✏️ .. part 2 any1? comment #teamjju to root for our man and get tagged for the 2nd part🤞🏻

cortis taglist . @taelvvrzz @en-dream @anniyahhh @hyuneskkami @toomanyfanficsbruh @maraaaa105 @wowbyselene

“Hi!”

Jake threw the ball, which hit the nest then came back directly to his face. You gasped and rushed to his side where he had fallen to the floor. “Are you okay?”

He held his head and nodded, “It’s nothing.”

You giggled softly, grabbing his ball that was rolling away then placed it in front of him. “I didn’t mean to distract you. I was wondering since we’re both playing with the ball that maybe you’d want to play together? That way we can use the whole court.”

“You want to play with me?” He asked, his hand falling to his knee.

You nodded with a smile, the same one that first made Jake notice you.

“Kiddo, your mom’s making dinner!” Both you and Jake looked at the man waving you over, making you sigh in disappointment as you turned to the little boy in front of you. You held your hand out for him to take, which he took with a little hesitation. You pulled him up and smiled.

“I have to go. We can play next time. Bye!”

Without saying anything else, you waved at the boy and ran away to who Jake believed was your dad. His eyes widened when the man squinted his eyes, making him smile nervously and wave politely.

Unfortunately, after that interaction with the girl he believed was the love of his life, he never got to play basketball with you. Jake hid himself in his house for the rest of the year, he was scared of girls–he was scared of you. He had never met a girl, other than pre-school, he’s attended an all-boys school, making it obvious he didn’t know how to interact with girls other than his mom and aunts. So when you asked him to play and he embarrassed himself by hitting himself with the ball, he thought you’d make fun of him the next time you saw each other, which is why he decided never to come out of his room until he was eighteen.

Maybe he was being dramatic, but he couldn’t risk it. The worst part is that he didn’t even learn your name, or you his. But he learned that you lived just two blocks away from his house, so sometimes he would discreetly take a walk with his puppy or ride his scooter to search for your house and see if you were there. One time, he saw you selling lemonade just outside on your porch, so he forced his older brother to buy a few cups with his own hard-earned money. His brother found it cute. When he was buying the lemonade, Jake was hiding behind a tree, watching the interaction happily as you received the money from his brother and you handed him the two lemonades. The smile on your face lightened up his world. His heart felt lighter, and he couldn't help but to giggle on the way home in his scooter.

“Her name is Y/n.”

“You asked for her name?!” He raised his voice at his brother, embarrassed. “Hyung, you can’t just do that!”

His brother laughed, enjoying the little cup of lemonade as he watched his little brother’s ears redden.

WHEN JAKE first entered high school, he was excited because it was a mixed school, and even though you were neighbours, he was hoping you’d both attend the same high school. He was fourteen now, it had been three years since you first met, also three years he hid away to not embarrass himself again.

But of course, humiliation was basically Jake’s middle name.

It was during lunch break on the first day, a boy from his old school named Heeseung– who was a year older, had invited him to play basketball with two other boys he didn’t know, and of course he accepted. It was all going well, he had missed a couple shots but redeemed himself by shooting one from a large distance, earning a few cheers from the girls who were watching by the bench. But he didn’t care about them, his main focus was on the girl that was sitting under the tree, laughing with another girl.

“Watch out!”

Sunghoon had thrown the ball right in Jake’s face, and you had seen it all. The boy fell to the floor with a groan, making his new friends rush to him. While they were busy checking up on him, you watched as the ball rolled your way, you stopped your conversation with Lily–your new friend, and stood up, straightened your skirt, and picked up the ball that was just in front of your feet.

“I’ll be right back.”

Lily nodded, watching as you made your way to the silly boy who was trying to stand up. When he looked at you, his jaw dropped. You were even more beautiful up-close, the sun was on your face, making you look like a goddess–he couldn’t believe you were walking up to him.

Without saying a word, you stretched your arms out, the ball touching the boy’s chest. A smile appeared on your face when Jake’s hands shakingly grabbed the ball.

“T-thank you.”

You nodded, about to walk away when he opened his mouth again. “I’m Jake. We’re neighbours–kind of, I live at the end of the street. There’s like ten houses between us.” He rambled, making you giggle.

You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and nodded, “I know. My dad and I play basketball every Sunday morning, you should play with us sometimes, he’s a really good coach.” You suggested.

Jake couldn’t believe the angel in front of him was actually inviting him to play basketball with him, it was surreal. It was a dream.

“S-sure. That would be awesome!” He chuckled.

That same week, on Sunday morning, Jake had met up with you and your father. He was very awkward, played a little badly, but it was fun, because he was playing with you. Your father taught him a few tricks, and he tried using them against you, but you were two steps ahead of him, you found him cute.

You and Jake became very close after that Sunday. You would walk back home together after saying goodbye to your other friends. It was routine to walk home, you protected each other, and your parents–along with Jake’s, trusted you two to take care of each other and get back home safely. Some days, Jay would walk back home with you two, only parting ways after a couple of minutes. Some days you’d eat at Jake’s house and vice versa. Jake’s brother would tease him, but something about Jake is that he admired how you would defend him or do something to make him feel better. You were always there to make him happy, not once did he feel sad when you were there. You were special to him.

BY YOUR second year, you were inseparable. Jake had gotten the same exact schedule as you, and some of the classes he shared with Jay as well. So to say you were together 24/7 was an understatement. Seriously, he’d be following you like a lost puppy. You’d tell him, “You know you can go to your friends too, right? I don’t want you to feel like you need to be with me all the time.” And he’d respond with, “I want to be with you all the time.”

Jake was never one to hide his feelings for you, but you were a little oblivious.

No friend would do the things he did for you. He wouldn’t carry your backpack all the way home if it were Sunghoon. He wouldn’t give you his banana milk because he knew you loved banana milk if it were Heeseung. He wouldn’t cancel on his friend to help you study for physics if it were Jay. He wouldn’t do any of that stuff if it weren’t you.

“Look, it’s Sohn Youngjae.” You whispered.

A third year student who you had a huge crush on. Jake was definitely not jealous. “He looks like a Korean Peter Pevensie, don’t you think?” You turned to Jake, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears.

He scrunched his face, poking the food. “The Narnia guy?” You nodded. “But he’s not blond.”

“Hmm, you’re right. He’s still kind of cute.” You shrugged.

Cute. You thought a boy was “cute”. You only ever called Jake that–and that Riki boy you babysat, how can you call a boy you’ve never talked to “cute”? Was it not a special compliment?

That summer, Jake decided to dye his hair blond. Terrible idea. His original intent was to look similar to Peter Pevensie, your fictional crush since you were a baby. That same character you said you’d pick over any boy. Jake wanted to change that, so he dyed his hair.

When he showed up at your doorstep, your jaw dropped.

“Your hair is blond.” You stated.

He gave you that tight-awkward smile, “Is it bad?”

You shook your head as you ran your fingers through his hair. Jake couldn’t help but to close his eyes, making you giggle. “You look like Layla!” He opened his eyes and frowned.

“What? No, don’t you think I look like the Narnia guy?” You giggled again, shaking your head. “Oh.”

“Did you dye your hair to look like him?” You asked. Jake hesitated, but ended up nodding, ashamed. “Why? I mean, it looks really good, but your natural hair is already pretty.”

He shrugged, “I just thought you’d like me better if I looked like him. He’s your fictional crush, after all. And you always say you’d choose him over anyone.” He rambled.

“Jake,” You covered your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, making him roll his eyes. “Dude, he’s a fictional character! He’s not real. And I’m obviously being dramatic when I say I’d choose him over anyone.” You explained with little laughs.

“So…you like me better than him?” He wondered.

You nodded. “I would pick you in a room full of Peter Pevensies.”

You crossed your fingers, making him break into a smile. “You’re so annoying.”

THERE WERE so many ways he wanted to confess to you. He had practiced, wrote so many letters, asked his cousins, his mom, and even Lily–your best friend, for some advice on how to tell a girl he likes her. But of course, Jake was good at everything but going along with a plan. His original plan was to ask you out just before Christmas, but he got nervous, too nervous, and decided maybe to wait for a bit. He wasn’t completely sure if you liked him back, but after having a talk with your best friend and asking his friends what they thought about you, he thought there was a possibility that maybe you did like him back.

“I’m not telling you anything, dude.”

“From Aussie to Aussie, you have to.”

Lily gasped, hitting the boy’s shoulder, making him groan in pain. “That’s not fair! We swore to only use that when it’s necessary.”

Jake rolled his eyes, moving his hands in the air. “This is important, I need to know that I’m not misunderstanding anything. If I tell her I like her and she doesn’t like me back, our friendship is ruined. If she does like me back, then maybe I can be her boyfriend. But I’m overthinking our interactions now. Do you think I’m being delusional and she doesn’t like me at all, yes or no?” He squinted his eyes at the girl.

There was once a time where he got a nintendo switch for his birthday and the first thing he did was run to your house to show you. You had gasped, excited for him. “That’s so cool!”

His smile was bigger than it was when he received the gift, because nothing made him more happy than seeing you smile.

“I know, right?” He giggled, handing it to her. “Here, they got me mario kart. Your favorite.”

You gasped and grabbed the switch, your fingers not knowing how to move. “I-I don’t know how to use this. I usually use controllers.” You nervously admitted.

Jake smiled calmly, “Here, let me show you.” He gently placed his fingers over yours, guiding them. “You have to press this one to move.” He moved your finger with his. “Yeah, like that.”

You were not paying attention to what he was saying, your eyes kept flickering to his as he kept explaining to you how to use the switch. When he finished, he looked at you and smiled, “D-did you get it?” He asked, suddenly stuttering when he realized you were looking at him.

“Not really.” You breathed out a laugh, making him smile, hands still over yours.

“It’s okay. You should come to my house so we can play. That way you can practice.” He suggested, making you smile and nod with excitement.

“You are delusional.”

His jaw dropped.

“But maybe there’s a tiny chance that she might like you back.” Jake pouted, blinking too many times. “Fine! I’m not telling you anything but I will tell you it will be a great idea to confess.”

“Because she likes me back?” His eyes lightened up.

“That’s all I’ll say.” She zipped her mouth and dramatically walked backwards.

Jake stood up and raised his arm, pretending to hit the air dramatically.

After that, he realized he either had everything to lose, or the opportunity to finally make his dream come true. Eleven year old Jake would be disappointed in seventeen year old Jake if he knew how long he was taking in confessing to his crush.

“You smell like Christmas.”

Now what is that compliment? Not even Jake knew, but somehow, you found it cute. “And you smell like expensive cologne.”

You were right, Jake did smell like expensive cologne. His uncle had given it to him as a gift and he poured it all over himself right before he sprinted to your house. He sniffed his own clothes and smiled awkwardly. “My uncle gave me a cologne for Christmas.” He shook his head, opening his jacket to reveal a small wrapped box. “Do you think we could walk for a little bit?”

You nodded, Jake watched as you looked back at your parents who gave you thumbs up. You grabbed your hung coat from the entry and stepped outside, slipping your shoes on. You and Jake walked for a minute, before he stopped in front of you and handed you the box he was waiting for a whole month to give to you.

“This is for you. It’s not much but it reminded me of you. Merry Christmas.” He said your name in a way you never heard.

You smiled shyly, grabbing the box. “Can I open it now?” He nodded, looking nervous.

He didn’t know how you’d react, you always gave him and your friends gifts, so maybe you wouldn’t be that amazed by his small gift. But when a small gasp escaped your lips as you opened the box, revealing a beautiful necklace with a shiny sun on it, Jake realized maybe you were just really grateful. You looked at Jake and immediately hugged him to which he froze on the spot, not reacting fast. You pulled away from the hug, a small shy chuckle coming out of your lips as you looked down at the gift.

“I-I know it’s not much—“

“—it’s perfect. Thank you, Jake.” 

He nodded, a sigh of relief escaping him. At least one of the many few things he wanted to do tonight was done. 

“The reason I-I chose this necklace was because you light up every room you walk into. You being present is enough to make me smile—I guess it’s not that significant for you but I just thought because it reminded me of you, I’d get it.” He rambled through his words, making you smile.

“It’s the best gift someone has ever given me.” You confessed, “Now I feel embarrassed about my gift.”

You looked down, kicking your feet. Jake’s eyes widened in surprise, “you got me something?” He asked.

Again, he knew how much you loved giving gifts, but he always felt so special for being one of those people that were there to receive.

You nodded, handing him the bag with a side smile. He quickly opened it with a smile, a gasp escaping him when he saw the several sour jellies, a bracelet you made, and a Lego box inside it.

The smile on his face couldn’t be explained.

“Y/n, you’re amazing! This gift is everything!”

With no hesitation, he threw himself on you, placing delicate touches with his lips all over your head before lifting your head up, his lips reaching for your cheeks. You froze and looked at him, making him freeze as well.

Jake, what the hell are you doing? He thought, gasping as he realized what he had done.

“I-I’m so sorry.” He mumbled.

You stared at him, your eyes then flickering down to his mouth for a quick second. When he noticed that, he did the same. “I wanted to do this more formally but, c-can I be your boyfriend?” He asked.

That was not part of the plan, at least not how he wanted it to be.

Your lips parted open, a breath of relief escaping them. “That’s so random.”

Jake tilted his head to the side, “I’m not sure how to take that.” His lips moved, an inch close to your lips.

“It’s a yes. You can also kiss me, Jake.”

“Thank God.”

Jake closed the space between your lips, slowly and with no intent of leaving, moving his lips in synchronization with yours. He smiled into the kiss, making you pull away, giggling when you saw Jake’s reddened ears.

“Are you blushing?”

He shook his head. “Maybe. Can’t a boy blush because of his girlfriend?”

Girlfriend. You were Jake’s girlfriend. His girlfriend.

You chuckled, eyes squinted as your smile took over your face.

“Let me put the necklace on you, you silly goose.”

“You did not just call me that!”

“OKAY SAY, cheese!”

Even though Jake was going to the same university as his girlfriend and his friends, he couldn’t help but to leave a little bit sad. High school was the place where your relationship first started, where many of your “firsts” happened, and he was sad to leave it all behind.

“Jakey, get in the picture!”

Your dad waved him over, making him look at his own parents before rushing to your side. Your dad wrapped an arm around Jake’s shoulder, whereas he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him with the biggest smile on his face.

“Cheese!”

Instead of looking at the camera, for most of the pictures, Jake was looking at you.

“Okay, now take one with your friends, sweetie.” Your dad grabbed the camera as he gestured to you to get your friends.

You turned to Jake and shrugged. “We should get Lily and the boys.” He nodded, not wasting a second before he rushed to look for them.

You giggled, turning to your family. A second later, the group approached your dad with the proudest smiles on their faces.

“Mr. L/n, are you proud of me for graduating?” Sunghoon asked, flexing his muscles and showing off his graduated certificate.

“Of course, Sunghoon. I’m proud of all of you, especially Lily.” He pointed at the Australian girl, who flipped her hair dramatically on Sunghoon’s face, making him roll his eyes. “Okay, now get into a group hug. For the memories!”

You stood in the middle with Jake and Lily by your sides, then Sunghoon stood by Lily’s side and Jay by Jake’s. You all hugged each other tightly, not even bothering looking at the camera as you smiled happily at each other. Click. Your dad snapped the picture, a proud smile on his face. “Okay, funny faces now!”

Everyone stuck their tongues out and made peace signs, but all Jake could do was turn to you and laugh when he saw your face. Click.

“Okay, now the long-distance best friends!”

Lily and you pouted as you pushed the boys off and hugged each other tightly, making them laugh. “I’m going to miss you, Aussie baby girl!” You sobbed.

“And I’m going to miss you, my kawaii baby Pucca!” 

Your dad laughed even harder at the nicknames as he snapped the pictures. 

“Okay, now the boys!”

Sunghoon pushed both of you out of the way and was quick to flex his muscles, making Jake and Jay copy him. Their parents rolled their eyes, and more specifically, you and Lily did the same, only laughter coming out of your mouths.

“And….now the lovely couple!”

You snapped your head to your dad, to which Jake smiled widely as he pulled you into a very respectful hug. Click. You leaned away when he tried kissing your cheek, cheeks warming up as you tried pushing him away. Click. Click. Click.

“Let the boy kiss you!” Your dad teased.

“Stop, dad!” You cringed.

Jake really couldn’t be happier.

❌ MDNI ❌

JAKE WAS knew loving someone would be this easy. Maybe it was just you that was easy to love. You were just there, existing, and Jake wanted to do whatever it took to keep you here with him. It had been almost three years since you first started dating, and he couldn’t be happier.

“Don’t open your eyes yet.”

You were giggling, blindfold still on, as you waited for Jake to guide you to wherever he was taking you. “Hurry up!”

He giggled, placing his hands on your waist, footsteps matching yours as he stepped into his bedroom. Without saying anything, he pulled the blindfold off, “Ta-da! Happy birthday, pretty!”

You opened your eyes and gasped, turning just an inch to see Jake with the biggest smile on his face. The room was filled with a bouquet of your favorite flower, a big stack of books, and the lego you had said you wanted just a few months prior. You gave him the tightest hug, arms wrapped around his shoulders where his rested all the way around your waist.

“Jake, this is so beautiful.” You sobbed into his neck. “Thank you so much.”

He pulled away just enough to see your face and frowned, “Are you crying?”

You shook your head ‘no’, but the tears forming in your eyes said otherwise. Jake chuckled, grabbing your cheeks to plant kisses all over your face. “Don’t cry, beautiful.”

You closed your eyes as he kept leaving kisses, making you sob harder. He let out a small sob too, feeling sad for you, he pulled you into a hug and kissed the top of your head. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, baby. You’re going to make me cry.” He tried to joke, making you giggle on his chest.

You pulled away, his arms still wrapped around you, your hands moved to his cheeks as you leaned in to give him a long-lasting kiss on his lips. He melted under your touch, making you smile when you pulled away, caressing his face.

“I love you so so much.” You placed a small kiss on the corner of his mouth before rushing to the bed to see your gifts.

Jake stood there for a second with a smile on his face, just watching you go through the stack of books. “I went through your bookshelf so I wouldn’t get you a duplicate.” He mentioned.

You held one of the books to your heart and gasped, “Ugh, the effort!”

He rolled his eyes and jumped on the bed right next to you, pulling you into a hug. He started leaving soft kisses on your jaw, neck, collarbone, making you giggle as you put the book down and turned to face him, “I want to tell you something really important.”

He pressed his lips on your shoulder, eyes set on you. “What is it?” He said in between kisses.

“I…I think I’m ready.” You confessed, making him sit up in confusion.

“For?”

“To have sex.” 

His eyes widened, “A-are you sure?” He stuttered. “We don’t have to rush things. I-I don’t want you to feel like you’re being pressured or anything–”

“I know! I’ve just been thinking. There’s no one else I’d want to do this with, I want you to be my first time.” You smiled shyly, fidgeting with the rolled up blanket beneath you.

Jake nodded, licking his lips as a small chuckle escaped him. “I want you to be my first time too. B-but what if you don’t like it? I’m not experienced, or anything.” He said, ashamed. “What if you get the ick?”

You snorted, “You’re weird already, there’s nothing you can do that’ll get me the ick. Besides, they say first times are always awkward, but…I trust you, and it doesn’t have to be perfect, you know?” You reassured, then noticed the look on your boyfriend’s face. He looked…nervous, really nervous. “Unless you don’t want to do anything yet, I completely understand. I just wanted to tell you that I'm ready, so someday we can–”

Jake didn’t know what got into him that night, but before you could even finish the sentence, his lips were on yours, and hands were everywhere. This kiss was something else, hungrier, passionate. He kissed you like he wanted you to know this part was what was best. He devoured you, and you let him.

Jake knew about sex, of course he did. He was a nineteen year old boy who had just finished his sophomore year of college. He was the only one in his friend group that was in a relationship, so it was only a matter of time when they would ask him when he and you would have sex. But he never said anything, it wasn’t a topic of conversation he wanted to have with people. But of course he was curious, how couldn’t he? He would listen to his friends talk and talk about their hook up experiences. But he had that with you, and he couldn’t ask for more. Hell, his friends–college friends, always talked about how good sex was. But Jake wasn’t that type of person. He was the person that was willing to wait, sure, he’s had his dreams where stuff happens and he wakes up with the hardest morning wood, but he was willing to wait for you. Because there was nothing more precious than to have your first time with the person he treasured and loved the most.

But yeah, he couldn’t help but to jump right to it when you brought the topic up.

“You’re so beautiful.” He breathed out between kisses. A small whimper escaped from your lips, making Jake get more excited. He pulled you closer to him, moving the gifts just to the edge of the bed, not caring if they fell to the floor. With both arms, he positioned you on top of him, legs bracketing his lap.

Jake’s hands wandered around your body, under your top. You’ve had multiple make out sessions before, it wasn’t like you never did anything. He knew your body like the back of his hand. He knew his favorite parts, and he knew yours too.

With one hand, Jake grabbed the back of your neck to pull down to his lips, and with the other, he lifted your top just enough so his cold fingers touched your bare skin. When you gasped with his touch and your lips parted, he used it as an opportunity to enter with his tongue, exploring your mouth like he always did.

“Tel me if I’m being too rough.” He whispered, pulling away to look at you. “Tell me if you want to slow down.”

Out of breath, he swallowed nervously, eyes flickering down to your red-plumped lips, to give them one more rough kiss, not giving you time to breath. You whimpered into the kiss, making Jake’s hips twitch beneath you.

Your fingers ran through his hair. Make out sessions always ended right there, with you on top of him then falling on his chest. But this time, instead of pulling away, Jake sat and backed up until his back met the bed frame. His fingers moved carefully to the end of your top and looked up at you so innocently.

“Can I take this off?” He asked gently.

Your lips parted, finding a way to answer but you simply nodded, lifting your arms to help him. He raised the top over your shoulder and his hands were immediately on you. He took a second to breathe, to watch how your chest moved. And he couldn’t help but admire you.

Sure, he had seen you in a bikini plenty of times, but it was nothing like this. You were in a private setting, and you had just told him you wanted him to be your first time.

“You’re gorgeous.” He looked up at you, making you smile shyly, suddenly too self-aware that you were getting naked.

“Don’t say stuff like that.” You could feel your cheeks warming up. 

His fingers moved to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, your very messy hair, then he smiled. “It’s the truth.”

You leaned down to kiss him again, hands grabbing his face. Jake’s hands moved to your upper body to push your chest against his clothed one, feeling the warmth.

His lips suddenly found your neck, making you gasp at the way he started sucking on it. “Does it feel good? Tell me.” He kissed his way down to your collarbone.

“Yes, it feels really good.” You stuttered.

Jake smiled against your neck, kissing his way up to your lips before pulling away to take his fitted-shirt off. Your hands wasted no seconds to hover over his chest, making him chuckle when he pulled you closer again.

Out of nowhere, he switched positions, you under him, legs still wrapped around him as his body pressed heavy on yours. 

“Are you still sure?” You nodded, he kissed your shoulder. “I need words, baby. You gotta communicate.”

You opened your mouth, watching as his hands moved down to the waistband of your pants. “I’m still sure, Jake.” He smiled, and God that smile made you feel so many things. 

He pulled your pants down, underwear still on. And again, he couldn’t help but to take a second to admire how you looked; hair was everywhere, lips were plumped, juicy and bright red from all the kissing, chest was heaving, and your body…you were perfect.

When you noticed his eyes hovering everywhere, you couldn’t help but to move your arms to cover yourself, but Jake quickly pulled them away.

“Don’t. You’re beautiful like this.” He leaned closed to press his lips to your jaw, then down to your neck, making you melt under his lips. “You’re so perfect, and you’re my girlfriend. My perfect girlfriend.”

“Shut up.” You chuckled nervously.

He looked up at you and chuckled, “too much?”

You shook your head. “Not at all. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He said before pressing his lips against yours in one sweet kiss.

It didn’t take him long to discard his pants, leaving him in his boxers. You didn’t know what he looked like, he didn’t know what you looked like under all these clothes. But he didn’t care, because it was you, and everything about you was already perfect in his eyes.

“Jake?” You suddenly called, making him stop kissing his way down to your chest.

“Yeah?”

“W-we don’t have a condom.” You whispered, as if there were other people in the room.

Jake awkwardly scratched the back of his head and smiled, “yeah, I might have a few.” You furrowed your eyebrows, making him quickly stand up and rush to his bathroom, stumbling on the way back with a box of what looked like condoms. “My mom gave me these just in case.”

“Your mom?” You repeated.

He nodded.

“That’s so embarrassing.” You covered your face.

Jake dropped the box of condoms on the bed and rushed to you, taking your hands in his to kiss your face. “I thought so too at first, but it's for protection. She cares about you.” He kissed your nose.

You opened your eyes and looked at him with a small smile.

“We don’t have to do this tonight.” He whispered again, “we can always just watch tangled.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

You shook your head, pulling him closer. “I want this. A hundred percent.” You reassured him.

He licked his lips, eyes flickering down to his lips before nodding. He grabbed the box of condoms, opened it, and tore open one of the packs, but before he pulled down his boxers, he looked at you and smiled awkwardly.

“Woah, okay. This is real life.” He mumbled under his breath as finally he pulled his boxers down just enough to reveal his length. Your eyes widened, rested on your elbows as you watched him roll the condom on his cock.

“Uhm, is—is that going to…fit?” You wondered, suddenly scared.

Jake looked up and nodded, ignoring how his cock was basically staring at you. Whatever the definition of big is, it was Jake’s cock, and you couldn’t help but to want to close your legs in fear that you were going to break or something. Shut up, you want this. You shook your head and smiled.

“A-are you okay? Second thoughts?” Jake asked, knees resting on the bed as he grabbed your hand for comfort. “It’s not that big.” He tried to console you.

It really wasn’t. You just have never seen a dick before.

You finally looked up at Jake and nodded, swallowing nervously. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Jake silently cheered, a mix of emotions going through him as he touched your hips gently to pull you closer to him. “It’s going to sting a little bit at first. Are you sure you want this?” He asked again, fingers moving to the waistband of your underwear.

You nodded, “I trust you.”

He pulled your underwear all the way down then quickly settled between your legs, making you bite your lip. He pushed your legs apart, and Jake couldn’t help but to take a small look at your folds. He had never seen you like this, and he loved it. His fingers slid down your wetness, making you arch off the bed, a small gasp leaving your mouth. Jake watched as you closed your eyes, his cock pulsing just by it.

“I’ll be gentle. I promise.” He guided his tip to your entrance, you opened your eyes and nodded. Jake hovered over you, closing the distance between your bodies, pressing his bare chest on yours. His lips found yours for a second, to calm you, to prepare you. And when the tip finally entered you, both of your breaths hitched, he pressed his lips against yours.

“Is this okay?” He asked quietly.

You didn’t move, mumbling a small “yes”. He sighed and trembled above you as he continued entering you, your lips parted open, hands flew to his arm for support. “It hurts a little bit.” You stuttered.

Jake nodded, “I’ll go slow. It’s okay.”

He kissed you passionately, making you melt under his touch, only then realizing he entered you completely. He let out a gasp, making you clench around him. “F-fuck that feels good.” He shuttered over your lips, not moving. “Are you okay? Try to relax.”

“I think so.” You smiled nervously.

“Do you want me to move?”

You nodded, making him sigh in relief. He started rocking his hips, looking down to where your bodies were connecting and parted his lips open. You bit your lip, it was hurting a little, but the pleasure was bigger than the pain. You felt full, and felt tense, but somehow Jake was helping you get through it.

He looked back at you, hips moving as he leaned down to connect your lips with his. It was a messy kiss, but it was perfect. His tongue entered your mouth, savoring all of it. Your arms wrapped around his shoulder whereas your legs wrap around his waist, giving him more access to your body. You gasp at the sudden change of position, moaning into Jake’s mouth. He opened his mouth, pressing his cheek with yours as he breathed heavily.

“This feels so good—so perfect.” He gasped, the pace becoming faster and rougher than it was at first. No words came out of you, just moans and gasps for air. “Tell me how you feel? Is it good? Where do you want me?” He asked between grunts.

You shook your head, “this is perfect. You’re perfect. I love you, Jake.”

He groaned when he heard his name roll out of your tongue, making him rock his hips harder into you. “I can’t believe you’re mine. I love you so much, Y/n. You’re so perfect. And you’re my girl, and I love you.” He whispered, out of breath, close to his release.

You held him tighter, feeling too much too fast. You tensed up, gasped for air. “J-Jake, I-I think—I think I’m close.”

Jake shut his eyes, holding you tighter to help you. “Does it feel good?”

“It feels weird.” You gasped.

“It’s okay. I’m also close, we can come together. Just relax. It’s just me.” You nodded, taking his face in your hand to hold him close to your face. You watch as his expression changed, furrowed eyebrows as if he were in thought, making you pull him close so your lips hovered over his. When he opened his eyes to look at you, you shut yours tightly as the orgasm came over. Your legs trembled around his waist, pussy clenched around his cock, and Jake was the happiest man alive. He came just a few seconds after hearing your moans and seeing your expression change, then collapsed right next to you.

For a moment, Jake simply took the cover out and pulled it over your body then lied next to you in silence. The only noise being both of your heavy breathing. When you didn’t say anything, Jake turned to you, his arm touching your stomach.

“Did I hurt you?” 

You looked at him and smiled shyly, shaking your head. “It was amazing, Jake.”

His eyes lightened up, a smile spreading on his face. “Really?” You nodded, making him sigh in relief. “Thank God, I really enjoyed it. Really. It was perfect. And you looked so pretty, I felt like I was dreaming.” He rambled.

You giggled, facing him completely. “I mean, it hurt at first but—that’s how first times are supposed to be most of the time. And I think I had an orgasm, which is also good.” You said, making Jake’s eyes widened.

“About that,” he looked down at himself then laughed awkwardly. “I should probably throw this away and get you cleaned up. Stay right here, I’ll be right back.” He gave you a peck on the lips before standing up.

He rushed to the bathroom with no explanation, and you figured it was the condom he was referring to, so you just lied there with a giant smile on your face as you waited for your boyfriend to come back. When he did, he had a cloth in hand and a glass of water.

He placed the glass of water on the night stand and sat beside you, “let me clean you.” With hesitation, you let him.

Sure, you were still a little shy even though you just lost your virginity, but Jake was someone you trusted.

After he cleaned you up, he grabbed your underwear and gave it to you casually before hopping on the bed and wrapping his arms around you after you put your underwear on. He pulled the covers over the two and rested his head in between your neck and shoulder.

“Thanks for trusting me, Y/n.” He whispered, giving you a lingering kiss on your shoulder. You smiled shyly, feeling the warmth of his chest on your back.

That night was when your relationship became more intimate. On your twentieth birthday, in the middle of summer classes, Sim Jaeyun had his first time with the girl of his dreams. The love of his life. And he seriously couldn’t be happier.

Layla’s owner  will I get kicked out of ENU if I climb up to your dorm?

you  Jake wth

Layla’s owner  Let your hair down Rapunzel!

Jake couldn’t hold in his laughter when he saw you open the window and look down with a shocked expression. “I have flowers!” He whispered-shouted, waving them in the air.

You closed your window and Jake swore he could hear ruffling all the way down. A few minutes later, you came out with your—ironically—rapunzel pajamas.

“Here ya go, my pretty princess.”

You smiled shyly as you grabbed the flowers from his hands and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “What’s the occasion?”

“Nine years ago today, I humiliated myself in front of the prettiest girl in the universe by hitting myself with a basketball.” He smiled proudly, “then that pretty girl helped me get up and didn’t make fun of me. That same day, I realized I was in love with the pretty girl who was way better than me at basketball.”

You bursted into laughter, covering your face with the flowers. “That’s so cute, Jake!” You hit his arm, all of a sudden shy. “How can you remember that?”

“Love can do such thing, gorgeous.”

