fridge.”

“I was hungry,” he said simply, a playful glint in his eyes that made you want to kick him. “Besides, you’re much more interesting when you’re hangry.”

You reached past him, your hand diving into his open lunch bag on the counter. Before he could react, you snatched the last thick slice of crusty bread he’d tucked away. “Then I’m taking this.”

“Hey! That’s mine!”

You stood your ground, the stolen bread in one hand and his coffee in the other, feeling the familiar adrenaline that only he could provoke.

“That’s mine now,” you muttered, already backing toward the door.

“C’mere!” he retorted, his voice dropping into that dangerous, low register. “I don’t wanna repeat it again.”

You stopped at the threshold, a slow, predatory smile spreading across your face. You let your gaze drift pointedly to his neck, where the collar of his expensive shirt was still struggling to do its job.

“Junmyeon,” your voice dripping with sweet, faux-concern. “Maybe you should spend your lunch break hiding those ‘mosquito bites’. That’s a lack of professionalism, y’know?”

His smug expression didn’t just fade—it fractured to the point you thought his glasses had broken. For a split second, the composed version of him vanished.

Junmyeon opened his mouth to fire back—likely to remind you exactly who had left those marks—but the words died in his throat. He watched you stand there, defiantly chewing on his sourdough and holding his coffee like a trophy, and for once, he had no arguments.

You saw his jaw work, his eyes dark with a mixture of sheer annoyance and a kind of heat. Junmyeon looked genuinely surprised that you’d had the nerve to weaponize his own lie against him.

“Just… get out,” he finally muttered. He only had the heavy, frustrated weight of a man who knew he’d just been played at his own game.

“My pleasure,” you hummed, a purr of pure satisfaction.

You sauntered out of the break room without looking back, but you could practically feel his gaze burning holes into the back of your neck. He wouldn’t follow you, and he certainly wouldn’t admit to anyone that you were the reason for his sudden silence. Junmyeon was too proud to let the office know that his rival had just walked off with his breakfast, his caffeine, and his dignity all in one go.

As you rounded the corner back to your desk, the coffee tasted better than anything you’d ever bought yourself. You knew this victory was temporary—he’d likely spend the rest of the afternoon plotting a way to make you pay for the sourdough—but for now, the silence coming from the break room was the sweetest sound in the building.

“It was a record-breaking month,” the manager’s voice boomed in the sudden silence. “But as always, one person pushed just a little bit harder.”

Friday afternoon arrived. The stress was a living thing, fueled by the fact that the “Seller of the Month” announcement was a minute aside. Neither of you mentioned what happened again, but the way he watched you from across the meeting room told you he hadn’t forgotten the humiliation in the break room.

At the center of the room, your manager held the cream-colored envelope—the voucher for the weekend getaway.

You stood on the left, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, your expression a mask of cold, professional indifference. Across the carpet, Junmyeon stood like a statue. He looked impeccable in a navy suit, his glasses catching the overhead light, but you noticed the way his fingers twitched against his thigh.

You felt Junmyeon’s gaze cut toward you. It was a silent prepare to lose. You tilted your chin up, your eyes promising him a slow, public demise.

“By a margin of only two sales.” The silence was deafening. “Kim Junmyeon is the new winner."

The room erupted into applause. Junmyeon didn’t jump for joy; he smiled with confidence, stepping forward, and took the envelope. He shook the manager’s hand, thanked the team, and then turned his head just enough to catch your eye.

The look he gave you was the look of a man who had not only won the war but was now deciding exactly how to punish his prisoner.

“Congratulations, Junmyeon,” you said, your voice dripping with a fake, honeyed warmth that you knew he absolutely loathed. You stepped forward, extending a hand. “Nobody deserves a break from all that strenuous effort quite like you do.”

Junmyeon took your hand, squeezing. He leaned in as if to give you a professional, friendly pat on the shoulder, but his hand landed on the back of your neck, his thumb pressing firmly into the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“Better luck next time, sweetheart,” he murmured, loud enough for only you to hear. “Maybe it’ll inspire you to actually hit your targets for once.”

“Aw, so arrogant.” Your smile never wavered as you leaned into his space, your lips almost brushing his cheek in what looked like a congratulatory gesture. “Don’t worry. I’ll be too busy taking over the accounts you’re neglecting.”

You moved first. Your coworkers swarmed in, effectively diffusing the lethal air between you and Junmyeon with their oblivious enthusiasm.

“Nice work, Junmyeon! That coast trip is gonna be worth it!” Chanyeol shouted, slapping him on the back with enough force to make him stumble a half-step forward.

Junmyeon’s hand dropped from the back of your neck instantly. “Thanks, man. It was a tight race,” he said, his voice smoothing out into that polished, professional baritone that always made you want to roll your eyes.

“And hey,” Minho said, turning to you with a sympathetic wince. “You’ll get him next month. You were so close. Seriously, just one more lead and he’d be the one sitting here looking miserable.”

“I’m not miserable,” you lied, forcing a sharp, practiced smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m just already planning his downfall. Someone has to keep his ego from floating away.”

“Well said!” Hana got close to you, holding your arm with a cheerful vibe. “Crash him!”

“Yup, you will need luck for next month, Kim.” Minji appeared with Sora, who was laughing.

Junmyeon let out a short, dry chuckle, tucking the voucher into his breast pocket with a flourish that was meant only for you. “Careful. Overconfidence is usually what leads to second place. But I appreciate the congratulations, guys.”

The group laughed, the tension you had been building in the dark corners of the conversation dissipating into mundane office chatter. Slowly, the crowd began to thin, people drifting back to their cubicles to finish their final Friday tasks.

Junmyeon didn’t give you a second glance. He simply turned his back on you, curving his lips in a smug smile, leaning over his desk to check an email. He knew he had pissed you off successfully.

You sat back down at your desk, not just feeling defeated, but with the urge to kill him slowly. You could see the back of his head, the way his dark hair was perfectly styled, and the way his shoulders looked broad and immovable in that suit, acting as if the win was purely professional. You hated that.

You spent the next hour typing with a ferocity that threatened your keyboard, your jaw clenched so tight it ached. Every time you heard the crinkle of the envelope from his side of the desk, your blood spiked.

By 5:00 PM, the office was a ghost town. You were still there, staring at a spreadsheet you had already finished, waiting for something. You heard the rustle of fabric, the click of a briefcase, and then his footsteps.

Junmyeon walked past your desk without stopping.

“Bye, runner-up,” he said, his voice cool and detached as he headed for the elevators.

The anger was a hot, jagged stone in your chest as you watched the elevator numbers count down. You knew how he worked; Junmyeon didn’t just play the game, he manipulated the board. He hadn’t won because he was better; he’d won because he was devious.

You waited exactly five minutes—long enough to look like you were heading home, but short enough to catch him.

The basement parking lot was a concrete tomb, smelling of damp air. You spotted his car immediately. As you approached, the driver’s side window slid down.

“Coming?” His voice was a low, gravelly vibration that skipped down your spine. He looked infuriatingly smug behind the wheel.

Your purse hung lazily off your shoulder as you walked toward the passenger door. You didn’t smile. You gave him the look he knew best—the one that promised you weren’t there to congratulate him, but to ruin his victory. You yanked the door open and dropped into the leather seat, the scent of his cologne immediately filling your lungs.

“You’re late.” His voice dropped into that dark, flirtatious register that only came out when the office cameras were off.

“Shut up,” you snapped. You reached across the center console, your fingers hooking into the silk of his tie and yanking him toward you with enough force to make his neck snap forward.

You brought your face inches from his, your lips ghosting over his jaw. “You cheated. We both know it.”

Junmyeon let out a sharp, ragged breath, his hands flying to your waist to haul you closer. A slow, dark smirk spread across his face as he looked at your mouth. “Prove it,” he challenged, his eyes flashing with that familiar, unhinged hunger. “Planning on punishing me for it?”

Junmyeon was enjoying it—the aggression, the way you treated him like a criminal. You slid your hand down his chest, feeling the muscle jump and tighten beneath the expensive fabric of his suit. His breath hitched, turning rough and shallow as he leaned into your touch, his own hands traveling up your back to pull you flush against him.

When your lips finally crashed into his, it was a collision of teeth and tongue, fueled by the bitter adrenaline of the afternoon. It was angry and desperate. He groaned into your mouth, his grip tightening as he prepared to take exactly what he wanted.

