đٞsynopsis â it was relatively normal in queens, until you showed up and now everything is in shambles.
đٞwarnings â angst, swearing, heavy violence, character death, implied sexual content, kissing, strong language.
đٞword count â 9.3k
đٞauthors note â hii first tumblr story yaay!! this is vv dialogue based and i gen cannot write fight scenes so plz bear with me </3 thank you to @makisdoll for helping me write this and basically being my support system through this journey. feel free to leave feedback and comments. all is appreciated. enjoy!!
â
mark didn't want this, he didn't choose to be this, whatever he was. he didnt choose to stick to walls, didn't choose to shoot webs out of his hands, didnt choose the "spidey senses". he didn't choose it at all.
but someone, up in the sky. thought he should be spider-man. or at least thats what he thought it was. in reality, he just got bitten by a radioactive spider...from a lab. dr connors lab. the green lizard guy? who apparently was also his professor?
its a long story, but lets start from the beginning. mark lee is a normal person. psychology major, a few friends. just your average freshman in college.
until it happens. the biting. heâs in the library, skimming through sections, trying to find 'psychology 101' when a spider crawls onto his hand. he shrieks, smashing it. but damage is already done. he was bitten by a radioactive spider.
nothing happened for a while, until everything happened. things were so loud. he felt like he could hear conversations three blocks away. sunlight hurt his eyes. the constant buzzing. everything was heightened.
then came the sticking. he was walking back to his dorm, when his hand got stuck to the doorknob. "what the fuck.." he muttered, trying to pull back, but unfortunately just ended up breaking the door knob.
the loud sound caused a few faces to look his way, mark smiled sheepishly and quielty entered his dorm. "what is going on?" he asks to more to himself.
he eventually figured out what happened, and...felt confused. mark was always taught things happened for a reason. but this situation? it felt unreasonable. he felt like a freak accident.
he didn't know how to process his...abilities. he had spider-like abilities, some sort of cell mutation, is what he concluded it to. "so, i'm like..a spider? spider..man?" he muttered.
fast forward to present time, he's been doing this for over two years. and thank god no one has figured out its mark lee under the mask. or so he thought.
because you came in. and so did another villain, and lord it shook mark lee's world.
you were a quiet girl, but not invisible, at least to mark. you were likeable, but not popular. but you figured him out immediately. you didnât know he was spider-man, yet, but you knew there was something he wasnât telling anyone.
he was very awkward, but thats besides the point. your father, dr conners, whom was his professor, had you join this class.
"and why are you making me do this?" you cross your arms, staring up at your father with an uninterested gaze.
"because mark is spider-man" he says, tearing his glasses off as he looks at new lab reports. "mark?" you scoff. "that nerdy junior psychology major? you think he's spider-man? father, respectfully have you lost your mind?"
"yn just..just hear me out. i found some of his notes, it looked like he was..making some sort of web fluid." you furrow your brows, listening nonetheless.
"and everytime there's an incident or another villain, mark is always gone, and spiderman is always there."
you roll your eyes. "and what does this have to do with me?" "you know the spider that bit you? how you have your powers?" you nod, following along. "well, one of my 'experimental' spiders got out, and it bit him. i saw it happen. in the library."
"right..." you say, not believing him. "and you want me to do...what?" "i want you to kill him."
you blink, taken aback. "kill him? why?" "because he stole my spider!" you shake your head, rubbing your temples. "whatever dad, what specifically do you need me to do?" "i need you to get close to him, lure him into my lab, and let me handle it."
"so basically i'm the bait." you click your tongue, nodding. "i didn't say that, but yeah." your father mutters, dismissing you.
after that talk, you made it your mission to get closer to mark lee, despite your obvious disbelief to him being spider-man.
â
mark bursts through the door, already spewing nonsense into donghyuck's ears. âhyuck i swear! yn, the new girl, she was literally being so weird.â mark slams down his backpack, pacing back and forth in their dorm.
âseriously? out of all people? your âmark tingleâ chooses her? come on mark, she probably just wanted to make a friend.â donghyuck rolls his eyes, already fed up with his best friend's nonsense.
âyou don't understand.â mark mutters, obviously frustrated. âthere was something off about her. she wasn't fake, she was just..i-i don't know how to explain it but you have to trust me!â
donghyuck blankly stares at mark. âi think you're going insane.â he scavenges his bag for his headphones, turning on some music and ignoring mark completely.
mark rolls his eyes, walking into the kitchen. âyou always do thisâyou tell me to trust my gut, but the minute i think something is remotely off you call bullshit.â
he plops down on the couch, opening his bag and looking at his suit. running his fingers over the fabric, he feels a ringing in his ears, his spidey senses.
mark jolts, immediately sitting up. he throws on his suit, pulling the mask over his head. âwhere are you going?â says donghyuck, looking up at mark.
âjust going for a swing, i won't be out too late.â mark replies, opening their window and swinging outside.
âyou are so weird.â donghyuck mutters, sliding his headphones back onto his head.
mark swings from building to building, trying to figure out who or what triggered his spidey senses. he lands on top of the empire state building. he sits on the edge, letting his feet dangle over the city.
all of a sudden he whips his head around, immediately coming face to face with yet anotherâŚspider-person.
âtypical landing spot huh?â mark furrows his brows, his gaze following the silhouette as they sit next to him.
mark leans back onto his hands, looking at the sunset, feigning nonchalance. âi mean, i guess you could say so. sometimes i just come up here whenââ âthings get too loud. i do the same.â
mark blinks, shocked by how similar they already are. âso⌠what brings you here?â god, what a loser he was.
âjustâŚcame up here to get some air.â they respond, looking down at all of the city life from the high spot they were at.
mark nods, looking down at his lap. âany uh, any name i should address you by?â they think for a second, gently caressing their chin. âghost spider.â mark nods.
âi like your suit by the way, you do ballet at all?â he motions to the ballet insinuated design on the foot of the suit.
âoh! yeah, i mean, its a hobby.â they respond, looking at their suit. âwhat about you? any hobbies?â
mark shakes his head, drumming his fingers on his thighs. ânope, not really, unless you count doing excessive amounts of chemistry homework a hobby.â
they laugh a little, shaking their head. âyou're really funny spidey, i understand why people like you.â they lean back on their hands, kicking their feet a little bit.
âthats a generous compliment.â mark smiles under the mask, though he knew they wouldn't see. âhow come i've never seen you around before?â
they stiffen for a moment, unsure of what to say. âgot my powers recently, i didn't really know what to do with them.â
mark hums, listening to them speak. âi got used to them, but i didn't really show my face to the public. thought it'd be weird to have two spiders in queens.â mark chuckles a bit, fully looking at them now.
âbut, i figured you'd probably be happy to have another person like you around.â they nod, concluding their speech.
mark hums, taking in their words. âi guess so. hey, if you want, i can show you the ropes of how things work here.â he laughs at his own joke.
they stare blankly at him for a moment, not saying anything. âuh..i mean i guess?â they chuckle awkwardly. âbut i know how to use my powers now so i don't know how you'd help?â
âoh, i mean just like, if you ever fight people, i could show you some moves or.. stuff.â mark spits out awkwardly.
they hum, standing up. âits getting late. its nice meeting you, see you around?â they inquire, slowly walking towards the edge of the building.
mark watches them, as if hypnotized. he shakes his head, before breaking out of his daze. âuh, yeah! yeah totally. see you around.â mark says, watching them leap off the building.
mark climbs through the window, closing it before flopping on the couch in his suit. he rips off his mask, taking deep breaths.
âyou okay mark?â donghyuck murmurs, coming out of his bedroom. âtheres another..spider person in queens.â
donghyuck furrowed his brows; confused but listening nonetheless. âtheir name is ghost spider. i'm pretty sure its a girl, but i'm not sure, they have a pretty deep voice.â
âand what does that have to do with you?â donghyuck inquires, leaning on the kitchen island.
