paradise

Felix was a fiend for your mouth. He lost all control of himself the second your lips were wrapped around his cock. His hands would tangle themselves into your hair and grip your head to slide his cock deep into your throat. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, and he loved the eye contact you would give him. It was never enough. His eyes were dark and half-lidded as he leered. “C’mon sweetheart, you know better. Eyes up here.” You would adjust your posture and strain your neck to meet his eyes. Your flushed cheeks and watery eyes had Felix throbbing, making him harder. 

Felix loved getting head from you in any position, but him standing while you were on your knees was his favorite. His presence was domineering as he loomed over you. He would even have you crawl towards him and beg for his cock if you weren’t on your best behavior that day. “You knew better, baby; now you have to beg. Let me hear it.” He would never accept any half-hearted begging; you needed to mean what you said, and you better not whisper either. He’ll taunt and antagonize you until he’s satisfied. “If you’re going to whisper that shit, then you really don’t deserve my cock.” Every scoff he would let out would have you whimpering in desperation. You really were trying. 

Sometimes having you beg till your throat was hoarse wasn’t his favorite punishment for you. Some days he felt it would be better to prove your worth to him. He would have you grind your bare cunt on his shoes or on his thigh until you were worn out. Your hips and thighs would burn, but he didn’t care until he was satisfied with what he watched. “Look at you getting my brand-new shoes filthy with your cunt. I should send a video to the board at Louis Vuitton so they can see how the shoes they gifted me are being put to good use.” 

When his cock was deep in your throat, he showed no mercy. He would give you no warning about what his next move was. One second he would be pushing your head down to his pelvis, making you gag and drool, and the next second he was teasing you by slipping his cock out and smearing your spit and his precum against your lips. He was not having it if you ever whined when he took his cock out of your mouth. “Keep that attitude up and you get nothing. You did all that work to get my cock; you don’t want it to go to waste, right?” 

On top of you sucking him off, Felix never wanted his balls neglected either. He would lift his shaft up, and with just a look, you knew what you needed to do. You would lick, suck, and massage them, getting them just as coated with your saliva as his cock. If you ever thought giving head to Felix was a clean process, you are surely mistaken. It’s sloppy, to say the least. As indicated earlier, Felix is not a fan of any half-hearted shit, so don’t think you’ll get by with just some kitten licks, and try and move back to his cock; he will be having none of it. He would slap your cheek if you tried to take his cock without his permission. “Did I say you were done? You’re so stupid about my fucking cock you can’t even follow basic directions.”

When the company you worked for merged with another, you expected new rules, new systems, maybe even new friendships.

What you didn’t expect was Minho.

The first time you saw him, you thought he was simply the type who wore his seriousness like his suit jacket—stiff, formal, but nothing a smile couldn’t soften. You’d always believed people had gentler sides waiting to be uncovered, so you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

A week into working alongside him, you learned that’s just how he is. Sharp words cut through the air like knives when he caught a junior making a mistake. He didn’t yell, but the low, pointed tone was enough to freeze everyone within earshot. A misplaced report, a late submission, even a typo—Minho noticed it all, and he wasn’t afraid to call people out on it.

Soon, people began steering clear of him like he was a ticking bomb. Words spread across the office—cold, harsh, distant. You should have joined them in keeping your head down, but instead you found yourself watching him.

In the same week you worked alongside him, you also learned something no one knows about Minho. Behind every cutting remark, he was precise. Behind every scolding, there was a strange kind of care—because he wanted things done right, not out of cruelty, but out of pride for the work itself. His standards were high, but he held himself to them, too.

And what began as respect, an admiration for his dedication, slowly grew into something else. Something you didn’t dare say out loud.

Because somewhere between watching him stay late nights to finish projects and catching rare glimpses of him rubbing his tired eyes when he thought no one was looking, your admiration twisted into a secret crush.

-

The weekly strategy meeting—usually a blur of charts and numbers—feels different the moment Minho speaks.

He sits across the long table, posture straight, every word rolling off his tongue clear and precise. He doesn’t stumble, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t second-guess himself. His voice carries with it a weight that demands attention, and everyone in the room listens.

You try to look casual, but your eyes keep drifting to the way his crisp white shirt stretches neatly across his shoulders, to the silky blue tie that looks far too elegant for such a dull Monday, to the way he leans forward slightly when he’s emphasizing a point. Eloquence drips from every sentence, intelligence carved into the lines of his expression.

You can almost feel yourself melting into your chair just watching him. How is it fair that someone so stern, so terrifying to others, can be so impossibly attractive to you?

All of a sudden, Minho’s eyes flick your way. Sharp, direct, like he knows.

Your heart skips a beat and heat rushes to your face as you quickly duck your head, scribbling nonsense into your notes just to look busy as if you weren’t just openly staring at him a second ago. You pray he didn’t notice. You pray the room is too full, too loud, that you’re nothing more than another coworker in his periphery.

But even as you keep your head down, the image of him—confident, composed, devastatingly beautiful in that blue tie—burns behind your eyes.

-

Not long after the meeting wrapped up, your landline rings and you pick it up. It’s a muscle memory at this point.

The secretary ditches formality and goes straight to the point. “The director wants to see you.”

There’s no need to respond anyway. When the director calls, you come even though the summon usually means extra work, and sure enough, when you step into the office, you find Minho already there, sitting opposite her, one leg crossed over the other, looking maddeningly composed.

“Ah, you’re here,” the director says, gesturing for you to sit. “I’ll get straight to the point. They moved up the new product presentation to tomorrow so I asked Minho to prepare the initial draft. But…”

She briefly glances at him and Minho’s lips curl into the faintest smirk.

“I can’t do it alone.” His voice is even, but there’s something in the way he says it—like he’s already a step ahead. “This project is too detailed for one person to handle without risking mistakes.”

The director nods in agreement. “That’s why I want you to work with him. Tonight, if possible. The draft needs to be on my desk first thing tomorrow morning.”

Tonight? With him? Just the two of you? You can feel your pulse pick up.

Minho turns his head, and his gaze lands on you. His eyes don’t waver, don’t soften—just steady, dark, unwavering. But beneath the formality, there’s something else there. Something that feels like… anticipation. Almost like he’s curious to see what you’ll say. Almost like he’s looking forward to it.

You swallow air, suddenly aware of how loud your heartbeat sounds in your own ears. Being alone with Minho… the thought is equal parts terrifying and thrilling. You’re not sure you’re ready for whatever comes with it.

Then again, this is work. A task directly handed to you by your superior. You can’t say no.

So you straighten in your seat, clear your throat, and force out, “Of course. We’ll get it done tonight.”

The director smiles, relieved. “Good. I’ll leave it in your hands then.”

When you rise to leave, Minho does too. As you pass each other in the doorway, his arm brushes against yours—light, fleeting, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. And then, in the corner of your eye, you catch the faintest trace of a grin tugging at his lips.

-

The office begins to empty as the evening creeps in. Desks that buzzed with chatter just hours ago now fall silent, one by one. You’re still at your computer, finishing up a few loose ends, when a co-worker passing by pauses at your desk.

“Hey, you’re not leaving?” she asks, slipping her bag over her shoulder.

You shake your head with a small smile. “No. I’ve got to work late tonight… with Minho.”

Her eyebrows jump and then she leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice so no one else can hear. “Good luck.”

Before you can reply, she slips away with a knowing shake of her head. You exhale slowly, sinking back into your chair and stretching your arms above your head, shoulders loosening from a day of tension.

The quiet is almost soothing until you catch the sound of footsteps approaching. You glance up to find Minho stands beside your desk.

“What do you want to do?” he asks, voice low but steady. Then with deliberate motions, he undoes the buttons at his wrists and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. The fabric slides back, revealing the lean lines of his forearms.

You straighten, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “We should probably divide the tasks,” you suggest, trying to keep your voice even. “That way, we won’t overlap.”

You try to focus on his words as he talks about a way to divide the task but your eyes keep drifting down to the veins coiling beneath his skin, prominent with each flex of his hand as he smooths the sleeve into place. It’s such a simple movement, ordinary even, but it makes your stomach flip in a way it shouldn’t.

“...and you can handle the visuals,” he finishes.

You force your gaze back up to his face, hoping he didn’t notice the split-second detour of your eyes. “Right. The visuals. I can do that,” you answer a little too quick, a little too casual.

He tilts his head just slightly, studying you with that unreadable expression and then, as if nothing happened, he nods and sits down, pulling his laptop closer.

It’s just you and him in the office tonight. And you know it’s going to be harder than ever to concentrate tonight.

-

Minutes stretch into hours and you’ve buried yourself deep into your slides, eyes locked on the screen, pen tucked between your teeth as you work through numbers and charts.

But even in your focus, thoughts of coffee creep in. Your body aches for the warmth, the caffeine, the small break, the excuse to stretch your legs. You hesitate, though. Should you offer to make one for Minho too? Would he even want you to? He doesn’t exactly seem like the type who accepts favors easily.

You nibble the cap of your pen, debating on it, until the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. You can’t shake the feeling that he’s looking at you.

Slowly, you turn your head and sure enough, Minho’s eyes are already on you. Not casually, not by accident—just steady, dark, fixed in your direction.

You force your voice low, hesitant, as if the silence between you might break if you speak too loudly. “I… I was going to make coffee. Do you want one too?”

For a heartbeat, he doesn’t answer. He just holds your gaze, like he’s searching for something behind your question. Then, finally, his lips part. “Yeah, sure.”

He doesn’t look away, not even once, and it makes your chest flutter in a way that feels dangerous.

You clear your throat, breaking the spell, and push back your chair. The scrape of its legs against the floor sounds louder than it should. With shaky hands, you gather yourself, stand, and head for the pantry, your pulse quickening with each step, as if you’re fleeing from the pull of his gaze.

The coffee machine whirs as you press the power button on and it’s the only sound that fills the pantry. You stand in front of it, arms raised as your fingers knead into the tense muscles of your neck. A sigh slips from your lips, low and drawn out, almost a moan, as you try to ease the ache from sitting at your desk too long.

“Oh, that felt good…” you murmur under your breath, pressing harder on the tension on your shoulder.

The sound of footsteps makes you jolt and you quickly turn on your feet, eyes widening when you see Minho standing at the doorway with his hand tucked in his slacks pocket.

“Why are you so surprised?” he asks evenly, a brow quirked.

You shake your head too fast, clutching for composure. “N–Nothing.”

The smirk that curls on his lips tells you he doesn’t buy it. It’s small, sly, almost like he’s reading straight through your lie. He steps further inside, leaning against the counter with infuriating ease, arms crossed over his chest. His head tilts, his gaze steady, following your every movement as you fumble with the machine like it suddenly became rocket science.

Then, out of nowhere, his voice cuts through the silence. “Am I scary?”

The question makes you laugh awkwardly, too quickly, like it’s a ridiculous thing to ask. “What? No, of course not.” You wave a hand, trying to dodge it, but your laugh dies a little too soon.

Minho doesn’t move but his eyes sharpen. “I know everyone in the office is scared of me,” he says simply, like he’s stating a fact.

You shake your head, stubborn. “They just don’t know you the way they should.”

His gaze lingers, piercing through you, holding you in place. “What about you?” His voice drops lower, intimate in a way that makes the room feel smaller. “Are you scared of me?”

The words trip out of you instantly, almost desperately. “No.”

But your smile is too quick, too awkward, as though you’re trying to hide something.

He studies you, silent for a long beat. Then he nods slowly, almost like he’s solved a puzzle. “You’re not scared of me,” he says at last. “But you’re afraid of me.”

His eyes lock on yours, unwavering, and you feel yourself unraveling under his intense stare. He’s too close to the truth, too close to the secret you’ve been keeping.

Panic, you abandon the half-brewed coffee and turn on your heel. “I’d better get back to work,” you mutter in a rush, desperate to escape.

But you barely make it two steps before his voice snaps across the room. “You like me, don’t you?”

You can feel the blood drains from your face as your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. The silence that follows is deafening, your halted body betraying you more than any words could.

Behind you, Minho exhales a laugh—low, knowing, edged with triumph. “Don’t bother denying it. I can see it all over you.”

You walk fast, your heels clicking against the floor as if putting distance between you and Minho could erase what just happened. But the office is nearly empty, and the echo of his footsteps follows close behind, relentless.

You make it to your desk and try to busy yourself by tidying the cluttering pens and papers,. But of course, it’s useless because his desk is right across from yours. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide until the task is done and Minho knows it.

“I’ve noticed the things you do when you think I’m not looking,” he says from behind you. His smooth, low voice peeling away your defenses.

“The way you stare at me in meetings. That little look you give me when you think I’m too busy to notice. You chew your lip when I speak, like you’re holding something back. And just now…” His tone dips lower, velvet wrapped around steel. “…that face you made when I caught you in the pantry.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as embarrassment and frustration mixing until you can’t take it anymore. You spin in your chair, facing him head-on, your words spilling out before you can stop them.

“Yeah, okay, I like you.”

The confession slices through the silence and for a moment, the world holds still. Then, slowly, a smirk curves across Minho’s lips. He steps closer, closing the space between you with unhurried strides.

“Want to know something?” His eyes glint, dark with something you’ve never seen in him before. “I can actually do this job myself.”

Your lips quiver as you mutter, “What?”

He plants a hand on the edge of your desk, leaning in. “I asked for you because I wanted to be alone with you.”

Before you can react, he presses a hand against the desk beside your hip, then the other, caging you in. The wooden surface digs into your back as his body looms over yours, close enough that you feel the heat radiating from him.

You’re pinned, trapped, your pulse hammering in your throat. His eyes sweep over your face, lingering like he’s quietly measuring you, observing you and then he smiles—not cruel, not mocking, but dangerous in its certainty.

“Now that I’ve got you…” his voice drops, low and intimate, “…what should I do with you?”

The smirk on his lips deepens, and for a moment you swear you see something feral flicker in his eyes.

Your lips part, trying to come up with an excuse, or shift the attention back to the task at hand, just anything to escape this situation but before any words can leave your mouth, he crashes his lips against yours.

The kiss is harsh, searing, all teeth and tongue and pent-up tension. The papers you’re holding slip from your hands and scatter across the floor as you clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer. He presses you harder against the desk, one hand gripping your jaw to tilt your face, forcing you to open for him as his tongue claims yours without hesitation.

When he finally pulls back, your lips are wet, swollen, your breath shaky. Then his voice dips into a growl.

“We could’ve had this all along.”

Before you can respond, his hand skims down your waist, sliding under the hem of your blouse, fingers teasing the bare skin of your stomach. Your back arches involuntarily, a needy sound slipping past your lips, and that’s all the permission he needs. He dips his head, capturing your mouth again, deeper this time, hungrier.

The constant hum of the computer fills the silence between gasps and muffled moans as he devours you, his hands roaming shamelessly now, palming your waist, cupping your ass, pulling you flush against the hard press of his body.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he mutters against your lips, biting at your lower one before sucking it into his mouth.

You’re dizzy, drunk on him, your fear completely eclipsed by the way he’s kissing you like he’s starved, like he’s wanted this just as badly.

“Minho—” you sigh between kisses, but the words die as he lifts you onto the desk, scattering pens and files onto the floor.

He steps between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs. “Here,” he says, voice rough, dark. “We’re doing it here.”

Your body already trembling at his words. “Here, what? Why… here?”

A smirk curls his lips as he leans in, his mouth ghosting over your ear. “Because I want you to remember this every time you sit at this desk. I want you to think about me fucking you so good you can’t focus on your work.”

Heat floods all over you at his words, your stomach twisting with anticipation. You try to hide your shiver, but his knowing grin tells you he noticed.

He doesn’t give you time to protest as his mouth crashes against yours again, hungrier than before, his hands sliding up your thighs until his fingers slip beneath your skirt, dragging the fabric higher.

The desk creaks beneath your shifting weight as his palm cups you over your panties, and you can’t hold back the gasp that escapes your lips. He swallows it eagerly, deepening the kiss as his fingers press harder, teasing your clothed sex until your hips are rocking against his hand.

“Already so wet,” he murmurs against your lips, smug, savoring every sound you make. “You wanted this too, didn’t you? Sitting across from me all day, pretending you weren’t staring.”

You bite your lip, unable to deny him. Your silence only makes his grin widen, his fingers curling around your panties to tug them aside.

The office is quiet, eerily so but the thought of someone maybe being just down the hall makes every touch feel dirtier, hotter. Without warning, Minho slips his fingers inside you, stretching you slowly. The sudden intrusion makes your mouth fall open, a sharp moan escaping before you can stop it. The sound echoes too loud in the empty office, and Minho’s eyes go wide. In an instant, his other hand clamps over your mouth, muffling the desperate sound you let out. But there’s a flicker of amusement behind his eyes like he enjoys how reckless you are for him.

“Shh,” he whispers low, his voice hot against your ear. “You want the whole building to hear how needy you are?”

You shake your head quickly, but it doesn’t stop the way your body clenches around his fingers as he pumps them deeper. He curls them just right, dragging out another muffled whimper that vibrates against his palm.

The sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor. It must be the security guard doing their round. Panic sparking in you, your wide eyes meet his, but Minho just smirks like this is all part of his game. He slows his pace, almost lazy now, each thrust of his fingers driving you insane while his hand stays firmly over your mouth.

“Quiet,” he breathes, his lips brushing your cheek as he leans in closer. “Be good for me. Don’t make a sound.”

The footsteps come closer, so close you swear they’ll stop at your door. Minho’s eyes stay locked on yours the whole time, his fingers never stopping, his expression daring you to hold it together.

Your chest heaves as the guard’s shadow passes by, lingering for a second that feels like eternity… before moving on.

Only when the steps fade away does Minho finally ease his hand from your mouth, his fingers glistening as he pulls them from your cunt. He brings them up between you, studying the shine with a crooked grin before slipping them past his lips, sucking them clean like he’s savoring you.

“Who needs coffee when I have this,” he says, his voice husky, gaze dark as he looks at you trembling on your own desk.

Then his hands are on you again, this time reaching for your blouse, unbuttoning it open but his patience wears thin on the third one so he yanks it open, the buttons scatter across the floor.

“You…” his voice is low and rough, as his eyes rake down your body, “…you hide this under those boring office clothes?”

He mutters it like he’s cursing himself for not noticing sooner, his fingers already tearing at your blouse, ripping the thin fabric open until your bra is exposed. His breaths quickening as he pushes the fabric aside to bare your skin.

“Fuck,” he exhales, almost reverent, running his hand down the front of your body.

Minho doesn’t waste time. He’s tugging at your skirt now, shoving it up around your hips, his fingers digging into your thighs. His eyes burn as he takes in the sight of you spread out across your desk, your clothes clinging in pieces.

“This…” he mutters, almost to himself as his hands trace the curve of your waist, your breasts. “This is what I’ve been missing?”

His mouth finds your skin then, hot and demanding, biting at your collarbone before dragging his lips down your chest. Each mutter against your flesh is half-groan, half-praise, as if he’s talking more to himself than to you.

“Hmm… Perfect,” he breathes, tugging your bra down and cupping your breast in his hand, squeezing like he needs to prove you’re real. His tongue flicks over your nipple, and his muffled voice groans against it, “Absolutely perfect.”

Minho doesn’t rush even though you can feel how badly he wants to. His hands are everywhere, greedy and rough, but his pace is agonizingly slow, like he wants to unravel you piece by piece.

“You know what’s fucked up?” he murmurs against your skin, his lips grazing the underside of your breast before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hand slides down your stomach, fingers circling just above your waistband, teasing but never quite touching where you need him most.

“The whole office is terrified of me…” he chuckles darkly, dragging his teeth over your nipple until you gasp, “…but if they saw you like this? Spread out, dripping for me on your desk? They’d know who really has the power over me.”

Your body arches, chasing his hand, but he pulls back, shaking his head with a wicked grin. “Not yet.”

His fingers finally dip under your skirt, brushing over your soaked panties. The low groan he lets out vibrates against your chest. His thumb presses harder on your clothed clit, making you whine.

“Beg for it,” he demands, slipping one finger beneath the fabric but not inside. He drags it up your slit, collecting your slick, then holds it up for you to see glistening under the dim office light. “Beg for me to touch you.”

You try to buck against him, but he pins your hips to the desk with a firm hand, his smirk growing as you squirm. “God, you look so hot like this. All dressed up, torn open, begging me to ruin you.”

His finger dips in just the slightest, barely pushing past your entrance before pulling out again, making you whimper. He leans close to your ear, his voice husky as he whispers, “I’m going to make sure every time you sit at this desk, you’ll remember how desperate you were for me.”

His words, the way he said it while intensely gazing into your eyes, it undoes something in you. Shakily, breathlessly, you mutter, “Minho, please…”

He triumphantly smirks and without another ounce of restraint, he pushes two fingers inside you in one smooth thrust. The sudden stretch makes you cry out, but the sound barely leaves your mouth before he clamps his other hand over it, muffling you.

“Shhh,” he warns, his breath hot against your cheek. “You don’t want them finding out what a needy little slut you are for me, do you?”

His fingers work inside you relentlessly, curling just right, pumping faster each time you clench around him. The wet sounds echo indecently in the quiet office, and you can feel yourself unraveling quickly, the tension winding in your belly like a spring about to snap.

He watches your face intently, eyes dark and burning with hunger. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight. You gonna come for me? Right here on your desk?”

You nod frantically, your muffled whimpers spilling against his palm. He leans closer, whispering filth into your ear as his thumb finds your clit and presses down. “Do it. Make a mess for me. I want to see you fall apart.”

The combination of his filthy words, the ruthless rhythm of his fingers, and the dangerous thrill of being caught sends you tumbling over the edge. Your whole body shakes, convulsing around his fingers as waves of pleasure crash through you. He holds you firmly, hand still over your mouth as your muffled cries vibrate against his palm.

Minho groans low in his throat, watching the way you shudder and spasm for him. He doesn’t stop until you’re a trembling, breathless mess slumped against your desk. He doesn’t give you a moment to recover as he grips your waist and pulls you off the desk, turning you around, making you face the desk. “Bend over,” he orders, voice like gravel. His hand presses between your shoulder blades until your chest meets the cool surface of your desk, your skirt bunched indecently around your hips.

He lets you go but then you hear the clinking of metal and then zipper being pulled open from behind you, heightening the tension in the room. The next time he has your hands on you again, you feel the thick head of his cock sliding against your soaked entrance, smearing your slick across your folds. He doesn’t push in all the way, just the tip breaching you, then pulling out again, over and over, until you’re whining with frustration.

“Please…”

“Please?” He leans down over you, lips brushing your ear, his cock nudging just barely inside before retreating again. “You think you’re ready to take all of me? Hm?”

You arch your back, desperate, your fingers clawing at the desk. “Yes—fuck, yes.”

He chuckles darkly, savoring your begging as he pushes in just a little deeper, stretching you slow, inch by inch. The burn makes you gasp, your body instinctively clenching around him.

“God,” he hisses through gritted teeth, pausing to control himself. “So fucking tight. You feel like you’re going to tear me apart.”

You whimper, pushing back against him, but he grips your hips hard, refusing to let you take more than what he allows. His cock slides another inch deeper, the pace slow, almost torturous.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing the back of your neck like a cruel comfort. “I want you to feel every single inch of me. I want you to remember this stretch every time you sit at this desk.”

By the time he finally bottoms out, the pressure is overwhelming, your walls pulsing around the fullness of him. He stays buried deep, not moving, forcing you to take the sensation of being completely filled. Then, he pulls back just slightly, only to push it in, hard. You cry out, the sound muffled by your own arm as you bury your face in it.

Minho smirks in satisfaction. “Oh, yeah. That’s the sound I’ve been dying to hear.”

For a moment, he holds himself deep inside you, his thrusts slow yet intense, dragging against every nerve ending. His hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair as he leans down, his mouth grazing your ear.

“You know how many days I sat across from you at this desk,” he murmurs, hips rocking just enough to make you gasp, “watching those perfect little legs of yours cross and uncross? Made me want to rip that skirt off and see what was underneath.”

You clench around him at his words, and he groans, gripping your hips tighter. He pulls back and slides in again, slow enough to make your toes curl.

“And that tight skirt,” he continues, voice dripping with filth, “hugging your hips, your ass—fuck, every curve showing, but just out of reach. Do you know how hard it was not to bend you over and take you right then?”

Your moan slips out before you can stop it, your face pressing harder into the desk to stifle the sound. Minho smirks against your skin, picking up just a little more pace but still keeping it torturously measured.

“And when you’d sit there,” he says, remembering in vivid detail, “biting your pencil between your teeth as you thought? Drove me fucking insane. All I could think about was how those lips would look wrapped around my cock, how you’d sound with your mouth full.”

You whine, your body trembling, and he growls low in his chest, clearly loving your reaction.

“But the worst,” he groans, thrusting in slow and deep, making your knees buckle, “the worst was wondering what kind of sounds you’d make when I finally got inside you. I used to sit across from you every day, imagining your moans, wondering if you’d be sweet and needy…” His thrust punctuates each filthy word. “…or if you’d scream for me.”

Your walls flutter around him at his confession, and he curses, kissing the side of your neck as though he can’t help himself. “And now I get to find out. Every fantasy—right here, on your desk.”

Your whole body shudders, the tension breaking all at once as his filthy words unravel you. You cry out his name and it’s echoing too loudly in the quiet office. His hand clamps over your mouth instantly, muffling the sounds as your orgasm tears through you, walls spasming around his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans into your ear, holding himself deep inside as he feels you pulse around him. “You really came just from that?” He chuckles low, dark and smug, his hand still pressed against your lips. “All it took was me telling you how I’ve been thinking about you and you’re already falling apart for me.”

Your muffled whimper makes him smirk even more. He pulls his hand away just long enough to whisper, “Pathetic little thing, aren’t you?” before replacing it again when another moan escapes.

Instead of slowing down, his thrusts grow harder, deeper, relentless, each one knocking the breath from your lungs. Your body’s already oversensitive, still reeling from the orgasm he just pulled out of you, but he doesn’t give you time to recover.

“You came a second ago but your cunt’s still clinging to me like it’s begging for more.”

Your mouth falls open in a cry, but it barely escapes before his hand presses over your lips again, muffling your sounds.

The office is silent except for the wet slap of his hips against you and your muffled moans. He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in, burying himself to the hilt. “That’s it. Take it,” he growls. “Every time you sit at this desk, you’ll remember how I fucked you senseless on it.”

Your body trembles, pleasure coursing through your veins until it’s unbearable. You try to hold it back, but the pressure coils tight and fast, snapping all over again.

You convulse around him, muffled cries spilling against his palm as your second orgasm crashes through you, harder than the first. Your knees buckle, your nails scrape across the desk, and he groans deep in his chest as your walls clamp down around his cock.

“Fuck—there it is. That’s it. That’s my good girl,” he hisses, thrusting through your climax, dragging out every pulse, every flutter. “I’m not stopping until you’re dripping all over this desk for me.”

Your body jerks, overstimulated, yet the heat won’t let go. He doesn’t give you a break, using your quaking, trembling body to chase his own edge, rutting into you like he owns you. His breath fans hot against your ear as he leans over you, chest pressing into your back, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair and tilt your head so you can’t escape the rasp of his voice.

“You could’ve told me,” he says, almost scolding, but with a hint of hunger in it. “All this time, you were sitting across from me, looking at me like that… and I had no idea you wanted me too.”

Your mouth parts, words caught in your throat as your body clenches tight around him at the confession. He lets out a dark chuckle, dragging his cock all the way out before sinking back into you slow, making you feel every inch of his swollen length.

“If you’d told me sooner,” he continues, his pace torturously unhurried, “we could’ve been fucking each other’s brains out every night by now.” His hand slides down your side, squeezing your waist before dipping between your thighs, his fingers pressing against your swollen clit. “All those nights you went home aching for me? You could’ve been screaming my name instead.”

You shiver under him, the words, the rhythm, the overwhelming stretch of him inside you—every part of it coils together until you’re trembling on the edge again.

Suddenly, his tone shifts softer. His lips brush the back of your neck, then your jaw, before he finds your mouth and kisses you. Slow, sweet, devastating in contrast to how he’s been fucking you.

“I’m going to take my time with you,” he murmurs against your lips, his thrusts still rolling steady yet deep, each one more intense for its restraint. “Scares you a little, doesn’t it?” He smirks when your body clenches, when you nod against him. “Good. I want you excited. I want you desperate.”

The push and pull, the sweet kiss and the filthy words, it’s all too much. Your body arches into him, your legs trembling as his thrusts finally grow just a little rougher, just enough to drive him to the edge. He buries himself deep inside you one last time, his hand gripping your hip as he groans, spilling his seed into you.

The sound of his raw, broken groan of your name, echoing in your head long after the moment passes.

He stays buried in you, his chest pressed to your back, both of you breathing hard, bodies damp with a sheen of sweat. Then, slowly, he pulls out. The stretch makes you gasp, and the emptiness leaves you trembling. You barely have time to catch your breath before you feel the warmth spilling down your thigh, his release sliding out of you in a messy trail.

Minho leans back just enough to watch, his dark eyes fixed on the sight. His lips curve into a wicked smirk, and he lets out a low, satisfied hum.

“Fuck. Didn’t expect to see you like this,” he mutters, dragging his thumb along the curve of your hip possessively. His gaze never leaves the way you’re dripping for him. “Ruined and dripping for me… on your own desk.”

The office feels too quiet now, the hum of fluorescent lights a reminder of where you are and the stack of unfinished files is still scattered on the desk beneath you.

When he finally meets your eyes again, there’s no teasing in his stare, just a quiet, dangerous claim.

“You’re mine now. Every time you sit here…” his hand cupping your jaw, forcing you to look back into his eyes. “…you’ll remember who you belong to.”

-

The next day, everything at the office feels the same on the surface but you both know it’s not.

You’re at your desk, leaning forward slightly as you skim something on your computer screen, unaware of the eyes burning into you.

Minho sits across the room, looking as composed as ever to everyone else. But inside, he’s replaying that night in vivid detail—the way you clutched the desk, the way you cried out his name, the way his release dripped down your thighs.

He pushes back his chair and strolls toward you, his expression perfectly neutral, nothing to raise suspicion. He stops at your side, one hand braced casually on the desk as if to ask about the document you’re reading. But beneath the facade, he places his other hand on the curve of your ass, hidden from everyone else’s view.

He leans down, close enough that only you can hear him, and whispers in that low, dangerous tone. “If you keep bending over like that, I’ll take it as a sign you want another round right here.”

His hand slowly strokes over the round of your ass before he pulls back, face still blank, as if he only asked about numbers on a spreadsheet. He walks away like nothing happened, leaving you there, outwardly composed but inwardly seething with need, already plotting when he’ll get you alone again.

-

✨ DESKJOB: CHAPTER TWO is available on Patreon ✨

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Han smirked, shamelessly, “Chan didn’t let me. I hid it under Hyunjin’s laundry. He only found out when he was folding them. The old man almost died laughing”

You threw a pillow at him, “You’re ridiculous”

He hugged the pillow, then rolled to his side, turning to you, “Okay, okay, . Since you won’t stop roasting me, let’s play a game. Truth only. No skipping and no boring questions”

“Fine”, you said, already thinking in how many ways you would embarrass your best friend, “If you were a girl, would you want big boobs or small boobs?”

Han didn’t even hesitate, “I already have big boobs”

You stared at him, he stared at you and then both of you broke the silence, bursting out laughing so hard your belly hurt.

“Shut up”, you said, hitting his arm.

That only made him smirk wider, “What? You can’t deny these babies”, he said, squeezing his pecs

You threw yourself back against the pillows, covering your face, “You’re the worst”

Han rolled to his stomach, resting his chin on his hands, “Okay, my turn. If you were stuck in a zombie apocalypse movie, do you think you’d survive?”

You thought for a second, “Honestly? No. I’d trip in the first five minutes”

“Five minutes?! Please. You’d trip in the first two. But you’d still manage to look good”, his eyes lingered on you a second too long before he added quickly, “Okay, your turn”

“If you could trade bodies with any of the guys for a day, who would it be?”

“Felix”, he said instantly, “I want his freckles. And his voice. And maybe his abs”

“His abs?”, you repeated.

“Yeah. Imagine how much respect I’d get if I took my shirt off without this”, he said, grabbing his own.

You rolled your eyes, “You’re literally fine”

“Okay, next. What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever cried over?”

You groaned,“You’re never letting me live this down, but… once I cried because the vending machine ate my money. Twice in a row”

Han lost it, cackling like a hyena

“Stop laughing!”, you said, kicking his leg lightly, “I had PMS, okay?!”, you sulked, “I really wanted that chocolate bar…”

“Okay, okay, my turn”, Han started, “If aliens invaded Earth tomorrow and wanted a human sacrifice, who would you offer?”

“You. Wearing this shirt. They’d leave immediately”

Han pointed a finger at you, “Hey! This shirt has powers”

“Oh, really?”, you scoffed

“Yeah”, Han leaned closer, eyes getting darker, “Actually… let’s level this up. From now on, only 18+ questions”

Your stomach flipped, but you masked it with a smirk, “Fine. I’ll start. Have you ever filmed yourself, you know…”

Han raised his brows, “Jerking off? Wow, straight to the point”. He hummed, index finger tapping his chin as “Yeah, once. It was… for research purposes”

You cackled, “Research?! What kind of research?”

“Yeah, I wanted to know if I looked hot”, he smirked, “Spoiler alert: I did”

You covered your face, “Han!”

“My turn”, he said smoothly, “Do you prefer giving head or being eaten out?”

You laughed nervously, blushing harder, “Why do you even care?”

“Answer the queeestioonnn”, he sang, kicking his feet in the air like this was the most casual question in the world

You grabbed the pillow and smacked him in the face, “Eaten out”

Han peeked at you from under the pillow, “Oh, really? Okay, noted”

You were both too aware of the fire spreading through your core, but it was easier to blame it on the mushrooms.

“Alright”, you said, licking your lips, “Would you rather have sex with the lights on or off?”

“On”, Han said without hesitation, “I like to see the mess”

A shiver ran through your spine and of course Han noticed that

“Have you ever thought about me when you… touched yourself?”, he asked, voice low, dripping lust

You entered on panic mode. You tried to brush it off by laughing, but it came out shaky, “That’s not fair. That’s, like, way too personal”

“That’s not an answer”, this time there was no playfulness in his tone, just dark desire

You gulped as you pressed your thighs together, “Yeah… one time”

Han froze, blinking, as if he didn’t actually expect you to admit it. His lips parted in disbelief, “Ohhh. That’s interesting, huh?”

You looked at him, drunk on the thrill of admitting it, “So… is that shirt actually true? Do you really have a damn hard dick?”

Han sank his teeth on his bottom lip, “Wanna find out?”

His words hovered in the thick air and before you could even laugh it off, he moved closer. His knee brushed yours, his hand rested warm on your thigh. The touch sent sparks through your skin, hotter than it should’ve been

You gulped, “You’re not serious”

But he only leaned in, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide from the mushrooms, “I’m dead serious. C’mon, don’t you wanna find out?”

Your pulse jumped. Somehow, that was enough to make you nod.

Han’s smirk widened. He took your hand and guided it over the front of his sweatpants. The second your palm pressed down, you gasped. He was damn hard— thick, hot and twitching against your fingers.

“Holy shit”, you whispered.

He chuckled, breath warm against your ear, “Told you the shirt wasn’t lying”

His heat spread through your body, awakening every nerve of yours. You stroked him once through the fabric, and his head tipped back, a deep, low groan spilling out from the bottom of his throat. You got closer to him until your lips brushed his jaw.

“Wait…”, Han’s voice cracked, shaky. He reached for his phone in his pocket, fumbling with it, “We have to. We’ll be literally so stupid if we don’t”

You blinked at him, “What are you talking about?”

“Filming it, obviously. So later, you can remember… you know, how accurate my shirt really is”

The idea should’ve made you laugh, but instead it made your core pulse. Something about capturing this and watching yourselves later, felt just as addictive as the mushrooms.

“That’s fucking insane”, you whispered, already pulling his shirt up over his head.

“Yeah”, he panted, “But you’re into it”

Your laugh turned into a gasp when his mouth found yours, hot and messy, his hand sliding under your shirt to grab your waist. Every brush of his tongue sent fire down in your belly. You found yourself whimpering as his cock throbbed under your palm.

Han broke the kiss to position the phone on your nightstand, checking the angle, “Okay, yeah, this catches the lava lamp too. That’s aesthetic, right?”

You poked his shoulder, laughing, “Stop saying stupid shit”

Then he was sliding in behind you, and your body trembled as he pushed you to all fours. His hand gripped your hips, thumb pressing into your skin as he lined himself up.

The first thrust took your breath away. You gasped, head dropping and Han groaned brokenly behind you

“Fuck, look at us”, he panted, lookingat the screen, “We look so good… shit!”

You could barely think as his hips slammed against yours. The mushrooms magnified every slide of his cock, making your body clench around him. But Han acted stupid as usual, playing it up for the camera.

“Say hi, honey”, he teased, grabbing your hair and pulling your head up so your face showed on screen. You let out a wrecked smile, and he groaned, rhythm faltering.

He flipped you to your back, placing your legs over his shoulders, pushing in deeper, and the two of you laughed at the way you both moaned too loud for the mic. It was ridiculous and filthy at the same time.

The tape was not even long enough and you could already feel he was close. You knew it by the way his thrusts faltered, hips trembling.

“Shit… shit, I think I’m gonna…”

Han came hard, trembling, and spilled inside of you, then collapsed forward on his elbows. The camera caught when he buried his face in your shoulder, blood rising up his neck

For a moment, you both stayed silent, only your heavy breaths and the soft hum of the lava lamp could be heard. Then he pulled out and you whined, unsatisfied.

Han looked at you, still hazed on you, then his gaze went to between your legs, where you were needy and dripping. “Fuck… I came too fast”, he kissed one of your thighs and then the other, lowering himself until his mouth hovered over your core, “I’ll make it up to you, honey”

You barely had time to process before his tongue was on you, “Han… shit… oh, my god….”

Your legs trembled around his shoulders. It was almost overwhelming along with the mushrooms high. Han moaned against you, starved, as his hands gripped your hips to hold you still. Both of you forgot completely about the phone still recording on the nightstand.

Han’s mouth pulled another moan from you, each lick had your back arching off the mattress, “Fuck… Hanji…”

He hummed against you, the vibration against your core making you see stars. Without any warnings, he slipped two fingers inside, the sudden stretch made your grip the sheets and your hips jerk up. The bed slammed against the wall with the force of it and your moans grew louder as he fucked you with his fingers, tongue never stoppping circling your clit.

He pulled back just long enough to confess, “You taste so good…fuck”

Then he dove back in, sucking your clit obscenely as his fingers curled inside you just in the right spot.

The combination of suction and pressure made you roll your eyes back as you moaned his name. He groaned at the way you clenched, around his fingers, “Yeah, hun… damn… come for me. Right on my face”

The words pushed you over the edge. Your vision went black as you lost it around his mouth and fingers. Your body spasmed so hard the bed snapped.

But Han didn’t stop, not even when you whimpered, claiming it was too much. He swallowed your moans like he was addicted to your pussy. And he was.

Your thighs shook violently around his shoulders, your hands gripping the sheets like he was torturing you, “H-Hanji, I can’t… I can’t take it… please”

He pulled back to look at you— his lips were swollen, his chin wet with your juices, “Yes, honey, you can. One more for me”,then his mouth went back on you.

The bed slammed against the wall with every lift of your hips. You begged, incoherently, but he still guided you until the pleasure broke through you for a second time. You cried out, back arching, body clenching around nothing as he swallowed every drop of your release.

Finally he stopped, kissing your inner thigh before crawling up your body. Then, he pressed a long breathless, dizzying kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself. And when he pulled back, his voice was deep and sensual, nothing like his usual joking tone, “You’re the best thing I ever had on my tongue”. You laid there trembling, heart racing like it was in a marathon, while his toned arm caged you as he kissed you softer this time, “Even better than Lee Know hyung’s kimchi stew”, and there it was the vice king of paboland.

Later, as you both were tangled on the sheets, Han’s arms wrapped around you, he kissed the top of your head, and reached over for the phone on the nightstand. And then, he hit play

Your moans echoed through the room, making you immediately bury your face in his solid, tattooed chest, “Nooo! Turn it off!”

Han smiled, “What?! No way! Look at you…”, he put the phone on your face, so you couldn’t hide, “Holy fuck, you look so hot all wrecked like that”

On screen, your body trembled as he thrusted into you from behind. Han mumbled under his breath, “Damn. I look like I know what I’m doing”

“You came in, like, five minutes”, you laughed against his chest.

“Wow! Straight to the heart”, he said dramatically, then he replayed the part when he went down on you. His expression softened, “Listen to that. You sound so fucking pretty”

You peeked at the screen and groaned, hiding again, “I can’t believe we filmed this”

Han grabbed your chin gently, making you look at him. His eyes were warm, full of something pure and genuine, “Believe it. We’re geniuses”

He let the video roll as his hand absentmindedly stroked your hair. When your body shook for the first time on screen, he looked down to you in his arms, “Are you okay, honey?”

Your chest ached at the nickname. He always called you honey but it never felt so tender like now, “Yeah, I just… can’t believe that happened”

“Do you regret it?”

You looked up at him, eyes wide, “What?! No! Of course not”

“Good”, he said, pulling you closer, tucking the blanket around your shoulders as his lips brushed your cheek, “Because you were amazing. And I swear, I’ll take care of you until the day you won’t let me anymore”

The words ripped you apart. Your throat felt tight, eyes stung because you knew how much he meant it. You swallowed hard before your words came out, shaky “So… does that mean we’re more than best friends now?”

For a second, Han just stared at you, like he couldn’t believe you actually said it out loud. Then he leaned in, cupping your jaw and then kissed you slowly.

Then he pulled back, with his usual bratty grin on his face, “So you’re telling me my gorgeous, incredibly funny and unmistakably hot best friend is actually going to be my girlfriend now?”, you let out a teary laugh, tears running down your cheeks “Jeez… you gonna have to pinch me, honey”

That’s when the thought hit you. You frowned, pausing the video, “Hold on! Why were we so horny out of nowhere? Like, I know shrooms make stuff feel weird, but this wasn’t exactly what I expected to feel”

Han blinked, “Yeah… I think you’re right”, then grabbed his phone again and started to type.

You leaned over his shoulder, “What are you even”...

He turned the screen to you, the search bar said— “Can mushrooms give you a boner?”

Both of you froze at the answer

“Wait”, you whispered, “They’re an… aphrodisiac?”

“No fucking way”

You stared at him, then both of you cackled, “Oh. my God! We’re so fucking dumb”

Han fell back on the pillows, pulling you to be on top of him, “Best dumb decision we’ve ever made”

Disclaimer: This is only fiction, I don't intend to offend or defame any artists I mention in my stories 😉

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It starts like most nights do—low lighting, soft jazz, the smell of expensive bourbon and even more expensive cologne drifting through the speakeasy’s velvet-lined walls. The kind of place that pretends not to notice you unless it wants to.

He always notices you.

Minho’s already at the bar, polishing glassware with deliberate, almost surgical focus. No smile. No greeting. He doesn’t do small talk—just glances at you when you slip onto the stool you always take, his gaze lingering for a moment too long on the bare skin above your knee before it flicks away like you imagined it.

He slides a drink toward you without asking.

Tonight it’s something amber and sharp—neat, no garnish. Not the floral bullshit you usually order to irritate him but don't actually enjoy.

“You’re learning,” you murmur, fingers curling around the glass.

“You’re predictable,” he says, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Amusement. Approval, maybe. It’s hard to tell with him.

You take a slow sip, letting the burn settle in your chest before you speak again.

“Gonna make fun of me tonight, or just stare at my legs?”

He doesn’t miss a beat.

“Why can’t I do both?”

You raise an eyebrow. He’s in a mood.

Good.

You lean in a little, voice dipping low. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked me.”

Minho finally looks at you head-on, the edge of a smile ghosting across his mouth.

“If I liked you,” he says, smooth as glass, “you’d know.”

The heat that curls low in your stomach has nothing to do with the liquor.

You shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve been playing this game for weeks—weeks of drawn-out glances and sharp tongues, of letting your knee graze his thigh beneath the bar, of asking him questions you already know he won’t answer just to hear the dry curl of his voice when he tells you no.

But tonight, the rules feel different. The air feels heavier. Charged.

You blame it on the day you had. On the message you didn’t answer. On the fact that your body still remembers the way your so-called lover grabbed your wrist last night when you dared to pull away first. The apology this morning was short. Cold. Like a favor he did you.

You’re tired of favors. Of men who act like your body is borrowed space.

So maybe that’s why you’re here again. Why your dress is a little shorter than usual. Why your smile is a little sharper. Why you stare at Minho like you want him to cut you open and see what’s underneath.

“I think you like me,” you say, swirling the amber in your glass, eyes fixed on his fingers as he reaches for a bottle behind him.

He uncaps it without a word. Pours slow—like he’s buying time or maybe making you wait on purpose. The line of his jaw is clean and sharp in the bar’s dim light, a profile carved in something colder than marble.

You’ve never seen him fluster. Not once. That’s part of why you keep coming back. That composure, that razor-thin control—you want to see it slip. Just once. Just enough to know what he looks like when something matters.

But Minho doesn’t rattle. Doesn’t rise to the bait. He sets the bottle down, replaces the cap with the same care you imagine he uses with everything else—his knives, his words, his hands.

“I think you like being watched,” he says finally, without looking at you. “That’s not the same thing.”

Your lips curl. “Is that what you do? Watch me?”

He glances up, and the full weight of his gaze hits you square in the chest—dark, steady, measuring.

“Only when you want me to.”

You swallow. Hard.

There’s nothing coy about it now. No masks, no playful deflection. Just static in the air and the slow realization that this isn’t banter anymore.

It’s foreplay.

Your thighs press together instinctively beneath the bar. The liquor burns differently now—hotter, deeper.

Minho sees it—how your legs shift, how your breath stutters—but he doesn’t gloat. He doesn’t need to. The power slips over him like a second skin, smooth and effortless, like he was born to unravel people slowly and never touch them at all.

You try to hold your ground, try to find something clever to say, but the words stick to your tongue. They don’t come.

He leans forward—just slightly, just enough that you catch a whisper of his cologne, clean and sharp like crushed pepper and steel. The kind of scent that makes you ache without knowing why.

“You always drink faster when you’re upset,” he murmurs. “Didn’t think he’d blow you off again.”

Your stomach flips.

You didn’t tell him that.

Not out loud.