You rolled your eyes and threw your arms around his shoulders, making him huff. “You’re so cute.”

“I get that a lot from a very specific person.”

“Hmm,” you hummed as you moved your arms to his waist and looked slightly up to meet with his eyes. “I wonder who it is…”

He moved his lips teasingly, leaning down to press his lips with yours in a delicate kiss. You smiled into the kiss, and he smiled as well, making you pull away and just kiss his cheek.

“I can’t believe you came all the way here just to give flowers for that.” You said, making him gasp.

“Hey, it’s a very special date for me! It’s when I realized I liked girls!” You furrowed your eyebrows, “that sounded weird.”

“It did.” You both laughed

All of the sudden, a flashlight flickered in your direction, making you both look to your right and see one of the guards walking up to you with an angered look.

“What are you two doing out here this late?” The old man asked.

Jake quickly raised his arms in surrender. “Sir, I swear in my life, I’m not harassing this young girl!” He crossed his finger and held it in the air. “Scout’s honor!”

You snorted and hit his arm, “Dude! Sir,” you turned to the guard and smiled shyly. “Sorry, he’s my boyfriend. He just came to drop some flowers.” You explained politely.

“At 10PM?” He raised his eyebrows.

You pursed your lips into a thin line and nodded, “I know. But he was just leaving!”

“I was?” Jake wondered.

You rolled your eyes and pushed him off, “bye!”

He pouted dramatically, blowing a bunch of kisses in the air as he jogged backwards, looking incredibly silly. When disappeared, you turned to the guard and smiled, “He’s weird, I know.”

“You kids these days.” He shook his head as he walked away, making you laugh it off and walk back up to your dorm.

JAKE ALWAYS believed you lived in a happy household. For the longest time he thought that, because seeing you and your dad smiling all the time, it made it seem that it was all good.

When you told him about your mother cheating on your father, he noticed how badly it affected you. He knew your father was the person you looked up to the most, so seeing him hurting, hurt you, and seeing you hurting, hurt Jake. He didn’t know what it was like to have divorced parents, all his friends’ parents were still together, so he wasn’t exactly sure how to take care of you. But he was there, because you once said his presence was already enough.

“I just don’t understand why she would do something like that.” You shook your head in disbelief, head lying on Jake’s chest.

You had gotten back from Chuseok weekend with your family. Jake was supposed to go as well, but he had work so he had to skip dinner with his parents. Now, instead of arriving straight to your dorm, Jake picked you up from the train station and brought you to his apartment.

He never thought he was good at comforting people. He was always the type of person who would awkwardly pat someone’s back after spilling the most devastating news. But with you, just by holding you, you felt comfort.

“Like why couldn’t she just divorce him?” You wondered out loud. “Cheating is so dumb. You can just break up with your partner, free yourself from whatever. Why cheat? What fun is there in betraying the person you’re supposedly in love with?” You looked up at the ceiling.

Jake agreed with you. He obviously did.

“It’s an ego thing, babe.” He said lazily.

You nodded, “right? I guess it makes sense for my mom. She’s always been like that. But why my dad? He’s so nice! He’s the nicest man ever, how can you break his heart like that? I’m sure he would’ve been okay with her divorcing him in the first place—sure, he’d be heartbroken, but he would’ve understood.” You rambled, “and the worst part is that my mom thinks she has some control over me, telling me to stay out of it. How can I? She was screaming at my dad when the angry one was supposed to be him. She’s got nothing to be angry about. It’s so annoying.” You covered your face in desperation.

Jake grabbed your hands and held them close to his lips. “Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. This isn’t your fault.”

“I know but,” you paused, exhaling loudly. “I feel bad for my dad.”

He smiled down at you, kissing your hands. “I’m sure he knows that. But he wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself over something like that, especially if it’s because of him. You know your dad.” He comforted you.

You bit your bottom lip and groaned, turning away from him and hugging one of his legs. “Can we just watch Tangled?”

Jake smiled even though you couldn’t see him. “Of course we can.”

JAKE LIKED being taken care of, especially by his girlfriend. Especially when he’s drunk.

It wasn’t a normal thing for him to get this hammered, really, he didn’t even drink like that. But when the semester was over and his final grade got rounded to a ninety-five, he just had to celebrate. Of course, celebrations like that always ended with you taking him to his apartment and him mumbling incoherent things about you.

“Seriously, you’re like the best girlfriend I’ve ever had.” He spilled his words as he tipsily walked over to his room with you helping him. “You’re the only girlfriend I've ever had, and I’m okay with that. People always say having a lot of girlfriends is cool but I don’t think that. I’ve only ever been in love once, and I still am. Her name is L/n Y/n. I remember when I first met her.”

You smiled subconsciously, already knowing where this was going. There had been a few times where he would drunkenly tell you—as if you were a stranger, about the love of his life—you. You never got tired of hearing about it.

“Like, she’s just so smart and hilarious—oh gosh, she’s the funniest girl ever. She always makes me laugh, and then—“ he chuckles as he drops to his bed. “Woah, this bed is comfy. Hey, can you get my girlfriend? I really want to sleep next to her.” The room was dark, not bothering to turn the lights off, you started taking his shoes off, making Jake’s eyes widen. “Woah, hey lady! I have a girlfriend!”

“I’m just taking your shoes off.” You snorted, not helping it.

Jake lifted his heavy head and gasped. “Y/n? How long have you been here, baby? I missed you.” He pouted.

“You’re so cute, Jake.” You grabbed his cheeks and squeezed them dramatically.

He smiled shyly, turning his face away from you. “My girlfriend thinks I’m cute.” He muttered under his breath as you walked away to put his shoes in the closet.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He sobbed into his pillow without you noticing. “Like seriously, I’m such a failure without you by my side. Without you, I’d be known as the basketball-magnet.” 

You snorted as you walked over to the other side of the bed. You gently hopped on the bed, pulled the cover above you both, and turned to Jake. “Get some sleep, pretty boy.”

“Yo quiero a Maluma.” He mumbled, back facing you as you wrapped your arms around his body. “Yo amo a Y/n so mucho.”

You laughed quietly, cheek pressed against his shoulder.

THE SECOND semester of Junior year was definitely hitting Jake harder. He had signed up for more classes so he would have a lighter senior year and wasn’t as stressed as he was today. He was really trying. He didn’t like seeing you so bummed out because of his cancellation of plans or postponements. He wished there was something he could do to make it up to you, but he was just too stressed.

“Did you see the trailer for Sinners? It looks cool.” You said, looking down at your phone. “We should watch it when it comes out. Michael B Jordan’s in it.” 

“Uh, yeah totally.” He responded blandly.

You looked up from your phone and saw Jake completely concentrated on his textbook. “What are you doing?” You asked curiously.

“I,” he paused, flipping the pages to his textbook then typing on his laptop. “Am finishing a project that is due this weekend. I told my team I’d have it done by today, just need to re-check some stuff.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “You’re doing the work all by yourself?” He glanced at you and nodded. “You’re already handling like eight classes. You’re being too hard on yourself, you know?” You scooted closer to the edge of the bed.

“It’s fine. I’d rather do the work by myself if it means it’ll be correct.” He shrugged casually.

You nodded, “if there’s anything else I can help you with…any math homework? English?”

At that, he looked at you and smiled, a smile that could only mean he was relieved. “I forgot you’re good at English. Yes, you can help me with English. I haven’t finished this assignment that’s due tomorrow.” 

You bent down to grab his backpack and took his English notebook out and with a smile, you winked. “One English assignment on the way.”

Jake quickly pulled you in for a kiss. “You’re the best.”

You scrunched your face and continued his assignment in silence, feeling happy that there was something you could help him with. 

Another thing Jake loved about you, is that you understood him. You put in as much effort as he did, and that’s how you balanced each other out. That’s one of the many reasons why he loved you.

“HEY, JAKE.”

Jake looked up from his seat, putting the last of his stuff on his back pack. “Hey, Nari. What’s up?”

She smiled when he called her name, “my birthday is this Friday, I was wondering if you wanted to come to this small get-together as a celebration. It’s just a few friends.” She insisted.

Jake frowned. He wasn’t that close to her. At least not close enough to be invited to a birthday party. He had been partnered up with her a couple of times in this course. So he had gotten to know her a bit. If he said no, he’d feel bad.

“Oh, sure. Is it okay if I bring my girlfriend? I’m not exactly close to any of your friends and I wouldn’t want to take much of your time.” He asked.

Whenever Jake got invited to something, his first thought was if he could bring you. Not because he thought you’d get jealous—never that, but because he would rather have you by his side in public events.

“Oh, sorry. There’s a limited number of people that can go and inviting someone else would go over the limit. I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t mind.” Nari tilted her head, twirling her hair in her finger.

Jake frowned but nodded still. “That’s okay. I’ll be there. Happy birthday in advance, anyway.” He smiled at the girl, ready to walk away when she stopped him.

“Oh, are you going to the cafeteria?” She asked, walking beside him.

He shook his head. “Well, technically yes. But I’m going to go look for Y/n—my girlfriend, so we can eat together.”

“That’s so cute.” She giggled, making him frown.

Cute. Only you called him that, it felt weird hearing the word come out of another girl’s mouth.

“I’m going that way too, mind if I join you for now?”

He nodded, not seeing anything wrong with it.

Right when they walked out of the building, Nari stepped on the wrong foot, making her stumble and grab onto Jake’s arm for support. Jake, like the kind person he is, let her hold on to him until she was balanced.

“Are you okay?”

She giggled and nodded, fixing her hair. “I’m so sorry, I'm so clumsy.”

“It’s okay. They messed up the steps there.” He looked back just for a second before looking ahead, not noticing how Nari was still holding him.

“Hi!”

Jake recognized that voice immediately. He turned around and saw you, and it was weird how he wanted to smile at you and show you every tooth, but he ended up nodding.

“Hey.”

Beside him, Nari let go of Jake’s arm and ignored you, giving you a small sour smile, making you smile fade away.

You asked Jake if he was okay, to which he nodded and leaned down to kiss you. You turned to the girl beside him and smiled, “I’m Y/n. Jake’s girlfriend.”

“Obviously I know that.” She scoffed before she turned to Jake. “I’ll see you later?” She dragged her hand on his arm, making you frown.

Jake nodded, making you look between them as you watched him watch her walk away. 

“Oh, you’re going out?”

Like something snapped in him, he nodded. “Uh, yeah. It’s a group thing. Last-minute invite to Nari’s birthday party.”

“Nari.” You repeated her name. “Yeah, that’s cool. I can study by myself.”

He gave you a small smile then threw his arm over your shoulder.

“I DON'T know, man. It was weird.” Jake shook his head as he threw the basketball on the hoop, making it. “It’s like one second I was there, and then the other one I wasn’t.”

Heeseung furrowed his eyebrows, catching the ball. “Who have you been hanging out with? I’ve heard some creepy stuff about witches around campus.” He commented.

Jake let the ball bounce on the floor. “What?”

“Yeah, like,” he paused, turning to him. “Last semester. You know Sakura? Some girl cursed her boyfriend or whatever. Creepy shit. He called her all types of names.” He shook his head as he grabbed the ball from the floor. “I was there when it happened. What’s her name? Naomi? Nari?”

“Shit. I have a girl named Nari in my class. I went to her birthday party yesterday.” He froze.

Heeseung kissed his teeth, “yeah, bro. You’re cooked. There’s like a rumor she’s done this since high school, and that she goes for the lover boys or whatever.” He snorted, “damn, you might be the perfect target.”

“Shut up. Don’t say that.”

“Maybe she’s got you under her spell already.”

He continually shivered, and gasped out loud when his phone buzzed. When he unlocked it, it was a message from the devil herself. Kim Nari Econ. “Dude, she just sent me a text.”

Heeseung’s eyes widened as he rushed to his side and snatched the phone. “”Can we meet up? I have something important to show you.” You’re not like– going right? Bro, she just sent a creepy ass location. I’m coming with.” He shook his head.

“You’re not. It’s not a creepy location.”

“It’s literally in the middle of nowhere.”

Jake tilted his head to the side. “It’s on campus!”

“Exactly.” 

He shook his head in disbelief, “I’ll just go see her, it’s probably nothing. And if she says she’s in love with me or something…I’ll just reject her respectfully and tell Y/n about it. How it should be.” He said casually, making Heeseung sigh.

“I wish I could be more like you, bro. You inspire me.”

Jake snorted, throwing the ball back to him for a last time before dabbing him up and leaving the court. “I’ll let you know what happens.”

“Praying for you already.” He crossed his heart.

“GIVE IT to her since you want her so badly you accuse me of things you know I’d never—in my life—do to you.”

Jake swore he would never hurt you. Hell, you even told him not to make that promise because you already knew he would never do that, because he would hurt more. But why did he feel so empty and not at all sad when he saw you walk away from him?

It was all a blur. But he wasn’t crying. It’s like he didn’t care. Sim Jaeyun didn’t care that he hurt you. What type of witchcraft is that? What happened to the Jake that would rather hurt himself than hurt you?

His friends asked themselves that for the longest time after you two broke up and you left for New York. Even when they told him you left he didn’t care.

“Why do you keep bringing her up when she’s his past? She broke up with him.” 

Jake wasn’t even part of the conversation. It was just Nari versus the group of boys in front of her.

“Like you don’t know the reason why, Nari.” Riki spat, “besides, no one brought her name up, it’s not my fault you’re so obsessed you know when we’re talking about her.” He rolled his eyes.

“Because you’re always mentioning her. “Noona this”, “noona that”. God, Riki, she’s not even your sister.” She scoffed, holding on to Jake’s arm.

Riki held his breath, calming himself down. “You’re so lucky I don’t beat up women.” He muttered under his breath, making Sunoo and Jungwon cover their mouths in pure shock.

“What did you just say?” Nari raised her voice.

“Do you really want me to repeat myself?”

Before Riki could make another move, Jay came in with a plate of popcorn and snacks, snapping Jake back to reality. “Here, here. Nari, are you sure you want to be here? It’s about to be chaos.”

“I’m sure. Jakey wants me here.”

“I doubt it.” Riki snorted, bumping shoulders with Sunoo who just looked away.

“It’s just, well—it gets a little crazy in her when we play. And you’re the only girl….” Heeseung decided to speak up, hands already moving to grab the best controller.

“You’re seriously kicking me out?”

He glanced at her and shrugged. “Uh, if that’s how you see it.”

She turned to Jake, who was simply grabbing popcorn and breathing really loudly. “Are you letting your friend talk to me like that?” She pouted, making the guys look at them in disgust.

He scratched his eyebrow and sighed. “Uh, actually I think I might just go back to bed. I have an interview early in the morning.” He unhooked his arm from Nari and ran his fingers through his hair. “Hey, am I going crazy or is there something important going on tomorrow? I’ve been trying to think of what it is but nothing comes up. It’s like my mind went blank.”

Everyone looked at each other then turned to Nari who shrugged. “It’s probably nothing important, Jakey.”

Riki held back a gag, motioning them to move. “Just leave. Seriously.”

Both Jake and Nari stood up, dragging him to the exit without saying goodbye to the others. When they disappeared, Sunoo shook his head.

“Something’s seriously wrong with that woman.”

Riki hit his chest. “Dude, there’s no way he could just forget Y/n noona’s birthday like that. And he’s been acting so bitchy lately. Like he’s brain dead or something."

Jay sighed, taking a seat next to Heeseung. “Maybe he just changed.” He said.

Jungwon sat next to him and grabbed the popcorn from him. “Hyung, people don’t change that fast. Jake hyung specifically. He was just talking about wanting to take her to Cancun for their fourth year anniversary and now they’re broken up. It’s weird.”

“Totally.” The others agreed.

“JAKEY, you crazy ex-girlfriend has been threatening me non-stop on twitter.” Nari pouted.

Jake glanced at her and sighed. “Just ignore her.”

“How can I? She leaves mean posts on everything I post. Can’t you talk to her or something?”

He exhaled loudly, grabbed his phone and went to your contact.

Jake  hi

He confronted you through texts, because for some reason, he couldn’t face you. It was strange, how just a few months ago, he couldn’t be a second away from you and now he’s telling you to stop bothering the girl next to him.

“She says she doesn’t even use twitter so she wouldn’t be able to threaten you, maybe it’s a bot.” He put his phone down, not really caring.

Nari scoffed. “You’re just going to leave it? What the hell, Jake?”

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, “just block her. Hate comments are stupid.”

Nari didn’t understand. Jake was supposed to be all over you, that was the plan. No one was supposed to intervene. Why did you have to come back and ruin everything? What did she have to do to keep you away from him?

WHEN JAKE ended things with Nari, it felt like something in him snapped, like he was finally himself again. He felt lighter, like a heavy weight was lifted away from his shoulders and he could finally walk normally again.

But then there was you, all the memories, all the moments you and him had, they reappeared out of nowhere. Like in the movie inside out, they popped out. Like they were taken away from him for a moment but they were back. And that was a horrible and emotional moment for him.

That night it happened, he went to the furthest bar to drink. He had just turned twenty-one just a few days ago, he could drink his feelings away. He could get drunk and forget all about the girl whose hurt he broke for whatever reason.

What did you even do to him?

Why did he ever accuse you of such things?

He knew you.

So why?

He kept thinking about it as he drowned in shots. Why all of a sudden did he start thinking of you differently, why did he think you would ever hurt him like that.

It was stupid.

It was immature.

He was disgusted with himself.

“Hey, kid. Are you okay?”

He looked up and smiled drunkenly, nodding. “Well you don’t look it.”

“I broke my girl’s heart. Like deeply, too many cuts—cut her heart in half, probably.” He shook his head, “well, not literally. I guess in a way, but not literally. She’s alive, is what I mean.”

“You’re young. I’m sure you’ll fix things.” The man beside him comforted him.

He scrunched his face in disagreement. No one was good at comforting him like you were. And he hated that at this moment, you weren’t here. And it was because of him.

“I doubt it. I messed everything up. I don’t even remember why. But I know I did.” He played with the empty glass.

“Maybe you should text her. If you know you messed up and you’re willing to try to fix things, she should at least know.” He suggested.

Jake looked at the older man and smiled, “you’re a wise man, anyone ever told ya that?”

“Many times, kid.”

He snorted and grabbed his phone, sweaty fingers touching the screen as he sent you those incoherent–yes, even in texts–messages.

A few minutes later, you responded and told him to stay where he was. Not like he was planning on moving anyways. But the security guard had helped him out, stayed with him. He even advised him to maybe slow things down and fix himself before he tried to fix things with you.

Somehow everyone knew what he should do but him.

“There she is!” Jake excitedly pointed right at you the moment you pulled over, making him realize you were actually there, for him. You didn’t even say anything when Jake made his way to you, again, stumbling on his feet. All you could do was look away, tapping your fingers on the wheel anxiously. And all he could do was watch as you drove back to his lonely apartment.

It was obvious you were disappointed in him, he could see it from a mile away, even while drunk. Because other than your father, he was the only one who could see right through you. And he hated not being able to say something, because that wasn’t his role anymore.

CHRISTMAS BREAK was going well for Jake. He had left school a little early, he knew his grades were good so he didn’t bother waiting until he got his final grade back. He just cared about going back home and having a conversation with his mom. Other than you, he sought comfort in his mom, and it’s not in that weird mommy's boy way–his mom’s someone who first showed him how to love. And also, he kind of wanted to chat with someone else, but he wasn’t sure it was the best idea.

Your dad was someone special to Jake. Not just because he’s your dad, but because he’s always treated him like his own kid, in a non-weird way. The first time he sought his help was when he got into a fight with a boy from school in his second year of high school. His own dad couldn’t make it that day, neither could his mom, so he called the person he trusted after them–your father. 

“Please don’t be mad at me. Y/n already is.” He walked out of the office, ashamed.

Your father patted his shoulder and guided him to the exit of the building. “Why’s my daughter mad?”

He glanced at him but shook his head. “I know the principal said I punched the kid just because, but there’s an explanation.” He sighed, “He was saying stuff about Y/n and at first I tried to stay calm because I know she doesn’t like when people fight, but then he said something really disrespectful and I…I got mad, and that’s when I punched him.” He confessed.

The older man nodded, “I don’t see how that’s a bad thing. Sure, violence isn’t the right answer. But when it’s someone you deeply care about, you tend to take things personally. Isn’t that right?” Jake nodded, “Why did my daughter get mad though?”

“She said I should just leave it alone because she didn’t want me to get in trouble for a stupid comment. But sir,” He turned completely to him. “It wasn’t just a stupid comment. It was disrespectful. But even if it was just a stupid comment, I would’ve confronted him either way, he’s such a jerk. He’s always being mean to people.” He rolled his eyes as he stepped out of the school.

Your father chuckled, “Well, Jake. You did get in trouble, but the boy got what he deserved. I saw him, his nose was bleeding.” He scrunched his nose, making Jake chuckle. “I’m glad my daughter has someone like you. She’s a strong girl herself, but sometimes she’s too kind and doesn’t see that the world can be cruel.”

Jake nodded at his words, his words cutting deeper than he thought. “Now, your parents will be really mad when they get home. Want to get some tteokbokki?”

He chuckled and smiled, “Yes, sir, I would like that.”

“Let’s go, kiddo.”

Jake hadn’t seen your father since you broke up. He couldn’t, and he shouldn’t. He wasn’t going to try and take away the person you treasured the most from you, just so he could have someone to talk to. But sure, as if God was on his side, as he was walking to your house to deliver his christmas gift and something else, a car approached him.

“Jake?”

He froze when he realized who it was. He saw the car window roll down completely and instantly did a ninety degree bow, making your father let out a laugh. “What are you doing out here in this cold weather, kid?” He asked.

Jake glanced at your house then back at him. “I-nothing, just walking.”

Before he could hide the gift in his hand–not that he even could since it was big, your father pulled over and signalled him to hop on the car.

“That for my daughter?” He gestured to the gift, making him nod awkwardly. “Hmm.”

“I know we’re broken up but–I don’t know,” He shrugged, really not knowing what to say.

Your dad nodded, “It’s been a while since we’ve talked, huh?” Jake nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

He looked at him for a second, a small smile forming in his lips. “You should talk to her.”

Jake’s eyes lightened up, “Are you sure?”

“I think you should help her tonight. She’s a bit down, I had a fight with her mother and she locked herself in her bedroom. Ruined her Christmas. I left before I even talked to her. Maybe you should try.” He explained.

The younger man frowned, “Is–Is everything okay?”

Your dad nodded. “With her? Not really. She needs someone right now.”

He shook his head, hesitating. “I don’t think I’m the best choice for her to be with right now. We’re not exactly on good terms and I don’t want to disturb her or ruin her night even more.” He rambled, shaking his head then looking down at his gift. “No offense, sir, but I shouldn’t even be talking to you. You're like– her favorite person and I don’t want her to think that I’m trying to steal you away or something.”

He snorted, “I’m sure she won’t think that.”

Jake puckered his lips out.

“You can talk to me, you know? I might be more judgmental because you did hurt my daughter badly but I’m still here for you, kiddo.”

At his words, Jake relaxed in his seat. He couldn’t help but to feel guilty about talking to your father, but he wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t being paid to listen, and he offered that.. “I love your daughter, sir. I really really do, and I know you probably don’t believe me and that’s totally fine, but I don’t know what the hell happened to me that day. I don’t know why I called her those horrible names. I seriously don’t. And you know, if you want to punch me, you are free to do so. No one did that to me when I called her names and I feel a little bit hypocritic. And I’m sure you want to punch me and hurt me because I hurt Y/n so bad she had to leave the country. I don’t even remember her leaving, she was just gone. And for some reason, I don’t think I cared–again, feel free to punch me–but during the months she was gone, I felt like I was empty, I don't even remember anything about this summer. And when she came back, I started feeling again, all sorts of emotions, and it was weird.” He paused for air, then sighed. “I know it’ll take a lot of effort and time for her to forgive me, and I know that even if she does, she’ll never forget those words. And that will haunt me forever, but I just want to try for her, you know? I have been going to therapy for about a month now and I think it’s working. But sometimes when I’m talking, I remember it’s paid therapy so I just go back to square one because does my therapist actually cares about how I’m feeling? Sorry, this isn’t about me–the point is, I really want to try for Y/n, I really do.”

Your dad stared at the out of breath boy and smiled. “It’s good that you’re working on yourself before anything. That’s how it should be.”

“You think?”

He nodded. “Have you ever heard of the saying “how can you love someone if you don't even love yourself?” Jake nodded, “It applies here, sort of. How are you going to try to work things out with Y/n if you haven't worked things out with yourself?”

Jake stared at the older man, “but what if by the time I’m better, she’s with someone else?”

That was a question he never asked himself before until now, and he just realized how painful the scenario was.

“Then you learn to let her go.”

Your dad responded, and Jake’s breath hitched. “My daughter–she’s very hard on herself, but she has her standards set. If one day she decides to forgive you, even if it’s years from now…then it means you changed for the better, and not just for her. But for yourself.”

“What if the only reason I want to change for the better is for her?”

“Then you’re being selfish.”

Jake looked away, holding the gift tighter. “Don’t ask for her forgiveness. Show her that you’re willing to become better. That you’re willing to wait, however long it takes.”

For the first time in months, Jake realized the lengths he’d go for you, the time he was willing to wait. It was kind of stupid that he needed your dad’s help to figure it out, but still. 

“You’re a great dad, sir.”

The older man chuckled, “I’ve been told.”

JAKE'S HEART had broken when he read the message you had sent him after Christmas break, he understood why, but it didn’t mean it hurt any less. The therapy sessions weren’t helping either, since all his therapist wanted to talk about was about the present. Jake wanted to talk about you.

You were considered the past.

And he hated that.

Because his therapist was right.

“How are we feeling today?”

“Relaxed, I guess.”

The therapist nodded, writing down something in her journal. “Why are we feeling relaxed today, Jake?”

“Uh, the project I mentioned last week? I finished yesterday.” He said, sighing. “Now I just have to worry about the up-coming exams. But in comparison to the project…I feel more relaxed–I don’t have any work to do.”

The therapist raised her eyebrows and smiled, “That’s good to hear, Jake. It must feel good to take that weight off of your chest.”

“I guess.”

“What about future plans? Spring break is coming up.”

He nodded, patting his sweaty hands on his lap. “I’m going to Australia for an interview. I’m trying to get an internship at this company.”

The woman raised her eyebrows and smiled. “That’s amazing news. Is it something you like?”

“Yeah, I see myself in that field. Before I moved here, my dad used to work there and I really like what he told me about it.”

She smiled, writing something down. “So you’re following your dreams, that’s good.”

He nodded.

“What about short term plans? Do you have any plans for the weekend?” She asked, writing something down.

Jake shook his head, “My friends are hanging out but I don’t feel like going out tonight.”

“Why not?” She wondered.

He sighed and shrugged, “I just want to rest and watch a movie. Something peaceful.”

The woman nodded, “What movie?”

Jake chuckled, “I don’t know…Tangled?”

The woman sighed, putting her note pad down.

“You’ve mentioned that movie a few times these past sessions.” She recalled, making him smile awkwardly.

“I-It’s a good movie.” He shrugged, keeping casual.

It’s in fact, a movie he only watched with you. It was your movie. You two even dressed up as Rapunzel and Flynn once in your freshmen year of college. It wasn’t just a movie to him, it was you.

“Let’s try something.”

He sighed in defeat.

IT WAS April seventeenth and Jake had hesitated but ended up driving back to his hometown for one reason. Your dad. He found out a few weeks ago about the incident when you visited him back on Valentine's Day, his parents had accidentally brought up during a family dinner. He pretended not to listen, figuring out that maybe it was best if he kept quiet.

But his birthday was in two days, and he wanted to at least wish him a good day, ask him how he’s doing. Just the simple stuff.

“The house is nice.” 

Your dad chuckled as he let Jake in, “it is, isn’t it?” 

He looked down at the boy’s hand, which was carrying flowers, and he couldn’t help but to awe, making Jake blush in embarrassment. “A birthday gift.” He explained.

Your dad smiled and pulled him into a hug. “Thanks, kid.” He patted the boy’s back.

When they pulled away, your dad quickly walked over to the kitchen to grab a vase and pour water on it before taking the flowers from Jake. “See, I’ve never been good at taking care of flowers but I do try to keep them alive as long as I can.” He pursed his lips into a thin line, making Jake smile.

“It’s all good. It’s hard to keep them alive most of the time.” He agreed.

The older man nodded, taking a seat on the dining table, gesturing to him to sit as well. Jake took a seat and looked around the house. There were pictures of you everywhere, with your family, with your friends, and one in specific that made his breath hitch. It was the picture your dad had taken of you and Jake on your graduation day, the one where he was trying to kiss your cheek and you were pushing him away. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“I can’t believe you kids are graduating from college already.”

He glanced at the man, now noticing he had been watching the same picture as him and let out a small laugh. “Yeah, it’s crazy.”

Jake’s eyes wandered around the room. After the conversation with his parents, he decided to ask Jay about it, figuring out that maybe you talked to him, and he mentioned to him what really happened on Valentine's day with your dad–not some rumor passing around, and he couldn’t help but to feel bad. How long has your dad been going through this alone? Does he really have no one to help him?

“Can I ask you something?” He nodded, making him sigh. “I know it’s been a long time since she came back but…one of my friends mentioned that she came back to Korea for personal reasons.” He paused, turning to your dad. “And I heard what happened when she visited you…are you getting sick again?” His voice came out shaky.

The man exhaled and gave him a sad smile, making Jake frown and nod. “I would prefer it if we kept this between us…she doesn’t know.”

“Don’t you think she’s figured it out by now?” He wondered.

He shook his head, “She doesn’t know it’s terminal.”

Jake looked away, tears beginning to form in his eyes. Your dad sighed, scooting his chair closer to the boy. “It’s alright, kid. It was a matter of time. And everything’s good right now.” He reassured, patting his shoulder.

Jake shook his head, wiping his face before he looked at him. “Do you know how much time you have? Is it less than a year?” He stuttered.

“When my daughter took me to the hospital, they told me I had less than five months left.” He responded sadly, making Jake shake his head.

“So three months?” He asked in a very low whisper, as if he were afraid you would hear, making the man nod. “That’s too soon. You can’t do that to Y/n… isn’t there something the doctors can do? Can’t you take something to live longer?” He rambled, lips quivering. “Shouldn’t you be going to the hospital more often? Maybe if they rerun the tests they might find something they can fix–”

“–there’s nothing they can do, kid.”

“How would you know that if you haven't gone to the hospital in two months? What if you’re healthy now and they can do something about it?” Tears spilled from his eyes, causing your dad to frown sadly and pull him into a hug. “Y-you can’t do that to her. She’s going through so much already, if you leave her…she won’t have anyone else.”

“She’ll have you.” He whispered against the boy’s head.

Jake couldn’t believe what was happening. Why did it have to be like this?

JAKE WOULDN'T call it stalking. He wasn’t aware you two still shared a lot of the same likings, but he was glad you did, because it meant he could try and protect you from afar. He didn’t have to do anything, just seeing you smile made him realize maybe you were doing okay.

It was May now, and like Jake, you and the others were getting prepared to graduate. He found out from his friends that after graduating, you were becoming a preschool teacher, just like you always wanted. And that you were planning on taking the LEET to attend Law school after graduating. And he was happy for you, he wanted to jump in your arms and congratulate you with the messiest kisses all over your face. But he stayed away. He noticed how happy you were, without him. And he was okay with that. To an extent, at least.

“I swear, this final is going to kill me.”

Sunghoon groaned loudly enough to earn a few stares from the other students. Jake scrunched his nose and buried his face in the large text book. “Seriously, why do I have to study? I’m becoming a kids’ hockey coach.”

“Just shut up, dude.” Heeseung mumbled against his pillow. The group of boys stared at the older one, wondering where the hell did he get a pillow from.

“Psst.”