âbecause something is off about them. i-i know you're gonna call my bluff, say i'm being paranoid, but hyuck i swear, there is something off about them.â
donghyuck sighs, âno mark i won't say any of that. if you truly think something is off about them, then i'd say just keep doing what you do. keep investigating, keep digging.â
mark nods, absorbing his best friend's words. âthank you.â he breathes off, before peeling off his suit.
âew, mark you reek.â donghyuck smirks, as mark pushes him in retaliation. âasshole.â mark mutters as he walks over to his room.
â
a month has passed of you being here. and mark's overall suspicion has faded away, infact it felt like it was never there. you guys became good friends, even working on a few projects here and there.
however, things with ghost spider got confusing. he thought they were friends, she would help him sometimes, whether its against green goblin or doc ock, but when it comes to dr connor? she's fighting against him.
its confusing and it messes with his brain. he thinks they're sort of..frienemies? he doesn't know how to describe it. anyway, back to you.
you and mark hung out frequently, him sleeping over at your place more times than others. although today he insisted on studying for your guy's chemistry test.
when he came over, he looked..good. his hair was a little messy, but it was clean. he had some casual clothes on, baggy at the most.
you were sitting on your bed, flipping through different pages of your chemistry book, jotting down notes, listening to mark speak. things were normal at first, until you started really looking at him.
the way his lips moved when he said certain words, how he picks at his skin when he's nervous, the way he fiddles with his rings. it all fell in place right there. you like him.
this was not good. sure, you really did like him, but you were supposed to kill him, not fall in love with him.
âyn? are you paying attention?â mark is looking at you, his lip slightly jutted out. he looks cute like this, his eyes all big and round. he looks like a puppy, you think.
âoh, uh yeah, just got in my head a bit.â before you knew it, you two were closer on the bed than you were before. your thighs were brushing up against each other, the chemistry book sitting atop of your guy's legs.
your guy's fingers brush as you reach for your pencil. you look at him for a second, noticing his reddened cheeks, before your eyes dart back down to your paper.
a few moments pass and he starts up again. starts explaining everything in the material that you're learning, each subject. you're watching his lips again, how they move, how he wets his lips before speaking.
he turns to you, suddenly the air is thicker. your noses are brushing. marks breathing hitches, as he looks down at your lips. he bites his lip for a second, before looking into your eyes, as if asking if you feel it too.
you bite your lip as marks hand slowly creeps up to your cheek. âcan i kiss you?â he breathes out, looking into your eyes. before you knew it, your lips are on eachothers, moving in sync. its awkward, its sweet, but he's testing the waters.
he pulls away, looking at you. he looks like he wants more, and god you want that too. you curl your hand to the back of his neck, bringing him closer. and now you're kissing him again. with more want, more fervor.
he's pushing you on your back, caging you in. mark suddenly pulls away panting, reaching for his shirt, but before he can do anything, you catch his hand.
âhey, hey, mark, slow down. we don't have to go that far.â you breathe out. you look at him, his pupils dilated, his lips slightly swollen and his hair all messed up. ây-yeah, i'll slow down.â
he gently kisses you again. his hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers together. his other hand finds your waist, squeezing it gently.
âmark..â you mumble against his lips, your free hand curling in his hair. he hums in response, before trailing kisses down your neck. he nips at your neck, leaving a small mark.
âare you marking me?â â...maybe?â he smiles against your neck. you let out a laugh, running a hand through his hair.
he looks up at you, running a finger over your lip. âi really like you, yn.â he mutters, looking into your eyes. you felt your breath hitch. you really liked him too. you liked him too much.
you needed to stop, stop liking him. your father wouldn't like the fact you fell in love with his enemy. with his target. âi really like you too, mark.â the words slip out before you can stop them.
the reaction you receive makes your heart melt. mark smiles, before gently kissing you again, as if trying to make you feel his love through his kisses.
âcan i take you out?â he inquires, his head resting on your chest, fidgeting with your fingers. âyou wanna take me out?â
he raises a brow, looking at you as if you asked if the earth was flat. â..well yeah. i wanna properly date you, yn.â you nod, talking in his words.
âhow does this friday work? you can come over around seven, and we can watch a movie.â you think about it for a second, mentally checking through your calendar.
âyeah, friday works. any dresscode?â ânope, just bring yourself.â you nod, watching him lay his head down on your chest.
you were in too deep.
â
mark's in a fight. again. its late, its friday, and he's supposed to have a date tonight. with you. but instead he's fighting someone who he thought was his friend.
âthat all you got spidey?â they said, kicking him in the jaw. mark stumbles back, his back hitting the ground with a solid smack.
âget up, come on get up.â they said, grabbing his shoulder and slamming it against the brick wall. mark groans, pulling his mask up for a second, to catch his breath.
mark turns around, expecting to see ghost spider still there. but they weren't. instead they were gone. disappeared like thin air.
mark pulls his mask back down, shooting a web and swinging on his way to his dorm building. mark climbs through the window, almost falling onto his face as he scrambles to his room.
âmark! whats got you in a rush?â donghyuck shouts from his room, noticing mark's obvious and loud movement.
âi've got a date with yn! she's coming over so can you crash at johnny's or something?â mark shouts back, shrugging his suit off.
âmark seriouslyââ âhyuck please! just for tonight!â mark hears donghyuck sigh, before gathering a few things of his and trailing out the door.
mark dresses himself, a clean hoodie with some jeans. not too casual but not too formal. he sprays on some cologne, a woody scent, not too strong though.
mark pats himself down, fixing his hair, putting rings on, adding finishing touches. he's grabbing his phone when he hears the door ring. you.
he practically sprints to the door, trying to slightly touch himself up and make sure he doesn't have food stuck between his teeth or a hair standing straight up before he opens the door.
he opens the door, his face lighting up at seeing you. âyou made it! sorry, food isn't here yet.â he opens the door wider to let you in.
you plop on the couch, taking in your surroundings. âdonghyuck isn't here?â you question, watching mark sit down next to you.
âi kicked him out. made him crash at johnny's.â you furrow your brows. âfor our date?â mark nods, âwell yeah, didn't want to be interrupted. knowing him he'd probably say something stupid to make fun of me.â
chuckling, you keep listening to him. âbut hyuck knows i mean well. we've been friends since likeâforeverâsorry am i rambling?â mark asks suddenly, looking at you.
âyeah, but i like listening to you so it's okay.â mark smiles slightly, before moving onto another topic. something about movies he liked, but nonetheless you listened.
all was well. there was a movie on in the background, food on the coffee table, and plenty of conversations flowing. until all wasn't well.
mark jolted up, his ears ringing once again. âmark?â you call his name, putting a hand on his shoulder. mark tried to ignore the nagging feeling for the sake of the date, for the sake of you.
but no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the ringing wouldn't stop. âi'm sorry, yn, i think you need to goâŚâ he said before he could stop himself. âw-what, why?â you stutter, as he shuffles you towards the door.
before you can say something, you're pushed out the door. you suck in a breath, your ears are ringing as well.
you make sure mark is out of sight before shooting a web to the next building over. you hated having this âdouble lifeâ with mark. sure you didn't mind it before, but once you figured out your feelings?
you land on your window sill, knocking on your window. âgiselle? giselle let me in.â you whisper-yell, trying to get your roommates attention.
giselle perks up at the tapping of glass. she furrows her brows as she lets you in. âwhy are you here early? arenât you supposed to be at markâs?â you hum, dusting yourself off.