But you’ve mentioned him in passing before—your almost-boyfriend, your never-quite-yours. The man who texts when he’s bored and shows up when he’s drunk, who fucks you like a secret and then disappears for days. You’ve never named him. You never had to.

Minho’s too observant for that.

You look away, embarrassed, a little raw.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

Minho hums like he understands. Not kindly—accurately. Like a blade understanding the softest part of skin.

“Didn’t think you would.”

His voice is soft. Low enough that it doesn’t carry over the jazz humming through the room, but not so low that it misses the mark. It slides under your skin, settles there. Warm. Heavy.

You press the rim of your glass to your lips, but don’t drink. You’re stalling. He knows it.

“Is this where you offer comfort?” you ask, tilting your head toward him, trying to claw some of the power back with your voice. “Tell me I deserve better?”

Minho chuckles—quiet, sharp-edged. “You know you deserve better.”

He lets it hang there for a beat too long, until you can feel the unspoken part of it clawing up your spine.

You deserve better, and I could give it to you. But I won’t.

Not yet.

His fingers flex against the bar’s edge. It’s the first crack in his control tonight, the only betrayal of the restraint wound tight through every part of him. You don’t think he even notices it—but you do.

Because that’s what this has always been, hasn’t it? A standoff. A war of glances and gestures. Who can make the other want without asking.

You swirl the last inch of liquor in your glass, watching the amber catch the low light, pretending like you’re not memorizing the shape of his hand against the bar.

Minho isn’t looking at you anymore. Not directly. His eyes are focused somewhere beyond you—on a bottle that doesn’t need touching, a thought that doesn’t need voicing. But his body betrays him in small, precise ways. That flex of his hand. The stillness of his shoulders. The slow, measured breaths like he’s giving himself rules to follow.

Don’t reach for her. Don’t say her name. Don’t touch unless she begs.

You can feel it—how close he is to undoing himself. How he’s fighting it like it would cost him something if he gave in.

And that makes you reckless.

“Why haven’t you?” you murmur, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “If you’ve thought about it—which you have. Why haven’t you done anything?”

You lick your lips—subtle, involuntary—and his eyes drop to your mouth like it was the only thing in the room worth watching. Just for a second. Just long enough to make your pulse thrum in your throat.

“You’re not going to offer comfort,” you say, quieter now, more to yourself than him. “That’s not your game.”

Minho doesn’t deny it.

“I don’t comfort girls who let men treat them like that,” he murmurs, voice like slow smoke. “I fuck it out of them.”

Your breath catches.

You can’t help it.

It punches the air straight from your lungs—just for a second. Just long enough for your lashes to flutter and your grip on the glass to falter and your entire body to go still.

You should’ve known that’s where he’d take it. You should’ve seen it coming. But hearing it—feeling it—low and steady like that, like an invocation and not a threat?

It’s something else entirely.

Your thighs clench beneath the bar. Instinctive. Useless. You feel suddenly too warm in your skin, in your dress, in this damn chair. Like the room’s shrunk down to just the two of you and the weight of those words lingering in the air between them.

He said it like a fact. Like a promise. No smirk. No tilt of his head. No performance.

Just Minho—staring at you with that terrifying, surgical precision that’s never been louder than it is now.

He knows what he just did.

Knows you’re squirming. Knows you’re soaking. Knows exactly where your mind’s gone—and he hasn’t even touched you.

Your tongue darts out again, a nervous reflex.

And that’s when he leans in.

Not by much—just enough that his mouth is close enough to graze the rim of your glass if you tilted it.

“I’d start with your mouth,” he says, barely louder than the jazz, like he’s confessing something obscene to a priest. “Because I know you’d still try to be smart with it. Even while you’re choking.”

Your stomach drops.

Your fingers curl tight around the edge of the counter to ground yourself, but it’s no use. His voice is a velvet hand at your throat, gentle enough to tease, firm enough to hold

Minho doesn’t linger.

He doesn’t let the silence stretch into tension, doesn’t wait for your reply, doesn’t press a single inch further into the ache he’s just created.

He simply pulls away.

Smooth, unbothered, like he didn’t just fillet you open with nothing but words. Like your insides aren’t still ringing with the ghost of him. He reaches for a towel, wipes a nonexistent smudge from the rim of a coupe glass, and then—casually, almost bored—slides the folded slip of paper toward you across the polished marble.

Your bill.

Back to business.

It’s maddening. Unbearably normal. Like he didn’t just spit filth into your ear that made your spine arch in the seat. Like he didn’t just speak to you like he already owned your body and was only waiting for the right time to claim it.

Your hand moves on autopilot.

Fingers dip into your purse, fishing out your card, swiping it through the reader like this is any other night, like you’re not unraveling at the seams. Like you’re not trembling just slightly beneath the surface of your skin, still burning with every word he spoke to you moments ago.

The reader beeps.

Declined.

You blink.

Try again. Slower this time. Like it might make a difference.

Declined.

The air shifts.

You don’t look up. Can’t. You stare at the reader, thumb hovering over the chipped edge of your card like pressing harder might fix it. Like it wasn’t inevitable. Like you haven’t been running on fumes and stubbornness and overdraft protection for longer than you want to admit.

You exhale through your nose. Force a quiet laugh. “Sorry,” you mutter, trying for nonchalant. “Guess it’s been a week.”

Minho doesn’t move.

You finally glance up—and he’s already looking at you.

Not annoyed. Not smug. Just still. Measured.

Then he takes the bill back without a word.

Folds it in half.

Tucks it beneath the register.

“It’s okay,” he says, and his voice is different now—softer, low and careful like a hand on the back of your neck. “I’ve got it.”

You hesitate. “No, really. I can come back tomorrow—”

“I said it’s okay.”

The quiet in his tone settles over you like a coat. Warm, heavy. Weighted with something you don’t quite recognize yet.

You search his face for a catch. A smirk. A condition. But there isn’t one.

And that—that’s what undoes you more than anything else.

Because it’s not a trade. Not a tease. Not a power play.

It’s just kindness.

Uncomplicated. Unexpected.

From him of all people.

You swallow hard. Nodding feels dangerous, so you don’t.

You just sit there, small and grateful and aching in a way you didn’t expect.

“I’ll pay you back,” you say quietly. “Next time.”

Minho doesn’t respond right away. Just tilts his head, eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re not a charity case,” he says finally. “I know you’ll settle.”

You nod again. This time it lands.

He straightens. Pulls your empty glass away, sets it behind him.

“You staying a while?” he asks. Not teasing. Not performative. Just… offering.

And you want to say yes.

But your throat is tight and your wrist still hurts beneath your sleeve and your body feels like too much tonight—too raw, too full, too loud.

So you say, “Think I’ll head out,” and your voice sounds gentler than it should. Like you’re asking permission.

Minho nods. Doesn’t question it. Doesn’t try to stop you. Just wipes the bar in front of your empty seat like he’s already preparing for the next ghost to sit down.

You stand slowly. Adjust your bag over your shoulder, glance toward the hallway that leads to the exit.

He doesn’t say anything at first. But you feel him watching you—not your ass, not your dress, but the way you cradle your arm. The way your hand hovers over your wrist like you’re guarding something.

And then—

“Did he grab you?”

Your spine stiffens.

Like someone cracked ice down your back.

You don’t turn around right away. You just stand there, shoulders drawn tight, fingers white-knuckled around the strap of your bag.

“Excuse me?” you ask, voice sharper than you mean it to be.

Minho doesn’t flinch.

He doesn’t repeat himself, either. Just waits.

You finally turn, chin lifted in that familiar tilt—the one you wear like armor, the one you’ve perfected for moments like this. When someone sees too much. When someone dares to ask.

“I don’t need you psychoanalyzing my love life,” you say flatly. “It’s none of your business.”

Minho says nothing.

Which somehow makes it worse. And for some reason, you can’t stop talking.

You huff a laugh, bitter and breathless. “Jesus. You let one card decline and suddenly you think you’re my therapist?”

Still nothing.

Just that same steady gaze. Not pitying. Not cold. Just... seeing.

And maybe that’s why it stings. Because he’s not wrong.

You fold your arms, fingers pressing hard over the bruise like you can erase it by force. “He didn’t mean to,” you finally mutter.

Minho’s voice is quiet. Even.

“But he did.”

You look away.

It’s not a fight. He’s not raising his voice. He’s not accusing you of anything. But something about the way he says it—flat, factual, calm—makes you feel like you’ve been caught doing something shameful.

You shake your head. “It’s not that simple.”

His expression doesn’t change. “It never is.”

You exhale hard through your nose. Every part of you wants to run. You don’t like feeling cornered like this—especially not by someone like him. Someone who doesn’t play pretend

Someone who sees everything and speaks only when it counts.

“I’m not some broken girl who needs saving,” you snap.

“I know.”

And again—it’s not cruel. Not dismissive. Just a truth, spoken plainly.

That disarms you more than anything else.

He knows.

He knows you’re angry and proud and stubborn. He knows you want control, even when it costs you peace. He knows you’re clawing your way through something you don’t want to name yet. He knows—and still, he said nothing until you were already walking away.

You sigh. The kind of sigh that tastes like surrender.

“I’m fine,” you say. Softer now. “Okay? I’m fine.”

Minho doesn’t agree. Doesn’t argue. Just nods like he’s filing it away for later.

And then, gently:

“Text me when you’re home.”

You look at him.

Really look at him.

The dark sweep of his lashes. The slow tension in his jaw. The barest flex of his fingers against the rag he’s holding—like he’s grounding himself on the bar instead of reaching for you.

“I don’t have your number,” you say, quiet again.

He doesn’t even blink.

Just reaches for a napkin. Writes it down in clean, deliberate strokes. Slides it to you without flourish, like it’s nothing.

You take it with fingers that don’t feel like yours.

The napkin is soft, a little damp in one corner, the ink bleeding just slightly where his pen dragged too slow over cheap paper. His handwriting is neat. Precise. The kind you’d expect from him. Not a flourish in sight.

You stare at the numbers for a beat too long.

Like if you memorize them now, maybe you won’t have to admit how much you care that he gave them to you.

“I’m not going to cry in the cab,” you mutter. Not to him. Just to yourself. A warning. A promise. A lie.

Minho’s mouth twitches—too fast to call it a smile. “Good. They charge extra for that.”

You roll your eyes, but the sound that escapes you is almost a laugh.

Almost.

You fold the napkin once. Then again. Tuck it into your purse like it’s fragile, like it’s worth something, like it matters. You don’t say thank you. Can’t. The words would taste too much like gratitude and not enough like the armor you’re trying to put back on.

He doesn’t press. Just nods once—final, quiet—and goes back to polishing the same glass he’s been holding all night. Like none of this ever happened.

You walk away before you can change your mind.

Before you do something stupid, like apologize for flinching. Like ask him to say it again, that he knows you’re not broken. Like ask if he’s ever been hurt in a way that still echoes years later.

The hallway is dim. The velvet curtains at the door part with a whisper. The street outside is colder than you remembered.

You step into it anyway.

That night, lying on your side with the city leaking through the blinds in long gray stripes, you stare at your phone screen for too long.

You’ve opened a new message three times. Deleted it each time.

Minho’s number sits untouched in your contacts now. Just a string of digits and a name that feels like something you shouldn’t be allowed to keep.

Eventually, you type:

[you]: home.

Three dots appear almost instantly.

Then nothing.

Then:

[bartender]: good. sleep.

You stare at it for longer than you should.

Just those two words. No punctuation. No fluff. Just simple, clean concern dressed up like a command.

You can almost hear his voice in it—low, even, with that deliberate edge that makes everything sound like a dare.

You think about typing something back. A joke. A thank you. Something to make it lighter.

But it’s too late for pretending now. And maybe—just maybe—you like that he didn’t say take care or sweet dreams or anything that would let you brush this off as ordinary.

Because it’s not.

You set the phone on your nightstand.

And for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep before the sun rises.

The bass is too loud.

It rattles your ribs, crawls down your spine, settles behind your eyes like a headache waiting to happen. Bodies press in on all sides—sweaty, glittered, half-drunk strangers shouting lyrics they only know the chorus to. The lights strobe fast enough to make you nauseous.

You wish you were having fun.

You should be having fun. It’s Maya’s birthday. Everyone showed up. Friends, coworkers, mutuals you forgot you still followed. You wore the good dress, the one that makes you feel like the sexiest version of yourself. You downed two shots at the bar and danced until your skin burned.

And for a while—it worked.

Until he showed up.

You feel him before you see him. Isn’t that always the way?

That weight in the room. The static against your skin. The sharp twist in your stomach that feels too close to guilt to be anything else.

You turn. And there he is.

Leaning against the bar like he owns it, drink in hand, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make a show of it. He doesn’t look at you at first. He never does. Always lets you spot him first. Lets you feel him before he lets you see him.

Your heart drops anyway.

It’s been three weeks since you told him not to text you again.

Not after the last time—not after his fingers curled too tight around your wrist and left a bloom of purple that took a week to fade. Not after he said your name like a curse when you tried to walk away. You were never his. That was the whole point. And yet… it never seemed to matter.

You turn back toward your friends. Pretend you don’t see him.

It works for ten minutes.

Then a hand slides around your waist.

“You look good tonight.”

You freeze.

His breath is warm against your ear. Familiar. Suffocating.

You force a smile, even as your whole body goes still. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he murmurs, voice syrup-smooth. “Say hi to my favorite girl?”

Your throat tightens. “I’m not your anything.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” His fingers flex at your waist. Not hard. Not yet. Just enough to make you feel like you’ve already lost something.

You shove his hand off. Step back.

“I said don’t.”

He laughs—soft and cruel. “You’ve got some nerve, walking around like that. That dress. That mouth.”

You’re not sure what breaks first—the fear or the fury.

But your hand moves before your mind can catch up, pushing at his chest, not hard enough to knock him back but enough—enough to draw a line, enough to say stop, stop, STOP.

He stumbles back half a step, but the grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it widens.

“Oh, she’s got teeth tonight.”

You hate that he says it like he’s proud. Like he likes it when you push back—because it means he gets to push harder.

“Don’t touch me,” you spit, louder this time. Louder than you meant it to be. Louder than the beat crashing around you.

A few heads turn. Not many. Not enough.

He laughs, cruel and close and reeking of entitlement. “Calm down, drama queen. We used to have fun, remember?”

You take a step back.

He follows.

His hand shoots out again, this time not for your waist—but for your face. Fingers clamp around your jaw, sudden and firm, yanking you forward so fast your breath lodges in your throat.

You gasp.

Pain sparks where his thumb digs in. Your hands shoot up instinctively, trying to pry him off, nails raking across his skin in desperation.

“I said don’t fucking touch me!” Your voice breaks—sharp, raw, real—and for a second, just one, the crowd parts around the two of you like the air shifted.

He leans in closer. His mouth is at your ear. “You think you’re better than me now?” he snarls, voice low and mean. “Is that it? That little bartender got you feeling brave?”

The blood drains from your face.

Because you never mentioned Minho. Not to him. Not to anyone who would repeat it.

It hits you like a punch to the chest. Not just the shock of his voice, low and poisonous in your ear—but what he said.

That little bartender.

Minho.

He knows.

You don’t know how. Don’t know who told him or what he heard or why it matters to him at all—but the fact that he said it means he’s been watching. Listening. Picking up pieces you didn’t even know you were leaving behind.

Your stomach lurches.

“I said—” you shove him with everything you have, panic fusing with rage “—get off me!”

This time, he stumbles. Actually stumbles.

His grip slips from your jaw, and you recoil like you’ve been burned, taking three steps back so fast you nearly trip. Your chest is heaving. Your eyes sting. The club feels too loud, too tight, the lights flashing like warning signs behind your eyelids.

But he recovers fast.

Too fast.

And now he’s pissed.

“You fucking slut,” he spits, voice ugly and thick with venom. “You think someone like him is gonna want you for anything more than your mouth? You think he’s any different?”

You don’t stay to hear the rest.

You turn.

You run.

You don’t care that your friends will wonder where you went, that your drink is still half-full on the table, that your heels weren’t meant for this kind of escape.

You just run.

Out through the club doors, down the street, across the crosswalk without waiting for the signal. You walk like if you stop, he’ll catch up. Like the weight of his voice will sink into your skin and stay there. Like you’ll never feel clean again if you don’t keep moving.

You’re breathing too fast. Hands shaking. Vision blurry. Heart thudding like it’s trying to break out of your chest.

You swallow around the knot rising in your throat, the panic curling its claws up your spine, pressing down hard on your ribs like punishment.

And before you even know where you’re going, your feet are taking you there.

You don’t remember making the turn. Don’t remember crossing the street. You just blink—and suddenly the neon glow of the bar bleeds into your vision, cool and low and familiar in the haze of your panic. The bar. His bar.

And he’s there.

Outside, leaning against the brick wall near the back entrance, one arm crossed over his chest, the other holding a lit cigarette between two fingers. The glow of the cherry lights his face in pulses—his cheekbone, his mouth, the sharp line of his jaw. His sleeves are rolled up, and there’s a smear of something on his forearm. 

He hasn’t seen you yet.

Not until your steps falter and the click of your heels dies out beneath the sound of his exhale.

Then—he lifts his head.

And his whole body goes still.

You must look like a disaster. Eyes wide. Breath shallow. Shoulders drawn up like a cornered animal. Your lipstick smeared, hair falling out of place, the strap of your dress slipping.

But he doesn’t comment. Doesn’t move.

Just watches you.

The silence stretches for a moment too long. Then, quietly—

“Did something happen?”

Your throat tightens at the sound of his voice.

Low. Measured. But not indifferent.

There’s something else beneath it. A thread of tension wound so tight it barely makes it to the surface. The kind of control that only comes from practice. From restraint.

He doesn’t take a step toward you.

Doesn’t reach out.

Minho can read a room better than anyone you’ve ever met, and right now, you’re a room filled with alarms—flashing, screaming, crumbling.

He sees it.

“I…” Your voice falters. “No.”

You mean yes. You mean everything.

But the syllables won’t fit in your mouth.

He nods once. Slow. Like he hears what you didn’t say.

The cigarette between his fingers burns to the filter before he drops it to the pavement and crushes it beneath the heel of his boot.

You don’t realize you’ve been swaying on your feet until your hand shoots out to brace against the wall.

Minho’s eyes flick to the motion, then back to your face. He still doesn’t move.

Instead, his voice softens—somehow quieter than before, like he’s afraid even sound might be too much for you right now.

“I’m just down the block.”

You blink at him, still catching your breath.

“My place,” he adds, nodding toward the street, toward the night that still hums like static around you. “Nothing weird. Just… quieter. Warmer. No one else there.”

You hesitate.

Not because you don’t trust him—you do, in ways you probably shouldn’t—but because your whole body still feels wrong. Like your nerves are too close to the surface, like any wrong move might set them off again.

Minho sees it.

He doesn’t rush to reassure you. Doesn’t over-explain or fumble for comfort.

Just lifts a shoulder in a light shrug and says, dryly, “I have cats.”

Of all the things he could’ve said. “Cats,” you repeat, the word catching oddly on your tongue like it doesn’t belong in a night like this. Like it’s too soft, too domestic, too absurdly normal for the way your heart is still hammering inside your ribs.

Minho nods. “Three of them.”

You raise an eyebrow—wary, trembling, but still capable of curiosity. “Three?”

“Soonie. Doongie. Dori,” he says. “They're spoiled. Judgmental. Loud as hell.” His tone doesn’t change. Still calm. Still flat. But there’s something careful behind it. Like he’s offering you a rope. Something to hold onto. Something that doesn’t smell like sweat and fear and everything you just ran from.

You nod. Just once. And somehow, that’s enough.

His apartment is small. Not cramped, not cold—just lived-in. Clean in that intentional way, like someone takes pride in it but doesn't obsess. The floors are wood, soft under your bare feet when you kick off your heels by the door. The kitchen glows faintly from the under-cabinet lights he left on, casting long amber streaks across the floor.

And the cats… the cats are waiting.

One sits perched on the back of the couch like he owns the place—which, judging by the scratch marks in the armrest, he might. Another peeks out from under the coffee table. The third appears from the hallway, tail high, meowing like you’ve personally offended him by existing.

You blink again.

“They’re boys,” Minho explains as he hangs his keys. “But they act like little old ladies. Dori’s the mouthy one.”

The meowing continues. A chorus now. You’re too stunned to respond at first. But then—Doongie, maybe?—pads up to you with those wide, judgmental eyes and headbutts your calf like it’s his god-given right.

Something inside you breaks. Not in the sharp, painful way. Not like at the club. No. This is different. This is soft. Shaky. This is the moment your body decides it’s safe enough to start crumbling. You crouch down—slow, careful—and let your fingers curl into his fur.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel it drip from your chin. Until your breath stutters. Until you fold over completely, arms wrapped around a cat who didn’t ask for this, face pressed into the warm softness of something alive and gentle.

Minho doesn’t say anything. He doesn't touch you. You feel him move quietly behind you—setting a glass of water on the coffee table, flicking off the main lights until only the soft kitchen glow remains. And then… he just sits. A few feet away. Cross-legged on the floor, still in his black button-up and rolled sleeves, watching you like you’re made of glass and still trying to figure out if the cracks were already there.

You stay curled there on the floor for a while—knees tucked beneath you, fingers knotted in soft fur, cheek pressed to Doongie’s side like it might anchor you to something solid.

The apartment is quiet, save for the occasional swish of a tail or soft thump of paws. You can feel the warmth of Minho’s presence without looking at him. He doesn’t crowd you. Doesn’t try to fix it. Just stays—close enough that you don’t feel alone, far enough that you don’t feel trapped.

Eventually, your breath starts to come steadier. The shaking dulls. And when you finally lift your head, cheeks sticky with dried tears and eyes too tired to hold anything else, he’s still there—arms resting loosely over his knees, gaze steady. You wipe at your face with the back of your hand, half-laughing, half-apologizing.

“Sorry,” you murmur, voice rough. “I didn’t mean to—fall apart all over your cat.”

Minho shrugs. “He probably liked it.”

You snort, exhausted. “He’s purring.”

“Doongie’s kind of a slut for attention.”

You laugh—a real one this time, hoarse and soft—and drag your fingers through Doongie’s fur once more before sitting up straighter, wiping your cheeks with the sleeve of your dress.

Minho stands slowly, careful not to startle the moment, and disappears into the hallway without a word. A minute later, he’s back, holding a folded bundle in his arms—what looks like a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie so worn it’s probably been through a hundred washes. He sets them gently on the arm of the couch beside you.

“Shower’s through there,” he says, nodding toward the narrow hallway. “First door on the right. Towels are on the rack. The water takes a second to heat up.”

You blink up at him, the offer settling slowly over you like warmth. He doesn't say you look like a mess. Doesn’t tell you to clean yourself up. Just offers you comfort in the quietest way he knows how. You nod.

The bathroom is small, clean, and filled with that same soft golden light that seems to follow him everywhere. You peel yourself out of your dress, step under the spray, and let the steam unwind you. It’s the first time all night you feel like you’re breathing in something clean. Like maybe there’s still space in your skin for something that isn’t fear.

You stay until the water starts to run cold. When you finally step out, dressed in his clothes, skin still damp and flushed from the heat, your heart thuds with a strange, fragile kind of relief.

And then you see it.

The couch. The cushions have been cleared, a blanket folded neatly at the foot, pillow fluffed, a glass of water on the side table. One of the cats is curled up like a sentry near the armrest, blinking at you lazily as if to say it’s fine now.

You stare for a second. Because it’s not just that he made up the couch. It’s that he didn’t assume. Didn’t point you toward his bed. Didn’t insist. Didn’t press. He just knew.

You sit down slowly, tucking the blanket over your legs, body sinking into the cushions like they were waiting for you.

Minho reappears from the hallway, already dressed down—black joggers, a loose hoodie hanging off one shoulder, hair damp like he rinsed off too. He gestures toward the light. “You good if I kill this?”

You nod. He flips the switch. The room dims. He doesn’t say goodnight. Doesn’t do the awkward lingering thing. He just turns, quiet as always, and heads for his bedroom.

And for a moment, you let him go.

For a moment, you think it’s fine. But the second the door clicks shut, something tightens in your chest. Your breath catches. Your pulse jumps. That same fear from earlier curls back in under your skin—not loud, not sharp. Just a whisper now. A what if. What if he comes back. What if he finds out where you went. What if this silence isn't safety at all, but the space before another breaking point.

You sit up. “Minho?”

A beat. His door opens again. The light from his room spills into the hall. He’s already halfway back into the living room when he says, “Yeah?”

Your throat works around the words. They feel small. Silly. Needful. But you say them anyway. “Can you stay?”

He pauses. Looks at you. And you can tell—he knows. Knows exactly what you mean. Knows it’s not about him. Not about company. Not about flirting or closeness or warmth. It’s about safety. It’s about knowing the world can’t get to you if he’s there. He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t make a sound. Just disappears for a second, then comes back with two blankets folded under one arm and a spare pillow under the other. He drops them on the floor beside the couch, shrugs out of his hoodie, and settles down without a word.

The hoodie slips off his shoulders in one smooth motion, revealing the thin black tank top underneath—clinging just enough to map the sharp cut of his collarbones, the slope of his shoulders.

You don’t mean to stare.

But the fabric hangs loose at the chest, dipping just low enough to expose the curve of ink over his left pectoral—black lines disappearing into shadow, something abstract and intricate. Just a glimpse. Just enough to wonder what the rest of it looks like when he breathes.

Minho doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just too tired—or too gracious—to call you on it.

He lies on his back beside the couch, one arm tucked under his head, the other draped loosely over his stomach. Doongie circles once on the rug, then collapses beside him like a guard, chin resting on his forearm.

You turn onto your side. The room is still. Not quiet—still. Like the air itself is holding its breath. You don’t sleep. You can’t. Not with the phantom heat of a hand still lingering on your face. Not with the aftershocks of fear still curling around your ribs. Not with the weight of this unfamiliar kindness just a few feet away, warm and steady and unearned.

So you watch him. And eventually, he turns his head. Eyes open. Heavy-lidded but focused. A slow drag up your face. Your cheekbone. The faint shadow blooming just below your temple. His jaw ticks, subtle but sharp, and he doesn’t look away. You don’t flinch.

“Didn’t know you had a tattoo,” you whisper.

He blinks. Like the words take a second to land. “Mm.”

His gaze flicks down briefly—to where the fabric clings to his chest, then back to your face. There’s no smirk, no warning, just a shift in the air, like gravity tilting. “Wanna see it?”

The question isn’t loaded. It’s not teasing. It just is. You nod. Minho sits up slowly, one hand tugging at the hem of his tank top. The fabric slides up and over his head in one clean motion, soft and soundless. He tosses it to the side and leans back on his elbows, the muscles in his arms flexing, loose and languid.

The tattoo stretches across the left side of his chest—black ink, fine lines, bold shapes. It isn’t a compass. It’s a storm. A swirl of wind and waves, jagged mountains etched in silhouette. At its center, the faint outline of a wing—fractured and rising, like something caught between ruin and flight. The ink moves with him, flexes when he breathes, like it’s alive beneath his skin.

You stare.

Not because it’s beautiful—though it is—but because it feels right on him. Like he was born with it. Like whatever storm he came from left its mark on the inside first, and this was just its echo.

Your hand moves before you can stop it.

Slowly, like reaching for fire. Like asking for permission with the space between your fingers. When you don’t meet resistance, you touch him.

Just a single point at first—your fingertip landing lightly on the edge of the wing, where ink meets skin just beneath his collarbone. His breath hitches, subtle but real, a flicker of tension in his chest. You feel it before you hear it. Then you trace. Softly. Reverently. Down the curve of the wing, across the stormline where jagged wind spirals out into broken waves.

Your touch drags slow, deliberate, following the black lines like you’re learning a language. One that only his body speaks. Minho doesn’t move. He just watches you. The way your lashes lower, the way your lips part slightly like you’re holding your breath for him. The silence between you is thick but not heavy—dense with something neither of you are ready to name.

When your finger glides over the highest peak—inked mountain just above his heart—his head tilts back slightly, like the contact pulls something from him. His throat bobs with the swallow he doesn’t bother to hide. You pause. Right over his heart now. The skin is warm. Steady. And for a second, the storm beneath your own ribs goes quiet—like his rhythm tames yours without trying. He exhales.

His eyes flutter shut for a beat, then open again—slow, measured. He looks at you like you’ve unraveled something in him, like your touch left ink on him instead. But when his gaze drops lower, it changes. Softens. Darkens. And then his hand moves. Carefully. Cautiously. Like he’s seen too many things break when touched too fast.

He lifts it to your face, the backs of his fingers ghosting along your jaw—light enough to be mistaken for air. He doesn’t go straight for the bruise. He lingers near it, watching you, waiting for the slightest sign of retreat.

You don’t give it.

So he shifts—just slightly—until his knuckles brush the edge of the swelling beneath your eye. You flinch. Not because of the pain. Not because it hurts. Because of how gentle it is. Like he’s afraid to hurt you, like he doesn’t know how to hold something unless he’s sure it won’t shatter. Like he wants to carve your bruises from your skin and wear them instead. His fingers hover there. Still. Tense. A breath away from trembling.

“Fucker’s lucky I wasn’t there,” he murmurs.

You inhale—slow, shallow. The air catches in your throat like it’s thick with something unspoken, something too big to name. Minho’s hand starts to pull back. And maybe that’s why you speak. Maybe that’s why you reach for something else, anything else, before the room folds in too tightly.

“So,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “that tattoo.”

Minho pauses. Just for a moment. His eyes flick back to yours, and he knows what you’re doing. Of course he does. The deflection is transparent, but he lets it happen anyway—lets you steer them away from the heaviness still clinging to your skin like ash.

“What about it?” he murmurs, settling back on his elbow, the other hand now resting on his chest near the ink you traced. You mirror him slightly, folding into the edge of the couch, letting your cheek rest against the pillow, eyes fixed on the storm etched into his skin.

“The wing,” you say after a beat. “In the center. What’s it mean?”

He’s quiet for a second.

Then: “Freedom.”

You blink. “It’s broken.”

His mouth quirks—barely a smile, not quite bitter. “Yeah. It usually is.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you say nothing. Just let your gaze trace the peaks and spirals, the places where black lines blur like smoke, the edges of him carved in ink instead of bruises. His body tells a story too. You just haven’t read all the pages yet.

Minho shifts again, slowly lying back down on the floor, the side of his arm brushing the base of the couch now. You're above him on the couch, laying on your side so you can look at him.

“You can ask,” he says softly.

“About the tattoo?”

“About anything.”

You hum—soft, skeptical. The kind of sound that curls into the quiet and lingers, not quite a no, not quite a yes. You’re tired now. The real kind. The kind that settles into your limbs like gravity, like wet sand. Your eyes flutter half-shut, your voice feather-light.

“That sounds dangerous.”

Minho lets out a low exhale, something between a laugh and a sigh.

"Maybe.”

Your gaze slips to his again—his eyes open, trained on the ceiling like the answers might be there if he stares hard enough. One hand still rests loosely over his chest, the other pressed against your cheek.

You reach for it. Not with purpose. Not even with need. Just because it’s there. Because it feels like the thing to do.

Your fingertips graze his, gentle, thoughtless. And then his hand shifts—just slightly—so his pinky catches yours. Hooks. Holds.

It’s not a kiss. It’s not a confession.

But it feels like both.

You don’t speak for a while. Don’t need to.

The silence feels clean now. Like rain after smoke. Like you could fall asleep inside it without drowning.

Minho doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe too loud. Just lets you anchor there—your hand half-curled over his, your lashes brushing your cheek as your eyes slip closed.

But then, soft and slurred, half-dreaming:

“You have a nice voice.”

You feel his hand twitch. Just a little.

“Yeah?” he says, and it’s quieter than anything else he’s said tonight—rough around the edges like he doesn’t quite know what to do with the compliment.

You nod against the pillow. “Mhm.”

There’s a beat.

“You’ve heard me say some pretty fucked-up things.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at your lips. “Have I?”

He huffs a breath—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. Just a sound with history behind it. With edge. With weight.

“Don’t play innocent,” he murmurs. “You remember.”

You do.

Of course you do.

Words like silk and smoke, coiled tight with implication. The things he said across the bar, into your drink, into your skin without ever laying a hand on you.

You remember all of them.

But you’re tired. Softened. And the edges of those memories feel dulled now—faded by warmth and flannel and the rhythm of his breathing a few feet from your chest.

So you hum again, lashes still pressed to your cheeks. “They didn’t sound fucked-up at the time.”

Minho’s quiet for a while after that. The kind of quiet that hums.

You can feel it in the space between your bodies—how the air thickens again, but not with tension. With memory. With the weight of everything you haven’t said and the things you probably never will.

“That’s the problem,” he says eventually, voice low enough that you almost miss it. 

Your eyes open again. Just barely. The room is still steeped in shadow, but your vision finds him easy—half-lit, half-lost in the floor beside the couch. One arm tucked beneath his head, the other still tethered to yours.

You study the line of his jaw, the way it tenses and relaxes like he’s caught between restraint and regret. He’s not looking at you anymore. Just staring at the ceiling again, like maybe it’ll answer for him this time.

“You say that like you’re proud of it,” you murmur.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t smirk. Just exhales, rough and dry.

“No,” he says. “I say it like I don’t know how to stop.”

That hurts in a way you didn’t expect. Not because of what he said—but because of the way he said it. Like a flaw in the foundation. Like a truth carved into him long before you ever stepped foot inside that bar.

You shift a little, turning more fully toward him, cheek pressed deeper into the pillow. Your fingers are still slotted with his. His skin is warm. Callused at the tips.

“You don’t have to stop,” you say quietly. “Just don’t lie about what you mean.”

That gets him.

His gaze flicks to yours—fast, sharp. Like he wasn’t expecting that. Like no one’s ever said it to him quite like that before.

“I never lied,” he says.

You blink at him. Slow. Sleepy. “No. But you hide.”

Minho doesn’t answer. Just watches you. Face unreadable. Chest rising slow beneath the ink on his skin.

And then, almost too soft to hear:

“I don’t want to scare you.”

That makes you pause. The silence stretches thin and long between you.

“You don’t.”

Minho swallows. His thumb brushes, barely, against your knuckle.

“Not yet.”

You shake your head. Your voice is nearly gone now—nothing but a breath. “I think I’m harder to scare than you think.”

His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. Not quite not.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “I’m starting to believe that.”

The air settles again. Like the truth came in and made itself comfortable.

You close your eyes, finally letting your body sink into the couch. Letting the warmth of him—his hand, his presence, his voice—press into all the places that still feel fragile.

“Don’t stop talking,” you whisper.

He blinks. “What?”

“Your voice,” you murmur, already half gone. “It’s nice. It helps.”

And when you drift off like that—quiet, safe, held by nothing more than the sound of him—Minho stays awake long after. Eyes on the ceiling.

Still talking.

Just in case you can still hear him.

You wake to the scent of coffee and something faintly savory—garlic maybe, or eggs. The couch beneath you is warm where your body curled into it, blanket tangled around your legs. A cat is pressed to your ribs like a living paperweight, tail flicking once when you stir.

For a moment, you forget where you are. Forget what happened. Forget him.

Then the ache hits. Dull and deep, low in your chest and blooming outward. You shift to sit up, and it all comes back.

The club. The hands. The words.

The running.

And then—Minho.

His apartment is quiet now, but not empty. There’s music playing low from somewhere down the hall. You follow the sound on slow feet, dragging the blanket with you like armor.

You find him in the kitchen, barefoot in gray sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt, sleeves pushed up. He’s at the stove, spatula in one hand, coffee mug in the other. There’s a pan of eggs on the burner. A second mug waiting beside the sink.

He doesn’t turn when you enter. Just glances over his shoulder and says, “Mornin’.”

His voice is rough with sleep. Deeper. It hits somewhere low in your spine.

You hover at the doorway, feeling small in his clothes—his hoodie draped over your frame, sleeves too long, the hem brushing your thighs.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Making breakfast,” he says, cutting you off with casual finality. “You still eat, right?”

You blink. “I… yeah.”

“Good.” He turns back to the pan. “Then sit.”

You do. Quietly. At the counter, fingers curling around the warm ceramic of the mug he left for you. It smells like cinnamon.

He plates the eggs. Adds toast. Pushes the dish toward you and leans back against the counter with his own. He eats without looking at you at first, fork moving in clean, efficient motions.

When he does speak again, his voice is softer.

“You don’t have to go back.”

Your fork stalls halfway to your mouth.

“What?”

Minho lifts his gaze. Steady. Calm.

“I’m serious. If you don’t feel safe there…” He trails off, jaw tensing. “Stay here.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

He doesn’t let the silence stretch far.

“I’ve got room,” he adds. “Cats already like you. You don’t snore.”

That last part earns the smallest smile from you. “You don’t know that.”

“I was up half the night,” he says, mouth twitching. “I’d know.”

You look down at your plate, pretending to rearrange the toast like that’ll somehow buy you time to think. But the words—stay here—they’ve already lodged themselves under your ribs. Warm. Unexpected. Real.

And terrifying.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you say finally. Quiet. Like if you speak too loud, you’ll ruin the softness of it all.

Minho sets his fork down.

The sound is soft, deliberate. When you glance up, he’s watching you again. Really watching—like he does when he’s about to say something that’ll cut deeper than you expect.

“You’re not.”

Just that. Nothing flowery. Nothing performative. Just the fact of it, laid bare on the table between you like it shouldn’t be questioned.

You want to believe him.

You almost do.

But then your fingers twitch near your coffee, and the pain in your face pulses a little sharper—pulling you back into the fragile ache of your own body. You shift to look away, to hide the swelling that’s bloomed across your cheekbone and down to your jaw.

But Minho doesn’t let you.

He moves around the counter slowly, like he’s trying not to spook you. His hand is warm when it finds your chin again—fingertips brushing along your jawline, coaxing your face toward his. Gentle. Grounded.

“Let me see.”

You don’t pull away.

You don’t want to.

His thumb ghosts beneath your cheekbone, skimming over the darkened bloom that’s bloomed overnight. His brow furrows—not in pity, not even in anger. Just... stillness. A silence that hums with the kind of fury he’s learned how to wear like armor.

His voice is low when it comes.

“I hate that he touched you.”

You blink. Something thick swells in your throat, too full to swallow down.

“I hate that I didn’t find you first.”

That hits you harder than it should.

You try to speak—but your voice sticks somewhere behind your teeth. So you just nod, your cheek pressing into his palm like your body can answer for you.

Minho doesn’t let go—not yet. His fingers trail down to the edge of your neck, where the fabric of his hoodie pools at your collarbone. You’re not sure if he realizes how close he’s gotten. How the warmth of him wraps around you now, even without touching anything else.

“I want you to stay,” he says again, steady now. “Not because I feel bad. Not because you need help. I want you here.”

Your next breath comes too fast. Too shallow.

His thumb moves again—just a gentle stroke along your jaw.

“Say something,” he murmurs.

You breathe in once, shaky and thin. “Okay.”

The corners of his mouth pull—slow, subtle. Not quite a smile. Something quieter. Relief, maybe.

He lets your face go with that same care—like he’s afraid it’ll leave a mark if he’s not gentle enough. Then he steps back, returns to his plate, and picks up his fork again like he didn’t just hand you the softest kind of shelter.

You take another bite of your eggs.

They taste better than they should.

You don’t move in all at once.

There’s no official decision, no suitcase moment. Just the slow accumulation of things—your toothbrush beside his, a sock that somehow never made its way back into your bag, a t-shirt folded neatly at the foot of the bed that you don’t remember taking off. A rhythm forms. One that begins with his voice in the morning—low, rough, coffee-laced—and ends with the soft click of the front door when he comes home from the bar past midnight, thinking you’re asleep.

You never are.

The apartment starts to feel different. Lived-in. Yours, even if you never say it out loud. Your shoes by the door. Your laughter echoing off the tile. Your perfume clinging to his sheets like memory.

Minho doesn’t comment. Not once. He just starts making a second cup of coffee without asking. Starts keeping almond milk in the fridge. Throws your laundry in with his like it’s never been separate.

And you—you watch him fall into it as easy as breath.

He moves through the apartment like smoke. Silent, confident, present in ways you’ve never been used to. There’s no performance with him, no empty gestures. If he folds your towel, it’s because it needed folding. If he brings home your favorite tea, it’s because he remembered. And if he looks at you too long in the mirror while you brush your teeth, it’s because he wants to, not because he expects anything in return.

One night, he comes home late. The bar ran over, and the cats had started pacing like they could feel the quiet shift without him. You’re curled on the couch in one of his hoodies, a half-finished movie playing on low, just waiting for the lock to turn. When it does, and he steps inside—shoulders drawn, eyes tired, the scent of smoke and whiskey clinging to him—you don’t say anything at first.

Just watch him.

He slips off his boots. Shrugs off his jacket. Walks into the kitchen and pours a glass of water like he’s not sure how to be here yet.

Then he grabs the pack from the counter.

You sit up.

“Minho.”

He pauses. Doesn’t look at you.

You rise slowly, tugging the sleeves of the hoodie over your hands, padding barefoot to meet him.

“You said you were trying to quit.”

“I am.”

“You’re also lighting a cigarette at midnight.”

He exhales through his nose. Tired. “Rough night.”

You stop just short of the threshold between the hallway and the kitchen, bare toes curling against the tile, the silence stretching taut between you.

“Want to talk about it?” you ask softly.

“No,” he says.

Not harsh. Not clipped. Just final.

Minho pulls the cigarette from the pack with that same familiar motion—two fingers, flick of the wrist. The sound of the lighter clicks once, twice, before the flame catches. He doesn't look at you as he inhales, jaw tight, lashes low. The cherry glows in the dim.

You wrap your arms around yourself.

He leans against the counter, exhales slow, smoke curling up toward the ceiling. It swirls around the line of his jaw, catches the faint sheen of sweat at his temples, clings to him like it’s part of his skin.

You hate how good he looks like this. Angry. Quiet. Unreachable.

But you hate more that you can’t reach him.

“Was it something at the bar?”

His lips twitch. He doesn’t answer.

You step closer, voice gentler now. “You don’t have to carry it alone, you know.”

“I’m not,” he says. Still not looking at you. “I’m carrying it just fine.”

You frown.

“Minho—”

“I said I’m fine,” he snaps.

And this time, it is clipped. Sharp. The kind of sharp that cuts more than it means to. He finally looks at you then—eyes rimmed with something hot and unreadable, mouth hard.

The silence that follows is cold.

You shift your weight, wounded but trying not to show it. “Okay.”

Minho’s jaw ticks. Like he wants to take it back, but doesn’t know how. Like everything in him is fraying at the edges, and you just happened to be the softest thing close enough to get caught in it.

He curses under his breath. Stubs the cigarette out halfway through, presses the filter down into the tray until it smears.

Then, quieter: “It’s not you.”

“I know.”

He runs a hand down his face, palm dragging hard across his mouth like he’s trying to erase himself. Then he sighs and looks at you—really looks at you. The hoodie swallowed around your frame. The bare legs. The worry softening your brow.

His voice breaks a little on the next part.

“Had a guy come into the bar tonight. One of those types—smiles too wide, looks through women instead of at them. He kept cornering this girl, leaning over the counter, asking me why I gave a shit when I told him to back off.”

You say nothing. Just listen.

Minho swallows. “He called me a cockblock. Said I must’ve been jealous.” His gaze drops, eyes narrowing. “Said I looked like the kind of guy who watches.”

You don’t interrupt.

“He grabbed her arm when she tried to leave. Wouldn’t let go."

The words hang there. Not just what he’s saying—but why he’s saying it. You feel it bloom in your chest. Cold. Familiar.

You walk the last few feet.

He doesn’t stop you this time.

Your hand finds his wrist—warm, tense, still trembling slightly. You run your thumb over the bone there, grounding him.

“You’re not that kind of man.”

“I know,” he says. “But I wanted to be.”

That makes you pause.

He looks up. His voice is low. Bitter.

“I wanted to slam him into the bar. Make him bleed. Make him feel small. And the worst part?” A breathless laugh. “I would’ve enjoyed it.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But you didn’t.”

“Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

You squeeze his hand.

It’s quiet for a while. The kitchen lit only by the soft amber under the cabinets, casting warm shadows along the tile. The cats have settled somewhere in the living room. Even the city feels hushed.

He rubs his thumb over your palm absently.

Then, suddenly: “He looked at her the same way—”

He stops himself. His jaw locks.

You swallow.

He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. You know.

And he knows you know.

So you step closer. Gently. Carefully. Press your forehead to his shoulder, breathing him in—smoke and soap and something like home. You pluck the cigarette from his lips and he lets you, watches as you toss it into the sink.

“Come to bed,” you murmur.

He doesn't move.

You tug on his hand again. “Please.”

Minho glances at you—eyes a little too tired, a little too dark—but he lets you guide him.

He doesn’t say much once you're in the bedroom. Just peels his shirt off and tosses it into the corner. You catch a glimpse of the tattoo on his chest again—the wing in the center of the storm, fractured, fighting to stay airborne.

You turn away to climb into bed, give him space.

But when you settle under the blanket, he’s already there. Already behind you. Warm and solid, arm slipping around your waist without hesitation. His chest to your back, his breath against your neck.

He’s quiet for a long time. And then:

“I hate that I couldn’t stop it. What happened to you.”

You close your eyes.

His fingers tighten slightly against your side. Not rough. Just firm. Just real.

“I think about it more than I should,” he murmurs. “What I’d do if I saw him again.”

You shift, just enough to feel him breathe differently—like your movement catches him off guard, like he wasn’t expecting you to respond. But you don’t turn around, not yet. You just let your voice slip into the quiet, soft and slow.

“What would you do?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then another.

His breath ghosts across your shoulder. “Don’t ask me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d scare you.”

His voice is quiet, but not gentle. Measured. Sharp at the edges like he’s spent all night filing it down.

You blink slowly into the dark, heart thudding, air thick between your bodies. You feel him behind you—warm, solid, tense. A wall at your back. A shield. A fuse.

“Tell me anyway,” you whisper.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t exhale.

And just when you think he might pretend he didn’t hear you, Minho speaks.

“I’d wait,” he says, voice low, words heavy like molasses. “Wouldn’t say anything. Wouldn’t warn him. Just watch. Let him come close. Let him think he could try again.”

Your breath catches.

His fingers curl slightly where they rest on your waist, grounding himself in the shape of you.

“Then I’d take his hand,” Minho murmurs, “the one he used on you, and I’d break every fucking finger. One by one. Slow. Make sure he remembered why.”

A chill snakes down your spine.

Not fear.

Just something colder. Older. Like someone had finally said the thing you weren’t allowed to say out loud. That it wasn’t okay. That it would never be okay.