Both Sunghoon and Jake looked behind their shoulders and saw Riki on the table next to them with a smirk on his face, nodding towards the library entrance. There stood Yunjin and Jay, laughing at something he said, whilst behind them, you walked in with Donghyuck by your side, pointing at something in your textbook with that expression he knew was of you being completely stressed.

You looked incredible, you were glowing. Even if it was an exaggeration. It was like the sun hit you just perfectly, he couldn’t help but stare.

“Wanna bet those two are going to date by graduation?” Riki whispered loudly enough for them to hear, referring to Jay and Yunjin.

“Nah. I’ve made so many bets and lost all of them.” Sunghoon shook his head.

“Puuuuusy.”

He rolled his eyes at the younger one.

Against his pillow, Heeseung mumbled. “I give it a year.”

Riki frowned, "That's so long, I’ll forget the bet by then. But fine, you're sooo going to lose.” He giggled diabolically, making Jake shake his head with a small laugh escaping his lips. Coincidentally, his eyes found yours in the room full of people, and he saw you smile at him–that flat smile that even though was only meant to be a form of politeness, made Jake’s heart flutter.

“Noona, can you help me study for my final? It’s the government class you took last year.” Riki flipped the pages when you took a seat down in front of him.

You were across from him, and he tried really hard not to look at you. So again, he buried his head in the textbook.

GRADUATION DAY came faster than he expected. May was about to end, and all Jake could think about was how much time your dad had left. It could be any day now, and his heart would stop anytime he thought about it.

But he was here today with you, that was all he needed to be alright. Your dad was at your graduation, and a weight lifted from Jake’s shoulders.

“Y/n L/n.”

The loudest cheering came from your dad and Riki, what a shock. Jake clapped for you, even though he was in the science major section. And a lot of people clapped for you too, making him smile proudly. He didn’t have to clap for you, you wouldn’t even have noticed if he didn’t because of how far he was from the stage. But he wanted to. When you waved at the crowd and blew a kiss, the smile on his face was huge. When it was his turn to walk up the stage and receive his certificate, the first thing he did was look for you. You gave him a thumbs up and a smile and of course he gave them back.

“Okay, say cheese!”

Your dad kept the tradition of taking as many pictures as he could at your graduation. After taking his, Jake’s attention was on you and how happy you looked smiling at the camera, at your dad. He swallowed, remembering what he told him just a month ago, but he tried to shake it off.

“Where are your friends, hon?” Your dad asked you, looking around. When he found Jake, who was also looking around, he smiled. “Why don’t you take one with your friends from high school?” He suggested, “Lily’s not here but the others are.”

You nodded, looking for Jay and Sunghoon. When you found them, you waved at them to come over. Obviously they rushed to your side, but your dad stopped them from hugging you.

“Where’s Jake?”

The boys looked at each other and stayed silent, glancing at you. You looked around and saw Jake giving an awkward dab up to one of the guys in his class, making you smile a little. With no hesitation, you walked up to him and tapped his shoulder. When he turned around, his heart stopped.

“Hey.” He breathed out.

“Hi.” You smiled at him with nothing but sincerity then looked behind your shoulder where your dad and the boys were cheesing. “My dad wants us to take a picture.” You said, smiling awkwardly.

He started nodding before you even finished the sentence, making you giggle as you made your way back to the others. Your dad set up the camera and hummed, seeing how you and Jake were on each corner. “I want to recreate the picture so…Sunghoon and Jay in the corner, then Y/n stand next to Sunghoon, Jake next to Jay.” The group repositioned themselves.

Your arm wrapped around Sunghoon’s waist, his going around your shoulder, interlocking it with Jay’s to pull everyone closer. Jake looked down at you, hesitating to put his arm around you. 

“Hey,” You looked at him. He gestured to his hand, “Is it okay if I…?”

You nodded, even taking a step closer to him. Jake let out a shaky breath and let his arm fall to your waist, hand still somewhat extended without actually touching your hip, and turned to the camera.

“Okay, say cheese!”

“Cheese!”

Your dad snapped the pictures, smiling hard when he noticed everyone’s smiles. His heart felt heavy, but watching you smile next to those you grew up with, made it okay. “Okay, okay, funny faces now!”

You, Sunghoon, and Jay all stuck your tongue out, and Jake, always looking to copy your expressions, turned to you for a second to copy your funny face, but ended up cheesing when he saw you. Not realizing your dad was already snapping the pictures, you glanced at Jake and laughed hard, looking away with the happiest smile. It felt like you were back in high school.

“Okay, everyone gather around!” Your dad pushed the rest of your friends to be visible in the camera. Shotaro and Donghyuck stood right behind you and Jake, pulling a peace sign above your heads playfully. Yizhuo stood beside Sunghoon who hugged her with the biggest grin on his face. And Yunjin stood beside Jay, his arm wrapped around her waist to pull her closer to the group.

“Aww, can we get in on that?” Riki frowned dramatically.

Everyone laughed at the boy, but when your dad nodded, he ran to be in front of you and Jake with rockstar signs, whilst Jungwon, Heeseung, and Sunoo bent down in front with smiles on their faces.

“Okay, say cheese!”

“Cheese!”

Click.

“Okay, now everyone goes with their own families.” Everyone chuckled and walked away, each to their families. Except your dad grabbed Jake and you by the shoulder and gave you a knowing smile. “I know it’s awkward, but please let me take a picture of you two.”

You rolled your eyes, yet the smile on your face and your reddened ears thought otherwise. Jake just followed your lead, standing next to you awkwardly. When you wrapped your arm around his waist, he let out a breath of relief, placing his arm around your shoulder with a smile on his face. You both simultaneously put your hands up with a peace sign, and smiled at the camera. A real smile.

Your dad snapped the picture and smiled, “So cute.”

Jake chuckled, letting go of you with a smile. “Congratulations, Y/n.”

You blinked and nodded, a smile growing on your face. “Thanks, Jake. You too.”

“I’m so proud of you both.” Your dad placed a hand on each of your shoulders, making you chuckle awkwardly.

Jake felt happy, but a part of him still knew your dad was doing all of this, making you take pictures together, pretending it’s all okay, because he knew it was almost his time.

When he cleared his throat, Jake felt scared. The older man started coughing, making you place your hand on his shoulder for support.

“You okay, dad?” You asked.

He nodded, but the coughing continued. People started looking your way, and all Jake’s smile was fading away. When he disbalanced himself, he was quick to take him in his arms. And all of the sudden, he started coughing blood, making you gasp in horror. Your dad fell to the floor, camera lying beside him as you both kneeled down in front of him.

“Dad?” You put your hand just below his chin so the blood would fall on your hand.

Jake looked behind his shoulder and saw his family looking over worriedly, along with strangers. “Sir,” he looked back at your dad when he saw his own brother grab his phone. “We’re getting you to the hospital, okay? Don’t worry.”

You looked back and forth to where the blood was spilling out of his mouth, tears beginning to form in your eyes. Your cap and certificate were already abandoned on the floor just behind you, that wasn’t important anymore. “Dad, just–stay with us, please.” You stuttered.

WHEN YOU left to go to the hospital in the emergency van, Jake made the quick decision to contact your siblings and your mom. Your mom was nowhere to be seen, and he was afraid of what that could mean. She hadn’t attended your graduation, so where was she? Your siblings he was able to contact, and they were already making their way to the hospital when he had arrived with flowers in his hand. He was hesitant to enter the hospital at first, but how could he not be there for you in moments like this? You were alone in the waiting room, waiting for the doctors to come back with good news–any news at all. You had no shoulder to cry on.

So he did what he would’ve done if you were still together, he showed up without you having to ask.

“Y/n?”

 A punch would’ve hurt less, the way you looked up from hiding in your hands–the puffy red eyes and trembling lips broke him completely. When you saw him, you broke. As if what you needed to open up completely had arrived.

One second, you were sitting, sobbing alone in a room full of strangers, the next, you were sobbing in Jake’s chest, his arms covering you perfectly from others. Even with your stuffed nose, the scent of the flowers filled your nose, making you have a little hope that your dad would be okay. You didn’t notice when Jake sat both of you down, put the flowers down to caress your head.

“It’s going to be okay.”

You sobbed harder, shaking your head as you pulled away. “I think it’s bad. It’s b-been an hour and they haven’t said anything. What if he’s not okay? What if I don’t get a chance to say goodbye?” You stuttered, rambled, and he sat there patiently.

“He’s strong.”

“I don’t want him to be strong, I want him to be okay.” 

Jake nodded, his hand moving to caress your shoulder subconsciously.

He couldn’t watch you hurt like this. But he knew what was happening, and he didn’t want to leave her side.

“Family of L/n?”

You both looked up, quickly standing up. Jake tried to give you the flowers but you took his hand and followed the doctor. Jake knew you weren’t exactly thinking, but he let you do your thing. You rushed to the room your dad was and when you saw him, a sob escaped you.

“Dad.” You breathed out in relief. He looked….like he was in pain. Jake could see that. 

“Hey, kiddo.”

You choked a laugh and sniffed, hugging your dad like he was going to run away. “I thought something happened to you.”

“I’m pretty sure something did.” He shrugged and nodded, gesturing to all the equipment and syringes he had on him. 

You hit his shoulder lightly, glancing over your shoulder with a small laugh to see Jake standing there just outside the door with a small smile on his face and glassy eyes.

“Jakey? You’re here too?”

The boy nodded, stepping into the room. “Yeah, I…I didn’t want her to be alone. I called your siblings and everything.” He directed the sentence to you, making you smile. “They’re on their way.”

You nodded, a saddened smile appearing on your lips. “Thanks.”

Your dad looked between the two and cheesed, “I’m assuming those are for me?” He nodded at the flowers in his hands, making him chuckle and nod, placing them carefully on the empty space on the hospital bed. “You should become a florist one day. With your love for flowers and all.”

The two young adults smiled at his comment, “maybe one day.” Jake said quietly, eyes flickering to you.

His phone suddenly buzzed, he took his phone out and smiled at you. “Your siblings are here. I’ll go get them.”

You nodded, watching him step out of the room. You turned to your dad and let your hand fall on his. “I’m really glad you’re okay now.”

“I’m sorry for ruining your day, kiddo.” He frowned.

You shook your head. “What? You didn’t. It was the best day ever.” You said, tightening your grip. “You could never ruin my day.” You reassured.

 You stayed in silence until your siblings entered the room with your two nephews, making you smile. One of them—who was a year old—was already in the arms of Jake so your sister could hug your dad. You chuckled and made your way to him, grabbing the little girl’s hand.

“Hi, little baby!” You made kiss sounds, making the baby squeak.

Jake looked down at you, watching you interact with the baby, and smiled subconsciously. He moved closer to you so the baby’s lips were on your cheek, making you giggle. Out of nowhere, your sister’s other kid—who was four, tapped you on your waist, making you turn around and smile, he opened his arms for you to carry him and when you did, he hugged you tightly.

“Grandpa?” He asked quietly, making you turn away from Jake and the baby.

You smiled at him. “Wanna say hi?” He nodded, you walked past your brother-in-law with a small ‘hi’ and placed your nephew down on the hospital bed, “look who’s here!” You grabbed your nephew’s hand to open his arms to hug your dad.

“Ah, my best baby boy!”

You backed away and let him have him, walking back to Jake. “I can take her, if you want.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay. You should be with your family right now.” He smiled at you, patting the baby’s back. “And she’s a cutie.”

You laughed, raising your eyebrows and nodding. “Isn’t she a treasure?”

From the bed, your dad kept glancing your way. It was sad, the fact that this was the only time he’d be able to see you carrying a baby, or imagining your future. But he smiled, because he knew this was exactly how it would look one day, even if he wasn’t there for it.

“Excuse me?” Everyone looked at the entrance and saw one of the nurses step inside. “I’m sorry, but at the moment we can only allow two people per visit. It can get crowded.” She said sadly.

Jake was the first to step out of the room, seeing as he was really the only non-relative person in there, but your father considered him part of the family. “Actually, you kids should take Y/n to eat something. She has been here for a while.” He told his children.

They all nodded, your brother-in-law thanked Jake and grabbed his daughter from him. “Thanks, Jakey.”

He nodded, about to walk with him. “Jake, can you stay behind? I need your help.”

You looked at your dad and frowned. “Everything okay?” He nodded, “I’ll be right back, dad.”

He nodded with a smile. Jake quickly took his wallet out of his pockets and handed it to you, making you furrow your eyebrows. “Buy whatever you want, it’s on me.”

You looked down at the wallet and gave him a sad smile. “Thanks.”

When you walked away, Jake stepped back into the room, closing the door behind him. He stood just in front of the door, leaned against it and sighed. “Can you go through my pants?” He furrowed his eyebrows, “There’s something in the back pocket I want to give to you.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He rushed to where the man’s clothes lay. He grabbed the only bag inside the pockets and tried handing it to him but he waved his hand in the air, “It’s for me?”

He nodded, making Jake nod slowly as he opened the bag. Two rings fell out of it and into his palm. He frowned, looking up to the man. “Are these…”

“One of them is my wedding ring. The other is my mother’s.” He responded, knowing exactly what he meant. Jake moved to open his mouth but your dad beat him to it. “I’m not going to make it. My daughter always played with my ring when she was little. I told her that when her time came, I’d give it to her. If I give it to her right now, she’ll know what it means. After I…after I die, I want you to give it to her.”

The boy shook his head, eyes flickering at the ring. “I shouldn’t be the one to give her this, sir.”

“Do it as a last favor.”

He pursed his lips into a thin line and nodded, eyes turning to the rings with the diamond on it, “What about this one?”

Your dad gave him a smile, “that…is my mother’s ring, that I want you to keep it.”

“M-me? Why?”

He waved his hand so he would come closer and patter the empty seat beside him. Jake took it, feeling suddenly nervous.

“I gave this to my wife as a promise that I would love her forever, and to this day, I do. Even though things didn’t end well between us. I gave my blessing to my eldest’s husband, but I won’t be able to do that on my youngest daughter’s day.” He grabbed the ring from the boy’s hand, opened the palm of his hand, and intertwined their hands, keeping the ring between them. “I knew the day you and my daughter met that you were going to be a special person in her life. Maybe someone temporary, but a special one. I wasn’t going to give you this ring until the actual day came where you awkwardly tried to have a one-on-one conversation about my daughter and you asked for my blessing…” Jake’s heart beat faster at the man’s words. “I don’t want you to think that just because I’m giving you this, that you have to ask for her hand. I’m not going to be here tomorrow, I won’t live to see the day where you come back and are a better man. When the time is right, if you and my daughter start over…I want you to give her this ring and promise her the same thing I did with her mother. If one day you decide that maybe this is where it ends for you two, I want you to give her the ring either way, but tell her what I’m telling you.”

“Sir…”

“I don’t want you to leave today with the idea that this is my last wish. My dying wish is for my daughter to be happy, for her to move on. Whether it’s with or without you.” He said, “I don’t want to be like that mom from that teen show Y/n watches where her dying wish is for the girl to be with one of her sons.” Jake snorted.

“The summer I turned pretty?” He asked.

“I believe you’ve always been pretty, Jakey.”

He cackled, tears flying away from his face, making the man smile proudly of his joke.

“I want you to work on yourself first. I want her to heal first.” He became serious, eyes flickering to the door where he was waiting for you to walk in. “I believe you’re a great guy, Jake. You just gotta start believing that yourself. You have people around you that love you for who you are. Including me.” He patted the boy’s hand before pulling away.

“Thank you.” Jake breathed out, lips puckering as he nodded. “I’ll try my best. I truly will.”

“I know you will. Now come here.” He pulled him into a hug, making the tears fall on to the man’s shoulder. “I love you, future son-in-law. And tell my daughter that she can make the ring into a necklace since she hates rings so much.”

Jake chuckled against his shoulder, pulling away. “I love you too, sir.”

All the sudden, the door busted open, revealing you with several jellies in one hand, a baby in her right arm, and a very shocked expression on her face. “Dad, they’re talking about who’s getting who!”

Jake quickly stood up to take the baby out of your hands, you smiled at him and rushed to your dad’s side. “Tell them to shut up.” You lowered your voice.

“Hey, we have to talk about it someday!” one of your brothers said.

“Don’t say that!”

IT WAS past midnight and at this point, everyone knew where this was going. Your dad had fallen asleep after having a conversation with each of his children. You being the last. It was a very sentimental conversation, one that ended in both shedding tears, but your father convinced you to accept what was happening. You finally said your goodbyes.

The doctors had escorted everyone out of the room, your brother-in-law had left the hospital to take his children back home, your older sister and two older brothers had been quietly talking right outside of the room, sneaking glances at the pair in front of them. You had fallen asleep on Jake’s shoulder just a few minutes ago, and tiredly, Jake’s head had also fallen on yours, eyes closed but not asleep. Just there.

Your mother was nowhere to be found.

Jake had sent a few text messages to her, telling her about your dad and how you needed her. But she never responded. And he couldn’t be more heartbroken for you.

Jay  my mom told me what happened

Jay  is her dad okay?

Jake looked down at his phone and sighed.

Jake were just waiting now, we all said our goodbyes already

Jay  oh

Jay  send her my condolences when you think its a good time

Jake  i will

Jay  if there's anything you need lmk

Jay  I have her dad’s camera and both of your certificates btw

Jake  keep them safe for me pls

The boy shut his phone off, moving his head just a tad to look down at you. You looked peaceful, lashes fluttering, even your breathing seemed peaceful. But of course, peace never lasted this long.

“Excuse me.”

Jake lightly tapped on your shoulder, making you open your eyes and scrunch your face from the light. You all turned to the doctor in front of you, who was wearing a saddened expression on his face. You knew what it meant.

“As you know, your father was very ill, and despite everything we did to keep him comfortable, his condition continued to worsen. I'm very sorry to tell you that he died peacefully a few minutes ago.”

The silence in the hallway was strong. Your oldest brother gave the doctor a saddened smile. “Thank you, doctor.”

“He’s at peace now, for what it’s worth. We’ll give you a couple of minutes so you can say your final goodbyes.” He stepped out of the way and all you could do was bury your head in Jake’s chest. His hand moved to your back, rubbing comfortably up and down. He watched as your siblings stepped into the room where your father lay.

“You should say bye to your dad.” He whispered quietly, arm still around you.

You pulled away and sniffed, wiping your nose. “I can’t do it.”

Jake stood and extended his hand out to you, a small smile appearing on his lips. “It’s okay.”

With hesitation, you grabbed his hand and stood up, flattening your skirt before stepping into the room. He pulled his hand away to let you be with your siblings. You hugged your sister first, then your oldest brother, and lastly, your other brother, who kept you in his arms whilst you cried. Jake stepped just near the exit of the room, simply staring at the scene. The doctors suddenly entered, pulling the cover all the way over your dad’s body, making him stiffen.

You swallowed, pulling away from your siblings to walk out of the room. Jake glanced at your siblings before he took a step back and followed you outside on the balcony. It was freezing cold. And you were already trembling from inside, but you didn't care. You stood just before the railing and sobbed quietly. When Jake stepped out on the balcony, he tried everything not to cry.

“Your dad asked me to give you something before he passed.”

You stopped sobbing for a second, hearing Jake’s footsteps getting close to you. When he stood face to face, he started fishing something out of his pocket, moving the ring your father had given him to the side.

“He wanted you to have this,” he took a bag out of his pocket and chuckled sadly. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to receive this from, but he really wanted me to give it to you.”

You grabbed the small bag from him, a small tear falling down your right cheek when you saw your father’s ring fall in the palm of your hand.

“It’s my dad’s ring.” You bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from choking on your tears, looking at Jake. “Thank you.” You whispered.

He nodded, keeping his mouth shut to not cry in front of you. He buried his hands on the pockets of his pants and watched you put the ring in your index finger, making him chuckle again. “He also told me to tell you that you could always make it into a necklace, since you don’t really like rings.” He added quietly, trying his best not to ruin the moment, making you laugh, the tears spilling from your eyes.

You spun the ring on your finger and nodded, sniffing. “Thank you, Jake.”

“Of course.” He said under his breath, not trusting himself to speak more. He licked his lips, fidgeting with the small ring he had in his pocket as he looked at you. He watched as the tears kept falling, never ending, and how you were trembling because of the sudden cold breeze of air. With no hesitation, he took his blazer off and laid it on you, making you look at him with a small smile.

“Y-you should go back inside, it’s getting colder out here.” He suggested. “And I’m sure your family’s worried about you.”

His voice was careful, soft, like the one he would use when he’d help you calm down after an argument with your parents.

“I just…I need a minute.” You firmly said, making him nod.

“I understand.” He gave you a soft smile. As he began to take off, thinking you’d want to be alone, your mouth moved faster than your brain.

“Will you go to the funeral?” You asked, making him turn around, “I mean, there’s going to be one—tomorrow or on Monday, probably. And I—It’d be nice if you went.” Your voice trembled as he walked back to you.

“Are you okay with me going? If you don’t want me to go—“

You cut him off. “My dad loved you, Jake. The fact that he trusted you to give me his ring…I think it would be wrong for you not to go–to not say goodbye.”

“Okay.” He simply said.

“Okay.”

You repeated, making him nod. He opened his mouth to speak, watching as your puffy eyes kept delivering tears. And he couldn’t help but to scream at himself mentally, because if you were together, he wouldn’t have hesitated in opening his arms to hug you. But tonight he did, because tonight was not about him.

His arms wrapped around your upper body, not giving you a chance to react—to reject. Because he knew you needed that hug, so he let you use him as a shield. You completely fell apart in his arms, your body not even wrapping around his, just there, in his hold. And Jake would be lying if he didn’t feel like dying when he heard your sobs against his chest. His eyes began to tear, nuzzling his head down on your head and pressing your lips against it, not kissing you, not romantically, just so you knew there was someone holding you.

“It’s going to be okay, Y/n.” He mumbled against your head as you kept you crying, the sobs buried on his chest. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” His voice cracked, moving his cheek to lie on the head instead of his lips.

THE FUNERAL was the hardest part.

Because when he saw you in that black dress and unreadable expression, he knew you were in the stage of grief where you were trying to bury your feelings away.

He watched as you gave everyone that smile that perfectly expressed how you were feeling at the moment–your lips never once parted, always a tight-forced smile as you shook hands with those who gave their condolences. Your mother had forced you to be polite, and Jake noticed it from far away.

“Hey, man.”

His eyes moved away from you, turning to his friends. There stood Sunghoon, Jay, and Lily–who had come all the way from Australia to say her goodbye’s to the man she saw as a father-figure.

“Hey.” He said sadly.

Without saying anything, Lily placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder for comfort before turning to the others. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I didn’t know he was sick.” She frowned.

Jake’s eyes moved back to you, as if he were tracking every movement. He was worried about you. You were the only one who hadn't cried the whole ceremony, it made him nervous to see you very-well put.

“He got worse this year.” Jay explained to the girl, making her nod sadly. He turned to Jake and raised his eyebrows, “you’re still leaving, man?”

His lips parted, eyes still on you like he was afraid you’d fall as soon as he looked away. “I have to.” He said quietly. “I just…I want to speak with her before I do.” He added after a second.

Sunghoon followed his gaze and kissed his teeth. “You should do it now, she looks like she needs saving.”

Jake watched as you kept shaking people’s hands, knuckles turning white when your mother would whisper something. Without thinking it any further, he excused himself from the group and walked to you, hands in pockets, finger wearing the ring.

“Y/n?”

You looked beside you and sighed in relief, a small smile forming in your lips. “Hi.”

Like your eyes were glued to his, you skipped over the people walking up to you. “Is it okay if we take a walk?” He asked, voice calm and collected. You glanced at your mom and jumped from the last step to stand beside him.

“You must be tired of shaking hands, huh?” He asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Like always, he did, because you chuckled. “I've probably caught so many bacterias by now.”

You stretched your hands, making Jake take something out of his pocket and hand it to you. “Glad I brought this then.”

You looked at the hand-sanitizer and laughed, nudging your arm with his. Jake looked down at you and smiled, opening the small cap and pouring some of it on your hand.

The two of you walked around the cemetery in silence, just looking at the flowers and tombs around you. You needed this. The sound of your breathing was loud, but your heart beats were louder, you somehow could hear Jake’s as well as yours. But that somewhat made it better for you, it made you feel calmer.

“I’m leaving for Australia today.”

You stopped walking, making Jake do the same. “You are?” 

He turned to you and nodded. “I did this interview months back for an internship at this company. Remember our career project from our first year in high school?” You nodded with a small smile. “I’m doing an internship in that company.” He confessed, licking his lips.

Your eyes lightened up. “Really? Jake, that’s amazing! You’ve always wanted that.” He nodded with a huge smile on his face. You smiled at his reaction, “I’m happy for you.”

His smile faded off, realizing your eyes were tearing up. “I heard you were going to take the LEET, that sounds fun too. And that you’re becoming a teacher this fall.” He tried changing the subject.

You shook your head, blinking the tears away. “I don’t know if that’s going to work anymore.” You chuckled.

Jake nodded sadly, understanding. “Well, whatever you decide to do…your dad would be proud either way, he’d want you to keep going, you know?” He searched for your eyes.

You nodded, smiling at him. “I know.”

He took his hands out of his pockets and patted them on his jacket. “I just wanted to say goodbye before I left. Not that I needed to or anything, I wanted to.” He stuttered over his words.

The words got caught in your throat, making you smile sadly at him as you spun the ring on your necklace. “Thank you. For everything, Jake.” He stared at you, lips puckering. “I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this when you also have your own stuff going on. But I’m really thankful you were there for me even though I didn’t ask you to. It means a lot.”

“It’s the least I can do after the way things ended.” He shrugged, “like—the bare minimum.”

You chuckled. “Still, I’m sorry for keeping you in the hospital that late, you saw things you shouldn’t even have to see.” You frowned.

Jake raised his hand to touch your face, his thumb wiping the tear that was about to fall from your eye, then he smiled. “I stayed because I wanted you to have someone to hold you.” He caressed your face softly, making your eyes water. “And I wanted to say goodbye to your dad too, he was a special man.”

“Yeah, he was.” You smiled, your mouth leaving a lingering touch in his hand.

“And if it’s too much, I’m sure your dad wouldn’t mind if you took some time before taking the LEETs.” His hand fell from your face to your wrist, taking your pinky and interlocking it with his. “But you should totally continue the preschool teaching, and hey, maybe in a few years, we’ll see each other again and we’ll both be in our primes.” He tried to lighten the mood.

You covered your mouth and laughed, your other hand still intertwined with his. “In our primes?”

He nodded. “Make it a promise, come on.” You rolled your eyes and tightened your grip on your pinky. “Next time we see each other—whether it’s in a few months, or a few years, we’ll both be the best versions of ourselves. Yeah?” You stared at him, a smile forming your lips when he pulled your intertwined finger to his lips and kissed it.

You followed him and kissed your pinky. “Pinky promise.”

When you both pulled away, you exhaled. “I’m going to miss you, Jake.” You admitted. “I hope everything goes well in Australia.”

He nodded with a sad smile on his face. “Trust me, I’ll miss you more.” You chuckled, he opened his arms and pulled you into a hug, making you melt under his touch. You wrapped your arms around his waist, completely pressed against him and sighed. Jake kissed the top of your head, “can you promise me one more thing?” You hummed, “be happy. Don’t let anyone step over your toes. And most importantly…don’t let anyone make you cry like this.” He pulled away just enough to see your face.

You were sniffing, crying even—quietly, but Jake knew you too well. He smiled down at you, and you looked up at him with his hand in your chin. “Promise?”

You nodded. “Promise.”

He gave you a last squeeze and pulled away, “take care of yourself, Y/n.”

“You too, Jake.”

With one last wave, Jake turned around and walked away. When he disappeared, you couldn’t help but to break into a sob.

mars yap now lets be honest....I locked in for 46 hours to write this masterpiece, have never written a 20K word chapter..this is insanity...I need help...my laptop is glitching but were good...I cried every time I read this chapters because my feelings were all over the place so hopefully u did too...there's one more chapter left ok I love u bye...

previous masterlist next

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺𝖾 : sad goldenpuppy who thinks he’s not worthy of mcs love because he doesn’t view himself as a first option you deserve this let’s heal champ 🫰

Even in the low light, you could see the way his gaze traced your features — lingering on your lips when you smiled and dropping to your exposed collarbones when you laughed.

"How’s that Keeho guy you were seeing?" He asked, pushing himself up to slightly close the distance. He braced his body against the countertop with his forearms, watching you intently.

"What about him?" You took another sip, letting the bitter taste coat your tongue, buying yourself time. You already had a hunch on exactly why he was asking.

Jongseob hummed, lips curling into a smile that made him seem far too pleased. "Just curious." But his eyes told a different story — they were dark, focused, and clearly hungry for your answer.

You shrugged, letting the moment stretch. "I actually ended things with him about a week ago." A snicker followed after, though you weren't entirely sure what was so funny about it.

Maybe it was the relief you felt when finally saying it out loud to someone, or perhaps it was the way Jongseob's entire body seemed to relax at your words.

He tried, and failed, to suppress the smile spreading across his face. It started at the corners of his mouth and bloomed into something radiant, transforming his features.

"And you seem awfully happy about that." You muttered, quirking a brow, though you couldn't help the small smile tugging at your own lips in return. His joy was infectious, even when you were trying to play it cool.

"I didn't even say anything?" He laughed, throwing his hands up in defense, the bottle swaying dangerously in his grip while your giggles matched his, echoing in the empty bar.

"Didn’t have to." You leaned forward slightly, resting your chin in your hand.

Jongseob grinned, entirely unapologetic now. "Guess I'm just relieved." He straightened up again, but didn't move away. If anything, the air between you felt more charged than before.

Your eyes narrowed. "Relieved?"

"Means I still have a chance?" The question came out softer than his usual teasing, almost vulnerable. His eyes searched yours, looking for permission, maybe, or …reciprocation?

You rolled your eyes and leaned back with a groan, knowing how much he loved to tease you at the end of the day. It’s always some bullshit like this, but your pulse began to race nonetheless, and you were certain he could see the flush creeping up your neck.

"Ha. Ha." You forced out a fake and monotone laugh.

"I'm serious." He said it quietly, and the playfulness dropped from his expression for just a moment. "I've been waiting for you to be accessible again for months."

His words hung between you and your breath caught in your throat but you swallowed it like a champ. "Seob.”

"Too much?" He asked, a shit eating smile flashing as he broke ‘character’. He was so fucking annoying.

"You’re irritating." You said too quickly, heat flooding your cheeks. You bit your lip, considering your next words carefully — because at the end of the day, you genuinely could never tell when he was joking or not.

Your back straightened again, wanting to change the subject before you combusted entirely, crossing your legs as you set your drink down — The movement made you acutely aware of your body, and the way his eyes tracked the motion.

“Is there anything new with you?"

Jongseob seemed to notice your need for a topic change, and he let you have it. He set the bottle of alcohol down, stretching his arms back before he let out a breath. The movement pulled his black shirt, top buttons undone across his chest.

"Nothing exciting." He shrugged, then paused. "But actually, I've been working on something." His voice shifted, becoming low and a little rough from the drinks, tinged with excitement.

"Mm, like music?" You hummed, grateful for the safer territory. You knew he had a sweet hobby of producing songs, spending all his free hours in his tiny apartment bedroom with his laptop and midi keyboard, crafting beats or melodies that come out of his stupid brain.

He'd mentioned it in passing before, but never offered to share. Jongseob nodded, and you could see the nervous energy in the way he shifted his weight before he spoke again.

"Yeah, wanna hear?"

He moved to the aux cord tucked behind the counter, plugging in his phone with a quick tap. His fingers hesitated over the screen for just a moment, and you realized he was actually nervous about sharing this with you.

"I'd love to," You said softly, and his shoulders relaxed. Before he continued, he walked away momentarily and booked it straight for the entrance, deciding to lock up early and switch the Open sign off. You quirked a brow but he waved a hand off for you to not worry about.