But the moment he tried to deepen the kiss, to claim the satisfaction of a second win for the day, you pulled back.

You broke the contact abruptly, leaving him breathless and leaning into empty air. You smoothed your hair back with a clinical, cold precision and leaned back into your seat, a sharp, triumphant glint in your eyes.

“Not tonight,” you whispered, your voice a lethal purr as you reached for the door handle.

Junmyeon was speechless, leaning toward you, his pupils blown wide, his hands still hovering near your waist as if he could physically pull the “yes” out of you. “What—where you going?” His fingers were grazing the fabric of your skirt.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you tilted your head, letting a slow, faux-sympathetic pout pull at your lips. You reached out, patting his cheek with a condescending softness that felt like a slap.

“Oh, Junmyeon,” you sighed, your voice dripping with mock pity as you watched the frustration boil behind his eyes. “You look so... desperate. It’s almost sad. But I’m afraid I’m not on the menu tonight.”

“What do you mean?” he hissed, his jaw tightening so hard you could hear the bone click.

“It means I have much better plans,” you said, checking your reflection in the front mirror, fixing your lipstick and hair. “The girls and I are heading out. Drinks, dancing, and absolutely zero mention of you.”

The mention of your friends—the same ones who had just been strengthening your resolve to kick his ass—made his expression shift from heat to pure, unadulterated annoyance.

“You’re really going to choose a night of cheap cocktails over me?” he challenged, his voice straining, trying to sound indifferent.

“In a heartbeat,” you whispered, leaning in one last time just to leave a kiss on his jaw, leaving a perfect red mark of lipstick there before yanking the door handle. “Better luck next time, sweetheart.”

You stepped out, the sound of your heels clicking sharply against the concrete like a victory march. As you shut the door, you looked back through the window one last time. He was sitting there, eyes closed, his tie crooked, his pulse visible in his neck, gripping the wheel harder enough to notice his frustration bubbling up.

You just kept walking, laughing all the way to the elevator, leaving him exactly where you wanted him: wanting more and having nothing.

Three rounds in, the alcohol had softened the sharp edges of the week, and you, Sora, Minji, and Hana were hunched over a sticky table, howling with laughter and absurdity.

“You know,” Minji said, her eyes twinkling with that specific brand of drunken mischief, “I was looking at the two of you during the announcement today. Despite all the ‘I hope you trip into a volcano’ glares... you and Junmyeon would actually make a terrifyingly hot couple.”

You nearly choked on your drink, a spray of gin and tonic barely missing the table. “Minji, please. I’d rather date a cactus!”

“I don’t know…” Sora chimed in, leaning forward with a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you aren’t looking at him. It’s not just rivalry. It’s like he wants to... eat you. Or ruin you. Or both.”

“Yeah, my career,” you corrected, though your heart did a traitorous little flip.

Hana, never one to let a fire die out, poured more gasoline. “Oh, he’s definitely got that energy. Y’know, the one who looks like a perfect gentleman in that suit but probably has a whole different personality in bed.”

“Stop! This is ridiculous!” you laughed, trying to wave them off, but your face felt suspiciously warm. “He’s a robot.”

“A very attractive robot,” Minji countered, wagging her eyebrows. “C’mon. You’ve been in close quarters with him for months. Can’t you tell me you haven’t noticed the aura? He’s got that ‘good in bed’ energy. Like, really good.”

You had to bite your tongue so hard it actually hurt.

“I wouldn’t know,” you said, your voice remarkably steady despite the internal chaos. “I’m too busy trying not to get a headache from his cologne.”

“Bet he’s a biter,” Sora added thoughtfully, tapping her chin.

“Nah, he likes being bitten,” Hana corrected. “You haven’t seen his neck?”

“I saw it too!” Minji laughed. “It’s always the ones who look the most composed who are the most unhinged behind closed doors, huh?” She patted your arms, noticing you were deadly silent, swallowing your words.

The irony was so thick you could taste it. You were sitting there, while your friends spent twenty minutes dissecting the exact sexual prowess of the man who had been hooking up with you for months.

“You guys are obsessed,” you said, letting out a genuine, breathless laugh at the absurdity of it all. “I don’t wanna talk about my nemesis here! C’mon, it’s girl night!”

“Fine, fine.” Hana laughed, raising her glass. “But mark my words. One of these days, that tension is going to snap, and I’ll be nearby when it happens.”

It already snapped, Hana, you thought, taking a long, triumphant sip of your drink.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Minji said, her eyes widening as she slammed her glass onto the table. “I just remembered. You two live in the same building!”

The table went silent for a heartbeat before erupting.

“Oh, you’ve been holding out on us!” Sora squealed, leaning so far across the table she was practically in your lap. “That means you see him in the wild. Does he wear those suits to get the mail?”

“It’s just a building!” You tried desperately to keep your voice from trembling. “I barely see him.”

“Liar!” Hana pointed a finger at you, her face flushed with gin-induced excitement. “Look at her—she’s got that look. You’ve seen something, haven’t you? What is it? His gym routine? He looks good in gray sweatpants and sweaty?”

“Hana, stop,” you laughed, though the mental image of Junmyeon in anything casual—or nothing at all—was currently playing on a loop in your brain.

“Bet his apartment is just as cold and clinical as his office,” Minji mused, her mind clearly heading into dirtier territory. “All glass and chrome. Very American Psycho. I bet he’s the type who watches himself in the mirror while he—”

“Minji!” you gasped, actually laughing. “You’re officially banned from talking for the rest of the night.”

“No, tell us!” Sora insisted, grabbing your arm. “Have you ever been in his place? Or has he been in yours? Oh my god… imagine the tension in that elevator. Just the two of you, floor after floor, staring at the numbers, knowing you hate each other but also knowing he’s... well, he’s him."

You thought about that very elevator—the way the doors had hissed shut, the way he’d slammed his hands against the wall, the way you’d yanked his tie until he stumbled.

Shit.

“No… definitely not,” you managed to say, your face burning.

“She’s blushing!” Hana screamed, attracting looks from the neighboring tables. “She’s totally thinking about him! C’mon! If you don’t tell us right now, I’m gonna call him myself and ask.”

“You wouldn’t dare…” Though a part of you knew Hana was drunk enough to try.

“Then give us something!” Sora pleaded. “Just one detail.”

You took a long, slow sip of your drink, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe the heat in your cheeks. You thought about the bite mark on his neck, the way he’d growled your name into the mattress, and the look of pure, unhinged frustration on his face when he cu—

You shook your head, forcing a look of mild boredom. “I saw him running once.” You offered a small, shrug-like gesture as if the memory was barely worth the effort to recall. “Late at night. He had headphones on and looked just as miserable as he does when I’m beating his sales numbers. We didn’t even speak. That’s the extent of our ‘neighborly’ relationship.”

“Just once?” Sora asked, her voice dripping with disappointment. “No late-night elevator runs for snacks? No bumping into him while you’re both taking out the trash in your pajamas?”

“I’m pretty sure he purposely takes the service stairs just to avoid the risk of seeing my face and ruining his night,” you lied, the words tasting like gin.

“That sounds like him,” Hana muttered, swirling the ice in her glass. “The man is so dedicated to being your enemy that he’d probably move out if he thought you were getting too comfortable.”

“Exactly!” you said, taking a long, casual sip of your drink. “He’s just a guy who lives in the same building and makes my life a living hell from nine to five.”

You leaned back, letting their chatter wash over you as they finally shifted the topic to Minji’s dating app disasters. Inside, your heart was still thudding a mile a minute.

Admitting the truth—that you knew exactly what he looked like when he was out of breath, or that he’d been in your bed at 3:00 AM more times than you could count—would change everything. You weren’t ready to share the satisfaction of having Junmyeon exactly where you wanted him.

But as you laughed at Minji’s stories, your hand ghosted over your phone in your purse. You wondered if he was still sitting in that car, fuming, or if he was already back at the building, waiting for the sound of your heels in the hallway.

The walk from the taxi to the elevator ride felt lonely, boring with the lack of his presence. When the doors hissed open on your floor, instead of turning left toward your own door, you found yourself standing in front of his.

You were so close to knocking, close enough to imagine him on the other side—maybe sitting on that leather sofa with a glass of bourbon, still wearing that navy suit, and fuck.

With a sharp, internal snap, you pulled your hand back. Not tonight.