“And when he screamed,” Minho continues, voice almost tender now, “I wouldn’t stop. I’d make sure he understood what it feels like to lose control. To be small. Helpless. The way he made you feel.”

You turn in his arms.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Face to face now.

His jaw is clenched. Eyes storm-dark. He looks dangerous like this. Not because he’s violent. But because he’s loyal. Because he means every word and there’s no drama in his voice—just truth. Cold and clean.

You reach for him without thinking.

Your hand moves to his face, fingers threading into the hair at his temple, thumb brushing the curve of his cheekbone like you’re trying to soothe something in him—or maybe in yourself. And Minho… he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t soften either. He just lets you hold him, lets your touch settle over the anger still thrumming in his bones like a warning bell that hasn’t stopped ringing.

“You wouldn’t scare me,” you whisper.

His brow twitches, just slightly. “You should be scared of a man who wants to hurt for you.”

“No.” You shake your head. “I’ve been scared before. You’re not that kind of man.”

His mouth parts. His breath hits your lips. The weight in his eyes shifts—something cracks beneath it. Not entirely. Just a fracture. A weakness. A truth.

“You don’t know what I’d do,” he murmurs.

You lean in, close enough that your breath brushes his skin when you speak.

“I don’t need to,” you whisper. “I know what you’ve already done.”

His brow furrows, but you go on—soft and steady, the words falling between you like they’ve been waiting for a place to land.

“You made space. You listened. You held me when I couldn’t hold myself. You let me have silence without asking for anything in return.” Your fingers press more firmly against his jaw, thumb brushing just below his lower lip. “That’s enough. That’s more than anyone else ever did.”

Minho’s eyes darken—not with lust—but with something thicker. Something closer to reverence. Like the weight of your trust is heavier than all the violence he ever imagined inflicting in your name.

His hand rises slowly, palm cupping your cheek with a gentleness that borders on fragile. His thumb swipes beneath your eye like he’s checking for something he missed.

“I don’t deserve that,” he says, voice raw.

“Maybe not,” you murmur, pressing your forehead to his. “But you have it.”

And that’s what breaks him.

Not dramatically. Not all at once.

Just enough to make him move.

Minho kisses you like he’s falling. Like he’s been holding himself upright for so long, he doesn’t remember what it feels like to give in. His mouth finds yours, and there’s no hesitation in it—only heat, only hunger. His tongue slides against yours with a quiet groan that vibrates in your chest.

You gasp softly when he pushes you back, his body pressing you into the mattress, weight balanced on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you. One hand slips under your shirt, fingers skimming up your ribs, pausing just beneath the curve of your breast.

He pulls back barely an inch, eyes flicking over your face like a question.

His breathing is uneven, but his touch isn't. His hand rests there—still beneath your shirt, just barely cradling your breast like he's not sure he deserves to hold anything so soft. So willing. His thumb strokes gently, slowly, and his eyes search yours like he's waiting for a line to cross. Or worse—waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, you reach for the hem of your shirt, dragging it up with trembling fingers. You don’t break eye contact. Don’t speak.

You just offer.

And Minho accepts.

He helps, silent, peeling it over your head with quiet reverence. He looks at you like you’re made of something rare and unrepeatable. And when his gaze drags over your chest, down the soft swell of your ribs to your stomach, he breathes your name like a confession.

His voice is wrecked when he says it—your name, cracked and reverent like he’s saying it for the first time. Like it’s a word he isn’t worthy of.

“Fuck, look at you.” His hands drag down your sides, slow and sure, palms wide and heavy like he’s trying to ground himself. He shifts over you, mouth lowering to your breast, and he moans as soon as his lips close around your nipple—no restraint, no performance. Just need. He sucks hard. Just once. Like he can’t help himself. Then he pulls back, panting, and shakes his head like he’s already losing it. “I’m not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that.”

You smile—lazy, wrecked, already warm all over—and tilt your head just enough for your lashes to sweep up, gaze locked on his. You reach for him, fingers trailing down his arm until your palm flattens against his chest, right over the fractured wing. “I’m not looking at you like anything,” you whisper.

Minho’s breath stutters—one of those shallow, fractured exhales that says he doesn’t believe you for a second. Not when your palm is flat against his chest, thumb grazing the tip of that wing inked over his heart. Not when your eyes look like that—half-lidded, dark, shining with something he’s not sure he deserves.

“Yeah,” he mutters, voice rough. “Keep lying to me.”

But he doesn’t pull away. He watches you. Watches the way your hand trails lower, slow and certain, down the cut of his abdomen. Fingertips ghosting over the faint dip of muscle, over the waistband of his pants, teasing the edge like you’re not sure yet—like he has any say in it anymore.

Minho goes still. Not because he doesn’t want it. God, he does. He’s so hard it hurts, cock straining against the fabric, already leaking for you. But there’s something in his face—tightness around the mouth, tension in his jaw. A flicker of control barely clinging to the edge. And you see it. You see all of it. So you press your lips to his collarbone—soft, reverent—and whisper, “Let me.”

Minho shudders. And then he nods. You sink down the bed a little, propping yourself on one elbow, other hand already slipping beneath his waistband. He lifts his hips to help, pants shoved just low enough to free him. His cock springs up, flushed and thick, tip slick with precome, veins standing in sharp relief.

“Jesus,” you murmur, fingers curling around the base. “You’re so hard…”

“Because of you,” he rasps. “You lying, teasing little thing—”

You give him a slow stroke, and he chokes.

You give him another stroke, tighter this time, and the sound he makes punches straight through you—low and ragged, a shattered groan caught in the back of his throat. His hips twitch, almost against his will, and you can feel the restraint vibrating through his body, every muscle tight like he’s on the verge of snapping.

“You’re shaking,” you whisper, almost teasing. “What happened to all that control?”

Minho laughs—just barely. Just a breath.

“Keep talking like that,” he mutters, “and I’ll ruin you before you even get the chance to try.”

But the way his eyes flutter shut when you twist your wrist on the upstroke says otherwise. “Hah—fuck—” He’s panting now, head tipped back, one arm holding himself up beside your head for support while the other fists the sheets like he needs something—anything—to hold onto.

You lean up, breath brushing the underside of his jaw, your voice soft and honey-sweet in his ear.

“You gonna beg for it?”

He freezes. His eyes snap open, and there’s something electric in the silence between you. His cock throbs in your hand, twitching like the idea alone nearly undid him. He turns his head slightly, lips brushing yours.

“Do you want me to?” he whispers.

You smile, smug and slow. “Wouldn’t hate it.”

He groans—deep, guttural, wrecked—and it makes your cunt clench. He looks like he could devour you whole, like he might if you ask nicely. Or if you don’t.

“I’d get on my fucking knees if you told me to,” he mutters, mouth moving along your jaw, your cheek, your throat. His hand finds your hip and grips, firm enough to bruise. “I’d crawl. I’d beg. I’d say please—is that what you want?”

You don’t answer. You just stroke him again—slow, tight, deliberate—and feel the way he shudders against you, how his whole body flinches like your hand alone is enough to wreck him.

“Mm— baby, slow down—fuck—” He buries his face in your neck, teeth grazing skin.

“I’ll give it to you,” he murmurs. “Anything. You want me desperate? Pathetic? Done. Just say it.”

You hum, soft and pleased, lips brushing his temple. “I think I like you pathetic.”

Minho groans—“Fuck, you’re evil,”—but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he sinks into it. Into you. Every stroke of your hand wrings another sound from his throat, each more desperate than the last.

You swipe your thumb over the slit, smear precum down the shaft, and his entire body jolts.

“Shit—don’t—f-fuck—”

“You gonna make a mess in my hand, baby?” you ask sweetly, tightening just a little. “Gonna come like this? Without even being inside me?”

He growls. “No.”

You blink up at him, lips parting in mock surprise. “No?”

Minho pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes absolutely wrecked. Hair messy, jaw clenched, throat flushed with effort. He’s trying so fucking hard not to lose it.

“I’m not coming until I’m inside you,” he says, voice low, dark, edged with pure hunger. “Until I’m fucking deep in that pretty cunt, feeling you squeeze me while I lose it. You think I can come just from your hand?”

He leans in, nose to yours, breath harsh. “I’d beg for the chance to do it right.”

You blink once. Then twice. Then you let go of his cock. Minho groans like it physically hurts.

“Then beg.” He stares at you. One long, heavy moment. Then he kneels back on his haunches, hands splayed on your thighs, and dips his head.

“Please.”

Just one word—but fuck, the way he says it. Voice hoarse, raw, like it’s scraped from the bottom of his chest. His lips graze the inside of your knee as he speaks again.

“Please, let me in. Let me fuck you slow. Let me feel you stretch around me.”

You exhale shakily.

He presses another kiss higher. “Let me make you come on my cock. Let me ruin you so good you forget anyone else ever touched you.”

Your thighs tremble. He reaches for your underwear, eyes flicking to yours for permission, and when you nod—barely, breathless—he tugs them down with reverence, slow enough to make you whimper.

Minho drags your underwear down your legs like it’s the last ribbon off a present, like beneath it is something he’s been waiting his whole life to unwrap. When the fabric slips past your ankles, he tosses it somewhere behind him without a glance. His gaze never leaves you. You’re already soaked.

He sees it—feels it when he runs two fingers through your folds, slow and deliberate, spreading you open with a breathless “fuck me.” His knuckles tremble.

He sees everything. Every flutter of your lashes, every twitch of your thighs, every slick sound his fingers make as they glide through you, slow and reverent. His knuckles tremble, but his touch doesn’t falter—not even a little. If anything, the way his hand moves only deepens, turns hungrier.

“Fuck me,” he breathes again. He parts you with two fingers, spreads your folds and watches your cunt clench on nothing, dripping for him, aching.

“Look at you,” he mutters, like he can’t help it. “So wet I can see my reflection. What the fuck did I do to deserve this?”

You’re panting now, back arching just slightly off the sheets, eyes half-lidded but fixed on him, on the way he looks at you like you’re something sacred and ruined all at once.

“Touch me,” you whisper. “Please.”

Minho sinks two fingers into you in one smooth stroke—slow, thick, curling just right until your breath hits the back of your throat. He groans, low and guttural, watching your cunt stretch around his fingers like it’s something holy.

“So fucking tight,” he grits out, voice wrecked. “How the fuck am I gonna fit my cock in you if you’re already this tight around my fingers?”

The question is low, more to himself than to you, but it rips through you like heat, like lightning. Your walls flutter helplessly around his fingers at the thought, and Minho groans—long, drawn out, wrecked.

“Oh, you like that,” he breathes. “You want me to stretch you open, don’t you?”

Your answer is a breathy whimper, more sound than word—your hips canting up, your fingers curling in the sheets. Minho watches you, chest rising and falling like he’s the one being touched, like you are the thing unraveling him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and then he’s lining up. His cock drags through your folds, thick and flushed, already smeared with your slick. He grinds once—slow, deliberate—letting the head catch against your clit before slipping lower. When he presses in, the stretch burns, even as your cunt welcomes him, soaking and clenching and shaking just from the promise of it.

“Jesus—ngh, fuck—you’re tight,” he growls, jaw clenched, forehead tipped against yours. “Gonna ruin me.”

He gives you an inch. Then another. Then thrusts the rest of the way in with a groan that sounds like it’s been caged in his throat for weeks.

You cry out—sharp, startled, stretched to the brim in one sudden, devastating motion.

“Minho—”

“Shh,” he pants, not stopping. His hips roll into yours, hard and deep, dragging his cock through your walls like he’s trying to etch himself into them. “You can take it. I know you can. Look at you—fuck—made for this.”

The first few thrusts are brutal. Snapping, deliberate, filthy. Your thighs tremble. Your back arches. He pins your hips down like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t keep you there. Every time he sinks back in, your breath knocks out of your lungs, and his name falls from your lips like a prayer—wrecked, endless, real.

“Just like that,” he grits, cock dragging against your walls, soaked in you. “Let me fuck it into you—let me make you feel me.”

But then— Then he slows. Not because he has to. Because he wants to. Because he wants to feel all of it. His hand slides under your thigh, hikes your leg higher around his waist, and he sinks into you again—slower this time. Deeper. His hips roll instead of snap, the rhythm shifting into something that feels closer to worship than fucking.

He fucks into you slow, deep—each thrust wringing a breathy moan from your throat, each drag of his cock carving his name deeper into the heat of you. The sweat on his skin glistens under the low light, hair clinging to his forehead, jaw tight with effort and restraint. You’re clinging to him now—arms looped around his shoulders, nails dragging across his back, body arching to meet every roll of his hips. And then he says it—low, ragged, right in your ear.

“Feel good?”

You gasp, nod, whisper-plead a breathless “Yes.”

He hums—a soft, dark thing, almost smug. He thrusts a little harder, just once, like a reward, like a test. “Yeah?” he pants. “How good? Tell me."

You try—but your voice catches. It’s just air at first, punched out of you by the deliberate grind of his hips, by the thick, aching stretch of him moving so slowly inside you you could scream. You manage a broken, breathy sound: “So—fuck—so good…”

And Minho groans. Long, low, full of grit. He kisses your jaw, your cheek, your lips—messy, hot, open-mouthed. His breath fans against your skin as he mutters, “That all you’ve got for me, baby?”

You dig your nails in—fuck him, he knows what he’s doing. He knows exactly how good he feels, the way his cock strokes that spot just right, again and again, with filthy precision. The way his hand curls around your thigh to keep you spread for him, to keep you right there

You whimper his name—soft, ruined—like it’s the only word you remember, and he groans, sharp and deep, lips dragging along the sweat-slick curve of your throat.

“God, you feel—” he pants, voice splintered, barely holding. “You feel so fucking good, baby. You’re so tight, so warm, you—fuck, you ruin me.”

Another thrust—slow, deep, devastating—and your head falls back against the pillow, mouth open in a silent cry. Minho watches your face twist, watches your chest heave, and it breaks something in him.

“I—shit—I think I’m in love with you.”

It slips out like a sin. Like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. Like he couldn’t hold it in one second longer.

Your whole body goes still beneath him—just for a moment. Like your brain’s catching up. Like his words are a second kind of penetration, sharp and unexpected. He freezes, too. Breath held. Eyes wide. The moment burns.

And then you whisper, broken and trembling: “Say it again.”

Minho doesn’t hesitate this time. “I love you.”

He moans it into your mouth, like it hurts to say, like it hurts more not to. His hand slides up your side, tender now, reverent.

“I fucking love you,” he says again, forehead pressed to yours, hips still rolling deep, slow, full of everything he never knew how to say before now.

“You hear me? You’re not just someone I fuck, you’re—god, you’re everything.”

Your lips part—words rising up like breath, like instinct—but you don’t get the chance.

Minho kisses you before you can speak.

Not soft. Not tentative. It’s all tongue and teeth, heat and hunger, the kind of kiss that steals thought and gives only feeling in return. His mouth crashes into yours like he’s been starving for it—like he’s still starving, even now, with his cock buried deep inside you and your body curled so sweetly beneath his.

You gasp into him, and he drinks it down—tongue licking into your mouth, filthy and tender and real.

And then it’s all friction.

The slow roll of his hips turns urgent, dragging moans from your throat he swallows between kisses. He fucks into you like he means it now—like every thrust is a promise carved into your bones. You cling to him, helpless against the way your body arches, the way your cunt tightens around him, soaked and pulsing, every nerve on fire.

“M-Min—hah—Minho—”

He pulls back just long enough to look at you—just long enough to let you see how wrecked he is, how far gone, how in it he is with you.

“You’re mine,” he pants, voice rough and wrecked, thrusts hitting deeper now, harder, his hand gripping your thigh to keep you open for him. “You hear me? Say it.”

You nod, broken. “Yours—fuck, I’m yours—”

And that’s all he needed.

He groans—loud, guttural—and buries himself deeper, cock twitching as he fucks you through it. His thrusts lose rhythm, chasing his high, and you’re barely hanging on, every drag of him inside you rubbing all the right places, the sweet heat spiraling again in your belly.

You’re both so close. So close.

And when you come again—tight and soaked and shaking all around him—he feels it. Feels you flutter and pull and milk him until he can’t hold back anymore.

He buries his face in your neck, gasping your name as he spills inside you, hips stuttering, voice wrecked.

“I love you—fuck—I love you, I love you—”

It’s not gentle when he comes.

It’s everything.

And when the tremors subside, when your nails loosen from his back and your breaths sync again, he still doesn’t let you speak.

Not yet.

He just kisses you.

And kisses you.

And kisses you.

You learn something about Minho that night. That as nonchalant and unshakable as he seems—cool and composed, cigarette smoke and sharp tongues—when he gets going, he doesn’t stop. Not until you’re crying his name again. Not until your thighs tremble and your voice is wrecked and your body’s too boneless to beg for more, even though your eyes still plead with him.

You lose track of how many times.

The night runs long and slow and molten—fucking turns to touching, touching turns to laughing, and every kiss feels like a secret passed between mouths.

Now, the room is quiet again. Still.

You’re sprawled across the sheets, skin bare, limbs warm and heavy with exhaustion. The duvet’s been kicked down to your ankles, your body slick with the soft sheen of sweat, your chest rising in steady, sated waves.

Minho is gone—but only for a second.

You hear the quiet thud of the fridge door, the sound of a glass under the tap. When he returns, he’s shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and he’s holding out a glass of water like it’s some sacred offering.

“Drink,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and sex. You sit up just enough to take it, careful not to meet his eyes at first—and then you see them.

The marks. Dark smudges blooming across the sharp cut of his hips. Nail trails raked down the meat of his shoulders. A bite on his collarbone, faint and already bruising. All yours. And suddenly you feel… Shy.

You didn’t before—when his mouth was on you, when his hands were everywhere, when your back arched and you begged him not to stop. But now, in the soft quiet, with morning somewhere close on the horizon, it hits you. So you reach for the blanket, dragging it up your chest like modesty matters, like you didn’t spend the whole night unraveling beneath him.

Minho sees. Of course he sees.

And he smiles.

That slow, crooked thing. The one that doesn’t show teeth but somehow says everything.

“Oh?” he murmurs, placing the water on the nightstand before crawling back into bed. “Now you’re shy?”

You don’t answer. Just burrow into the pillow, cheeks hot. He slips beneath the duvet anyway—doesn’t give you a choice. Just tugs it down again with a smug little hum, eyes flicking across your face like he’s trying to memorize the exact shade of your embarrassment.

“I like the marks,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. “Wish you’d left more.”

You blink at him. He just keeps going—slow, lazy kisses trailed down your arm, his body curling around yours like he can’t bear the distance. One arm loops under your waist. The other hooks over your thigh. And then he’s half on top of you, all weight and warmth and him. Clingy.

He tucks his face into your neck like it’s the only place he knows how to breathe. His nose nuzzles behind your ear, lips brushing the shell of it when he speaks again—low, slurred, thick with sleep and smugness.

“Gonna have to start wearing long sleeves to work.”

You choke on a breath, eyes fluttering open. “Because of me?”

“Mm.” He kisses your jaw. “Unless I want to get fired.”

You raise an eyebrow. "You work at a bar, not an office."

“Yeah,” Minho hums, lazy and amused. “But people tip more when I’m unmarked.”

The words slip out casual, offhand—like a throwaway comment he doesn’t mean anything by.

But your smile falters anyway.

Just a flicker. Just enough for him to see it.

You shift beneath him, eyes drifting away, teeth catching your lower lip before you can stop the twist of something sour in your gut. You don’t say anything—not right away—but your silence says enough.

Minho stills.

Then lifts his head, just barely, so he can see your face.

“Hey.”

You blink up at him, startled by the sudden seriousness in his voice.

“Does it bother you?” he asks, tone low. Honest. “Because I’ll quit.”

Your heart stutters.

“What?”

“I mean it.” His hand slides up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “If you don’t like it—me working there, people flirting, whatever—I’ll quit. I don’t give a fuck about the tips.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off before you can answer.

“I only took that job to kill time. To pay rent. But you—” His brow furrows. “You’re not something I’m willing to risk for a few extra bills thrown in a jar.”

You swallow hard.

He watches you.

Your eyes search his face—his furrowed brow, the firm set of his mouth, the dark smudge of sleep still softening the corners of his eyes—and there’s no doubt. No teasing in his voice, no smirk on his lips. Just Minho. Serious. Steady. Unflinching in his honesty.

“I’d rather be yours than anyone’s favorite bartender,” he says, quieter this time.

Your throat tightens.

And for a second, you can’t speak. You can only stare, caught between the weight of his words and the way his fingers stay curled so gently around your jaw—like you might vanish if he lets go.

You whisper, “I don’t want you to quit.”

He waits.

You blink slowly, pulling in a breath thick with the scent of him, the warmth of his body still heavy across yours. “I just didn’t like the idea of someone else looking at you like I look at you.”

Minho’s expression shifts—barely, but you feel it. Something in his chest loosens. His eyes soften, flicking between yours.

“No one else gets to,” he says simply. “Not anymore.”

You exhale, shaky with something that feels suspiciously close to relief. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leans down, brushes his lips against yours—so soft, so sure. “They can look all they want. But I go home with your marks on me. I come home to you.”

Your pulse trips. Your hand fists the sheets at your side, but he feels it. Feels the way the tension bleeds out of you when he says it like that. Like a promise.

And then he flops on top of you.

Dead weight. Limbs loose. Hair flopping messily across his forehead as he buries his face in your chest with a dramatic sigh.

You laugh, startled. “Minho!”

“Mmm,” he grunts, nuzzling between your breasts. “Too early for serious talks. Thought we were in our post-sex cuddling era.”

You squirm under the sudden weight, still giggling, breath hitching when his cheek brushes the swell of your breast. “We can’t be in our post-sex cuddling era if you suffocate me in it.”

He hums again. Doesn’t move.

Just slings an arm over your ribs like a human paperweight, sighs through his nose like he’s never been more at peace. “Shhh,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “You love it.”

You do.

You really, really do.

You let your fingers find his hair, carding gently through the tangled strands at his nape. He melts into it, chest rising and falling slow against your stomach. The silence between you stretches—soft, golden, alive with the echo of everything that came before. Of everything that now lingers.

Minho doesn’t say anything else for a while. He just breathes you in. Lets you trace lazy shapes along his spine. Lets his lips ghost across your skin every now and then, aimless, unthinking. Like he needs the taste of you to fall asleep.

Eventually, you murmur, “You’re not really gonna wear long sleeves, are you?”

He snorts into your chest. “Hell no.”

“Good,” you whisper.

He hums again, content. Almost purring.

Then, after a beat: “Might even go shirtless.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” His voice is muffled against your skin, low and lazy. “Let ‘em see everything. Let ‘em know I’m taken. Ruined. Whipped.”

You huff a laugh, warm and breathless, chest shifting beneath him. “You’re not whipped,” you tease, even though your heart trips a little at the word. The way he says it like a badge of honor, like something he wants people to know.

Minho doesn’t move. Doesn’t even lift his head.

“Babe,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin with every syllable, “I let you suck a bruise into my neck while my dick was still inside you. I think the jury’s in.”

Your face heats instantly. “Oh my god—”

He grins, smug and sleepy and so clearly unrepentant. “Should’ve taken a picture. Hung it behind the bar.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I’m so serious.” He nuzzles into your sternum, exhales a satisfied sigh. “Caption it: Do not touch. Fed and fucked.”

You groan, dragging a hand over your face. “You’re insane.”

He chuckles. “I’m in love.”

The words land softer than they should, but firmer than you'd expect. Not casual—comfortable. Like truth in its final form. And you feel it, all the way down: the weight of his affection, the certainty of it, so tangled up in the ridiculous things he says that it feels like breathing.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer even though there’s nowhere left for him to go. “You’re still insane,” you whisper, lips pressed to his hairline.

“And you’re stuck with me.”

The truth of it rings out between you—not heavy, not sharp. Just there. Simple. Whole. You are. He is.

His fingers drum a slow beat against your ribs. He studies you for a second longer, then tucks himself back in, face hidden against your skin, every inch of him wrapped around you like a shield.

“Go to sleep,” he murmurs, already halfway there. “We can fall in love more tomorrow.”

You close your eyes.

And you do.

It’s been a few weeks.

A few golden, quiet, full-bodied weeks—where everything that once felt fragile now feels real. Whole. Yours.

Minho had asked you properly—booked out the bar for the night, turned the lights low, played your favorite song on vinyl, and gave you a private bartender show complete with one too many shirtless shaker tricks and your name carved into a lemon twist.

He cooked, too. And kissed you between courses. And pulled you into his lap to ask—not casually, not like it was assumed—if you’d be his girlfriend.

You said yes.

Of course you did.

And now you live together. Officially. Your clothes are in his drawers. His toothbrush sits next to yours. He makes you coffee and you fold his laundry and somewhere in the haze of shared spaces and soft kisses, you forgot what it felt like to flinch.

And then it happens fast.

One moment, you’re walking up the block—hands tucked into your sleeves, heart light from the texts Minho sent not even ten minutes ago.

[Minho] : hurry up[Minho] : wear that thing i like [Minho] : might be drunk by the time you get here if i keep taste-testing the menu

The bar’s glowing ahead, amber light spilling out of the windows like warmth. You’re already rehearsing the way you’ll slip onto a barstool, lean over the counter just far enough for him to grab your waist and kiss you across the spill mat—

You weren’t expecting him.

The ex.

Slurring your name like a threat. Blocking the sidewalk like a curse you thought you’d buried for good.

And for a second, it startles you. Not because you’re afraid—no, not anymore. But because how dare he.

How dare he still think he has access. How dare he act like the time you spent clawing your way out of the wreckage didn’t matter. Like the scars he left didn’t teach you how to fight.

You meet his stare.

Voice steady. “Get out of my way.”

“Oh, now you’ve got a mouth?” he slurs, taking a step forward. “What, dick that good it grew you a backbone?”

You don't flinch.

Not when he leans in, not when he sways close enough for you to smell the sour reek of alcohol clinging to his breath like bile. Not even when his voice drops lower, curling around your name like it still belongs to him.

It doesn't.

"You heard me," you say again, firmer this time. "Move."

But he doesn't. He laughs instead—ugly, mean, mouth curled in that old, familiar smirk that used to make your stomach sink.

Now it just makes you angry.

“You always thought you were better than me,” he sneers, stepping closer, invading your space like he owns it. “Acting like you're some fucking saint now, just ‘cause you got a new dick to suck—”

You move to sidestep him, but his hand shoots out—grabbing your wrist, hard.

Too hard.

You stumble back with a gasp, shoulder slamming into the brick wall of the alley beside the bar. Pain sparks up your arm, sharp and hot where his fingers dig into your skin.

"Let—go of me—"

He doesn't.

His grip tightens.

“Don’t fucking walk away from me—”

And then it happens in a blink.

A blur of dark hair, a sharp crack of movement, and suddenly your ex is off you, shoved back so fast and so hard he nearly falls into the curb. The momentum knocks him sideways, but he catches himself, stumbling back with a curse.

Minho steps between you.

Calm.

Controlled.

Lethal.

Minho’s voice is low. Measured.

“You have until the count of three.”

Your ex scoffs, bloodshot eyes narrowing. “The fuck are you gonna—”

“Three.”

No warning. No buildup.

Just violence.

Minho’s fist slams into his jaw with a sickening crack, the force of it snapping his head sideways. He stumbles—off-balance, stunned—but Minho doesn’t let up. Another punch, straight to the ribs, and you hear the breath leave his lungs in a strangled wheeze.

Your ex hits the ground hard.

But Minho’s not done.

He drops to one knee beside him—precise, deliberate—and grabs his hand.

The hand he used on you.

You freeze, breath caught in your throat.

Because you remember.

“Then I’d take his hand, the one he used on you, and I’d break every fucking finger. One by one. Slow. Make sure he remembered why.”

And now—

Now you watch it unfold in real time.

Minho takes that wrist in both hands, pins it to the pavement, and presses down—hard—until your ex screams.

“No—no, fuck—stop—!”

Minho’s grip doesn’t waver.

He curls his fingers around one of your ex’s.

“First one,” he mutters—almost gently. Like he’s naming something, not destroying it.

Then he bends.

The crack is sharp, grotesque. It splits the air like a firework misfired—brief and brutal and final.

Your ex howls, voice cracking as he thrashes beneath Minho’s knee, but it doesn’t matter. Minho doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.

Just shifts to the next finger.

“Second.”

Another break. Another scream.

You don’t look away.

You should—maybe. A part of you knows that. But the rest of you, the part that remembers—remembers shaking hands, bruised ribs, the way your ex used to whisper apologies into your hair while you cried onto the bathroom tile—that part of you watches.

And breathes.

Minho leans closer.

Not loud. Not unhinged. Just cold.

“Third.”

Crack.

Your ex is crying now. Tears, snot, spit—he’s babbling nonsense, slurring pleads that dissolve into whimpers.

“Stop—please—I didn’t—fuck, I didn’t mean—”

Minho grabs the fourth finger. “You meant it every time.”

“Fourth,” he says, and the word falls like a guillotine.

He pulls.

The snap is quieter this time—deeper, more internal. A tendon giving way. A joint yanked cruelly from its socket. Your ex lets out a broken sound, not quite a scream anymore. Not loud. Just raw. Hollow. The kind of sound a man makes when he realizes no one’s coming to save him.

Minho still hasn’t raised his voice.

Hasn’t needed to.

Because this isn’t rage. It isn’t revenge.

It’s justice.

Delivered slow. Delivered steady. Delivered by the man who saw every crack in you and loved you anyway—especially because you survived them.

Minho shifts again.

“Fifth.”

“No,” your ex gasps, eyes rolling, lips slick with blood from where he must’ve bitten through them. “No—no more, I—please, please, I—”

But Minho’s hand is already there, curling around that last finger like a closing grave.

And this time, he doesn’t say anything.

He just looks at him—right in the eyes. Like he wants this to be the last thing your ex ever remembers when he reaches for something in the dark.

Then he snaps it clean.

The sound is sickening.

The scream is hoarse. Shredded. Barely human.

“Touch her again,” Minho murmurs, bending the wrist back until the guy writhes, “and I’ll break your fucking spine next.”

And finally—finally—Minho lets go.

He rises slowly, like he’s not rushing to leave the wreckage behind, like he wants your ex to feel every second of what it means to be beneath him. A shadow cast by justice. A reminder that some hands don’t heal—they answer.

He turns to you.

And all of it—the sharpness, the stillness, the steel in his spine—it bleeds away when his eyes meet yours.

He sees the shock there, the tremble hiding in your shoulders.

And he moves to you—not with fire this time, but with the same careful quiet he always gives you after storms. Hands gentle. Expression softer now, but no less certain.

“You okay?” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek.

You nod—but it’s shallow. Fragile.

So he cups your face in both hands, grounding you.

“Look at me,” he says. “You’re safe. You’re safe now.”

And you know it's true.

Because he is here.

How would he react? Would he ignore you as if he never knew you? Would he run into your arms, like you knew you'd feel the urge to do as soon as your eyes land on his? Would he just greet you politely, like you haven't already exchanged your breaths, your innocence, whispers of love, tangled your tongues and your hearts?

Did he move on?

You wouldn't blame him if he did, after all, you were the one who left him when you had promised to always stay by his side.

You called your grandparents earlier to let them know you'll be visiting, finally after so many years, you had to be there to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary, you wouldn't miss it for anything in the world. They practically raised you while your parents worked out of the village and you always admired the tender love they had for each other, spending so many years together and going through so much that just made their bond stronger.

You were tempted to ask your grandmother about Hyunjin, what he was doing now or if he had a significant other. But, you had bitten your tongue, too scared to find out the answer to your question.

You only hoped he didn't hate you.

Hyunjin. The boy that smiled shyly at you when you were just five years old, when his mother had brought him to your house for a play date while the parents have some 'grown up time'. You returned the shy smile, playing with the fabric of your nice dress, the one your mom made you wear, saying something about a 'good impression'. The awkwardness between you disappeared pretty quickly, as soon as you showed him your favorite toys, the two of you started playing together in your yard, between all the dirt and the flowers. Your mother had scolded you later for ruining your dress but your grandmother calmed her down, telling her how the dress paled in comparison to having a good time with a new friend.

Hyunjin and you had at least two play dates a week which turned into three, then four, soon you became inseparable; especially when you started going to school together. Both of you were pretty frightened about that change, standing in front of the school gate so Hyunjin reached out to hold your hand, squeezing it reassuringly as your little cheeks became rosy.

He was your best friend, your first and last crush.

Years of being by his side, watching him grow and growing with him, you couldn't imagine your life without him. Hyunjin knew almost everything about you as you did with him and when both of you started high school, something changed.

He was growing up, he was different than before and you started looking at him differently. Before, you were used to the feeling you got when he touched your hand but now it seemed more electrifying. Hyunjin felt the same, suddenly becoming a stuttering mess next to you, staring at you with shiny eyes and a dumb smile on his face while you'd come home from school every day with butterflies in your stomach and a new diary entry to write.

You noticed how pretty his smile was, how gentle his voice sounded when he spoke your name, how his eyes were trained on your lips one too many times. Hyunjin noticed how your silky hair fell over your shoulders, the way you'd flip it back when he called out to you, how you'd smile at him with rosy cheeks.

Then one night while you were sleeping, Hyunjin couldn't hold back anymore. He sneaked out of his room, stalking down the road quietly to your house, you were only a few minutes away from his place. He stood beneath your window, his palms clammy, heart pounding against his chest, his throat completely dry. There was no going back now. You were awakened by the sounds of little stones hitting your window and confusedly you sat up, squinting towards the direction where the sound was coming from.

"What the-" you started as you stood up. You quietly walked over to your window and peeked down.

"Hyunjin?" you wondered to yourself before opening the window abruptly just as he lifted his hand up and threw another little rock, almost hitting you straight in the face but you dodged with a gasp as it landed behind you.

"Bunny! I'm so sorry!" he panicked immediately, flailing his long arms, the nickname he always used for you making your stomach flutter.

"What are you doing here? It's 2am." you asked confusedly.

"Let me come up please. I need to talk to you." Hyunjin looked nervous, shifting from one foot to the other, chewing on his lip and playing with his fingers.

"Can't this wait until the morning?" your brain was still half asleep and the chilly air from the outside made you shiver in the little nightgown you had on.

"I mean... I guess it can. It's just I don't know if I will have courage tomorrow." he mumbled, looking down and kicking around the little rocks with his foot.

"Fine. Come on up." you said and Hyunjin climbed quickly even though you scolded him, reminding him to be careful and quiet.

"Sorry." he sheepishly smiled at you when you grabbed his wrists and pulled him inside, but his foot got stuck which ended in you falling backwards on your butt and him sprawled on the floor on his hands and knees, hovering over you.

"Hyunjin!" you grunted in pain. "If my grandparents find you here-"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry!" he whispered and the two of you just sat there quietly, trying to hear if there was any indication that someone was coming to your door.

But it was dead quiet, except for the crickets outside of your house and the loud thumping of your heart so both of you let out a breath of relief.

"What did you need to tell me?" you asked after the two of you sat down, you on your bed and Hyunjin on the chair. He stood up abruptly, a shaky breath leaving his lips. Hyunjin rubbed his hands together as he looked away from you. You were suddenly worried, knowing he rarely gets this serious.

"I've been hiding this from you for a while but I can't hold it back anymore, even if you don't feel the same about me I need you to know how I feel because otherwise my chest will burst." he babbled, looking at you nervously.

"Jinnie, what are you talking about?" you asked with brows furrowed, your heartbeat picking up speed.

"I like you. More than friends. As in I'd like to kiss you and hold your hand and have it mean something more than just 'best friends'. I want to be your boyfriend." he blurted out, heart wilding in his chest as he scanned your face, looking for a reaction.

Your lips parted as you stared at him quietly for a moment, trying to process what he was saying. Your dear, sweet Jinnie who you were in love with for years was confessing to you? Looking so nervous and adorable, telling you he wants to kiss you and be yours?

You wished you could scream. So, you did just that. You grabbed your pillow and muffled your excited scream with it as Hyunjin stared at you with wide eyes.

"Um. Are you okay?" he chuckled awkwardly.

"Not really." you shook your head. "Sorry, it's just... I like you too, Jinnie. And I'd love to kiss you and be yours."

"Oh." he stood awkwardly in place like he wasn't expecting a positive answer.

"Are you gonna kiss me now?" you asked sheepishly after a moment of silence.

"Can I?" he looked excited and nervous as he came closer to you and you stood up slowly, nodding at him.

"I- You know I've never kissed anyone before." he said quietly.

"Me neither. It's okay." you gently took his hand in yours and Hyunjin felt the familiar comfort you always gave to him, reaching into his soul even now.

You stared into each other's eyes for a moment, letting the dust settle and the reality sink in, smiles creeping up on your faces as you slowly leaned in. Lips against lips pressed together and your eyes fluttered shut, your entire body buzzing.

Hyunjin squeezed your hand, his other hand tentatively touching the side of your waist as you placed your hand on his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat underneath your fingers.

Everything fell into place then, you were his and he was yours-

"Miss? Miss, we're here." you snapped out of your reminiscing session as the driver pulled up to your grandparents house. You almost forgot how tiny the village is, how cozy and familiar all of it is. The dirt roads you walked on, mostly with Hyunjin by your side, the little forest that led to a clearing you used for picnic dates and stargazing, your grandmother's colorful garden, the porch she always sat on, admiring the flowers she helped grow. Even the air smelled familiar and it was almost as if you had never left.

"Let me help with your bags." the man said as you walked out of the car, taking a deep breath of fresh air into your lungs.

"Thank you." you said as he pulled out your suitcase. "Careful with those, please!" you added as the driver struggled, finally managing to put both of your suitcases down.

You missed the annoyed look he gave you while you put on your lipgloss, making sure your lips were nice and plump as you checked yourself out in the little pocket mirror.

"Oh, right." you remembered. "Here." you opened your wallet and grabbed some bills, paying the driver and leaving him a nice tip.

Before you could close your wallet, something caught your eye. A little picture of you and Hyunjin, where he was holding you from behind, both of your faces rosy with big smiles as you were chuckling together. You sighed and closed your wallet quickly, shoving it into your bag.

"Thanks for the tip, miss. Have a nice day." the man rounded his car.

"You too." you waved and he turned on his car while you stepped back as the screeching tires lifted up the dirt.

"Ugh." you made a disgusted face, turning around to pull your suitcases with you. After a struggle with the luggage, you managed to finally make the little wheels roll as you walked into the driveway of your childhood home.

"Shit!" your heart leaped out of your chest when your foot got stuck and you pulled, gasping once again when you realized your heel broke.

"Great. Just what I need." you rolled your eyes. Not a good beginning to this visit, you thought.

"Oh, she's here!" you heard the warm, familiar voice belonging to your grandma.

"Nana!" you called out to your grandma as she made her way to you, surprisingly agile for her age. "Oh!" you gasped when she gave you a bone crushing hug.

"Oh, how I missed you my child!" she was already pinching your cheeks as you groaned, noticing your grandfather had just walked out on the porch.

"There's my favorite grandchild." he said with a wink and you shook your, chuckling.

"Of course I'm your favorite when I'm the only one." you laughed quietly and grandma shushed you.

"Don't ruin his jokes, it makes him happy." she nudged you with a wink and you nodded.

"Come here." your grandpa kissed your cheeks, taking a moment to look at you.

"You look all serious and business-y." he said and you chuckled, looking down at your attire.

You were still wearing the suit you'd usually wear to work and the heels that were now broken.

"My heel broke." you remembered and you grandma started laughing.

"Honey, you can forget about heels here. I hope you brought some comfortable shoes that are dirt friendly." she joked as your grandpa helped with your luggage.

As soon as you walked into the house, you were hit with an even bigger wave of nostalgia than the one slowly building in your soul while you drove towards the village. They haven't changed almost anything, all the decoration was the same, everything smelled the same and familiar, like the home you grew up in never changed.

Like you never changed.

"Are you hungry, my child?"

"Oh yes." you nodded at your grandma eagerly, happy to be eating her home-cooked food.

"Good, wash your hands and join us for dinner."

She gave you some house slippers as you threw your poor broken heels aside and after washing your hands, you joined them at the table.

"So, how is the big city treating you?" your grandpa asked and you caught them up on your work, friends, your apartment, anything about the city you thought was worth mentioning.

"How are things here?" you asked after they listened to you, interested in your new experiences.

"Oh, you know. There is always something to do here. We have the house, the garden, the chickens, the goats. We are not as young and strong as we were once before but we are used to working. Plus, someone always comes to help out." nana explained.

"Like who?" you asked absentmindedly, chewing on the salad.

"Well, do you remember Chan? He was always a nice boy, that one. He got married recently but he still comes to help out with some repairs the house needs."

"Chan got married? Wow." you chuckled, it made sense. He had the same girlfriend for years and he was older than you so you weren't that surprised.

"And of course, Hyunjin." you grandma gave you a knowing smile as your entire body froze and you almost choked on your salad.

"Hyunjin got married?!" you spat out and your grandma gasped and then started laughing.

"No, dear, no." she chuckled at your reaction. "I meant Hyunjin comes here to help a lot. He repainted the entire kitchen and living room. Helps out with the animals and the garden when he isn't working on his farm. Or working around with other people, helping them build their houses and things like that."

"Oh..." you swallowed. "So, you see him a lot?"

"Yeah, almost every day!" grandpa chuckled. "He even joined us for breakfast this morning."

You suddenly felt a knot forming in your stomach. Hyunjin spent more time in your home, with your family than you did.

"Does he... does he have someone? You know. A partner." your voice broke a little as you blinked your tears away. You hated how you always cried easily, especially when it's about Hyunjin.

"No, he only works." your grandma frowned. "That boy never stops from early in the morning until late night hours. He just works and works his days away."

Somehow, that made you feel a little more at ease even though your heart still hurt.

"He asks about you, you know." grandma added.

You almost choked on your food again.

"He does?" you swallowed quickly, deciding that your appetite is now gone.

"Yeah. He asks if you're healthy, if you're doing good."

"Oh."

The weight of your grandma's words settled in your heart, heavy like a rock even as you tried to distract yourself with washing dishes and helping her clean up.

"Your room is the same as it was always. We never touched or removed anything." your grandma smiled at you, her hand gentle on your cheek.

"You should go see Hyunjin." she added.

"I- Maybe later." your throat dried up and you needed a moment to yourself, a moment to gather your thoughts. You walked up the stairs to your room as soon as you finished cleaning up, pulling your suitcases up with you. When the door creaked open, you were greeted by your past.

Your grandparents really left everything intact.

You stopped in your tracks after closing the door, too scared to move so you wouldn't disrupt the memories you were witnessing in your mind. Countless times Hyunjin and you spent here, ever since you were kids all the way up to the end of high school and the summer before you left for good. He was everywhere in that room. He sat on your windowsill, he paced around the floor, he swayed backwards on your chair (falling on his butt one too many times), he laid on your bed, kissing you and telling you how much he loves you.

There were polaroid pictures of you on the left side of your table, the drawings he gave you as a gift, your favorite teddy bear he got you for your one year anniversary still propped up against your pillows... You opened your drawer and found your diaries, his name scribbled on the pages, on your heart. You picked up one of the polaroids as your other hand automatically went to your chest. The couple necklaces you shared, one half of a heart was still around your neck, hidden under your shirt and close to your heart, the other one was still with him or maybe it wasn't. Maybe he threw it away after you left and never came back, not even returning his calls or texts.

"Hyunjin..." you whispered as you smiled at the picture, him with his hair over his eyes trying to make a scary face and you in the back, your hands on his shoulders as you stood on your tippy toes and put your tongue out, making a silly face.

Suddenly, you were overcome by emotions and tears spilled from your eyes. You loved him your entire life. And even if you tried to escape that feeling, you never really could. Hyunjin grew roots inside your heart and he wasn't going anywhere any time soon. You let yourself cry for a moment, hugging the teddy bear as you sat on your bed.

Should you go see him?

He has every right to be mad at you and you were scared of him turning a cold shoulder. But then again, your grandma said he asks for you. Maybe he is just curious?

Either way, you weren't ready to face him yet.

You decided to unpack and shower, change into something more comfortable and hopefully catch up on sleep.

But as soon as you got into your bed, sleep wouldn't come to you, no matter how quiet and peaceful the village was in comparison to the city and how comfortable your old bed was. Your mind drifted off to that night when Hyunjin snuck in, right before your prom.

Six years ago

"Hey, little bunny." Hyunjin had climbed through the window that you left open for him, knocking down one of your books from the shelf next to it in the process.

"Hyun!" you scolded him with a chuckle.

"I know, I know. I'm trying to be quiet." he whispered, lifting his arms up in defeat.

"Come here, clumsy." you giggled and he practically skipped to you, his long arms wrapping around your smaller frame and pulling you into him.

"I'm so excited for tomorrow." your voice was muffled by his chest and he chuckled.

"Me too. I hope I don't step on your toes." he grimaced and you looked up at him, your fingers tangled in his long dark hair.

"You won't. You're a great dancer and we practiced a lot." you smiled, caressing the back of his neck and Hyunjin melted, his arms tightening around you.

"Yes, but when I'm nervous I can't control my body." he whined with a pout. "There will be other people there, looking at us and-"

"You'll do fine, trust me." you interrupted his nervous babbling. "Just imagine it's the two of us, like right now." you swayed slowly and he followed you, exhaling and pressing his forehead against yours.

"I love you, little bunny." he whispered.

"I love you too, Jinnie." you whispered back and his lips were on yours instantly. Hands explored awkwardly as you were backed into your bed, falling down with Hyunjin on top of you. You had messed around like this before, his hands under your nightgown, fingers dipping into your underwear, your hand wrapped around his length.

"H-Hyunjin?" you whimpered as he slowly pumped his fingers inside you, kissing your neck.

"Yes, doll?" he whispered back, the nickname giving you shivers.

"I'm ready. For... you know. I wanna go all the way with you." you bit on your lip as his eyes widened.

"Are you- are you sure? I can wait for you for however long you need. You don't have to feel pressured." he shook his head, pulling his fingers out.

"No, no. I am sure. I love you and I want to be yours completely." you gripped at his shoulders and Hyunjin's heart leaped out of his chest as he smiled sweetly at you.

"I want to be yours completely too. Be your first and your last. And you mine."

"Jinnie." you almost started crying from the overwhelming feelings, your lips quickly finding his. Hyunjin was a little awkward, unsure of himself and scared that he'll hurt you or do something wrong but he was still gentle, trying to put you first even though he was more excited than ever to have you like this and be connected with you.

"I have condoms in the drawer." you pointed at the nightstand and he narrowed his eyes at you.