Moments after, he came back around the counter, proceeding to tap along his phone when a tune began to play throughout the bar.

Easy to say it was catchy. You leaned back on your stool, letting the rhythm wash over you, eyes drifting closed for a moment. Your shoulders began rolling almost unconsciously, hips shifting in time with the beat.

When you opened your eyes, Jongseob was watching you move, his gaze intense and appreciative. A grin spread across his face, clearly pleased with your reaction. Like watching you respond to his music like this was exactly what he'd hoped for.

"This is really good," You smiled, processing the lyrics.

His own smile widened, grabbing the bottle once again like a stupid makeshift mic and bringing it to his lips. Then he started rapping along, your breath catching in your throat.

His flow was satisfying, each word perfectly timed with the beat. But it was more than that — it was like he was serenading you, performing on stage for a crowd of thousands, except the only audience member that mattered was you, and it felt embarrassing, yet… so thrilling?

Your heart skipped a beat, unsure of what was happening, whether it be due to the amount of drinks or just the unspoken feelings of many years spent being his best friend.

The lyrics spilled out about love being caught in an endless loop, and how the body remembers what the mind can forget...

Honestly… every line felt aimed straight at you.

“Now you're mesmerized by my nervousness and I'm mesmerized by you.”

Heat pooled low in your belly as you watched him move, the way his hips rolled with the beat, the way his free hand gestured and emphasized certain words. He was captivating, magnetic, and he knew it.

You burst into giggles at the way he struck a pose on the last word, one hand thrown up dramatically, but the laughter faded quick when you caught the look in his eyes.

It was playful, yes, but underneath was something so serious. And you were kinda scared…

He set the bottle down again and pushed off the counter, the movement fluid and deliberate. The music continued pulsing around you, that hypnotic beat making everything feel dreamlike and inevitable while he came around the bar top.

"Dance with me," He murmured, extending his hand to you. It wasn't really a question, but it wasn't a demand either.

His palm was open, waiting. You stared at it for a moment, your heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it over the music playing on repeat. This felt like a threshold, like once you took his hand, something would shift between you that couldn't be unshifted.

But you wanted it. So bad, you wanted it.

You placed your hand in his, and his fingers closed around yours immediately. He pulled you up gently, and suddenly you were standing, the stool scraping slightly against the floor behind you. The empty bar felt smaller suddenly.

Jongseob tugged you close, one arm sliding around your waist, the other resting on your hip. The touch was light at first, but he was giving you a chance to pull away. Yet, you didn't. Instead, you stepped closer, closing the distance until your bodies pressed together as you swayed.

His chest was firm against yours, and you could feel the heat radiating off him through the thin fabric of his shirt. Your hands came up instinctively, resting on his shoulders.

He was holding himself back, you realized, trying not to rush this.

You both moved slowly, finding a sway that matched the music. You followed his lead, letting your body melt into his. Every point of contact felt electrifying — his hand on your waist, his fingers splayed across your hip, your chest brushing against his with each breath.

“You smell good.” He whispered against your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. You could feel his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear, not quite a kiss but close enough to make you gasp softly.

"Really?" Your voice came out breathier than you intended. "What do I smell like?"

He inhaled deeply, his nose brushing against your hair, your temple. "Like... vanilla, maybe? Something sweet. But that’s just you." His voice was low, intimate, meant only for you.

"It’s been driving me crazy all night."

He spun you around, now pulling your back against his chest as his hips rolled slowly, grinding against you with deliberate pressure, and you felt it.. his growing hardness in his pants pressing against your lower back.

The unmistakable evidence of his desire sent warmth rushing through you, leaving your knees unsteady. A shiver coursed down your spine, and his arms instinctively tightened around you. His hand slid slowly up your chest before settling gently around your neck, his touch featherlight as he tipped your chin upward, silently urging you to meet his gaze and hold it.

"This okay?" He asked, looking into your eyes. His pupils were dilated, dark with want, but there was a question there too.

"Yeah," You breathed, your grip finding his other hand that was cheekily sliding down your abdomen. "More than okay."

The permission seemed to unleash something in him. Jongseob groaned softly, a sound that vibrated through his chest into yours, and his hands began to roam before he turned you back around to face him.

They continued its exploration, sliding from your hips to the small of your back, tracing the curve of your spine through your long sleeve. His touch was reverent, exploratory, as if he was memorizing the shape of you.

"You have no idea how many times Ive dreamt of this," He mumbled, his lips now trailing along your jaw, leaving a path of heat in their wake. "How many years I've looked at you, watching you … and hoping there was something more for me… imagining what it would feel like to touch you like this."

"Really?” You whispered, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "Tell me what you imagined."

His hands slid lower, cupping your ass, squeezing firmly as he pulled you tighter against the pervish peak that poked through his bottoms.

The friction made you both gasp, and you felt him twitch against you through the layers of clothing. "Exactly this," He said, voice thick with tension. "Holding and feeling you against me. Imagined what sounds I can bring out of you even."

The dance had turned into something else entirely now. Less about the music and more about the press of your bodies and the way you fit together. His thigh slipped between your legs, pressing right where you ached, and you couldn't stop the small moan that escaped your lips.

"God, you're driving me crazy.”

“Seob..." His nickname came out like a plea, and you weren't even sure what you were asking for.

"I know, pretty," He murmured, and the endearment made your heart stutter. "Let me take my time with you. Want to do this right."

His hands slid under the hem of your shirt, and you gasped at the contact of his skin against yours. His palms were warm and slightly rough as they traced your sides, moving slowly upward.

He was giving you time to stop him, you noticed, but of course you didn't want to. You arched into his touch instead, encouraging him as he spun you back round once more.

He pulled you back against his chest, his trapped cock pressing onto your ass before his hands cupped your breasts, the two of you humming in response.

His thumbs brushed over your nipples through the fabric of your bra, circling until they peaked under his touch, sensitive and aching. "These are so perfect," He muttered, his voice rough with desire. "You're perfect. So fucking perfect."

Jongseob leaned in, and you thought he was going to kiss you from behind, but instead his lips found your neck, pressing soft kisses along the line of it. He was teasing you, you realized, building everything up until you were desperate and begging for it.

His mouth moved to your jaw, finding that sensitive spot just near your ear, and when he sucked gently, your knees actually buckled.

He caught you easily, holding you up, and chuckled softly against your skin. "I've got you," He promised.

"Kiss me," You finally demanded, unable to take it anymore. "Please, Seob, just kiss me."

He pulled back to get a look at how pathetic you looked, while you turned to look at him. The expression on his face made your breath catch. His gaze was intense — But, finally, his hand gripped your jaw before his lips met yours.

It was everything you'd imagined and dreamed of. It started sweet, his lips soft and tender against yours. He kissed like you both had all the time in the world, and he wanted to savor every second. His hand gripped your face tight, thumb stroking your cheek as his other hand found your bottom.

When his tongue traced the seam of your lips, you opened for him immediately, and the kiss turned hungry.

His tongue slid against yours, slow and thorough, exploring your mouth like he was trying to memorize the taste of you. You could taste the whiskey on his tongue, mixed with something uniquely him, and it was intoxicating.

You pressed closer, your hands sliding up into his hair, and he groaned into your mouth as he backed you against the counter.

The sound vibrated through you, making you clench with need. His hands roamed your back, your sides, pulling you impossibly closer as the kiss grew more desperate.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. "Fuck," he breathed, his lips still brushing against yours as he spoke. “You’re everything," He said simply, and kissed you again.

Jongseob gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him as his tongue explored your mouth once more with unhurried attention.

You tugged at his button up, your fingers undoing the last couple buttons in a hurry before he pulled back just enough to let you pull it over his head.

The neon lights painted his skin in shades of pink and blue, highlighting the lean build of his chest and stomach. You ran your hands over him, exploring, and he shuddered under your touch.

"Your turn," He murmured, his hands finding the hem of your shirt. He paused, eyes meeting yours. "This okay?"

"Yes," You breathed. "Yes, please."

He lowered himself before he lifted your shirt slowly, pressing kisses to each newly exposed inch of skin. Your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breasts. By the time he pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it aside, you were trembling with need.

His hands went to your bra clasp, and he paused again, giving you a chance to stop him. But you reached back and unclasped it yourself, letting it fall away. His eyes darkened as he looked at you, and the appreciation in his gaze made you feel beautiful.

"Gorgeous," He murmured, his hands coming up to cup your breasts again, skin on skin this time. His thumbs circled your nipples, and you arched into his touch with a moan. "So fucking beautiful."

He kissed you again as his hands explored, and you were lost in the sensation of it. Music was still playing, a whole different song playing mindlessly, but all that mattered was this.

With his lips still on yours, Jongseob began guiding you backward once again, your back hitting the edge of the bar counter before he gently lifted you onto the smooth surface. The wood was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body as he positioned himself between your legs.

He pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your thighs, eyes searching yours. "You sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough with desire but sincere. "We can stop anytime. I need you to know that."

Your heart swelled at his consideration, even as your body ached for more. "I'm sure," you said, reaching up to cup his face. "I want this. I need you."

The smile that spread across his face was radiant, and he leaned in to kiss you again, softer this time.

"Gonna make you feel so good, I promise."

His hands moved to your skirt, not even having the class of taking it off but instead shoving it up.

"Lift up for me, pretty," He said softly, and you did, raising your hips so he could slide your panties down. He did it gently, pressing kisses to your thighs as more skin was revealed. First your hip bones, then the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making you gasp and squirm.

He stood between your legs and just looked at you for a moment. You were bare except for your lifted jean skirt, sitting on his bar counter, and the way he was looking at you made you feel like the most desirable person in the world.

"Stop staring—“ You said, feeling suddenly shy despite everything.

"Can't help it," He replied, his hands running up and down your thighs. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

He leaned in to kiss you again, and his hands continued their exploration. They traced patterns on your thighs, your hips, your stomach, learning the geography of your body.

"So perfect. So wet already."

When his fingers finally made contact with your pussy, you moaned. He stroked through your wet folds with teasing pressure, exploring, learning what made you gasp and squirm. "All this for me?"

"Y-yes," You gasped, your hips rolling into his touch. "All for you.“

His fingers found your clit, circling it in slow, firm strokes that made your hips buck. "Tell me how it feels," He said, his eyes fixed on your face, watching every reaction. "Gotta know what you like."

"G-good," You gasped, gripping his shoulders for support. Your nails dug into his skin, but he didn't seem to mind. "Don't stop.. please don't stop."

"Never," He promised, and adjusted his angle slightly. "I got you, baby.“

He experimented with different pressures, different rhythms, watching your face to see what made you moan the loudest. When he found a particular motion that made your eyes roll back, he smiled and focused there, building your pleasure gradually and deliberately.

"That's it," He encouraged, his free hand stroking your thigh. "Let me hear you. Want to know I'm making you feel good."

Your moans grew louder, echoing in the empty bar, and you were beyond caring. All that mattered was his fingers on you, the pleasure building in your core, the way he was watching you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world.

When he finally pushed two fingers inside you, you cried out at the stretch. He moved slowly at first, letting you adjust, pumping deep while his thumb kept working your clit. The dual sensation was overwhelming, and you could feel yourself getting wetter, your body opening for him.

"So tight," He groaned, his eyes dark as he watched his fingers disappear inside you. "Taking my fingers so well. Can you take more?"

"Yes," You whimpered, and he added a third finger, stretching you further. It burned, yet it felt so good, causing you to rock your hips, trying to take him deeper.

He curled his fingers just right, hitting that spot inside you that made your knees weak, and you nearly sobbed with ecstasy.

The wet sounds filled the quiet bar as he worked you. “Could do this forever.” He grunted, putting all his energy into pleasing you.

Your satisfaction was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your core, and you could feel your orgasm approaching. "Seob—“ You gasped, your hands clutching at him desperately. "I'm — I'm so close..."

"I know, pretty," He murmured, increasing his pace slightly. "Come on, want it all over my fingers, you got it."

His words pushed you over the edge, and you released with a cry, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his fingers as waves of bliss crashed through you.

He didn't stop, proceeding to work you through it and draw out your orgasm until you were trembling and oversensitive.

When you finally came down, gasping for breath, he slowly withdrew his fingers. You watched, dazed, as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"So good," Jongseob groaned, his eyes closing briefly. "You taste fucking incredible." He leaned forward. “Need more.”

Before you could process what he meant, he was leaning before you, leveling his face between your thighs. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you to the edge of the counter, and you realized what he was about to do.

"Wait, you don't have to—" You started, but he cut you off with a look.

"I want to," He said firmly. "Please let me."

Fuck, how could you say no to that?

You nodded, and he smiled before spreading your thighs wider, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh.

"So pretty," He said, his voice husky with appreciation. "And still dripping." His tongue licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, tasting you with a low moan that vibrated through you. "So sweet. Knew you would be."

He took his time, exploring you with his tongue. He licked and sucked at your folds, his tongue delving inside you before moving up to circle your clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and especially after your first orgasm, you were already aching.

When he focused on your clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth, you cried out, your hands tangling in his messy blonde hair.

He hummed in approval, the vibration sending jolts through you, and increased his efforts.

Jongseob’s hands gripped you, holding you open for him as he devoured. Two fingers thrusted back inside, stretching you while his mouth still worked your bud with relentless pressure. He was thorough, attentive, and continuously adjusting his technique based on your reactions.

"Oh my god," You moaned, your hips grinding against his face. "M-mouth feels so good, Seob, fuck..."

He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal. "Yeah?" He punctuated the question by licking a broad stripe up your slit. "Like when I do this?" He demonstrated, and you nearly sobbed.

"Y..yes — please don't stop," You begged, and he smiled against you before diving back in with renewed enthusiasm.

When he added a third finger, stretching you like he did before, you came apart. Your second orgasm hit you like a big wave, stronger than the first, and you cried out his name as your thighs trembled around his head. You pulsed around his fingers, and you could feel more wetness coating his tongue as he licked you clean.

But he didn't stop. Even as you came down, oversensitive and shaking, he continued with gentle licks and soft kisses to your inner thighs, keeping the pleasure going, building it again before it could fully fade.

"Too much!” You gasped, but your hips were still rolling against his mouth, seeking more despite your words.

"One more," He murmured against your skin. "Give me one more, pretty. I know you can.“

His fingers withdrew, and he replaced them with his tongue, fucking into you with it as deep as he could go. The sensation was different, softer but somehow more intense, and when his thumb found your clit, rubbing firm circles, you were completely gone.

Your third orgasm built painfully slow, a deep, rolling pleasure that seemed to come from your core. Jongseob worked you patiently, his tongue and thumb moving in perfect rhythm, and when you finally came, it was with a long, gutteral moan that seemed to go on forever. Your whole body shook with it, radiating out from your center in waves.

He sucked you gently through the aftershocks, soft and soothing now, until you were boneless and spent on the counter, flinching sensitively at any further contact.

When he finally pulled away, his face was wet with your arousal, and he was grinning like he'd just won the lottery.

"You're incredible," He said, standing slowly and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "The way you taste, fuck, you're perfect."

You could barely form words, still floating in the aftermath of three orgasms, but you managed to reach for him. "Come here," You murmured, and he leaned in, letting you pull him into a kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it was unexpectedly erotic.

When you pulled back, you noticed the prominent bulge in his pants, straining against the fabric. He'd been focused entirely on your pleasure, but he was clearly aching for relief. Your hand moved to palm him through his pants, and he groaned, his hips jerking into your touch.

"Your turn," You said, your voice still shaky but determined. "Want to make you feel good too."

"You already are," He said, but his eyes were dark with need. "Just touching you, that's everything."

"But I want more," You said, attempting to hop off the counter but once you did, you didn’t calculate how numb your legs would be.

“Careful—“ He snickered, catching you in place and holding your hands as you held yourself upright. “I got you.”

"Want all of you. Please, Seobie."

He sighed, letting you get down on your knees as he helped you with his belt and zipper. Together you pushed his pants and boxers down, allowing his cock to spring free, hard and flushed. You immediately wrapped your hand around it, stroking slowly.

He was hot and heavy in your palm, and when you swiped your thumb over the tip, collecting the bead of precum there, he shuddered.

"Fuck," He groaned, throwing his head back. "Feels good.”

You stroked him slowly, feathering small kisses along the shaft, and learning what he liked as he did for you. When he rocked into your touch with shallow thrusts, your tongue now swirling his tip, he gently caught your wrist, stopping you.

"If you keep doing that, I'm going to come," He said, his voice strained. "But I really, really want to be inside you when I do."

Heat flooded through you at his words, and you nodded. "Yes. Want that too."

He reached for his pants, pulling out his wallet and extracting a condom.

“Nope.” You shook your head, pushing the protection away. “I’m on the pill, so I better be getting every last drop.” You snickered, and his entire face shifted.

“Oh, you’re serious?” Jongseob smiled, slightly teasing but you already knew he was more than open to this.

“So serious.”

Without another word, he gripped your chin and yanked you up, crashing his lips onto yours. Your hands messily found the back of his shoulders, locking tongues with him with force.

"Are you ready then, pretty?" He pulled back and asked, his eyes meeting yours, checking in one more time as he lifted you back onto the counter.

"Yes.” You breathed, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

He lined himself up, teasing at your folds which caused your forehead to drop against his chest. A soft moan escaped you before Jongseob pushed in slowly, so slowly, letting you feel every inch as he stretched you open.

The sensation was overwhelming after everything else, and you both groaned as he sank deeper. He was bigger than his fingers, and the stretch burned slightly, but it was a good burn, a fullness that made you feel complete.

"So tight, baby.” He groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he bottomed out inside you. "Fuck, you feel so good .."

He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, and you could feel him trembling with the effort of holding back. When you finally rolled your hips, urging him to move, he pulled back slowly before thrusting back in, setting a steady, deep rhythm.

Each stroke was deliberate, measured, hitting deep inside you. The angle was perfect, and you could feel him dragging against that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as pleasure built again.

"That's it," He encouraged, his pace increasing slightly. "Take it, just like that."

The counter shook slightly with his movements, and somewhere in the back of your mind you registered the sound of glasses rattling along the bar top, but you didn't care.

All that mattered was the feeling of him inside you, the way your bodies moved together, and the never ending pleasure building between you.

He shifted the angle slightly, and suddenly he was hitting that perfect spot with every thrust, and you cried out, your back arching. "Right there—“ You gasped. "Oh god, right there, don't stop..."

"Here?" He thrust harder, and you nearly sobbed with pleasure. "This what you need?"

You nodded with a hurried force, gasping for air as you couldn’t even comprehend a thought at this point — He was fucking you dumb.

His hand moved between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing firm circles as he continued to thrust deep. The dual sensation was too much, and you felt another orgasm building, impossibly, after everything else.

"Come for me," He urged, his voice rough. "Want to feel you, pretty, give it to me."

His words, combined with the relentless pressure on your clit and the perfect angle of his thrusts, pushed you over the edge. Your fourth orgasm crashed through you, and you came once more, your walls clenching rhythmically around him, pulling him deeper.

"God, yes," He grunted, his rhythm faltering as your pussy squeezed him. "So good for me.”

He thrusted a few more times, deep and hard, and then he was releasing too, burying himself as deep as he could go. You felt him pulse inside you, felt the warmth spilling in you, and the intimacy of it all made your heart clench.

He stayed pressed close, both of you breathing hard, hearts racing in sync. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out, and you both winced at the sensitivity — both your releases now spilling all over the counter.

Dirty bastards.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. You felt him inhale, taking a deep breath which caused you to do the same.

"That was..." You started, but couldn't find the words.

"Yeah," He agreed, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You stayed like that for a long moment, just holding each other in the quiet bar, the lights still casting their soft glow around you. The music had stopped at some point, you realized, but you hadn't even noticed.

Finally, he pulled back slightly, a soft smile on his face. "So," he said, his voice teasing but warm. "Does this mean I have a chance?"

You laughed, the sound bright and genuine, and pulled him in for another kiss. "Didn’t know you were even being deadass about wanting one.” You scoffed.

“Of course I was.” He murmured against your lips. "So do I or no?”

You grinned. “I’ll think about it.”

A pinch at your hip followed after, slightly ticklish. “I’m kidding!” You grinned. “Of course.”

💌 mika’s message Was this nothing burger , everything bagel , Or mediocre salad. Please let me know cuz I don’t even. I Just. SMUT IS GETTING REPETITIVE IDK HOW TO STRAY OUTSIDE OF THIS VANILLANESS , Let me open up a private browser and lock in or smth idk Anhmore. My field experience is not helping anymore either i just don’t know. Sorry was that tmi. Okay ignore me.

previous masterlist next

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺𝖾 : does this satisfy the population of people wanted them to finally interact 🤔 we had to make it about jake somehow heheheheh WE FINALLY ADDRESSED THE ELEPHANT.

ex tra flight tongue emote for reference in case anyone is curious

Eventually, there comes a point where you stop asking who's right and who's wrong because the years blur the details until only the feeling remains. You no longer remember the first offense—only the certainty that if a room catches fire, you'll check whether Nishimura Riki is still inside before you leave.

After all, neither of you ever fought fair— honestly, why would you?

See, mercy is naturally reserved for people you love and indifference is for strangers. Hatred, on the other hand— real hatred—is far more intimate. It learns your habits, memorizes your weaknesses, and waits until you're already bleeding before deciding exactly where to press.

That's the part people never seem to understand.

They like to believe hatred has humble beginnings because it reassures them that it can also be undone; they tell themselves that, given enough patience, enough time, someone will eventually show forgiveness.

But leniency is reserved for those who believe the other deserves it.

You never did.

Nishimura Riki never deserved— nor earned—that leniency.

There's this thing called irony. You've had enough of it, yet it just keeps coming back anyway— unwanted, unprompted—as if it simply can't help itself. As if its sole purpose in life is to ruin yours every single time it decides to show up.

Funnily enough, today is no exception.

The automatic doors of Incheon airport slide open, spitting you and the rest of R3SET into the humid Seoul air. Cameras flash somewhere in the distance— paparazzi already swarming your arrival; Hye-ri walks on your left, Mina on your right, and Sera trails a step behind with her hood pulled low.

You're finally— finally—done with the world tour.

By now, every city has bled into the next; hotels all smelled the same, airport lounges became second homes, and every day dissolved into the same cycle of soundchecks, stages, and performances so loud you had to get your hearing checked on a regular basis. Somewhere along the way, you'd forgotten what it felt like to wake up in the same bed twice.

But today, for the first time in months, you're home.

Which, as irony would have it, is exactly where everything is about to go wrong.

You’re clutching a water bottle in your hand, trying to make sure your face is shielded from the flashes with the other yet your pathetic little instinct says it’s a good idea to reach for your phone when it buzzes in your pocket.

As you glance down to the screen— expecting a welcome-back email from your manager or something absolutely useless like that— you see instead the HYBE logo staring right back at you.

Subject: Year-End Special Collaboration Project – Confirmed Pairing

Your thumb hovers but you already know. Deep in your gut, you fucking know.

But you open it anyway.

...R3SET's Y/n will be paired with ENHYPEN's NI-KI for the 4-minute original dance performance piece. Joint choreography development begins immediately. Mandatory attendance at all scheduled practices, filming days, and rehearsals. Non-compliance will result in...

The rest blurs, it doesn't even matter.

"Fuck." The word slips out under your breath, low and venomous.

Your fingers tighten around the phone until your knuckles crack hard— nails digging crescents into your palm. You keep squeezing until the skin breaks and warm little lines of pain bloom.

Hye-ri notices, her eyes flick to your white-knuckled grip, then away, and Mina's shoulders stiffen. None of your members speak, hah, they know better. Everyone knows talking about the devil is a no-go.

See, some people pray before they sleep, some people do skincare, or meditation. You? You rehearse arguments with Nishimura Riki, you plot his downfall, and you clench your teeth so hard they might break in your mouth.

It's become routine, really, and now you can already hear his stupid voice in your head— sharp, accented, dripping with disgust. "Ugly bitch. Always ruining shit for everyone else."

The same things he's muttered under his breath every time your paths crossed at award shows. The same venom you've always returned by feeding your private hate account the most unflattering behind-the-scenes clips you could find of him.

Usually, if he dared looking smug on stage, you made sure someone clipped the moments he stumbled or looked exhausted.

Petty? Maybe. Satisfying? Abso-fucking-lutely.

A staff member in a Hybe windbreaker rushes past, nearly colliding with you and your shoulder slams into his. Pain flares, but you barely register it, you're too busy being angry.

"Shit— sorry," you mutter automatically, voice flat. The staff blinks at you, startled, but you're already moving again, eyes burning holes into the floor.

Mina finally breaks the silence, voice low enough that only the group can hear. "You good?"

"No." Your laugh is bitter, barely a sound. "They paired me with that fraud, of course I'm not good."

Sera's hand brushes your arm in silent support, but she doesn't say anything. What is there to say? Erm...Good luck? Don't kill each other? The company doesn't care if you hate Riki, they want the drama and the numbers— the "tension" that fans already whisper about in forums.

You force your fingers to unclench, blood dots your palm in tiny red half-moons but you wipe it discreetly on your sweatpants.

The roar of fans and cameras grows louder as you approach the arrival gate— bright lights, screaming voices chanting your name and phones held high are waiting for you. You pull your black facemask up over your nose and mouth in one smooth motion and roll your shoulders back, lift your chin, to let the practiced smile bleed into your eyes even if it never reaches your mouth.

Hye-ri links arms with you on cue, Mina waves with both hands, bright and bubbly and you all fall into formation like muscle memory.

"Y/n unnie! Welcome back!"

"R3SET fighting!"

You bow slightly toward the crowd, eyes crinkling above the mask in the perfect illusion of gratitude. Let's just say, inside, your mind is a storm of curses in three languages.

Nishimura fucking Riki.

You can already picture the first practice: his tall frame taking up way too much space in the studio, that stupid frown, the way he'll deliberately step on your timing just to watch you fail. The way his hands will have to touch you during lifts and turns because the choreographer will demand chemistry you'll never have.

You want to break something. Preferably his ugly nose.

But the cameras are rolling, the fans are watching and on top of everything, the company email has made it very clear— this project is non-negotiable. So you keep smiling behind the mask, waving with one hand while the other stays clenched around your bottle.

'Let's see how long we last before one of us actually tries to kill the other', you think as you move toward the waiting vans.

You already know the answer.

Not long.

You might wonder what brings a woman and a man to such lengths of hatred. And the difficult part is that there's no real explanation; it's just an accumulation really— tiny cuts over years that fester into something grotesque.

One day you're both wide-eyed trainees sweating through sixteen-hour days, and the next you're fantasizing about drop-kicking Nishimura Riki off a stage mid-performance while smiling for the fans.

That's the thing, it's not dramatic movie-villain origin shit. It's the slow poison of shared survival in an industry that chews up kids and spits out Barbie dolls.

A stolen practice slot here, a whispered rumor there, a public meltdown that paints you as the problem while he plays the misunderstood genius, and a TV scandal that ruined everything. Add in sleep deprivation, pressure, and the fact that you both watched each other's dreams nearly die, and boom— they created the perfect nemesis.

By now, you've replayed every second so many times it feels like a greatest-hits album in your brain. Riki’s smug little smirk when he nailed a combo you'd been killing yourself over. The way he'd mutter "amateur" just loud enough for you to hear during evaluations. Your secret satisfaction when his group's early promotions hit minor bumps.

It's all so stupid and so fucking deep at the same time. Because that's the problem with hatred— it doesn't have to make sense to become permanent. Some people have childhood trauma... you just have Nishimura Riki.

The flashbacks hit you sometimes like a bad smell you can't escape. It always starts the same way; elimination day on I-LAND; the lights were way too bright, the cameras too close, and the air felt thick enough to choke on. You remember the way the eliminated trainees stood in that sterile line, faces blank or streaked with tears. Riki's japanese hyung Hajime —his only real anchor in that cutthroat dorm—didn't make the final cut. The announcement echoed through the hall like a death sentence and even now, years later you can still hear it.

The kid had talent, sure, but the system didn't care. It pushed and pushed and pushed until even the strongest cracked under the weight of evaluations, rankings, and endless comparisons.

You were just trying to survive too, right? Everyone was. Thats why you did what you did that day, and why you kept doing it out of pure pettiness.

The company fed you lines about "growth" and "teamwork," when talking about the trainee program, but really it was a meat grinder dressed up in sparkly dresses. Children— literal teenagers—breaking down in practice rooms at 3 am., vomiting from exhaustion, smiling for the livestreams like nothing was wrong. Friendships formed and shattered in the span of a single ranking drop.

Loyalties? Laughable.

You did what you had to do: submitted the feedback that protected your own team. Cold? Maybe. Necessary? In that hellscape, yes.

Riki, though, didn't see it that way. He exploded in the hallway afterward, voice cracking with rage, calling you out in front of everyone. That moment branded him "difficult" and nearly cost him everything. You watched his dream wobble on the edge while yours steadied and the industry kept spinning, indifferent to the bodies it left behind.

Some debuted. Some didn't.

But we’ll get to that story another time.

Back in the present, a couple days passed since you came back to Seoul— you're now sitting in a Hybe conference room turned temporary press hall, legs crossed tightly under the table so no one sees your knee bouncing like it's trying to escape your body.

It's the kickoff press conference for the year-end special collaboration, cameras are everywhere and so are reporters with microphones poised like weapons. Your members are seated a few chairs down, shooting you sympathetic glances when they think the cameras aren't looking.

Across from you, flanked by his members, sits the devil himself: Nishimura Riki.

He looks disgustingly repulsive in his all-black fit— sharp jawline, dyed blond hair styled just right, that stupid tall frame slouched like he owns the room. You want to throw your mic at his head and watch it split open.

The MC, some overly enthusiastic guy in a suit two sizes too tight, beams at the crowd. "Welcome everyone! Today we're excited to announce this groundbreaking collaboration between R3SET and Enhypen! Let's hear from the groups themselves!"

Forced applause ripples through the room and you plaster on your idol smile— eyes bright, lips curved— the works. Inside your head it's a completely different scene:

'Smile wider, you fraudulent prick. I hope your next flip lands on your neck.'

Riki mirrors your expression perfectly. To the cameras, you two look like respectful colleagues but up close? His eyes scream 'I hope you trip on stage and eat shit in front of twenty thousand people.'

The MC shoves a mic toward you first. "Y/n! How do you feel about partnering with Riki for this high-stakes piece?"

You lean forward slightly, voice honey-sweet and professional. "I'm really honored to be working with someone as talented as Riki. We're both dedicated to this, so I know we'll deliver something amazing for the fans."

Translation: 'I would rather gargle battery acid than spend one minute in a practice room with that entitled dance prodigy asshole.'

Riki's turn comes. He chuckles lightly, the sound obviously practiced, but you catch the micro-twitch in his jaw. "Yeah, same. Y/n has great stage presence. Looking forward to creating something cool together."

'Cool?' you think. 'I'll create a crime scene, maybe.'

The MC eats it up. "Ah, such great chemistry already! Let's do a quick joint Q&A. Reporters, go ahead."

A reporter stands. "There have been past rumors of some tension between you two from trainee days. How will you overcome that for this project?"

The room goes a little quieter— your smile doesn't falter, but your nails dig into your thigh under the table.

Riki answers first, voice calm. "Trainee days were tough for everyone. We've both grown a lot since then. Right, Y/n?"

You nod, locking eyes with him. "Absolutely. Water under the bridge, we're focused on the performance now."

Water under the bridge? More like gasoline on a bonfire.

Another reporter asks, "Riki, what's your first impression of working with Y/n?"

He tilts his head, pretending to think. "She's very... determined. Always gives 110%. I respect that."

Determined. Just a way of saying 'ruthless backstabber,' for him.