âyeah..anyway, you know that plan i told you about? the plan to kill spiderman?â giselle widens her eyes, but nods nonetheless. âuh..yeah? i think so?â she replies, her tone confused.
you sigh, sitting on the couch, burying your hands in your face. âI fell in love with him.â you mutter, barely audible. âwhat? yn can you speak up?â you huff, running your fingers through your hair. âi fell in love with mark.â
giselle blinks, taken aback. âyou..fell in love with your fathers target?â you sigh, nodding nonetheless. âmhm, now i have to fight my potential boyfriend.â âyou know this is bad right? like really bad.â
you huff again. âyes, i know. my dad wouldnât be pleased if he found out about this.â you say, walking to your room, fishing out your suit. shrugging it on, you sigh, looking in your mirror, deeply ashamed of the roles you have to play. you shouldnât have to fight the person you love, the person you want to be with.
but instead here you are, getting ready to go fight the man you love most. you bid goodbye to giselle, shooting a web outside and swinging out. you race across the the city, trying to find where mark is located.
you swing down when it hits you, your ears start ringing, meaning mark is somewhere near. You whip your head around, only to see him swinging by your side. âyou here to fight me or fight with me?â âdonât know yet, lets see who it is.â
then it comes into view, doc ock lifting up cars and throwing them at civilians. âhey!â mark shouts, already shoving a foot in docâs face. you come in from behind, webbing up his tentacles, wrapping them around his body. âthereâs two of you?!â he shouts, looking down at his tentacles wrapped around his waist.
you look at mark, only to find him staring at you already. you quickly avert your eyes, looking down at the villain, who was struggling. âyou gonna talk or stay quiet?â you question, raising a brow at doc.
âwhy are there two of you?â he breathes out, struggling some more. âwhy do you need to know?â mark replies this time, as he sits atop of a street light. âbecause theres only supposed to be one spider-man! not two. thats just unfair.â
you look at mark, confused. âis he usually this weird?â mark shrugs, before suddenly whipping his head around. in his field of view, heâs pushed to the ground by dr connors. âwheres my spider?â he growls, grabbing him by his neck and lifting him up into the air.
âyo- what spider?â mark barely squeaks out. âdonât act dumb, lee! you know exactly what iâm talking about!â mark furrows his brows, his confusion prominent even through his mask. you watch as all this happens, a lump in your throat as you fight the war in your head. youâre stuck between saving the man you love, versus following your fatherâs orders.
in a last attempt to save mark, whom was obviously choking, you web your fathers feet, dragging him away from mark.. markâs broken free, which he makes the move to get up and catch his breath. âyou donât normally help me with him.â he chokes out, looking at you. You clear your throat, looking away. âjustâget him out of here.â you nod at him, about to head off when you feel yourself being lifted off the ground.
âforget about me?â doc ock. you groan, trying to wiggle free. You look around for mark, only to find him also in docâs hold. you sigh, knowing youâre done for. âlet her go.â dr connors growls. doc furrows his brows, looking over at him with a glare. âwhy? she special to you or something?â smirking, he tightens his grip on you, causing a slight whimper to make its way out of your mouth.
your fatherâs jaw tightens. huffing, he rips the webs off his feet, jumping down onto the ground. âlet her go or iâll smash your brains out. donât play with me doc.â he growls, grabbing one of his metal tentacles and slowly, but painfully twisting them. âlet her go now.â doc sighs, dropping you to the ground. âYou gonna let him go as well?â you nod your head over to mark, which results in you getting a nasty glare from your father.
doc looks at you confused. âwhy should i let him go? you like him or something?â he grins, tightening his grip even more on mark. you cough, trying to keep your composure. âjust let him go.â you breath out, slowly approaching mark. you grab the claws, prying them away from mark. mark drops down to his knees, catching his breath. âthanks.â he mutters, standing up slowly. he looks at you for a second. his mask slightly ridden up, exposing his sharp jaw. definitely mark.
before you can ask if heâs okay, he swings away. off to where? deciding on most definitely was a rash decision, you swing after him. You donât even need to keep up because you know where heâs going.
landing on top of the empire state building, you sit down next to him. he looks over, and to your surprise, his mask is off. âhey.â he mutters. there he is, beautifully in pain. you clear your throat, scooting closer. âyou okay?â you ask. genuinely, not sarcastically.
he sighs, running a hand though his messy hair. âyeah. today just sucks yaâknow? was supposed to have a date tonight. but instead iâm fighting doc ock and dr. connors.â you nod. âwhoâs the lucky girl? or guy, i donât discriminate.â he breathes out a laugh. âit's a girl. i really like her ya'know? she's beautiful, smart and kind. she even listens to my stupid rants.â
you nod, listening to him talk about you. âhow..how do you know dr connors?â he asks, looking at you. you stiffen, trying to find an excuse. âhe's an old friend of mine.â mark nods, fidgeting with his mask. Mark purses his lips for a second. âhow come you saved me back there? you donât normally save me when weâre fighting dr. connors.â you sigh, looking at your lap.
âalthough i was ordered to kill you, i decided i could either let him kill you now, or let him keep playing with you. i chose the latter.â mark leans back, confused. âiâm sorry? you were ordered to kill me?â you laugh at his disbelief. âmore like forced but whatever works for you.â
Mark hums. âIâm still confused..you fight me when youâre with dr.connors, but when its another villain, you fight with me. It doesnât make any sense.â you look at him, just watching him. watching the man you love. âIf i told you, iâd give away my identity, then youâd definitely hate me.â
mark furrows his brows, âwho says iâd hate you?â you sigh, before slowly standing up. âiâve said too much. see you around spidey.â you say before swinging away. Mark looks at his lap for a few seconds before putting his mask on, swinging back to his dorm.
mark climbs through the window and flops on the couch. he's about to call for donghyuck when he remembers he isn't here. mark groans, clutching his side. mark looks down at his hand, seeing some blood there.
mark shrugs his suit down, grabbing some bandages that he keeps in the coffee table and wrapping them around his midsection. before he completely passes out, he makes an attempt to take off his suit and slide a shirt on.
as soon as he hits the pillow, he's out like a light.
â
waking up, heâs hit with a pounding headache. he sits up, holding a hand to his head, wincing. âhyuck?â he calls out, finally having the energy to get up and walk around. âhyuck?â he calls out once more, still no reply. mark looks around for his phone, before finally finding it somewhere on his floor.
pressing the call button, he sits back on his bed. much to his disliking, donghyuck doesnât pick up the phone, which causes markâs concern to spike up. He presses johnnyâs contact, no answer either.
mark grabs some pants, sliding them on before trailing out the door, hoping to find his friends. after a few minutes of walking around the dorms, he finally knocks on johnnyâs door. âjohnny? hyuck?â he calls out, hoping someone would hear them.
âmark?â a voice calls out. âhyuck? Is that you? oh my god.â mark scurries over to where the voice is, almost tripping over his own feet. âyouâre always in a rush, mark.â donghyuck shakes his head, sitting up on the guest bedroom bed. âi have been looking for you! of course iâm in a rush!â mark whisper-yells. âwhy have you been looking for me?â he yawns, rubbing his eyes.
âcause something happened last night.â mark mutters, straightening himself up. donghyuck raises a brow, standing up now. âwhat happened? someone die?â âholy shootâŚâ says a voice from somewhere. johnny.
âjohnny-â âi knew it! i knew you were spider-man! but hyuck said i was delusional!â mark sighs, looking over donghyuck. âseriously?â he mouths to which donghyuck smiles sheepishly. âyes johnny, iâm spider-man. happy now?â
âthis isnât as exciting as i thought it would be.â johnny sighs, walking back into the bathroom. âwhatever, hyuck, make sure he doesnât run his mouth. Iâll tell you later.â mark grunts, making his way out the door.
â
âi think yn is ghost spider.â mark mutters, looking over at donghyuck. âwhat makes you say that?â donghyuck stutters, obviously taken aback. âdoes this mean you donât like her anymore? well, if she does end up being ghost spider?â donghyuck asks. âwell no, i still very much like her. i just donât know what iâd do if she does end up being ghost spider.â mark replies, his voice quivering.
âi donât know what to say mark, other than why do you think sheâs ghost spider?â âcause when i fought dr.connors that night, she was working with him. why would she only fight against me when its dr. connors and fight with me when its any other villain?â mark sighs, dropping his head into his hands. âAnd when i asked ghost spider about how they know dr. connors, they said he was an âold friendâ like what kind of response is that?!â
âmark-â âno you need to listen to me. i knew something was off about yn, and you still didnât listen to me! so what if she ends up being ghost spider? i let a villain into our house, into our lives. this is why i donât date. i canât trust anyone nowadays.â
âmark you need to calm down. jumping to conclusions can lead to getting your hopes up. just keep doing your thing. keep investigating, keep an eye open.â mark nods, taking in donghyucks words. âthanks hyuck, you always know what to say.â he says, smiling at his best friend.