You turned on your heel and marched the few steps to your own door. When you tried to shove the key into the lock, your coordination betrayed you; the metal slipped, clattering clumsily to the floor.

“Shit.”

As you reached down to retrieve it, the floor seemed to tilt. You caught yourself against the wall, fingers splayed against the cold surface as the evening’s drinks finally caught up with you.

The elevator doors opened again. Junmyeon stepped out, winded from his run and radiating a heat that seemed to close the distance between you instantly. He was dressed in a black shirt and shorts, a light running jacket clinging to his frame in all the right places. His hair was damp, his chest heaved with every labored breath, and a single bead of sweat traced a path down his temple before disappearing into his collar. He didn’t even look up at you first; he was adjusting his glasses.

“Enjoying the view?”

His voice sent a treacherous shiver down your spine, snapping you out of a trance you hadn’t realized you’d fallen into. Junmyeon moved with an effortless grace that your own buzzed senses couldn’t match, unlocking his door in one fluid motion and leaving it ajar—a silent invitation.

The alcohol in your system felt like it had suddenly evaporated. You tightened your grip on your keys, the metal biting into your palm, before you crossed the threshold and shut the door behind you.

“I wasn’t looking at you.” But your eyes were fixed on the way his clothes matched his body proportions perfectly.

Junmyeon chuckled, tossing his watch and keys onto the table. He turned back to face you. “Is that so?” He took a step closer to you, a dark, triumphant smirk finally spreading across his face. “Then why are you here?”

“I—just to clarify that. Yeah,” you stammered, the excuse sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “I should go.”

“Sure.” Junmyeon’s voice dropped to a low register. He didn’t move an inch back, but his scent was clouding your senses. “The door is right behind you.”

Your feet were stuck, and your gaze was locked on his lips, taking a step closer.

“That’s what I thought.”

As Junmyeon closed the final inch, your defenses evaporated. Your purse slid forgotten from your shoulder, and the keys you had been gripping so tightly clattered to the floor. You didn’t care. You reached for him, your composure snapping as you crashed your lips against his.

Junmyeon reacted instantly. He trapped you against the door, sliding down one of his hands, searingly hot, to find the hem of your skirt, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your thigh with a proprietary force that made your knees buckle.

“Fuck—I hate you,” you gasped against his mouth.

“Not as much as I do,” Junmyeon murmured, tearing his mouth from yours to trail a path of heat down your jaw. His lips found the frantic pulse in your neck, devouring your skin, leaving hot marks. Your fingers tangled desperately into his hair, pulling him closer.

You shrugged out of your blazer, the fabric hitting the floor to join your keys and purse. Junmyeon slid his hand further up your skirt, then rubbed his fingers against your panties. The sudden, hot realization of your own wetness made every sensation feel amplified, a deep ache settling in your cunt that only he could soothe.

Junmyeon’s mouth remained anchored to your neck, his breath hot against your skin, while his free hand began to work the buttons of your blouse with a practiced, agonizing slowness. He exposed more skin, centimeter by centimeter, following the trail of the fabric with hungry, wet, searing kisses.

Your hips began to buck instinctively against his hand, a silent, desperate plea for him to touch you properly, to rub harder against your folds. You were losing the battle, your breath hitching in broken gasps. You could feel the wetness of his tongue against your bra, his hot breath cooling against the fabric, claiming you.

Junmyeon pulled away barely an inch, looking at you with hungry eyes, his hot fingers leaving you shivering and bereft. You watched, breathless and whimpering against the door, as he brought his hand up between your faces. His two fingers were slick. Without breaking eye contact, he slid his fingers into his mouth, watching you gasp again.

Junmyeon licked them clean with his tongue, swallowing as he tasted you. The sight of his lips wrapped around his own fingers while he stared you down felt like it was certainly an erotic vow.

“Fucking delicious.”

His voice sent a fresh wave of heat straight to your core. You couldn’t even find a retort. All you could do was stare at his mouth, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, waiting for him to finish what he’d started.

“Jun—”

The friction of the lace was gone, replaced by the searing heat of his bare skin against yours. Junmyeon slid two fingers downward, finding your aching folds and directly rubbing them again with a heavy, rhythmic pressure that made your breath catch in a sharp, broken gasp.

“What is it?” His voice was thick with a dark sort of pride, ghosting your lips. “So desperate, doll.”

Before you could snap back, he collided his lips against your mouth and drove his fingers inside your cunt. The sudden fullness made you whimper, your teeth sinking into his lower lip in a sharp, instinctive bite. Junmyeon’s mouth curved into a smirk against yours, savoring the sting, groaning. He knew he had you.

His pace quickened, his fingers curling inside you with a ruthless precision that forced you to cling to his shoulders. You arched your back, your spine hitting the door as you bucked your hips against his hand, chasing the friction. He hummed in approval, a low vibration you felt deep in your chest, before his lips began a slow, torturous descent.

“Fuck! Don’t stop—ah.”

Junmyeon trailed wet, lingering kisses down your throat and over the swell of your chest, his breath hot through the thin fabric of your bra. When he finally caught your nipple between his teeth, biting down through the lace, the double hit of pleasure made your head toss back.

The wet, rhythmic sound of his fingers with vengeance, the friction even more intense. Junmyeon began scissoring his fingers deep inside you, catching your rhythm and then shattering it by going faster, harder, until your senses were completely blinded. You were a live wire in his hands, your gasps turning into frantic, wordless pleas as the coiling heat tightened once again, turning into a searing, unbearable pressure.

“Shit—yes.”

You were right there, your body trembling, your vision blurring as you prepared to shatter. And then, with the surgical precision of a man who knew exactly how to break you, Junmyeon stopped.

“Son of a bitch!” You let out a desperate, strangled sound—a mix of a sob and a moan—as your orgasm retreated just as it reached its peak.

Your legs were shaking so violently you had to lean your entire weight against the door just to stay upright, your inner muscles twitching and aching for more. You looked at him through a haze of frustration, your eyes stinging with the sheer need of it.

Junmyeon was looking at you, his chest rising and falling in a steady, maddeningly calm rhythm, lips curved, and that triumphant chuckle.

“C’mon, honey. You can resist a little tease.” His voice was smooth and terrifyingly steady. He was so close to your face, you could feel his warm breath. “Right?”

“You... bastard!” you managed to choke out, your voice a fractured wreck of its former self. You tried to reach for him, but your coordination was gone, your body heavy and oversensitive. “Just—finish it.”

“But that won’t be fun,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth.

Junmyeon just watched you—watched the way your breath hitched and the way your hands clawed at his shoulders—completely unfazed by the storm he had unleashed inside you. He was the one in total control, and he was savoring every second of your undoing.

“Please—Junmyeon, please.”

“Can make an exception.”

The agonizingly slow drag of his fingers returned, a deliberate, torturous rhythm that felt like he was mocking your desperation. Junmyeon was playing with you, teasing your sensitized flesh with a casual cruelty that left you utterly powerless. You couldn’t even form a coherent thought; your world had shrunk to the point where his hand met your body. You bucked your hips instinctively, trying to force a faster pace, your fingers digging into the hard muscle of his forearm in a silent, white-knuckled plea for him to just keep going.

“So impatient,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration against your jaw. He trailed his tongue along the sensitive line of your neck, his breath hitching.

Just as the frustration peaked, his fingers snapped back into a blurring, ruthless speed, sending a violent jolt of electricity straight up your spine, your head snapping back against the door. You whimpered, the sound broken and raw, but the fear of him stopping again was more intense than the pleasure itself.

“P-please,” you finally gasped out, the word shattering the last of your pride. Your eyes were shut tight, your body arching into his as the coiling tension in your core became an unbearable, white-hot knot. “Junmyeon, please... don’t stop. Not again. I can’t—I’ll do whatever you want, just—shit. Don’t stop.”

Junmyeon let out a low, triumphant growl, his teeth grazing your earlobe as his pace turned even more punishing. “Oh?”

He pushed you past the breaking point, his fingers relentless and cruel as he kept you balanced on that jagged, unbearable edge. He adjusted his rhythm just enough to keep the tension coiling tighter, turning the pleasure into a beautiful, agonizing form of torture.

“What is it?” His voice dropped. He stopped his fingers for a heartbeat, hovering just at the entrance of your cunt. “Wanna cum?”

The frustration finally broke you. Tears of pure, overstimulated desperation welled in your eyes, blurring the sight of his smug, hot face. You nodded frantically, your pride evaporated.