"You were planning this?" his face became as red as a tomato.

"I mean, yeah." you nodded, the color of your cheeks matching his. "I've wanted this with you for some time but I was nervous to tell you." you admitted.

"You're so cute, bunny." Hyunjin giggled, caressing your cheek gently with his knuckles.

"Ugh." you groaned in embarrassment while he kept chuckling, reaching for the drawer.

The moment he started pushing in, the world around you disappeared and you were concentrated only on him.

"Does it hurt?" Hyunjin asked as he kept filling you up gently.

"A little." you gasped, it was definitely a bigger stretch than his fingers.

"I'm sorry." he looked guilty immediately. "Do you want me to stop?"

"N-no. Keep going." you whispered, holding onto his upper back.

Hyunjin's eyes fluttered shut when he bottomed out inside you, his entire body was buzzing, his heart was beating fast and he was trying to gather all the mental and physical strength not to finish too quickly.

"Y/n." he gasped when he finally opened his eyes and looked at you, a sweet lovestruck expression on your face, your eyes sparkling, all for him, all his.

"Hyunjin." you moaned at the way he felt inside you and the way he looked at you, like you hung all the stars in the sky just for him.

"I adore you, bunny." Hyunjin said gently and your heart bursted right then and there.

"I adore you too." you whispered back.

He slowly started moving inside you, whispering words of love and praise the entire time as you clutched onto him and returned his praises.

You've never felt like that before, completely and utterly loved by him, connected with him.

Which made it harder for you to give him the news you were supposed to tomorrow after prom.

Present time

You were rudely awakened at 5am when the rooster in your nana's backyard started crowing loudly.

"Ugh!" you forgot about all the charms of living in a village as you grabbed the pillow and put it over your face, a muffled 'shut up' pressed into it. You waited for a few moments, throwing the pillow aside and turning to your left, coming face to face with the teddy bear Hyunjin gave you, which of course you named 'Jinnie' back then, making your boyfriend laugh adoringly at you.

"Good morning, Jinnie." you said to the teddy, pulling the plushie closer to you as you hugged it and sighed. "Guess I should get up." you added with a shrug before stretching and then getting up.

You opened up your wardrobe, choosing to wear a red dress with a dainty floral print on it and got ready in your room, listening to music just like you did every day before school or a date with your boyfriend years ago. You opened up another drawer in your table and gasped when you saw the corsage that Hyunjin gave to you when he came to pick you up before prom.

You clutched it in your hand and thought back to that night, when Hyunjin came to pick you up.

Six years ago

To say Hyunjin was nervous was an understatement. He felt as if every atom of his being was about to burst into little pieces when he rang your doorbell. He was a wreck as he kept wiping his sweaty palms against his jacket, annoyed at the fact that no matter how many deep breaths he took, his heart was still hammering against his chest, ready to burst. Why was he so nervous? It was just you, his little bunny.

Oh, but he wasn't ready and he was right to be so nervous because as soon as your grandma opened the door with a smile, ushering him in, his eyes landed on you and they widened. Hyunjin felt as if the world stopped spinning, all the clocks stopped ticking, his heart quit beating and his breath got stuck in his throat. You became the only center of gravity, pulling him in towards you and nothing else around the two of you mattered.

He was completely and utterly floored and whipped for you.

Hyunjin finally understood the meaning of the word 'breathtaking' because that was the only thing that came to mind as you smiled at him so beautifully, so in love, so happy, wearing the most gorgeous dress he'd ever seen you in.

"Y/n." was the only thing he managed to say and you chuckled, your heart swelling at his reaction.

It was your turn to gawk as he came closer to you, you'd never seen him wearing a suit before and he looked even more handsome than he ever did. Your knees buckled when he stood close to you, the smell of his cologne was intoxicating but his lovestruck smile was even more mesmerizing.

Your grandparents smiled lovingly at the two of you before glancing at each other knowingly as Hyunjin gave you your corsage, gently putting it on your wrist. So many pictures were taken before you had to rush out so you wouldn't be late to the dance.

The night was magical and everything seemed possible under the fairy lights as Hyunjin and you swayed to the gentle melody of the familiar song coming from the speakers.

"Do you want to slip out after our song?" Hyunjin's plump lips brushed against your ear as he pulled you tighter into his heated body.

"Won't the chaperones notice?" you asked as you looked up at him only to find him smirking.

"We'll be stealthy." he said and you giggled.

"Right, stealthy."

"Yes, see I didn't even step on your foot!"

"Not yet." you teased him and Hyunjin pouted, whining and burying his face in your shoulder.

"Mean bunny." he tickled your sides, making you squirm and squeal.

"Fine, sorry." you giggled, knowing he wasn't actually offended. "You did a great job." you added and Hyunjin looked up at you with a sweet smile, his cheeks rosy.

"Thank you, doll. You did too." he smirked, brushing his lips against yours.

You managed to sneak out somehow while everyone was dancing to a quicker beat and you knew exactly where you were going; to your favorite spot with Hyunjin, the path to it so familiar that you could walk through it blind, the soil remembering all your footsteps.

"Hyune, um... I'm wearing heels." you whispered as he shined the path ahead with a little pocket flashlight.

"Oh, right." he thought for a moment before kneeling down. "Get on my back, doll."

"Are you sure?" you asked and he chuckled.

"Of course." he nodded eagerly and you climbed up on his back, feeling light and happy, giggles spilling from both of your lips. "Hold this." Hyunjin gave you the light and you shined it ahead as he gripped the back of your thighs and carried you.

Being a little tease, Hyunjin pretended he was going to drop you a few times only to have you almost scream as your arms wrapped tighter around him.

"Stop that!" you whined.

"Sorry, sorry bunny. I'll stop. You're just so cute." he smirked.

"If you weren't carrying me right now, you'd be in big trouble." you scolded and Hyunjin let out a laugh, your favorite tree coming into view.

"Yes, I know. Biiiig trouble." he kept chuckling and you were this close to biting his shoulder.

"Here we are, bunny." he gently put you down and wrapped his arm around you as the two of you stared at the carving in the trunk.

Hyunjin + Y/n.

Both of you laughed then, you had carved your names in when you were barely 16 and seeing it now was equally as embarrassing as it was sweet.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?" you looked up at Hyunjin and he smiled sweetly at you.

"I promise I'll love you forever." he whispered, lifting his pinky and you giggled.

"I promise I'll love you forever too, my sweet Jinnie." you whispered back, your pinky curling around his.

Hyunjin chuckled in delight and pulled you into a sweet kiss.

You didn't have the heart to tell him you got into uni and would be leaving the village in September.

Present time

You had to go visit the tree.

"Fuck." you cursed, angrily wiping your tears away, before putting the corsage back into the drawer and slamming it shut.

Too many memories.

You quickly made your way downstairs where your nana was already serving breakfast.

"Oh, I thought you'd be sleeping more, dear." she lifted her brows in surprise.

"I thought so too." you joked, giving her a pointed look and she laughed.

"I see you forgot how it is here." nana shook her head. "When you haven't been around for so long."

"I'm sorry." you grimaced, sitting down to eat with her. "I know I should've visited more. I got caught up in studies and work and-"

"Breathe, dear." your grandma squeezed your hand with a chuckle. "It's not me who you should be explaining this to."

You gulped, knowing she was referring to Hyunjin.

"Where's grandpa?" you asked.

"He's out back, working."

"I was thinking of going for a walk before lunch. I'll make sure to come back though to help out."

"Sure, dear. You haven't been here for so long, you should catch up with the place and the people." grandma nodded with a wink and that was exactly what you planned to do.

It was around 7am when you finally walked out of the house, inhaling the fresh air you were deprived of in the big city. It was a bit chilly in the morning so you draped a light jacket over your shoulders and let your legs lead you through the familiar streets.

You still didn't want to see Hyunjin so you went the opposite direction of his house, trying to stick to the shadows for now, just to have a little more peace to yourself and mentally prepare for the inevitable encounters of everyone you grew up with.

It was painful. Walking all the familiar paths you walked through before with him, it was as if you could hear his laughter echoing down the street. Your heart squeezed in your chest when you realized just where your legs had taken you.

The tree.

It was still there, as tall as ever, its branches familiar as you and Hyunjin had laid under them multiple times, kissing, talking, laughing, holding each other close. You walked closer, your eyes brimming with tears when you saw the carving. Hyunjin + Y/n. Forever.

The word you had added that night after prom.

You cursed yourself mentally for crying again and being so overcome with emotions. You couldn't stand there for too long and were about to leave when something caught your eye. Another carving, smaller and almost unnoticeable on the right side of yours. You leaned in closer to inspect it and your heart almost stopped.

Hyunjin.

Nothing else, just his name was carved into the wood and you felt fresh tears forming in your eyes. Leaving was definitely a mistake, maybe the biggest mistake you ever made, especially after the let down you experienced in the city. You wiped your tears away again and decided to leave the tree be, your heart hurting at the thought of Hyunjin sitting under the branches alone, carving his name and wondering why you had never called back or came to see him. You walked away, back down the path and into the village, deep in your thoughts. Lost in the memories of what once was you didn't even realize where you came, as your legs walked on autopilot.

Only when the familiar light blue house came into view, you snapped from your thoughts, eyes wide and heart dropping into your stomach.

"Shit!" you whisper-yelled. This was the only house you wanted to avoid and yet you were standing right in front of it. As far as you knew, Hyunjin's parents didn't live there anymore, he was living in the big house completely alone, his only companions his animals.

Your knees almost gave out as you stared, before getting spooked when you heard barking. A big black dog ran to the fence, barking at you in warning. You had never seen it before so Hyunjin must've gotten it after you went to the city. You backed away as the dog kept barking at you in a not-so-friendly manner. You turned and started walking away, hoping Hyunjin didn't hear that or wasn't home because you still weren't ready to see him let alone talk to him.

Then, you heard a familiar voice.

"Easy girl, easy." you assumed he was talking to the dog as the barking subsided immediately and you stopped in your tracks.

"Well, well." you heard then. "If it isn't little bunny."

Your heart leaped out of your chest. You hadn't heard that nickname in years.

"Don't even wanna say hi?" Hyunjin continued and you heard the sound of the little fence door opening. Slowly, you turned around and basically almost fainted.

This wasn't your sweet, shy and little Jinnie. You almost didn't recognize him as you stared at him with eyes wide and mouth agape.

His long hair was gone, replaced by a neat buzzcut that was also bleached, he had piercings on his ears, his arms were big and muscular, a few tattoos here and there, visible in the tanktop he wore. He looked taller, bigger, more manly. Your knees buckled and the more you looked at him the more you felt lightheaded.

Hyunjin smirked, noticing how you were salivating and a little chuckle escaped his lips.

"Gonna catch flies like that." he teased and you closed your mouth, attempting to compose yourself as you stood up straighter. His eyes then traveled all over your frame, the teasing glint inside them turning into something softer until they fell on the necklace and he felt as if the ground underneath his feet almost gave out.

You were still wearing it. Just like he was, his half heart hidden under his top.

"Hi." you said quietly. "You look different."

"A lot can change in six years." he stated, still keeping a good distance away from you.

"It can." you stepped back, feeling suffocated by his presence as you tried to read his face and tone of voice. Was there anger? Regret? Did he resent you?

"You're different too." a small smile appeared on his lips.

"How so?" you tilted your head to the left, thinking how you pretty much looked the same since the end of high school.

"You've gotten even more beautiful." Hyunjin said like it was nothing and you were sure you were having a heart attack in that moment.

"I- That- Thank you." you had no idea what to say. "I have to go... Help nana with lunch. And stuff."

Hyunjin smiled wider.

"I'll see you later then, bunny."

"Sure." you turned around so quickly that you almost snapped your neck. Hyunjin watched with bathed breath as you scurried away from him.

You finally came back.

-

"Did you see Hyunjin?" nana asked as you helped her clean around the kitchen after lunch.

"Accidentally, yes." you said and she chuckled.

"I never understood why you broke up, you two are made for each other." she said and you almost dropped the plate you were holding.

"We didn't... actually break up. I just left."

"I thought you were still together back then, I was wondering why he never went to visit you or you him. I only realized you weren't together once he asked me if I knew where you lived in the city. Which I forgot the address, dear, so I hope I didn't do anything wrong by not telling him."

"No, no, nana. You did nothing wrong. It was my fault. I thought I was doing the right thing. But I'm not so sure anymore." your eyes welled up with tears as you clutched onto the counter.

"Oh, honey." your grandma was instantly by your side.

"I told him I would come back. I wouldn't be surprised if he hated me now and wanted nothing to do with me." you sniffled as nana wiped your tears away.

"Oh dear, Hyunjin doesn't hate you. He talks very fondly of you always. That boy still loves you."

"He- He does?" you thought back to your encounter today.

"A love like that doesn't disappear overnight. Or over the span of six years." your grandma teased, making you chuckle through your tears.

"If you say so."

"Talk to him. He is coming to dinner tonight anyways." she announced.

"He is what?!" you almost yelled.

"He usually joins us for dinner. At least a few days in the week."

You panicked immediately.

"I have to go get ready then!"

Nana bursted into laughter as she watched you frantically run up the stairs.

"What was that about?" grandpa came in, looking up at the metaphorical dust that you left behind after running.

"Oh you know. Love." grandma winked at him and he shook his head with a smile.

Shit.

Hyunjin is coming over for dinner. You had to look your best.

You've gotten even more beautiful.

His words rang in your head and your cheeks became red instantly, heart beating hard in your chest. You quickly opened your wardrobe and began throwing clothes everywhere, your room soon looking as if a tornado had passed through it. You tried on multiple outfits but with every single one you found something wrong. The color was too bright, the shirt was too big, the pants looked weird...

So you settled on another dress, a pretty and white flowy one with yellow flowers on it, the shape of it accentuating your frame, your bare legs on display. You decided to wear heels too and put on some makeup. You were so nervous as if you hadn't already been his.

While you were doing your hair, you stared into your reflection and remembered that warm summer night when you told Hyunjin you were leaving.

Six years ago

Hyunjin and you sat on a blanket, staring up at the stars shimmering in the dark sky.

"Jinnie." you swallowed nervously.

"Yes, bunny?" he smiled, playing with your fingers.

"I have something to tell you."

"Oh? Okay." he nodded, sitting up.

"Um. It's been weighing on me since prom."

"You sound serious." Hyunjin's expression turned into one of worry.

"It is serious. And I didn't tell you earlier because I was afraid of how you'd react." your heart started beating fast. "I got into my uni of choice."

"Bunny! You did?" he smiled wide. "Why didn't you tell me that? You know I support you and I'm proud of you."

"I know. It's just that... I'm leaving and I don't know when I'll be back." you said. "We talked about this briefly before but... I don't want to stay in the village. There is nothing for me here, I mean career wise. Meanwhile... You decided to work with your father and build your life here."

Hyunjin's smile dropped.

"What are you saying?" his voice sounded strained.

"Are we... Are we breaking up?" he asked, tears forming in his eyes.

"No. No. I don't want to. I don't know." you bit your lip and looked away from him.

"Y/n. Please, don't do this. I've known no one but you my whole life. You're the one I love and the one I promised forever to. We even talked about building a life together, getting married, having kids."

"I know, I know. You're my first love, Jinnie. And those were all nice daydreams but there comes a time when you need to grow up."

"Daydreams? Bunny. Those were plans." his bottom lip trembled and he frowned. "This really sounds like you're breaking up with me."

"No, no." tears started spilling down your cheeks when you saw the hurt in his eyes and realized how harsh your words sounded. "Just... I'm confused. I don't know what to do." you put your hands over your face, a sob escaping your lips.

Hyunjin's eyes softened and he put his hand on your upper back, gently caressing you.

"Hey, look. I know you're scared now, this is a big change. But, we'll figure it out together. You go finish your studies, do what you always wanted to. But please don't throw away what we have. I'll always wait for you, I'll wait until you come visit or I can visit you. We can call each other, we don't have to grow apart in order for you to grow."

"I guess not." his words hit you hard as you looked up at him.

"Don't cry, baby. I love you and I'm so happy for you. I'm so proud of my little bunny." he talked, wiping your tears away.

"Jinnie. I love you too." you clutched onto his shirt and cried into his chest.

Oh, how you were going to miss him.

Present time

But after you left, you never even contacted him.

You knew how cruel that was but you thought it was for the best. If you were going to build a life in the city and he was going to stay behind in the village, it was better off like this.

Childhood crushes and high school sweethearts don't always last, do they?

But, your heart hurt so badly every day you were away from Hyunjin. You wanted to forget him, stop loving him but you couldn't no matter how hard you tried. Every time you thought you were ready to take off the couple necklace, your hands would stop functioning. You couldn't bring yourself to do that, the necklace felt as if it was a part of you and despite being away from Hyunjin you knew your heart would always belong to him.

With a sigh, you finished getting ready, wondering if he could really still love you after you'd hurt him like that.

Before you could come down, you heard voices under your window and you stalked towards it curiously. It was closed so you couldn't understand what they were saying but Hyunjin stood there with your grandpa, his back turned to you. You gasped a little, noticing then how his shoulders and upper back also got wider, the black shirt he wore almost ripping at the seams.

"Give me strength." you prayed to whoever was listening before you decided to stop hiding and finally made your way downstairs.

"Yes, I'll definitely ask Chan to help out with the fence, I think he won't be busy this weekend." Hyunjin said to your grandpa as they walked into the kitchen.

"Great! That's settled then!" grandpa clapped his hands with a satisfied smile. Hyunjin looked up at you then and stopped walking, giving you the elevator eyes.

"Good evening." he smirked a little.

"Evening." you said breathlessly and you grandma chuckled.

"Why are you two acting so formal?" grandpa asked as you sat down.

"Leave them be. They just encountered each other after a long time." nana scolded him and he gave a little shrug.

Hyunjin was sitting right across from you and you felt as if there was nowhere to hide. He kept looking at you curiously and you felt so awkward, trying to avoid his eyes as all of you started taking food out on the plates and eating.

Hyunjin couldn't calm his heart down. All the feelings that he carried inside of him every single day, from dawn to late night, were now amplified a thousand times. All those nights he had thought about you and seen you in his dreams couldn't compare to you actually being in front of him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from you, he missed you deeply. The love he always had for you never subsided, it only grew more even while you were apart.

Though, he knew that there were things the two of you needed to talk about, he decided not to think about the hurtful side of it, tossing it in the back of his mind as he continued to bask in your presence. Your hair, your eyes, your smile, your hands, the way your brows creased when you asked a question to your nana, the way you looked up at him timidly only to look away, the way you nervously chewed on your bottom lip, the way that necklace he gave you laid on your skin, still there, as if you had never left, a sign that you perhaps still loved him as much as he loved you.

"So, how is the city treating ya?" Hyunjin asked you suddenly, eyes trained on you as they have been the entire evening.

"It's... okay." you answered but Hyunjin knew you were lying. He knew when you wore a fake smile and he knew the tone of your voice once you tried to convince yourself you're fine.

"Oh yeah? Got that job you always wanted, hm?" he asked and you looked up at him, trying to see if he was mocking you or resenting you but he looked genuinely curious.

"I did." you answered shortly, a knot forming in your stomach. "I got what I wanted." you forced another smile.

"I'm glad you did." he smiled and you felt the urge to cry again. You wondered what was wrong with you and shook your head, trying to will yourself to smile back at him.

"I always thought the two of you would get married." your nana chimed in, making you almost choke on a piece of bread. Hyunjin chuckled and looked at you.

"We're still young." he smirked a little and you started praying that the floor opens up and swallows you whole.

"You two remind me of us when we were younger." grandpa nodded with a smile.

No, you thought, please stop.

You were really going to start crying.

"Excuse me. I need some air." you stood up abruptly, the chair almost falling over behind you.

Hyunjin watched as you ran out of the front door and he stood up too, excusing himself and following you.

You stood on the porch, hugging yourself and sniffling.

"Y/n?" Hyunjin approached you cautiously. You quickly wiped your tears away with the sleeve of your cardigan before turning to look at him.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Sure." you nodded but he knew you were crying.

"You wanna take a walk?" Hyunjin asked, biting on his lip and you chuckled, shaking your head.

"Yeah, why not." you nodded, maybe it was time to stop avoiding him.

You didn't even discuss where you were going to go, you just started walking together in the same direction you always did while you grew up here. It was quiet for a while, only the song of the crickets filling up your ears, a few distant barks and the breeze rustling through the leaves.

"So, what have you been doing?" you asked, trying to break the ice. You couldn't believe you felt so awkward with someone you could talk to the easiest with, out of anyone in your entire life.

"Me? Oh, you know... Working around the farm. I repaired the entire house with some of my mates. It was in a really bad shape, if you remember. We re-did everything, even the roofing and the pipes. Repainted the entire place, changed the furniture... So, it's now like a new house. And I have horses and chickens. A garden. I mean, I work all day, help out others too." he chuckled. "My parents are in the city, they visit sometimes. But, mostly I'm here with Rina, she has been my best friend for three years now."

"Rina?" your stomach dropped instantly.

"Yes, that overprotective black dog that barked at you." Hyunjin smirked at your expression.

"Oh... That's Rina." you said absentmindedly, finally glancing at him.

Your heart stopped.

The necklace. He must've unbuttoned one more button while you were walking, making the other half of the heart visible under his collarbone. He never stopped wearing it either. Suddenly, your stomach filled up with butterflies.

"She's wary of strangers coming near me."

Ouch.

"Yeah." you turned away, the butterflies turning into a feeling of nausea.

"I mean, strangers to her." Hyunjin clarified, realizing how he sounded.

"Yeah, I understand." you gave him a smile you hoped looked real, because you were seconds away from crying. "You still paint?" you decided to change the subject.

"Oh yeah, all the time." he smiled. "Enough about me. What about you?"

"Me? I also work all day. In the office. It's... interesting, I guess. I bought an apartment recently, it's really modern." you talked, realizing how empty your words sounded then. You had no idea what to tell Hyunjin. He had all these projects and people who care about him, animals he cares for and his hobbies. Meanwhile, all you had was a job you ended up hating and no one to come home to.

"I travel a lot." you added, trying to fill up the silence. "For work but also for fun, with some of my coworkers. We went all the way to Bali last year. It was a fun trip, you know. Stuff like that."

"Sounds exhilarating." Hyunjin said, sounding anything but. "Anyone special in your life?"

Why did he ask that.

"No, nobody." you quickly answered.

Hyunjin was hoping you'd say that.

"Good. I mean- Me neither." he coughed awkwardly and stopped walking. You were about to ask why he stopped when you noticed where you were.

"Oh." you let out a chuckle, your face warming up.

You hadn't even realized you came to the only park in the village, and not just that, you were standing in front of your and Hyunjin's bench, where you used to sit after school, talking and kissing.

And well, you sat here on many evenings just like this one, making out. Your face started burning suddenly.

"Shall we sit?" Hyunjin asked and you nodded reluctantly as you felt like you were going to throw up from nerves. The two of you sat down, the silence stretching between you again.

"I-" Hyunjin opened his mouth, then closed them, repeating the action a few times, his brows furrowing and cheeks rosy, his hands gripping the edge of the bench like he was struggling to get his words out. You were almost swallowed by the nerves you felt in that moment, you were scared that he was going to tell you off, just what you deserve.

"I tried to find you." he let out a shaky exhale. "You covered up your tracks pretty well." he scoffed. "I mean, I got the message. You didn't want to see me ever again. And I'd be fine with that if only you gave me a reason, told me why you just disappeared from my life when you've been a part of it since forever. I thought for some time that you have completely abandoned me. But, somewhere deep in my soul I knew you'd be back one day, Y/n."

"Hyunjin..." your bottom lip trembled as your eyes watered. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I made a huge mistake. And I would totally understand if you hated me or resented me and never wanted to forgive me. Just know I felt bad the entire time and I still do." you were full on crying and feeling embarrassed, you looked away from Hyunjin.

"I could never hate you, little bunny." his voice sounded soft and you willed yourself to look at him while you wiped your tears away even though they kept coming. "And I forgave you a long time ago." he whispered. You noticed he was sitting closer to you and your body trembled.

"You did? Why?" you asked quietly.

"Because it's you." he answered simply and you felt annoyed, wanting to hear more. But, before you could ask Hyunjin stood up abruptly.

"Let's meet up tomorrow. Have a picnic like we always used to." he said and you stood up too.

You stared at him and kept thinking, could things go back to how they were before?

You felt as if there was something he wasn't telling you yet, there was no way he forgave you so easily for abandoning him.

"What do you say?" Hyunjin looked at you hopefully.

"Sure. Yeah." you nodded, your body swirling with feelings of confusion, excitement, nostalgia, happiness, sadness... You had no idea how to explain it.

"Great. I'll come to your house around 10am."

"Sounds good."

"Let me walk you home." he added, the two of you walking and talking about the village, who stayed and who moved, which new stores opened and all the other insignificant little things just to avoid the big elephant that needed to be addressed.

"I'll see you tomorrow, bunny." Hyunjin put his hands in his jeans pockets, trying to look nonchalant.

"See you." you hurried inside.

"And that smile?" your nana's voice scared you.

"Oh, nana! Ugh, nothing. I'm just going to see Hyunjin tomorrow." you answered quickly.

"Oh. Hyunjin." she smirked knowingly. "Well, have a good night." she winked before leaving to her room.

You hoped you were going to be able to sleep tonight.

You managed to sleep through the rooster's wake up call, opening your eyes just in time to get ready for your picnic date.

Was it a date? You had no idea what was going to happen but still you wore another pretty dress and put on your makeup. You decided to wear extra shiny lipgloss to make your lips stand out, hopefully get Hyunjin's attention. You felt giddy, like you were that same school girl meeting up her boyfriend, the love of her life.

"Oh, dear you look so pretty." your grandma noted when you came downstairs.

"Thank you, nana." you smiled.

"Are you gonna eat anything?"

"No, Hyunjin told me not to worry and that he'd bring everything."

"Okay, well have fun you two!" she winked at you and you kissed her cheek before skipping out of the house and towards the street where Hyunjin said he'd wait for you.

He wasn't there yet so you stood in place, shifting from foot to foot and wondering why he is late since he'd always been punctual. It was already almost 10:15 and you were beginning to think he had played a cruel joke on you. You were already tearing up at the thought of that but maybe you deserved it after the way you treated him.

You were about to turn around and leave but you heard heavy footsteps running towards you.

"Y/n! I'm so sorry for being late!" it was a breathless Hyunjin, leaning his palms against his knees as he scrunched his face up and tried to calm his heart. "I ran into Chan on the way and he needed help carrying some things, I couldn't say no." he swallowed, straightening up.

Just then you noticed the backpack on his shoulders and the thin sheen of sweat forming on his forehead, the tanktop was there again and your eyes followed all the veins popping out.

"Oh, it's okay." you shook your head, feeling stupid.

"Shall we?" he smiled and you nodded, letting him lead the way. His eyes lingered on your lips for a while as he bit on his, before starting to walk. It was clear to you where you were going, the tree was your picnic and stargazing spot for years.

"I saw you by the tree the other day." Hyunjin said, putting his backpack down and opening it.

"Oh? You did?" your heart climbed up your throat.

"Yeah." he smiled. " I thought I was hallucinating."

You chuckled, feeling the need to smack his arm like you always did when he made you laugh but you refrained from doing so.

"Nope, I'm here." you said, helping him put the blanket down.

"I'm glad you are." he said and the two of you sat down, Hyunjin taking everything that he had packed out; fruit salad, sandwiches, coffee. You didn't feel like you deserved this. You wanted to ask him so many things. Like why did he carve his name alone in the tree trunk, why did he seem so normal about all of this, why didn't he just yell at you, like any other person would after being hurt.

"Hyunjin?" you gulped, poking around the plastic container with the fruit. He gave you an unreadable look, his brows furrowing.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" he said and you chuckled nervously.

"Well, that's your name."

"Yeah but you always called me nicknames. Like Jinnie or Hyune. And other things." he looked at the field of flowers swaying in front of you.

You hadn't answered so he turned to look at you.

"Why aren't you yelling at me or cursing me out?" you asked and Hyunjin's eyes widened a little.

"Why would I do that?" he tilted his head.

"Because I promised I'd love you forever and I left. I didn't even come back for six years, I thought I was doing a good thing. That I'd be better off in the city and you'd be better off without me. That I'd be able to move on and forget you. I thought I'd never come back here but after what happened-" your shut your lips tightly, eyes watering. "After being disappointed with everything I thought I wanted in my life, I came back here and expected to see that you moved on or even gotten married. I expected you to hate me, yell at me, curse at me. But here we are, sitting under our tree, having a picnic like I never broke your heart and mine." you were now full on crying, your bottom lip trembling and hands shaking.

Hyunjin observed you with a wistful look in his eyes before smiling softly.

"You wanna know why I'm not yelling or cursing at you?" he said, leaning closer to you.

"W-why?" you stuttered, he got into your private space and even though he changed and grew, he still had that comforting scent of Hyunjin, the one that brought you so much comfort and nostalgia.

"Because of this." he reached towards you and gently gripped the pendant of your necklace between his fingertips. "You're still wearing our necklace. And that tells me everything I need to know. Bunny, I've known you my whole life, I've loved you my whole life. I knew you wouldn't be happy in the city and I knew you'd come back here to me one day. I know that because we were made for each other and because I could feel you inside me every day. I just knew our story wasn't over, it was just beginning."

You were at a loss of words, crying and sobbing as Hyunjin talked, feeling embarrassed and also like you wanted to roll down the hill from excitement. You wiped at your face, trying not to screw up the makeup you worked so hard on while letting his words settle inside your head.

"Oh my god, Hyunjin!" you shrieked suddenly, grabbing onto his arm on accident.

"Y/n." he laughed as you kept squealing and gripping at his bicep while a little bee flew around your body. "It's just a bee, don't be scared."

"Please, make it go away." you whined.

"What can I do, a bee found a pretty flower." Hyunjin smirked at you then and you looked up at him with your eyes squinted before slapping his arm. The loud sound made you jolt a little and you looked down at the muscle, something fluttering inside you. Your cheeks warmed up instantly. Hyunjin smirked, his other hand cupping your jaw gently as he made you look at him.

"You didn't break your promise, doll. You still love me." he smiled.

"I do." you confessed quietly and his eyes sparkled a little as he leaned in closer. His eyes fluttered, his cheeks became rosy and his warm breath caressed your lips. You jolted away suddenly, afraid and you had no idea why.

"I'm sorry!" you said quickly, placing your palm over your heart. Hyunjin looked a little confused, his fingers twitching as his hands longed to comfort you in any way they could.

"I got nervous." you said and Hyunjin laughed.

"Don't laugh at me!" you whined with a pout, kicking your feet a little and that made him laugh even harder. "Stop it." you crossed your arms over your chest with a little huff escaping your lips.

"You're just so cute, bunny." how many times has he told you that and it still made your heart flutter. "It's okay. I waited for you for six years, I can wait a little more."

"I just didn't expect things to go like this." you swallowed and Hyunjin scooted closer to you, tentatively touching your fingertips with his. That was enough for you to feel the electricity running through your body.

"I understand. We'll fall back into us in no time."

"You think so?" you asked, inching closer to him, your fingers now playing with his.

"I know so." he smiled confidently. "Just have to ask one question."

"Anything." you nodded.

"Are you back for good or just the anniversary?"

You looked down and took in a deep breath.

"Please don't tell this to my grandparents yet. But I am back for good. I quit my job and sold my apartment, I didn't tell them anything because I am just waiting for the right moment." your voice trembled.

"Didn't something happen?" Hyunjin asked, leaning down to look at your face.

"Just... People were disgusting. The job was depressing. The apartment was cold. The city was lonely. And maybe a part of me hoped you'd be here waiting for me no matter how selfish that is. Because, I don't think I could ever stop loving you, Jinnie. Even if someone wiped away my entire memory I would still have you engraved inside my heart."

"Bunny." Hyunjin cupped your cheeks. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone anything. I'm sad you went through all of that but it brought you back here, didn't it?"

You nodded.

"And I am glad it did." he leaned in again.

"Ack! The bee!" you squealed as the little creature came back to buzzing around you.

"Silly." Hyunjin chuckled under his breath, 'shielding' you from the scary bee.

You felt as if a stone has been lifted off of your heart as the two of you continued catching up and reminiscing of the good old days. Hours passed by so quickly that you almost didn't realize it was lunch time.

"Nana is expecting me at home for lunch. Do you wanna join us?" you asked with a timid smile.

"I'd love to but Chan invited me to his house for lunch today. We'll come to you tomorrow, he is also excited to see you again, you know that you were always like a little sister to him."

"Oh, I'm excited to see him too." you chuckled.

You couldn't believe that everyone has welcomed you with open arms after you left like that and you were still trying to come to terms that you won't be going back to the city ever again.

When Hyunjin said him and Chan would come around to help your grandpa repair the fence out back, you totally forgot about the fact that Hyunjin would be in a sleeveless top, flexing his muscles and wiping away his sweat constantly. Summer was knocking at the door and the sun was high in the sky. You wore the red dress from the first day, the one Hyunjin stared at so intently when you stood outside of his house. When Chan saw you he made a funny squealing noise, running up to you and picking you up as if you were paper doll, spinning you around as you screamed at him to put you down.

"Aww little Y/n is back!" he pinched your cheeks and you smacked his hands away with a pout.

"I'm only three years younger than you, bro." you emphasized and he laughed.

"I'm glad to see you here. I was beginning to think our Hyunjinnie would die alone." he smirked and Hyunjin punched his side with his fist mumbling a 'shut up or else' and you let out a laugh.

"Congrats on getting married, old man." you smirked and Hyunjin was glad you teased Chan back, a snicker escaping his lips.

"Didn't you say a moment ago it was only three years difference?" he smirked back and you exhaled, rolling your eyes playfully.

"Enough chit-chat. Time to work, boys." you chuckled, sitting at the table your granparents put in the backyard. It was placed under a tree that gave a good shade to it, so it wasn't as hot as it would be but for you it felt like you were enveloped by the sun itself.

Hyunjin was working in the sunlight, his soft skin glistening with sweat almost making him look ethereal and unreal. His muscles were flexing constantly as he moved and lifted stuff up, the veins popping out and now visible everywhere on his arms, hands and even his neck. You were feeling very hot and bothered, feeling like you couldn't breathe properly as your legs pressed together. He glanced at you a few times and you saw the little smirk on his face.

He was provoking you on purpose, the little tease.

Two can play this game, you thought and got up, entering the house so you could find a little towel. You took that time to put on more lipgloss and adjust your dress so your cleavage was more visible.

"There." you nodded to yourself with a smirk before walking back outside and straight towards Hyunjin.

"It's hot, isn't it?" your voice sounded sweet, dripping with honey as you hovered over him where he kneeled, working on the fence. He looked up at you, covering his forehead with his hand so the sun doesn't get into his eyes. His mouth went dry instantly, your bare thighs were right in front of his eyes and your chest on display as you leaned over him.

"Hot. Yes." he managed to say.

"Let me help you with that, Jinnie." you smirked, leaning down a little more as you started gently patting at his forehead, wiping the sweat off and he just sat there breathing heavily as you kept going lower, patting his neck now, noticing how he leaned into your touch, how his eyes fluttered and his breath hitched.

"Better?" you moved away suddenly and he snapped from his trance.

"Y-Yeah."

"Thirsty?" you asked, louder so Chan hears it too.

"Yes!" Chan yelled, his back turned to you thankfully.

You smirked as Hyunjin gulped, staring after you as you turned around towards the house to make some lemonade for the boys. Hyunjin couldn't stop staring at you when they took a break, munching on some cookies your nana made and drinking the fresh lemonade. His eyes fixated on your shiny lips and he longed to taste you once again. Chan kept yapping about his wife and farm enthusiastically and you kept nodding and chuckling all the while Hyunjin didn't even hear a word that came out of Chan's mouth.

It was almost sundown when the boys were done and nana invited them to stay over for dinner, ushering them both to first wash their hands thoroughly before touching any food. The atmosphere was warm and homely, a happy feeling swelling inside your chest. You were home, where you were always supposed to be, where you belonged, with Hyunjin.

"I'll be right back." you stood up after dinner, running upstairs to fix your makeup.

Hyunjin waited for a moment before he followed you to your room. You walked out of the bathroom when he appeared on the doorway, leaning there with a fond smile on his face.

"It looks like a time capsule in here." he looked around in wonder, taking a tentative step inside.

"You haven't been up here?" you asked, eyebrows raised as he looked around, taking in all the memories you two had created together.

"No, your grandparents kept it closed. There was no need for me to be here." Hyunjin's eyes lit up when he looked at your bed. "Jinnie! You kept him!" he pointed to your teddy bear, walking in and picking it up.

"Of course I did. I kept everything."

"Even those cute diaries?" Hyunjin smirked. "Dear diary, today Jinnie and I held hands for the first time as boyfriend and girlfriend. Everyone saw us walking to school together-"

"Shut up!" you squealed, ripping the teddy away from him and smacking him with it multiple times as he laughed at your red cheeks.

"What? It was cute." he giggled, slinking away from your attack.

"It's embarrassing. Even more because you still remember what I wrote. Are you sure you haven't been up here?" you teased, putting Jinnie back on the bed and walking to your table.

"I haven't since the last time we were here together." Hyunjin was behind you suddenly, his voice low as his lips brushed against your ear. You gasped, remembering the last night you spent here with him, on top of him as he guided your hips against his slowly, wanting to make it last as long as possible so you never forget how he feels.

"Right." you turned abruptly, the back of your thighs colliding with the table as he hovered over you, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off of his body.

He smelled so good even after working in the sun almost all day and his skin looked like it needed to be touched, kissed, bitten. A zap of electricity ran through your body as Hyunjin leaned in even closer, his breath mingling with yours. Your eyes fluttered shut and then-

"Come to the lake with me tomorrow afternoon." his lips almost brushed against yours before he leaned away, leaving you frustrated.

"What?" you were lost momentarily.

"The lake. Let's meet there." he said and straightened up.

"Sure." you said and he smirked devilishly.

Just what was he planning now?

"Well, I gotta go home make sure Rina has her dinner and walk. See you tomorrow, doll."

With that, he left your room, his scent lingering all around you, making you want to roll in it and have him close. You couldn't wait for tomorrow.

-

The lake wasn't too far away from your house either, only a 15 minute walk full of chatter and laughter. Your bare arm brushed against Hyunjin's a few times, making you feel like your skin burned whenever it touched his. It almost felt as if everything was going back to normal, like it was before but at the same time you couldn't ignore the things that had changed about Hyunjin.

It was clear; he was no longer a boy, he was a man.

The way he carried himself and the way he spoke was more confident and masculine than that shy awkward Jinnie that tripped over his feet and his words, his cheeks constantly red in your presence. But the way he looked at you full of adoration, that had never changed.

"What made you cut your hair?" you asked as the two of you approached the lake. Hyunjin's hand instanly ran over his head as he laughed.

"It's kinda hard to work with all that hair flying everywhere. It was a nuisance, really. And... You seemed to like it a lot, you always played with it, braided it... But when you left, I figured there was no point in keeping it so I shaved it off."

"Oh." you sighed.

"You don't like it?" he asked cutely, the two of you stopping near the lake.

"No, no, I do. It looks very manly." you said, your cheeks burning up. You didn't say how you thought it accentuated all his beautiful, sharp features, his jawline and his neck that was so enticing to you.

"It does, hm?" he smirked, leaning in closer.

"Yeah." you leaned back a little, your stomach doing flips.

Hyunjin snickered and leaned away with a smirk.

"I have a dare for you." he said and you raised your eyebrow at him.

Hyunjin looked around before smirking at you again, getting into your personal space.

"I dare you to swim naked with me." he said and you almost stopped functioning.

"What? Are you crazy?" you punched his arm but it was more just a tap to him as he didn't even budge, chuckling at you as he crossed his arms over his chest. God, his arms.

"It's not like I haven't seen it all anyways." he said and you gasped.

"Oh my god." you looked away from him, your heart beating hard. "Okay, but only if we leave our underwear on."

"Alright, deal." he smirked and took his shirt off, tossing it aside.

You shrieked, turning away from him because you weren't sure if your heart could take it. Hyunjin laughed, getting rid of his pants without a care in the world.

"Don't get shy, you saw it all." he said and you took a deep breath in before looking back at him.

It's all yours, Hyunjin thought but bit his tongue.

Your eyes went wide and your lips parted in a gasp. Hyunjin was always lean and athletic, but now he was even more chiseled, his thighs were more muscular too, all the little tattoos he had hidden were now visible to you. And the worse thing was that you could see the bulge in his boxers so you averted your eyes, feeling like you might've stopped breathing for a second or two.

"Your turn." he nodded at you with a knowing smirk and you scrambled to take off your dress, feeling embarrassed for some reason. You didn't wear any flashy underwear, just regular black panties and a matching bra that only had a few lacy flowers at the top. It was enough to make Hyunjin drool.

"Beautiful." he muttered quietly, it was your body that he knew very well, the one he mapped out with caresses and kisses, your skin that he marked with his teeth, you who he held in his arms countless times.

"What did you say?" you didn't hear him, shivering a little despite the sun still being up.

"Nothing." he smiled. "Let's get in the water."

You nodded and followed him as he got into the water first, hissing at the coldness before he reached his hands towards you to help you get in.

"Is it very cold?" you asked and he chuckled.

"We swam here multiple times, you know how cold the water is. Just get in, we'll warm up." he encouraged you.

"Fine." you rolled your eyes in fake annoyance as you grabbed onto his hands, warmth filling you up from the simple touch, even though the water was almost freezing cold.

"Motherfucker!" you hissed when it touched your stomach and Hyunjin laughed, dipping in and splashing you a little.

"Don't." you warned but it was to no avail, Hyunjin had that familiar mischievous look on his face, eyes sparkly and dimples showing as he lifted his hands and splashed you harder.

"Hyune!" you shrieked and returned the favor, splashing him back.

"Ah!" he screamed out, followed by a series of giggles as he shook his head and rubbed his hands over his face. "I'll get you for that." he added, swimming towards you.

Another squeal left your lips as you dipped in and started swimming away, Hyunjin's laughter ringing behind you. How you missed the sound of that. Just as you thought you got away from him, you felt his hands grabbing at your waist as he pulled you closer to him, the water splashing loudly as you flailed your arms and screamed, giggling. His strong arms wrapped around your middle and he pulled you flush against his body, skin against skin and you melted, grabbing onto his hands and resting your palms over them.

"I missed you like crazy." his lips brushed against the side of your neck. "You have no idea just how much." they pressed gently into your skin.

"I missed you too." your voice came out breathy as Hyunjin kissed the droplets of water rolling down your neck.

"Yeah? Show me how much." he turned you around so quickly that you gasped and grabbed onto his shoulders.

You wanted to say something, anything but you were already too far gone so you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he wrapped his around your waist and pulled you into him. It was as if every atom of your being craved to be close to him, starved for years and now finally feeding the hunger and need you had for Hyunjin.

No matter how many time Hyunjin held you, it always made your stomach flip and it was no different now. You felt how hard his heart was beating against his chest and his eyes darkened just a little as he observed you. Your hand touched the back of his head, fingertips pressing against the soft, fuzzy buzzcut. His eyes fluttered and he leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing yours gently before his lips touched yours.

Everything came back. The first time you saw Hyunjin shyly smiling at you when you were five, the times you did your homework together after class only to end up playing instead of learning, the times you walked through the entire village, like it was all yours, the park, the lake, the street, the tree. The first kiss you shared that was timid and awkward but still sweet because it was with him, the times he held you close, loving you, deep inside you and wrapped around you, all the time he was there for you, holding your hand, wiping your tears away, making plans of the future he wanted to share with you. It was your Jinnie.

The only man you ever loved.

"Bunny, what's wrong?" you didn't even realize you were crying and Hyunjin cupped your face gently with his cold hands.

"I love you." you said, lifting the last of the weight. Hyunjin's body trembled against you.

"I love you." he whispered on your lips, kissing you harder as you pressed as close as you could to each other.

"You really don't resent me for leaving?" you asked when you parted for air.

"No, bunny, I know you just wanted to finish your studies, try your hand at a career like that. I mean, you could've done all that with me by your side even if it was a long distance relationship. You know I would support you. But, I get it. You thought you'd never come back here and that I would never leave."

"Hyunjin, I'm sorry." you cried again. "I don't deserve you."

"Shh, yes you do. Yes you do, bunny. You know me better than anyone, you were there for me always whenever I was going through a hard time."

"I wasn't there for the last six years."

"You're here now." Hyunjin kissed you again in an attempt to soothe you and distract you and it was working as you melted against his lips, soon forgetting about everything that was bothering you as the world disappeared like it always did with him.

Hyunjin's tongue collided with yours, the familiar taste of him waking up all of your senses as he gripped you harder and kissed you like his entire life depended on it.

"Bunny." he smiled, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Jinnie." you whispered and he pecked your lips once more before swimming backwards with a smirk.

"Catch me!" Hyunjin teased, swimming faster and you let out a noise of protest, knowing you weren't gonna be able to. "Catch me or you lose your dress!"

"What?!" you shrieked as he laughed, swimming towards the shore and quickly grabbing onto the stones.

"Hyunjin, don't you dare!" you yelled when he got out of the water, almost slipping as he laughed and ran to grab all your clothes.

You swam quicker, almost getting to the shore as he snickered and bolted away with your dress and his clothes.

"Hyunjin!" you yelled, struggling to get out of the water as the sound of his laughter drifted further away.

"Bastard." you muttered when you managed to climb out of the water, shivering as the sun was about to go down. There was no way he left you here without anything, especially when the sky was darkening quickly.

"Hyunjin, this isn't funny!" you yelled, taking a few steps forward, realizing he even grabbed your sandals. You cursed under your breath, looking around when suddenly-

"Boo!" Hyunjin sneaked behind you, scaring you out of your wits.

"You bastard!" you whined and he just laughed, reaching your dress towards you. And he was already dressed, the tease.

You were about to snatch it when he lifted his arm, holding it out of your reach. Maybe some things haven't changed like the way Hyunjin would always test your patience, claiming you were so adorable when you were annoyed.

"Ugh!" you jumped up to grab it but he moved it, giggling as he looked down at you.

"Hyunjin, give me my dress." you slapped his chest as he kept laughing and moving the dress away.

"I think you look prettier like this." he looked down at your chest and you gasped, covering yourself up.

"I'm cold, Hyunjin." you said and he shook his head.

"Here." he put the dress in front of your face and you eyed him for a moment before finally grabbing it and putting it on. He gave you your shoes and you put them on quickly as the sun almost set. Your bodies were still wet and putting the clothes over them made it worse.