â
much to markâs disappointment, he isnât able to reschedule your date. so the next time he sees you, its in chemistry. He sits down next to you, words already on the tip of his tongue.
âyn, iâm so sorry i blew off our date, well, more like ended it. it wasnât because i donât like you or anything, its just because i randomly felt sick and i didnât want toââ he suddenly feels a peck on his lips.
he looks up and youâre smiling. âdid you just..kiss me?â he mutters, a slight smile on his lips. âyes and now that iâve got your attention. itâs fine mark. i completely understand. do you wanna go out tonight then?â mark blinks, âwait really?â
âyeah! we can like, go out for pizza or something, whatever youâd like.â mark nods, watching your face. âIs there anything specific you wanna do?â you shake your head. ânah, if you just wanna do what we did last time then thats fine.â
humming, mark takes a leap. he grabs your hand and gently holds it. âthats fine with me.â he whispers, as if heâd ruin the moment if he was too loud.
âwe're supposed to be doing chemistry, not having it romantically.â the teacher scolds, catching you completely off guard. âsorry.â you both mumble.
for the majority of the class, you two managed to focus. aside from the fact his hand is still in yours. you kept noticing him looking over at you, his gaze soft and sweet. you smile shyly, gently squeezing his hand.
â
âfood should be here soon.â mark leans back on the couch, taking sip of his water. you hum, sitting cross legged next to him.
mark clears his throat, âyou look really good.â he mutters, barely audible. âwhat did you say?â âi said you look really good.â
âyou think so?â you say, looking down at yourself.
âof course i do.â his voice is lower, and his stare is practically boring holes into your skull. âwhen do you not look good?â
âit just sounds like you're trying to butter me up, mark. it's not working.â you cross your arms, a small curve on your lips.
âyou sure it's not working?â mark inches closer to you, moving your arms away from your body and instead on his.
you bite your lip, looking at him. âwhat's your goal here, mark?â you say, tilting your head.
âmy goal? there is no goal.â he says, leaning in closer. almost as if to tease you. you click your tongue, leaning in closer.
âprove it.â you say, resting your hands on his knees. âprove what?â furrowing his brows, he intertwines your hands, holding them tightly.
âprove you have no goal.â letting out a laugh, he replies with just enough sass as you. âhow am i supposed to do that?â
you sigh, looking around, before finally just blurting it out. âwhatever mark, just kiss me.â you say, expecting him to immediately kiss you. but instead you get a very flustered mark.
âkiss you?â his jaw is slack, almost as if he saw a ghost in real time. âyes mark, that's what i've been trying to do this whole time!â
âreally?â mark furrows his brows. âoh my god.â you mutter, before crashing your lips on his. mark's eyes widen from the sudden contact, before he finally melts.
he brings his hand up, curling his fingers into your hair as he moves his lips against yours. he pulls away for a second, catching his breath before kissing you hungrily again.
your fingers curl around his hoodie as you get lost in the heat of the moment. mark's teeth bit gently on your lower lip, and the sound you let out was like music to his ears.
you let your hands roam his body, from his muscular arms to his toned abdomen, your brain was racing with thoughts all about mark.
mark starts going lower, his kisses trailing down your neck. you let out a quiet noise, something between a whimper and a moan, but nonetheless it sounded amazing to mark.
mark's hands slid up under your shirt as he trails his kisses back up to you lips. âmy god.â mumbling against his lips as your arms wrap around his neck.
you feel his smile on your lips, before he starts speaking. âwant you.â he murmurs, gently pulling away and pushing you onto your back.
he skims over you. your swollen lips, your hair splayed across the couch, trembling under his touch. âyou lookâŚgorgeous.â he mumbles, gently stroking your lip.
âyou think so?â you breathe out. âoh yes.â he responds, leaning down and plunging his teeth into the juncture of your neck.
you claw at his back, letting out another high pitched moan. âmm, keep doing that.â he whispers, the vibrations against your neck making you feel things.
âmark..â you moan out, your hands flying up to his hair as he leaves a mark on your collarbone. âmhm?â
âthis is gonna be a long night.â you lean your head back, sliding your hands up his torso. mark nods. âdefinitely.â he smirks, before leaning down to kiss you again.
â
the next morning, mark came home with the biggest grin on his face. when he walked through the door, he was met with donghyuck and his slack jaw. âdude, youâre like littered with hickeyâsâ he deadpans, his eyes roaming across markâs neck and collarbone.
âyeah, we had alot of funâŚwith eachother.â donghyuck rolls his eyes. âi dont wanna know. i canât believe you got laid before me.â mark scoffs. âwhatever. i ..i think iâm gonna ask her soon.â
donghyuck hums, pouring his morning coffee. âask her what?â âto be my girlfriend.â donghyuck freezes, some of the coffee he was pouring ending up on the floor and counter. The silence was frightening.
âmark think for a second. remember how petrified you were when a villain found out where we lived?â mark nods slowly, absorbing his words.
âthis could put her in danger, mark. and i donât think you want that. I understand you really like her, but your situation is just too complicated for her.â
mark shrinks into himself, the more he thinks about it, the guiltier he feels. âyouâre right. hyuck, youâre really right. i got so caught up in my head that i forgot about the consequences.â
âno, mark youâre missing the point.â mark feels his stomach practically drop as donghyuck continues, âthis could really hurt her. are you ever going to tell her about anything?â
âwell⌠yeah⌠at some point.â mark admits, âi don't know, hyuck.â
donghyuck nudges mark a bit, âdonât do it now. do it soon.â âyou're right. i'll do it soon.â mark walks away after that, walking into his room and drowning himself in his thoughts.
â
as mark walked to dr. connors, drained and tired. the things that happened in the last few weeks were so hard for his brain to process.
mark walked into dr. connors, seeing you. His lips curve up slightly, as he slides into the seat next to you. âhey..â he mutters, pulling out his laptop. âyou okay?â he hears you speak up, your eyes meeting.
âyeah, just tired. things have been hard lately.â mark sighs.
âi get that, me too.â you lean back into your seat. âyou wanna spend some time studying together?â
âsure, i'd like that.â maybe mark will use this time as an opportunity to tell you, he thinks.
as dr. connors continues his lecture, your mind is swarming with thoughts. they were mostly about mark, but also your second identity. you had the same thought as him though, would you tell him about your plan?
The rest of the class he zones out. Until dr connors slips a note to him. Mark furrows his brows as he reads it, and his breathing stops momentarily. âI know youâre spider-man, meet me at my lab tonightâ
â
it was taking too long for mark to come. you pace back and forth in your room, slightly anxious over whether or not he'd actually come. your phone begins to ring, and you answer it, thinking it would be mark.
âcan you come over here for a second? i need help with some things.â hearing the voice of your fathers instead of mark made your heart drop a little.
âok, i'll be on my way,â you respond before hanging up, putting your phone down and sliding your suit on
unfortunately for you, you left your door unlocked in hopes mark would show up. and he did. at the worst time possible.
âyn..?â mark stood at your doorframe, a mix of concern, shock, and anger in his face.
âmark?â you gasp, suit almost completely on. âget out of my room.â
âget out? no explain yourself!â you stammer, trying to come up with an excuse other than âi'm sorry.â âyou knew i was spider-man this whole time.â
mark looks beyond angry, beyond disappointed. âyou knew. you knew what he was doing, didnt you?â you can only stare, the whole plan completely forgotten.