“Yes,” you choked out. “Yes, damn it. Yes!”

“Good girl.”

Junmyeon drove his fingers back inside with a brutal, blurring speed, his thumb finding that aching spot with a proprietary force. You whimpered into his shoulder as your orgasm finally crashed over you, a violent, bone-deep release that felt like an explosion.

Your inner walls clenched around his fingers in frantic, rhythmic waves, milking the friction as you bucked helplessly against him. Your legs gave out completely, leaving you hanging on his frame as your body was racked by tremor after tremor.

Junmyeon watched you with a look of dark, satisfied possession, savoring the way you were reduced to a trembling, sobbing mess in his arms.

Junmyeon carried you effortlessly, your arms locked around his neck, before he dropped you onto the middle of his bed. The moment your back hit the mattress, you reached for him, pulling him down into a raw kiss. Your hands roamed over him, desperate to find skin, and the friction was so intense he finally bucked under your touch.

He couldn’t resist you any longer as you finished the job with your blouse, tossing it aside. Junmyeon surged forward, his mouth hungry and desperate as he attacked your neck, his breath coming in jagged lunges. He made quick work of your bra, and when your skin was finally exposed to the cool air, he didn’t give you a second to breathe. He buried his face against your tits, his kisses desperate and wide-mouthed as he devoured you.

“Junmyeon... please,” you moaned, your voice a fractured wreck as you arched your body off the sheets. Your hips were already moving in a frantic, instinctive search for pressure. “I need you.”

Junmyeon pulled back for a single heartbeat, looking down at you, swollen lips and his eyes dark, hungry, letting you take his glasses off. Without a word, he yanked his shirt over his head, muscles tensing under the dim light, before he dropped between your legs.

“Yes—”

He stripped your panties and your skirt away with a ruthless efficiency, his mouth immediately finding the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Junmyeon trailed wet, searing kisses upward, marking every inch of you, his hands gripping your knees to keep you open for him.

“I know you need me, doll,” he rasped, his voice vibrating against your skin. “C’mere.”

Junmyeon adjusted his position until he could settle himself firmly beneath you. He made you sit right on his face, the heat of his skin meeting the slick, aching center of your pussy. Your legs were already trembling violently, your senses so overstimulated that the mere proximity of him made your head spin.

You felt his hands slide up to your waist, anchoring you in place, before he delivered a giant, wet lick that traced you from bottom to top. The raw sensation of his tongue against your slit made you gasp into the empty room, your fingers dropping his glasses aside, clawing at the sheets as you buckled over him, completely at the mercy of his mouth.

You lost it immediately, your body jerking on top of him as your damp, swollen folds met the relentless heat of his mouth. He wasn’t being polite; he was loud and messy, the wet sounds of his tongue lapping at you and his moans filling the quiet of the bedroom and making your skin flush a deep, frantic red.

Junmyeon was devouring you with a desperation that told you he’d been starving as much as you did. Every slow, heavy stroke of his tongue against your slit sent a fresh jolt of electricity straight to your brain. You were squirming, rocking your hips as you tried to find a rhythm, but he was too fast, too thorough.

“Ah—Junmyeon, fuck!” you choked out, your fingers finding his hair, practically pulling at the roots.

In a fit of pure, unadulterated lust, you tried to squeeze your inner thighs against his head, wanting to trap him there, to force him even deeper into your mess. Junmyeon let out a muffled, dark growl against your skin, his hands sliding up to your ass to grip you with a bruising force, holding you steady as he focused entirely on your clit.

Junmyeon began to suck at that tiny, overstimulated point of nerves, his tongue swirling around it with a rhythmic, drowning pressure. You were a complete wreck, your voice high and jagged as you cried out, your hips bucking uncontrollably against his mouth. He was making a total mess of you, the slick evidence of your desire coating his lips and chin, but he didn’t care. He just drank you in, his breathing ragged and loud between every hungry lap.

“Shit, shit, shit. Yes!”

You were completely undone, the friction of his tongue driving you into a fever state where the only thing that existed was the wet, rhythmic sound of him eating you out. You turned your head a second, your vision swimming, and saw that he had kicked his shorts and boxers down just enough to free himself.

His hand was clamped around his cock, his fist moving in a fast, punishing blur as he jerked himself off. You could see the veins standing out on his forearm, the sheer force of his grip as he squeezed himself hard, his knuckles white.

“Fucking hell—you’re so addictive,” he groaned, making your core throb with a renewed, agonizing intensity.

You couldn’t help yourself, your voice a broken, breathless wreck as his mouth continued to claim you.

“Don’t... don’t you dare stop,” you hissed, your hands grabbing the headboard as you bucked your hips against his face. “Fucking eat me. Ah—just like that.”

You turned your head again. The sight of him working himself to the rhythm of his own tongue lapping at your slit was too much. You tried to squeeze your thighs against his face again, wanting to feel the vibration of his growls deep in your bones.

Junmyeon let out a jagged, guttural sound, his fist moving even faster as he buried his face deeper into your pussy—his tongue swirling around your clit with ruthless pressure.

“Fuck!”

The second climax hit you far more violently than before. Your swollen folds were almost too sensitive to bear, but the relentless pressure of his mouth wouldn’t let you escape. You felt your inner walls contract in frantic, agonizing spasms, the orgasm finally snapping through you. A raw, jagged cry teared from your throat as you shattered completely, your entire body vibrating against him, digging your nails into the headboard.

At that exact same moment, Junmyeon’s own control finally disintegrated. His fist worked in one last, punishing blur against his cock, and he let out a loud, choked-off shout—a sound of pure, unbridled release.

His body jolted violently against your thighs, his muscles locking tight. The sheer force of the climax left him physically drained, his grip on your waist finally loosening as he slumped forward.

Junmyeon let out a long, shaky exhale against your skin, holding you as the aftershocks continued to roll through you. He lingered, his tongue moving in slow, languid strokes to clean you. The sensation was almost too much for your overstimulated nerves.

“Fuck,” you gasped, though your hands were still buried in his hair, pulling him closer.

When Junmyeon finally shifted, he pulled you up, his muscles slick and straining as he guided you to sit firmly on his lap. You were face-to-face now, your skin flushed and damp, meeting the beautiful, honest mess that was left of his control. He leaned back against the headboard, his chest heaving in heavy, jagged lunges. The tension that usually tightened his shoulders was gone, replaced by a raw, satisfied relief.

“You look far too proud of yourself,” you whispered, your voice a breathless wreck as you pushed a stray, damp lock of hair from his forehead.

“I think I’ve earned it,” he rasped, his eyes hooded and dark with a proprietary heat, smirking. “I didn’t know my name could sound that filthy in your mouth.”

“You arrogant bastard,” you breathed, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips.

“And yet, here you are,” he countered, his hands sliding down to grip your waist, his thumbs digging into your skin.

“Just because your tongue does better things than fight me back.” Testing the waters, you reached down, your finger tracing the hypersensitive tip of his length.

The contact made him hiss a jagged curse, his entire body jerking involuntarily. “Fuck—you vixen!” He winced, the pleasure-pain of the post-orgasm sensitivity hitting him hard, but he did tilt his hips into your touch.

“What? I’m just admiring the mess you made,” you teased, your finger circling his tip again, watching his knuckles turn white as he gripped the sheets. “You were louder tonight, Junmyeon. I didn’t know you had that in you.”

“Don’t start,” he warned, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “I wasn’t the one begging tonight.”

“You’re the one who pushed me there,” you countered, leaning in until your lips brushed his ear. “You wanted me desperate. Needy.”

Junmyeon let out a long, shaky exhale, his head falling back against the wood. “Y-yeah. I wanted to ruin you.” He looked at your hand again, watching with a dark, mesmerized intensity as you continued to stroke him. Even though he was spent, even though he was raw, he let you touch, his breath hitching every time your skin grazed his.

“You’re addicted to this,” you whispered, looking up at him, curving your lips. “To me.”

“Completely,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a vulnerable, honest low.

You shifted your weight and wrapped your hand firmly around the base of his length. Junmyeon let out a sharp, fractured breath that sounded almost like a sob.

“Oh, Kim,” you whispered, leaning in until your lips grazed his ear, curving your lips. “Reduced to a shaking mess because I’m barely touching you?”

You started to jerk him off, your rhythm slow, designed to draw out every ounce of his sensitivity. Junmyeon hissed a string of jagged curses, his head snapping back against the headboard, his eyes squeezed shut as his body jolted.