"I'm really cold." you said and Hyunjin pulled you into his side as he led you back towards your house.

"You should come see how I repaired and decorated the place. Meet Rina too." Hyunjin smiled, rubbing your arm in an attempt to warm you up at least a little.

"Some other day, what I need right now is a warm bath." you sighed.

"I have a bath." Hyunjin smirked.

"I'm sure you do." you lifted one eyebrow at him as he kept chuckling.

As you made your way to your house, you felt so giddy, almost as if no distance ever existed between Hyunjin and you.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the anniversary dinner." you smiled as you arrived in front of the gate.

"Mhm." he smirked, holding your hands and staring into your eyes. You stood on your tippy-toes, pouting at him and he chuckled, leaning down as he grabbed your face gently and kissed you slowly like he was savoring the moment. Your arms wrapped around his waist and you pulled him in, your bodies heating up against one another.

"Good night, Jinnie." you whispered, pecking him again.

"Night, bunny. Dream about me." Hyunjin smirked, kissing the corner of your lips.

There was no way you were even sleeping tonight.

-

"Good morning!" you practically glided into the kitchen, seeing both your grandparents there.

"Look at you, I'm guessing it went well with Hyunjin, huh?" nana smiled.

"Oh, it did." you said and your grandparents just exchanged knowing looks but decides not to pry. You were walking on cloud 9 all day and you couldn't wait to see Hyunjin again.

You took extra time to do your hair and makeup and wear a nice black dress with heels for tonight, hoping to make Hyunjin's knees buckle just as he made you feel weak. Half of the village was invited to the anniversary dinner and you were so estatic to see all the people you haven't seen for years again and catch up with them. You were pulled left and right, everyone was equally as excited to talk to you, your old neighbors and friends were glad to have you back. Hyunjin arrived a little later and your heart almost leaped out of your chest when he walked in.

"Hey there, little bunny." he smirked, leaning in closer to you as his lips brushed against your cheek.

"Hey, Jinnie." you let out a giggle as your body heated up from the simplest touch.

"You look stunning." he gently grabbed your hand and gave you the elevator eyes.

"You look handsome." you returned the compliment and he squeezed your hand.

"Yeah?" he teased and you rolled your eyes playfully, pushing him away a little.

The dinner went smoothly, everyone was talking and having fun, the food was delicious as always which is something you missed in the city, and after the biggest toast to your grandparents' love and devotion, came more toasts and the glasses were never empty. You were a lightweight so you didn't drink too much, two and a half glasses were enough for you to feel the pleasant warm buzz inside your body. Hyunjin on the other hand, kept drinking with Chan and some of his other friends, his laughter echoing in the room and his face completely red. How much did he have?, you wondered since you knew he could drink a lot more than you before becoming like this.

After dinner, some of the neighbors left home, leaving only a few of you sitting together in the patio out back. Hyunjin slid next to you on the swinging bench with a dumb smile on his face, his dimples visible and his eyes almost disappearing.

"Hey there pretty girl." he giggled, leaning his cheek on your shoulder and pulling you close to him quickly, startling you a little from the suddenness of the movement.

"Jinnie, you're drunk." you let out a laugh as he whined and nuzzled his face into your neck.

"Drunk or not, you're always pretty to me." he smiled against your skin, pressing his lips into your neck and kissing you gently.

"My grandparents are there at the table." you chuckled, trying to pry him off of you as your cheeks burned.

"Did you tell them you're staying here with me forever?" Hyunjin leaned back a little and looked up at you with a cute, hopeful expression on his face. Your heart skipped a beat as you wrapped your arms around him and he leaned against your chest.

"I'll tell them soon." you whispered and he rubbed his cheek against you.

"Mm." he sighed, closing his eyes and getting even closer to you, draping his leg over you and trapping you there with him.

"Hyunjin?" you chuckled after a few moments, caressing the back of his head but there was no answer. "Are you sleeping?" you looked down and sure enough, your Jinnie was fast asleep on you, his face smushed against your breast.

"Poor soul." Lino, one of your high school friends came up to you together with Chan.

"I think he is right where he wants to be." Chan smirked and you really wanted to kick his shin but Hyunjin's leg was blocking your movement.

"Please help me take him upstairs, I don't want him to go home like this." you asked and even though they wanted to tease the both of you, they decided to help. Hyunjin blinked confusedly when Chan shook him lightly.

"Hyunjinnie. We have to go inside." he told him.

"Noooo!" Hyunjin wailed dramatically and gripped you tighter.

"You can sleep upstairs in my bed." you said and immediately he lit up.

"I can?" Hyunjin smiled cutely and you nodded.

He started babbling about how happy he was as Lino and Chan lifted him and helped him get upstairs before they bid you good night and left with teasing smirks on their faces. Hyunjin sobered up enough to brush his teeth before he started throwing his clothes off like they were the biggest nuisance in the world. You just finished getting ready for bed, wearing your favorite nightgown when you walked back into your room and saw Hyunjin almost naked, in the process of taking his pants off. He hopped on one leg cursing and looking like a major klutz as he almost fell down while you observed him and giggled.

"Fuck this!" he whined, throwing himself on your bed and letting out an exhale.

"Need some help?" you walked closer to the bed and Hyunjin smirked at you.

"Please." he nodded.

You managed to slide his pants off, putting them aside before Hyunjin wrapped his legs around you and pulled you towards him, making you lose balance and fall on top of him.

"Jinnie!" you gasped and he chuckled, brushing your hair behind your ears.

"Being in this room with you is like you never left." he whispered and before you could even answer, he flipped you over so now your body was caged under his. Your breath got caught in your throat as you blinked up at him. "This bed, where I made you mine for the first time. Brings back so many memories." he added with a smirk, his plush lips on yours instanly. You let out a little sound of protest because you definitely did not want your first time after being back to the village to be when you're both tipsy.

"Wait, wait." you stopped him, your hands planted on his chest and you were trying to ignore how his muscles felt under your palms.

"What's wrong, bunny?" Hyunjin asked, lips ghosting over your jaw.

"I- I don't wanna do it like this, I want us both to be completely present and sober. I think we should go to sleep now." you said and Hyunjin smirked once again, his big hands on your waist, caressing you as he kissed your cheeks.

"Sleep, hm?" he teased, his hands ghosting over your body but not touching you exactly how you wanted him. Goosebumps rose on your skin as your eyes fluttered and you gripped onto his arms. "As you wish, doll." Hyunjin smirked and rolled off of you, getting comfy on your small bed. You forgot just how small it was, whenever he would secretly sleep over you were both cramped up in the bed and it usually ended with you lying on top of his body as he held you.

Hyunjin grabbed your teddy and wrapped his arms around it as he smirked at you sleepily.

"Give Jinnie to me." you demanded and he chuckled.

"No." Hyunjin shook his head. "You come here to us." he beckoned you with his arm and you gulped, hesitating for a moment and just looking at Hyunjin sprawled on your bed in nothing but his boxers. It was truly a sight for sore eyes and you couldn't get over the fact that he has gotten even hotter than he was six years ago. You let out a sigh and laid down in his arms, your head on his chest and your ear pressed against his heart that was beating erratically.

"Good night, Jinnie." you whispered after you managed to relax and melt into him, telling yourself that no matter how much time has passed and what he looked like now, he was still your Hyunjin.

You stirred in your bed, the weight and warmth of Hyunjin's body was gone and for a second you thought last night was just a dream but when you opened your eyes and looked to your right, you saw a small makeshift flower bouquet placed in Jinnie's paw and a note next to it. A smile spread on your face as you rolled over on your tummy and grabbed the note.

'Good morning, beautiful. Come to my house around lunch time.'

There was little hearts drawn at the end and Hyunjin's name scribbled down. You squealed in happiness, hugging Jinnie and pressing your face into the teddy, inhaling Hyunjin's scent that stayed everywhere on your bed and made you feel crazy.

You had an extra pep in your step when you came downstairs, trying to find your grandparents so you could tell them you're planning on staying. After searching around the kitchen and living room, you finally spotted them sitting in the backyard, talking and laughing as they enjoyed a warm cup of coffee. You smiled, observing them for a moment and remembering all the times you thought about Hyunjin and you spending the rest of your life together like them and it made your heart flutter.

"Good morning." you walked over to them and they greeted you with a smile.

"Sit with us, honey." nana said, pouring you a cup of coffee and giving you some cookies.

"Slept well?" she teased you and your face started burning immediately.

"Yes." you chuckled. "Um. I have to tell you both something."

"What is it?" grandpa asked and you took a deep breath in, explaining to them how unhappy you actually were in the city, how hard it was for you and how alone you felt. You told them about the multiple times you wanted to drop everything and come back to the village but something always stopped you from throwing away everything you worked so hard for, and then you explained how you quit your job after having to compete for a higher position but the girl you were competing with was bullying you and slept with your boss, which made her get the promotion you broke your back over just with your work. That was your last straw and you just couldn't stay there anymore.

By the time you finished explaining all of it both you and your nana were crying.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything before and made you think I was just visiting but I had no idea if you'd be willing to let me come back here for good." you sobbed.

"What are you talking about Y/n? Of course you can always come back here, this is your home. And we both missed you so much, right?" nana looked at your grandpa and he nodded in agreement. "That's right, we are so happy to have you here." he added and you felt the last stone lifting from your heart, relief washing over you that now everything has been clarified. You were back home and you were never leaving again.

-

Around lunch time, you were ready and buzzing, finally you were going to Hyunjin's house. As you approached it, Rina ran towards the fence, barking at you which caught Hyunjin's attention and he came out of the house, wearing an apron and a tanktop, making your mind dizzy. You were sure he was doing this on purpose to mess with you cause he knew very well how much power he had over you.

"Easy girl." he cooed at the dog, coming closer to the two of you and petting her black fur as she looked at him and sat, panting happily upon getting caressed. "This is Y/n, she's not dangerous." he stated as you walked into the yard and approached Rina cautiously.

"Well, maybe for my heart but that's a different thing." Hyunjin smirked and your cheeks reddened as you looked away from his mischievous smile. Rina barked at you but her tail was wagging as she approached you and started sniffing you before jumping on you and almost pushing you down.

"Oh my god!" you chuckled, petting the dog as she hopped around you happily, barking and running from you to Hyunjin and then back to you.

"She loves you." Hyunjin smiled as he observed the two of you.

"She's just the sweetest." you said.

"And very protective over me." Hyunjin smirked and you rolled your eyes playfully at him. "Let me show you around." he added and you nodded, Rina following behind the two of you. It was still the same house and garden but you could see how much work Hyunjin put in it. The flower garden was more than beautiful, the rest of the garden was full of different vegetables Hyunjin was growing and he even had his own lemon tree. You could see the entire house has been repainted, the windows changed and even the stable with horses was repaired. "How do you maintain all of this alone?" you wondered as Hyunjin took you through the stables where he had three horses and out towards the chicken coop.

"I work all day." Hyunjin shrugged. "Besides, Chan and Lino help me sometimes. And some of our other neighbors too. I mean I typically wake up around 5am and go to bed around 10pm, sometimes 11." he explained and you admired his work ethic and his persistence.

"That's amazing. You're so hardworking and resilient." you praised him and his cheeks got rosy. You knew how Hyunjin always enjoyed getting compliments, especially when he did something right and especially when they came from you.

"It's definitely hard sometimes and I wish I had someone here with whom I can split the work up with." he gave you a look and it was your turn to become red.

"Thank you for the flowers." you said as you neared the chickens.

"That was the least I could give you. Sorry for getting drunk at your grandparents' anniversary dinner." he chuckled and you shook your head.

"You're fine, don't worry." you waved your hand.

While you were talking, a curious chicken came closer and gave you a startle, making you jump a little and grab onto Hyunjin's arm as you shrieked. Hyunjin burst out into laughter and you frowned at him.

"It's not funny!"

"It so is. That's literally just a chicken, Y/n." Hyunjin kept chuckling.

"A chicken that is out to get me!" you shrieked again as the said chicken kept walking towards you menacingly. "Ah!" you screamed as the chicken sped up towards you and you jumped back, scaring half of the other chickens and making Rina bark. One wrong move and you slipped, falling down into the muddy soil, the pretty white dress you put on now completely ruined. Rina ran to you and barked, wagging her tail as the chicken gave up and went on her merry way like this was her plan the entire time. Hyunjin stared at you in shock before he started laughing so hard that his face became red and he doubled over, gripping his stomach. You really wanted the earth to open up this time and pull you down so far so you never embarrass yourself in front of Hyunjin again.

"Stop laughing at me." you pouted, your eyes welling up with tears as you were planted on your knees and palms.

"I'm sorry, but that was just too funny." Hyunjin came closer to you and you looked up at him, trying to look as mad as you could but the tears in your eyes softened Hyunjin up. "Come here." he cooed at you, grabbing your arms gently and helping you lift up.

"My dress is ruined." you couldn't help the tears that started sliding down your cheeks.

"Don't cry bunny, you can shower here and I'll give you something to wear, hm?" Hyunjin touched your cheek, tenderly wiping your tears away with his thumb. You hiccuped and nodded and he chuckled at your cuteness, grabbing your face and leaning in to peck your lips.

He led you into the house and despite feeling embarrassed and sad that your pretty dress was ruined, you still felt shocked when you walked in. The house that was like your second home here looked completely different than it did while you were growing up here. Your wide eyes wondered everywhere, not only was it repaired and repainted, the furniture was new and rearranged differently and there was art everywhere that you presumed was probably Hyunjin's. Everything was so neat and pretty, his house seemed so warm and cozy, a place you could see yourself spending time in with him.

"What do you think?" Hyunjin chewed on his lip, looking at you cutely with wide sparkly eyes.

"Hyune, it's beautiful! I love what you did with it. Somehow, it seems more spacious and like there's more light coming in." you said and he giggled.

"Yes, I wanted to make use of natural light as much as I could." he led you upstairs to his bathroom. "Here, you can shower and I'll make some lunch for us." he added and you nodded as you kept marvelling at everything he did with the space. Hyunjin found a shirt that was oversized even on him so it would definitely be like a dress for you.

"Here." he gave you the shirt and smirked. "Need help?" he added as he motioned towards the shower.

"I think I can handle it." you giggled and Hyunjin gave you a kiss before leaving to the kitchen. You took in the state of yourself in the mirror, cursing quietly when you saw just how much mud you were covered up in. You slowly peeled off the dress and then your underwear, before stepping into the shower. You managed to wash off the mud pretty quickly, replaying the entire scene in your head and feeling more and more embarrassed the more you thought of it.

After drying off and putting your underwear back on, you grabbed Hyunjin's shirt and your gut stirred at the smell of him. You put it on, the fabric soft against your smooth skin and you melted into it, hugging yourself with a smile on your face. This was not the first time you wore his clothes and you missed the feeling of it, your mind wandering back to the nights you spent in his embrace, stealing his shirt after which would make him even more crazy for you.

You finally went downstairs, feeling a little shy as you pulled the shirt down even though Hyunjin had already seen everything before and even saw you in your underwear at the lake. When you walked into the kitchen, he was whistling to the music playing in the background while stirring at the stove. He looked up at you and his lips parted, eyes darkening instantly. "Bunny..." he let out a breath and walked closer to you. Your heart started pounding in your ears as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into his body, his lips on yours instantly. You kissed back, gripping at him before you felt something nudging your leg. The two of you parted and saw Rina, wagging her tail happily and pushing her head into your body.

"She wants attention." you started petting her immediately. "Reminds me of someone." you teased and Hyunjin gasped, dramatically placing his hand on his chest.

"Comparing me to a dog, huh?" he shook his head with a smile as you shrugged. "You look so good in my shirt, doll." Hyunjin bit on his lip and your face burned. You thanked him sheepishly, making him chuckle before he went back to cooking and you joined him, helping him out and feeling so domestic, and like you were right where you belonged.

The lunch was delicious and the mud mishap was soon forgotten as Hyunjin gave you a full tour of the house, ending in his room where he showed you his favorite paintings and sketchbooks that were unsurprisingly full of you. You were flipping through one of them when he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his body, his lips on your neck. You gasped, your hands shaking and making you drop the sketchbook on the floor as Hyunjin gently kissed your skin. "Jinnie..." you exhaled when his tongue darted out to lick at you before he sunk his teeth in. You tilted your head, completely melting against him as your entire body started burning up.

"I craved you so much." Hyunjin nipped at your shoulder and you squeezed his hands.

"Me too." you whispered before turning in his arms and grabbing his face as you smashed your lips against his. Nothing mattered but him in that moment, the two of you had a hunger that could only be satiated with each other. Your kiss was harsh and sloppy, your teeth clashing and hands grabbing everywhere but neither of you cared.

You felt the fire inside you burning up and spreading all the way to the tips of your fingers that grazed Hyunjin's skin. You needed him more than ever and being with him here made you realize that you had no idea how you managed to live all these years without him.

"Bunny, I can't... I want to worship you and take my time with you so badly, I want to kiss every inch of your skin and make love to you but I can't... I need to have you right now." he panted hard as he grabbed at your hips, leading you to the bed.

"Take me Hyunjin, please. I need you so much." you gripped his arms and Hyunjin let out a low growl before pushing you down onto the bed. It was as if he had no idea what to do first, staring at you sprawled under him for a moment before he put his hands on your thighs, squeezing the flesh.

Your legs parted, the shirt riding up and revealing the red lace panties you wore. "Damn doll, are you trying to kill me?"

"Maybe." you giggled and Hyunjin smirked at you before spreading your legs more and lowering his middle on top of yours. You gasped a little when you felt his length pressing and rubbing against you. He leaned in closer to your face, his arms caging you in.

"Can you feel what you do to me, bunny?" he moaned, rolling his hips against yours. You knew he wanted to tease you but his mind was far too gone for that. Hyunjin has waited for years for you to come back and to be in his arms, for him to taste you, feel you, kiss you, be inside you.

"Hyune... Please..." you were no better, your entire body was yearning for him, every fiber of your being screamed his name. Hyunjin couldn't wait, he leaned back and took off his shirt so you did the same, revealing that you didn't wear a bra.

"Naughty bunny." Hyunjin smirked, giving you a look and you grabbed his wrists gently, placing his palms on your chest. Hyunjin's eyes fluttered as he squeezed, thumbs swiping on your sensitive nipples. He cursed under his breath as he kept massaging your breasts and rubbing against you. You lifted your hips up to meet his, you needed to feel more of him. Your fingers hooked in his pants and you tugged so he lifted up a little to take them off. Hyunjin leaned down to kiss you, his tongue dominating yours as he slid your panties off, then his boxers before placing his hands on your thighs again and caressing them. His lips traveled down your neck to your collarbone then to your breasts, kissing and nipping at the flesh before he wrapped them against your nipple, sucking harshly as his fingertips pressed on your clit. A loud moan slipped your lips as you gripped his shoulders.

"Hyunjin." you moaned desperately, your body arching into him and he shushed you, his fingers sliding through your wet folds, separating them before he slowly pushed his finger in. It was a welcomed intrusion after not being with anyone for years, you haven't even dated after going to the city, you still felt like you belonged to Hyunjin and you thought about him every day so even the thought of letting someone else touch you was too much for you.

Hyunjin slowly pumped his finger inside you, feeling how wet you were getting before adding another finger, scissoring you open for him. He noticed you seemed deep in thought so he slowed down and leaned in to look at you.

"Is something wrong, doll?" he asked and you snapped out of your thoughts.

"Have you been with anyone since I left?" you asked in a small voice, blinking at him and Hyunjin let out a chuckle.

"No, I waited for you." he whispered, kissing you gently and you clenched around him. "You like that, bunny? Like that I'm only yours?" he bit on your lip and looked at you teasingly as he continued fingering you.

"Yes, yes Hyunjin!" you moaned when he hit that special spot inside you and his eyes darkened.

"What about you, doll? Did you let someone else touch what's only mine, hm?" he asked, fucking you faster.

"N-no. Only you, Hyunjin. I'm only yours." you moaned and he growled lowly again, getting more worked up as he wrapped his hand around his length and pumped it a few times.

"You never stopped being mine, little bunny. And I never stopped being yours." he moaned, pulling his fingers out before licking at them. Your heart was beating hard at the sight and the words that he said. It was true, you were his from the moment you first saw him until the end of time.

"Missed your taste." he moaned before grabbing his cock and pressing it against your clit. "I don't have any condoms." he added and you moaned as he ran his hard tip on your folds.

"T-that was never a problem with us." you bit on your lip and Hyunjin moaned as he started slowly pushing inside you, filling you up perfectly and stretching you out just for him. You whimpered, your legs opening more as you welcomed him inside you, where he belonged. Hyunjin took a moment to gather himself when he bottomed out, his eyes fluttering shut as you squeezed around him.

"God, bunny. I missed this pussy so much." you moaned at the dirty way he spoke, clenching even harder around him. "I won't last long."

You whimpered as he started moving, his muscles contracting with each movement as his arms caged you. You couldn't stop admiring him on top of you; the buzzcut worked so well with the new, more manly look, his eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes dark as he bit on his lip, his cheeks flushed and a thin sheen of sweat forming on his skin, the veins portruding. He looked so beautiful like that, all lost in you as he moaned quietly. Your hands came up to touch the back of his neck and his shoulders, so smooth and firm and Hyunjin gripped your hips.

"Fuck, I can't!" he whined loudly before he started snapping his hips into you. Both of you were a moaning, desperate mess, missing each other for so long. Hyunjin's hands had a bruising grip on your hips, your nails dug into his flesh as you wrapped your legs around him and pressed your heels into his ass, making him go deeper. He moaned loudly, fucking you harder, his cock splitting you apart deliciously.

"I'm g-gonna cum!" he whined almost as if he was disappointed in himself for finishing so quickly but you couldn't really blame him because you were on the verge yourself.

"Cum inside me, Jinnie!" you moaned and his eyes went wide for a moment before he gripped you harder.

"Are you sure?" he panted and you nodded quickly, your nails leaving red angry marks on his skin.

"Yes please Hyune, I need to feel you." you moaned and he whimpered, fucking you harder and chasing his high and your legs started trembling around him. He knew you were close by your moans and the way your body reacted, the way your pussy clenched around him so hard like you wanted him inside you forever.

"Let go for me, doll." he encouraged you and you moaned, the coil snapping as you came around him, making him even more wet.

Hyunjin cursed and moaned loudly, his hips stuttering before he exploded, filling you up with his warm cum and riding his high as you held onto him. He plopped down on top of you as both of you tried to catch your breath.

"Y/n. My bunny, my love." Hyunjin smiled, kissing you gently as you held each other.

"Jinnie. I love you so much." you whispered against his lips and felt him twitch inside you.

"I love you more than anything, doll." he said before kissing you again, his tongue slowly massaging yours and making your body burn all over again. His hands were on your breasts, massaging and squeezing, gently pinching and pulling on your nipples as he kept stealing your breath. You felt him slowly becoming harder inside you and you clenched, your pussy sore but welcoming. You touched his back and caressed his head and neck, making him whimper against you. It didn't take long for him to become fully hard again.

"I'm gonna make love to you." he whispered, kissing your lips again then grabbing your hand and kissing it before pinning it down on the bed, next to your head, his other hand on your waist.

"Hyunjin." you moaned out his name as he started to slowly move inside you, the drag of his cock against your walls was driving you crazy. Your eyes fluttered shut and you let yourself melt into the moment, the space filling up with sounds of your bodies and your moans as you both got lost in loving each other. Your lips brushed against his jaw and neck, kissing him and gently licking at his skin, the droplets of sweat that were sliding down his neck. He threw his head back when you sunk your teeth into his skin, marking him as yours. Hyunjin's hips stuttered and he fucked you a little harder and deeper but still slowly.

Your eyes fluttered open and met with his, full of love and lust.

"I wanna be like this with you forever." he moaned and you squeezed him with your legs, your nails digging into his shoulders again.

"Me too, Hyune, I wanna be with you forever." you breathed out.

He sped up a little, his hands roaming all over your body, his sweat dripping down onto your skin, making everything hot and wet.

"Ah!" you whimpered when he hit the spot. "You feel perfect inside me."

Hyunjin groaned at the praise, his hips snapping into yours harder as his fingers found your sensitive clit, moving in circles and trying to bring you to your high. His lips were on your skin again, kissing, licking and nipping before he grabbed your breast with his free hand and wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking hard and making your body tremble against him. The fact that you were even more wet and slippery than before because he had already came inside you drove you insane and you snapped, cumming around him and squeezing him again. Hyunjin's eyes rolled back and all he could do was moan your name as he sped up, your hips and pussy burning at the overstimulation and movement before he released inside you, filling you up again.

"Fuck." this time he pulled out of you, watching as his cum oozed out of your pussy. "Wow." he gasped a little, reaching out to touch your folds and you whimpered.

"Are you- are you on the pill?" Hyunjin asked as he retracted his hand and you started laughing when you realized he hadn't even asked before and that you didn't even think about it.

"No, I wasn't sleeping with anyone so I didn't need them." you said and Hyunjin's face went red.

"It's okay." you beckoned him closer with your hand and he crawled to you instanly, laying on top of you and propping himself up with his elbows as he looked at you softly, caressing your head and playing with your hair. "We talked about having kids..."

Hyunjin let out a chuckle before pecking your lips.

"We did but now that you're back I wanted to enjoy you just a little more. Have you all to myself, my little bunny. And I know it might be cliche but I wanted us to get married first." he said and your heart fluttered.

"You never stopped thinking about that?" you asked, caressing his back.

"I couldn't even if I wanted to. Did you?"

"I always thought that if I hadn't left we would've already been married and had at least one baby." you confessed and Hyunjin's body trembled as he pressed himself harder against you.

"There's nothing more I want than to have everything with you, my love." he said, kissing you gently and lovingly.

"Me too." you gasped for air between kisses.

"Are you ready for round three then?" he smirked and you felt his length twitching against your thigh.

"Oh wow." you laughed and Hyunjin chuckled.

"What can I say, I missed you." he kissed your jaw again. "I just wanna be inside you."

"Please Hyunjin." you whimpered, feeling aroused for him easily.

"Don't worry bunny, I got you. All mine tonight." he moaned, pushing into your sore pussy but it felt so good to you. "Gotta make sure it sticks." Hyunjin added with a smirk and you gasped, your eyes rolling back as he filled you up.

You spent almost the entire night in each other's embrace, making love or just cuddling and talking, but both of you felt so insatiable that you just couldn't stop until early morning hours.

"This is about the time I usually wake up." Hyunjin said as he blinked sleepily, rubbing his cheek against your breast as you held him in your arms. You looked out at the dark sky, giggling a little.

"We should get some sleep." you said and Hyunjin whined, squeezing your other breast with his hand.

"I can't... I need to feed the horses... And take Rina out for a walk and..." his voice got more and more quiet before you realized he was fast asleep. A smile spread on your lips as you relaxed and let yourself fall asleep too.

You woke up a few hours later, the sun blazing through the curtains and you groaned, covering your face. Your entire body was sore, last night you had used some muscles that were dormant for years, but the most sore place was between your legs. When you remembered everything you did with Hyunjin last night and how many times he had moaned into your ear about fucking a baby into you, your mind went hazy and you felt that wave of hotness rise inside you.

You noticed you were alone in the bed, tangled in his sheets and the smell of him and you rolled over to his side after noticing another little bouquet of flowers. You smiled to yourself and willed yourself to get up and take a shower even though your legs were in pain too.

By the time you came down, Hyunjin was nowhere to be seen but you found some coffee and toast, deciding to make yourself some breakfast. You sat at the counter and ate while listening to some music. Hyunjin suddenly walked in from the back door.

"Oh bunny! Good morning." he smirked as he came closer to you and you could see the sweat on his body glistening, making you feel aroused instantly at the sight and smell of him.

"Morning." your voice came out breathy as he wrapped his arm around you and kissed you.

"I was just working out back in the shed." he started and Rina ran in barking and jumping at you happily. You chuckled and cooed at her as you started petting her head. "She helped out." Hyunjin added and you giggled.

"I'm sure she did."

"Would you like to go horse riding with me today?" he asked and you let out a laugh.

"I mean, I'd love to but you tired me out last night." you said sheepishly and he cackled, making you smack his arm a few times which made Rina bark.

"Careful, you can't hit me in front of Rina." he had a smug smile on his face and you rolled your eyes, shoving him away playfully. "Come on, we used to go all the time. I missed doing everything with you, doll."

"Fine, but I'm going home first to change and say hello to my grandparents." you pointed your finger at him and he grabbed your wrist, gently kissing your fingertip before he pressed your hand on his chest.

"Come back to me soon, doll."

-

It didn't take long for you to get ready and skip back to Hyunjin's house, especially after missing him for so many years; you felt like you needed to make up for all the lost time. Hyunjin was waiting for you in the stable, preparing the horses for the ride. As soon as you walked in, he smiled at you, waving at you to come closer. Hyunjin gave you the elevator eyes, you were dressed and ready for the activity you were going to share with him this afternoon.

"God, you look so cute my bunny." he put his hands behind his back and leaned in to kiss you, making you giggle against his lips.

"You're cute." you poked his cheek and he chuckled.

"I am?" he gave you a cute face, making his dimples visible as he smiled and his eyes disappeared, turning into little slits. For emphasis he put his palms around his face as if he was presenting his cuteness to you and you could not believe that this was the same man who had you shaking under him last night.

"The cutest." you giggled and he seemed satisfied with the answer, giving you another sweet kiss.

"So, this beauty over here is Aurora." Hyunjin took your hand in his and walked closer to the horse. It let out a snorting sound, making you jolt a little and Hyunjin chuckled.

"Don't tell me you forgot how to ride." he smirked at you with a pointed look and you smacked his arm as he giggled, knowing you would react like that. Your cheeks went red despite last night and despite everything else you shared with him.

"You better be quiet." you threatened him and he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

"You weren't saying that last night."

"Hyunjin. Please. The horses don't need to listen to this." you whispered the last sentence, giving Aurora a few gentle pets.

Hyunjin laughed before nodding. "Alright, well she is yours for today. And I'm taking Midnight." he pointed to a black horse and you nodded, feeling excited because you missed things like this in the city, spending time in nature even though insects frightened you.

The two of you made your way out with your horses, Hyunjin helping you get up on Aurora and then patting your butt affectionately as you sat down. Your cheeks became rosy as he smirked at you and climbed up on Midnight. He looked so hot in that moment that you were already getting worked up despite still being sore.

You made your way towards the fields, the sun shining on you as you rode your horses and enjoyed the fresh air and the breeze. Everything that was bothering you before you came here was left in the dust your horses lifted as they ran, the past was put behind you and you could clearly see the path ahead.

The two of you made it to one of the pretty fields, letting the horses rest as you tied them aside and Hyunjin brought a blanket for the two of you to sit on. Quietly, you enjoyed the beautiful day together as you closed your eyes and let the sun's warmth kiss you while Hyunjin kept his eyes fixed on you.

"I forgot just how peaceful it is here." you sighed before looking at Hyunjin.

"But you spent most of your life here, more than in the city. You know this place like the back of your hand." his head tilted and you shrugged.

"Maybe it didn't take long for me to get used to the city."

"Then it won't be long for you to get used to being back here." he said and bit on his lip. "Come here bunny." he tapped his thigh and you chuckled, your face becoming red. "Come sit in my lap, I need you close to me." Hyunjin added and you shook your head lightly before coming closer to him and sitting in his lap. Your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist as he leaned in and kissed you sweetly, before gently swiping his tongue on your lower lip. You parted your lips and he kissed you sensually, like he was trying to explore every part of you and remember your taste forever.

Hyunjin leaned back suddenly and gave you a serious look as he held your hips.

"Y/n, you really are the most important person in my life. You are my best friend and my only lover. And I want you to stay here with me forever and for us to build a life together but only if you want that. I don't want you to feel like I forced you to be here in the village and made you throw away your uni degree and the career you worked so hard for. I need to know that you are absolutely sure you want this, cause I don't want you to resent me one day." Hyunjin exhaled shakily and you smiled, grabbing his face and smushing his cute cheeks.

"You're the most important person in my life too. And even without knowing you still loved me and wanted to be with me I came back here with the plan to stay. There is nothing for me there, that career was a disappointment, almost a waste of time that I could've been spending here with you. Besides, I am still young and there is time to change careers. This is my decision to stay here and if I have you too, then that's just added happiness. I would never resent you Hyunjin, because I want to build a life with you too, I want us to grow old together like my grandparents. I always imagined us like that."

"Oh bunny, you have no idea how happy that makes me." Hyunjin gave you the sweetest smile before crashing his lips against yours. The kiss was passionate and full of love, all bursting around the two of you. He kissed your neck before flipping you over and you gasped under him.

"Beloved, it's the middle of the day, other people come here. A-and the horses are right there." you nodded towards the animals who seemed interested only in the grass.

"Doll, let me just have a taste of you, please?" Hyunjin rubbed your hips, giving you the cutest pout and puppy eyes and you were weak for him. It never took too long for you to lose your panties around him which was what happened as soon as you said yes. He took off your pants and underwear, immediately diving in between your legs as he held them open, gripping at your thighs.

"My sweet bunny." Hyunjin kissed and nipped on your thighs, leaving bite marks in his wake all the way up to your core.

"Mm." he moaned the moment his plump lips touched your folds. "Baby." he whined and flatened his tongue against you, giving you a few languid licks, enjoying the taste of you before the tip of his tongue started flicking your clit. You whimpered quietly as your legs trembled, still aware that you were outside and anyone could see you.

Hyunjin however, didn't care. He was moaning into your pussy desperately as soon as he pushed his tongue in, eating you out like you were the sweetest treat ever. His nose brushed against your clit perfectly as he moved and you were still so sensitive from last night so it didn't take long for you to release your essence all over his lips and tongue as you gripped onto the blanket.

"Bunny, you taste so sweet." he whined, licking around his lips. You looked around, chuckling and quickly pulling your pants up, cringing a little at the wetness.

"Let me make you feel good too, Jinnie." you were now closer to him, your hands on his thighs.

"You don't have to do it right now, we can go back to my house and-"

"Hyune... You can't ride back with this." you smirked, cupping his bulge through his pants and he whined instanly, lifting up into your hand and grinding against it.

"Yeah, you're right." Hyunjin moaned as you kissed his jaw and neck while working to unbutton his pants and slide them down with his boxers, at least enough to pull his cock out. You moaned at the sight of him and you were so eager to have him in your mouth again after not tasting him for so long. You leaned down, gathering spit before you spit on his cock and made him gasp, lifting his hips up to you again. You gave him a few pumps as you smirked at him and Hyunjin was already falling apart. He was equally as weak for you as you were for him.

You swirled your tongue around his head, dipping it into his slit and he shook against you, his hips lifting up and his hand tangling in your hair.

"More, please more bunny." he begged desperately and you moaned around him as you slid down, taking more of his length in.

"Just like that baby, keep going." he encouraged you as you tried to relax your throat and breathe through your nose. Hyunjin whimpered when you gripped the base of his cock, bobbing your head up and down. He gripped your hair, his moans becoming high pitched so you looked up and almost came in your panties at the sight. He was completely lost in the pleasure you were giving him, his head thrown back, his neck on full display with his Adam's apple bobbing up and down every time he gulped and his veins visible. Your eyes fluttered as you moaned around him and fondled his balls with your other hand, making his hips jerk up into you which made you gag a little.

"Fuck. Taking me so well, bunny." he growled, fucking up into you slowly as he gripped your hair harder. "G-gonna cum."

"Mm." you moaned, massaging his balls and sucking him like your life depended on it as he kept fucking up into you.

"Ah! Love seeing those pretty lips around me!" Hyunjin whined loudly, snapping his hips a little harder against you before you felt him twitch and release inside you. You swallowed every last drop he gave you, overstimulating him until he was almost pushing you away.

"Fuck, bunny. You're gonna be the death of me." he said as you lifted up and wiped your lips.

"That good, hm?" you teased him with a smirk and he smirked back at you as he got dressed.

"Well, you seem to love my cum so I'm just giving you what you love, you know, thinking of your happiness." he teased and you smacked his arm, making him laugh because he loved provoking you.

"Shut up." you muttered in embarrassment and he giggled before pouting at you and coming closer to you. He gently took your chin in his hand and made you look at him.

"I love you." he said.

"I love you too." you smiled and kissed him, tasting your essence on his tongue.

"Wanna ride a little more then go back to my house?" he asked and you nodded eagerly.

"I'd love to."

-

Currently, you were sitting in Hyunjin's very big bath, waiting for him to join you as you soaped up your arms with the bubbles, playing around with them.

"Here I am!" he ran in, quickly closing the door behind him. "Had to feed Rina plus she felt neglected and deprived of my love." he added, stripping his clothes and throwing them in the hamper haphazardly.

"You trying to make me feel guilty?" you asked, blowing a bubble at him and he giggled.

"No doll, you know you're always my number one." he smirked, throwing his underwear aside and you looked away in embarrassment.

He chuckled at you and got in, sitting between your legs and you squealed as he made the water splash around you.

"Will you help me wash my back?" he looked at you sideways with a little pout and you chuckled.

"Of course, beloved." you smiled as you took a clean cloth and made it wet before you started gently washing his back. Hyunjin closed his eyes and let out a long sigh of relaxation. You enjoyed the quiet moment, gently rubbing his skin before gliding over it with your other hand, loving the feeling of his wet and soft skin against yours. You leaned in and kissed his shoulders, your breasts pressing against him and nipples grazing him. Hyunjin let out a shaky breath as you wrapped your arms around him and kept kissing his upper back and the back of his neck, catching the droplets of water with your lips.

"I'm so happy." he said and you smiled against him as he caressed your hands. "I was lonely without you, my bunny. I drowned that in work but in moments like this, when it's quiet, and especially late at night I imagined you next to me, wished you were here. And now you are."

"I'm sorry, Jinnie. I'll never leave you again." you said, brushing your lips against his neck.

"I know." he shivered and then leaned back into you as you held him and caressed his chest and stomach, your hand coming in contact with his cock that was hard again.

"Jinnie." you giggled in delight.

"I can't help it when you're touching me." he whined and you kept giggling as you wrapped your hand around him and gave him a few teasing tugs before you released him completely, making him groan.

"Love, you promised we'd go stargazing tonight." you teased.

"The stars will be there tomorrow." he smirked, turning around in the bath and making the water splash around again.

"So will we." you chuckled, running your finger on his defined jaw.

"Mm." he smirked, eyes already hooded as he leaned in and captured your lips in his. You gave in instantly, craving him as much as he craved you.

"I want to go stargazing." you said when the two of you parted for air and Hyunjin chuckled, shaking his head.

"Whatever my bunny wants. Give me a few moments to try and calm down, hm?" he said, kissing your jaw before he got up, getting out of the bath and making his way to the shower. "Join me." he reached his hand towards you and you grabbed it, getting out of the bath with his help.

The moment you shared in the shower was sweet and gentle as you helped each other wash off, playing around with the water.

"So, you like how I did the house?" Hyunjin asked as you dried off.

"I love it so much. It's artsy but cozy and warm. It still has that vintage vibe, you just made it better." you told him and he blushed, smiling cutely at you.

"I decorated it with the thought of you." he confessed, suddenly looking shy and reminding you of that little boy that almost hid behind his mother the first time he laid eyes on you.

"Hyunjin." your eyes watered instantly and you started crying.

"Bunny, don't cry." Hyunjin wrapped his arms around you, shushing you and pulling you into his chest as he caressed your head.

"I'm sorry." you whimpered and he chuckled at your cute pouty face as he looked down at you.

"Move in with me. There's no need to wait." he kissed your head and you squeezed him tighter.

"Packing tomorrow." you looked up at him with a smile and he chuckled, leaning down to kiss you as he wiped your tears away.

-

It was a beautiful, clear and quiet night, just what you needed for one of your favorite activities. Stargazing was a little ritual you did together even before you started dating, when you were just friends. You'd lay near your tree and look up at the stars wondering what's in store for you and Hyunjin, and he'd be nervously gathering courage to confess to you and kiss you only to back out every time you smiled at him.

After becoming a couple, you'd spend warm evenings loving each other under the blanket of stars, hidden by the grass and flowers around you. You'd look up at the stars then and thank them.

Hyunjin brought a blanket this time like always and you laid next to each other, your bare arms touching.

"Jinnie, can I ask you something?" you turned to look at him.

"Anything." he met your eyes.

"I noticed this when I got here the first day but why did you carve only your name in the tree, under ours?"

His eyes softened before he sat up and looked at the tree.

"For when you come back, so you can add your name and we can make a new start together." he smiled and your eyes watered.

"Jinnie." you whined, sitting up and resting your forehead on his shoulder. "You're too sweet."

"Here." he gave you his pocket knife and motioned at the tree. "You can add your name now."

Hyunjin helped you out and the two of you admired your work, a new carving of your names signifying a new phase of your relationship, where both of you have grown and matured. You turned towars him, grabbing his face and smashing your lips into his as you kissed him passionately. Hyunjin returned the kiss enthusiastically, pulling you in his lap. Your hips started grinding against him instantly and he smirked into the kiss.

"Is my bunny needy for me?" Hyunjin leaned back to look at you, caressing your face and putting your hair behind your ear.

"Mm, always." you moaned quietly as his other hand grabbed at your ass, squeezing and giving you a light smack.

Hyunjin chuckled at the state of you, already unraveling and he hasn't even done anything. You bit on your lip and gripped his shoulders as you started dragging your core against his. Hyunjin's head fell back as he gripped your hips and helped you move against him, pressing you down and making you feel his growing bulge.

"What you do to me, doll." he almost growled, gripping you harder and moving his hips up into yours.

"Hyunjin." you moaned his name, your hands sliding down his chest to his abs and then to the button on his jeans as you worked to open it. He smirked into the kiss again, letting you struggle for a moment before he leaned away from your lips and helped you take off his pants. His hands slid under your dress, up until he touched your panties.

"So wet, my bunny." he looked at you lustfully, his lips parting as he touched you clit and played with it, sliding his fingers down to your folds and feeling the wetness even through the fabric.

"I need you." you whined and he chuckled.

"I need you too, bunny." he whispered and you stood up to slide your panties off as Hyunjin watched you with hazy eyes. He slid his pants and underwear down, pulling you down into his lap again. Your wet pussy pressed against his hard cock and both of you moaned as you grinded on him, getting him wet with your juices.

"Ah, doll!" Hyunjin whined, pushing his hips up into you and you lifted just a little to grab his cock and push it inside you. He groaned as you sat down on him slowly, feeling every inch of him stretching your still sore pussy.

"You okay, bunny?" Hyunjin wrapped his arms around your waist as you let out a hiss.

"Y-yes, perfect." you whimpered, gripping at his shoulders as you started circling your hips on top of him. "Oh my god." you groaned, feeling his tip brushing against something delicious deep inside you.

"Good, baby?" Hyunjin smirked, holding your hips but you knew he was close to losing control.

"Mm yes." you shut your eyes tightly as you started to bounce on him slowly and Hyunjin let out a loud moan.

"Ah, bunny! You feel so good. So perfect for me. I wanna stay inside you forever."

You clenched hard at his words, fucking on his length faster, your hips slapping against his. Hyunjin's hand gripped your dress and pushed it up before he grabbed your ass, giving it a few smacks and making you whimper and squeeze around his cock again.

"Please, Hyune, I need more, please!" you whimpered, fucking on him as hard as you could even though your thighs started burning. Hyunjin looked at you, your flushed face and your tits bouncing with your movement, his cock disappearing completely inside you. You were driving him insane.

"You want some help bunny?" he asked, gripping your hips.

"Yes, please!" you whined and Hyunjin smirked before he started snapping his hips up into you.

Both of you were a desperate mess of moans and curses, fucking into each other as if you hadn't been together all night yesterday.

"Gonna get you pregnant, my bunny. Want you to be mine forever." Hyunjin growled as you fell apart on top of him, exploding all over his cock.

"Please, Hyune, want to have your baby." you mumbled, your entire body shaking on top of him and Hyunjin growled, his eyes rolling back as he came, ropes of warm cum filling you up, your pussy milking him dry.

You held each other for a moment, trying to gather your senses as you breathed hard. Hyunjin leaned back and gave you a cute smile.

"I mean it, you know. I really want a little one running around our house. A baby that we made out of love." Hyunjin said, holding your face in his palms.

"Me too, I want it so much." your voice was shaky as you leaned in and kissed him, not missing the detail where he called his house yours.

"After last night and today it would be a surprise if you weren't already pregnant." he smiled, brushing his lips against yours.

You chuckled as your face burned. "I hope so."

Hyunjin smiled, kissing you until you became breathless. The two of you cleaned up and got dressed, lying down in each other's arms so you could actually do what you came to do here - watch the stars.

Once again, you thanked them for leading you back to your Hyunjin.

Six months later

You were drinking your morning tea, staring out the window as your free hand landed on your tummy and you let out a sigh of happiness. Hyunjin came from upstairs, all fresh from a shower and noticed you smiling to yourself, the sun illuminating your features.

"How are my girls?" Hyunjin asked as he wrapped his arms around you, his hands on your baby bump, caressing you gently as he kissed you neck and inhaled your sweet scent.

"Good actually. The tea is helping with nausea." you turned your head a little to look at his face and his eyes were filled with so much love and happiness that it made you shiver, your heart fluttering.

"What?" you chuckled as he kept looking at you with a big smile on his face.

"Have I told you how breathtaking you are, my doll?" he exhaled, nuzzling into you.

"Only every day." you giggled.

"And I will continue doing so for the rest of my life." Hyunjin kissed your cheek and you turned in his arms to give him a proper kiss, enjoying the feeling of his plump lips against yours. Your hands flew to his hair that was now black and growing out and you ran your fingers through the soft tufts.

"I have something for you." he said when the two of you broke apart.

"What is it?" you tilted your head and Hyunjin rounded the couch where Rina was cuddled up, making her raise her head and look at him. He stood in front of the stereo and pressed a few buttons before the familiar melody of Photograph started playing.

"Hyun..." your eyes watered and he skipped towards you, reaching his hand to you. You grabbed it and he pulled you into him, dancing with you, softly swaying you side to side.

"This has always been our song. The one we danced to at prom too. And now we can have our first dance at our wedding to this song as well."

"H-Hyunjin." your lips trembled as happy tears spilled from your eyes.

"I wanted to wait for a perfect moment, have this elaborate dinner and speech but I think this is the perfect moment. You and me in our house with our baby on the way and Rina with us. So I have something to ask you, bunny." Hyunjin got on one knee in front of you, taking out a little box from the pocket of his sweats and opening it up to reveal a beatiful ring.