âwas it fake?â he clenches his jaw, raising a brow. waiting for you to answer. you stutter, âno! it wasn't fake i swear.â âreally? then why'd you suddenly get close to me?â
your face flushes with shame. you look down, unable to meet his gaze. âtell me the truth yn, tell me.â he presses, his tone sharp and meaningful.
your stomach drops so far down you're convinced it left your body. âi can't.â mark scoffs, obviously flabbergasted. âyou can't? but you can plot my murder with my enemy.â
âi didn't plot anything.â you mutter, finally looking up at him. âyou didn't what? can you speak up?â he shouts, to which you flinch. this isnât the mark you wanna see.
this isn't mark at all. this isnt the mark you fell in love with. this isnât the mark you kissed, the mark you hugged, the mark you slept with. âi didn't plot anything! i didn't have a choice mark!â
you say through tears, the words coming out broken and ragged. marks jaw ticks as he looks away. âwhatever yn, we'll talk later.â
âmark pleaseâŚâ you plead, reaching out to him. he jerks away, looking at you with an expression that makes your heart shatter. he looks heartbroken, angry, sad, lost. âdon't touch me.â mark says coldly, backing up to the other side of the room.
you look down, unable to keep the tears in. they fall down your cheeks like a waterfall, slow and dramatic. mark stiffens. in a normal situation he'd run over to you and hug you in a heartbeat.
but now? he stands there, coldly. his eyes hold no emotion, they lack the usual warmth he normally has. he clears his throat, gathering his things. âi got the message from your father, i'll see you at the lab.â you watch as he walks away.
your entire world stops spinning as he exits from the door, and you stand there speechless for a second before deciding you had to get to your father before he did.
you had never ran (or swung either, for that matter.) faster in your life, and as you're about to swing on one of the other buildings, you bump into spider-man, of course.
âm- spider-man. i'm so sorry.â you say, just loudly enough for him to hear you. you want to hold onto him so bad, but you had no more chances at doing so.
âsorry won't fucking cut it. you know what you did.â he responds coldly, rushing away from you.
you try to keep up with his pace all the way to your fathers lab, where you're semi-out of breath, but more emotional than anything. âmark, listen!â you cry out.
mark ignores you as he swings on top the lab, you follow suit, trying to talk to him. âstop fucking following me.â he growls, pulling his mask down as he slips into the lab. your stomach drops at this, and now you know you really messed up, if you havenât already.
you clench your jaw at how good he looks right now. you slip in with him, deciding to stay hidden instead of following him.
âlook who showed!â says dr connors. âi kind of had to, you did threaten me with my identity.â your eyes widen, that was not what your father told you was in the note. You observe quietly as they talk.
âwhatâs up big guy? why do you need me here?â mark asks broadly, blissful unaware his doom weighs over his head. âYou stole my spider!â dr connors shouts. mark blinks, âspider? Thatâs what youâre upset about?â your father clenches his jaw, trying to be patient.
âdude, it like, bit me. I canât exactly get it back.â your father gawks at this, beyond frustrated. âstupid teenager. you wasted my time.â he growls, marching towards mark.
âwoah, woah, big guy. lets talk for a second. what do you need that specific spider for?â mark reasons, backing up towards a lab table as the life-sized green lizard draws closer.
he lunges at mark, his fist colliding with mark's gut before he jumps away. mark's breath leaves his lungs as he's thrusted into the wall. âlets talk about this okay? we donât have to hurt anyone, especially not your daughter.â mark breathes out.
dr connors freezes. his eyes narrow, his gaze suddenly getting a knowing glint in them. âhow do you know sheâs here tonight?â your stomach drops as mark looks over at you, raising an eyebrow at you. how did he know where you were? you sigh, hopping down from your spot.
noth of the men watch you as you walk over. markâs gaze is steady, but you can tell heâs obviously still hurt, your heart aches. you desperately want to tell him the truth, let everything spill out.
but you donât. you stand next to mark, looking up at your father. âheâs right dad, lets not jump to fighting. lets talk, like adults.â as you side with mark, your fathers gaze becomes bitter. âyouâre siding with him? after everything we discussed?â you scoff, not even believing the person your father has become over stupid spider.
âwhat have we discussed? You didnât let me speak, you didnât let me choose anything!â you argue, your voice raising with every word you speak. âYou chose to go after an innocent boy, someone who did nothing to you, and you decide to plot his murder!â
mark stands there, watching as you fight your father. âi listened to every word you said about him, how heâs evil, how heâs a thief, and how heâs the worst student youâve ever had. but have you ever taken the chance to know him personally?â
mark is beyond belief right now, watching as you defend him, and yourself in front of your father. âyn, leave us.â your father mutters, pointing towards the exit. You shake your head, still standing next to mark.
âwhy arenât you leaving?â mark mutters to you. you grab his hand, holding it tightly. âafter everything that went down tonight? Iâm not leaving until i can prove myself to you.â
seconds go by without a response from mark who is just standing there. every second that goes by, your heart speeds up a little. say something you think. mark squeezes your hand, and you can tell he believes you. âokay.â he whispers to you.
looking back at the perpatrator, mark lets go of your hand. you frown at the loss of contact but ultimately you go back to reality.
mark lunges at dr connors, his foot colliding with his face. the two fight messily, the sound of skin hitting skin fills your ears. dr connors comes barreling towards mark, claws out. mark webs his hand to the ground.
this angers him, as he jumps toward mark, holding mark up by his neck. dr connors snarls, watching mark.
"you wasted my time, lee! you could've just told me it bit you." his hands contract around marks throat.
mark thrashes in his hold, gasping for air. "youâŚ" mark trails off, catching his breath after the intense fighting. "you never let me speak, you just assumed i was a coward and couldn't admit fault."
obviously, he doesn't like this answer because he tightens his grip even more. you watch as all this happens, you're frozen in fear. unable to say or do anything for this situation.
you watch as marks eyes slowly close, his conciousness slipping away. dr connors lets him go, walking away. mark's still body drops to the ground. "yn, come on. we're done here."
you run over to mark, cradling his unconscious body. âi'm not doing shit till you realize how immature you are.â you keep your back towards your father, not daring to look at him.
you slide mark's mask off. his lip is busted, and theres blood dripping on his forehead. you look at him, your poor boy, laying there unconscious. holding in all this poor baggage.
you move some hair out of his face, stroking his cheek. you peck his forehead before reluctantly turning to your father.
âi love him. and if you want to kill him, you'll have to kill me first.â your fathers face visibly hardens, claws tightening around the desk. âyou dare to challenge me?â
mark blinks awake, rubbing his eyes. he looks up and sees you guarding him. like a human wall, not backing down. mark stays silent, watching as you fight your father.
âyes i do. come on, hit me, scratch me. but donât you dare touch him.â your voice tenses, as you get into a fighting stance. your feet plastered on the ground.
your father looks away, clenching the desk. he walks away, walking around the lab. then suddenly a glass breaks and smoke breaks through the air. you're coughing, covering your mouth and nose.
fire spreads fast, and before you know it, there's a boom ringing in your ears. you hit the ground with a thud, your vision going.
â
you didn't know how long you were out for, but the minute you regain consciousness, you try your best to make your way to mark.
you limp over, tripping over ceilings that have caved in. you're wary of the radioactive chemicals spilt on the ground. but your main focus is mark.
you run to him when you see him. seeing his dust covered face, you grab his mask and his unconscious body. swinging atop of a random building, you hold him in your arms.
âmark? mark please.â you plead, holding his face in your hands. âplease wake up,i can't lose you.â you cry, gently stroking his face.
you contemplate doing cpr, but then again, you never paid attention in health class. oops. you sit there, holding his face.
you look away, your hand tightening around his. staring at the lab which you once called your favorite place, is now caved in. you think about your father, why he did what he did.
âyn?â you whip your head around, looking at mark, who's coughing up some blood. âmark, oh my god.â you help him sit up as he coughs it out. you thread your fingers through his hair, just letting him know you're there.
âwhy?â he mutters, looking into your eyes. âwhy what?â you furrow your brows, looking back at him. âwhy'd you lie? about everything?â
mark can physically see your face drop. âi did it because i had to.â mark stares blanky at you, waiting for you to elaborate. âi didn't have a choice. my dad forced me to help him kill you. i didn't really care about his whole plan, but what else could i have done?"
you pull your mask down, throwing it somewhere on the building. your breath is shaky as you speak, "he made me get close to you, manipulate you and somehow lead you to the lab for your murder. but along the way.. i fell for you. and i know that's ironic but it's true."