You jump in before he can enjoy his little jab. "And Riki's technique is insane. It'll be fun pushing each other, right?" Your tone is light, playful even and the audience laughs appreciatively.

The press conference drags on like a hostage situation— they make you do a short segment where you both stand up and demonstrate a basic partner hold for the cameras. His hand lands on your waist— firm and professional, but you can tell he’s dying to take it off. Your skin crawls but you place your hand on his shoulder like the choreographer instructed earlier in rehearsal. Up close, he smells like expensive cologne and it makes nausea rise so violently in your throat that you want to throw up on the spot.

"Relax your grip," he mutters under his breath, smile still plastered on for the flashing cameras. "Or are you trying to claw me in front of everyone?"

"Shut the fuck up and smile, giraffe," you whisper back, voice sugary.

His fingers press harder into your waist— just enough to bruise, not enough for anyone else to notice. You dig your nails into his shoulder in return and the cameras click wildly.

You both separate after the pose, returning to your seats— of course, your members are trying not to laugh nervously while Jake leans over to whisper something to Riki that makes his jaw clench. Good, you hope it breaks.

The MC claps. "Wonderful! Now, let's hear some fan questions!"

A staff member reads one aloud: "What's one thing you're excited to learn from each other?"

You go first this time. "I'm excited to learn Riki's precision in footwork. He's known for it."

And you're also excited to learn how far you can push him before he snaps on camera.

Riki's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. "Y/n's charisma in performance is next level. I'll definitely pick up some tips on audience connection."

The back-and-forth continues— every compliment laced with venom only the two of you can taste. The audience eats up the "tension" as chemistry.

Oh God, if only they knew you'd spent the van ride here mentally drafting apology tweets for the hypothetical day you actually murder him.

At one point, they project concept art for the performance on a big screen behind you— dark, intense, sensual choreography planned; close partner work, lifts and prolonged eye contact. The MC gushes about it and you nearly choke on your own spit.

Great. Just what you need—his hands all over you while yours fantasize about elbowing him in the ribs until he throws up his organs.

Riki's expression stays neutral, but you swear you see his eye twitch— he probably imagines the same thing in reverse.

Halfway through, they bring out small gifts— matching bracelets symbolizing the collaboration. You have to clasp one on his wrist while cameras zoom in; his skin is warm, you hate it— but he’s obligated to return the favor, fingers brushing yours with shameless disgust.

Then the press conference wraps with more applause and photo ops; you stand side-by-side for group shots, shoulders barely touching but close enough that you can feel his body. His hand brushes your lower back as you pose— publicly supportive, privately a threat.

"After this, I'm blocking your number again," you mutter as the cameras flash.

"Already did that months ago, ugly bitch," he whispers back cheerfully.

As the event ends and staff start herding everyone out, you catch his eye one last time across the room— needless to say, it's pure murder, zero remorse.

You smirk behind your polite nod.

Game on, Riki. Someone's going to break. You just hope it's him. (though if it's you, at least you'll take him down with you.)

The van ride back to the dorm is quiet, your members chat lightly about the schedule while you stare out the window, palm still stinging from earlier, replaying every micro-interaction. His grip. His whisper. That fucking ugly smirk.

Oh god— hatred has turned you into a creature of rage and despair, it’s starting to become pathetic.

You pull out your phone and open the secret hate account; it's time to upload that one blurry shot you sneaked during the photo op where he looks slightly constipated under the bright lights.

Petty? Yes. Therapeutic? Immensely.

For your sake— somewhere across the city, Riki's probably doing the same thing, so it’s only fair. You log into your @nishimurafraud aka “that bitch gotta go” and do your thing, quickly posting the ridiculous picture with the caption, ‘thank you to the fan who snapped this horrible shot of dickimura’.

You laugh to yourself— it’s true that it’s childish and ridiculous but no one will ever know it was you anyway.

Nishimura Riki needs to die.

Not in a cute "hahaha i hate you" way. You mean it in the bone-deep, stomach-churning, 'if I had a knife I'd turn him into human barbecue meat' kind of way.

Every time you picture his stupid face your blood pressure spikes so hard you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. He's not even attractive to you anymore— years of hatred have warped him into this tall, lanky, smug-faced asshole who moves like he's God's gift to dance but looks like a little bitch when he's off-guard.

Ugly on the inside, ugly on the outside. Perfect match.

And now —a few days after— the locked studio on the fifth floor of the Hybe building feels like a prison cell designed specifically to torture you. Soundproof walls, mirrors on every surface, no windows, and a door that clicks shut with a sound that makes your skin crawl.

Just you, him, the choreographer who already left a couple times for a "quick break" (though he’s probably hiding from the murder vibes), and four hours of mandatory choreography creation time.

You stretch in the corner, trying to ignore how his presence sucks all the oxygen out of the room— Riki’s scrolling on his phone like he has all the time in the world, legs spread obnoxiously wide on the floor, he’s wearing a pair of ugly oversized sweats and a chrome hearts tank.

He probably thought he looked oh so good that morning when he got dressed— fun fact, he doesn’t.

"You gonna stand up or just sit there?" you snap, not even bothering to look at him.

"Don't talk to me, just do your job and shut up." he clicks his tongue, knee bouncing, annoyed.

You let out a breathy chuckle, "I don't care about what you want, just stand up and let's get to work. Try not to be a lazy slop for once."

"Oh give me a break," he hisses the second the choreographer is gone, not even looking up. “Start alone if you’re so eager to work.”

What you’re gonna do is start throwing punches.

You laugh humourlessly. "Keep throwing your little fits and maybe they'll finally send you back to Japan, dickface."

His head snaps up, those dark eyes narrowing into slits. "At least I have talent worth exporting. What do you have? Average face, average moves, and a shit personality."

"Fuck you," you spit, stepping into the center of the room. "Let's just get this over with."

The choreographer left a rough structure: heavy partner work, intense eye contact, sharp isolations into fluid lifts. Of course. Because the company wants chemistry. What they're going to get though, is a motherfucking homicide report.

You start with the basics— mirroring footwork. Riki's annoyingly precise, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking impressed, instead, you mutter under your breath, "Stiff as a fucking board. Do you even bend or is your spine made of rebar?"

Riki stops mid-count, turning to you with a glare that makes you want to punch his teeth in. "Stop looking at me and then maybe you’ll realise how off-beat you are… no wonder they paired you with me— someone actually good."

"Good?" You step closer, hands on your hips. "You're sloppy as shit. The only reason it works is because you're young and pretty and the delusional fans like that overgrown baby face. One day that shit's gonna catch up and you'll just be another weirdo doing Tiktoks in your mom's basement."

He barks a laugh that sounds like it hurts. "Coming from you? That's rich. You're mid at best on a good day, repulsive on every other."

The insults fly faster as you run the first section again, every correction turning into verbal evisceration.

"You're rushing the transition, can't keep up, ugly ass?" he sneers during a spin combo.

"Shut up," you fire back. "Fix your damn posture before I break it for you."

By the time you reach the partner lifts, the air is drenched with venom; he has to grip your waist and lift you into a hold, his fingers dig in hard—bruising, punishing. You retaliate by digging your elbow into his shoulder as you balance.

"Watch it," he growls, voice low.

"Make me, bitch."

The lift goes up— for three seconds it's almost beautiful—technically. But then you shove off him harder than necessary on the dismount, and he pushes you back just enough that you stumble.

"You fucking—" You whirl on him, fists clenched.

"What do you want now?" His chest is heaving, face inches from yours. Up close he's even uglier— that stupid mole, the way his lip curls like he smells something rotten. You. "You know what y/n? I hope this stage is where your career dies, that'll finally shut you up. I think you’ve gotten way too comfortable.”

You shove him hard in the chest and he shoves right back. For a split second you're both seconds away from throwing actual punches— knuckles white, breathing ragged, eyes screaming murder. Your heart is pounding with rage and something sickeningly close to adrenaline.

The studio door clicks open before you can use your fists— a staff member walks in, freezing at the sight of you two practically snarling at each other.

"Everything... okay?" the staff asks hesitantly.

You step back first, forcing that professional mask on. "Perfect. Just working through some difficult transitions."

Riki wipes sweat from his brow, smiling like an angel for the staff. "Yeah. Great progress."

The staff nods awkwardly and leaves after reminding you of the schedule— the door locks again and you both exhale like you've been holding your breath for an hour.

"Stay the fuck away from me until we have to touch again," you mutter, grabbing your water bottle.

"Gladly."

The session drags like that for hours— insults layered between actual choreography notes, every touch turning into a power struggle. By the end you're both exhausted, bruised, vibrating with hatred and you leave without a word, slamming the door behind you.

Later that night, in the Enhypen dorm, Riki's sprawled on the couch scrolling through his phone with a scowl that could curdle milk. Jake walks in from the kitchen, humming, clearly in a good mood. He clears his throat, trying to sound casual at first. "So... choreo with Y/n today? I caught some of the teaser clips from the press conference earlier. She looks really good..."

Riki doesn't look up immediately, but his eyebrow twitches. "You're kidding, right?"

Jake continues, slower. "I mean... no, and you're probably gonna laugh but I've been thinking about her a lot lately. I don't know, man, I might... have a bit of a crush. Like, actually considering shooting my shot after this project wraps. She seems cool."

Jungwon, from the hallway, goes, "Oh shit, here we go..."

Riki slowly lowers his phone, staring at Jake like he just confessed to arson— the silence stretches for a beat before he explodes with disbelief "There's 7 billion people on this planet and you chose her? Good job man... nah, good job."

Jake chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Come on, she's not—"

Jay, overhearing from the other couch, jumps in. "She's not all that bad come on... you're lying to yourself it's dramatic."

"I'm not. She's ugly, bitchy, and dumb. What the fuck could he even see in her." Riki sits up straighter, fully committed and disgusted. "You're seriously just going to forget everything she did? All that... for a mid, ridiculous bitch?"

Sunoo intervenes, rolling his eyes, "You don't need to say all that Riki, don't call her a bitch. Honestly it's not that deep, we were young and..."

"Aaaand i don't care." Riki cuts off. "Good luck Jake, you're gonna regret this. You're gonna get herpes all over your dick— gonna start shooting your intestines straight out of your ass."

Jake is half-chuckling, half-horrified. "Dude... what the hell are you even saying."

"What im saying is, if you pursue that, I'm disowning you as a member. Find someone else. Anyone."

Jay wheezes from the couch. "Let him do whatever he wants to do. Y/n isn't even bad, she's sweet and pretty"

"You're dead wrong," Riki says, dead serious. "While you're at it Jake, do me a favor and take my place in rehearsal so I won't have to lift her disgusting ass again."

The words feel good, cathartic even, he pictures your face during that final shove in the studio and smiles spitefully at the ceiling. The satisfaction slandering your name brings him is unmatched.

Okay, you really didn’t make much of an effort these past few weeks— you’ll admit it. But, to your credit, pretending to tolerate Nishimura Riki was already taking more restraint than you possessed. The company wanted chemistry but come on— let’s be honest, subtlety had never been your strong suit when it came to him.

Back in the R3SET dorm, you’re sprawled across the couch in oversized sweats, phone glowing in your hand like a bomb that just went off. The email from Hybe sits open on the screen, the words burning into your retinas. Hye-ri pads in from the kitchen with two iced americanos, sliding one onto the coffee table before dropping down beside you.

“Oh shit, man, I’m in deep trouble,” you mutter, shoving the phone toward her.

Hye-ri leans over, reading quickly. “What happened?”

You snort despite yourself. “Company just sent me an email… apparently people all over social media are saying me and Nishimura look like we despise each other. Like… hello? Duh? Tell me something I don’t know.”

Hye-ri winces, sipping her drink. “They really need to media train you, oh my god. You need to retake the whole class.”

You chuckle coldly, “This hatred cannot be media trained out of me, Hye-ri,” you say, half-laughing, half-serious, “I’ll drag that motherfucker down, whatever it takes. No one can convince me to stop.”

“Okay but at least be slick about it, Y/n.”

“Hell no. If I start behaving normally these crazy ass fans might start—” you gag dramatically, “—shipping me with him.”

Hye-ri hesitates, then pulls out her own phone with a sympathetic grimace. “Umm… I hate to break it to you, Y/n. Don’t be mad okay? But like… they already do.”

She types quickly, and turns the screen toward you. A random tweet stares back: “Oh i know that angry enemy sex must be sooo good. #yn #niki”

Oh fuck these people, come on.

“Ew what the heck???” You recoil, shoving the phone away like it’s contagious. “Ugh I’m gonna throw up, hold my hair.”

Hye-ri laughs, rubbing your back as you dramatically fake-heave into a pillow. “It’s just delusional fans, unnie. They ship anything that breathes in the same zip code. But yeah… the company’s not wrong about the optics.…”

You sit up, running a hand through your hair. Every interaction with Riki these past weeks had been a masterclass in restraint— smiling for the cameras while imagining shoving him off a balcony— and now Hybe was sniffing around like you’d personally ruined their precious brand synergy.

“They want me to play nice,” you say bitterly, staring at the email again. “But every time I’m in the same room as him it feels like my skin’s on fire. Like my body remembers every shitty thing he’s ever said or done and just… revolts. Literally what do they want me to do for a whole month ?”

Hye-ri lets out an awkward laugh, she knows that topic is highly sensitive and she doesn’t really know how to talk about it. “Well, just don’t talk to him, try to be neutral and don’t bother arguing with him.”

It’s so hard not to argue when Nishimura Riki is another level of messy. The kind that makes your stomach turn and your skin want to peel itself off just from sharing the same air— he’s the toxic spill that contaminates everything it touches.

And since the company doesn’t give a damn about your mutual revulsion— here you are, dragged into another locked studio at 9 PM for a forced 12-hour overnight practice because the higher-ups decided “chemistry needs time” and deadlines don’t care about your desire to see him drop dead.

It’s been a week since the talk in the dorms with Hye-ri, and you tried— god you really tried to follow her advice, but it’s impossible.

The mirrors probably make it worse— every angle reflects his repulsive presence. You can’t escape him. Your skin prickles the second the door locks and it’s just the two of you under the cold lights.

Riki’s already there, scrolling on his phone with that bored expression that says he’d rather be anywhere but near you. It’s a good thing you feel the same way.

The choreographer dips out around midnight with a vague “review the footage yourselves.” Leaving you two in hell. You start the first run-through in silence; during a simple mirroring sequence, his arm brushes yours accidentally and you jerk away like he’s diseased, skin crawling violently.

“Try not to fucking touch me,” you snap. “Are you spatially impaired or something?”

“That’s not even a thing, you idiot. And you think I wanna be touching a backstabbing bitch?” Riki’s lip tighten. “Don’t think i forgot everything you did back then.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh for fuck’s sake, just shut up for once.”

The tall man snaps, he turns to you and looks down with hatred, “No, everyone’s forgetting your little bitch act but I won’t. You sold out Hajime just to save your own ass cause you’re an egoistic idiot… Should I continue or do you actually feel guilty for once?”

The words hit like acid, your blood boils and you whip around, hatred flaring. “And your little public tantrum right after? Exploding in the hallway, screaming at me in front of everyone, nearly tanked my entire evaluation. Don’t act like you were some saint, Riki. We both know you’re the bitch here.”

He stares at you with pure loathing, “Whatever you say, one day you’re gonna have to face it y/n, let’s just finish this shit so I don’t have to look at your face anymore.”

Some time after; the micro-sabotage starts small but vicious. In the next lift sequence, he “missteps,” his foot catching your ankle just enough to make you stumble hard.

Pain shoots up your leg but you recover by raking your nails subtly down his arm as you catch yourself— leaving red lines under his sleeve. Riki hisses but keeps moving, eyes burning.

Your skin crawls every time his hands land on your waist for the holds. It feels violating, wrong. You dig your fingers into his shoulder harder than needed, hoping it bruises deep.

“Disgusting,” you mutter under your breath during one close turn.

You force some semblance of work conversation because the company is monitoring progress, but even that doesn’t work.

“Your count is off on the transition,” you say through gritted teeth, skin prickling as you reset positions.

“Yeah, because you’re rushing it like an amateur,” he replies.

It keeps going until you both have no saliva and inspiration left and around 5 am, during the most intense partner sequence— close holds, prolonged eye contact, bodies pressed together for balance—you both mistime the transition.

Your foot catches his, and his arm wraps around you instinctively as momentum pulls you down. You crash to the practice floor in a tangle of limbs, his body half-covering yours, chests heaving.

For a second, neither of you moves.

His face is inches from yours, sweat-damp hair falling into his eyes. You can feel the heat of him everywhere—thighs, chest, the press of his hand still on your waist.

“Get off me,” you whisper, but your voice comes out rougher than intended.

He doesn’t immediately, his eyes flick down to your mouth with disgust, then back up. “You’re the one still holding my shirt.”

You are, your fingers are fisted in the fabric. You release it like it burned you, bile rising in your throat.

You scramble up, heart pounding with rage— you both avoid eye contact, but the image of his body over yours lingers like a scar until you’re seconds away from throwing up.

Around 6 am, another company email hits and obviously yours is brutal: Y/n’s sections lack conviction. Visible panic affecting flow. Fix immediately or risk replacement.

You read it in the corner, alone, hands starting to shake as the pressure, exhaustion, and years of fighting catch up. Panic claws at your throat so you turn away, trying to breathe through it, hating that you’re cracking even a little.

Riki notices from across the room, of course, he doesn’t comfort— he stays in his corner of the room, a mocking smirk creeping onto his face despite the exhaustion. This, is his favorite sight, he thrives whenever he sees you break even a little.

So all he can do is laugh coldly, he despises you, hates how you get under his skin, hates that he can’t stop seeing images of your younger self betraying him over and over.

But what he loves though— is that you could be begging on your knees and he’d still want you dead.

You push open the studio door a couple hours later, legs like lead and eyes burning from the all-nighter; every muscle screams, your ankle still throbs from that “accidental” trip, and your brain is a delightful cocktail of rage and exhaustion.

You’re thinking about the long nap you’re gonna take as soon as you’re home, when you spot Sim Jake leaning against the wall a few meters down, looking unfairly fresh for this ungodly hour. He’s holding a small paper bag, shifting his weight like a nervous puppy.

“Hey y/n,” he says, offering a shy smile as you approach. “I… uh, grabbed some pastries earlier. Got extra ones I won’t finish. Want some?”

He holds the bag out and you blink at him, brain too fried to compute kindness immediately. Extra my ass, those look suspiciously hand-picked.

Before you can answer, the studio door swings open again— Riki steps out right behind you, tall frame radiating pure irritation— his eyes land on Jake, the pastries, and you standing there and his jaw tightens so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t crack. He huffs loudly- dramatic as ever—shoves his hands in his pockets, and stalks off down the hall without a word.

Jake watches him go, then glances back at your narrowing eyes as they stare at Riki’s retreating back.

He chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… about those pastries. And, um… would you maybe wanna grab lunch sometime? When we’re not both half-dead from schedules.” He glances around quickly, making sure no staff is lurking.

So it wasn’t about the pastries at all.

You raise an eyebrow, suspicion kicking in instantly. Is this a trap? Is Riki putting him up to this so he can watch you crash and burn? Some elaborate plot to humiliate you?

“Is there a catch?” you cross your arms.

He shakes his head, sincere. “No catch. Just me.”

You let out a tired but genuine little chuckle. “Mhh okay then. Okay. Lunch sounds good.”

His face lights up like you just handed him a winning lottery ticket and you take a pastry from the bag— still warm—before waving him off to head toward the van waiting downstairs.

Cute. Annoyingly wholesome. The anti-Riki.

Back at the dorm you collapse onto your bed for approximately three seconds before your stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead. Right. Food.

You drag yourself to your laptop, intending to quickly google whether that leftover kimchi jjigae in the fridge is still safe or if it’s entered its “biohazard” era and fingers moving on autopilot, you hit the search bar.

And remember what we said about irony? Well it seems that bitch is the main character in your life— it lives and thrives on your embarrassment.

Your search history pops up first on your phone, snapping you back to reality. Oh well.

nishimura riki dance technique, nishimura riki dancing fancam, nishimura riki best moves, enhypen niki choreography breakdown, nishimura riki footwork analysis

You stare, then you stare harder. Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.

You’ve forgot to mention this part of the hatred— the one where, no matter how many times you make yourself throw up, you still can’t stop yourself from analyzing the enemy— studying his technique so you can dismantle it during practice.

Riki precision really is…. insane— it hurt to admit but it’s the truth. The way he isolates his movements, the control in those lifts, the ridiculous height giving him lines you had to match or exceed… You’ve been rewatching his clips more than you care to admit, picking apart what makes him good so you could be better.

So you could beat him.

“Fucking hell,” you groan, slamming the laptop shut and face-planting into your pillow.

Stockholm syndrome probably. Yeah.

Needless to say— a few days later you find yourself sitting next to Sim Jake while he talks about different foods he misses from Australia. Interesting— but also existentially confusing, because here’s this cutie pie of a man rambling sweetly about meat pies and Vegemite like it’s the pinnacle of human cuisine— and your brain keeps short-circuiting back to someone’s dancing skills.

“—and honestly the Tim Tams are killer, but nothing beats a proper Aussie burger with beetroot,” Jake says, his knee brushing yours under the table as he leans in a little closer. “You ever tried any of that stuff? I’d love to make you my infamous version sometime.”

You blink, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Is that an invitation?”

His eyes crinkle, clearly pleased. “It’s definitely an invitation. I make a mean one.” He steals a fry from your plate, holding eye contact the whole time like it’s a dare.

And it’s nice— really nice. Jake feels nice, and safe and everything in between. A good friend.

You laugh, reaching over to snag one of his own fries in retaliation, letting your fingers linger just a second longer than necessary. “Bold move. I see how it is— you lure me in with pastries and now you’re offering private cooking lessons.”

He chuckles, low and easy, shifting so his arm rests along the back of your chair. “What can I say? I like spoiling good company. And you…” His gaze flicks over your face, appreciative. “You make it easy to want to spoil.”

Oh. Oookay. Sim Jake’s got game.

Your stomach does a stupid little flip despite yourself— it’s been so long since anyone looked at you without layers of politeness or pure venom, that the attention feels almost foreign.

“Yeah? Keep talking like that and I might start thinking this lunch is less ‘casual hang’ and more ‘date,’” you tease, tilting your head as you take a sip of your drink, watching him over the rim. You don’t even mean it at first, it just slips out, friendly and teasing.

Much to your surprise Jake doesn’t miss a beat. “Would that be so bad?” he asks, voice playful but with a genuine edge underneath. “Because I’ve been wanting to do this for a while, schedules be damned.”

You feel heat creep up your neck but play it cool, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Ah… dangerous territory, Mr. Australia. I might actually say yes to that burger night you know?”

“Deal then,” he says immediately, his smile widening into something brighter and flirtier.

And who knows? This could be good, right? There’s not shame in wanting to hang out with sweet Jake and get a taste of normal life, burgers and all.

Mid-project evaluation hits like a goddamn truck— and honestly everyone expected it (everyone = you and your own brain).

The conference room feels narrower than usual, air thick with disappointment— suits from the creative team sit across the table like judges at an execution, projecting footage of your latest run-through on the big screen.

The choreography looks technically good in moments— your footwork clean, his lines ridiculous as always—but the notes flashing across the slide are brutal: Lacks cohesion. Emotional disconnect visible. Partner chemistry reads as forced tension rather than intentional fire. Fix by weekend or we reevaluate the performance slot.

You clench your jaw so hard it aches, nails digging into your thighs under the table. Of course it’s not cohesive, how the fuck do they expect magic when every touch makes your skin crawl like you’re hugging a venomous snake?

Riki sits a few seats away, face blank like he’s above it all, but you catch the micro-twitch in his jaw— he hates this as much as you do. Good.

The exec in the middle drones on, voice flat and disappointed. “We’re seeing potential, but the audience needs to feel something. Right now it looks like you two are tolerating each other at best.”

Tolerating? You almost laugh out loud. Try actively plotting each other’s demise between counts.

Your manager shoots you a warning glance, so you force a polite nod, but inside you’re screaming. Even in your twenties, this makes you feel like a kid getting grounded all over again—stuck in detention with the one classmate who ruined every group project. No phone, no freedom, just endless practice until you “get it right.” The infantilizing tone of it all makes your blood boil. You’re professionals… sort of— but sure, they should lock you in a room like misbehaving toddlers.

The meeting is short and soul-crushing. “We’re locking the studio for the full weekend,” one exec says flatly. “No outside schedules. Fix it.”

You don’t even look at Riki as you leave. You don’t need to— the tension follows you both like a shadow.

48 hours to manufacture chemistry out of pure hatred is a flawed way of proceeding. Give it a lifetime— and then maybe just maybe it’ll be enough.

The studio door clicks shut 7 pm that next Friday, the lock engaging like a prison cell. No choreographer. No staff. Just the two of you, mirrors on every wall as you stretch in the corner, trying to ignore how his presence sucks the oxygen out of the room. Riki’s already there, him and that obnoxious slouch.

There’s something you have yet to admit— it’s that you learned Nishimura Riki the way soldiers learn battlefields— every weakness mapped, every tell memorized, every micro-expression a potential opening for attack. You could recognize his silhouette before your own reflection: the tall frame, the slight tilt of his head when he’s about to strike, the way his shoulders tense right before a difficult transition. But no matter how much you study him, you could never pin point why you loathe him so much.

It’s like your ambition had slowly borrowed his face— every late-night practice, every ranking you clawed for, every mirror check— his standard was burned into your brain. This comes from the principle that, there are people you love because they understand you— and then there are people who understand you because they’ve spent years trying to defeat you.

Hatred kept you facing one another long after affection would’ve looked away.

It’s better this way.

Two ugly souls like yours could never be more than rivals.

The first run-through starts in heavy silence— you move into position and Riki does the same. No words are uttered, just eyes tracking every shift of weight, every breath, every subtle adjustment.

You’ve been hanging out a lot with Jake this past week— as often as the schedule allowed, and you’ve started to wonder if giving him a chance was a good think. Technically speaking— Jake was a total sweetheart, he carried his heart on his sleeve, offered amazing advice and had good cooking skills.

But— and here it comes— you really weren’t ready for anything serious. Common excuse really, but that wasn’t an excuse, you just really didn’t have time to waste on trying to flirt with a man. Busy life, it seemed.

Now currently in a very busy session, you watch the precise snap of Riki’s isolations, the way his long limbs cut through the air with infuriating control. Bastard. How does he make it look so effortless?

Your body mirrors him instinctively now— years of obsession making your muscles anticipate his timing even as your mind screams to disrupt it.

Riki circles you during the mirroring sequence, gaze sharp on your footwork— and damn it if you don’t feel it like a physical touch— analyzing, cataloging, judging. When your ankle wobbles slightly from exhaustion, his lip twitches.

The partner section begins a while after, his hands land on your waist for the lift, the contact burning. Your skin crawls with disgust, but your body betrays you— muscles relaxing into the hold for a split second before you catch yourself.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whisper viciously, bodies pressed together.

“Like what? Like I wanna throw you out the window?” he mutters back, fingers flexing on your waist. “Because that’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

“Liar, your hands are shaking.”

“They’re not shaking, they’re restraining themselves from choking you.”

This is vile. You dig your fingers into his shoulder harder than necessary as he lifts, feeling the muscle tense under your grip and Riki adjusts his stance minutely, correcting for your weight without missing a beat. It’s almost like he knows exactly how you balance, how you breathe through the strain.

You dismount with a shove and and he pushes back just enough on the next turn to throw your timing. Still absolutely no words are uttered, there’s just a silent war in the mirrors— your reflection showing the way your eyes narrow when his hand lingers a fraction too long on your back during a spin.

His reflection shows the tight set of his jaw when your thigh brushes his during a close hold.

You break the moment by “accidentally” stepping on his foot hard enough to make him curse— and from there, insults get more creative and more personal.

“You’re nothing without the company propping you up,” he spits out.

“Says the overrated dance prodigy who throws tantrums when he doesn’t get his way,” you fire back. “Hajime would be embarrassed.”

His eyes flash dangerously. “Leave him out of your fucking mouth.”

The air crackles, you’re both breathing hard, circling each other like fighters in a ring by then. You wouldn’t be honest if you didn’t mention that every lift brings unwanted awareness: the heat of his chest against yours, the strength in his arms that you catalog despite yourself, the way your bodies slot together technically perfect even as your minds revolt.

Your stomach twists with nausea and something worse— betrayal by your own nerves firing at his proximity. You hate this, you hate how the body remembers his grip like muscle memory. You want him to be a shadow, something you never notice, someone who never crosses your mind, but life’s unfair it seems.

The next sequence brings you chest to chest. His hand slides up your back for the hold— punishing. Your body reacts again, traitorous warmth spreading despite the nausea. You hate it. You hate him, you hate him you hate him. You hate yourself more for the split-second where your fingers curl into his shirt like they belong there.

“Get your hands off me properly,” you hiss.

“Make me.”

So you shove him and he shoves right back— petty as always. For a moment it looks like you might actually come to blows— fists clenched, eyes locked in pure murderous intent. You notice the vein in his neck when he’s holding back from shoving you harder— and it’s fascinating how loathing changes a person’s body.

A particularly difficult lift leaves you pressed right against him for balance. His breath fans hot across your collarbone and your heart hammers.

For three terrifying seconds your bodies move in perfect sync, like they understand each other better than you do. Disgust floods you immediately after and you shove away harder. Riki releases you like you’re poison, but not before you feel the slight tremor in his hands.

Betrayed by your own fucking bodies.

Around 2 am., you both call for a break, collapsing on opposite sides of the studio. Your muscles burn like thousand fires. When your phone buzzes, you pick it up, expecting a check-in from Hye-ri.

It’s Jake instead.

Jake: Hey… someone sent me a tweet from your account. Look, I know we’ve only hung out a couple times but I thought things were good. This doesn’t seem like you but the screenshot looks real. I’m pretty disappointed. Maybe we should just… not do lunch anytime soon. Sorry.

You click fast on the screenshot, heart hammering, and when you open it, your mouth drops. It’s a tweet, a singular tweet… of yours???

“i’m gonna break Sim Jake’s heart and he doesn’t even know it 😈😈”

You stare at the screen, dumbfounded.

What. the. fuck?

The tweet is so obviously fake— ridiculous wording, wrong tone, obviously poorly edited. You almost start giggling maniacally, because it definitely lacks effort, but Jake, sweet gullible Jake, bought it.

“Fucking hell,” you whisper, stuck between laughing and crying. Is he really that stupid to think you’d ever be that obvious?? You might need to step up your game.

You: can’t you see it’s edited??? how stupid can you be Jake please 😭😭

Jake: no i took editing classes and that’s not edited.

You stare at the message, blinking hard.

You: tell me you’re joking please.

Jake: no, im not. Take care y/n.

The chat goes quiet and you lower your phone slowly, the pieces clicking into place with icy clarity. That wording, that timing. The way it conveniently blew up your one decent thing right in the middle of this hell.

Nishimura fucking Riki.

Would anyone be surprised? He’s the only one who’s childish enough to attempt to ruin your relationships like that. Absolute lack of skills.

Rage explodes in your chest like a grenade, because who else would be this stupid? Who else would try to ruin every attempt at happiness you made?

You stand up so fast the room spins for a second, storming across the studio toward him. He’s still sitting against the wall, looking annoyingly unbothered.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap, shoving your phone in his face.

Riki glances at the screen, then back up at you with zero remorse, and no intention of hiding. “Didn’t even make anything up. Everyone knows you have a loud mouth… you would’ve said it eventually.”

Your blood boils. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you? I actually liked him.”

“Well i don’t really care about what you like,” he says flatly, pushing himself up to his full height. “So get over yourself.”

He towers over you, but you don’t back down an inch, tilting your chin up defiantly. “You’re so self-centered it’s insane. This had nothing to do with you, Nishimura.”