You gasped, your heart beating fast as more tears spilled from your eyes. You knew he was going to propose to you but nothing prepared you for the tornado of feelings that were swirling inside you.

"Y/n, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?"

"Yes!" you yelled almost before he ended the sentence and he chuckled happily, sliding the ring on your finger.

"I love you so much, Jinnie." you cried as he stood up and wrapped his arms around you.

"I love you more than anything, my little bunny." he kissed you, the tears of happiness sliding down his cheeks too.

"I promised you forever, didn't I?"

And there was no other way you wanted to spend forever than to be by Hyunjin's side.

filthy warnings : fingering (f rec.), softdom!felix, ingestion of ... yk, dirty talk, gentle + rough iykwim

By the time you finally trudged through the front door, the weight of the day clung to your shoulders like a storm cloud. You kicked off your shoes with a heavy sigh, already craving the comfort you knew was waiting for you upstairs. The house was dim and quiet, but the faint hum of the TV from your room guided you like a beacon.

Felix was there, sprawled across your bed as if he belonged to it, head propped up on his hand. His soft blond hair fell over his forehead, catching the glow of the lamp, and the instant his eyes met yours, you felt the knots in your chest loosen. “Hey, love,” he murmured, voice warm, like he’d been waiting just for you.

You didn’t even bother with pleasantries; you dropped your bag to the floor and collapsed beside him, burying your face into the sheets. He chuckled under his breath and shifted, his free hand immediately finding its way to your hair, combing through the strands with slow, tender strokes.

“So,” he said quietly, not pushing, just inviting, “rough day?”

The sound of his voice cracked something in you open, and words tumbled out before you could stop them. You told him about your boss, the endless nitpicking, the unreasonable deadlines, the way you felt like you were running in circles just to stay afloat. You vented about the co-worker who kept getting on your nerves, about how you skipped lunch just to keep up, about how all you wanted at the end of it was to scream into the void.

Through it all, Felix never interrupted. His gaze stayed on you, steady and unwavering, like you were the only thing in the world worth listening to. His thumb brushed gently at your temple as his fingers threaded through your hair, and by the time you were done, the tension had faded from your shoulders and the exhaustion was slowly starting to bleed away.

You let out a long breath and melted into his touch, nuzzling your cheek against the warmth of his palm. The steady rhythm of his fingers in your hair was enough to make your eyelids flutter, the heaviness of the day easing in ways you didn’t think possible.

Felix’s smile softened as he looked down at you, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone like he was tracing the outline of his favorite masterpiece. “My poor angel, you’re so stressed.” His voice was low and tender, the kind of tone that wrapped around you like a blanket. Before you could even respond, he leaned down and began pressing soft kisses across your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, as though he wanted to remind you with every brush of his lips that you were cherished, safe, and adored.

You laughed weakly, the sound muffled as he kissed your temple again and again, and then down toward your jaw. “Felix...” you murmured, but your protest dissolved into a sigh when he trailed his lips along the curve of your neck.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered against your skin. “Let me relieve some of your stress.”

You blinked up at him, tired and a little dazed, assuming he meant what he usually did, offering one of his soothing back rubs or rubbing the knots from your legs until you melted into sleep. “Okay,” you agreed quietly, nuzzling into his chest, too drained to question him further.

Felix’s lips curved into the faintest smile at your sleepy agreement, and he kissed the corner of your forehead before shifting you gently onto your back. The mattress dipped with his weight as he moved beside you, his hand never leaving your skin. His touch trailed slowly from your temple down to your shoulder, his fingertips brushing the curve of your collarbone before slipping lower, over the fabric of your shirt.

“Good,” he murmured, almost to himself, as though he were already planning exactly how to unravel every last thread of tension inside you. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your jaw, then another just beneath your ear, his breath warm as he whispered, “So good.”

Your body sank into the bed, pliant under his touch as he began gliding his palms in long, steady motions along your sides. At first, it felt like the familiar beginning of one of his massages, the kind you’d come to rely on after grueling days. His thumbs kneaded softly into your shoulders, coaxing out the knots, and you let out a small sigh at the relief that rippled through you.

“That’s it,” he praised softly, his voice low, his accent curling around the words in a way that made them sink deeper. “Just relax my angel.” His hands roamed lower, down the slope of your waist, his fingers brushing your hips before sliding back up to the curve of your ribs. Every movement was slow, intentional, lingering long enough to make heat coil beneath your skin.

You shifted, a flush creeping into your cheeks at the way your body responded, but he only pressed another kiss to your temple, steady and patient. “So good for me,” he whispered, his lips moving against your skin. “You work so hard, and you don’t get enough recognition.”

His hands moved again, tracing down your thighs this time, firm enough to ease the ache in your muscles but gentle enough that goosebumps chased after his touch. He hummed quietly, as though lost in the rhythm of taking care of you, his mouth brushing soft kisses over every inch of exposed skin he could reach; your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your lips.

Your mind began to slip, the world growing hazy and distant, and all that existed were his hands and his lips and his voice, soothing and gentle. He eased his way between your thighs, nudging them apart until you parted them for him, pliant and boneless. He smiled and pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot on your inner thigh, his fingers curling beneath the hem of your skirt.

It wasn’t until he began sliding the fabric up your legs that your mind cleared and you realized what was happening. The fog receded as his words sunk in, and you lifted your head, eyes wide.

Felix’s fingers moved with unhurried care, sliding the fabric lower and lower until your skirt bunched at your ankles. He kept his touch feather-light, giving you every chance to stop him, but your body felt too heavy, too pliant, caught between the exhaustion dragging you down and the heat sparking under your skin. By the time he eased the skirt fully off, dropping it to the floor beside the bed, your breath was already catching in uneven little pulls.

Your mind was still foggy, a little stunned at how things had shifted, and embarrassment prickled at the edges of your haze.

Felix’s gaze dropped, and you saw the way his eyes darkened as they lingered on the wetness pooling and clinging to the inside of your thighs. The air in the room felt suddenly heavier and your instinct kicked in, trying to close your legs, your knees pressing together in a shy attempt to hide.

But Felix was quicker. His hands were gentle but firm as he placed them on your knees, coaxing them apart again. “No, angel,” he murmured, his voice soft, low, but steady with quiet command. “Don’t hide from me.” He leaned forward, his mouth brushing the side of your face, leaving a trail of delicate kisses from your temple down to your cheek. The tenderness in each press of his lips made your chest tighten even more than his words.

Felix’s lips lingered against your cheek, his breath warm and steady, while his hands held your knees apart with quiet insistence. You could feel the heat radiating from his body where he leaned over you, the closeness making your pulse skip and stutter. Then his hand moved, slow and deliberate, sliding down from your thigh until his fingertips brushed against the damp fabric of your panties.

The lightest graze made your breath hitch, the sensation sharp and dizzying in its subtlety. His fingers traced along the soaked material, exploring the heat seeping through, and you shivered at the contact. You weren’t prepared for how sensitive you felt, your body reacting instantly even though his touch was barely there.

“Already so worked up,” he whispered, the words feathering over your skin as he pressed a kiss just below your ear. His accent curled around every syllable, low and husky, as though he were savoring the discovery.

His fingers moved again, this time slower, dragging up along the curve of your center until they found the small bundle of nerves throbbing beneath the thin barrier of fabric. He applied the faintest pressure, just enough to make your back arch, the tiniest tremor running through you. The wetness only made it easier for him to glide over you, teasing, testing how much you could take.

You whimpered softly, the sound escaping before you could stop it, your hands instinctively clutching at the sheets beside you. Your body jerked at every tiny shift of his fingers, but Felix only hushed you with another kiss to your cheek, his lips brushing along the edge of your mouth before trailing back to your temple.

“Come on angel,” he murmured, his voice all velvet reassurance. “Just relax for me.”

His thumb circled lazily over your clit through the damp fabric, never pressing too hard, only teasing with a light touch that sent ripples of sensation through you. The restraint in his movements made it almost unbearable, he gave you just enough to make your body crave more, your thighs twitching under the pressure of his hands keeping them parted.

Each gentle stroke made you feel hotter, the wet fabric clinging to you with each glide of his finger. Your breath came out in shaky little gasps as he worked you with slow, deliberate intent, his hand moving in easy motions as though he could spend hours like this.

Felix’s thumb lingered in slow, lazy circles, drawing more of those shaky little sounds from you until your whole body felt strung tight. Then, with unhurried care, his hand shifted lower. Two fingers hooked beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging just enough to slip inside. The cool air of the room rushed against your bare skin for a fleeting second before his touch followed, warm and unrelenting.

The first brush of his fingers against your slick folds made you jolt, a sharp shiver tearing through you. Your hips twitched upward instinctively, your breath catching as though you hadn’t expected the sensitivity to hit so hard. “Ah- Felix,” you gasped, the sound more desperate than you meant it to be, your voice trembling.

He stilled for just a moment, his eyes locked onto your face. That was where his focus stayed, completely, unwaveringly on you. His gaze traced every flicker of your expression, every flutter of your lashes, every quiver of your mouth. It was almost too much, the intensity of it. You wanted to look away, to hide from how deeply he was seeing you, but the way his thumb rubbed gentle circles on your thigh, grounding you, made it impossible to pull back.

Then his fingers moved again, spreading the slickness gently before pressing right back where you were most sensitive.

The sensation was overwhelming, the direct pressure making you whimper and curl your fingers into the sheets. Your thighs twitched again, instinct screaming to snap shut, to shield yourself from how exposed and raw you felt under his gaze. But Felix’s hand was steady, keeping you open, coaxing you to let him see everything.

You turned your face into the pillow, embarrassed heat rushing to your cheeks. It felt like too much, his fingers working you in slow, deliberate strokes while his eyes never left your face, catching every reaction. The intimacy of it left your chest tight, your throat clogged with unspoken words.

Felix noticed. Of course he did. He knew you better than you knew yourself, sometimes.

He shifted, the mattress dipping with his weight, and his other hand moved to your face, his thumb gently coaxing your chin back. The touch was light but firm, more demanding rather than guiding, until you looked back at him. His eyes were dark and focused, there was a seriousness there, an intensity, that made you feel pinned in place.

The sight alone made your stomach drop, a new heat spreading through your veins.

Then his fingers began moving again, slow, steady, and you couldn't hold back the whimper that slipped free. His lips curved into the tiniest smirk at the sound, the corners tilting upward in satisfaction. "I want to see you," he murmured, his tone almost casual, as if he wasn't driving you absolutely crazy. "Want to see the pretty way your face flushes when you fall apart."

He spoke with the same calm confidence that he always had, like he knew exactly what would make you shiver and shake and beg. And his words did. You were helpless against them, a moan tearing from your throat as he curled his fingers, stroking over a sensitive spot inside you.

Felix’s smirk lingered as your moan spilled into the space between you, and the sound seemed to ignite something in him. His fingers, already deep inside you, shifted with deliberate precision, curling just right to graze that spot that made your whole body jolt. His thumb pressed down firmly on your clit, the sudden dual sensation sending a cry tumbling from your lips.

“Mm, there it is,” he whispered, his tone dripping with quiet satisfaction. His eyes stayed locked onto yours, unrelenting, drinking in every flicker of pleasure that crossed your face. “That’s the sound I wanted, angel. So sweet for me.”

He set a rhythm, slow but devastating, his fingers thrusting into you in a steady pace while his thumb rubbed lazy circles against your swollen clit. The combination was overwhelming, each movement perfectly calculated, like he knew your body better than you did. The way his thumb dragged, sometimes light and teasing, sometimes firmer, made the fire in your stomach twist tighter and tighter.

Your hands fisted in the sheets, knuckles white, your hips rocking instinctively to meet the thrusts of his hand. Every time he drove his fingers deeper, curling them inside you, your thighs trembled. Every circle of his thumb made sparks explode behind your eyes, until your vision blurred with tears that clung to your lashes.

“Look at you,” Felix breathed, his voice husky, soft yet commanding. His hand on your chin tightened just slightly, tilting your face so you couldn’t hide. “So beautiful like this. You feel how wet you are for me? How perfect you are around my fingers?” His words were tender, but the edge in them, the low rumble of possession, made you whimper even harder.

Your whole body was trembling, every stroke of his fingers and every deliberate circle of his thumb pushing you closer to that edge. The sounds slipping from your mouth were soft, broken, but louder than you intended, and the way Felix’s gaze pinned you down only made the heat in your cheeks burn hotter. You bit your lip, trying to hold back, but the pleasure kept spilling out of you anyway, raw and uncontrollable.

“S’… much,” you gasped, your voice shaky, words barely forming as your chest heaved. Your hand flew down on instinct, covering his wrist, trying to still the relentless rhythm of his fingers. You weren’t sure if you wanted relief or just a chance to breathe, but your body was thrumming with too much intensity to tell the difference.

For a second, his fingers slowed, though not because he was stopping, because he was waiting. Watching. His eyes were locked onto yours, burning with something dark and unwavering, like he wanted to see every bit of your hesitation and shyness laid bare.

“Mm, too much?” he murmured, almost teasing, though his voice had that dangerous softness that made your heart lurch. His fingers flexed inside you, just enough to make you jolt.

You tightened your grip on his hand, trying to still him, but the way your thighs squeezed around his arm betrayed how good it felt, how much your body craved it even when your mind tried to resist. The mix of desperation and need in your expression made Felix’s lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile.

And then his voice dropped, rough and low, each word laced with command. “Move your fuckin’ hand.”

The words shot straight through you, dark and sharp, vibrating in the pit of your stomach. His tone wasn’t loud, but it carried enough weight to make you shiver, to make your body obey before your thoughts could catch up. Your hand slipped away from his, trembling as it fell back to the sheets.

You felt as he bit down on the lobe of your ear as his pace resumed, harder this time, more deliberate. His thumb pressed down firmly on your clit, dragging another helpless cry from you as his fingers thrust deep, curling right against that sensitive spot again and again.

“Don’t you dare try to hide from me,” he breathed against your ear, his words thick with both heat and devotion. “I want to hear every sound you make. I want to feel you fall apart right here, on my hand.”

The pressure and the pace didn’t slow, they only intensified, his thumb rubbing hard circles against your clit while his fingers thrust into you. Every drag of his fingers was deliberate and calculated, like he knew exactly how much friction you needed, and how fast, and how hard.

He was ruthless in the way he drove you right to the edge, holding you there, and then slowing down. It was torture, the constant change of pace, and your mind felt completely unraveled, hazy and desperate and needy, unable to grasp onto any kind of sense. All you could do was clutch at the sheets, writhing against the bed, gasping and moaning with every curl of his fingers.

You were completely overwhelmed, lost in the sensations, in the feeling of him all around you, and the sounds spilled out of you without thought or filter. Your whole body shook with pleasure and exertion, tears clinging to your lashes.

But no matter how hard your muscles tensed, no matter how tightly you curled your fingers, no matter how desperately you arched and gasped, Felix never relented. It felt like the heat building inside you would consume you whole. Each rub of his thumb against your clit, each thrust of his fingers, made the coil inside you twist tighter and tighter, until it was almost unbearable.

Then the pressure finally snapped. Your body arched off the bed, a raw cry tearing from your throat as the coil inside you unraveled all at once. Pleasure ripped through you in waves, white-hot and blinding, stealing every ounce of breath from your lungs. Your thighs shook violently around his arm, your nails clawing at the sheets, every nerve in your body burning under his relentless touch.

“That’s it, angel,” Felix groaned against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it as he whispered praise after praise. “So perfect for me... Let it go, I’ve got you.” His words rumbled low in his chest, steady and grounding while your world tilted and blurred.

You could barely think, barely breathe, your body trembled so hard it felt like you’d shatter under his hand. Stars exploded behind your eyelids, vision hazy and spotted as your climax rolled through you in endless waves, leaving you gasping and whimpering, every sound raw and helpless.

Felix’s mouth never left your skin. He pressed kisses along your jaw, your cheek, the damp corner of your eye where tears clung. “So beautiful like this,” he whispered, his voice ragged but filled with awe. His lips trailed lower, over your neck, sucking gently at the sensitive spot beneath your ear before soothing it with soft kisses. “You did so good for me, angel... so, so good.”

As the sharp edge of your release ebbed, your body went slack, melting into the mattress. Your chest heaved with each shaky inhale, your muscles twitching from the aftermath, every limb boneless. You were completely undone, your body still humming with the remnants of pleasure.

Felix’s fingers slowed gradually, easing you down from the high until your body could finally rest. Only then did he slip his hand from between your thighs. You let out a shaky little whimper at the loss, your legs twitching weakly in response.

You barely managed to open your eyes in time to see what he did next. Felix brought his hand up to his lips, his fingers glistening with you. His gaze stayed locked on yours, dark, hungry, as he slipped his fingers into his mouth. He sucked slow, deliberate, like he wanted to savor every last bit of you, a pleased hum vibrating in his throat.

When he pulled them free, his tongue chased along the pad of one finger, his lips curving into the faintest, most satisfied smirk. He leaned close, his forehead brushing yours, his breath mingling with your ragged exhale. “Stress relief has never tasted so good,” he murmured, his voice low and sinful, before pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Jeongin…when you first met him, he was shy — always wearing a sweet smile on his face that deepened into the cutest dimples. That is how you remember him and that is what you thought he is always like. You still remember how your own anxiety radiated off you at the thought of meeting your best friend’s friends. However Felix, being his bubbly self, did everything he could to make feel comfortable — comfortable enough that you eventually started coming to their practice from time to time. At first, you didn’t want to get to know them, mostly of the fear that they might not like you, but that fear faded quickly, forgotten the first day you ever spent with them.

Like Felix, they all were nice to you. Some more quiet than the others, but they always intended to make you comfortable and included — from Chan, making you feel included in every conversation, to Minho making sure your plate is always full, to Changbin always putting smile on your face with his stupid jokes, to Hyunjin who you share your love for art with, to Han who secretly shares his sweets with you, to Seungmin whose bickering and nagging keeps you occupied most of the time, but with his and all of your new friends’ doings, it still couldn’t make your attention even a little waver away from him.

He is all the same — quiet, but after some time you have realized that maybe it is just you. With the others he is open, he is more himself and you? You keep your eyes on him. The beginnings were difficult for everyone — always careful with their words and actions, till they finally saw the small weight on your shoulders fall off. You didn’t even realize how truly you were nervous around them, but they actually were just acting careful around you, so they wouldn’t scare you off. Even him, but with him, you have never truly got close enough.

You were staring, awfully so and you wonder how the others didn’t picked up on it yet or even him. Maybe somehow they did, maybe they just didn’t want to embarrass you, or maybe they were just clueless. He was nothing, but kind to you, walking around you slowly like in waiting, but you always did nothing, but stare. He also, not like the others, didn’t touch you — not even a slight push nor a hug. You do know about his small dislike of someone touching him and you do respect it, keeping your hands to yourself, while also imagining what it would feel like to have his on your skin.

You wonder if he maybe did notice your eyes on him, nonmoving, glaring, but after some time you started to notice the small changes between you two. You don’t remember, when it was the first time you truly noticed them, but you do remember the time, when he got you a drink you have requested. You remember how his fingers wrapped around the cold can, leaving small imprints — you remember, when you went to take it, your own fingers didn’t even reach where his once were. Even just this lingering memory makes you shake, air getting stuck in your throat. Such a small gesture — simple, but it meant so much more for you. It also fully started your little obsession, with his hands.

You have never touched them, not even that time, too careful and trying to be respectful and with that you never truly appreciated, how nice his hands are. You for quite a while didn’t even realize yourself how much time you have spent looking at them. You always liked hands, you even had a particular picture of perfect pair of hands and he had them. It is almost one of the first things you notice on a person and not just in a certain way — how they hold a pen, phone or even how they squeeze at you, when you go shake your hand with theirs. However there was also a one way you like them the most — how they would hold you, grip at you or even pinch you. You didn’t want to think about him and his hands in that way, because you thought it was wrong, even pinching yourself every time it crossed your mind. Your skin was tender at the end of the day and even the slight sting couldn’t stop you and at one particular night, when you were on the brink of sleep, you decided to not hold yourself off any longer.

Your mind was already fuzzy, exhausted. You could feel the world around you turning into black spots before your very eyes, but you knew that it mostly wasn’t from the need for sleep. You couldn’t close your eyes, mind swirling, thoughts a mess, before every black spot before you formed into one solid picture. Him — right on top of you, caging you, body pressed against yours. His hands — trailing over your body, gripping, pinching your skin between his fingers. Your breathing has turned into quiet gasps as you followed his imaginary movements with your own hands. Oh, how would they feel running through your hair. How his fingers would pinch lightly at your peeks. How would he use them on you — pushing, scissoring, moving so fast, curling just right, till they reach the one delicious spot inside you and you just know it would be so good. He would know perfectly what to do to you — you would let him do anything and everything to you…You would let him wrap his hands around you, till your skin would turn tender. You would let him wrap them around your neck, your hips, your thighs, everything. You would let him fuck you onto his fingers, cunt leaking all over him, squeezing tightly, because you knew it would be too delicious to stop…You are a mess and a one thing that didn’t help was that he had finally started to feel comfortable around you.

You felt so dirty, yet you couldn’t stop, not when the thought of your hands replaced by his brought you to such ecstasy that it made your eyes roll back into your head. When he for the first time touched you — shivers of delight ran down your spine, world around you swirling. It was so simple again, but it being him was everything, but that. Shock — sparks alighting on the spot and you did nothing, but stare dumply at him, yet again he didn’t seem to notice.

One day, when you were outside in a small garden, it had happened. That night was warm, small wind blowing through your hair as you so desperately tried to put them behind your ear to take a small bite of Minho’s amazing cooking. You were frustrated, huffing lightly as your hand came to wrap around the small strand of hair, that kept getting inside your mouth every time you would try to take a bite. You were almost ready to rip it out of your head, till you felt a small graze of fingers against your temple and like your body knew, you froze. Standing before you, looking down at you, was Jeongin and for a split second you caught his gaze — staring, he was staring right at you…your lips. The food in your spoon almost fell off, watching him slowly and precisely put your stubborn hair behind your ear, before turning back around to the conversion he was having with Hyunjin, like nothing had happened.

Like he didn’t just touch — like he didn’t do something so intimate, right in front of the others, like he didn’t just stare at your lips….

Your appetite didn’t return, it just turned into something way more different. The first time he ever laid his hands on you…Maybe you were thinking too much, but you never have felt such a rush, when Felix did it for example. So simple, yet not. For the rest of that night, like every other, you couldn’t stop looking, thinking, dreaming about those hands. Everything he did with them was something so mesmerizing and you were absolutely smitten. That night is treasured deeply in your heart and how much you didn’t expect him to do it again and again.

You tried to keep your distance, even if it didn’t mean much since you kept looking at how his fingers moved — so elegantly that you truly couldn’t do anything about your staring, but he…he seemed to only move closer and closer to you since than. When he first sat beside you, your body almost froze, like you were certain a small move would make him move away. Maybe you did want that in some way, because his whole presence made your mind shut off — mumbling, muscles spasming yet frozen and you truly wonder how you could even press down on the buttons of the controller you were holding. The game you were playing with Felix was quickly forgotten, his whining and shouting, nothing but a background noice, but one sentence ringed in the air.

“Let me try.”

Your head didn’t turn to him, body so still you didn’t know if you should just fall over so the ground could swallow you whole. He never truly spoke to you and you have to wonder again how is it that he has you wrapped around his finger this much…that’s right his finger, the one touching yours. Your eyes stared down on the controller in your hands as he came to grab it from your grasp, hands momentarily wrapping around yours. His hands — so big and warm were almost galloping yours and you couldn’t fight against the small sigh leaving you. His touch was again so brief that you thought it was just your wild imagination, but it did happened and you did find the last bits of strength to look up at him.

He was smiling, dimples showing seemingly sweet, but something in his eyes flickered briefly, when he trailed his gaze over your features before looking away. You were a mess, truly a mess and there is no other word better to describe yourself. Since than he did so many things with his hands, when he was near you — hands running through his hair, till you got a whiff of his lingering shampoo, his fingers tugging at the zipper of his hoodie, tapping against the glass of his drink, fingers pressing against his lips, when he was deep in thought and every time you looked — every time you noticed how his head would slightly tilt into your direction and every time you looked away in shame. Every time your eyes met his, you naively thought he was only glancing your way, only looking at his new friend — but, oh…how wrong you were.

────

Sweat — rolling down their flushed skin, chests rising in deep, rigid breaths, that you mirror lightly in your own way. You can see the exhaustion dripping off them, heads rolling back, muscles jumping, joints shaking as they slump down to the ground. You don’t know for how long you have been here, how long you have been lost in thought, but it was enough for them to feel their bodies screaming for relief. You tried to helped them the best you could, but you yourself didn’t see why you were even needed here in the practice room. Felix and the others, thought of you as a thing to lean on, a support and what kind be friend would you be not to stay…Even if you were just sitting on the couch watching — watching him.

Your best friend startles you a little, pulling you out of your thoughts as he flops down next to you, huffing, stretching. “Man, I am so tired–“ Felix whines to no one particular. However you do smile a little, when he turns to you to jokingly pout, before his lips part again to blow out puffs of air.

“We should take a break.” Says Chan, nodding at everyone, seemingly exhausted as well. The new comeback was a weight on everyone’s shoulders right now — nonstop practicing, trying to get perfect their dances that were already flawless. You had thought that maybe your presence might distract them somehow. However to them you were a calm presence, a shoulder to lean on. What they didn’t seem to realize, though, is that it was quite the opposite for you. It felt like torture in a sense…watching sweat drip down his face, trailing down his neck, pulling at his thin t-shirt in attempt to cool down a little, hearing the heavy breaths escape him between takes, the deep frown of concentration etched on his face as he danced.

You are more quiet than usual, fidgeting with your own hands, as your eyes travel from him to the others — no use whatsoever, because you still found yourself looking at him as he goes to sit down on the floor. “Want something to eat, before we continue?” Asks Chan, voice breathy and his question is already being answered by series of agreements.

You don’t know what time it is now, but you do feel small specks of exhaustion settling over you too. Still, as always, your mind and heart ignore the rest of your body, too occupied with the view infront of you. Jeongin had you mesmerized by his smooth movements, hair now slightly damp from the hours of practice and you couldn’t help, but wonder how much time had passed to get him like this — body sprawled over the floor, elbows holding his upper body up as he leaned back into the couch. Every time he would take a breath, his dark t-shirt would cling onto his chest. His head is rolled back, giving you a view of his long neck, your eyes following the prominent vein peaking from beneath the thin skin, Adam’s apple bobbing, looking good enough to bite and his hands…they keep twitching, like tapping into the rhythm of the music that already had stopped playing minute ago. You are distracted again, so much you don’t feel or hear the others moving around the room.

“Innie-ah, you coming?” Asks Hyunjin and that makes you turn away from him to the others, who look at their dark haired friend, who is still sitting on the floor. You don’t even realize, that they already moved to go get some food, your eyes meeting Felix’s and you do know he could see the way yours widened at the next words.

“No–“ Says Jeongin and you already feel a lump forming in your throat at the answer as he doesn’t even take a move to go with them. “Just buy me whatever.” He waves his hand lightly, your eyes flickering over the room back to him and you almost crumble, when he meets you in the middle.

You can feel the others now looking at you too in a silent question, which should be simple to answer in a sense, but you can’t help but almost stutter. You will be alone…alone with him, if you don’t go and you don’t know if you want that. No, you feel like your body needs that — feeling his and his presence only caging you in and the thought makes your seemingly exhausted body wake up from any kind of slumber it was in. Your body and heart speaks for you, but your mind screams at your answer.

“I don’t want anything — I will just wait here.“

Everything was said so fast and collected, but your gaze didn’t waver from his, because you physically couldn’t look away. You watch his eyes narrow a little, fingers twitching again and like a fly you follow the movement, almost blacking out at that, because he just saw you. He was you definitely looking and if you hadn’t turned away as if the sight of his hands physically burned you, it might have not look so obvious. You curse at yourself silently in your mind, glancing at the others, who nod at you in acknowledgment, before taking their leave and just as their presence started to fade, you feel his grow heavier — expanding, filling the space around you.

You are choking, thoughts a mess and for the first time you don’t think about anything and you just feel. You don’t hear, but feel the doors closing, the distancing footsteps, the way his breathing levels, the way his muscles stretch, when he goes to take a sip of his water. The way his fingers scrunch up the water bottle…You want to cry, scream, anything, because you don’t even recognize yourself anymore. You have never been so smitten, so mesmerized by someone and the worst part is that he might never know…

Jeongin swallows the last bits of water, before looking at you. Your legs are pushed up to your chest, sitting in the far corner of the couch, like you wanted to make yourself as small as possible. The dimmed light highlights the small frown on your face, watching silently, how you fumble with your fingers. It was quiet, nothing, but the small rustles of fabric from him, when he moves to stretch a little and the small hum of the air conditioning in the room. The small cold breeze does nothing for your heated skin, eyes looking down at nothing in particular, silently counting the seconds. You are pathetic — finally you have him alone with you and you can’t even do anything about it. You don’t even know what would you say…you don’t even know, if you are even capable of ever voicing your words out loud.

You don’t know if it is just you again, who feels the tension in the room, but you do feel how he suddenly turns his attention to you. You don’t move, his stare piercing through your body in a way that it is almost impossible for you to look back at him. You have no shield, no excuse — you can look at him, you are just not sure if you are capable of normally, without your emotions reflecting in your eyes. However you do see him from the corner of your eye stand up, pushing down his sweatpants that had ridden up his long legs. “Want some?” His voice cuts through the thick air and you can’t do anything, but nervously look up at him to know what he is asking.

In his hand is his now empty water bottle, fingers digging into the plastic little deeper than it is necessary. Your eyes meet his only, because he moves his occupied hand to his face to lightly flick off a small drop of sweat running down his jaw. At that you notice how your closed up throat is screaming in thirst, nodding slowly in plea, too scared to even open your mouth to speak. Jeongin mimicks you, before walking up to the small table in the corner of the room. You wonder why you both not just ignore each other, scrolling away on your phones before everyone gets back — you soak in each other’s presence.

You follow his every move, suddenly so confident with his back turned to you, watching muscles rip under his thin t-shirt. Everything goes slow around you, yet too quick at the same time, body twisting a little, when he turns back to you to give you your water. Your muscles spasm, legs falling down the couch in a sound way too loud in the silence of the room and you can’t help, but cringe at everything you are doing right now. You feel exposed under his eyes, even if he is just looking, even if his stare is always seemingly so nerve racking.

Jeongin stops right in front of you, making your frown disappear from your face so quickly you almost have a whiplash. Right before you is your water bottle, his hand wrapped around it — you go grab it slowly and unsurely. You keep your face straight as best as you can, but how can you, when your hand touches his…the reason you are so miserable. His skin is cold, kissed by the dripping water and you follow it, till it falls off the tip of his finger. You don’t know if you are moving so slow just to not crumble, hand lingering on his second too long that it seems intentional. However his touch — before you can melt into the leather couch any further is gone as his hand falls back to his side.

You feel your heart shatter not just from that, but also because you notice how your hands shake a little as you go to take a sip. The cold water though does nothing too ease your inner thirst, not when he is still standing before you…You swallow a little too hard, carefully glancing at him from beneath your lashes and your lips are left parted at the sight of him towering over you. He was always a bit taller than you, but from this angle you are even more intimidated. When did he move so close? You almost feel the material of his sweatpants grazing over you and you don’t move away from it nor into it — you are completely still, staring at him and he does notice the inner battle reflecting in your eyes. There is no use, you don’t have the strength to fight your emotions right now.

“Something wrong?” He asks you, voice smooth as ever, loud around you. You are completely drowning in his presence alone. Your lips go to press against each other, but your mouth is left open again, when you catch him following the movement. Goosebumps rise on your skin, words getting caught in your throat again, so you just decide to just shake your head, even if you are lying. Everything is wrong — with you and your obsession, kink, to the way he stands before you, talks, moves. How does he do it?

Your eyes travel away from him, just for a second to atleast blink, because it seems you can’t even do that, but then shock fills you. The move so quick and smooth you feel your mouth drying again, when he suddenly takes the water from you. Pathetically you want to chase the feel of his skin again, but you only look up at him in bewilderment. The way his fingers grazed over yours leaves a permanent burning sensation, that sends your stomach spinning. It seemed like he used your disbelief of such act to move closer, because your knee touches his leg briefly, but that isn’t the thing that makes you almost fall into unconsciousness.

It is the way he puts the rim of the bottle against his own lips, tongue sticking out for a moment and you visibly shiver at the thought of it being your lips instead. He takes a long sip of water, some of it rolling down to his chin, neck bobbing again. The way he makes everything look so good, should be illegal. Your mind shatter again, because he is drinking from the same bottle as you — he could have take a new one for himself. You knew how he is, when people get close to him, how he slightly pulls away from an unexpected hug, even if there is a smile on his face. He is definitely not smiling now…he is watching you from behind your water, small breath falling from him as he goes to wipe away the spilled water from his pink lips. “Sorry, thirsty–“ He shrugged, like that move didn’t just make you form into a puddle.

“It’s okay.” You mumble so quietly you don’t even hear yourself. You watch him relax his arms by his sides, also noticing, how he holds to bottle just with his fingers. You don’t know where to look right now, small silence between you two, before he so suddenly smiles down at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, nor it does last long as he tilts his head at you.

It was a silent question and you answer it by another wave of silence, not really sure what to do — if you want him to leave or let him get even closer to you. The quiet makes it hard for you to breathe, his presence and stare only intensifying it. You can see his own unspoken words circling in his eyes, yours nonblinking so you wouldn’t seem like a bigger mess than you already are. With his head tilted down at you, the move making your heart skip a beat, his lips form into a small frown. “You are always so quiet, when I am around…Did I do something?” Jeongin sounds sad, eyebrows furrowing lightly and you do nothing, but panic a little.

“No!” You say, voice a little too loud, making heat rush to your cheeks. With your now wide eyes you watch his frown deepen even more and you curse yourself for being like this around him.

“Really?“ He says, pausing a little, features softening, but his eyes hardening. “Then why do you keep looking at me?” You pause, breathing becoming short as you stammer to answer. He is only meaning now — not every day, every moment…You are again lying to yourself, but you have to, otherwise you would probably die on the spot. However the way he said it…no.

“I don’t look at you.” That is the most vile lie you have ever said and you are still looking at him, while you said it. You feel the world closing on to you at the thought of him noticing your nonstop staring — that’s it, you are only allowed to look at him from afar. Admire him, thing you will propably never have, but in some way you do wanted him to notice. In some twisted way, you want him to punish you for it…

Jeongin only hums lowly at your answer, gaze leaving yours, like in deep thought, before he twists his body a little to put the bottle onto the table behind him. Why does it feel like he is waiting? Maybe to see if you will crack? What if he did notice and now he thinks you hate him or something? Your mind is running wild, so distracted that you see him moving in the mirrors surrounding you, way before you feel him.

He humms lowly again, before he goes to sit right next to you, body so close to yours you do a double take to make sure you are seeing right. In the mirror you see him looking at you, feeling the hard glare on the side of your face, but you don’t meet it. You are baffled by everything he did so far — so out of character, so different from the smiley Innie you knew. For a moment think you think, that are dreaming. That you are only imagining his side touching yours, feeling every breath he takes. The small spasm of muscle, when he twists his body to face you a little more. However you see it and feel it, everything is happening so fast you can’t do anything about it yet again. His reflection — the smell of his sweat mixed with his perfume sends you into overdrive and when you see him move his right hand to you…you are left speechless again.

You let him, really you can’t even fight it, because you have been thinking about his hands, his touch every night and every day and now…now his hand comes to put your hair behind your ear. It is the same as before, but now his touch seems to hold a meaning, hand lingering on the side of your face. You let him trace his fingers over your jaw, all the way down to your chin, but he doesn’t make you look at him. You only watch him through the mirror, like you are not ready to face this reality of him touching you so intensely. His hair hides his gaze on your lips, but you do feel it, lips parting in silent gasp as he moves his hand back to your hair. Goosebumps rise on your skin, shivering, when he presses over the skin behind your ear, before you see him leaning closer, hot breath fanning over your ear.

“I know.”

That word…that word makes you freeze in your spot, panic, fear and something more striking you, head snapping to face him. He is close — his nose almost touches yours if you wouldn’t back away in on an instinct. Jeongin’s face is calm, hint of a smile on his lips at your state as your mouth keeps closing and opening. “What-“ You are in denial somehow, only to calm yourself down, but is it even possible with him being so close to you? You watch him remove his hand, with watchful eyes and with that his smile only widens, while you feel a lump forming in your throat. His leg is pressed against yours, reminding you of how close he still is to you and you almost whimper at the confident look you are given — he knows.

“You think, I didn’t notice?” His tone isn’t sharp, but it still does make shame and embarrassment reach you, because you have been caught. Jeongin doesn’t seem to be angry nor disappointed and that makes it all too worst, because he must already know the answer to why exactly you have been watching him. “You stare at me every time I turn away — hoping I won’t catch you, but I always do. So tell me…why and what is it you are looking at?”

You are ashamed. He already knows, but he still wants you to say it. His face is so close to yours, hand on the back of the couch and you know that if you would try to move away he will catch you — there is no way out of this. Though you don’t have the strength to admit yourself yet. “Nothing…” You whisper, head low, while he tilts his again.

“Nothing?” He repeats and now you hear a small hint of dissatisfaction.

“I…I am just looking nothing more, I swear-“ Liar — you are a horrible liar.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

You have never heard such tone leaving his lips before and you wonder if he is turning angry only because you won’t say it. How can you? You have been caught, but it is not like you were subtle about your actions to begin with. You are embarrassed to be acting like that — so desperate and pathetic, but you can’t control your needs and desires. You feel almost on the brink of tears just from how ashamed you are and you want nothing more than to run and hide, so you do. However you are only quick enough to sit up, hands immediately finding you, pressing you back into the couch and you do gasp out loud at that.

He doesn’t remove his hands from your upper arms, hold strong enough for you to see there is no use trying to escape. His fingers dig into you hard, but it is everything, but painful. You are forced to meet his gaze again and you quiver at the glare he sends you. “Talk, Y/N — can you even do that?” Jeongin leans closer to you, making your back press into the cushion, while he almost hovers over your body.

You don’t know what to do — cry, scream? In embarrassment, pain, but mainly relief, because seeing him like this leaning over your body sends shivers down your spine. “I am sorry–“ You whisper, gasping lightly, when he suddenly releases you from one of his hands to press against the spot next to your head, leather squeaking under his weight.

“Sorry for what exactly?” You almost shake your head, because you don’t particularly know the answer. You are sorry for everything, yet not, because your actions leaded to this. You don’t take your eyes off each other, chests rising so wildly they almost meet. Something then flickers in his eyes, features softening just for you to notice the change. “Sorry, that you don’t talk to me like you do to others?” You blink at the change of tone a little, his words striking small confusion, but you are no fool — he is being manipulative and it is working.

“I was trying to be…respectful.” That word sits heavy on your tongue.

“Respectful…” He repeats after you again. You let him turn you into nothing by a mess beneath his hands, melting at the way his hand travels up your arm. “You and I both know there is nothing respectful between us–“ Your state — wide eyes, lips parted, skin heated — your state makes him melt a little too.

“Us?”

Jeongin is shaking on the inside, because he knew — he wanted you to say it so bad, his grip tightens over your collarbones, thumb pressing into the bone. “Tell me, Y/N. Why are ypu acting so different around me — and don’t tell me you were only looking. I can see you mouthing the words…what do you want?“ It’s a demand, perhaps a plea for you to stop acting innocent.

“I don’t–“

He tsks at you, frown falling over his face, growing frustrated. “Why are you so scared…Did I do something to upset you?” Jeongin says, quietly, sounding so sincere, you stutter.

“No!” It comes out broken, ending in a pathetic whine. You can’t breathe, because it would make you breathe him in too. You realize your state at that…You can’t hide any longer, there was no use even at the start of this. “It’s me…” You confess, not fully, but he sees the way the invisible shield before you crack enough for him to press against you more.

Your legs are pushing against each other, his hand griping on to the cushion next to your head, while the other slides over your arm back again. You watch his eyes turn dark, making you tremble beneath him. Jeongin’s breath mixes with yours, gaze piercing through yours, till it suddenly drifts to your mouth. “Then tell — tell me, what you want and I will give it to you.” His words are like honey, but you hear something, that makes you choke…desperation.

“I can’t–“ You can’t move, breathe, but you do feel him and it is becoming absolutely intoxicating.

“But you do want to–“ His eyes meet yours again, small silence falling between you after that. You don’t answer, because it is so obvious — you need it, want it, you are just not sure if you can handle it. Your body battles with your mind as his hand comes to caress the side of your neck. You whimper, the sound so loud in the silence and so raw you have to close your eyes. His fingers tickle you and your breath turns into gasp, when you feel him blowing air on to the thin skin of your neck. That sound sends sparks of pleasure up his spine. You are too into everything to notice the slight shake in his movements, while his next words bounce off your skin. “Do you want me is that it? Or do you just want my hands?”

You don’t recognize him, he is completely dripping in sin and you are eating every last bit of it. With his lips so close to your skin, your eyes flew back open, staring behind him at the reflection of you two. “I…I want–“ You are speechless, watching him pull away a little to meet your gaze again, heart hammering against your chest as he puts his hands around your back to pull you closer. “I want everything.”

“Then take it.”

You pull your hands away from your chest to press them against his instead, gasping lightly when you feel his heart. “Please–“ Your hands grasp at his t-shirt, making it slide down his chest a little and your simple plea makes him snap.

Jeongin knew — he knew from the beginning. How your lips fell apart every time he would look at you. How your body stilled, every time he was near you and how you stared at his hands and everything he does with them. He firstly thought he was imagining it, thinking maybe, that you are too shy to approach someone new to talk to them, but he quickly realized it — you didn’t want to just talk, you wanted something more, him. The idea corrupted him, the idea of his friend’s best friend being so smitten by him to the point you would fall down to your knees the second he would touch you. Like now — pulling you closer to his heated body, eyes falling to your lips, that were always so delicious to look at. He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to grasp the opportunity to finally talk to you, to feel you. He finally has you, where he wants and he wonders, what would Felix think about the way you are acting like now. So desperate, so his…

The racing thought, the realization that maybe somebody might walk in and caught you two in the act is something he never knew he wanted. His tongue swipes across his lips, mouth so close to yours now, that you feel it grazing you, your small gasp for air being then swallowed by his hungry mouth. It’s hard, all so knowingly desperate and he drinks your small sighs of pleasure with greediness. The feel of his lips finally on yours makes you delirious, letting your body fall onto his, lips pushing harshly against his. It is all spit, tongue and teeth, everything, but sweet, making your mixed drool roll down your chins. His hands roam then, sliding up your back, then down to your hips, before one of them tangles in your hair.

You cry out sharply, when you feel him tug at your roots, head rolling back, the new exposed flesh being immediately warmed by his mouth. Jeongin doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, running his lips over you — licking, sucking, nibbling and you let him take it all. “Finally you have said it–“ He mumbles across your skin, groaning into you. “If only you had said it sooner.”

“Jeongin–“ You yelp, when he suddenly bites the side of your neck, the pain quickly melting into pleasure. You panic, suddenly realizing your position and situation — the others can be back at any given moment, you know nothing about how far away they are and also their is a possibility of someone roaming around the building, even at this late hour. If someone wrong sees you, it would get you two into big trouble. However his kisses, touches quickly pull you out of your racing thoughts.

You trust him maybe more than you should, considering that you can feel the slight sting at the side of your neck. The small appearing mark doesn’t seem to stop him, it is completely the opposite. His hand finds the back of your neck, too weak to fight him, making him twist you to his liking. Jeongin licks a long straight line up your neck, before blowing cold air, sending shivers down your spine. You are already shaking, legs pushing against each other a little harder, smearing your already leaking juices. The action is not missed, hands falling to your thighs, pinching at your flesh. You are hot — sweat dripping down the side of your face, breathing fast. His mouth then meets yours again, in a kiss so sweet you can’t help, but whimper.

“Been thinking about your mouth for so long.” The confession makes you fist his t-shirt harder, almost ripping it. You feel yourself clenching over nothing, legs pressing against each other, his hands only increasing the pleasure.

Jeongin pokes his cheek with his tongue, breathing heavily through his nose as he leans away to look at you. Just your look — just your slick, puffy lips and glossy eyes make his cock twitch. The thought of you being so open for him like this, so trusting, is something that maybe he wants to show off. You are a problem…sweet, delicious, addicting, making him act like this, but it seems you are too drunk to even notice the effect you have on him. His fingers tug lightly at the material of your sweatpants, feeling the heat of your skin even through the layers of clothing. He watched you too — he thought about you and how you would look…Under him, on top of him, gasping, whimpering, pleading for more and more, till you are left crying in pleasure and overstimulation. He wondered how you would taste like. How you would sound like, when he would suck at your clit just right — he thought about your mouth and how it would be like to kiss you. How you would wrap your lips around his skin, his cock…His eyes then flicker to the closed doors briefly. He wanted you — all of you, but not right now. However he will give you exactly, what you want and need.

You are left puzzled for a moment, when he suddenly pulls away from you, feet hitting the floor. He sits back, lifting his lower half a little and at that you notice the outline of his cock pressing against his sweats. You bite your lip at the prominent outline of him, watching him spread his legs wider, before he lightly taps his thighs. “Come here–“ He says, leaning back onto the couch. Your desperation makes you not skip a beat, all shame leaving the room from seeing him worked up just like you are. You sit up, crawling your way up to him, but before you can sit, his hands find your hips. “No, like this.” His strength surprises you, letting him turn you around so your back faces him, lifting you up to sit you on his lap. You feel it — his chest rising under you, his breath on the side of your neck as he pushes your hair to the side, his cock pressing right against your ass as you come to sit between his open thighs. His lips find your skin straight away, hands running over your legs and you gasp lightly, when you suddenly lift your gaze to the mirrors infront of you, only finding him watching you the whole time. “I want you to see–“ Jeongin watches your eyes trace over his hands that lightly tweak at your thighs. “What exactly were you imagining?”

He wants you to say it, even if he knows it, even if he feels you shaking under his hands. Your eyes briefly close to savor the feeling, twitching on his lap, making you press your backside harder to his cock. You feel him chasing the feeling, hips lifting you up a little to make you bounce one more time. It makes you gush even more, legs opening and closing, trying to ease the ache between your legs. You are in haze, completely drunk of him and you don’t care about anything but his touch anymore. “Your hands on me…” You say, the confession making his hands stop at the waistband of your sweatpants, fingers grazing over your exposed skin.