"i really wanted to tell you, about everything, about my feelings, my identity, the plan. but i couldn't." mark watches as tears stream down your face. his heart shatters and on instinct, his hand reaches for yours.
"i didn't lie when i said i liked you, or when i said i wanted to be with you. i really do love you mark." you look up at him, your eyes glassy with tears. "i don't know how else to make you believe me, but tell me and i'll do in a heartbeat."
mark shakes his head as he wraps his arms around you. "i believe you. i really do so please don't try to prove yourself." mark mutters into your hair, his hand moving up and down your back. "i guess i was just in so much shock that i didn't think about your feelings either."
"i'm sorry, i'm sorry for not telling you." you sob into his chest. mark cups your face, wiping your tears with his thumb. "hey, its fine. i forgive you." mark smiles, gently pecking your forehead, before resting his chin on your head.
"he's dead." you mutter, toying with his fingers. mark's fingers still in your hair. "who? your father?" mark mumbles. "yeah. you were still unconscious but he blew up the building with some sort of flammable gas."
"i saw you fighting him." mark deadpans. he takes in a deep breath, "you were so amazing, standing up to him like that. i wanted to get up and fight him with you but i didn't. because that was between you and him."
"i saw how he couldn't fight you, how he restrained himself." mark pauses, choosing his words carefully, "he might've been my enemy, but he was your father. he put you first over anything."
"you were awake that whole time." you blank, your fingers stilling in his. "yeah. i was. and i'm glad i got to see you stand up for yourself." mark smiles down at you, intertwining his fingers with yours.
nothing happens for a few moments as both of you are taking in everything that has happened. mark's steady breathing his soft against your back. you bask in his touch, his presence grounding you.
"what happens now?" mark mutters, looking down at you. you pause, thoughts running through your brain. "what do you mean?" you rotate your body, facing him. mark looks down at his lap, chewing at his lips.
"what i mean is..what does this mean for us? do you want to be with me? or did i ruin it." mark looks away, his eyes suddenly getting glassy. you grab his chin, trying to catch his eyes.
"mark look at me." your voice is calm, collected. when mark finally looks at you, the rim of his eyes are filled with tears. "i want to be with you."
"promise?" he questions. "promise, seriously? mark what are we in fifth grade?" mark lets out a shaky laugh, his hand tightening around yours."just..promise me. it makes me feel secure, like i have control."
you nod, "i promise." you stay, looking into his eyes. marks tears finally break through, streaming down his face. "i love you so much." he sobs as he pulls you into his chest.
you still for a moment, letting him sob into your arms. mustering up the courage to repeat it back, you comb your hands through his hair, "i love you too, so so much."
â
as you walk through the door to marks dorm, you're met with donghyuck, flipping the lights on. "mark you look like shit." mark sags in your hold as he looks at his best friend,
"thanks man, i literally almost died in an explosion." donghyuck furrows his brows, looking between the two of you. "you saved him, didn't you?" hyuck presses, looking at you dead in the eyes.
you nod, holding mark up. you open your mouth, about to explain yourself when donghyuck speaks for you. âyou put mark through alot, you know?â
mark winces, waving donghyuck off. âlay off hyuck, she has her reasons.â mark looks at you, nodding towards the couch.
you gently set him down, helping him out of his suit and into a spare change of clothes.
âi can sense you, donghyuck. what do you need to say?â you speak without looking at him. your eyes trained on mark.
âdon't fuck this up.â he deadpans, his stare holding. âmark already struggles enough to keep up the spiderman act, he doesn't need to keep yours up as well.â
âi'm fully capable of managing myself, so don't you worry.â you turn to him, a tight smile on your lips.
donghyuck nods, walking to his room. âdon't be too loud, lovebirds.â mark's face flushes red as he buries his head in your shoulder.
mark sucks in a breath, looking up at you. âno matter what anyone else thinks, no matter what villains we encounter, i want you by my side.â
you smile at him, your hands curling around his. âthen lets do it. from now on, we're together. label or not.â
â
POST LAB ACCIDENT.
you're sitting atop of the empire state building again. this time with mark. you two are just talking like normal.
friend problems, missing assignments, the usual. then mark gets an idea. his hand slowly creeps toward your back.
you whip your head around just as he's about to push you off the building. âyou wouldn't.â you mutter, looking up at him.
mark gets this glint in his eyes. the one that sparks up when he's about to do something stupid. âmark..â you lean back, watching as he stands up.
mark slips his mask on, âcome catch me!â mark yells as he jumps off the building. you sigh, watching his body disappear over the ledge.
you wait a few seconds, spinning a web to play with. âare you seriously not gonna entertain me?â he whines, burying his head in your shoulder.
ânope.â you mumble, leaning your head on his. âwhatever.â he grumbles, his arms tightening around you.
âlove you.â he mumbles into your neck, his arms wrapped around your midsection.
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â teachyou â jaehyun teaching you how to give him head ..
( j.jaehyun x fem!reader ) ⢠warnings. language , oral ( m. receiving) đľ word count. 1255 { back to library }
( request ). would u write anything like chan or jaehyun teaching u how to give him head for the first time or something? thanks!
( yeniâs notes ). daddyâs home yall
he laid out on the bed , his shirt lifted so you could see the sliver of his skin â a lazy smirk on his face as you sat on your knees. âyou look a little flushed princess.â his hand coming up to your cheek. âyou said you wanted to do it , you getting cold feet?â jaehyun knew you were inexperienced , heâd been taking things extra slow with you but sometimes you surprised him and he didnât stop you. ân-no.â you started. âbu-but what if i do it wrong , what if i bite you or something?â
âyouâre not gonna bite me baby.. and who knows i might like shit like that.â he chuckled seeing your face flush even more. âcome on youâre a big girl.â his hands wrapping around your thighs. âand iâm here to help you , i promise.â you bite down on your lips , forming a pout â he let out a low groan , he didnât care how sloppy it might be , he needed to feel your lips around him. âitâs just like a lollipop.â
âok-okay.â he smiled softly , his big hand caressing your cheek. âgood girl.â he unbuckled his pants. âgo ahead , take my cock out baby.â his eyes were low as he watched you nervously fiddling around with his pants , lifting his hips up to allow you to pull them down enough to pull his cock out , your eyes widening at his length. âyo-youâre really big.â he laughed softly. âtouch it baby.â he groaned softly as you held his soft cock in your hands. âyeah baby , now move up and down.â you obeyed. âslowly.â he trailed off as you moved your hands , pre-cum dribbling down his cock. âfuck princess , keep going.â
ânow give the tip a little kiss.â lowering your head down , kissing the red tip , the sticky essence coating your lips. âgood girl ; open your mouth.â he ran his hands through your head softly. âgo slow.â parting your lips , letting his cock slowly slip into your mouth. âfuuuuck.â he groaned , hissing when your teeth grazed the vein. âshit baby , careful with your teeth , youâre doing so good though âŚ. so fucking good.â he praised , your muffled moans , sending vibrations through his cock. âsh-shit , you like sucking my cock?â he groaned , he tugged at your hair softly , desperately wanting to push your head down and make you gag on his cock â shit he was about to cum. âwait fuck hold on baby , stop..â
âdid i do something wrong?â you pulled off of him , your lips swollen , eyes read and teary â and fucked out. âno , of course not â fuck you were too good i almost came.â he huffed out a breathless laugh. âisnât that a good thing?â you titled your head to the side confused , you were killing him. âye-yeah , but i didnât want to overwhelm you.â his cock was still hard , twitching against his stomach â you didnât know what you were doing, but you picked it back up. âbaby wait you donâtâfuck!â
he hissed as you bobbed up and down on his length. âgod -baby- fuck.â you smiled , mouth full of his cock. âfuck iâm gonna cum.â you kept going , jerking off what couldnât fit in your mouth , his cock twitched before his cum shot into your mouth , some of it leaking out the corners of your mouth. âah shit , thatâs enough pretty.â you pulled off of him , cum and spit coating your lips. âdid i do good.â
âgood?â he chuckled breathlessly. âbaby you sure you havenât done that before?â you flushed , swatting his chest. âjae stop..â he pulled you into his lap. âyou did so good.â your need for him growing as he praised. âja-jae.â he rubbed soft circles into your thighs. âgetting needy pretty?â you whimpered, nodding. âyou did such a good job only right i help you now right?â you core burning with anticipation. âsit on my face.â
âh-huh?â âsit on my face, i want you to smother me with that pretty pussy.â he pulled you further up. âcome on let me taste you.â he whispered , hissing the insides of your thighs. âwant you to ride my face , use me.â
synopsis: youâve known zhong chenle since you were five years old. once inseparable childhood best friends, everything between you shattered at eighteen â the moment your arranged marriage became real. to him, you became a symbol of everything he lost: freedom, choice, and a future that no longer belonged to him. by twenty-four, you finally marry as the countryâs beloved golden couple. the heirs of zhong cosmetics and yĂź skincare, bound together by legacy, business, and expectations.