“You like this, don’t you?” you purred. You leaned forward and sank your teeth into his lower lip, biting just hard enough to make him groan.

“Fuck…” he gasped, his hands coming up to grip your waist with a white-knuckled intensity. He tried to pull you closer, his hips bucking upward in a desperate search for more, but you held him back, keeping the pace agonizingly steady.

“Uh-uh.” Your hand tightened slightly as you moved up to his tip, watching his throat move as he swallowed hard. “You enjoyed watching me struggle, hmm? You liked making me wait and beg.”

You leaned back just enough to look at him—his hair disheveled, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen, his eyes desperate. Junmyeon looked completely undone.

“Now it’s your turn,” you purred, your thumb circling the sensitive tip of him until his breath hitched and stayed there. “I think I’m going to keep you right here for a while. I want to hear you beg.”

“You—you cruel woman,” he rasped, his eyes fluttering open, dark and hazed with a mix of pain and pure, unadulterated lust.

“Uh-uh. I’m just playing your game,” you countered. “Don’t complain when I use it all on you.”

You pulled your hand away with a sharp, clinical suddenness, mirroring the exact cruelty he’d shown you. Junmyeon’s hips bucked reflexively, chasing the heat that had just vanished, and he let out a strangled, desperate sound that was half-growl, half-sob.

“Don’t—” he rasped, his eyes snapping open, wide and hazed with a frantic kind of need. He reached for you, his fingers brushing your waist, but you pulled just out of reach, moving back on the bed.

“What?” Your voice was airy and teasing as you watched him tremble. “I thought maybe you liked the wait.”

“Shit—please,” he groaned, looking utterly wrecked, his chest heaving, his pride lying in tatters on the floor. “Don’t do this. Please… fuck, I’m begging you.”

“Are you?” You knelt between his legs, your shadow falling over his flushed skin. You reached out, your finger grazing the slick, pearly cum at his tip, and then you brought them to your lips, tasting him right in front of his eyes.

Junmyeon let out a hissed, jagged breath, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the sheets.

“Who’s in charge, Junmyeon?” you whispered, your eyes locked on his.

“Fuck,” he choked out, his voice cracking. “Y-you are. Just... please, do it.”

Satisfied with the brokenness in his tone, you leaned down. You started by swirling your tongue around the sensitive crown, catching every drop of his sensitivity. Junmyeon groaned, his hands flying to your hair, guiding you, his fingers trembling against your scalp.

Then, you took him into your mouth, swallowing him whole.

The low, guttural sound he made was pure animal instinct. His hips began to move lazily, a rhythmic, desperate thrust against your mouth as he fought to stay conscious. The feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat sent a violent jolt of heat straight to your own cunt; you were so wet you could feel your inner walls clenching around nothing, aching for a fullness that only he could provide.

“Fuck... yes! Right there.” His voice was a fractured wreck as his grip on your hair tightened, anchoring you to him. “Don’t… don’t you fucking stop. I’m gonna—shit.”

Junmyeon was completely at your mercy, his breathing turning into sharp, frantic hitches as your tongue worked over him, driving him toward a peak that he couldn’t escape. He was loud, messy, and entirely yours, his swearing turning into wordless pleas as he teetered on the very edge of his sanity, his chest heaving, his hip colliding uncoordinated with your face.

You reached down with your free hand, your fingers curling around him to squeeze his balls with a firm, proprietary grip, while your other hand jerked him with a fast, ruthless rhythm.

“Ah—yes, baby,” he choked out, his hands tangling desperately in your hair. “You’re fucking killing me. Shit—”

“Shh,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to give him a messy kiss. “You’re doing so good for me, Junmyeon. Such a good, obedient boy.”

“Don’t—” he groaned, a jagged, broken sound. “Please.” He shut his eyes, his hands trembling.

“What?” You smirked, grazing your lips on his, jerking him off. “You like it when I call you good boy?”

He barely nodded, probably ashamed that the lust was deeper. “Fuck, please... just finish me. Please?”

“I didn’t hear you.” Your fist squeezed harder. “You like it?”

“Yes! Fuck—I do!”

Satisfied, you gave him a quick kiss before taking him deep, swallowing his whole cock. Junmyeon groaned so loud that it made your own core pulse with a frantic, wet ache. You were a winner, and you both knew it—you could feel it in the way his muscles were locked tight, the way his swearing turned into a high, frantic whine.

“Yes, ah—yes!”

Junmyeon finally broke. With a loud, guttural groan, his body jolted violently. He came with a force that was staggering, hot sperm hitting the back of your throat as he pumped into your mouth. You coughed, trying to take every bit of him, even as it became too much to swallow, the excess dripping down your chin and onto your chest.

Junmyeon was completely overwhelmed, his body racking with aftershocks so intense his legs were still twitching against the sheets. He slumped back, his hands finally falling limp from your hair, his breathing coming in shallow, sobbing gasps.

You pulled back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, a triumphant, predatory smile on your face. You were covered in him—your lips, your chin, your skin—and the sight of him so utterly destroyed and overstimulated made you feel more powerful than any boardroom victory ever could.

You leaned down and mashed your mouth against his, a slow, sloppy kiss that was pure mockery. You deliberately smeared the slick evidence of his orgasm across his lips, tasting yourself and him all at once. Neither of you gave a shit about being clean; you were both too far gone, completely feral and obsessed.

“Tastes good, hmm?” you whispered against his mouth, your lips wet and glistening. “But you look like a fucking mess, Kim.”

Junmyeon let out a dark, ragged chuckle that sounded more like a growl, his eyes snapping open with a dangerous, predatory spark. “You think you fucking broke me? You think you’re in control because you can make me beg?”

Before the words could even fully leave his mouth, he gripped your waist and flipped you onto your back with a sudden, bruising force. The weight of his sticky, warm body pinned you flat against the mattress. You immediately felt the scorching heat of him—thick, heavy, and hard again, pressed right against your slick cunt.

“I’m gonna make you eat every single one of those words,” he rasped, his voice dropping to a filthy, gravelly whisper.

Junmyeon didn’t ease into you. He slammed his hips forward, burying his entire length inside you in one deep, ruthless thrust that bottomed out completely. You let out a sharp, high-pitched whimper, your toes curling as your overstimulated walls, raw from the previous orgasms, clenched around him like a vice. It was so intense that you reacted purely on instinct, arching your spine and biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Fuck—” Junmyeon groaned, tasting the copper on his tongue and immediately driving into you harder, his pace turning fast and punishing. “Fucking bite me again, you little psycho. Shit—you’re so goddamn tight.”

“Shut up and just fuck me, Junmyeon!” Your hands flew to his back, your nails digging into his skin and dragging down until you left long, angry red tracks. “Don’t you dare slow down—I wanna feel every fucking inch of you.”

“You like it rough, huh? You like it when I don’t give you a choice,” he half-growled, half-chuckled, his breathing coming in heavy, jagged lunges as the headboard began to slam violently against the wall.

He reached down, grabbing one of your thighs and pulling it high over his shoulder to open you up even more, angling his hips to hit that exact, agonizing spot inside you over and over again. He had you whimpering, incapable of saying a word but raw moans from your lips.

“Yes, doll. Look at how open you are for me. Shit—who owns this pathetic, aching pussy right now.”

With a low growl, Junmyeon slid his hand up from your waist, his palm wrapping around the front of your neck. He pressed down firmly, pinning you to the pillows. The sudden, heavy pressure on your throat sent a jolt of pure adrenaline straight to your core. Your internal muscles reacted instantly, contracting violently and clenching around his thick cock.

“Fucking tight,” Junmyeon choked out, his jaw tight as your raw, hyper-sensitive walls squeezed him with an agonizingly perfect grip. “Say it. Who owns you.”

“You—you do,” you whimpered, your voice breaking, tears of pure, unadulterated pleasure blurring your vision as he absolutely devoured you from the inside out. “You do, fuck... Junmyeon—you feel so good. I’m gonna—”

“No, baby. You don’t cum until I tell you to,” Junmyeon swore, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, his face flushed and his jaw locked in pure, obsessive lust. He slowed his pace for two agonizing strokes, grinding his pelvis hard against yours, making the friction so thick and wet it was deafening. “Swear to me, love. Swear you’re never gonna let anyone else touch you like this.”