His lips press against your skin, biting down a little, making you feel the smile on his face, before you even see it. The sight is so dirty — so everything, captivated by how his hand extends over your lower stomach. “Where?” Jeongin is teasing, getting off your frustration, watching a sweet frown fall on your face .

“Please, just–“ You move around on his lap, the another graze of your bottom half across his cock, making him hiss lightly, before you see him putting one of his hands back in your hair.

Jeongin tugs lightly, your head tilting to your shoulder, meeting his wild gaze in the mirror. “I can give you what you want, you just have to ask nicely.” You whine at that, few tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, glimmering in the soft light in the room.

You are done fighting against the last bits of your self respect, cunt clenching again, when his fingers on you travel lower, till you feel them dipping under your sweats. “Jeongin — I want your fingers, please–“ There is no time to waste if he wants to give you what you want and your sweet voice echoes around him like a siren.

He turns to look down at you, tugging your head so it faces his and he curses at the pout you give him. Your lashes are wet, bottom lip quivering and that action makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Fuck–“ He kisses you again, briefly yet messily, moaning with you as his tongue rolls against yours, before he pushes away again, small string of saliva connecting you two. Both of his hands find your waist again, rolling the soft material between his fingers, tugging a little. “Take these off.” Your skips a beat at his words, shaking hands finding his.

You pull your sweatpants off, with his help, lifting yourself up a little and as you kick them off your legs, sitting back again, the feel of his cock is much more intense than before. You gasp as he moves a little so he is right between your cheeks, eyes opening wide at the sheer size of him. Your eyes then meet his again, but now in the mirror, following his line of sight to the dark, wet spot on your underwear. “Look–“ You already are — watching him and his hands traveling down your legs, the feeling making you press against him even more.

His hands are hot and heavy, gripping at the meat of your thighs, when you just a little bit close them at the sight of your juices coating your skin. Your smell is intoxicating, the feel of you trembling just as his finger dips lightly inside your thighs is addicting. Jeongin is staring straight on the wet spot infront of your black panties, low light hitting your slick skin just right. You jerk at the first ever touch of his fingers — they press against you, right over your puffy clit, the small move more than enough to make you moan. “Fuck, you are dripping–“ You whimper in response, looking down at how his fingers are getting coated with your juices.

“More–“ You say, already loosing your mind at how his fingers just keep pressing and not moving. Your hole clenches at the thought his fingers dipping into you. Even though if your tone is whiny, borderline desperate he takes it in a way that makes him snap a little.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you, with my fingers?” You are still having a whiplash from his sudden change of behavior, but you only lean more into it. You nod wildly, head turning to look at him, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours, because you suddenly feel him tugging at the flimsy material of your underwear. He pulls them to the side, making them snap a little when he releases them. Cold air kisses your slick cunt then, you shivering lightly, shaking, when his fingers just barely graze over you. You don’t even have time too look down, mind to hazy from the quick touch. You don’t even look, when one of his hands come to grip at the side of your neck — not when his other, coated with your juices comes to press against your lips.

“Open.”

Your lips fall apart in a gasp, making it for him all too easier to shove his two fingers inside your mouth, pressing them down at your tongue. Your mouth wraps around his digits instantly, sucking lightly the taste of your sweetness inside your mouth. But then you look — you see how his own eyes gloss over, mouth opening as you lightly bite down at the tips of his fingers. The look you give him makes his other hand travel to the front of your throat, making a loud sound escape you, when he suddenly rips his hand away from your lips, maneuvering your head back to face your reflection as he finally moves to touch you.

His already used hand comes to cup you, his palm digging into you, smearing your wetness all over your skin and his hand. “Soaked–“ Jeongin groans with you, hand on your throat squeezing a little and he can feel how that action makes your clit twitch under his fingers. Small, precise circles are made, him expertly moving the hood of your clit away to touch you more deeply — it is even better than you imagined. He is so mean about it too…Pressing you against his chest, with his hand on your throat, making you watch yourself in the mirror, while he plays with you. His rolls your bud between his fingers, pinching it lightly, the small pain just a low, addicting buzz. Your stomach twists, body burning and jerking over his cock, that he keeps pushing into you.

Your breathing is fast, matching his, eyes on yours reflection instead of looking down and the sight makes your stomach flip. It almost feels forbidden — you feel more exposed. Jeongin swipes his fingers over you, extending them to get every inch of you touched. He traces over your slit, each time his fingers dipping lower and lower, watching you clench over nothing. You feel blood rushing to your face, little bit self conscious of being in such exposing position and him still being clothed, while you are spread wide open, but everything is way too good to say anything about it. “So wet, that I could slide right in–“ You gasp when his ring and middle finger slide lower.

“Please — I want it–“ You keep repeating it, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder, but you only receive a tight squeeze to your throat.

“Then look.” You do — him helping you look back at your reflection, just as his fingers dig deeper into you. There is no resistance, you are so wet you can feel yourself dripping down on the couch. You twitch a little at the sensation, mind swirling. His long fingers slide inside you quick, too quick for you to breathe through it. However only your body knows its limits and you are not even surprised that you only suck them right in.

Jeongin is losing his mind over, how your velvety walls keep closing onto him — so soft and slippery. The thought of him sliding inside you instead is great, hips lifting both of your bodies in hopes he would get closer to your cunt, only making his fingers go deeper in you. You whimper, eyes almost closing at the way the tips of his fingers reach your cervix, palm of his hand grazing over your clit. His other fingers then hook around you, wrist twisting, before he starts to scissor his fingers inside you, searching. “You have touched yourself to this?” He mumbles lowly, lips against your neck. “You wanted this for so long, that you imagined it every time I would just barely touch you–“ No question — he knows.

“Wonder if I can make you squirt–“

A cry leaves you, when he suddenly at that curls his fingers inside you, palm moving against your clit. The idea of you doing that is unfamiliar. You have never done that, you have never even been close to it, but the way his fingers reach so easily to the one gummy spot inside you, tells you he might be able to do it way to easily. “Don’t stop — Jeongin-“ You moan his name, when he starts to trust his fingers inside you, curling them up each time they slide into you.

“You are…so–“ He is a little lost for words. The way your body reacts to his touch — hips lifting to chase his touch, your nails digging into his hand still holding your throat, though not clawing at it for him to stop — your other holding his, that keeps thrusting into you…He is drooling. Wet, nasty sounds fill the room, his fingers increasing on speed, but now more pushing against you so his palms keeps hitting your clit. You are moaning, gasping, music to his ears, however even if he knows that no one can hear you inside this room, he also knows that when you would go close enough to the door you could probably hear the filthy noises coming from you both.

Jeongin’s hand on your throat leaves you, making you gulp in air, but your mouth is only able to take in few breaths, before his hands clasps it. “Shhhh— you don’t want them to hear, right?” Your eyes widen at that, loud moans of pleasure turning into whimpers as you wildly shake your head. “Huh…still I bet you would like that–“ His words makes you clench down on his fingers, tips of them now just curling inside you, palm moving against you.

You are way too easy — you already feel you lower tummy rumbling in the way too familiar pleasure, moaning against his hand as he moves his other to push his thumb against you. You are starting be aware of everything around you — from the way he keeps whispering sweet, nasty nothings into your ear, hot air blowing against your skin. How he moans every time your hips press against his, how you both look like nothing, but sin in the mirror — where are you and what are you doing right now, knowing your friends might be back any minute. Your wildest dreams coming true — him fucking you with his delicious fingers, feeling every vein pressing against you…is all too much for your body to handle.

Then with one particular push of his thumb against your clit, fingers not losing any rhythm, scissoring, curling, you slide a little down on the couch. Your leaking cunt and sweat is making it too easy for you to slide off, but then his hand on your mouth comes to catch you before you could run away from the immense pleasure. He tsks again at your doings, small breath, like a laugh, leaving him, hand grasping your thigh, before hooking it around his. That only makes his fingers go deeper into you, hitting your cervix each time. You are huffing, choking to get air back inside your lungs as you start to shake around him.

Jeongin notices your change way too quickly, turning his head from your reflection to your tear stained face. “Gonna cum, baby?” The nickname makes you whimper pathetically, eyes barely open, but they don’t leave the mirror in fear he would stop. “You don’t even know, how much better I can fuck you, with my cock–“ Your breath hitches, pleading for him not to stop talking, his words just pushing you more and more to the edge. You have never knew, only dreamed about him talking to you like this — the words, even so unexpected, making you run hot, seemingly coming off way more natural than you would have thought.

You are shaking harshly, feeling heat washing over you, mewling at the way he keeps the delicious pace. Your head rolls to the side, teary eyes meeting his and he almost coos at the way you are having such a hard time to keep them open. Your legs keep closing, but he doesn’t let you move away, hand digging into your thigh so deep you know it will mark — and he does want to mark you with purpose, even though he decided that he would probably never let anyone get close enough to see it…though the mark on your neck says otherwise. You feel it — the burn inside you, the way your body keeps chasing the pleasure, face screwing up, mouth open and slick, droll running down your face.

“Fuck – I’m gonna–“ You start to breathe in series of gasps, gaze shooting back to the mirror and then back to him again.

With your sharp moan, Jeongin kisses you again, deep groan leaving the deepest part of his chest as he feels your body stilling. Your vision turns white, your ears ring, head rolling back in ecstasy as your hands fly to grasps his arm to ground your self. The orgasm is so strong it leaves you voiceless, silent scream leaving you, but then…it doesn’t stop — he doesn’t stop. His hand moves, but only so it doesn’t touch your twitching clit, only to start trusting his fingers inside you again with a movement so fast your cry rings in the room. “What are you – Oh, fuck!” You can’t see, your vision is blurry, eyes though still being capable to follow his line of sight.

Jeongin is breathing harshly, tongue poking out of his mouth, watching his fingers disappear inside you. He holds you down the best he can, moaning when he suddenly hears the wet sounds coming from your cunt. Your juices start to splash, your still hot cum leaking out of you and drooling down the couch and you panic at the foreign feeling bubbling inside you. It is too fast, too much — you try to warn him, run away from the intense feeling, but you are too weak to do anything other than tremble on top of him. You are overwhelmed, overstimulation high and you scream as the feeling comes over you. “Come on, just one more — do it, soak my fucking hand–” He silences you for your own good, fingers pushing inside your mouth again to quiet down the loud cry, as the feeling you were trying so hard to hold back wins over.

Before your eyes close, you see yourself squirt around his hand, your juices reaching all the way to the ground and table before you, making you scream in small horror and euphoria. You have never felt something so intense, something so pleasurable that it made you cry. Your body arches off his and Jeongin in his state of awe lets your legs fall shut, his hand still working you up. Everything is a blur for while for you, shaking and quivering, feeling your slick pooling on the couch under you. “Oh, my-“ His hand stills at your small whimper of overstimulation, fingers slowly sliding out of you and he has to push your legs apart to even free his hand.

Jeongin is marveled by the sight before him, eyes drifting over your reflection to you. You are covered in thin sheen of sweat, skin blooming under his touch and he has to stop himself from not going back to give you more. You are spent — done, you almost can’t even move, body slumped weakly against his. His eyes then drift back between your legs, that are finally moving apart, muscles spasming in your legs and exposed tummy. You have soaked everything — your legs, the couch, even the table before you and Jeongin has to bite back a groan at that. He watches you breathe through it, small whimpers still reaching his also ringing ears, however he then decides to lift you off his lap.

You moan in small protest, blinking away your now dried tears, while he stands to grasp the small box of tissues off the marked table. “Here-“ Still a gentleman, even after turning you into a complete mush. He is gentle now, atleast when he goes to wipe away your juices from your body for you, seeing you are too weak to even do it yourself. Your eyes trail over him, watching his eyes clear a little, but there is still that spark, still the reminder of what he did to you just now. You then look down to his still covered cock — he must have adjusted himself, when you weren’t looking, because you can only see just a small imprint of him. The tissues are little too harsh on your sensitive skin, jumping a little at the sensation, but his hand, now softly laying on your naked thigh, calms you.

You are sticky all over, the room hot from the thing you have done, but there is no shame now. Something about the way he cleans you so softly, touch so featherely, eyes bright, you realize that maybe there is something more about to it, then just lust. Though you could not think about it too long, because the silence between you is interrupted, when a loud sound of nearby voices is heard flowing down the hall. “Shit-“ Your eyes widened, scrambling away from him, just as he puts your underwear back over you and you do ignore how it stick to you like a second skin. You don’t look at him, too occupied of grabbing your sweatpants off the floor to notice his lingering stare. You push them up, just as you hear the voices of your friends right outside the door, eyes widening then, when you look to the wet spot next to you. No time to think — your hands push down your wild, messed up hair, pulling them forward, fingers grazing over the sensitive spot on the side of your neck, wiping away the loose spit coating your mouth, before the door opens.

“Hey.” You say, voice scratchy, coughing instantly and you can’t help, but cringe.

The others fill the room, each carrying bags of food that hopefully hides the smell of sex in the room. Your eyes meet Felix’s, who stumbles in last, whose smile still sits on his face, but then gives you a small look of confusion at your tone. “Hey? We brought you something–“ He beams a little as he nears you, while the others come to put the food on the table that thankfully wasn’t the one before you.

The wet spot is hot beside you, a burning reminder of a still fresh memory and you really have hard time to meet the eyes of your best friend at that. “Oh…that’s nice.” You say, eyes drifting away a little, when he suddenly comes to stand before you, eyes full of worry, while yours full of shame and you feel you sick of lying to him.

“Everything good?” He asks you like the sweet friend he is, but his close proximity makes you quiver a little, but you do try to keep the smile on your face, even though you still feel the ghost of his friend’s inside you.

“Yeah-“

“Hey, why is there–“

Your heart stops, head snapping to Hyunjin, who points to the spot next to you, before drifting all the way to the floor and table, while the others come to stand around him. Your mouth opens like a fish, mind crashing to scramble to answer atleast something, when everyone turns to look, but then a voice cuts in to safe you. “Oh, I just spilled some water.” Says Jeongin and no one other than you hears the small tone at the end of his sentence.

Everyone thankfully doesn’t say anything else, but you still don’t meet their eyes, heart beating fast, when you lean over to grab the box of tissues, eyes immediately falling on the rolled up ball of used ones, sitting right on top of the still wet, glass table. “I will clean it.” You say, immediately pulling out multiple of tissues to press them against the wet spot next to you. The light and your shadow thankfully hides the true substance of the liquid and how it slides over the leather.

“Okay, we will just eat on the floor, I guess.” Says someone, you don’t even care who, you only care that Felix and the others go away a little to let you drown in your own embarrassment. You will probably never let anyone sit on the spot ever again — in a twisted, sick way you have now marked it as yours. The rooms fills with chatter and laughter again, plastic bags rustling in the silent panic you are experiencing, before pair of piercing eyes, makes you look up.

“what’s that?” he asks casually, dropping onto the bed beside you.

“nothing.”

he tilts his head. “mm. really?”

you shake your head quickly, but your cheeks are warm. you can feel his eyes on you, the way they linger, the little knowing curve of his mouth.

“play it,” he says, voice soft but leaving no room to argue.

your thumb hesitates, then taps the screen.

there he is again. thick silver chain dangling from where he has it caught between his teeth. the frame bears kind of look that should come with a health warning.

you glance at him. “it’s just the bleep teaser.”

“and you’re flushed because..?”

“shut up.”

he laughs quietly. “oh, i see. you like the cowboy thing.”

“i didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t have to.” his voice drops, and he leans in until his lips brush your ear. “you want to ride a cowboy, sweetheart?”

you swallow. hard.

he doesn’t wait for your answer—just shifts back against the headboard, spreading his legs a little, the faintest challenge in his gaze. “go on then.”

“chan—”

“hat stays on,” he adds, smirking while he slides off the cable knit. “so do the chains. i know you like them.”

your pulse trips over itself.

you straddle him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. the rough denim of his jeans brushes your thighs, the cold weight of his belt buckle pressing between you as his hands settle low on your waist.

“look at you,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something almost fond—but laced with amusement. “so eager to climb on and use me.”

you flush. “i’m not—”

“mm, but you are,” he cuts in, squeezing your hips just enough to make you rock forward over the ridge of his cock. “but it’s cute. my pretty girl, getting all worked up over a hat.”

he tips it lower over his eyes, the gesture slow, deliberate, infuriating. “go on, then. show me how badly you want it.”

your hands find his shoulders for balance, but chan’s grip on your hips is firm; controlling just how far forward you move, how much friction you get.

“don’t rush,” he says, voice almost a purr. “let me feel you get desperate for it.”

you bite your lip, shifting against him, and he tilts his head like he’s studying you. “already are, aren’t you?” his thumbs press slow, tight circles into your hips, guiding you into a slow grind over the outline of his cock.

the brim of the hat dips lower, shadowing his eyes, and the chains resting against his chest sway faintly with every movement. you can’t stop staring at them.

he notices. “what’s got you more worked up, sweetheart? the hat, the chains… or the fact you’re sat right on me like this?”

you try to answer, but it comes out as a breathy sound instead. chan chuckles. “aww, can’t even talk now? and we’ve barely started.”

with an easy shift, he unbuttons his jeans just enough to free himself, the heat of him pressing against your centre through thin fabric. his voice dips lower. “go on. sink down on me. you wanted the cowboy—now ride him.”

your breath hitches as you take him in, the stretch making your thighs tremble. his hands move up your sides, not to help, but to hold you in place once you’re fully seated.

“look at you,” he murmurs, smirk curling. “all snug around me, sitting pretty. you’re using me just like you wanted, aren’t you?”

you glare at him, but it’s weak—your hips already starting to roll.

chan leans back, watching every movement like it’s a performance made for him alone. “that’s it. take what you need, baby. you’re adorable when you’re this greedy.”

he lets you set the pace at first, soft praise slipping out between low groans—until your rhythm falters, and he catches your hips, taking control. the bed creaks as he drives up into you harder, the brim of his hat still tipped low.

“mm, there’s my girl,” he breathes, thrusts sharper now. “use me all you want. just remember—” he pulls you down until your chest is pressed to his, the chains branding a cool sting against your skin—“i’m the one letting you.”

his thighs flex beneath you, each upward snap of his hips stealing a breath from your lungs. you brace your palms against his chest, fingers curling into the skin stretched over his muscles, but it does nothing to steady you. chan is relentless now—driving into you with the easy confidence of someone who knows exactly how much you can take.

“that’s it,” he hums, voice honey-sweet even as his thrusts make your body jolt. “ride me like a good girl. make it worth my time.”

the praise sinks into you, but the mocking lilt in his tone lights something hotter. you try to match his rhythm, but the power is his—grip on your hips makes sure of it.

“aww,” he drawls when you shudder around him, “my poor thing. you look so messy already… and we haven’t even started properly.”

the hat tips forward again, hiding the half-smile that tells you he is enjoying this far too much. “thought you wanted to use me. hm? now you’re just letting me fuck you, aren’t you?”

your nails drag down his chest in protest, but it only makes him laugh. “cute.”

he shifts, angling his hips so the next thrust has you gasping. he slows, teasing you with deep, measured strokes until you are whimpering into his shoulder. “say it,” he murmurs, “say you like being my pretty little cowgirl.”

you shake your head, embarrassment biting back the words.

his hand moves from your hip to your throat, tilting your chin up so you have to look at him under the brim of that damn hat. “say it, or i stop.”

the threat has you caving. “i like—i like being your… cowgirl.”

he grins, wicked and proud, and rewards you with a sharp upward drive that has your eyes fluttering shut. “good girl,” he breathes. “now, ride me properly.”

your thighs are burning, the ache in your muscles nearly matching the ache between your legs, but chan does not slow. the brim of that damned hat hides his eyes, yet you can still feel the weight of his gaze—steady, calculated, indulgent.

“look at you,” he drawls, tone dripping with mock-sympathy, “all worn out and you’ve barely done anything. thought my little cowgirl wanted to ride me.”

you try to keep moving, try to prove him wrong, but his hands clamp tighter on your hips. “mm… no,” he hums, holding you in place like you weigh nothing, “you’ve had your turn. now i’m going to show you how it’s done.”

the first upward snap of his hips knocks the air from your lungs. the next has you clinging to his shoulders, fingers slipping over his skin.

“ohhh,” he teases between thrusts, “so that’s what you needed? me doing the work?” his voice dips lower, his breath hot against your ear. “pathetic little thing. you’re only falling apart because i’m using you properly.”

you can’t even answer—each deep, brutal drive has you gasping, nails dragging down his chest. the chains at his neck bite cold against you when he pulls you flush against him, his chest rising with the effort of keeping his pace.

“that’s it. take it,” he murmurs, his tone softening but never losing that edge. you’re barely holding yourself together now, the pleasure flooding too fast to resist. you try to move, to do something, but his grip holds you exactly where he wants you.

“shh… let me,” he says, voice almost sweet, though the smirk curling his lips betrays him. “you just sit there and let your cowboy fuck you stupid.”

the brim of his hat dips forward again, shadowing the wicked glint in his eyes as he slams up into you one last time—hard enough to send you tumbling over the edge of your orgasm, shaking in his lap while his hands keep you exactly where he wants you.

your body sags against him, every muscle trembling, head lolling against his shoulder. the brim of his hat brushes your temple when he tips his head, voice dropping into something softer—still thick with satisfaction, but gentler now.

“there we go… all done,” he murmurs, one broad hand smoothing up your spine, the other still holding you secure in his lap. “look at you. all used up. barely even breathing properly.”

you make some faint, broken noise in reply—nothing coherent. it earns you a quiet laugh, warm against your hair.

“my poor little cowgirl,” he hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. “all that big talk about riding me, and now you can’t even sit up straight.”

his hand drifts down, stroking over the sore curve of your hip, grounding you. “just stay here for a bit,” he says, easing his tone into something like a lull. “i’ve got you.”

the catalogue

"WELL WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!"

Your hand waved in the air from frustration, "TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR FUCKING SELF!? I DON'T KNOW CHAN! MAYBE SPEND MORE TIME WITH YOUR GIRLFRIEND THAN THAT FUCK ASS LAPTOP!"

Chan laughed out of anger, "Are you going to produce the songs that pay for your free living?!"

You took a step back, "I can leave! FUCK THAT! I COULD MOVE OUT IF IT'S SO BAD."

Chan watched as you threw around his things and angrily packed them. 

Chan said, "Y/N." His voice was stern, but it was clear that he was losing his edge.

"Fuck you, Chan. I hate this. We're done. We're not the same, and I won't stay around for this bullshit."

He walked closer, "Y/N." You looked up. His eyes were full of sorrow and boiling anger, "You're not going anywhere."

He pulled you to your shared bedroom and took his shirt off. "Let's shower and talk." You scoffed, "Now you want to talk about it?" Chan said, "Let's truce. I won't say anything until after the shower. Please. I'm exhausted, and I'm tired of arguing with you."

You two have been arguing every other day. It was highly annoying, and you were getting sick of it.

You didn't even know why, but everything Chan did would piss you off, and it was vice versa.

You got in the shower. It was hot, and the water was raining on your face. Chan's big body was behind you, rubbing your back. He kissed your shoulder, and you said, "Chan, no. Not now."

He asked, "What's going on with us?"

You sighed, the shower making you feel more vulnerable than you realized. "I don't know. I really don't want us to be like this."

Chan said, "Yeah? Me too." You felt tears welling in your eyes as you confessed, "I feel like you don't love me anymore."

Chan furrowed his eyebrows and asked, "Why would you think that?" You said defeatedly, "I don't know Chan. We don't go on dates, we don't talk to each other all day, we don't even tell each other we love each other anymore. We've been dating for four years, and it would suck if it was all for nothing."

Chan kissed your shoulder, "I understand."

He kissed your neck and said, "Can I show you how much I love you?"

You said, "Not in here. N-no. We have to talk."

Chan said, "We will. Always. I wanna work this out, too."

You turned around and hugged him. He was so big and warm. He smelled like wood and vanilla. 

"C'mon."

You two got out of the shower and dried up. You sat on the bed and said, "Should we go to therapy?" Chan said, "I wouldn't have the time, and you'd get upset again. Let's talk it out and try not to get mad at each other, yeah?"

You nodded. You two stared at each other with love and affection. You said, "I'm sorry for screaming at you."

Chan said, "I am too. I hate yelling."

You pouted, "I hate arguing." Chan put his hand over yours and said, "You know I love you with all my heart, right?"

You cupped his cheek, "I hope so." 

Chan pulled you onto his lap and kissed your cheek. "Of course I do." You whispered, "I really wanna see my boyfriend. I miss him."

He rolled on top of you and said, "I know baby. Fuck, I love you." He rubbed your cheek. There was so much affection in his eyes as he looked at you. You said, "I don't even want it to get that heated again."

Chan kissed your neck. You gasped, hands tightening around his shoulders. "Can we please?"

Chan whispered, "You don't have to ask." He kissed down your collarbone and rolled your pants down. You perked your hips up so he could reach.

He rolled your panties down and kissed your stomach. You sighed, ready for the head he was about to give you.

He carefully rubbed his thumb over your bud, and a soft exhale left your chest. Chan said, "Just like that baby girl. Breathe."

You hummed. You felt Chan's finger slip in, and your body loosened. His big nose pressed against your clit as he pushed his tongue in your hole with his finger. He collected the slick and swallowed.

Now his mouth was swirling around your clit. You gasped when he sucked. The sound of sucking and slurping makes you shake.

His finger finally moved inside of you. He curled it just right, hitting the spot. You moaned, "More. I need more."

Chan added another finger gently. Your hips rocked into his mouth. Chan moaned into your pussy. The vibration went up your spine. You breathed in, trying not to get too loud and over-dramatic.

Chan knew how loud he could get you if he tried hard enough.

Chan's fingers slowly got more aggressive as he fucked into your soaked cunt. Your moans were shaky. You grabbed his forearm and said, "I'm gonna cum."

Chan hummed. You dove your head back from the vibration. Your pussy clenched around his fingers, and Chan pulled away.

"Awe, you close? So close, right?"

He slipped his fingers out as he watched you suffer. You wanted to cum so badly, but he stopped. 

You reached down to touch yourself, but he grabbed both your wrists and put them above your hand.

He pinned you with one hand as the other unbuckled his pants.

"You ready?" You cried as he slid his hot cock into your hole. Your body relaxed as an exhale left your chest.

His face was inches from yours, breath hot. His eyes looked a lighter brown when he was close. Chan said, "I'm gonna rock your world baby."

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. Chan rocked into you. His dick hit your hilt with no problem. How you like it.

You moaned when he thrust into you again. You shivered as you confessed, "I feel good." He dove his head down, thrusting loudly and aggressively, "Yeah? You feel all of me?"

You nodded, moaning. Chan smiled, his dimples seeping into his cheeks. He watched as you lost the thoughts behind your head. You said, "You're so big." He laughed, "So good taking all this cock. Stuffing you so good." His voice was husky, and his breath was hot. 

His Australian accent had your pussy clenching around him. Chan groaned as he said, "I'm going to cum if you keep doing that baby."

He adjusted his position and continued his speed. You moaned, "I'm going to cum now!"

Chan went harder. His cock dug into your spot as you balled the sheets in your hand. Your lip caught between your teeth as you cried, "Chan! I'm so close!"

You heard him groan as he fucked back into your pussy. Your back arched as you took him. The knot in your stomach unraveled, and you came around him. 

Chan only went harder, chasing his own high. Your pussy clenched around him as ragged breaths left your throat. Chan wrapped his hand around it and squeezed. 

He stared into your eyes as you lost breath. He was pounding into you as you wept from the overstimulation.

You felt the knot quickly tie in your stomach again as you heard Chan chant, "Take it. Fuck take this big dick, yeah? Tight fucking pussy. So nasty and wet for me."

His thumb rubbed over your bud, furthering your arousal. You were ready to cum at any moment.

You cried out a moan as you felt his dick twitch inside of you. His muscles tensed as he squeezed his eyes shut. Chan groaned out as he came inside of you.

His head dove back. You were shaking underneath him, orgasming again. Chan's grip loosened around your neck. Your hands were tight around his shoulders.

He collapsed into your small frame and sighed.

It was silent for a while. You two needed to collect your breaths and thoughts. 

It ended when Chan said, "We really needed that argument."

You smiled, "We needed the sex too." Chan laughed in agreement. You huffed with the smile never fading. Chan rolled off you and pulled you close to his chest.

"Baby, I never wanna hurt your feelings like that again."

You’ve been in the city for exactly seventeen days.

Seventeen days of unpacking boxes, adjusting to the new water pressure in your apartment, forgetting which cabinet holds your coffee mugs, and waking up two minutes before your alarm like your body still doesn’t trust it.

It’s not bad. It’s just… not home yet.

But today is your official first lecture at the university. You’d spent the entire weekend reviewing your materials, making sure your notes were flawless, your syllabus airtight, and your first impression unforgettable. A fresh start—you could feel it humming in your veins as you stepped into the classroom, the low buzz of anticipation like something electric.

Your heels click against the polished floor, laptop tucked under your arm. The room quiets down the second you arrive—at least, mostly.

You give your students a quick once-over. All young, bright-eyed, some still blinking sleep away. You introduce yourself, establish expectations, try to make your voice firm but warm.

And then there’s him.

He’s sitting all the way in the back, golden hair catching the late-morning sun, one knee bouncing lazily, a lollipop tucked between plush lips like this is some high school drama. His name rolls off your attendance sheet like a warning bell: Lee Felix.

You’d recognize that smirk anywhere now—he’s had it on since you walked in.

Ten minutes into your lecture and he hasn’t looked up from his phone once.

“Mr. Lee,” you say, loud enough for it to cut through the room like a blade.

Heads turn but Felix glances up with deliberate slowness, like he didn’t just get caught red-handed. He doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t flinch. He just quirks an eyebrow and drawls, “Yes, Professor?”

There’s something about the way he says Professor—just enough edge, just enough mockery, just enough heat to make your grip on the whiteboard marker tighten. You take a breath. You’re not going to lose composure on your first day.

“I’m sure your phone can wait until after class,” you say coolly.

“I was just Googling a term you mentioned. Trying to keep up,” he lies so smoothly it almost sounds real.

The class snickers under their breath. You don’t let it show, but irritation prickles down your spine. It’s clear: he’s one of those. Smart enough to coast, cocky enough to test you, and pretty enough to think he can get away with it.

You’ve handled worse. But you also didn’t move cities, start fresh, and build a reputation from scratch to be toyed with by a smug, lollipop-sucking troublemaker. Your eyes lock with his for just a beat too long, and he has the audacity to wink.

You move on with the lecture, but you already know one thing for sure: Lee Felix is going to be a problem.

-

You’ve just dismissed the class when you hear it—

The lazy drag of footsteps that don’t belong to anyone in a rush to leave.

You keep your eyes on your laptop screen, fingers clicking quickly across the keys as you save your lecture notes and power down. Maybe if you act busy enough, he’ll change his mind. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

“Professor,” comes that infuriatingly smooth voice, so much softer now that it’s just the two of you in the room.

You glance up slowly, only to find Felix leaning against your desk, arms crossed, expression smug like he knows something you don’t. You hate how good he looks up close.

No—not good. Just… young. Reckless. Golden. Dangerous.

His lollipop is gone now, replaced with a slightly lopsided smile. “Just wanted to say, great first class. You really know how to command a room.”

You blink at him. “You didn’t seem too interested in it.”

“Oh, I was interested,” he says, and there’s a deliberate pause before he adds, “Just not in the material.”

He’s playing a game. Testing how far he can push before you push back.

You meet his gaze, cool and calm, no room for flirtation. “Mr. Lee, I’d advise you to choose your next words carefully.”

“Wouldn’t dream of saying anything inappropriate,” he says with a flash of his teeth, and that voice of his drops just a little—low, teasing, like a dare. “Unless you’re into that.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t blush. You don’t give him the satisfaction of reacting at all. Instead, you close your laptop with a soft snap, stand slowly, and lean your hands on the edge of your desk as you face him head-on.

“Listen closely, Mr. Lee,” you say, voice low but clear. “If you want to pass this course, I suggest you drop the act. I’m not here to be entertained. And I’m not here to entertain you.”

He straightens up just slightly, eyes flicking across your face, and for a second—just a second—you think you might’ve caught him off guard.

“If this continues,” you continue calmly, “I’ll have no problem removing you from this class. Permanently. Is that what you want?”

There’s a pause. You can almost see the calculation happening behind those deceptively warm eyes and then he smiles again—smaller this time. Slower. More careful.

“Not at all, Professor,” he says smoothly. “I like being in your class.”

You say nothing, and the silence stretches between you like a taut string.

Eventually, he steps back. “See you Wednesday.”

You watch him walk out the door, and only when he’s gone do you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Trouble. He’s going to be trouble.

-

There are only a few places in the city that feel familiar yet. The walk to the faculty lounge. The tiny bakery with the quiet owner who never talks too much. And this golf course—the green stretching wide under the open sky, the scent of cut grass and the satisfying weight of a club in your hands. But mostly, it’s him.

“Still swinging like a beginner, huh?”

The teasing voice makes you glance up just in time to see the man approaching, half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and a golf glove already in place.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Please. I’m still the only reason you don’t come in last in tournaments.”

He laughs—a full, warm sound that rumbles out of him and melts some of the stress clinging to your shoulders.

Mr. Bahng, as everyone else used to call him, but to you, he’s just Chris’s dad—and practically a second father of your own.

You’ve known him since you were a little, back when he was a partner to your father at work until he got transferred to another city but he’d visit your family during business trips or holidays and always bring you a snack from the airport like you were still ten. Now, he just sends books or gift cards for takeout, but the energy’s the same. Steady. Supportive. Familiar in a way this whole new city still isn’t.

You shake hands, and he pulls you into a quick side hug like always.

“Still keeping those city boys on their toes?” he asks as you walk to the tee.

“Trying to,” you reply, giving him a mock glare. “They’re just harder to scare.”

“Bet you’ve scared at least one of them,” he says with a chuckle. “You always had that look.”

“What look?”

“The ‘don’t-test-me-unless-you-want-to-lose-your-ego’ look,” he grins. “Your dad told me you used that on a boy in high school. What was his name? Lee?”

You scoff. “He tried to kiss me in a stairwell and spelled Nietzsche wrong in his essay. I stand by my choices.”

He laughs again and steps up to take his shot—too wide on the angle. You make a noise of disapproval.

“Left your wrists back again,” you point out. “Still trying to brute force it instead of—”

“Relax,” he mutters, straightening up. “You always get mouthy before you lose.”

“I never lose to you,” you say with a sharp grin, taking your place behind the tee. “And today’s not the day.”

The rest of the game flows easy, the two of you bantering between swings, correcting each other’s posture, talking about everything and nothing. This kind of familiarity is rare. Comforting. He doesn’t ask about your dating life, doesn’t push you about making friends. He just exists beside you like a tree you could lean on if you needed it.

However, by the 14th hole, he clears his throat and says, “Actually… I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

You glance over. “That sounds ominous.”

“Nothing bad,” he says quickly. “Just—seeing you out here today, all grown up and holding your own. I was thinking…”

You pause mid-step, eyeing him carefully.

“I know someone I think you’d get along with,” he continues, tone light, like he’s testing the waters. “He’s smart. Ambitious. Got a good heart. A bit overworked lately, honestly. Reminds me of you when you first started teaching.”

You raise a brow, half-amused. “Are you trying to set me up?”

He grins. “Would it be the worst idea in the world?”

You open your mouth to say something sarcastic—but pause.

He said someone I think you’d get along with. Smart. Ambitious. Overworked. And you know he has a son.

Your thoughts go straight to Chris. Chris, who used to help you carry your books after class. Chris, who told you not to cry when you didn’t get into your first-choice university. Chris, who was always kind and quiet and maybe just a little too good-looking for his own good. You haven’t seen him in years, but if he’s back now…

You clear your throat. “Is this your way of recruiting me into the family?”

He laughs. “What can I say? I’ve always wanted a daughter like you.”

It makes your chest warm. He means it. You can feel it. You pretend to think it over, but your heart’s already made the leap. “Alright,” you say, trying to sound casual. “I’ll meet him.”

He claps you on the shoulder with a proud smile. “You won’t regret it.”

You smile back, and for the rest of the game, you let yourself imagine what it might feel like to see Chris again. To be looked at like that. To belong to something… someone… that’s always felt a little out of reach.

You line up your next shot, but your mind drifts—

what would Chris wear to the date? Still gentle and quiet like you remember? Would he still have that soft voice, that shy, dimpled laugh? The idea of sitting across from him again after all these years tugs a smile onto your lips before you can stop it.

You swing but the ball hooks left—wild.

Mr. Bahng laughs behind you. “You were doing so well until I mentioned a certain boy.”

You blink at him, embarrassed. “I'm not,” you weakly defend yourself.

“I know that look,” he teases, eyes twinkling. “Don’t go falling in love just yet. Save that for the date.”

-

Studying bores him. It always has. It’s not that he’s stupid—God, no. Felix could probably ace half his classes with his eyes closed if he wanted to. That’s the thing—he just doesn’t want to.

Too many hours trapped in a chair listening to the same tired voices drone on about things that don’t light anything up in him. Too many papers, too many expectations. It all feels like white noise most days.

He comes to campus for one reason: to hang out. To be with his friends. To flirt, skate through the day, maybe sneak a smoke behind the student center or sleep through the late lectures if no one notices.

That’s all it was. That’s all it ever was. Until you show up like a glitch in the pattern. A brand new lecturer with no patience for bullshit and this fire in your eyes that makes Felix sit up straighter without realizing it. You dress sharp, speak sharper, and carry yourself like you’ve got the whole world under control. You don’t laugh at his jokes. You don’t flinch when he teases you. You don’t look at him the way others do—like he’s just the golden-haired boy who always gets away with things. You look at him like you see through him.

And that? That’s interesting. For the first time in years, he’s showing up to class early. He’s staying awake. He’s listening—to you, specifically. Not because of the material. Not because he cares about grades or degrees or whatever future everyone keeps pressuring him into chasing.

He shows up because you’re there. Because you challenge him. Because you ignore him. Because you look like you should be untouchable, and somehow that just makes him want to touch even more.

He knows he’s pushing it, knows the lines you draw, the rules you hide behind. Knows you’d probably throw him out of class if he pushed too far. But he also knows one thing for certain— No one else on this campus makes his heart kick the way you do when you walk into the room like you own it. No one else makes him want to show up.

You’re the only part of his routine that’s not boring and if he’s being honest with himself, you’re the only reason he’s still coming to class at all.

-

As usual, Felix lounges on the edge of the stone steps, half-listening to whatever Jeongin’s rambling about beside him. It’s something dumb. Something about a failed group project or a girl who ghosted him after two texts. Seungmin chimes in now and then with his usual dry sarcasm, and Hyunjin’s too busy scrolling through his phone to contribute more than the occasional “damn, that sucks.”

Felix laughs at the right moments, leans back on his elbows, sunlight soaking into the leather of his jacket. It’s easy. Effortless. But he’s only half there. The other half is watching the lot. Waiting.

“You’re staring again,” Seungmin says without looking up.

Felix doesn’t bother denying it.

Jeongin follows his gaze. “The new professor?”

Felix hums. A little smile tugs at his lips. “She’s not my professor. She just… teaches the class I’m currently tolerating.”

Hyunjin snorts. “Sure. Is that what you’re doing? Tolerating her?”

Felix shrugs, but the grin spreading across his face gives him away. He thinks about that first day. You walked in like the room belonged to you, like the floor knew better than to creak under your heels. No hesitation. No nerves. Just sharp eyes and a sharper mouth, dressed in soft fabrics and clipped words.

Everyone else had gone quiet. But him? He couldn’t stop staring. You’d called him out within ten minutes and he still thinks about it.

No professor had ever done that—not like you did. Not with heat behind your gaze and ice in your tone, like you were daring him to cross a line just so you could destroy him for it. And yeah, maybe that should’ve turned him off, but it didn’t. If anything, it flipped something in his brain. Because suddenly class wasn’t boring anymore. Suddenly, showing up felt like chasing a high.

“Why don’t you just ask her out already?” Jeongin says, kicking a pebble with the toe of his shoe.

Felix scoffs. “Yeah. ‘Hey, Professor, wanna grab coffee after you finish grading my half-assed essay?’ Real smooth.”

Seungmin shrugs. “You’ve pulled off worse.”

“But she’s…” Felix trails off, frowning.

Different. That’s the word he wants. Different from anyone he’s ever wanted. Different in ways that make him want to push and pull and figure you out just to feel what it’s like to have your attention for more than five seconds at a time.

Before anyone can say anything else, a car pulls into the lot and just like that, his whole body sharpens because it’s you. Hair pinned back, sunglasses perched on your head, dark dress hugging all the right places as you step out of your car like you’re stepping onto a stage you were born to own.

He sits up straighter. Slides his phone into his pocket. Brushes a hand through his hair. This? This is the best part of his morning. Maybe his whole week.

The others go quiet as they follow his gaze.

“Go get your fix, lover boy,” Seungmin mutters, already standing. “I’m out.”

Felix grins, but doesn’t respond. He just leans back into place, he eyes the curve of your waist, the soft sway of your dress as you stride toward the building and when the time is right— When he’s sure you’re close enough to hear him—

He says it: “Morning, Professor. That dress looks real good on you today.”

You freeze for a second. Just long enough to confirm what he already knows—you heard him. But you don’t look at him. Don’t smile. Just a clipped, nearly inaudible, “Thank you, Mr. Lee,” and you keep walking like you didn’t just lose for a second there.

Felix grins. God, you make it too easy.

The way your jaw sets when you’re trying to stay professional, the way your hand tightens around your bag strap, like you’re holding yourself back. The way your spine straightens like it’s him you’re bracing against.

He laughs as you push open the door without looking back, the sound rolling low in his throat, just loud enough for you to hear it if you’re still listening. You always pretend you’re not but he knows better.

You’re already in his head—he might as well return the favor.

-

Class ends.

You dismiss everyone with your usual calm, collected tone—sharp enough to keep them in line, soft enough to keep the room respectful.

Most students pack up and shuffle out. But Felix? He lingers. Always the last to leave. Always with something to say.

You’re collecting your papers at the front, eyes skimming your notes like you’re already ten minutes ahead of the moment. But he walks right up to your desk anyway, slow and easy, with that same crooked smirk that got under your skin the first week.

“You got any plans tonight, Professor?”

You glance up, brows raised. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugs, tone casual. “Just wondering. You strike me as the type who doesn’t know how to have fun on a Friday night.”

You give him a flat look, the kind that usually ends the conversation. But this time, you surprise him.

You slide your notes into your bag, your voice calm and detached when you answer, “Actually… I have a date.”

It’s not the words—it’s how effortlessly you say them. Like it’s not meant to hit him. Like it’s not supposed to matter. But surprisingly... it does. His stomach dips, almost unnoticeable, like hitting a sudden drop in the road you didn’t see coming.

The smirk on his face falters for half a second—barely there—before he recovers. “Oh yeah?” he says, grin stretching back into place, like it’s all just a joke. “Lucky guy.”

You don’t respond to that. Just offer a tight smile, and a pointed glance toward the door. You don’t have to say it—he knows the conversation is over.

He tosses his bag over one shoulder and walks out with that same swagger, head high, like nothing’s changed, but something has.

The word date sticks in his head. Over and over. You never give him anything. Never let him in. But now… you’re going out with someone? Who?

Felix doesn’t even realize how deep in his thoughts he is until his phone buzzes in his back pocket.

Mom.

He answers without thinking. “Hey, mom.”

“Felix darling,” her voice comes through warm and familiar. “I need you to do something for me tonight.”

He exhales, already rubbing a hand over his face. “What is it?”

-

It’s just a date. You’ve been on dates before—awkward coffee meetups, polite dinners with forgettable conversation, half-hearted setups from friends who didn’t know you at all.

But this one? This one buzzes under your skin like something electric. Maybe it’s because it’s him. Chris. Or, at least, that’s who you think it is.

You’ve spent the entire week trying not to overthink it—how many years it’s been, whether he’ll remember the things you used to talk about, whether the way he smiled at you back then meant what you thought it did.

You told yourself you weren’t going to go overboard and yet, here you are, standing in front of your mirror for the third time, adjusting your necklace, smoothing the soft fabric of your dress over your hips again like it’ll make a difference.

You spent hours getting ready. Hair, makeup, choosing a shade of lipstick that wasn’t too bold but still enough to make him look twice. You hate that you care this much. You hate that your pulse quickens every time you glance at the clock, that your hands feel a little clammy, that you’ve changed your earrings twice already.

But god, the thought of seeing him again—the boy who used to lean in and whisper things only you could hear, who made you feel like you were more than just someone’s daughter or a mere friend— It makes your stomach flip.

You want him to see you and see how much you've grown. You want to impress him. You want him to want you.

You take one final look at yourself in the mirror, exhale slowly, and grab your bag. This is ridiculous. It’s just a date. One dinner. But still—

You can’t shake the feeling that this night might change something and you're right. It will. Just… not in the way you think.

-

The café is warm and quiet, tucked into a corner of the city where everything feels slow and curated. Jazz plays softly through the speakers, and the hanging lights above each table give off that soft golden glow that makes everything feel more intimate than it should.

You chose the booth by the window. Partly for the view, partly so you could look like you weren’t desperately scanning the room every time the front door opened and it's thirty-seven minutes past the appointed time.

It’s not like him to be late.

Chris—at least the Chris you used to know—was punctual. Thoughtful. Someone who would’ve shown up early and probably brought flowers and smiled that boyish, dimpled smile that made your stomach do flips.

You’re on your second latte now because the first one went cold while you kept glancing at the entrance like an idiot. This one’s mostly foam, but your hands need something to do. You pull out your compact and reapply your lipstick. Again.

God, this is ridiculous.

You keep telling yourself he’ll walk in any minute now. That he probably just got caught in traffic. That maybe he’s circling the block trying to find parking. That he’ll be here, and it’ll be worth it. That all this effort—all this nervous energy and too-tight hope—will mean something.

The bell above the door rings and you don’t look up. You’re tired of looking up. Tired of the tiny jolt of anticipation that always dissolves into another stranger, another group of friends, another barista returning from break.

You take a sip of your latte and slump slightly into your seat, letting your shoulders relax for the first time in an hour. And that’s when you feel it. A presence. Eyes on you.

You glance up, expecting… no one. Expecting just another unfamiliar face. But what you see is a black leather jacket. Tousled blond hair. And that unmistakable, shit-eating smirk.

Felix. He’s standing near the entrance, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket, head tilted just slightly like he’s amused. Like he meant to find you here.