warnings: some scenes are very angsty! chenle is mean! cheating! a near death experience! pregnancy! +18 reader is a virgin and very inexperienced, not your ideal first time, sex is treated as a duty once, chenle is a pussy eaterrr, he cums inside every time, not super detailed but a sex montage featuring the following: slight exhibitionism, rough sex, dirty talk, fingering, he bends you over a billiards table, blowjob, riding him in the hot tub, doggy-style, squirting, i hope i didnât miss any. mentions of: blood
an: i am in my chenle feels! and iâm also procrastinating writing for the donors, the loverboys and ruin the friendship jeno ver right now, so youâre all getting this instead! and liking it! (i hope) please let me know what you think of this one! - with love, c.
âď¸ THE GOLDEN COUPLE âď¸
âi would like to thank everyone for coming today,â lili zhong, aka chenleâs mother and legally your mother-in-law as of five hours ago, says into the microphone. her voice carries effortlessly across the grand ballroom, smooth and commanding without needing to be loud. the entire venue stills for her, conversations fade, forks lower onto porcelain plates.Â
there were exactly a thousand guests in attendance tonight. family, friends, business partners, celebrities, investors, socialites, industry executives from every corner of asia, people whose names appear in magazines and headlines and billion-dollar reports. the ballroom itself looked almost unreal â dripping crystals suspended from the ceiling, white roses woven into towering arrangements, soft gold lighting reflecting against polished marble floors. every detail had been curated to perfection. fitting for the wedding of the heirs to two of the most influential beauty empires in the country.
âwe have been waiting for this union for years now,â mrs. zhong continues, and somehow every person in the room hangs onto each word she says. she has always had that effect on people.
âmy one and only son, chenleâŚi am very happy and excited as you take on this next chapter,â her eyes land on him briefly, full of pride, âi know you will be extraordinary, as you are in everything you do.â
a wave of soft applause spreads through the room. chenle beside you gives a polite nod, composed as ever.Â
then her attention shifts entirely to you.
âand of course, my beautiful daughter in law, y/n zhongâŚ,â the warmth in her voice softens you completely. the last name making your heart flutter. you don't know if you'll ever get used to hearing it.
âiâve always wanted you as my real daughter,â she says with a small smile painted in her signature crimson lipstick, âand now i can finally say you are.â
your chest tightens in the best way possible. you smile back before you can even think about it, eyes sparkling beneath the lights as emotion swells quietly inside you. because unlike the cameras and contracts and business articles surrounding this marriageâŚthis part felt real.Â
lili zhong was someone you had admired long before you ever understood what admiration truly was.Â
you can remember it as if it was yesterday â being seven years old inside the towering headquarters of zhong cosmetics, your tiny dress shoes squeaking against the floors as you and chenle ran through the halls without a care in the world. the building had felt gigantic back then, less like a corporate empire and more like your personal playground. you remembered hiding beneath reception desks with chenle while assistants searched for the two of you in panic. remembered spinning around in leather office chairs worth more than most peopleâs rent. remembered sneaking into empty conference rooms just to press random buttons on expensive remotes.
and then lili zhong walked out.
and the entire atmosphere shifted the moment she appeared. not much different from how it is now. employees straightened immediately. conversations stopped mid-sentence. people moved aside for her without being told to. she carried herself with grace and effortless authority, shoulders back, chin lifted slightly, heels clicking sharply against the floor like a metronome everyone unconsciously followed. but what fascinated you most wasnât the fear or respect she commanded. it was how composed she looked doing it.Â
you remembered watching from next to chenle as she reapplied her lipstick using the reflection of a glass wall, precise and graceful like second nature. one smooth swipe of red. cap clicked shut. then immediately back to discussing quarterly projections as if perfection came as easily as breathing. prim. proper. poised. she was untouchable. and you had been completely mesmerized.Â
from that moment on, youâd wanted to become the kind of woman lili zhong was â respected, strong, confident â the type of woman who could walk into a room and have the world rearrange itself around her. and now, standing beneath thousands of glittering lights with the zhong diamond resting heavily on your left ring finger and her son beside you, you suddenly wondered if this was the closest you had ever come to becoming her.Â
âi wish you both a fruitful marriage,â she says with a subtle wink in your direction, a wave of laughter spreading softly through the ballroom. your face warms instantly because everyone here understands exactly what she means. not just the merger between zhong cosmetics and yĂź skincare. not just the billions this marriage would bring. not just the headlines already flooding social media tonight.
but heirs too. children with the zhong name. future successors beautiful enough to belong on campaign billboards before they could even walk.
âmay it always be filled with prosperity and success,â mrs. zhong continues, lifting her glass slightly, âand may the two of you continue bringing honor to our families and our companies.â
camera flashes explode around the room like lightning. you can already imagine tomorrowâs articles.
THE GOLDEN COUPLE OF BEAUTY
CHINAâS MOST POWERFUL MARRIAGE!
LOVE, LUXURY, AND LEGACY.
âthis country has not seen such a beautiful couple before.â
the applause is immediate. a thousand guests rise to the toast without hesitation, crystal glasses lifting beneath the chandelier light. from the stage, the entire ballroom looked dipped in gold.Â
âto mr. and mrs. zhong.â
âto mr. and mrs. zhong!,â the crowd echos.Â
you lift your champagne glass with a smile so genuine it almost hurts. because despite everything, despite the pressure and expectations and business contracts hidden beneath layers of silk and diamonds â you were happy. maybe pathetically so.Â
you have loved zhong chenle for most of your life.Â
before the magazines started calling him the future of luxury cosmetics. before investors nicknamed the two of you the golden couple. before marriage turned into obligation instead of possibility.
and there was a time, too. a time when chenle used to reach for your hand first. a time where the two of you spent entire afternoons running through corporate buildings while your parents attended meetings. a time where heâd steal your desserts at dinners and complain when other boys talked to you at events. a time where marriage jokes from your families made both of you groan dramatically before dissolving into laughter.Â
back then, it had felt harmless. like something far away. until you both turned eighteen. when meetings became serious. when contracts replaced teasing. when your families stopped asking and started deciding.Â
that was when everything changed.Â
because every time chenle looked at you after that, it was no longer with warmth â it was resentment.
you became the physical reminder of every choice he would never get to make for himself. the life he would never get to live. the love he would never get to experience freely.Â
somehow, the public never noticed. that was the worst part â chenle was terrifyingly good at pretending. like right now, with one hand resting against the small of your back, he looked every bit like the devoted husband he wanted the media to believe him to be. calm smile. soft gaze. protective touch.Â
the perfect heir beside his perfect wife.Â
and the cameras adored him for it â âmr. zhong, look here!â âmr. zhong, one more picture with your wife!â âyou two are stunning together!âÂ
his fingers flex lightly against your waist as another round of flashes goes off, and anyone watching would think the gesture is affectionate. loving, even. but you know chenle well enough to recognize performance from sincerity. his hand only ever lingers when people are watching. once they turn away, he lets go like touching you burns.Â
still, your heart betrays you. every. single. time. because some part of you still remembers the boy before all of this. the boy who used to grin at you with missing front teeth and tell everyone you were his favorite person in the world.Â
the boy you always pictured on this day.