“N-never,” you sobbed out, your hips instinctively bucking up to meet his heavy, brutal thrusts, completely addicted to the pain and the pleasure of him stretching you open. “Fucking ruin me, Junmyeon, please…”

You didn’t push his hand away. Instead, your fingers scrambled up to grip his forearm, your nails digging into his skin—not to pull him off, but to anchor him there, silently demanding that he keep the pressure exactly where it was and push even deeper inside you.

“More,” you gasped out of breath, the word getting caught in your throat as tears of intense, overstimulated pleasure welled in your eyes and spilled down your temples. “I’m yours—I’m fucking yours!”

“That’s it. All mine,” he rasped, his own control disintegrating as his movements turned into a blurring, frantic frenzy of pure friction and sweat.

Neither of you could handle the raw, hyper-sensitive heat for more than a few minutes; it was a race to the absolute edge of your sanity, both of you completely lost in a blind, chaotic rhythm that was burning you both to the ground.

His heavy, sweat-slicked body was betraying him; every time he slammed deep inside you, a violent tremor would wrack his spine, his muscles locking up before he dragged himself back to plunge into you again. His lips were parted, his jaw strained so tight it looked like it would crack, and he was being incredibly loud, letting out deep, animalistic grunts and breathless curses with every heavy, wet thrust that echoed through the room.

“Jun—ah, please,” you choked out breathless, the sound barely escaping your throat as tears streamed down into your hair. Your hips bucked up on instinct, chasing the brutal friction, completely addicted to the agonizingly perfect pressure of his hand and his body. “I’m—I’m close—fuck, I can’t—”

“I know,” he growled, his gaze dark and hazed with an overwhelming, dangerous level of lust as he stared down at your wrecked face. Junmyeon finally freed your leg, but not your neck. He leaned down, his chest crushing your breasts, his mouth finding your ear as his hips accelerated into a blinding, frantic frenzy. “Just one… one more second. Shit—together. I wanna feel you crushing me.”

You nodded weakly. The raw sensation between your slick, swollen folds was deafening, a sloppy, desperate mess of skin against skin that threatened to burn you both down. Your fingers were clawing uselessly at his forearms as the pleasure became too intense to bear.

The press of his hand on your neck vanished the exact moment he lost it. A sharp, ragged gasp of air rushed back into your lungs just as your shared climax hit with a devastating, paralyzing force. Junmyeon’s control completely disintegrated; his hands slammed into the mattress on either side of your head, curling into white-knuckled fists as his entire body locked tight.

“Fuck…” he growled breathless.

You scrambled to hold him closer, wrapping your arms and trembling legs around his sweat-slicked frame, desperate to bridge any remaining distance, wanting to feel every single inch of your skin fused together. Inside you, his cock was throbbing violently, filling you up so completely that it felt like an electric current was surging through your veins. Your entire body was trembling, caught in a wave of violent, uncontrollable spasms.

Junmyeon couldn’t help himself—he gave a few final, sloppy, uncoordinated thrusts, rubbing your clit with his own thumbs, sending you entirely over the edge. Overstimulated to the point of delirium, you squirted against him, a high, fractured cry tearing from your throat and burying itself in the crook of his neck. You bit down on his shoulder, your nails anchoring deep into his back, riding the wave until he finally stopped moving altogether.

“Jesus Christ—Junmyeon!”

With a final, low groan, Junmyeon collapsed, his exquisite, heavy weight crushing you into the mattress. Neither of you moved an inch. You just lay there, a tangled tangle of limbs, sweaty, wet, and completely spent. Your internal walls and his muscles were still twitching with aftershocks as you both gasped for air.

Junmyeon let out a tired, breathless chuckle against your collarbone, the tension completely melted from his frame. “Fuck,” he rasped, his voice a deep, gravelly ruin as he tightened one heavy arm around your waist, pulling you securely against his side. “We... we need a shower.”

A breathless, exhausted laugh bubbled up from your chest, your lips brushing against his damp shoulder. “But you’re carrying me.”

“Deal.”

After the warm water of the shower had finally washed away the sticky, frantic evidence of the night, Junmyeon carried you back to the fresh side of the bed. The cool, clean sheets felt like heaven against your scrubbed skin, but you didn’t stay apart for long. Almost immediately, he pulled you against his chest, molding his body to your back and draping a heavy, possessive arm over your waist. He buried his face deep into the damp curve of your neck, his nose hidden in the strands of your hair as his breathing slowed into a deep, rhythmic hum.

“Junmyeon?” you murmured. “That was my shampoo?”

He let out a lazy and completely unbothered song, shifting just a fraction, tightening his grip on your waist as if trying to physically anchor you into silence. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

You could hear the sheer exhaustion filling his lungs, his voice gravelly and weighed down by the sleep he was desperately chasing, but your curiosity got the better of you. “Don’t play dumb. You bought it, but you clearly haven’t used it. Why is it in there?”

“I like the smell,” he mumbled defensively into your neck, his breath warm against your collarbone.

A tiny, knowing smile tugged at your lips. Junmyeon had bought your exact shampoo just to have it ready for the moments you stayed over, a quiet gesture that felt incredibly loud.

Intrigued, you carefully rolled over within the tight circle of his arms to face him. The movement made him let out a soft, disgruntled groan, but he didn’t let you go. You blinked through the dark, finding his sleepy face just inches from yours. His eyes were tightly shut, his hair soft over his forehead, and his swollen lower lip was pulled into a faint, exhausted pout.

You reached up as you gently cupped his face. Your thumb brushed just below his eye, tracing the soft, relaxed skin. “Buying my shampoo just so when I’m here. Who knew my biggest rival was actually such a softie?”

Junmyeon let out a low, gravelly chuckle that vibrated right against your fingertips. “I’m not soft,” he mumbled, his voice thick and entirely ruined by sleep. “I’m practical. Now shut up and go to sleep.”

“It was also a practical move that you faked ending your run just when I came home?”

His eyes stayed shut, his arm tightening around your waist. “What the hell are you talking about? Please… go to sleep.”

“Liar,” you persisted, a sleepy, goofy smile spreading across your face as you remembered the struggle at your apartment door. "You were running with glasses, Junmyeon. You don’t do that. You just came because you saw me coming, fumbling with my keys, and then, you had the nerve to mock me.

“You were fumbling,” he murmured, a soft, amused laugh escaping his lips as he buried his face further into your hair, incapable of denying your accusation.

“I was perfectly sober,” you corrected, letting out a soft, absurd chuckle. “Those three cocktails didn’t even exist in my body. My system completely neutralized them.”

“Sure, sure.” He curved his lips, his voice thick with sleep. “We’ll see how that ‘neutralized’ system feels when the morning comes, and you’re begging me for aspirin.”

“Ugh, I hate you know me so well. But… you will give it to me just because I’m your favorite rival. Admit it.”

“Not quite sure,” he whispered back, finally wrapping his other arm around you to pull you completely into his space. He let out a long, heavy sigh. “Maybe just for tonight.”

“Still wrong,” you mumbled. “I’m your only rival. Everyone else just lets you win. You’d be bored to death without me.”

Junmyeon let out one last, quiet chuckle; the sound felt warm and private. He shifted slightly, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin.

“Maybe you’re right.” His voice dropped to a low, sleepy confession. Before you could say another word, he guided your head down, nudging you until your face was completely hidden in the warm crook of his neck. “Sleep,” he whispered against your hair, his hand pressing firmly between your shoulder blades to keep you tucked safely against him. “No more talking for tonight.”

You didn’t protest this time. Letting out a soft sigh, you wrapped one arm securely around his torso, anchoring him close. Your leg slid instinctively between his, lacing your limbs together under the heavy duvet until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between you.

As the heavy, comfortable silence of the room settled over you both once again, a quiet smile spread across your face, your eyes fluttering shut as you melted into his hold. And, against your hair, completely hidden in the dark (and the soft scent of your shampoo), Junmyeon was smiling too—neither of you truly knowing just how deeply the other was already losing the risky game.

You hear them all the way down the hallway before you hear the jingling of the key in your door. That telltale muffled bickering grows louder and louder the closer they get, until their words become crystal clear when the door slams open.

“— you had just been paying attention then we would’ve scored that final point!”

“So fucking what? We would’ve won anyways, thanks to the touchdown that I scored in the third quarter.”