You blink, completely thrown, stomach dropping as your brain tries to piece it together. He sees your confusion—and it only makes his grin deepen. He walks toward your table like he belongs here. Like this is a game and he’s been playing it longer than you realized.

And the worst part? He looks good. Too good. The kind of good that makes your throat dry.

You sit up straighter, every nerve ending suddenly on high alert. What the hell is he doing here?

This was supposed to be a date with Mr. Bahng's son. Chris. Not with the boy who makes a habit of testing your patience. Not with your student. Not with Felix.

You duck your head instinctively, hand lifting to shield your face like you’re invisible behind a half-full latte and a smear of lip gloss.

But it’s too late. Felix has already seen you.

You hear his boots before you see him—the confident thud of them crossing the café floor. You keep your eyes locked on the swirls in your coffee, praying he’ll just pass by, that this is some bizarre coincidence.

But of course it's not. Felix stops in front of your table. Then, without asking, without a shred of hesitation, he sits right across from you. One arm slung over the back of the booth, legs stretched comfortably, as if he’s been doing this with you every Friday night for years. And that smirk. That goddamn smirk. That smug, lazy, self-satisfied smirk that tells you this isn’t just a coincidence.

You stare at him, jaw tight, but before you can get a word out, he speaks. “Your date is here.”

You scoff. Audibly. “Felix, just because we’re off campus doesn’t mean you can do this.”

He raises his brows, all innocence. “Do what?”

You narrow your eyes. “Whatever this is. Showing up, sitting down—ruining my night.”

“I’m not ruining anything,” he says easily, resting his chin on his hand. “I am your night.”

You blink. “You’re—what?”

“I’m your date.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Nice try.”

But your heart stutters because he’s not joking. He’s not being sarcastic. He’s dead serious.

“No,” you say quickly, voice sharp. “No, you can’t be. It’s supposed to be—”

You stop yourself because you never actually said Chris’s name aloud. You just assumed because who else would it be?

Felix shrugs. Then, slowly, he pulls his phone out of his jacket and turns the screen toward you. There it is. A message thread from someone labeled Mom.

One message in particular, sitting bright and brutal on the screen: "Felix sweetie, don’t forget. Café Verona, 7PM. You’ll be meeting her there. Be nice. Your dad will be so happy if this works out."

No. No, no, no.

Your breath catches in your throat, your lips parting but no words coming out. Your brain tries to string together logic—maybe it’s a prank, maybe he hacked a phone, maybe—

But your name is there. The café’s name. The time. It’s real.

You stare at the message again, then at him, your voice cracking when you finally manage, “But—Mr. Bahng said—his son…”

Felix lets out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “Yeah. His stepson.”

He watches you with something gentler now beneath the smugness, like he knows the floor has just been pulled out from under you. “You didn’t know?” he asks casually. “He married my mom eight years ago.”

The air around you thins. You grip the edge of the table like it’ll keep you grounded.

Mr. Bahng. Your second father. Your comfort in this city.

And Felix—the boy who’s made it his mission to get under your skin—is his stepson.

You feel it all at once. The burn of humiliation. The dizzying confusion. The heavy drop in your stomach like the whole night has collapsed under its own weight.

Your voice barely makes it past your lips. “This… has to be a mistake.”

But you know it’s not.

Felix leans back in the booth, watching you unravel with maddening calm, and that smirk returns—less teasing now. More… inevitable.

“Guess you’re stuck with me tonight, Professor.”

-

Felix watches you come undone. Not all at once—no, not the dramatic kind of breaking. It’s quieter than that. Subtler. A slow unraveling behind your eyes as everything you thought you knew about this night flips upside down.

God, it’s beautiful.

Not because he wants to hurt you—he doesn’t. But because for once, you’re not composed. You’re not hiding behind that perfectly neutral expression or snapping at him with rehearsed professionalism.

Right now, you're just you—confused, flustered, vulnerable. Human. And he can’t look away.

You’re staring down at the table, lashes low, jaw clenched like you’re trying to find a way to salvage what’s left of your pride, but there’s nothing to save.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do here,” you finally say, voice low and uneven, “but this can’t happen.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, like he hasn’t heard that a dozen times before—but this time, it feels different.

“This,” you gesture vaguely between the two of you, “isn’t going to work. You’re younger than me.”

“So?”

“And you’re my student.”

“At least for the next two semesters.”

You shoot him a glare. “That’s not the point.”

He leans forward just slightly, resting his forearms on the table, eyes locked on yours. The smirk on his lips curves slow and deliberate.

“No,” he says, voice low, smooth, “the point is… those are just excuses.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out because you know he’s right.

He watches the way your throat moves when you swallow hard, the way your fingers tighten slightly around the cup in your hand. And then, like twisting the knife with velvet hands, he says, “You forgot the most important reason why you can’t say no.”

Felix grins, cocking his head just a little. “My stepdad will be really disappointed if you walk away from this.”

The effect is immediate. He sees it hit—hard. Your spine stiffens, your face goes still. You look down like the guilt weighs too much to hold in your chest.

“It's just a date,” he says softly, not pushing, just planting the seed. “Talk to me. Laugh. Pretend I’m not ruining your life.”

“No. You’re not listening,” you say, quieter now. Firmer, but not nearly as steady as you want to be. “This isn’t going to work.”

But Felix isn’t even blinking. He just watches you—closely, carefully. You think you’re convincing him but all he sees is conflict. You’re still holding on to your rules, but not because of him. Not because of who he is or what he’s doing. No, it’s because you’re scared. Scared of being seen with him. Scared of liking him. Scared of what it would mean if you let go. And more than anything—you’re scared of disappointing his stepdad.

That part is written all over your face.

Felix leans back in the booth, tapping his fingers once against the side of his glass, as if weighing something, pretending to think. But the truth is, he already knows exactly what he’s going to say.

“Okay,” he starts, and your eyes flick to him with something cautious. “How about this.”

You say nothing, just stare at him.

“Three dates.”

“What?”

“Three,” he repeats, holding up three fingers. “We go on three real dates. No weird tension, no professor-student labels, no excuses. Just two people. That’s it.”

You narrow your eyes. “And after three?”

“If you still think this is a bad idea,” he says with a shrug, “I’ll tell my stepfather myself. I’ll say it didn’t work. That we weren’t compatible. That I blew it.”

You hesitate but he sees it. That twitch in your jaw. The soft crease between your brows. You’re not rejecting the idea—you’re fighting the part of you that already wants to say yes. It’s almost too easy.

“And you’ll actually tell him?”

Felix smirks. “Promise.”

There’s a long beat of silence. You look away first, eyes darting toward the window like the answer might be outside. But all you find is the reflection of yourself next to him—and the growing weight of something you can’t explain.

Finally, you exhale, barely above a whisper. “Fine.”

Three dates. Three is more than enough. Because Felix has already made up his mind— He’s going to change yours.

Felix hides his smile behind the rim of his glass. Got you.

-

You tell him no. Twice. But Felix is already unlocking the passenger side before you’ve finished your sentence, leaning on the door like he’s doing you a favor, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to drive you home after ambushing your date.

“You’re not walking home alone after dinner,” he says, cocky as ever. “What kind of gentleman would I be?”

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “You’re not a gentleman.”

He grins. “I am when I want to be.”

Still, you get in because the night has already gone to hell and honestly, you don’t have the energy to argue anymore. The car smells faintly like his cologne—clean, warm, and frustratingly pleasant. You fasten your seatbelt in silence, eyes fixed on the windshield as he pulls away from the café and into the quiet of the city night.

The ride is… quiet. Thankfully. You expected teasing. More smug comments. Some joke about how “charming” he is or how you were “clearly impressed.”

But for once, Felix keeps his mouth shut and you’re grateful for it because your mind is still a mess. You can’t stop thinking about how wrong tonight felt—how you built it up in your head, how you thought you were going to see Chris, how you’d imagined every version of what he’d look like now. How your chest had fluttered just thinking about him walking through that café door.

But it wasn’t him. It was Felix. And you hate that part of you isn’t as disappointed as it should be.

You reach your building too fast and the car slows to a gentle stop in front of the entrance, headlights washing over the brick steps.

You’re already reaching for your bag when he puts the car in park. “Thanks for the lift home,” you mutter, eyes still forward.

But before you can push the door open, his voice cuts through the quiet. “Don’t forget,” he says, lazy and low. “We still have three dates left.”

You pause and lare at him over your shoulder. “Two. After tonight, it’s two.”

He just grins, tilting his head like he’s about to break some tragic news. “This doesn’t count,” he says.

You blink. “And why is that so?”

He shrugs. “It’s not a date unless we kiss at the end of the night.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “You’re joking”

“I’m just saying,” he smirks. “I’m a really good kisser. Would’ve made it count.”

And you hate it. You hate that your brain stalls for a second, that it pictures it—his mouth, his hands, the taste of something dangerous and warm and off-limits. You hate that your fingers curl a little tighter around your bag. That your heart skips, just once.

You scoff instead. “Have a great night.”

“I already did,” he simply replies with his annoying smirk.

You throw the door open and step out before he can say another word, but just before you shut it—

“Goodnight, Professor,” he says, voice warm and velvet and full of satisfaction. “Dreams of me tonight.”

You slam the door harder than necessary. Your heels click furiously up the stairs as you make your way into the building, face hot with embarrassment and something else you don’t want to name.

And you know. You just know— He’s still watching you. Smiling like he already knows how this is going to end.

-

The morning air feels too bright.

You sip your coffee in slow, careful mouthfuls, the steam curling into your face as you stare at the slice of toast you haven’t touched. Your plate’s barely warm. Your stomach? Uneasy.

You barely slept because every time you closed your eyes, you’d see his—gold-flecked, too sure of themselves, that damn smirk that still burns at the back of your brain.

“It’s not a date unless we kiss.”

You rub at your temple like you can scrub the memory out.

This was supposed to be simple. One polite dinner. One quiet, grown-up “thanks, but no thanks.” Then you’d call Mr. Bahng in the morning and tell him it didn’t work out. That Felix was… impossible. Inappropriate. Not what you’re looking for. But just as you’re mustering the resolve to make the call, your phone lights up on the kitchen table.

Mr. Bahng.

Perfect timing. You swipe to answer, exhaling softly as you press the phone to your ear. “Hello, sir—”

“Sweetheart!” he beams, and you can practically feel his smile through the line. “Ah, I was just thinking about you.”

You sit up straighter, fingers curling slightly around your mug. “Oh?”

“I just had to call. Felix told me all about last night,” he says, voice filled with delight. “He said you had a wonderful time!”

Of course he did. You say in your head as you roll your eyes. You don’t know why you’re surprised. Felix probably hung up the phone after dropping you off and painted the whole evening in stars and candlelight. Told his stepfather you laughed. That you blushed. That you kissed. Who knows what he said.

You try to correct him. “Actually—”

“He’s really taken with you,” Mr. Bahng cuts in gently. “I always thought there was something different about that boy, but it’s nice seeing him this serious about someone.”

Your lips part but no sound comes out.

“Now, I know he’s a little younger,” he continues, “and yes, one of your students—but he only has, what? Another semester? Maybe less?”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Just under a year.”

“Exactly!” he says. “By the time anything serious happens, it’ll be completely appropriate.”

You open your mouth again to speak—but the next words from him feel like a train hitting your chest.

“I just can’t wait to welcome you to the family one day.”

You go still. “What?”

He chuckles. “Too soon? Ah, forgive an old man. I just—”

His voice softens. “I’ve always thought of you like a daughter. And to have you officially… well. You’d make this family better. You’re the kind of woman I always hoped my son would bring home.”

You bite your lip so hard it hurts.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. You’ve done so well. You deserve to be loved the way I know Felix will love you.”

And just like that—

Whatever words you’d planned to say are gone.

Because how can you tell this man, the one who made you feel at home in a city full of strangers, the one who’s always been kind, who beams like a father when he sees you—how can you tell him no?

You swallow thickly. “Thank you, sir.”

He hums, satisfied. “Give it time. I know it’ll work out.”

You end the call with a numb sort of silence and the second your phone hits the table, you slump into your seat, burying your face in your hands.

Three dates. That’s all you agreed to. That’s all you owe. And then you’ll walk away from this—walk away from him. Three. Just three.

-

Class ends with the usual shuffle of feet and rustling of papers. You wrap up your lecture with a clipped reminder about the upcoming assignments, your voice cool and clear, carefully measured. It’s the only thing keeping you grounded these days—structure, professionalism, the boundaries that say you are not getting swept up in this mess.

You stay at the front of the classroom, organizing your notes, half-hoping for a moment of peace before the next meeting on your calendar. But the second you lift your head, you see him.

Felix. Leaning against the doorframe, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack slung over a single shoulder, the other shoved casually into the pocket of his leather jacket. His blond hair catches the light, and that same damn smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth like he’s been waiting for this all day. He doesn’t move right away. Just looks at you like you’re the main event.

“Hey, Professor.”

You roll your eyes. “How can I help you, Mr. Lee?”

He pushes off the doorframe and strolls up to your desk, the classroom now thankfully empty except for the two of you. He gives you that annoyingly charming smile—the one that probably works on half the campus—and says, “I figured you can help decide where we’re going for our first date.”

Your eyes widen a fraction. “What are you—shh!”

You glance toward the hallway as if anyone might be listening.

He laughs, delighted. “What, scared someone’s gonna overhear the scandal?”

“This isn’t funny,” you hiss, low and stern. “As long as you’re still enrolled in my class, I have to remain professional.”

He leans in a little, eyes gleaming. “You being all proper is kind of hot, you know that?”

Your glare sharpens. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, not at all sorry. “Secretly dating your lecturer? Feels like something out of a fantasy.”

You take a step back before he gets too close, shoving your notes into your bag with a little more force than necessary.

“We are not dating,” you snap, voice clipped.

“Not yet,” he replies easily.

You scowl, push past him, and make your way toward the door. “Please don't bother me with such questions unless it’s academic related.”

But he follows, relentless. “But we still need to choose a place for the first date,” he says behind you, like it’s already set in stone.

You say nothing. Don’t look back. You won’t give him the satisfaction. Still, as you step out into the hallway, you hear him call out after you, voice playful and smug:

“Don’t worry—I’ll pick somewhere that’ll impress you.”

-

You told yourself you wouldn’t care. You told yourself this was just an obligation—something to get through. Three dates. That was the deal. Nothing more, nothing less.

But here you are, standing in front of your mirror again, adjusting the neckline of your dress for the third time. You want to look put together. Sophisticated. Effortless.

You want to look good—but not for him.

God forbid you look like you tried. Still… you try.

Light makeup, just enough to make your features pop. A dress that hugs you in the right places, but not too tight, not too obvious. Hair soft, perfume subtle. You want to look like you always look like this. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like this wasn’t Felix.

You’re fixing the strap of your purse when you hear the low rumble of his car pulling up outside.

You let out a sigh. You don’t even know if it’s from annoyance or nerves—or some messy tangle of both—but it crawls up your chest all the same. You refuse to be standing at the door like you were waiting for him. So you sit and wait.

When the knock comes—three knocks, bold and unhurried—you wait a little longer, just to make him sweat. He deserves that much. Then, finally, you open the door.

Felix stands there in a black button-up, sleeves rolled halfway to his forearms, silver rings glinting on his fingers. His blond hair is tousled, like he styled it with careless perfection, and he looks up at you as if he wasn’t expecting to actually be stunned. His eyes drag down the length of you slowly, drinking you in like he’s afraid to blink.And then—

He exhales sharply, eyes blown wide. “Holy shit.”

He leans one hand on the doorframe, the other over his chest like he’s been winded and slowly, he leans in close enough you can smell his cologne.

“You’re not even real,” he breathes, gaze flickering down to your legs, then back up—lingering at your lips before locking onto your eyes. “How the hell am I supposed to behave tonight?”

You fight the twitch in your lips. “Maybe start by not saying things like that.”

He whistles softly and shakes his head. “You’re dangerous.”

“And you’re annoying,” you mutter, grabbing your purse. But the way he’s looking at you—it rattles something. Makes your pulse shift in your wrist.

“Ready?” he asks, voice suddenly lower, deeper.

His tone does something to your stomach—something unwelcome.

“Y-Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat and adjusting your strap again to buy yourself a second of control.

He steps back and gestures toward the stairs. “After you, Professor.”

He opens the car door for you like a proper gentleman, and you hate the way that gesture makes your chest tighten. Once you’re seated, he rounds the car and slides in behind the wheel, flashing you a sideways glance as he starts the engine.

You glance at him. “Where are we going?”

He grins. “You’ll see.”

You cross your arms. “I don’t like surprises.”

He throws the car into drive, eyes on the road now. “Good thing I’m not trying to impress someone easy.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to hide your smirk. One date. One night. You just have to survive this without losing your mind.

Or your heart.

-

Felix slows the car as the dock comes into view, headlights cutting across the worn wooden path and rows of moored boats gently rocking against the water. He parks at the edge of the lot and throws it into neutral, then glances sideways—just in time to catch the crease forming between your brows.

Perfect.

You’ve been quiet most of the ride, arms crossed, lips pursed, trying your best to look unimpressed. But he’s seen the way your eyes flick toward him when you think he’s not looking. He knows you’re curious.

And now? Now he’s going to give you something you really weren’t expecting.

He steps out and makes his way around to your door, opening it before you can even reach for the handle. You arch a brow at him, but say nothing as you step out, heels clicking softly against the pavement.

You glance at the rows of boats ahead, a little suspicious now, a little cautious. You adjust the strap of your purse, scanning the horizon like it’ll give you answers.

Finally, you ask, “Where exactly are you taking me?”

There’s something in your voice—hesitant, unsure—and he lives for it. He likes you best when you’re like this: sharp on the outside, unraveling just beneath the surface.

He grins as he gestures toward the dock with a tilt of his head and starts walking, hands in his jacket pockets. “Well, since you’re all about professionalism and secrecy,” he says, “I figured I’d give you exactly that.”

You hesitate before following him, eyes narrowing. “What does that mean?”

He shrugs. “Means I borrowed a friend’s boat.”

You stop walking. “A boat?”

Felix turns, walking backward now as he faces you. “You didn’t want to be seen in public with me, remember?” he says, voice light, teasing. “So… I figured I’d bring you somewhere private. Quiet. Away from the curious eyes.”

You just stare at him for a second, and he can’t quite tell if you’re horrified or impressed. Probably both.

He leans against the dock rail, hands gripping the edge behind him, and lets his smirk tug slowly across his lips. “I mean—romantic sunset boat date? That has to earn me a few points.”

You shake your head, lips pressed together, visibly fighting off a reaction. “Do you even know how to ride it?”

“Most of it, yeah,” he laughs, already stepping down the planks toward where the small cabin boat is tied. “Don't worry. It floats.”

The boat rocks gently beneath his boots as Felix steadies it, reaching a hand out toward you with a grin. You stand at the edge of the dock like you’re still considering running, arms folded, skepticism practically radiating off of you—but you take his hand anyway. That’s all he needs.

“Careful,” he murmurs, guiding you on board, steadying your waist as you step down. “Wouldn’t want to lose you before the wine comes out.”

You scoff but let him help you.

The second you’re both aboard, Felix moves to untie the ropes and start the engine, navigating the small boat out onto the water with practiced ease. The city gets smaller behind you as the boat glides into the open, far enough that the buildings blur into the soft purple of dusk.

Once they’re alone with nothing but sky and water around the two or you, he heads below deck briefly and returns with a picnic basket tucked under one arm, a bottle of wine tucked under the other.

You watch him cautiously from your seat near the railing as he spreads a thick, navy picnic mat across the deck, anchoring it down with a few carefully placed cushions. He opens the basket and begins to arrange everything with the kind of care that makes you narrow your eyes like you’re waiting for the joke, but he’s serious about this.

A neat charcuterie spread: cured meats, brie, fresh figs, crackers, olives, sliced strawberries. A bottle of red. Two stemmed wine flutes he sets down gently beside the basket. Everything carefully packed. Nothing cheap. Nothing half-assed.

He’s never done this for anyone. Not like this. And when he finally sits back on his heels and looks up at you, it’s with a small, crooked smile.

“Well?” he says, extending a hand toward you again. “Gonna join me or just watch?”

Felix sees the internal war flashing across your face. But eventually, you sigh like you’re doing him a favor and slide your hand into his.

He helps you kneel down beside him on the mat, adjusting one of the pillows so you’re not sitting too close, even though he wants to. He pours the wine carefully, offering you your glass before taking his own.

And for a moment… neither of you speak.

The boat sways gently, slow and steady like a lullaby. The breeze is soft. The water reflects gold and violet, and the sun hangs low over the edge of the world, bleeding into the sea.

It’s beautiful. But Felix doesn’t look at the view. He looks at you. The way your eyes catch the light. How your features soften when you’re not frowning at him. How your fingers wrap around the glass just a little too tight like you’re trying to remind yourself you’re still in control.

You don’t notice him staring until you shift your gaze—and catch him mid-sip, lips curved around the rim of his glass, still watching you.

You blink, instantly suspicious. “What?”

He lowers the wine, leans his elbow on his knee, and smirks. “Sunset’s not even the prettiest thing on this boat.”

You roll your eyes, muttering, “Jesus Christ.”

But he sees the way your cheeks warm. You turn your face slightly like you’re annoyed, but you’re smiling now. Barely. That’s all he needs to keep going.

“You always look at your lecturer like that?” you say dryly.

He tilts his head. “Only when they show up looking like they walked out of my dreams.”

You shoot him a warning glance, but it’s too late as you sip your wine again. And again. And you stop correcting him after a while.

You sit there beside him as the light fades and the world quiets—and Felix can’t stop watching you. Because somewhere between the teasing and the lines you keep drawing between you, he knows that you’re slipping and he’s going to make sure you fall.

-

The sun is dipping below the edge of the water now, casting everything in shades of gold and blood orange, and the warm breeze dances across your skin, lifting the hem of your dress just enough to make you shift self-consciously.

You don’t mean to relax but with every sip of wine, your shoulders lower just a bit more, your limbs a little softer, your glare a little slower to come.

It’s the wine. The atmosphere. Felix. And you hate that he was right.

This is beautiful.

You’re swirling the wine in your glass when he suddenly leans toward you, slips off his leather jacket, and drapes it gently over your shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing, like you didn’t just freeze at the feel of him so close. “You looked cold.”

“I’m not,” you lie.

“You are,” he insists, settling the collar against your neck. “And besides, don’t act so shocked. I can be a gentleman.”

You scoff. “Since when?”

He laughs, lounging back on his side and propping himself up on one elbow. “Since now.”

The weight of the jacket feels heavier than it should. Like it’s trying to pull you toward him. And maybe it is.

You sip again, letting the silence stretch, but something’s been itching at the back of your mind since this morning—and you can’t pretend anymore.

You turn your gaze toward him. “What did you tell Mr. Bahng?”

Felix raises an eyebrow, like he’s surprised you brought it up now, like you’ve only just remembered the other half of your mess. “What?” he teases. “You didn’t like how I told him we had a magical night?”

You narrow your eyes. “Exactly that.”

He holds up a hand. “Relax. I didn’t tell him everything. Just that you enjoyed yourself.”

He pauses, lips twitching. “Which you did. Still are.”

You exhale, trying not to give in to the pull of his smile. “That’s not the point.”

He leans in slightly. “No, the point is—” he tilts his head, eyes dropping to your lips—“you still owe me a kiss.”

Your breath catches. “That again?”

“It’s part of the deal,” he shrugs, all innocence. “It doesn’t count as a real date otherwise.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you deflect—like always. “Why are you so interested in me anyway?”

He blinks, thrown for a second.

“I’m your lecturer,” you continue, words low and rushed. “You could date any girl your age. And let’s be honest, it wouldn’t be hard for you. You’re… popular and all.”

Felix pauses, and then—just like that—he gives you the most straightforward answer he’s given all night.

“Because they’re not you.”

It’s not even the words—it’s the way he says them. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s fact.

You glance down at your wine glass, trying to ground yourself, but nothing feels real. Not the boat rocking gently. Not the jacket over your shoulders. Not the heat slowly blooming in your chest. You feel hot and it’s not just the alcohol. You shift your gaze back to him—and he’s already watching you.

“So... should we kiss now?” he asks, voice low, smooth, almost careful.

You don’t answer. You can’t. But your eyes flick down to his mouth. Just briefly but enough for him to see it. And maybe that’s answer enough.

“We just need one,” he murmurs, inching closer. “One kiss. To make this a real date.”

There’s no avoiding him forever, right? Sooner or later, it’ll happen. Might as well be now. So you nod and close your eyes

He doesn’t dive in. Doesn’t rush. Instead, he lifts his hand and brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear. His fingers linger at the side of your head, warm against your skin, and you lean into the touch without meaning to.

And then— He kisses you. Soft. Barely there. A press of lips so careful, so unexpectedly tender it makes your heart stutter. It’s nothing like you expected from someone like Felix. It feels like the first kiss you had when you were still young and naive, full of nerves and promise. It makes your chest tighten, makes your hands clutch the edge of the picnic mat for balance. But then, slowly, he deepens it. He leans in closer, tilts his head, breath brushing your cheek, and the kiss melts into something warmer—something heady and patient and intentional.

Your hands drift up without thinking, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, and suddenly you’re not just kissing him—you’re wanting it. Wanting him.

You feel yourself sink, cushions soft beneath you, and before you can catch yourself, your back hits the mat with Felix hovering over you, lips still pressed to yours.

And you hate it. God, you hate that he’s right. That he is a good kisser—too good. The kind that leaves you breathless and warm all over, like oxygen suddenly doesn’t matter as long as his mouth is on yours.

You never imagined this. Not like this. Not with him. But now that you’ve had a taste… You’d rather not breathe than not kiss him again. And just when you start to chase him back with your lips, he pulls away.

Your body instinctively leans up, trying to follow—but he stops you with a quiet breath against your mouth. You frown before you can catch yourself, but quickly smooth your expression, swallowing hard.

His face hovers just above yours, close enough that you can still feel the heat of his breath. Then his eyes trail down. Slow. Lingering. His gaze drags down your neck, over your chest, down the curves of your body pressed beneath him—like he’s undressing you with just his eyes—and it shouldn’t make you feel as hot as it does.

But it does because you suddenly feel too exposed. Your skin prickles, heart slamming inside your chest, breath shallow.

Then he brings his eyes back to your face—and the stare is even worse. Too intense. Too real. He’s not smirking anymore, not entirely. Just this soft, knowing pull at the corner of his lips, like he’s watching something slowly crack open in you and loves every second of it.

You look away, cheeks burning. “Don’t stare at me like that…”

“Why not?” he says, voice lower now. “You’re beautiful to me.”

You curse him silently for saying it so easily. So genuinely. You want to say something clever, to brush it off like it didn’t hit you straight in the chest—but then his hand is on your face, fingers light against your cheek, tilting your chin gently until you’re forced to meet his eyes again.

He smiles, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “So?” he asks. “What did you think of my kiss?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Because what are you supposed to say? That it wrecked you? That you’ll never forget the feel of his mouth on yours? That you can still feel the ghost of it against your lips like he’s still kissing you?

You look away again and he chuckles. Low, smug, warm. “Come on. Tell me,” he murmurs.

Then his thumb brushes across your lower lip—soft, slow, lingering. Your breath catches.

“I’ll just give you another one,” he whispers, “so you can figure out your answer.”

And then— He kisses you again. But this time, there’s nothing tentative or slow about it. He kisses you hard. Lips crashing into yours like he’s waited years instead of weeks, like he’s finally allowed to show you what’s really been hiding under all that teasing. His tongue slides into your mouth, warm and hungry, and you respond before you can stop yourself. Your hands are in his hair, his shirt, anything you can grab onto to hold yourself together.

He shifts his weight fully over you, an elbow propped beside your head just to keep himself from crushing you—but god, you want the weight. The press of him. The heat of his body, solid and steady and burning against yours. You arch slightly, chest to chest, and he fits over you like he belongs there. The kiss grows messier, deeper. Teeth graze lips, your nails curl into his shoulders, and your breath is short and shallow between the drag of your mouths.

You can't tell when you stopped thinking. Maybe it was when his tongue slipped into your mouth. Maybe it was the way his hands started roaming—confident, warm, sure. Or maybe it was the moment you stopped pushing him away.

You’re not even sure where his jacket went—just that you’re burning now, every part of you, and the cool night air does nothing to help it.

Felix is all over you now. His mouth trails down your jaw, across your cheekbone, and to your neck. He kisses like he means it. Like he’s wanted this for a long time. And the worst part? You let him. No—you want him to.

You tilt your head without meaning to, baring your throat to him as he presses soft, open-mouthed kisses there—then bites, gentle but claiming. His hand is on your waist, then your thigh, then everywhere at once. Exploring. Possessive.

Your breath hitches as he shifts over you, one knee between your legs, pressing just enough for you to feel the heat of him through the fabric.

It’s dizzying. Too much. And at the same time... Not enough. Then his mouth finds the opening of your dress—his breath hot against your skin—and you feel his lips trail down, slow and deliberate, until he’s mouthing at the swell of your chest.

It doesn't take long until he gets impatient. You feel it in the way his hands move—rougher, needier. With a tug, the neckline of your dress gives way, falling enough to bare your breasts to the night. The air rushes over your skin, cool and sharp, but it's nothing compared to sensation of his mouth meeting your flesh. The hot of his tongue swirling around your nipple. The wet press of lips on your soft mounds. The way he focuses on you like there’s nothing else in the world.

You arch into him, your hand flying to the back of his head, anchoring him there. His tongue flicks—his lips close around your nipple—and suddenly your stomach clenches, heat coiling deep.

Your thoughts blur and you only come back to yourself when you feel his hand again—sliding lower now. Slower. Deliberate. Fingers skimming your inner thigh, teasing along the edge of where you want him most. Not touching. Not yet.

Your body reacts to his touches. Your hips shift, seeking him. Inviting him.

His mouth returns to your neck, voice low, muffled, intoxicating. “Does it feel good?”

You open your mouth, but all that comes out are breathless whimpers.

His hand moves again, and you feel the press of his palm against your sex—over the fabric, light but maddening. He draws slow, lazy circles on your clit right where you’re pulsing for more, and your body shivers beneath him.

Still, you can’t answer. Still, he doesn’t stop.

Then his lips are at your ear again, the heat of his breath skating over your skin. “I’m going to touch you now,” he murmurs, so quiet you almost don’t hear it. “Really touch you.”

Hearing that only tightens the knot inside your stomach and worse is he makes you wait—just long enough to make you tremble—before his hand slips beneath the fabric. Beneath your last barrier. You suck in a breath at the first contact of his hand on your wet cunt.

The way his fingers explore, the way he learns you—he’s not teasing anymore. He’s focused. Intent. Working you open with every glide, every press, every calculated movement like he’s mapping you with his hands.

“Still can’t answer?” he whispers against your skin.

You shake your head. Maybe in protest. Maybe in surrender. You don’t know anymore.

He chuckles softly, like he’s enjoying every second of your unraveling. “Don’t hold back,” he says. “Let me hear you,”

And then—

The tension snaps. You moan, soft at first—then louder, fuller. You can’t contain it. Not with the way he’s touching you, kissing you, covering you like you belong to him. Your head tips back and then you feel it—your whole body winding tighter and tighter until—

Everything explodes.

Silence, except for your breath and the gentle lap of the water around the boat. But somewhere in the haze of it all, your dazed eyes flick upward—and for a second, you catch the stars.

Tiny, glittering specks scattered across a black sky. The soft rock of the boat. The smell of the sea. The jacket around your shoulders. His weight, his mouth, his hands…

You hate it. Because this—this whole thing—it’s beautiful. And Felix? Felix was once again right.

-

Felix can’t believe himself. Scratch that—he can believe himself.

What he can’t believe is how easily you came apart for him. How your body arched, how your moans spilled, how your fingers curled into his shoulders like he was the only thing anchoring you to the world.

He just made you come with his hand and God… you were so beautiful like that. Unglued. Unfiltered. Yours.

You’re still beneath him when he lifts his hand, fingers glistening in the soft light. Without thinking, he slips them between his lips, tasting the evidence of how badly you wanted him—how badly you still do, no matter how much you pretend otherwise. You taste like the ocean and sin. Sweet and sharp.

Felix sighs through his teeth, the heat in his chest simmering slow now. Satisfied, but not done. Not even close.

“You’re so beautiful like that, Professor,” he murmurs aloud, almost absentmindedly.

Your body tenses instantly. It’s subtle, but he feels it. The way your legs clamp shut. The way your arms cross over your chest like you’re trying to erase what just happened. Like you’ve suddenly remembered who you are and who he is.

Shit.

You don’t even look at him when you speak. “I don’t want to do anything more than this.”

The words hit like a slap—cold and clipped—but Felix doesn’t flinch. He blinks, sits back, gives you space.

“Hey,” he says softly, “I wasn’t planning to.”

You still don’t look at him.

So he smirks. Just a little. “Besides, we still have two dates left, remember? Enough time to try a lot of things.”

That makes you glance his way—only to shoot him a glare sharp enough to kill a lesser man.

Felix just grins wider. He lives for that look on your face now. The one that says you want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time. He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. We’re taking it slow.”

Then he flops onto the mat beside you with a dramatic sigh, tucking his hands behind his head, eyes toward the sky like he didn’t just completely ruin you five minutes ago.

“I happen to like it slow,” he adds casually, “makes the payoff even better.”

Your sharp exhale beside him tells him you’re glaring again, and it makes him smile into the stars. Because the truth is he’s not sorry. Not even a little.

He knows you’re back to building your walls again, wrapping yourself in professionalism and distance and control. But it’s too late. He’s already seen what’s underneath.

And now? Now, he’s never wanted anything more than to crack you open all the way—slowly, thoroughly, sweetly.

He’s going to take his time. And you? You’re going to let him. Even if you don’t know it yet.

-

The ride back is quiet.

Not the awkward kind of silence—more like the weighty kind, heavy with everything that was said without words. Everything that happened. Everything that shouldn’t have.

Felix grips the steering wheel with one hand, the other resting on the gear shift, stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye when he can. You’re turned toward the window, face unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line.

You haven’t said a word since you pulled yourself together and climbed into the passenger seat, cheeks still flushed, your arms crossing like they’re trying to hold in all the heat he coaxed out of you.

He gets it. He knows what this is. It’s embarrassment. Guilt. Confusion. And again—he’s not sorry. Not even for a second. Not when he can still feel the shape of you in his hands. Not when his jacket is still draped over your shoulders.

He parks outside your apartment building and kills the engine. The car dips into silence again.

You reach for your bag, already halfway out the door—still trying to flee the moment—when he leans over the console slightly.

“Hey,” he says, just loud enough to make you pause. “You can keep the jacket. Looks good on you.”

Your hand immediately flies up to the collar like you only just remembered it was there. And the moment you do, you’re shrugging out of it like it’s on fire, shoving it into his lap without even looking at him, then you’re out the door. No “thank you.” No “goodnight.”

Felix doesn’t take it personally. He watches as you march up the steps, heels tapping fast against the pavement like you can’t get inside fast enough.

Just before you disappear through the building’s front door, he rolls the window down and calls out. “Goodnight, Professor! Sleep tight. Dream of me.”

You don’t stop. Don’t turn around. But he swears he sees your shoulders tense.

He waits until the door shuts behind you. Waits until he sees the faint flicker of light from your apartment window upstairs—just to be sure you're safely home.

It’s only when he’s alone again that he brings the jacket up to his face, presses it to his nose. It smells like you now. Soft, floral, faintly sweet—your perfume clinging to the fabric in a way that makes his stomach twist and settle at the same time. He smiles to himself in the dark, fingers tightening around the collar of the jacket. He’s not going to wash it. Not yet. Then he turns the engine back on, and the car hums back to life as he drives off into the night—already thinking about what he’ll do with the next date.

Because now he knows exactly how close you are to falling for him and he has every intention of pulling you the rest of the way down.

-

Felix walks through the front door of his parents’ house and is instantly hit with the scent of something warm and sweet wafting from the kitchen. Cinnamon, maybe. Apples. Something homey. It’s the kind of smell that sinks into your skin and makes you feel like a kid again.

He kicks his shoes off by the hallway, but pauses when he notices something new—several boxes stacked by the wall near the coat rack. Some labeled with marker. One of them is slightly open and reveals a pair of heavy-looking boots and what looks like a rolled-up poster tube sticking out. His brows pull together as he aware that these boxes weren’t here the last time he visited.

He brushes it off for now and heads into the dining room, where his mom already has the table set—placemats, cutlery, homemade pie resting under a net cover at the center. She greets him with that familiar warmth and tells him to sit while she finishes up the last of the side dishes.

Mr. Bahng walks in not long after, clapping Felix on the back and sliding into his seat like it’s been a long day already. “Glad you’re here, son.”

Felix grins. “Wouldn’t miss mom's cooking.”

“Smart boy,” she calls from the kitchen.

They dig in not long after she joins them—grilled chicken, sautéed greens, roasted potatoes. Comfort food at its finest. And for a while, it’s just peaceful. Familiar. Family.

But curiosity keeps tugging at Felix so he sets his fork down. “Hey, uh… what’s with the boxes by the door?”

His mom looks up at Mr. Bahng, who chuckles around a bite of chicken. “Oh, that’s Chris’s stuff,” he says, like it’s nothing. “He’s moving in for a bit.”

Felix blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

“Mmhmm,” his mom nods, reaching for her glass. “He just got a placement in the city. Starting work soon. He’ll be staying with us until he finds a place of his own.”

Felix leans back in his chair, letting the news settle.

Chris. Moving in. He hasn’t lived under the same roof with Chris in a while—not since college holidays. But the thought instantly makes him grin.

Chris is… Chris. The kind of older brother who never treated Felix like a nuisance, even back when they first met. Always patient, always willing to listen. Even when Felix was a kid who didn’t know where he belonged in the sudden shuffle of a new blended family. Despite not being related by blood, Chris feels more like a brother than anyone ever could. He’s solid. Reliable. Always there when it matters.

“Man,” Felix says with a chuckle, “that’s awesome.”

His mom smiles, clearly pleased. “I thought you’d be happy. He should be back from overseas next week.”

“I can’t wait,” Felix says. “It’s been too long.”

There’s a warm buzz in his chest now, a genuine excitement he hasn’t felt in a while. Not the same kind of heat he feels when he’s teasing you, not the thrill of chasing what he’s not supposed to have—but something steadier.

He’s missed having Chris around and maybe this whole year’s going to be more interesting than he thought.

“Thanks for lunch, Mom. I’ve got class in an hour, I should head out,” Felix calls out as he pushes back from the dining table, rubbing his stomach.

His mom waves him off from the kitchen sink. “Take some pie with you!”

“Already packed it,” he says with a grin, lifting the foil-covered plate as proof.

He heads to the front door, crouching down to shove his feet into his sneakers. But as he balances on one foot, he loses it—just slightly—and his elbow knocks one of the boxes stacked by the wall.

The lid pops open and its contents tumble out across the floor—books, folders, a pencil case, a couple old notepads with their corners bent.

From the kitchen, his mom’s voice floats out, slightly alarmed. “Everything okay out there, honey?”

“Yeah!” Felix calls back. “Just me being clumsy.”

He sighs and crouches to gather everything back inside. Most of it is harmless. Academic stuff. Some sketchpads. The kind of things that live at the bottom of someone’s closet and don’t see daylight for years. He grabs a weathered notebook and flips it shut, about to toss it back in—when something slips from between the pages.

A photo. It flutters to the ground, landing face-up on the hardwood. Felix immediately reaches for it and holds it in his hand.

There’s a boy in the photo—about nine or ten, cheeks round with youth, arms skinny. He’s grinning ear to ear, dimples sunken deep into his cheeks, the kind of smile that hasn’t yet been weighed down by the world. Chris. Definitely Chris.

But what makes Felix’s breath catch is the girl standing next to him and holding his hand. She looks about the same age. Bright eyes. That same shy-but-curious smile you sometimes wear when you’re not pretending to hate Felix. He knows that face. Knows it too well.

It’s you. There’s no mistaking it.

His chest tightens with something sharp and unfamiliar as he flips the photo over. Sure enough, there it is. Scrawled in faded pen at the bottom corner:

“Chris & Y/N – Summer 2004”

Felix stares at it. Something shifts in his gut. A dull thud against the inside of his ribs. He remembers what his stepdad said about introducing him to a “daughter of an old friend.” How proud he was. How eager he was for Felix to meet you. He didn’t think much of it at the time. Just assumed it was some business acquaintance. But now…

It clicks.

Your dads are friends. Longtime friends. You and Chris? You were childhood friends.

Felix tucks the photo back into the notebook and shoves it deep into the box. Closes the lid tighter than before. Like it might stop his thoughts from racing.

The ride to campus feels longer than usual. One hand on the wheel, one drumming against his thigh, restless. He should be brushing it off. Laughing it away like he usually does.

But something’s different now.

Instead of feeling closer to you, like he’s found another link in the invisible thread tying you to him, Felix feels like he’s trespassing. Like he’s stepping into something that was never meant to be his.

Then his thought drifts to that time he came to that café thinking he was just part of a harmless setup. A playful matchmaking attempt. But now, he wonders.

That night…

When you sat there in that dress, checking the door every few seconds, lips pressed together, nervous as hell—

You weren’t waiting for him. You were waiting for Chris. And when Felix walked in instead? Your disappointment had nothing to do with the date. It had everything to do with who showed up.

The car turns down the familiar campus road, and his grip on the wheel tightens. Felix isn’t sure what stings more—

The lie he didn’t know you were telling. Or the truth that’s starting to settle inside him.

-

Class is nearly over, but you’ve barely registered half the things coming out of your own mouth. You wrap up the last of your lecture with a few half-hearted sentences, distracted by the empty seat near the back of the lecture hall.

It’s the first time Felix's missed class since the semester started.

It shouldn’t bother you. Really, it shouldn’t. You’ve had students skip before. It happens. Life happens. But something about his absence unsettles you more than you’re willing to admit. Maybe because he’s always there. Always in your peripheral, always smirking, teasing, leaning just a little too close when he talks to you after class.

Or maybe it’s because after everything that happened on the boat, part of you expected him to show up today—maybe act smug, maybe act like nothing happened at all—but at least be here.

But he’s not and instead, you’ve spent the entire hour distracted, stumbling over your words and overcompensating by overexplaining theories that didn’t need elaboration.

You tell yourself it’s fine. Better even. That space will do you both good. That last night was nothing but a heat-of-the-moment lapse in judgment and him being gone today is a blessing. Still, as you pack up your things, you feel the smallest pang of something you don’t want to name.

With a sigh, you sling your bag over your shoulder and head toward your office. The halls are mostly empty now, the soft hum of end-of-day quiet settling over the building.

By the time you reach your door, you're already mentally sorting through the stack of ungraded papers and files you shoved into your inbox tray last week.

You’ll focus on work. That’s what you need. Something to ground you. Something predictable.

You open the door to your office and step inside, setting your bag down beside your desk. The room smells faintly of paper and coffee, and it’s quiet. Peaceful.

Finally.

You roll your sleeves up and start organizing the scattered papers across your desk—mind slowly settling, your thoughts just beginning to clear.

Until the door creaks open behind you. You're not expecting anyone, so when your office door swings open without a knock, irritation flares fast.

“Excuse me—” You spin around, ready to scold whoever it is.

But the words never make it out because it's him. It's Felix.

And before you can ask what he’s doing here, why he looks like he hasn’t slept, or what that look in his eyes means—

He’s already crossing the room. Fast. Determined. Jaw clenched, eyes dark.

You barely have time to suck in a breath before his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is hot. Hasty. Desperate. It’s not soft or teasing the way it was on the boat. This one is rough—nearly frantic—like he's trying to prove something. Like he’s trying to erase something.

Your back hits the filing cabinet behind you as he leans in closer, his hand gripping your waist tight. You push at his chest just enough to part your lips from his.

“Felix—” you pant, breathless, “We can't do this here. You—”

Felix swallows your words with another kiss, even deeper than before, mouth hot and hungry against yours. And you try to resist—you should resist—but every time you try to push him away, his hands slide over your body like they already know you’re bluffing. Because they are. You are.

Every second of hesitation only makes him more relentless. Your body betrays you first, melting into his again. Then your hands, wrapping around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. And finally your mouth—kissing him back, just as desperate, just as needy.

You’re not sure when it happens, but he’s steering you backward. One slow step at a time. Until the backs of your thighs bump into the edge of your desk. Your palms find the wood behind you, bracing yourself as Felix presses into your space. His mouth doesn’t leave yours, but his hands have already started to wander—fingertips skating down your waist, tugging at the hem of your blouse like he wants it out of the way.

You break the kiss with a gasp, heart pounding, and your voice comes out weaker than it should. “Felix—someone could walk in—”

He dips his head into the crook of your neck, breath hot as it ghosts over your skin. “Then tell me to stop.”

But you don’t. You can’t. Because right now, with the way his mouth finds that sweet spot under your ear, the way his hands slide up your thighs, slow but firm—you don’t want him to.

Felix kisses you again and again and you’re still trying to catch your breath when he finally pulls away, lips swollen, eyes wild. Your heart is hammering, your back still against the edge of your desk, and everything feels too hot—too exposed.

“This is wront,” you whisper, voice trembling. “We shouldn’t be doing this here—”

But he isn’t listening. Instead, he looks at you like he can’t hear anything but the beat of your heart.

His hand slides to the front of your blouse, fingers slipping over the first button. You catch his wrist, but it’s weak—your grip is nothing more than a suggestion. He undoes one button. Then another.

“Felix—” you warn again, quieter this time.

Sunlight pours through the office window, washing over your chest as he parts the fabric, slowly, reverently, like he’s unveiling a masterpiece.

When your skin is bare to him, he sucks in a breath. His hand lifts, fingers grazing lightly over your skin—barely there, but enough to make you shiver.

“I can’t believe,” he murmurs, gaze fixed to the lines of your body, “you stand in front of a whole class looking like this underneath.”

He says it like a confession. A sin he’s desperate to keep committing. “I'll think of this heavenly body when you stand in the front of the class.”

Before you can stop him, his mouth is on your neck—warm, open kisses trailing lower, over your collarbone, down to the edge of your bra. And then he’s pushing it down. Not gently.

You gasp when the cups fall away, your breasts spilling out, exposed to the cool air and the sun pouring through the window.

“Felix—”

But his mouth is already there. Heat rushes to your face as he latches on, tongue circling one sensitive bud while his hand kneads the other, fingers rolling your nipple between them with maddening care. His teeth scrape just slightly, enough to make your knees threaten to buckle.

You bite your lip to suppress the sound that builds in your throat.