“Keep talking, Y/n. I don’t give a fuck.” Riki clenches his jaw. “If you wanna be a homie hopper go do that somewhere else, far away from my friends.”

Oh. Now he crossed a hard line. The motherfucker is gonna have to pay.

The slap happens before you can think, your palm connects hard with his cheek, the sound cracking through the empty studio like a whip. Riki’s head snaps to the side and for a second he stills, contemplating his options, his hair falling on his face.

His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek and he nods, trying to hold himself back.

Then he grabs your wrist in a vice grip, yanking you closer. It looks like you might actually stab each other— both of you burning with rage, chests heaving, bodies practically vibrating with it. His fingers are tight around your wrist, heat pouring off him and you glare up at him, breath ragged, pulse hammering in your ears.

“Don’t put your hands on me.” Riki says, fingers leaving a white mark on your skin.

“Well next time you call me that, i’ll make sure i’m putting my hands on your lifeless body instead.” you try to escape his grip, but he doesn’t let go.

“Watch it,” he warns, voice low and dangerous, “before I actually lose it.”

“Wouldn’t you love to?” you tilt your head.

“Oh I would.”

The air shifts— you feel it deep down pressing on your ribs as your words hang between you like a challenge

“Then hit me, come on.” Your voice drops, eyes locked on his. “Hit me.”

The second you say that, something ignites in Riki’s gaze— it’s impossible to miss. And god if you don’t love the way you destabilise him.

The grip on your wrist tightens, then loosens by fractions. You’re breathing the same air, faces inches apart, and it’s so filthy— so disgusting. His eyes drop for a split second before snapping back up.

But then Riki lets go of your wrist like it burns him, shoving you back a step as disgust twists across his face, but it doesn’t quite hide the way his breath catches.

“Get out of my face,” he spits, turning away sharply.

Without hesitation, you turn on your heel and storm out of the main studio toward the attached bathroom, slamming the door behind you. The lock clicks and you twist the faucet on full blast before you start scrubbing your wrist like you can erase the ghost of his grip.

The water’s ice-cold but you don’t care. His touch is still there. Burning. Disgusting. You scrub harder, nails digging into your own skin, until your hands are raw and red.

Even then, your stomach twists. Part of you wants to throw up right into the sink— purge the memory of his body against yours, the way your wrist fit perfectly in his hand, the split second where rage had twisted into something darker and heavier.

But beneath the nausea sits an ache low in your gut, something warm and unwelcome that you refuse to name.

No. Absolutely not. I’d rather die.

Eventually you step back into the break room because the company’s made it clear: no leaving the premises. Two couches, a mini-fridge, and dim lights are the only things between you and the devil.

Riki’s already sprawled on the far couch, one arm thrown over his eyes like he can pretend you don’t exist— so you take the opposite one, kicking your shoes off and lying down with your back to him.

Neither of you naps. How could you?

The air is thick with the knowledge that the other person is right there, close enough to stab, close enough to—

You stare at the wall, eyes wide open, hyper-aware of every shift on the other couch. He’s probably plotting how to smother you with a pillow— that would be the most logical thing. Despite the fatigue clawing at you, heavy and bone-deep after the all-night practice, your body stays wired.

Adrenaline and hatred make for terrible bedfellows.

After a long silence, Riki’s voice cuts through the dark. “You know, I thought you’d finally grow up someday and accept that what you did was wrong.”

You don’t turn around. “I don’t really care what you think. I’m trying to rest, so shut up.”

“You’re not.” A pause. “You’re not gonna be able to sleep with me here.”

You huff, “And whose fault is that?”

“Mines.” His tone is almost smug. “You’re scared, right? Scared I’ll hurt you in your sleep. Well just know I wouldn’t hesitate, not even for a second.”

You roll over to face him, propping yourself up on one elbow. “Oh and what would you do? Ruin my relationships like a childish bastard? Or what?”

Riki sits up slowly, manspreading on the opposite couch with deliberate arrogance, he looks almost manly— a shame he’s such an asshole. His eyes lock onto yours across the dim room.

“Oh come on, get over it. You really thought I was gonna let you go out with my friend? You’re funny, Y/n. Really fucking funny.”

“No, I didn’t think so either,” you snap back, sitting up fully now. “But now you’re just gonna have to pay. Im not gonna let a weak boy like you step on me like that.”

“Funny.” He leans back further, maintaining eye contact like it’s a challenge. “What are you gonna do then?”

In one smooth motion you pull out your phone, digging through your photos with angry swipes and you turn the screen toward him, a petty little smile tugging at your lips. It’s a screenshot of a pretty compromising video of him to say the least…

“I got this from a telegram group chat a while back. Didn’t think I’d ever use it but oh well… You wouldn’t want this to get out, right? I mean… everyone knows you’re a disrespectful cunt but this? Oh this is awful.”

You play the first few seconds just to taunt him— it shows young Riki, stressed and exhausted, swearing at staff member during a meltdown— the audio is grainy but clear enough. Deep down you know he was just a kid under crushing pressure, but right now you’re too greedy for revenge to care for ethics.

Riki’s expression hardens instantly. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh I would, Nishimura.”

“You’re doing all that for some dick?” He laughs, but it’s sharp and bitter. “Damn, I knew you were desperate but wow…”

“Don’t play with me. I’m seconds away from handing that video to a hate account.”

“Goddamnit Y/n, if you’re so eager to get dicked down you could’ve asked anyone else that isn’t my friend. And you sit here and act so surprised like you didn’t have it coming.”

You scoff, you’re not bruised— far from it, but he’s touched a sensitive spot. It’s not like you were ever planning to sleep with Jake, come on, but he doesn’t have to know that.

“Well good job, Nishimura.” Your thumb hovers over the screen. “You and your loud mouth have just earned yourselves another controversy.”

Riki jolts from the couch almost immediately, lunging toward you. You scramble back but he’s faster— in seconds you’re tangled aggressively on the couch as he tries to snatch the phone from your hand. You push, hit him in the chest, elbow him wherever you can reach but he desperately grabs for the device, long limbs pinning you down in the struggle.

“I’ll kill you, Y/n. I swear to god if you posted that shit—”

“I thought you didn’t care about it?” you taunt breathlessly, still fighting him. “You were so confident two seconds ago?”

He grabs your wrist hard then, you push back with everything you have until somehow you’ve got him pinned beneath you on the couch, breathing ragged.

“Do not. Touch me.”

Riki freezes— perhaps he’s an asshole, but even he knows a hard no when he hears one. His hand drops away instantly. “Delete that video,” he warns, voice low and dangerous, “before I ruin your whole life.”

“You already ruined my life by existing, you self-centered prick.”

“Watch me ruin it more. If you post that video, Y/n…”

“Oh god, you’re so dramatic.” You roll your eyes, feigning indifference. You turn off your phone with a deliberate click. “Relax, will you? Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

Riki stares at you for a long moment, chest still rising and falling sharply, before he pushes himself up and returns to his own couch. “You better delete that shit—I swear if you—”

“Oh shut that thing up.”

The moment fades after that, leaving only heavy silence, you both try to rest again— you lie back down, pulling a thin blanket over yourself, but your eyes refuse to close. You’re too aware of his presence, too on edge.

He’s going to kidnap you in your sleep or something. Poison your water. Smother you. Anything.

But despite every instinct screaming to stay vigilant, exhaustion tugs at the edges of your mind. You breathe slowly, deliberately, trying to force your body to relax. And yet, against all reason, you become hyper-aware of his breathing across the room.

It’s steady at first, then hitches slightly every few minutes— like he’s replaying the fight, or the slap, or the way your bodies had tangled just minutes ago. You analyze it without meaning to, noting the rhythm, the occasional sharp inhale, the way it deepens when he shifts on the couch.

Somehow, despite everything, the sound of Nishimura Riki breathing becomes the only thing you hear in the dark.

You hate it. You listen anyway.

“Oh girl, Nishimura Riki wants to fuck you. Hard.” Hye-ri says from her chair, legs crossed as a makeup artist dusts highlighter across her cheekbones.

It’s been a few days since the whole weekend …thing— it’s gone excessively slow but time pays off, or whatever people say when they’re trying to sound wise. The locked studio torture finally ended, the performance notes improved just enough to satisfy the company, and now here you are— back in the comfort of your group’s dressing room at the company building, getting dolled up for tonight’s award show.

Your members are scattered around the mirrors in various states of glam, chatting and laughing like the weekend from hell never happened.

At least on the surface.

You nearly choke on your coffee. “Hye-ri, what the actual fuck?”

She grins at you through the mirror, completely unbothered, while the makeup artist dabs at the corner of her eye. “I mean, you gotta admit he looks like he wants to eat you up.”

“You’re so gross, I don’t even know why we’re friends…” you mutter, tilting your head so your own artist can blend the eyeshadow.

Even then, the memory of that charged weekend—his grip on your wrist, the way your bodies tangled on the couch, the unwanted ache that still lingers—makes heat crawl up your neck.

Disgusting.

Hye-ri laughs, “Cause we’re both freaked out, duh… but the problem with you is that you draw the line at enemies. Like come on, be young and free— what’s so wrong about a little bit of hate sex?”

Oh, so now she’s resorted to saying these freaky things in front of the staff? Oh my.

“Hye-ri what the fuck??” You whip your head toward her, much to your makeup artist’s annoyance. She gently guides your face back forward with a soft sigh.

“Just face it, Y/n,” Hye-ri continues, waving a hand dramatically. “That man wants you. Bad. But he’s just too… angry all the time. A shame.”

“No he doesn’t. Stop making stuff up.” You glare at her reflection. “And stop talking about him. I’m trying to focus.”

“Yeah yeah you’re avoiding the topic as always, but you’re right— focus on not breaking your legs with those high heels. I swear to god, this company is evil.” She turns toward the makeup artists with a sweet smile. “No offense, you’re a sweetheart.”

“None taken,” the artist replies with a chuckle, carefully applying gloss to your lips. “I know they push you guys a lot. God, I wouldn’t even know how to walk in these heels, Y/n.”

“I don’t even know how I do it either…” you sigh, staring at the deadly stilettos waiting by your chair. “I’m gonna break my legs one day.”

A while after, once the final touches are done, you slip into the high heels. In one smooth motion you stand, testing your balance— strangely enough, the confidence hits almost immediately; the heels make your legs look endless, powerful, like you could conquer the entire red carpet and still have energy left to step on someone’s neck.

Specifically a certain tall asshole’s.

You pull out your phone, snap a quick mirror pic—legs for days, sleek black dress hugging every curve, hair and makeup sharp enough to cut glass— and post it on Twitter with a caption that makes you smirk: “I step on mean boys for a living.”

A bit risky, sure. But you like the thrill of posting something just controversial enough to make people talk.

You put your phone down and turn toward the girls. “Selfie time. We look too good not to.”

Hye-ri and the other girls crowd in happily, striking poses in the mirror; you snap a few group shots— arms around each other, and save it for the staff to post on the group account later.

Eventually, you all gather your things and head out; you strut toward the waiting cars in formation, heels clicking against the floor. Inside the vehicle— you’re chatting with Sera about tonight’s award show— the KGMAs—leaning forward despite the seatbelt as the city lights streak past the tinted windows.

“I’m telling you, if we dont take anything home tonight I’m actually gonna cry. Not on camera, obviously, but later? Full breakdown. We’ve been killing it this year.”

Sera nods, adjusting the strap of her dress. “Same. You especially. That solo stage last month? Insane. They better recognize it.”

With that, your phone buzzes in your lap— you glance down and nearly laugh out loud.

@nriki.mura liked your tweet.

The notification glows mockingly for half a second before vanishing.

Oh my god. Caught him lacking.

You can practically picture it— his thumb slipping, the immediate panic, the frantic un-like. The mental image of Nishimura Riki, Mr. Untouchable himself, accidentally simping over a picture of you is almost too good.

Amused, you open your messages without hesitation.

You: You know i saw you like my tweet right?

Mina, ever the nosy one, leans over your shoulder almost automatically. “You’re talking to Nishimura?”

“Yeah,” you say, chuckling. “He accidentally liked my tweet.”

Hye-ri, from the seat across, perks up immediately. “See??? I was right. He does wanna fuck you.”

“Oh drop it, Hye-ri,” you laugh, shaking your head even as heat creeps up your neck.

Riki texts back almost immediately.

Riki: wtf are you talking about.

You: you just liked my tweet then deleted it, pathetic 😭

Riki: shut your mouth. I thought it was someone else for a second.

You: so you’d like the pic if it wasn’t me?

Riki: Everything you do is ugly because you make it ugly. You’re repulsive, so yeah i’d like if it wasn’t you.

You: Yeah i bet. Even my dancing’s ugly right? Must be why you’re always analyzing it.

Riki: what are you even talking about. Get a grip.

You: I think deep down you’re very jealous of me.

See, that’s a personal conviction you’ve had for years— Riki hides behind all that hatred but there’s a deep respect there. Something he’s never been able to accept but you’ll shove it in his face ever so often.

Riki: Youre funny.

You: yeah yeah, it was envy all along wasn’t it?

Riki: Shutup y/n

You: Shhh, answer me. You want to be me, right?

You: actually don’t answer, i already know the answer.

You drop your phone in your lap with a satisfied smirk as the van slows to a stop at the venue. Got him. Hye-ri glances at you, eyebrow raised. “That whole exchange looked tense as hell. You good?”

“Peachy,” you reply, stepping out carefully.

The heels are already murdering your feet, but you make it look effortless because that’s the job. Paparazzi flashes explode around you as you wave, smile, bow politely toward the chanting fans, all while your mind replays the text thread.

Pathetic, indeed.

Inside, the atmosphere buzzes— you spot Enhypen across the hallway and Jake nods awkwardly in your direction, the unresolved drama still hanging between you like an awkward third wheel.

You have to admit you didn’t really try to fix things or clarify things— if a man jumps to conclusions like this? He’s not worth the hassle.

Riki, standing beside him, glares with professional precision— polite smile for the cameras, murder in his eyes when they flick toward you. You return the energy with a sweet wave.

Eat shit, giraffe.

A little while later you’re called on stage with the girls for a quick pre-award segment. You sit gracefully on the tall stool, bare legs crossed in front of you, the dress riding up just enough to show the deadly heels. You tap your foot distractingly as you chat with the MC, answering questions about your group’s comeback with charm.

“There’s so many things happening for you guys this year! A string of collaborations, new album coming soon, are you excited?” The MC asks you.

“We’re super excited, and we’re sure the fans are gonna love it, we’ve been working hard on it. We can’t wait !” you answer with a gentle smile, looking out at the audience.

All the while, from his seat in the venue, Riki’s forced by the idol image to look at the stage. He’d rather do anything else, but it’d make him look really bad if he didn’t pay attention— unnecessary drama. So he looks, half-listens and nods, almost like he gives one too many fucks. His eyes trace the backdrop, the stage floor, anything really— to not have to look at you.

But after a while, he’s run out of things to observe, so he lets his eyes drop to your hands, the ones clasping the mic like it’s a hammer. You look graceful, a complete opposite of the girl he knows privately— you smile and nod gently, speaking with a calm and polite tone.

No curse words, no filthy mouth.

Then Riki’s attention shifts down, to where your heels are tapping on the floor, rather distractingly. Your legs are classily crossed in front of you, slightly extended, creating a vision of horror in his mind, they’re smooth, reflecting the lights of the venue— and the heels— they’re evil. High, black with a red sole, they look absolutely illegal; not to him though, he doesn’t really care.

But his eyes trail down your ankles, to the way your foot bends, taps and goes back up again. It’s hypnotic, better than having to stare at your face at least. Then your legs uncross, stretch, and Riki’s breath catches for a split second— he straightens in his seat, pinching his thigh through his slacks, and forces his gaze upwards.

Mistake, big one. Because the second he does, he’s looking at your thighs, right where the hem of your dress hikes up. And soon enough— he finds himself unable to tear his eyes away, captivated by the way they lead like a path all the way down to your footwear. Ironic, right?

He keeps telling himself it’s anatomy, bone. Muscle. Fabric. Leather. Anything.

But the first mistake was looking, the second was realizing he wanted to look again.

He slips out during the commercial break almost automatically, heading straight for the bathroom, the door clicks shut behind him and he braces against the sink, stomach churning.

Riki throws up, harsh and sudden, the taste of bile burning his throat. Disgusting. He’s disgusted by the way his body reacts— knows it’s excessive, knows it’s pathetic, but he can’t help it. He needs to throw up in hopes of getting your out of his body, his system.

He couldn’t stop looking at your stupid legs tonight. Ever since that picture you posted.

Heels are something that links to you— you’ve always worn a lot of heels—and he can’t deny that your legs do look aesthetically pleasing in them.

But he despises that he feels this way.

The bathroom mirror reflects someone he doesn’t recognize— a man repulsed not by what he’s seen, but by what he’s felt. It’s to wonder if revulsion and desire are closer relatives than anyone likes to admit.

Riki splashes water on his face, gripping the edges of the sink until his knuckles turn white. Against his better judgment, his mind replays the image: the endless line of your legs, the sharp heel, the way you tapped your foot almost absentmindedly while talking. Clinical, he tells himself. Just observation. Professional obsession. Nothing. more.

And yet, even now, the image lingers.

Heeseung finds him a few minutes later when he returns to the seats. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah,” Riki mutters, forcing a neutral expression. “I’m fine.”

He sits back down, but the thoughts don’t stop. He keeps wondering what it means to feel like this about a part of your body. The hatred is still there, burning strong— but somehow, despite everything, so is something else he refuses to name.

Irony has caught you in its nettles once again. A few days after the award show, you trip on the stairs at the company building, miss a step like a clumsy idiot, and sprain your ankle badly enough that the world tilts sideways. The pain shoots up your leg like fire, sharp and unforgiving. Of course. Because the universe clearly isn’t done laughing at you yet.

Physical therapy becomes your new hell. You can’t come to rehearsals anymore, which means blessed silence from Nishimura Riki for a little while— instead of dealing with his bullshit, you spend the days propped up on your dorm couch, ankle elevated, ice packs rotating, and your nose buried in self-help books.

Atomic Habits. The Body Keeps the Score.

Anything to understand why your brain keeps betraying you with unwanted thoughts about that asshole— his grip, his breathing in the dark break room, the charged way he looked at you after the slap.

Maybe you’re the one who needs fixing, you think bitterly, flipping another page. The books talk about trauma bonding and nervous system regulation, but none of them have a chapter titled “What to do when your mortal enemy makes your stomach ache in ways you refuse to name.”

Eventually the company, with its infinite lack of mercy, decides you’re “habilitated enough.” They shove you into another industry event— heels and all.

Fans lose their minds, flooding social media with concerned threads: “Y/n’s ankle is clearly injured, why is she in stilettos again???”

“Protect her at all costs!!”

“Hybe is evil, make it make sense.”

You see the posts but say nothing. Complaining would get you labeled irresponsible or difficult— so you smile through the pain, walk like everything’s fine, and silently curse the entire system. One day I’ll burn it all down. Preferably while wearing flats.

A couple of hours after that specific event, back in the dorm with your ankle throbbing, your phone lights up.

Riki: is the injury gonna impact our rehearsals

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts.

You: don’t worry you’ll get your 5 minutes of fame eventually just let me fucking heal my leg first

Riki: i’m just asking goddamn

You: yes it is, i can’t dance for a while

Riki: ok well i’ll talk to the choreographer to change the pairs

You: ok

There’s a pause before he sends another message.

Riki: did you leave your charger in the dance studio ?

You: no i didnt ?

Riki: oh okay

You: why the fuck are you even talking to me istg it’s all you do these days

Riki: i’m not i’m just asking stuff about work

You: well you know i never bring my charger

Riki: no i don’t

You: yes you do asshole

Riki: ok and what’s your point?

You: my point is stop talking to me

Riki: no

You: are you trying to make me mad?

Riki: no, is your leg okay?

You: and why do you care

Riki: i don’t. i’m asking if it’s gonna take long to heal because im trying to finish the dance. and why were you even in heels today, are you stupid?

You: cause company told me to.

Riki: and why didn’t you defend yourself

You: cause i can’t hello??

Riki: yes you can, you’re such a pussy sometimes, your legs’ fucked up and they got you walking in heels, and somehow that’s fine with you. It’s stupid.

You: you’re stupid

Riki: you need to stop wearing heels

In response, you snap a quick photo of the heels you’re still wearing— bare legs in the frame, nothing crazy, just skin and straps and the faint bruise blooming around your ankle. You caption it simply: “how about no?”

Riki: why are you sending me this??? wtf y/n delete that shit

You: they’re just legs chill. I know you think i’m disgusting and all but these are just motherfucking legs.

Riki: it’s not that, just delete it. it’s weird

You: nah, deal with it, throw up for all i care

Jokes on you, he did the other day. And because you love pissing him off more than is probably healthy, you send another photo. This one riskier not necessarily explicit though— leg extended, heel dangling from your feet, the angle deliberately provocative.

You: there u go, one more so you can really really throw up

He takes a bit to answer.

Riki: stop sending me that shit

You: aw, is nishimura scared of throwing up or something?

Riki: i don’t even want to. i’m gonna block you

You: don’t even want to what?

Riki: throw up

At the same moment in Riki’s dorm room— it’s quiet except for the hum of the airco. He was sprawled on his bed, phone in hand when the first picture came through. With that, something in his stomach flipped hard— he told himself it was disgust. Pure, simple disgust.

But his body betrayed him completely.

Right now? The second photo hits harder. Your bare legs, the sharp line of the heel, the way it dangles teasingly from your foot makes Riki’s mouth open, he throws the phone on the bed like its burned him, and he smacks his palms on his face, tugging at the roots of his own hair. He loathes it— loathes how quickly he is to replay it in his head, to try and remember every detail because he can’t be caught dead looking back at it.

It’s just goddamn legs. Goddamn heels.

So why is blood rushing south almost immediately? Maybe because irony is the biggest factor in this story— he’s hard within seconds. Riki doesn’t even know why. He’s not a teenager anymore, he can’t just get boners from stupid photos like that— especially not from someone he despises.

Horror slams into him like a truck. What the fuck is wrong with him? He detests it. Detests you. Detests the way his cock twitches at the sight of your stupid legs in those stupid heels.

Riki locks his bedroom door without thinking, breathing ragged. He blames it on the stress, perks of being mister worldwide famous, and grabs his phone to delete the picture— screw that, the whole chat.

He tries to look away. He really does. But against his better judgment, his eyes keep drifting back— and images burn into his retinas.

See, heels have always been your thing — long before this, you wore them constantly, strutting around like you owned every room.

Now? They’re weaponized against him.

Riki opens the chat again, scrolling through the two photos guiltily. Over and over. His hand moves almost absentmindedly to palm himself through his sweatpants, breath hitching.

This isn’t about you. It’s the heels. Just the heels.

He then pulls up pictures of other models in heels, random Instagram posts, anything to convince himself it’s not you. Riki stares at these women’s legs, analyzing their footwear like an expert.

But it doesn’t work.

His mind betrays him completely. The images shift— his brain being the most traitorous creature in the whole world, shows him your heels digging into his back, your legs wrapped around him, plays the sharp click of stilettos against the practice room floor while he fucks you senseless-

“Fuck… you,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

In seconds he’s up and running to the bathroom to throw up for the nth time this month.

Riki relieves himself, hating you more than ever. Hating himself even worse.

The company building feels eerily quiet on your break day as you hobble through the familiar halls with your sprained ankle still wrapped and aching, clutching a thin folder of paperwork you came to retrieve. The quick meeting with the exec goes smoothly enough— some signatures on scheduling adjustments, a few polite nods about “taking it easy,” and the usual nonsense about image management. Nothing you haven’t heard a hundred times before.

You’re almost out the side entrance, already dreaming of crashing on your dorm couch with takeout and zero responsibilities, when you bump straight into Jake.

Literally.

Your good foot catches on the edge of the hallway carpet and you stumble— Jake’s hands shoot out instinctively, steadying you by the elbows before you face-plant. For a second, both of you freeze.

“Shit— sorry,” you mutter, stepping back carefully. Your ankle throbs in protest.

Jake’s eyes drop almost automatically to your injured leg, the careful way you favor it. “Hey… you okay?” His voice stays soft, concerned, but the awkwardness between you thickens the air like smoke.

You haven’t spoken properly since the fake tweet disaster, not a single text, not a single clarification. You can’t say it wasn’t convenient, you’d hate to admit you find no interest in explaining yourself to Jake.

“Yeah. Just… clumsy,” you say, forcing a half-smile. “What are you… erm, doing here on a break day?”

“Picking up some lyric sheets for next week.” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing around the empty hallway. After a pause, he adds quietly, “We’ve… um, never really talked about what happened. With the tweet and all.”

You cross your arms, leaning against the wall to take pressure off your ankle. Here we go. “Yeah. About that, you didn’t even let me explain, it was Riki.”

Jake blinks, tilting his head like you spoke another language. “What?”

“It was Riki,” you repeat, irritation already bubbling. “The whole thing was fake, he made it up to fuck with me.”

Jake stays silent for a long moment, processing. Then, almost gently —like he explains something to a child—he says, “Well… I think we gotta talk about this at some point, Y/n.”

“About what?”

“About your obsession with him.”

You stare at him, disbelief shooting through you “Excuse me?”

He can’t be serious right now.

“Y/n, seriously.” Jake’s voice stays calm, patient, which only pisses you off more. “Why would you even come to the conclusion that he’s the one who invented some kind of grand scheme…”

“Because he told me, for fuck’s sake.”

“I don’t know… why would he even do that?” Jake sighs, rubbing his temple. “And if you hate him that much, why’s he all you ever talk about then?”

And there you thought Jake was sweet, turns out he’s just clueless.

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” you scoff.

Right because when has it ever been his business?

“Yeah.” He meets your eyes steadily. “It’s honestly… obvious how Riki’s occupying all your emotional life. You were too caught up in your hatred that you didn’t even notice me, I’m pretty sure.”

“Um? Yes I did. I went out with you, didn’t I?” You laugh, sharp and humorless. “I thought you’d understand that with everything Riki’s done to me, it’s obvious I’m gonna hate him.”

It feels like you’re being scolded for some reason, and you don’t like that. Not one bit.

“You’re obviously hurt and you feel things deeply,” Jake continues, still in that gentle, patronizing tone. “But you gotta wake up and realize how fucked up it all is.”

You feel irritated as fuck, he’s talking to you like you’re a two year old, spelling out basic emotional logic as if you haven’t lived it for years.

The day was going smoothly and now some totally out of line weirdo is making it hard for you to be patient.

“Like, if I ask about your day, you answer in three words,” Jake continues, almost absentmindedly gesturing with his hands. “But if someone mentions him, you suddenly have a whole thesis. He’s said awful things to you and so have you. I just don’t get why you still bother.”

“Well I’m sorry that bothers you, Jakey,” you reply, voice dripping with sarcasm. You tap his shoulder lightly, ironic and vain. “Have a great day, yeah?”

You turn to leave, but Jake’s words keep echoing as you limp down the hallway. He speaks facts, deep down, you know it— come on you’re not that dumb; but what you are though, is too proud to admit out loud.

Even after all this, part of you feels attracted to the violence. Used to it. Addicted, maybe. The constant flight mode becomes your normal— at least it feels more alive than any soft conversation with Jake ever could.

Hatred feels familiar, secure in its own twisted way. It demands nothing soft from you, no vulnerability. That’s just the way things are.

Some people like their food sweet, others don’t like it at all— and prefer eating nails.

Riki’s a master at pretending nothing’s bothering him— he wears indifference like second skin— untouchable, the golden dancer who smiles for cameras and carries the weight of millions without flinching.

He knows something’s essentially missing inside of him, knows he’s looking for something that’s not here, and that will never be. But he constantly tones that part of him down.

That’s why, tonight, in this high-end hotel suite with its dim lights and silk sheets, he tries to slip into that role again.

The girl beneath him is pretty, sweet, all soft curves and gentle laughs, she kisses him back eagerly, fingers threading through his hair as he presses her into the mattress. Her skin is soft, her dimples press against his cheeks when she kisses— and for a while it works.

His hands roam her body, lips trailing down her neck until she sighs his name like a prayer; and he tells himself this is what he wants. He deepens the kiss, hips rolling against hers, heat building in a way that should feel right.

But something shifts.

With that, sudden unease crawls up his spine like ice water, his stomach twists and the air feels wrong. Riki tries to push past it, kissing her harder, hands gripping her waist almost automatically. Focus. She’s pretty. She’s lovely even. She’s not—

It just doesn’t work.

He pulls away after a long silence, considers telling her the usual excuse of ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, but when he opens his eyes it is not her face he sees.

It’s your sharp eyes glaring up at him. Your mouth twisted in that familiar sneer, your hands gripping his forearms.

Riki jumps back like he’s been burned, heart slamming against his ribs. What the fuck.

He’s definitely going crazy, he concludes, the room spinning slightly as panic claws at his throat.

“I— sorry,” he mutters, voice hoarse. He stands up in one smooth motion, running a hand through his messy hair. “I need a minute.”

The girl sits up, confusion flickering across her pretty features, she looks hurt. “Riki… are you okay?”

He forces a soft smile, the one he saves for people who deserve his leniency, sweet. “Yeah. I’m sorry. Got a lot on my mind tonight. Work stuff. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I’m not into this.”

She watches him carefully as he walks to the mini-fridge and grabs a bottle of whiskey. He twists the cap off and takes a long swig, the burn grounding him for half a second.

“It’s fine,” she says quietly, already reaching for her clothes. “I can go if you want.”

Riki feels a pang of guilt. She’s sweet, too sweet for a walking shit-show like him. “No, you don’t have to… I’m really sorry. You’re great. This is on me.”

She dresses slowly, offering him a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay. Really. Take care of yourself, yeah?”

He nods, watching her leave with gentle eyes, the door clicks shut behind her and the silence rushes in like a wave. Riki collapses back onto the bed, bottle in hand, he stares at it for a second like he’s gonna start confessing his sins to it, then he drinks.

He drinks. And drinks. And drinks some more until the edges of the room blur and his thoughts turn hazy.

Tipsy now, he turns on the Tv for noise, he hates the silence, he needs something to focus on. A commercial flashes across the screen— some luxury brand, a model’s legs strutting in high heels. The camera zooms in and Riki instantly buries his face in the covers with a groan.

Eventually, when he’s proper drunk and the world is tilting pleasantly, he decides it’s enough, his stomach hurts.

His phone feels heavy in his hand as he tries to text Heeseung— something incoherent about needing to talk or needing someone to pick him up.

Riki recoils, embarrassed even through the alcohol haze.

He doesn’t need any fucking help.

Or does he? Maybe he does need therapy—

But his thumb slips as he tries to figure that out, and by some force of nature— he ends up calling the very ghost that haunts him instead.

You pick up after a few rings, voice dry and annoyed. “Why the fuck are you calling me?”

Riki tries to click the ‘hangup button’ but his fingers are shaking with adrenaline.

Screw that, on second thought, he doesn’t really try to hang up all that hard…

He laughs instead , low and miserable, rolling onto his back until the ceiling spins. “Are you so mad at me, Y/n?”

You scoff on the other end, “When am I not? Anyway let me repeat myself— why did you call me?”

“Yeah but you’re different mad, I should’ve known…” His words slur together incoherently as he closes his eyes, the room still turning.

“Huh?” your thoughts are a mess of ‘whatthefuckishesaying’

“You don’t even fight with me anymore.” Riki’s voice comes out as a whisper, almost like he knows he’s stepping in a dangerous zone.

He hears you scoff on the other line, all superior and bitchy— and he has to fight not to laugh in your face, because honestly with that level of alcohol in his blood, it would sound much more like a happy giggle than anything else. He doesn’t want that now, does he?

“Are you… drunk?” you suddenly seem to come to your senses.

“Yeah…” He nods stupidly at the ceiling. “But you didn’t insult me today.”