The two barrel into your entryway, hardly giving you a second glance. Baekhyun and Chanyeol, the star quarterbacks of your university’s football team, who always seemed to butt heads on and off the field. They had already showered and changed out of their gear (thank God, after showing up to your place much one too many times tracking in dirt and grass), but that didn’t mean that they left their game day mindset behind.

You clear your throat from your perch on the couch, looking up from your study notes. “Have a good game?”

Baekhyun sighs dramatically, flopping onto the cushions next to you. “It would’ve been a good game if Chanyeol was thinking about anything related to football at all in the last ten seconds.”

Chanyeol frowns, helping himself to a glass of water from your sink. “Like I was saying, I scored the winning touchdown several minutes before that. Why does it matter if we didn’t get three extra points?”

“It’s about the principle, Yeol. We only moderately beat them”. Baekhyun’s eyes glint with a mixture of annoyance and passion. “If we got those extra points we could’ve gone around saying that we beat their asses into the ground.”

“What do you think?” Chanyeol turns to you. Two pairs of eyes stare at you expectantly.

You sigh. You hate mediating whatever petty argument the two of them get up to. Frankly, you simply have better things to do with your time. But sometimes, on a night like tonight when the adrenaline is still high from their game, it’s in your best interest to stir the pot a little bit.

“I dunno, Baek, it kinda sounds like Chanyeol won the game for us.”

Baekhyun’s mouth drops open while Chanyeol smirks. He crosses over to the couch to sit on your other side and ruffles your hair affectionately. “See, Baek? Your point is meaningless.”

“It doesn’t count because you weren’t there,” Baekhyun says petulantly, bottom lip jutting out not unlike a child who’s just been told no. “You should’ve felt the rush from the crowd. They were definitely disappointed that we didn’t score.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes. “It’s not that serious.”

“It is that serious!” The volume of Baekhyun’s voice raises again, a renewed motivation to argue surging through him. “You know that I play better when I’m feeding off the crowd’s energy.”

“Guys, stop,” you say firmly. Instantly, they shut up, mouths snapping shut obediently. “Last time you guys fought I was getting noise complaints for days. Don’t make me regret giving you guys the spare key.”

“Sorry,” they say in unison. 

“If you guys keep bickering I’m just gonna go to sleep. Or…” you say pointedly. “You could settle this a different way.”

That gets their attention. They perk up immediately, waiting for you expectantly. 

“Whoever makes me cum the most in the next hour wins.” 

Tension settles in the air, thick and heavy. It’s no secret to the other that you hook up with both of them. They don’t care on any level deeper than petty jealousy. But this… having you at the same time? It’s an entirely new experience, but one that you’d been fantasizing a lot lately, waiting for the right time to broach the subject.

To your delight, they look incredibly interested. Baekhyun swallows, his gaze drifting heavily from you to Chanyeol. The other mirrors his disposition; you can practically see the gears turning in his head. The two size each other up, ever the competitors, waiting for the other to make the first move. 

“Or I could just say that Yeol was right—”

Baekhyun reaches out to grab your chin, tilting your head towards him. He kisses you roughly, slipping his tongue past your pliant lips, groaning when you fist a hand in his hair. To your other side, Chanyeol whines. He shoves his hand between your faces and pries you away from Baekhyun, kissing you when your lips part. 

“Playing dirty already, Yeol?” Baekhyun huffs, wiping his lips with the back of his hand before he pulls your attention back towards him. He ducks his head down to suck a mark into your neck, smirking against your skin when you gasp. 

Chanyeol goes to unbutton your shirt, large hands fumbling with your buttons. “Shut the fuck up, Byun,” he grumbles, kissing your chest.

It’s a huge mess: hands and lips moving everywhere. You lose track of which body part belongs to who, whose hand is settling on your tits, who’s slipping their fingers past the waistband of your pajama shorts. All you know is that your head is spinning, whirling from their constant tugs for attention, and that you end up completely bare in between the two of them. You can feel just how soaked you’re starting to become, heat pooling in your core.

Baekhyun kneels between your legs, all but pulling you forward towards him as he hooks his arms around your thighs, locking you in place. Chanyeol continues to make out with you, a sharp sting blooming across your bottom lip when he nips at it, pulling the skin slightly towards him right as Baekhyun buries his face in your heat, nose bumping against your clit as he licks at you fervently.

You gasp into Chanyeol’s mouth, pulling away to look down at the sight below. Baekhyun’s staring up at you with a fire in his eyes, the kind of heat you only see from him when he’s on the field. 

“Not fair,” Chanyeol says, slightly out of breath. His lips are dark and wet, eyes bearing a similar flame to Baekhyun’s. 

“Too slow, Park,” Baekhyun mutters, smirking as he sinks two long fingers into your cunt. “You snooze, you lose.”

You open your mouth to scold him, but you don’t get a word out before Chanyeol’s lips descend on yours again. You whimper against him, instinctively arching into Baekhyun’s touch. His tongue dips into your hole, brushing against your walls as he strokes your clit with his thumb, skilled fingers bringing you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Can we confess something to you?” Chanyeol asks, voice heated. “We hoped this would happen when we came over tonight. We made up the argument.”

“What?” you pant. “You little shits.”

Baekhyun sinks his fingers back into your wet slit, curling them against your g-spot. “Are you complaining?” he asks cheekily. “I’ll stop right now if you want me to.”

“You’re such a basta— oh fuck, Baekhyunnie,” you moan, fisting a hand in his hair. “I’m getting close.”

“Not yet,” he says. “Why don’t you help Chanyeol out, he’s getting awfully squirmy.”

Without a second to lose, Chanyeol gets rid of the rest of his clothes, moaning breathily when you spit into your other hand and begin to jerk him off slowly. 

“Ah, shit,” he gasps, his hips bucking into your touch. “Just like that, baby.”

Your senses are on overdrive trying to process everything that’s happening: the sight of the two with their desirous gazes, the slick noises coming from either side, the buildup of pleasure in your body. It all becomes too much too fast, and you tip over the edge, clamping your thighs around Baekhyun’s head as you cum. He takes your clit between his lips, sucking gently, making you shudder with sensitivity. Chanyeol sucks a bruise right under your ear. “So beautiful, so good,” he murmurs, sending another wave of desire through you.

As soon as Baekhyun moves off of you, Chanyeol’s strong arms are pulling you up and into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, mind hazy from the afterglow of your first orgasm, as he carries you into the bedroom, Baekhyun following close behind. He tosses you onto the bed and flips you over onto your stomach, not even giving you a second to breathe before sheathing himself inside of you without preamble. You cry out, head dropping forward onto the sheets in front of you as Chanyeol immediately sets a brutal rhythm. He’s not usually so rough with you, but the buildup, not being able to touch you in the way that Baekhyun has, must have gotten to him. You can feel it in the way that he grips your hips like he has something to prove, burying himself inside of you again and again.

“Fucking impatient ass,” Baekhyun grumbles, moving to the other side of the bed so that he’s in front of you. He tilts your chin upwards, forcing you to meet his gaze even as he continues to talk to Chanyeol. “You literally carried her in here.”

“Shut up,” Chanyeol bites back. He tightens his grip, holding you still as he pounds into you. “Sounds like you were just too slow.”

“Why are you both— hah— talking about me like I’m not here?” you manage to say, your words coming out unsteady.

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Baekhyun coos condescendingly. “You want even more attention than you’re already getting, hm? Getting fucked into the mattress isn’t enough?”

“Jesus, Baek,” Chanyeol says. “Isn’t that a little mean?”

“She likes it.” He settles into position so that you’re laying in between his legs, his cock just inches from your face. “You don’t feel how she’s getting wetter?”

You nod frantically. “I do— I like it, Yeollie. Please, more.”

“Good girl,” Baekhyun chuckles. He lightly slaps the side of your face, not hard enough to sting, but still enough to make you gasp. “Now open up.”

You wrap your hand around the base of Baekhyun’s cock and put it to your lips, tongue darting out to lick the underside of his head. “Come on, you can do better than that,” Chanyeol says. Before you know it, his hand is on the back of your head, pushing you down once onto Baekhyun’s length before letting you go. You choke, spit dribbling down past your lips and down his cock, the momentum from Chanyeol’s thrusts pushing you deeper onto Baekhyun. Your eyes water as you struggle to adjust, but soon you settle into a rhythm.

“God, you look so good like this,” Baekhyun murmurs, reaching out to caress the side of your face, jarringly gentle for the way you’re currently being manhandled on both sides. “I don’t think she’s gonna want to go back to having us one at a time, Yeol. You should see her face.”