It sort of reminds Riki of when he was a kid— staying underwater in his parents’ swimming pool until there was not an ounce of air left in his lungs. He would push himself deeper, lungs burning, vision spotting, just to see how long he could last before breaking the surface gasping.

That same reckless thrill sits in his chest now, however unrelated— talking to you while drunk feels like holding his breath too long. Dangerous. Addictive.

He knows he should come up for air, but he stays under, waiting for the moment you push him harder.

“Are you a masochist or something? You want me out of your life but here you are basically begging me to insult you.” you huff on the other end.

“I’m not. I kept waiting.” he shakes his head like you can see him.

“Waiting for what, you weirdo?”

Riki’s waiting for the moment you’re finally going to be done with his bullshit and hang up— because he couldn’t possibly bring himself to be the one to do it— blame it on the whiskey.

“For you to start a fight.” he answers solemnly.

“Oh god, you’re so weird. You’re drunk, you’re not even making any sense… just hang up and go fuck yourself.”

“Don’t ignore me. Don’t ignore what I said.” Riki’s voice goes lower, a little firmer maybe.

“I didn’t even see you today, what the fuck are you even talking about?” he can hear you anxiously slap your thigh in annoyance.

“I don’t like it when you ignore me. You piss me off, I piss you off and—”

“Stop conjugating verbs, Nishimura. I don’t have time for your bullshit.” you cut him off, proper angry.

“You know, normal people don’t live like this.” He rolls over clumsily, nearly dropping the phone; he’s not even making any sense, just casually assembling random thoughts that have been in his head and mashing them together in hopes you’ll understand his point.

“Good job genius, thanks for pointing that out. Now call Heeseung or Jay, I’m gonna block you. Or don’t call anyone, I don’t give a fuck if you choke in your sleep or something.”

That’s it, that’s the moment you’re finally done with his bullshit and you’re about to hang up and he’s… confused?

“Don’t block me Y/n wait—” Riki groans, not even realising how pitiful he sounds.

“Literally what the fuck is wrong with you.” you snap. “Why are you being like this, you sound so pathetic.”

After a beat, his mind drifts to different topics he’d like to address, but the only thing he can think of is that little stunt you pulled. “The post you made. Was it about me?” he asks, naively.

You almost laugh, incredulous and also very much embarrassed for him, “What are you even talking about?”

“The one with the heels.”

“No it wasn’t.” you say immediately, hating that he thought it was about him (although it clearly was).

“It waaaas,” he sing-songs, burying his face in his pillow. He’s half trying to hide how affected he was, and half trying to tease you.

“You’re so self-centered it’s insane, it wasn’t even about you.” you chuckle mockingly, “God Nishimura you’re being my little bitch right now, you know that?”

“Stop calling me that. I’m… mean to you. So you step on mean boys. So it was about me,” Riki goes on, persuaded.

“Well do you want me to step on you or something? Cause it sounds like you’re begging for it.”

That’s it. A couple words— he doesn’t even count how many— and he’s sent back to the state he was in a couple days back.

It’s all so pathetic, and he’s drunk out of his mind, but at the same time it’s you. It’s your fault, you’re doing this to him, you’re making his blood spike like a pervert, you’re dissecting him unknowingly, revealing things he didn’t even know about himself.

Notwithstanding, it’s impossible that it could be you, it has to be something else.

It’s like teenagers when they suddenly discover they have a penis and they wanna jump everything and anything; that’s probably what’s happening. He’s discovered he may or may not have a tendency to… enjoy women wearing heels, and he’s totally projecting.

“Fuck.” Riki throws his head back, palming his forehead. “Don’t say that.”

But his tone of voice only pumps you meaner, “Get off my phone then if you’re not happy. What’s your problem anyway? Can’t handle a little bit of alcohol? You’re a pussy.”

“See? I like you better when you’re like this. Mean.” he breathes out.

“Well get help.”

“I know I should.”

“Yeah you should. Now bye, I’m blocking you.” You hang up without a second thought and it’s over just as fast as it started.

Riki stares at the ceiling, phone still pressed to his ear even after the line goes dead. What the fuck are you doing with his head?

Eventually he grabs his phone again, thumbs clumsy as he opens his notes app— his writing is messy, drunk letters stumbling across the screen.

She blocks peple (people) when it starts to get a little bit intse (intense).

He stares at the words for a long time, the screen blurring. Even drunk, even miserable, he cannot stop cataloging you. Cannot stop thinking about you. And cannot stop adding to the list of things he’s noticed about you.

The hatred burns hotter though. Always has.

Kwn is an amazing artist you know? Especially in that one video clip where she kisses Kehlani near the car and all— that’s just a fact. You love her tracks, her voice, everything. But right now? You beyond hate her.

The past week’s been a blur of physical therapy, awkward silences, and the lingering ghost of Riki’s drunk phone call. He never mentioned it afterward and neither did you; it just sits between you like an unexploded grenade— ignored, but always there. A moment of vulnerability that echoes with a lot of ‘what ifs’.

What if he was under the influence all the time? Would he be softer, funnier with his words? More honest?

Your ankle’s better now, enough for light practice, but the company wastes no time dragging you back into the studio. No mercy. No rest. Just endless work.

That’s why now, you stand in the practice room, mirrors reflecting your slightly stiff posture, the choreographer flipping through self-tapes on his tablet with a deep frown. Riki leans against the wall a few feet away, fiddling with the strings of his sweatpants between his spread legs, looking as unbothered as ever.

The choreographer sighs heavily. “It looks stiff. The company’s not gonna like this at all.” He rubs his temples. “Come on Y/n, you’re usually excellent. I’ve worked with you for years and I’ve never seen you so out of it.” He turns to Riki. “And you, Riki— what’s going on?”

What’s going on, is that a leech is sucking out every ounce of talent out of you and leaving a distracted woman hollowed out by rage.

That’d be the appropriate answer but instead you say force a neutral expression. “It’s just stress.” and you make the mistake of adding, “It’s the song. It’s probably too fast.”

The choreographer looks at his tablet for a beat, thumb hovering over it, then nods slowly. “Well, how about we try something else, yeah? This choreo’s pretty simple. Get a good view, learn it, and I want you guys to prepare it for the end of the evening. I’ll come back when you’re done. Just work through it. This one’s slower and it’ll get you in the right headspace.”

He hands you the tablet but Riki snatches it from your hands almost immediately— ever the childish one. He’s a little bit too confident for someone who called you begging you for insults…

You doubt he even remembers it, but you want to rub it in his face. Instead— because workspace doesn’t allow it— you stay professional, snatching it right back and pressing play.

The opening notes fill the room. ‘Touch Myself’ by Kwn. You let it play for a bit, the rnb beat mellow and nice but when she starts singing it’s a whole different story.

See, the thing is, the lyrics are extremely explicit, pornographic arguably— or maybe you’re just being dramatic but that’s what being too close to Nishimura Riki does to one.

You glance up at the choreographer, wondering if he even speaks enough English to understand “I touch myself just thinking about you.”

Probably not.

Riki’s English is trash, but he knows that much and you see it in the way his jaw tighten.

The other man leaves with a casual wave, dismissing your obvious discomfort and the door clicks shut behind him.

You hate Kwn and her stupid song.

You stand up immediately, crossing your arms, “I’m not doing that.”

“Erm, yes you are,” Riki says flatly, like he’s talking to a toddler.

“Fuck no.”

At that, he rubs his temple, letting out a long exhale.

“They should terminate your contract. Can’t even get over yourself for the sake of your job...” he lets out a small huff, looking down at you like you’re the most ridiculous thing he’s ever seen.

“Have you seen the choreo? Are you really agreeing to this?” you tilt your chin towards the tablet. “That shit is vile. I’m not doing that.”

“Well it’s not like we have a choice. Trust me I’d rather be eating nails right now, Y/n. So get over yourself and just learn the goddamn thing.” he snaps.

You sit back down with a huff and get a good look at the choreo on the tablet. It’s heavily sensual—nothing insane certainly, but paired with the nature of the lyrics… damn. Slow body rolls, close proximity, lingering touches, prolonged eye contact. The kind of performance that sells sex and tension— definitely not something you’d like to be doing with that smug prick. But either way you need to get over yourself, it’s not like you have a choice…

So after a while of sitting there, hearing his annoying breathing, you finally get the hang of it, it’s not really complicated, just an easy routine; the complicated part is the tension you need to bring to it, something you don’t have. Or rather, not in the adequate form.

You stand up and move to the center with him, the mirrors reflecting you both as you start running it. You rehearse a few steps, tablet in hand, trying to figure out the footwork while he watches through the reflection.

“Your other foot, dumbass.” he goes, pointing at your left foot.

You listen, because unfortunately, he is right— it was the left foot; and you move along, following the movements of his body in the glass.

The tension simmers immediately— albeit it not being the required one, it’s still tension right? Every brush of his hand on your waist feels deliberate, every step brings you closer and the lyrics pulse through the speakers like a taunt.

Every now and then, you deliberately sabotage the whole thing, pushing a little on the left until he fumbles it, stepping on his foot while maintaining a neutral stance.

The thing is, and you’ve admitted it— you don’t just hate Riki. You need him to hate you back. It’s that or you’d rather die.

So you push and push, until his pupils drown in anger and he’s seconds away from pinning you to the nearest wall— devoid of any good intentions.

During the chorus is the part when you have to look at each other the most, it’s prolonged eye contact.

You unconsciously lipsync the words “I touch myself just thinking about you” as you focus on the dance and miss a count, distracted by the little something in his eyes.

You’re stupid.

Riki looks right back, eyes dropping your lips as you mouth those filthy words— and he messes up his part a little bit.

“Stop fucking looking at me. Just dance,” he says defensively, voice low.

“Am I supposed to just look at the goddamn ceiling?” you spit back, rolling your eyes.

Riki stops dancing all of a sudden, gets closer, towering over you. “Well I don’t care. Just don’t look at me.”

You follow, the song still playing but you’re both unmoving, “Why does that bother you so much?”

“It doesn’t. You’re just annoying.” His dyed blond hair falls on his forehead, sweaty and so awfully disgustingly delicious you want to die.

Wait what?

“It clearly does if you’re bringing it up.” you distract yourself with counter attacks, it’s easier this way.

“Just stop arguing and listen to me before I—”

“Before you what? Huh?” You get closer, menacing even though hes taller.

He snickers, looking down at you like you’re a crumb under his shoe. “Who do you even think you are, acting like that? You know it’d take me two seconds to make you trip and faceplant right?”

He’s so infuriatingly mocking it sends a chill down your spine, it’s not even the words, it’s the tone itself— like he could push you right now and feel nothing but contempt.

That’s the way things have always been, so why does it feel so confusing?

“Stop talking to me like that.” you glare at him, titling your chin like you can somehow surpass him in height.

“Yeah? What are you gonna do?” he’s so smug it drips with it.

“I swear, Nishimura, I’ll punch you right now.”

Riki looks down at you, a small cruel smirk tugging at at the corner of his mouth, “Go ahead, brat. All yours. Hit me.”

The words shouldn’t sound like this, they shouldn’t sound so dirty. But it’s like lately, all he says has a subtle undertone to it— and why is his voice so goddamn low and velvety?

“Well thanks for the consent, motherfucker.” You push him back hard so he can’t crowd you. “Now get back.”

He grabs your wrist in turn, pushing you close to him menacingly. “I said hit me, not push me. Are you scared of me or something?”

You chuckle, defiant. “Scared? Oh give me a break.”

Riki grabs your fist; you’re surprised he isn’t even flinching at the contact. He tightens your fingers deliberately until you’re ready for a punch, and then holds it over his own cheek.

“Come on. Do it.”

His fingers burn around yours. He’s dying for it, he needs the fight, needs the violence. He craves the collision— the crack of bone, the bloom of pain, the certainty that comes with a hit landed cleanly. Anger is familiar territory— violence is the only conversation he’s ever known how to finish.

“Don’t touch me.” you say, in vain, because it comes out as a breathy plaint.

“We’re way past that.”

“You’re so disgusting. You get off on doing disgusting things like that, don’t you? Fucking pervert.” your eyes are bored in his now, more honest that your bodies have ever been.

Then Riki does something so out of character— yet so him, and your lungs suddenly become a mere accessory rather than organs.

He grabs your throat suddenly, long fingers wrapping around it, squeezing not too tight but firm enough to make your pulse jump under his fingers. The pressure is controlled, thumb pressing lightly against the side of your neck where your heartbeat flutters wildly. His grip’s warm, steady, dangerous and you can feel the restrained power in his hand, the way his fingers flex as if debating how much tighter he could go.

It sends a rush of heat through you despite everything.

“Don’t call me that,” he says, triggered.

His shoulders broaden as he squares himself, every tendon in his forearms standing out beneath taut skin.

Riki’s so close now, nose brushing yours, eyes burning with pure fury, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t dying from how exhilarating it feels.

“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want.” You push his buttons on purpose, loving the way his anger tastes— like something filthy and sour on your tongue.

“Fuck you, Y/n.”

There’s a thin line between hatred and desire—and only then, you’re starting to feel it dissolve until you can no longer tell whether the pounding in your chest is fury or fascination, whether you want to shove him away or pull him closer just to understand why he gets beneath your skin like that.

“Mm, fuck me?” You tilt your head, defiant, lips inches from his.

Riki loses it. Air sticks in his lungs and his eyes flutter shut for a split second— he’s forgotten how to breathe now, the words ricochet through him, splintering whatever fragile restraint he’d been clinging to.

His jaw tightens so hard it aches, a muscle feathering beneath his skin as he swallows back something he can’t afford to say.

“Don’t say shit like that.” he goes instead, but it comes out breathy.

“Why? Scared?” You get closer, pushing every button you can reach.

Because close just isn’t close enough— and flustered isn’t nearly flustered enough. Because you want him reeling, struggling to even function, you want him to be putty in your hands— just out of pure spite.

Riki’s stuck between two different worlds— he wants to push you off, watch you fall and trip but at the same time he wants to fuck the attitude right out of you— teach you a lesson.

He doesn’t acknowledge it, but he feels it somewhere low, warmth spreading. He’s too far gone.

Your mouths hover dangerously close, so much so that you can feel his breath, hot and ragged against your lips. His hand tightens slightly on your throat, not hurting, just holding. Claiming almost, in all its irony.

But the choreographer’s voice echoes faintly from the hallway, and you’re both forced to pull away instantly, breathless, chests heaving.

The moment’s over and the bodies are done speaking.

Riki turns sharply and stalks toward the bathroom, fists tight at his sides while you scratch your arm anxiously, nails digging into skin as if you can claw the tension out of your body.

Three days after the practice room incident, Hybe decides to play nice— characteristically… They organize a mandatory “team bonding” dinner for everyone involved in the collaboration project—R3SET, Enhypen, choreographers, and a few other staffs.

The official reason is to “build chemistry” and “celebrate the upcoming performance.”

The real reason, you suspect, is damage control after too many rumors about visible tension between you and Riki.

The company hates bad optics.

“Touch myself” hasn’t really resulted in anything good, apart from fuelling your self hatred.

The choreographer wasn’t exceptionally happy, and so were you— for fucks sake, because of him, you’d been forced to confront that you were an entirely too deprived woman.

It’s true, that’s the only viable answer, you haven’t done anything with anyone in years, and so it’s only natural that any physical touch sends you into a whole different headspace— even if it’s not one you’d desire. Desperate times.

So, the dinner is held at a private restaurant downtown, dim lighting, long wooden tables, expensive hanwoo beef, and enough soju to drown in. You show up with your members, ankle mostly healed but still a little stiff, wearing simple black pants and a sophisticated top. You tell yourself it’ll be just fine, Riki’s most likely forgotten about it already.

But the second you walk in, your eyes find him across the room. You end up near the middle of the long table, directly across from him.

He looks annoying in all black, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, his eyes flick to you every few minutes— totally unreadable. You don’t look away, god you never do.

Jake sits a few seats down, trying to make polite conversation with Sera— you wouldn’t fail to mention you’re still slightly annoyed at him, but that feels like background noise compared to the live wire stretching across the table.

Rage is merely just rage when it’s not directed at Nishimura Riki.

Hye-ri leans toward you at one point, whispering, “He keeps staring. You good?”

“I’m fabulous,” you mutter, stabbing a piece of beef harder than necessary.

Riki’s voice cuts through the chatter a moment later, directed at no one in particular but clearly meant for you. “Some people should probably stay off their feet more. Wouldn’t want another dramatic injury right before the performance.”

You smile sweetly, tilting your head. “Some people should probably mind their own fucking business.”

The table quiets a little. Jake shifts uncomfortably and Sunoo coughs into his drink amused.

Riki leans back in his chair, lips curving into that infuriating half-smirk. “Just looking out for the team. Wouldn’t want you to trip on stage because you’re too stubborn to rest properly.”

“Touching,” you reply, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Didn’t know you cared so much about my well-being, Nishimura.”

“I don’t.” His eyes lock onto yours. “I care about the performance not sucking because of you.”

The air crackles and Hye-ri kicks you under the table. Of course you kick her back.

The rest of dinner is a masterclass in passive-aggressive warfare; every time someone mentions the collaboration, Riki finds a way to slip in a subtle jab. Every time, you fire back sharper until by dessert, the tension feels thick enough to choke on.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom just to breathe, splashing some water on your neck— soothing the physical reaction he’s inflicted upon you. When you come out, Riki is leaning against the wall in the hallway, waiting.

“Running away already?” he asks, voice low.

“Fuck off.”

He steps closer, crowding you against the wall without actually touching you. “You’ve been quiet lately. No insults. No nothing. Almost like you’re avoiding me.”

You lift your chin, refusing to back down. “What? You’re gonna beg me for insults again?”

Riki’s jaw tightens and for a second, something dangerous flickers in his eyes, you’re not sure he knows exactly what you’re referring to though. “You wish.”

Then he walks away, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding and your hands clenched into fists.

That night, you dream— you dream like you haven’t dreamt in months. See, you had the habit of dreaming about totally incoherent things, your older brother getting kidnapped by aliens, your step mom catching a cold and growing wings… and that dream doesn’t differ, it’s totally incongruous.

In it, the studio’s empty, mirrors stretching endlessly in every direction, the lights are low and warm. You’re dancing, but it’s no longer really choreography.

Riki’s hands are on your waist, pulling you flush against him— there’s no hatred in the movement this time— only hunger. You shove him, but he spins you around and presses you against the mirror, cold glass against your front, his body hot and solid behind you.

“You talk so much shit,” he whispers against your ear, one hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher. “But look at you now.”

You gasp as his fingers find bare skin. “Fuck you.”

“Yeah?” Riki’s voice is rough, dangerous. “You want that?”

In the dream you hate him and want him in equal measure. You push back against him, grinding, feeling how hard he is, his hand wraps around your throat from behind— not tight enough to hurt, but enough to make you arch. His other hand slips between your legs, teasing, stroking, making you moan despite yourself.

“You’re so fucking wet for someone who hates me,” he murmurs, biting your shoulder. “Say it. Say you want me to fuck you.”

“I hate you,” you breathe, but your hips roll back against his hand anyway.

He laughs, low and dark, pressing you harder into the mirror. “Liar.”

The dream shifts and suddenly he has you on the floor, legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts into you— deep, angry, perfect. Every snap of his hips feels like punishment and reward at once. You scratch down his back, drawing blood and he bites your neck hard enough to leave marks. The mirrors reflect a hundred versions of you two like fucking animals— sweat-slick, desperate, beautiful in the worst way.

“I hate you,” you moan as he fucks you harder.

Riki’s eyes are wild. “Then prove it.”

You wake up gasping, sheets tangled around your legs, heart hammering, and a slick heat between your thighs that makes you want to scream. You sit up in the dark, pressing your palms to your burning face.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The body has always been a terrible liar.

The mind can sharpen hatred into something clean— something so easy to hold. It can rehearse every reason to leave, every wound, every insult, every unforgivable thing. It can swear that this person disgusts you— that you’d sooner bite your own tongue than admit they’re the only thing you want to loose yourself into.

And then your pulse betrays you. Your breath catches when they get too close to the real thing, your pupils widen before your pride has the chance to object. Every nerve ending reaches for what your conscience insists it should reject. The body doesn’t understand morality; it understands chemistry and biology; doesn’t distinguish between danger and desire nearly as well as you’d like to believe.

Maybe that’s why hatred and longing have always lived so close together. Both consume. Both obsess. The difference is thinner than anyone admits— a line so delicate that all it takes is one glance, one accidental touch, one moment of vulnerability, and suddenly you no longer know whether your racing heart is preparing you to fight them or kiss them.

That’s why, after that dream, you avoid him like the plague. The following weeks are a careful dance of deliberate distance; you show up to group meetings late and leave early. You switch practice times when possible, you bury yourself in solo schedules, self-help books (that don’t help with anything actually) and long conversations with Hye-ri that always circle back to the same frustrating question: why does suffering attract you more than living a gentle life?

You delete the drunk call from your call log like it never happened, you tell yourself the dream meant nothing. Just stress. Just exhaustion. Just your body playing cruel tricks.

But the avoidance only makes it worse, every time you catch a glimpse of him in the hallway, your stomach flips. Every time his name comes up in conversation, your jaw tightens.

But today he’s inevitable. Duty calls. And so here you are, stuck in the dance studio again with him.

The choreographer wanted you both to review the latest self-tapes alone— auto-evaluation before the final run throughs. No dancing today, just critique; so you came straight from another schedule, still wearing the black heels from the event and the black skirt they’d told you to wear—because you just couldn’t be bothered to change.

Now they click sharply against the floor as you pace, hands on your hips, eyes glued to the small television screen playing the footage.

Riki stands a few feet away, arms crossed, watching with that same unreadable expression. He’s wearing a goddamn chrome hearts tank top, one that highlights the muscles in his back, makes him look unfairly lean and does a poor job at keeping you focused.

The footage plays— and technically, it’s flawless. The lines are clean, the timing’s sharp. But the chemistry is nonexistent. You both look like you’d rather murder each other than touch, naturally.

You point at the screen. “Your shoulder drops there. Sloppy.”

Riki scoffs. “My shoulder is fine. You’re the one rushing the transition.”

You whirl on him. “At least I commit. You move like you’re scared to touch me. Afraid I’ll stab you in the back or something?”

He steps closer, eyes narrowing. “Maybe I am. We both know what you’re capable of when you want something.”

The jab lands harder than you expect, you feel heat rise in your cheeks. “Fuck you. At least I don’t throw tantrums like a spoiled kid every time things don’t go my way.”

That one hits and Riki’s expression darkens. In response, he pushes you with his arm— not hard, but enough to make you stumble back. Your injured leg buckles slightly, still weak from the sprain. Pain shoots up your ankle and you lose balance, arms flailing.

Riki moves instinctively— ironic isn’t it?— his hands catch you—one on your waist, the other gripping your arm— steadying you before you fall. It’s almost laughable… the force that sent you stumbling is the same one that keeps you upright.

For a moment, everything stops, his touch’s firm but careful. Not the bruising grip from before. Not the angry shove. Just… support. His fingers press lightly against your waist, warm through the thin fabric of your top. It feels almost like pity. Like he’s handling something he doesn’t want to break yet.

The silence stretches until your eyes meet his. His breath is close and for once, thereis no venom in his gaze— just surprise.

You shake him off almost immediately, stepping back like his touch burned you. “Don’t touch me.”

Riki’s hands drop and the mask of indifference slides back into place. “Whatever. Don’t fall and blame me later.”

“Youre the one who just pushed me.” you mutter under your breath, boiling.

The footage loops again and again, but neither of you is really watching anymore. The real performance is happening right here— two people circling each other with words like weapons.

Eventually the tape ends and you exhale sharply. “We’re done. I’m leaving.”

You grab your badge, and purse, turn toward the door in one smooth motion, heels clicking. But when you push the handle, it doesn’t budge. You try again. Nothing.

“What the fuck?” You rattle the door harder. “Did you lock it?”

Riki raises an eyebrow. “Why would I lock it?”

You try again, panic starting to creep in. “Open the damn door, Riki.”

He sighs, walks over, tries the handle and it doesn’t move. “It’s stuck.”

You reach for your phone, heart hammering and you text Hye-ri a hundred times in rapid succession.

Door won’t open. Studio 4. Come get me. Help. HELP. Help. HELPPP. SOS.

But no reply comes, so you call her, it goes straight to voicemail. You text Heeseung next— because what wouldn’t you do for an escape? Still nothing.

"Aren't you gonna do anything??" you turn to Riki.

"My phone's dead" he shrugs.

“I’m gonna call the police, I swear to god,” you mutter, pacing.

Riki rolls his eyes, tapping his foot on the floor repeatedly— the sound grating on your nerves.

“Can you stop tapping on the floor before I eviscerate you?” you snap.

“Get over yourself”

You try the doorknob again, naively. Of course it’s not gonna budge, why would it ? The universe wants you in a secluded room with Nishimura Riki— probably natural selection or something…

You rattle the handle a little harder anyway, as if stubbornness alone might intimidate the lock into cooperating. It doesn’t. It only rewards your efforts with another dull metallic clunk that echoes through the room like it’s laughing at you.

“Why aren’t you charging your goddamn phone anyway? To call people. At least be fucking useful.” you turn to him.

“Cause you’re already doing that, Y/n.” Riki says matter-of-factly.

He leans against the wall, watching you with that infuriating calm— and sweat beads on your skin as you fight the punch that you want to give him.

“Oh god, I hate you,” you finally hiss, stepping closer.

Something in him shifts, not visibly— but you catch it because you’re looking; his shoulders loosen by a fraction, the corner of his mouth threatens to betray him. Your words don’t land like an insult; they settle somewhere far more dangerous.

Hatred’s always been your most honest language with himx Every glare, every cutting remark, every venom-laced sentence means you’ve looked at him long enough to feel something. It means he’s gotten under your skin again. That he’s occupied another corner of your mind he had no business claiming.

To anyone else, your words would sound like rejection.

To Riki, they sound like proof.

Proof that he still affects you.

Proof that indifference’s never been an option.

He lets the silence stretch, savoring the confession hidden beneath the hostility before his gaze locks onto yours, dark with unmistakable satisfaction

“Say that again.”

You step even closer, heels making you taller but still smaller than him. “I. Hate. You.”

His gaze flickers over your expression for a second longer than it should, like he’s memorizing the contradiction in front of him: someone who claims to despise him yet keeps moving closer, someone who throws daggers with their words but refuses to walk away.

Riki looks down and you catch him staring at your legs almost instantly. “Stop looking at my fucking legs, you perv.”

“Well then stop wearing heels in a practice room maybe?”

“I’ve got somewhere to be after this, dipshit.” you roll your eyes, suddenly feeling small under his scrutiny.

“Then put them back on after this, like a normal person.”

“We just came in here to review the footage. Stop acting like I’m dancing in heels or something. Or maybe—who knows— maybe I just like pissing you off.”

“It doesn’t piss me off. It’s just annoying as hell. You make a lot of noise. Walking around like you wanna get my attention or something.”

“Get your attention? Please. You’re ridiculous. You know why I put them on? Because deep down my biggest wish is to step on you with them till you choke and die or something.”

Riki’s breath catches, you watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows and he takes a careful step back. The topic of heels is a no-go.

“Stop saying nonsense and just go work on getting someone to open the door.” He sounds slightly breathless.

“I’m trying, fucker.”

“Well try harder, bitch.”

“Keep calling me that name and I’ll really step on you. And I won’t be gentle.” you raise your chin, defiant.

“Oh, cause you think I want you gentle?”

Heat floods your face and chest. Then something dark and dangerous twists in your stomach— equal parts fury and unwanted thrill.

You step closer instead of recoiling, eyes narrowing, lips parting on a sharp, incredulous exhale. The implication hangs between you like smoke—thick, filthy, impossible to ignore. Your mind flashes with vivid, unwanted images: his hands rough, your nails digging in, bodies colliding with nothing soft or kind between you.

The thought disgusts you but it also makes your thighs press together instinctively. How much of a contradiction could you be?

“You’re so perverted it’s disgusting.” you resort to insults, because that’s all you know.

“Perverted? You’re the one who came in here wearing these.”

“They’re just heels. You’re a weirdo. You think I put them on for you or something? Don’t you remember when you called me drunk the other night? You seemed to like them just then.”

Riki freezes. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you don’t remember?” You lean into it, savoring the upper hand and sprinkling a little bit of lies. “Nishimura, you called me. Said a bunch of shit. Got really vulnerable. Told me exactly how the heels made you feel, pathetic, really.”

“I didn’t say all that, Y/n. Stop.”

Air’s gone rancid, thick with the stink of want, choking you both, but you only step closer, voice low and taunting. “You did though. You probably wish you could touch them, stop being such a pussy and admit it.”

Riki’s eyes flash and that shakes off the last thread of self control and inhibition, “Yeah? And what if I did?” His voice drops dangerously. “What if I grabbed your thighs and spread them right there? Would you still act like you hate me then?”

What. the. fuck.

There’s the moment, where the truth comes out. Where the line shatters. Where hatred and desire melt together and become one.

There’s no fury like trying to contain such levels of want. Like trying to contain something that was never meant to be contained.

Because the hardest battle was never between you and him, no it was between what you felt and what you were willing to admit.

The space between you vanishes, your back hits the wall. His hand braces beside your head and you tilt your head back until the tip of your nose touches his, heart thundering. “Fuck… I hate you.”

You’re like prey and predator— except you’re the embodiment of both. And in the end, how do you run from something that exists inside you? How do you fight an instinct that is just as much a part of you as the fear trying to resist it?

You’re the one who bares your teeth, the one who strikes first, the one who convinces yourself that staying sharp means staying safe. But you’re also the one who freezes when he gets too close, the one who feels every shift in the air between you, the one whose body reacts before your pride has the chance to intervene.

A contradiction wearing the shape of a person.

You want to win, but you also want to be understood. You want to push him away, but some reckless part of you keeps stepping closer. You hate the power he has over you, yet you keep giving him opportunities to use it.

“I hate you more.” Riki says, comforting the both of you into thinking this is still strictly hatred. “Hate you so bad it hurts.”

Thats when it happens. Between a hitch of breath and a gasp, you loose it.

The kiss is sudden, angry, desperate. Mouths crashing together like a collision— teeth and tongue and pure adrenaline. It’s hate and want— months of a cutthroat chase. Two bodies finally allowing theirselves to feel something other than destruction.

His hand slides into your hair, gripping hard, you bite his bottom lip. He groans into your mouth and presses you harder against the wall.

Your fingers fist in his shirt as Riki’s thigh presses between yours. The kiss is messy, violent, it’s a murder of pride— until there’s nowhere left to hide because he’s all over your body, gripping, binding.

He bites on your lower lip and you bite back just as hard, sinking your teeth into his lip until you taste the sharp metallic tang of blood. He groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest, and in response he shoves you back against the mirror with enough force to make the glass rattle.

Your back hits the cool surface first. Then the rest of you— shoulders, hips, thighs. The mirror is cold while he’s burning hot. The contrast makes you gasp into his mouth and he takes advantage immediately, tongue sliding deep, claiming, devouring.

One of his hands fists in your hair, yanking your head back so he can kiss you harder, deeper, filthier. You tug right back, fingers twisting in his strands, pulling until he hisses in pain and pleasure.

You’re both predators now. No prey. No bunnies. Just two starving animals finally allowed to tear into each other.

Riki’s thigh presses between your legs, grinding up hard against your core— you roll your hips down to meet him, desperate and violent, chasing friction through your clothes. Every roll of your hips makes the mirror shake behind you and his cock’s already so hard, straining against his pants, pressing insistently against your thigh. You can feel how much he hates how badly he wants this.

“Fuck you,” he snarls against your lips, biting down on your bottom lip in retaliation. “You’re such a brat.”

You moan into his mouth, the sound muffled and broken. He wraps one large hand around your throat and squeezes— not enough to hurt, but enough to make your head spin. The pressure’s perfect, making you clench around nothing, drunk on the pain. Your pulse flutters wildly under his palm and he squeezes a little tighter until you moan louder, the sound vibrating against his fingers.

“There it is…” Riki pants, lips brushing yours, voice dark “See? Your body doesn’t lie. It fucking loves me.”

His cock presses against your clit through the fabric, a delicious friction that makes your head foggy, hands clawing at him for more, more, more and everything. His free hand goes to your ass, digging in and pushing you closer to him, hardness rubbing right where you need him the most. And in second— his mouth’s on your neck, canines poking at your tender skin until you’re moaning, hips moving like they have a mind of their own.

“Look at you— moaning like a desperate little slut just from this.” you feel Riki’s smirk even if you can’t see it.

You try to snap back, but he bites down again and your words dissolve into another broken moan. He laughs, low and mean, grinding harder between your legs.

“Pathetic,” he murmurs, lips trailing down your jaw. “All that hate and your pussy’s still soaking for me.”

The fucker doesn’t even bother taking your clothes off properly. In one rough motion he yanks your skirt up around your waist, the fabric bunching messily and his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties. Then, he rips them clean off with a sharp tear that echoes in the studio, and throws them somewhere. The cool air hits your soaked cunt and you shiver.

He looks down, cock twitching in his pants as he witnesses the sheer amount of wetness coating thighs and pussy. “Fuck” he breathes out, fingers hooking to collect your arousal and toy with it. “Look at that…”

Riki brings his soaked fingers to your mouth and pushes them pas your lips without a second thought. When he feels you suck your juices off of them, his hips jerk, bulge pressing right against your dripping cunt, the front of his pants covered in your arousal.

“Messy girl.” he forces your mouth closed by pressing your cheeks together, “Swallow”

You do— because there’s nothing more exhilarating and humbling that getting a direct taste of what you used to call “hatred.”

“Fuck you— just fuck me already, get this over with.” you say, chin held high like he didn’t just humiliate you.

He smiles tauntingly, frees himself from his pants with impatient hands, cock hard, flushed and leaking. And dammit— you’d never admit it to his face, but he’s big, thick and dripping at the tip. You stare at it for a split second, wondering if it’ll hurt. But you don’t couldn’t care less about the hurt, as long as it makes you feel something.

“You want it?” Riki rasps, lining himself up with your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your soaked folds. You nod, because it’s obvious you do, and he retaliates, “Then beg for it properly, you brat. Or i’ll leave you here dripping and desperate like the pathetic liar you are.”

The words burn through you— your pride screams at you to shove him away, to spit in his face, to keep hating him like you always have. But your body is a merciless traitor— clenching around nothing, dripping down your thighs, aching so badly it hurts. You’re trembling with rage and need, nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, voice shaking. “Just fuck me already. Please.”

“There it is. See? You’re not that useless.” He nips at your neck, all condescending.

In one brutal thrust he buries himself inside you to the hilt, stretching you open so suddenly and so deep that your head falls back against the mirror with a broken cry. The burn is delicious. He’s thick, hot, and so fucking hard it feels like he’s splitting you apart in the best worst way.

You both groan at the same time. He’s so deep it hurts, you can feel him everywhere, invading your body like a sickness. Your walls clench around him like a vice, wet and greedy and Riki’s head drops to your shoulder with a guttural curse.

“Fuck… so tight,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Your pussy’s choking me. Greedy little cunt— hates me but still sucks me in like it was made for me.”

He starts fucking you hard right away. No warmup. No leniency.

Each thrust slams you back against the mirror, the glass rattling dangerously with every brutal snap of his hips. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the studio, wet and obscene and your heels scrape against the back of his thighs as he drives into you deeper, harder, faster.

But Riki’s eyes keep dropping.

To your legs.

To those fucking heels.

His hand slides down your thigh, gripping the back of your knee and hiking it higher around his waist. His fingers trace the sharp edge of it, thumb pressing into the arch of your foot through the strap.

“These goddamn heels,” he utters against your neck, voice rough and filthy as he pounds into you. “You know what they do to me. You fucking know.”

You hook your leg to his waist, heel digging into the back of his thigh.

“Shit —look at you,” he pants, eyes dark as he fucks you stupid. He can finally admit just how much he loves your legs, anything that’s yours really.

You claw at his back, nails digging through his shirt and hhe yanks your hair, forcing your head back so he can bite down on your exposed throat.

“Say it,” he demands, pounding into you relentlessly. “Say you fucking need this.”

You moan loudly, eyes fluttering. “Fuck… you—”

Riki laughs darkly and slams in harder, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. “That’s what I thought. Bratty little whore. Can’t even lie properly when I’m balls deep inside you.”

He edges you mercilessly, every time you get close, thighs shaking, walls fluttering around him, he slows down or pulls almost all the way out, leaving you clenching desperately around nothing. You whine, hips chasing him, pride crumbling under the overwhelming need.

“Beg for it,” he taunts, voice rough as gravel. “I know you can do that, can’t you?”

You shake your head, teeth gritted, stubborn to the end even as tears of frustration prick your eyes. “Fuck… you…”

Riki pulls out completely this time, leaving you empty and throbbing. You moan in frustration and snap, before he can say another word, you grab his cock— hot, slick with your arousal—and shove it back inside you yourself, forcing him deep in one rough motion.

Riki groans loudly, forehead dropping to yours and you kiss him viciously, biting his lip again as you roll your hips, taking control for one glorious second.

The pace turns frantic after that— he fucks you like he wants to break you. You meet every thrust with equal violence, legs wrapped tight around his waist.

He wraps his hand around your throat again, squeezing just right as he drives into you harder.

“You gonna cum for me?” he says against your mouth. You let out a pathetic moan at that, “Yeah I know… you’re taking it so well for such a bad girl.”

This time Riki doesn’t stop. The orgasm crashes into you like a freight train, your whole body seizes, walls clamping down around him like a vice as pleasure rips through you in violent waves. You cry out, nails raking down his back, thighs shaking uncontrollably. It feels endless— white-hot, devastating.

The best thing you’ve ever tasted— no matter how hard it is to admit.

Riki follows right after you, burying himself deep with a broken groan. His hips stutter, cock pulsing as he spills inside you, cum painting your walls messily— he keeps thrusting through it, riding out every last twitch, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling in harsh pants.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the studio are your ragged breathing and the faint creak of the mirror behind you. His cum drips from where you’re connected, painting your thighs in the proof of his need.

Then silence.

Heavy, stunned, devastating silence.

After that day, everything changes—and somehow stays exactly the same. Finding out Heeseung was the one who locked you both in the rehearsal room to mend for yourselves is nothing short of a surprise. But you couldn’t care less— youre way past that, way past pretending you weren’t thriving when the attention Riki gave you was —albeit still embedded within the rage— pleasurable.

You grow addicted to it, almost like an addict coming back to a terrible drug. You’d go to rehab eventually, when there’s finally enough of you left to want saving.

But not today. Today, you let yourself sink deeper— you relish in the ruins of your past, the violence that consumes you.

You know exactly what it does to you— you know how it hollows you out, how it leaves your hands shaking long after the high has worn off, yet you return anyway, chasing the familiar ache because it’s easier than learning how to live without it.

Healing can wait. Right now, there’s still comfort in the catastrophe.

You and Riki continue to ruin each other.

You spread rumors, run your mouth to whomever wants to hear it— rant about how awful he is. He leaks old trainee footage that makes you look difficult; you sabotage a schedule overlap. He makes sure a stylist “accidentally” gives you the wrong outfit for a performance. The company watches, the fans speculate. The hatred becomes public performance and private war.

But the sex never stops.

He strokes himself many times in the following weeks; in the shower, in his bed at night. Even through the thick, choking layer of disgust that never fully leaves him, he cannot stop wanting you. He comes hard every time, hating himself more with every stroke, but he keeps doing it anyway.

Touching happens anytime you can get away with it. In the locked studio again, late at night. He fucks you bent over the piano,

“Fight me while I fuck you,” he groans against your ear, one hand fisted in your hair. “I love it when you’re angry.” You scratch his arms bloody and he only rails you harder.

In the back of a company van after a late schedule, windows fogged up, his hand clamped over your mouth while he rails you from behind; you bite his fingers until they bleed and he calls you his little pain slut.

You don’t even take it personally— you’ve learned to live with the idea that the insults are a mere reflections of your self hatreds. When Riki calls you names, he’s only damning himself for falling into temptation, for needing you the way he does. You let him. Because you hate yourself just as much.

In an empty waiting room during an award show, your dress hiked up, his pants barely undone; he makes you ride him while still wearing your stage heels, the sharp points digging into his thighs as you bounce on his cock. “Look at you,” he pants— although he’ll never tell you just how devastatingly beautiful he finds you, he makes allusions to it, letting you unveil it bit by bit. “Faster, you can do it can’t you?”

Encounters multiply, Riki chokes you until you see stars— it’s a language you master by now. You slap him across the face and he laughs, blood on his lip, before flipping you over and spanking you raw; and every single time you come out bruised, wrecked and markd. He edges you for hours until you’re crying and begging and you end up riding his face until he can’t breathe, grinding down on his tongue like you want to smother him.

It’s violent, ugly; there’s nothing worth wanting about it. Nothing tender. Nothing enviable. Just two people mistaking collision for connection, trying to quiet feelings they’ve never learned to hold without destroying each other.

Your bodies are perfectly aligned. They crave each other with a violence that borders on worship. But your minds? Your souls? They cannot stand each other.

The incompatibility reveals itself slowly, then all at once. The fights grow uglier. The sex grows rougher. The silences between grow heavier.

You start avoiding each other’s eyes even when you’re buried inside one another; the hatred no longer fuels the fire—it poisons it. You hurt each other too deeply, too often, too deliberately— until there’s no coming back from some wounds.

No amount of orgasms can erase the years of betrayal.

One night, after another brutal fuck in a hotel room, you lie beside him in silence. The sheets are tangled around your legs, damp with sweat and his cum is still leaking slowly down your thighs, warm and sticky, a filthy reminder of how deep he’d been inside you just minutes ago. The room smells like sex— musky, salty, desperate. The only light comes from the city glowing through the half-open curtains, casting long shadows across the bed.

You’re both on your backs, shoulders barely touching, staring at the ceiling like it holds answers— your chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths. Your body still hums with the aftershocks— thighs sore, throat raw from his hands, lips swollen from biting and being bitten.

The ache between your legs is deep and satisfying in the worst way.

Riki’s breathing is just as ragged— his hand twitches once like he wants to reach for you, then stills. He doesn’t.

The silence stretches, until finally, you speak, voice hoarse and bitter.

“…This is so fucking stupid.”

Riki lets out a low, humorless laugh that sounds more like a exhale of pain. “Yeah. It is.”

You turn your head slightly, just enough to see his profile in the dim light. His jaw’s tight. A fresh bite mark blooms red on his collarbone— your doing. You feel a twisted sense of satisfaction, then immediate disgust at yourself. He’s not yours, you shouldn’t make him look like he is.

“I don’t know why we keep doing this” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “Theres no point.”

Riki doesn’t answer right away. He runs a hand over his face, then lets it drop heavily onto the mattress between you.

“Things don’t always have to have a point” he says eventually, voice rough. “we can do things that aren’t… good. Who cares.”

You swallow hard. “I do,” you admit quietly. “I let you fuck me like you want to break me.”

Riki turns his head toward you, his eyes are dark, unreadable. “You do the same thing to me. You know that right? You can say whatever you want but we’ve always been equals.”

A long silence falls again.

You feel the familiar ache in your chest— the one that has nothing to do with the rough sex and everything to do with the fact that this, whatever this is, can never be anything more.

“We’re going to destroy each other,” you say softly, almost sadly.

Riki’s jaw clenches. “Yeah. We are.”

He doesn’t reach for you and you don’t reach for him. You both lie there, bodies still tangled, hearts completely separate, knowing full well that you’ll do it all over again the next time the opportunity arises.

Because that’s just what you do. Because the heart isn’t a courtroom; it doesn’t grant leniency, it only delivers its verdict. And the verdict, in the end, is simple: some people are destined to destroy. You and Riki were never going to be the exception— you were always going to be the cautionary tale.

“so, where do we start?” he pushed the words out, his attention wavering the moment your eyes met his.

“there was this content from week three that i didn’t really get.” you pushed your laptop to sit more evenly between the two of you. “we can start there.”

jake nodded inwardly, perching the glasses atop his nose a little higher, before silently asking for permission of the laptop in your possession.

with the focus now on the actual task, jake slowly found his previous beating heart find its regular steady pace, and the empty feeling in his stomach fill itself back up. the atmosphere felt less intimate and personal, which was all jake needed to comfortably guide you through whatever content you had struggled with.

time became nonexistent as fifteen minutes gradually became an hour and thirty minutes, which neither of you paid much mind to. still, it was only a matter of time before the numb feeling of you legs would turn noticeably hard to ignore.

“let’s take a break.” you stretched your limbs out before hoisting yourself on your feet, a slight limp kicking in. jake didn’t argue back and found himself pushing his body up onto the sofa behind him where you’d been leaning against.

“stay here, i’ll get us something to drink.” you instructed, and without giving him much of a choice, you turned to exit the room.

your absence prompted jake to finally take a proper look at his surroundings. your living room appeared simple, nothing that stood out or caught his attention.

“wait, jake!” you suddenly called out from the hallway, cutting jake’s tour short. “i want you to meet someone.” your footsteps neared closer, and a plethora of scenarios kicked through his mind.

in the next few seconds, you would turn around the corner with what jake thought might be your partner. or your friend. or maybe even a family member.

you turned the corner to enter into the room, and all of jake’s previous suspicions vanished as a small, fluffy ball of hair entered his vision.

there was a wide grin accompanying your face as you walked over towards the coffee table. “this is my child, clover. isn’t she cute?”

and indeed, jake did believe the bunny staring right at him had to be one of the cutest things he’d seen in a while. his face lit up unknowingly, and you didn’t waste a single second to offer clover in his direction.

jake hesitated, his hands twitching upwards before fully accepting her in his grasp. he wasn’t too sure if he was holding her right, so he resorted to lowering her down onto his lap for good measure.

you took a seat next to him, not too close, but still present enough for jake to look up for a moment before looking back down at the life sat on him.

“hi.” he greeted, his voice coming out breathy. your smile widened, and you watched as jake reached a hand out to pet clover by her ear. “i think she likes you already.” you observed, and the assurance was enough for jake to get more confident with his actions as he started stroking all of her body.

you observed in silent awe. jake seemed suddenly all too caught up in the action of petting your bunny that he forgot about you right next to him. and weirdly enough, the attentiveness, as well as lack of, was something you couldn’t find it within you to break.

there was a certain appeal in what had unfolded in front of you. the view of jake, in the gray hoodie you had grown to know him by, looking down at clover with a genuine smile that appeared too affectionate, as well as the spark in his eyes that seemed almost caring, brought a weird fluttery feeling within your stomach region.

“you’re so cute.” jake had cooed in a whisper, and that same fluttering tickled further for a split moment. jake suddenly looked back up, almost as if remembering your existence before an embarrassed flush grew on his face. “what?” he muttered awkwardly.

you had no words to say back for a good long second. “nothing,” you claimed. “this is just cute to look at.”

jake’s mouth itched to drop wide, but he restrained his urges and instead remained speechless. after all, what could he possibly say back that wouldn’t sound weird?

“should we go back to study?” he diverted instead, stroking the mammal one last time. 

previous masterlist next

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺𝖾 : their slow progress is just so lovely. someone pls tell her that her goal is to get sunghoon. ALSO BIG CHAPTER NEXT WITH BIG AWAITED EVENT…… hoonyn nation be there

She didn’t let go.

„We should probably…“ she started.

„Stay.“

The word came out before he could stop it. Mingi didn’t correct himself. „Stay with me tonight. I mean…“ He ran his free hand through his hair, a nervous gesture she’d come to recognize. „I don’t want to waste a single second of what’s left.“

The way she looked at him then. It was the same look she’d given him at the restaurant when the old woman called them a beautiful couple. That wide, wondering expression, like she was seeing something she’d always suspected but never dared to name.

„Okay,“ she said simply.

Smut start

The guesthouse was a small whitewashed building perched on the hillside, their room on the top floor with a window that opened directly onto the ocean. A double bed. A single nightstand. A lamp that cast warm amber light across the sheets when Mingi switched it on.

The door clicked shut behind them.

For a moment they just stood there, the reality of the room settling around them. The bed took up most of the space. There was nowhere else to look but at each other.

Mingi reached for her hand. His fingers threaded through hers, slow, giving her every chance to pull away.

She didn’t.

She stepped closer. Close enough that the tips of her sandals touched his. Close enough that he could smell the salt on her skin, the faint floral scent of whatever soap the restaurant had in their bathroom.

She reached up, her fingers brushing along his jaw. The touch was so light it almost wasn’t there. A question, waiting for an answer.

Mingi turned his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. She made a small sound, barely audible, and his eyes found hers in the low light.

„Tell me if you want me to stop,“ he said. „At any point. Tell me and I will. No questions.“

„I know.“

„And I’m not…“ He hesitated. „I don’t want this to just be…“

She silenced him with a kiss. Soft, certain. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright.

„I know,“ she repeated. „I know.“

Mingi kissed her like he was memorizing the shape of her mouth. Slow, deliberate, learning the curve of her lower lip, the way she parted for him on instinct. His hands found her waist, fingers spreading across the thin cotton of her dress, and he pulled her closer by increments.

Her fingers worked the buttons of his shirt without breaking the kiss . Quick, practiced, pushing the fabric off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it, his hands sliding up her bare arms, and she shivered under his touch.

He stepped back, pulling her with him until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He sat, and she stood between his legs, looking down at him with that same unguarded expression from the beach.

Her hands found the buttons on the front of her dress. She held his gaze as she worked each one free. Slow, deliberate, a small smile curving at the corner of her mouth. The cotton loosened around her collarbone. She shrugged one shoulder, letting the fabric slide.

The dress slipped down her arms and fell to the floor around her ankles. She stood before him in nothing but lace, the lamplight painting her skin amber and gold. She didn’t cross her arms. Didn’t look away. She simply stood there, letting him look.

Mingi’s breath left him in a slow, uneven exhale. His hands lifted to her hips, thumbs tracing the curve of her waist, the jut of her hipbones. He leaned forward, pressing his mouth to her stomach, and she sighed, her fingers threading into his hair.

He laid her back against the pillows, and she pulled him down with her, legs parting to make room for him between her thighs. She reached for the waistband of her underwear herself, lifting her hips to slide them off. He took them from her, dropped them on the floor without looking.

His mouth traced a path down her body. Her throat, the soft space between her breasts, the curve of her stomach. By the time he reached her thighs she was already arching, breath coming faster. He pressed her legs open wider, and she let him, fingers tightening in his hair.

When his tongue found her, she gasped. A raw, broken sound that drove him deeper. He spread her open with his thumbs, tasting her slowly, learning the rhythm that made her hips press up against his mouth. She was slick and warm against his tongue, her thighs trembling around his head.

He brought her to the edge once. Felt her clench and tighten, heard her breath catch and pulled back. She groaned, hips chasing his mouth, but he only kissed the inside of her thigh, lips curving against her skin.

Then he lowered his mouth to her again.

This time he didn’t stop. His tongue worked her clit in steady, firm circles while his fingers slid inside her. One, then two, curling as her back arched off the mattress. Her hips rolled against his mouth, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He pushed her over with a long, deep press of his tongue, and she came with a shuddering cry, her thighs clamping around his head, her body clenching around his fingers. He kept going, gentler now, drawing it out until she was twitching with oversensitivity, a soft whimper escaping her throat.

Before she could catch her breath, she pushed at his chest. He rolled onto his back, surprised, and she was already straddling him, knees settling on either side of his hips.

She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his cock. Already hard, already aching. He groaned, head falling back against the pillow. She stroked him slowly, watching his jaw tighten, his hips twitch involuntarily.

Then she lowered her head.

The sound he made when her mouth closed around him was almost pained. She took him deep, tongue sliding along his length, hand working what she couldn’t reach. His fingers threaded into her hair his breath coming in uneven bursts.

She brought him to the edge once. Felt him tense, heard his breath catch. She pulled back, pressing a kiss to the head, looking up at him through her lashes. He made a strangled sound, half-laugh, half-groan.

She smiled and took him back into her mouth.

The second time she didn’t stop. She worked him deep and steady until his hands fisted in the sheets, his chest heaving, and when he came it was with a broken sound. Her name falling from his lips like he’d been holding it back for years, his hips bucking as she swallowed him through it.

She crawled up his body afterward, and he caught her face, kissing her deep and slow, tasting herself on his lips.

He rolled them over, settling between her thighs. The weight of him, the warmth. She opened for him instinctively, legs wrapping around his waist. He reached between them, guiding himself to her entrance, his forehead pressing against hers.

He pushed inside her slowly. Inch by inch, watching her face, reading every micro-expression. Her lips parted. Her eyes stayed on his. When he was fully seated, he stopped, letting her adjust. She was tight and hot around him, and he had to close his eyes for a moment, jaw tight.

He moved.

Slow, deep strokes that rolled through her in waves. Unhurried not because he was holding back, but because every inch of this night was borrowed time. He wanted to feel every second of it. The way her breath caught on each thrust. The way her nails pressed crescents into his shoulders. The way her eyes never left his.

He lowered his head, pressing his mouth to her throat, her collarbone, the space between her breasts. His pace deepened, and she gasped, hips rising to meet his. He hooked his arm under her knee, pressing it toward her chest, and the change in angle made them both groan. Him sinking deeper, her back arching.

She clutched at him, fingers sliding across his sweat-slicked back. His rhythm built. Deeper, harder, the bed creaking beneath them, their breath mingling in the warm lamplit air. She came with his name on her lips, her body tightening around him in waves, and he followed a heartbeat later, pressing deep, face buried in her neck, her name breaking from him like a prayer.

He stayed inside her as they came down, his forehead pressed to hers, their breath slow and shared in the quiet.

Smut end

Later, they lay tangled in the sheets, the window cracked open to let in the sound of the ocean. The lamp was still on. Neither of them had moved to turn it off.

Y/N traced patterns across his chest, slow and aimless. His hand rested on her lower back, thumb stroking idly.

„Tell me something,“ she said quietly. „Something no one else knows.“

He was quiet for a moment. Then: „I’m terrified of coming back.“

She looked up at him.

„Not of the stage,“ he clarified. „Not of the cameras. I’m terrified that I’ll get back to Seoul and realize the person I was before I left… he’s gone. And I don’t know who I’ll be instead.“

She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him.

„Maybe that’s the point,“ she said softly. „Maybe you’re not supposed to come back the same. Maybe you’re supposed to become whoever you are now.“

He reached up, tucking her hair behind her ear.

„And who am I now?“

She smiled. That same smile from the photograph. His favorite one.

„Someone who stops for broken-down cars. Someone who watches the sunset instead of filming it. Someone who sings anime theme songs at the top of his lungs in the car.“

He laughed, soft and real.

„Someone who kissed a girl on a beach in Portugal.“

His breath caught.

„Yeah,“ he said, his voice rough again. „That too.“

She settled back against his chest, her cheek over his heartbeat.

„Mingi?“

„Yeah?“

„I’m glad it was you.“

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his arms tightening around her.

„Me too.“

They fell asleep like that. Tangled. Warm. The ocean humming ist quiet lullaby through the open window.

Tomorrow would come, whether they wanted it to or not.

But tonight was theirs

Mingi had never liked airports.

They were places built around leaving.

Around countdowns and final calls and people pretending they weren’t watching the clock.

He stood beside Y/N’s suitcase while the departure board flickered above them, changing gates every few seconds as if it were any other morning.

It wasn’t.

Not for him.

Neither of them had talked much during the drive.

The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable. It was simply full.

Full of everything that had happened over the past two weeks.

The broken-down car.

Mountain roads in Switzerland.

Pizza in Italy.

Anime every evening.

The beach in Portugal.

One impulsive kiss that had changed everything.

Neither of them seemed willing to be the first to mention it.

„So…“ Y/N adjusted the strap of her backpack. „I guess this is where we stop pretending we don’t have real lives.“

He smiled faintly. „I was hoping the road would just… keep going.“

She looked at him for a long moment before laughing quietly. „I was hoping that too.“

A boarding announcement echoed through the terminal.

She looked toward the security checkpoint. „I should go.“

His chest tightened.

There it was.

The sentence he’d been dreading since yesterday.

He nodded once. „Yeah.“

Another silence.

He had rehearsed dozens of things he wanted to tell her.

Stay.

Come back.

Can I see you again?

None of them seemed fair to ask.

Not when she had worked so hard for this job.

Not when Seoul was everything she’d been chasing for years.

Instead, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him.

He hugged her back immediately.

She fit against him so naturally that it almost hurt.

„I’m really glad my car broke down,“ she murmured.

He closed his eyes. „So am I.“

When they pulled apart, she reached into her pocket.

„My number.“

He laughed softly.

„I already saved it.“

„I know.“

„I just wanted an excuse to stay longer.“

He shook his head with a smile.

She looked relieved that he’d smiled. „You’ll text me?“

„I will.“

„You promise?“

„I promise.“

She nodded once.

Then she looked at him in that serious way she sometimes did.

„And you’ll think about what we talked about?“

He already knew what she meant.

Going back.

Back to music.

Back to the members.

Back to himself.

„I will.“

„No.“ She poked the center of his chest. „You’ll actually do it.“

The corner of his mouth lifted. „…Yes, ma’am.“

„There.“ She smiled. „Much better.“

Then she picked up her suitcase.

He watched her disappear into the line for security.

Halfway there she turned around.

She lifted her hand.

He waved back.

Then she smiled.

That smile. The one from the beach.

The one from the photograph.

The one he’d somehow started thinking of as his favorite.

A moment later she disappeared behind the crowd.

He stayed where he was anyway.

Long after she was gone.

The drive back felt strangely unfamiliar.

Not because he didn’t know the roads.

Because there was nobody in the passenger seat pointing excitedly at random cafés.

Nobody changing the music while pretending she wasn’t.

Nobody asking him if they could „just make one tiny little stop.“

The notebook she’d left on the dashboard for almost two weeks was gone.

The passenger seat looked empty in a way he hadn’t expected.

He caught himself looking toward it at a red light.

For a split second he expected to see her asleep against the window.

Instead… Only sunlight.

He laughed quietly to himself.

„You’re losing it.“

Maybe.

He decided not to fly home immediately.

One more week.

That had always been the plan.

One more week to clear his head before returning to Korea.

The problem was…His head was no longer quiet.

Every little town reminded him of her.

He walked through a market in southern Portugal and instinctively reached for two pastries before remembering there was only one person eating breakfast.

He passed a tiny bookstore and almost turned inside because Y/N would’ve insisted on looking „for just five minutes.“

Five minutes always became forty.

He found himself smiling at the memory.

Then the smile disappeared just as quickly.

It was strange how quickly someone could become part of your routine.

He hadn’t noticed it while she was there.

He noticed it now.

On the third day, he opened Spotify.

The first song that played was Harry Styles.

He skipped it.

The next one was one of ATEEZ’s songs.

He skipped that too.

Silence suddenly felt easier.

On the fifth day, he stopped at a scenic overlook.

The view was incredible.

Blue ocean.

White cliffs.

The kind of place Y/N would’ve climbed out of the car before he’d even parked properly.

He stood there alone.

His hand automatically reached for his camera.

Then stopped.

Who was he taking the picture for?

His gallery was already full.

Not of landscapes.

Of her.

Laughing with powdered sugar on her nose.

Looking out over the Alps.

Reading in cafés.

Standing barefoot in the Atlantic.

Smiling at him just as he’d pressed the shutter.

He sat down on a nearby bench and scrolled through them.

Without realizing it, he’d documented almost the entire trip through her.

Not because she’d asked him to.

Because he’d wanted to remember seeing her happy.

That realization settled heavily in his chest.

It wasn’t just that he missed her. He missed sharing things with her.

The quiet moments that somehow mattered most.

He unlocked his phone.

No messages.

He checked anyway.

Nothing.

Maybe she was overwhelmed.

Maybe she’d already started work.

Maybe she was still unpacking.

Or…

Maybe Portugal had simply been the end.

A beautiful chapter.

Closed.

He hated that possibility more than he wanted to admit.

Without thinking, he pressed her contact.

His thumb hovered over the call button.

00:21.

Seoul.

He stared at the time for a second before locking the phone again.

„No.“

He wasn’t going to wake her in the middle of the night because he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Instead he opened another contact.

Hongjoong answered almost immediately.

„Hey.“

The others appeared one by one until six familiar faces looked back at him.

For the first few minutes they talked about nothing.

Travel.

Food.

The weather.

Mingi listened more than he spoke.

It felt… Comforting.

Like slipping into an old jacket.

Hongjoong eventually tilted his head.

„Something’s on your mind.“

Mingi looked down at the balcony railing.

„I thought I’d feel better after a few days.“

Nobody asked what he meant.

They already knew.

„I don’t.“

He laughed once.

„I keep thinking she’s going to text me. I keep checking my phone.“

He rubbed his forehead.

„And every place I visit…“ He looked out toward the dark ocean. „…I wish she were here to see it.“

The words hung quietly between them.

„I think I already knew before Portugal.“

He smiled sadly.

„I just didn’t want to admit it.“

„Admit what?“ Yunho asked gently.

Mingi didn’t answer immediately.

Instead he thought back to the first day.

A broken-down little car.

A woman with grease on her cheek trying very hard not to cry.

The first laugh they’d shared.

The first time she’d switched on one of his own songs just to annoy him.

The way she’d told him it was okay to take a break.

The way she’d looked at him on that beach.

He smiled despite himself.

„I fell in love with her.“

There. Out loud.

It hurt less than keeping it inside.

„And she’s halfway across the world now.“

Nobody joked.

Nobody teased him.

Hongjoong simply nodded.

„I was wondering when you’d finally say it.“

Mingi chuckled softly.

„I’ve also figured something else out.“

Six pairs of eyes looked back at him.

„I want to come home.“

Wooyoung blinked.

„…Home home?“

He nodded.

„I don’t think I ever wanted to leave music. The feeling that I had to be perfect all the time.“

He paused.

„You know what Y/N did?“

„What?“

„She never once talked to me like I was an idol. She only ever talked to me like I was… me.“

He smiled.

„And somehow, talking to her about all of you…“

He shook his head.

„…I realized I still light up every time I talk about the group.“

„About performing.“

„About making music.“

„I’ve just been too exhausted to notice.“

Hongjoong’s smile was quiet but unmistakable.

„So you’re coming back.“

„I’m coming back.“

„And…“ Mingi looked down at the phone in his hand. „…I’m not ready to let her become a beautiful memory.“

He thought about the promise they’d made at the airport.

I’ll text you.

Maybe she was simply busy.

Maybe she was waiting too.

He smiled to himself.

„I don’t know what happens next. But I know I don’t want Portugal to be the last chapter.“

For the first time since leaving the airport, that thought didn’t fill him with dread.

It gave him something he’d been missing since the road trip ended.

A reason to keep moving forward.

Three weeks.

It wasn’t a long time.

Not really.

Yet somehow, it felt like another lifetime.

Y/N had imagined moving to Seoul a hundred different ways.

She had imagined getting lost on the subway.

Meeting new coworkers.

Trying restaurants she’d only ever seen online.

Decorating her first apartment.

Learning shortcuts through the city.

She had imagined all of that.

She had not imagined that every new experience would make her instinctively reach for her phone.

Just to remember that there wasn’t anyone waiting on the other side anymore.

Or at least…

That was what she kept telling herself.

Her apartment was finally starting to feel lived in.