“Yeah?” Chanyeol grunts. “Tell me how much you like it, baby.”

You pull off of Baekhyun with a slight pop. You feel your own spit all over your bottom lip and chin, and a string of saliva connects your mouth to the tip of Baekhyun’s cock. It’s dirty, filthy, and you think that maybe you should be embarrassed but you’re not. Not in the slightest. “I love it,” you gasp, tilting your head up so you can see Chanyeol above you. “I love it so much.”

Chanyeol wraps his hand around your throat and bends down to swap a filthy kiss with you before letting you go, lowering your mouth back onto Baekhyun’s cock. You work with the rhythm that Chanyeol sets, using your hand on whatever can’t fit inside your mouth. Baekhyun’s head tips back, lips parting. He swallows thickly, reaching out a hand to settle on top of your head. “Such a good slut,” he groans. “You love being used like this, huh? You like being our little fucktoy?”

You moan instead of answering him with words, nodding your head as best as you can around his length. The salty tang of precum touches your tongue, only spurring you on further.

“Don’t take his cock out of your mouth when you cum,” Chanyeol says, one hand grabbing your shoulder for better leverage. “Wanna hear you choke on it when you do.”

His words unlock something in you, the filth coming from Chanyeol, who’s usually so restrained with his words, dripping with pure, animalistic lust in his voice. It suddenly brings about your second orgasm, your body trembling through it, your puffy, sensitive walls fluttering around Chanyeol’s length. Your voice comes out muffled and choked around Baekhyun, making him groan. He grabs at the sheets so tightly that his knuckles turn white. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

Chanyeol doesn’t wait another second and slaps your ass as he pulls out, making you jolt. “C’mon, ride me.”

“Wait, hold on,” Baekhyun pouts. “It’s my turn.”

“I’m not fucking done yet,” Chanyeol says with a huff. “You can wait.”

“Quit being a dick—”

“Or you could both do it.”

They both shut up immediately, looking at you with a mixture of apprehension and arousal. “Baek in my ass,” you continue. “Yeol in my pussy.”

“Are you sure?” Baekhyun asks, all of his previous bravado melting away to show his concern. “I know we’ve— done it like that before but never at the same time.”

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Chanyeol chimes in. 

“I’m sure,” you say. “Here, like this.”

You gently push Chanyeol onto his back and climb on top of him, slowly sinking down onto his  thick length. You lean down, almost touching your chests together, arching your ass as best as you can for Baekhyun.

“Oh my God,” Baekhyun groans, settling behind you. He rubs his hands over your ass appreciatively, parting your cheeks and letting some spit dribble down onto your hole. “You look so fucking slutty like this.”

You swallow and give him the go-ahead, distracting yourself by leaving hickeys across Chanyeol’s chest. Inch by inch, Baekhyun pushes in. It’s tight, uncomfortable, but not anything you can’t handle. The three of you take shaky breaths, silent for the first time as you all adjust to the new sensations. “Look at me, baby,” Chanyeol says softly, grabbing your face with both hands. “You’re doing perfect. Such a good girl for us.”

You mewl in his grasp, arms shaking as you struggle to hold yourself up. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper. You’ve never felt anything like this before, and the feeling is almost so overwhelming you don’t know whether to run from it or towards it. “So— so much.”

“Too much?” Baekhyun asks, voice strained. You can tell that he’s holding himself back, every muscle in his body working to stop himself from losing control, from pushing all the way in.

“No,” you gasp. “Don’t you dare stop.”

It takes a bit of time, but slowly you start to feel yourself getting used to the stretch, pleasure replacing the discomfort. You drop your head onto Chanyeol’s chest as Baekhyun starts to slide in and out. 

“So fucking tight.” Baekhyun leans over and scatters kisses across your back. You feel surrounded on all sides, pressed between the two of them, the warmth of their bodies heating your skin. “How you doing, angel?”

You try to say something, but all that comes out is a strangled whine. You can’t think, much less form a proper sentence. Chanyeol tips your chin up towards him and kisses you. “Answer,” he says softly but firmly, rolling his hips upwards gently. 

The dual movement makes you cry out, fingers scrambling to grasp onto Chanyeol’s shoulders. “It’s good,” you whimper. “So— fuck— please.”

“Cute,” Chanyeol chuckles. He kisses you again. “You’re so pretty when you’re wrecked.”

They begin to move faster and at the same time, making you feel so full in ways you never thought possible. The two are almost just as wrecked as you, hands and lips roaming, breath hot against your skin, mumbling praise, an endless stream of, “So good, angel,” and “Our pretty slut.” You can’t return their sentiments, at least not through words, only able to babble out a stream of incoherent words and breathy whines.

It gets to the point where they’re pounding into you, hips rolling as if they were one unit. You cry out at a particularly deep thrust, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “Fuck, I’m getting close,” you whimper.

“Who’s better?” Chanyeol whispers in your ear, cutting through all the noise.

“Wh-What?” you mumble, eyes fluttering open. Your head starts to droop forward again but Baekhyun tugs your hair back, forcing you to lock eyes with Chanyeol. 

“I said, who’s better at fucking you stupid, huh?” He punctuates his point with a sharper thrust upward, making you scream. “Answer, or we won’t let you cum.”

“I— I don’t know!” you wail. The tears fall, streaming down your face. “You’re both so good, too good, fuck!”

“Goddamn, who’s being mean now?” Baekhyun says, leaving a sharp smack on your ass. “If she doesn’t want to pick, don’t make her pick.”

“I— I don’t wanna,” you whine, straining back to look at Baekhyun, his sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead and neck. “Please, Baek. I— I wanna cum.”

Baekhyun swears, hips stuttering. “Just a little longer, baby.”

You’re frantic, fingers leaving red indents on Chanyeol’s shoulders from holding on for dear life. Baekhyun reaches out and grabs your wrists, pulling them taut behind you. You sob, breathless, helplessly at their mercy but you wouldn’t want it any other fucking way. “Please,” you babble, delirious, the only thing on your mind being your need for release. “Fuck, please, I’ll do anything.”

“Say who makes you feel this good,” Baekhyun hisses into your ear.

“You do! Both of you! Shit, I can’t—”

“Okay, baby,” Chanyeol grunts. “Cum for us.”

It explodes through you, white-hot and ferocious. Your vision turns spotty around the edges as it ripples through you. The two of them swear as you tighten around them, your walls fluttering, two pairs of large hands holding you still as you shudder in their grasp. 

Chanyeol helps you off of them and puts you onto your back, positioning himself near your mouth. Exhausted, still shuddering through the aftershocks, you take him into your mouth, wrapping your other hand around Baekhyun.

“Not gonna last long,” Baekhyun groans, tipping his head forward.

“Me neither,” Chanyeol replies, fisting a hand in your hair.

It doesn’t take long until they both release, Chanyeol into your mouth and Baekhyun across your tits and stomach. He drags his fingers through the mess, slipping his fingers past your waiting, open lips, giving both of them a fucked-out smile. You’re spent, your limbs turning to jelly, and if you had any say in the matter you’d just sink into the mattress and be a part of the furniture forever.

“You okay?” Baekhyun asks softly, running a hand through your hair.

“Mhm,” you hum, kissing him. You turn your head towards Chanyeol to give him the same treatment. “That was insane.”

“You’re so perfect,” Chanyeol murmurs. “Let me get you some water and clean you up.”

“Get me one too?” Baekhyun asks, fluttering his eyelashes.

Chanyeol rolls his eyes and flips him off, but comes back juggling three glasses of water all the same. They both work to clean you up, whispering soft praise into your skin the entire time. Through the haze, you realize that they’ve gotten you ready for bed, and they’ve gotten ready for it as well. You’ve never done this before, spent the night with both of them, but it’s as easy and natural as though you’d done it for years.

“So who won?” Chanyeol asks.

“I thought you made up the argument,” you reply.

“No, your challenge. The one about making you cum.”

“It was a tie,” you mumble sleepily, curling into Baekhyun’s chest. “One for Baek, one for you, one for you both.”

“That’s not very satisfying,” Baekhyun frowns. 

“Try again tomorrow, then,” you reply. “Now be quiet. I want to go to bed.”

Chanyeol settles into your other side, draping his warm body across your back, and the three of you drift off into a deep, undisturbed sleep.