âi canât wait for this to be over,â chenle murmurs beside you, barely moving his lips. to everyone else, it probably looked like he was whispering sweet nothings into your ear.Â
âperfect!,â someone gushes behind a camera, âthey look crazy in love.â
the irony nearly makes you laugh.Â
chenle turns toward you then, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with such practiced tenderness that several people nearby audibly swoon. you hate how your stomach flips.Â
heâs beautiful at pretending to love you.Â
sometimes beautiful enough that you can almost pretend with him.Â
the reception continues in a blur of diamonds, champagne and endless congratulations. one by one, some of the most influential people in the country approach your table to greet the two of you personally, every gift placed before you looking absurdly expensive.Â
chenle smiles effortlessly but if someone looked closely enough, they would notice you speaking far more than he was, carrying conversations, thanking guests, asking about their families and businesses with perfectly timed warmth. prim. proper. poised. you had learned from the best. every time chenleâs expression dulled slightly, you stepped in before anyone could question it. when his attention drifted you redirected conversations smoothly. when his smiles became visibly strained, you compensated with your own brightness. and youâre convinced no one notices his lack of sincerity. or maybe they do and simply choose not to acknowledge it. because appearances mattered more than truth in a room like this.Â
âyou two truly are perfect together,â an older woman sighs while admiring the two of you, âjust look at how attentive your husband is.â
âhe always takes good care of me,â you reply quickly, smile never faltering, the lie sliding off your tongue so naturally it almost scares you. chenle glances at you briefly after that comment. you canât tell if heâs irritated or grateful. perhaps both.Â
minutes pass like that. more smiles. more photos. more toasts. more champagne. your cheeks begin aching from smiling so much but you endure it anyway. this was your wedding day. everything is supposed to be perfect. untilâ
âexcuse me,â chenle suddenly says beside you after another round of greetings, âi need to use the restroom.â
you immediately nod before anyone else can react, âof course.â
one of the investors chuckles knowingly, âalready escaping from married life, mr. zhong?â
a ripple of laughter follows. chenle gives them a charming grin that doesnât reach his eyes, âjust five minutes. i'll be right back.â he leaves with calm steps, posture still immaculate beneath his suit. you continue smiling after he disappears into the crowd.Â
five minutes pass. then ten. then twenty. people begin noticing.Â
âwhereâs your husband?â someone asks casually.Â
you let out a soft laugh, âprobably being dragged into another business deal somewhere.â they laugh with you easily. and you cover for him again. and again. and again.Â
by the thirty-minute mark, you can practically feel whispers beginning to bloom around the ballroom like perfume in the air. so you straighten your spine further, lift your chin slightly, and you smile brighter. if chenle was going to disappear from his own wedding reception, then you would make sure no one noticed the crack forming underneath the surface. you continue greeting guests alone, accepting congratulations with elegance polished into your bones.Â
mrs. zhong watches you from across the ballroom, sharp eyes lingering knowingly on your solitary figure. she says nothing. because she knows her son. how loud his resentment has been years, months, weeks building into this. but she also knows you. and she trusts youâll be perfectly fine. thatâs why she chose you for her son anyway.
chenle finally returns before he hit the forty-minute mark. your eyes find him immediately across the ballroom. his tie is slightly loosened now, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for you to catch instantly. his expression remains composed. but the second he reaches your side â you smell it. whiskey. strong enough to linger beneath his cologne.Â
and truthfully? you donât really mind. chenle was always easier when he drank. looser around the edges. less cold. less careful about keeping distance between the two of you. sometimesâŚhe even looked at you like he used to.
and after disappearing for almost forty minutes, he was going to have to sell this act twice as hard.Â
âthere you are,â you say smoothly as another cluster of guests approaches the two of you. before you can even fully turn toward them, chenleâs hand settles against your waist. firm. far more natural than earlier.Â
âsorry,â he says quietly near your ear, voice lower now, slightly roughened by alcohol, âgot cornered.â
you hum in acknowledgement, not bothering to call him out. he was lying, obviously. but this version of chenle was infinitely more tolerable than the sober one who treated your marriage like a prison sentence.Â
âmr. and mrs. zhong!â another investor greets excitedly, approaching with his wife beside him, âwe were just saying you two look unbelievable together tonight.â
normally, chenle would give a polite smile, a practiced nod, maybe rest his hand on your back for exactly five seconds before pulling away. instead, he pulls you closer.Â
âthank you,â he says easily, âmy wife makes it difficult not to stare.â
your breath nearly catches. it was the first time heâd call you that. his wife. and you hate how much you loved hearing it.Â
the investorâs wife practically melts on the spot, âoh, he adores you.â
you knew that couldnât be further from the truth. chenleâs just performing harder now. making up for lost time. and annoyingly enough, heâs very good at it. throughout the next hour, he barely left your side. and youâd be lying if you said it didn't affect you. drunk chenle was dangerously convincing. this version of him looked softer around the edges, dark eyes warmer beneath the ballroom lights. he smiled more. touched you more. occasionally leaned close enough that his shoulder brushed yours naturally instead of mechanically. like right now-
âyouâre doing that thing again,â he murmurs quietly, only for you to hear.Â
âwhat thing?â
âover-smiling,â his lips twitch faintly, âyour cheeks are probably hurting.â
the fact he noticed at all sends something uncomfortable fluttering through your chest.Â
âiâm fine.â
âmhm,â his pointer finger lightly grazes your cheekbone, soft and careful, âliar.â
your heart stumbles embarrassingly fast. you hate that alcohol makes him kinder. or maybe not kinder. just more honest with his attention.Â
another camera flash bursts in front of you both. another perfect photo for the headlines tomorrow. you wonder if anyone would still call the two of you the golden couple if they knew chenle only touched you this much after drinking enough whiskey to blur the resentment out of him.
you enjoyed the rest of the wedding reception. or maybe endured was the more accurate word. either way, you played the role of the perfect wife flawlessly. enough to fool an entire ballroom full of billionaires. by the time the reception finally ended, your cheeks ached from smiling and your feet hurt from hours in heels.Â
still, there was a strange warmth sitting inside your chest because despite everything â you had married the boy you love. even if he no longer loved you back.
âď¸ THE MARRIED LIFE âď¸
the drive home is quiet. chenle sits beside you, his gaze lost outside the window. he doesnât look at you once. the alcohol from earlier seems to have worn off already. funny how quickly the warmth disappeared from him too.Â
eventually, the gates to the mansion slid open. your mansion now. your home for the rest of your life. the estate stood enormous against the night sky, lights glowing warmly throughout the property. it was less of a house and more of a private villa, complete with a fountain in the middle, sprawling gardens, balconies overlooking the endless green landscape, rooms neither of you would probably ever step foot in. beautiful but cold.
the car comes to a stop and before the driver can even fully open the door, chenle steps out first. you follow shortly after, one of the maids helping you with your dress as you stepped inside the mansion. the grand foyer stretches high above both of you, chandelier light reflecting against polished floors.Â
chenle was already halfway up the left staircase. ânight,â he finally says. flat. automatic. not even turning around. like the two of you didnât just celebrate a once in a lifetime event people dream of.Â
he disappears down the left wing leading to his bedroom without another word. you stare after him for a moment before quietly turning toward the opposite staircase. right side. your side. your room. Â
lili zhong had arranged this mansion for the two of you a month before the wedding, insisting that it would help ease the transition. she genuinely believed that if the two of you lived together beforehand, chenle would eventually come around, that proximity would soften him, that heâd remembered the closeness you once had. you remembered how hopeful she sounded while showing you around the estate.
âgive him time,â she had told you gently, âchenleâs stubborn, but heâs a good boy.â
you wanted to believe her. you really did. so for a month before the wedding - you tried. you asked him about work. about basketball games you knew he loved. about the restaurants you knew he liked. you sat beside him even when he barely acknowledged you were there. you tried being patient. understanding. gentle. it didnât work. and in the end, your efforts never mattered anyway. because whether chenle liked it or not, the wedding was always going to happen.Â
now that it had, the distance between you felt even larger. married yet sleeping in separate bedrooms like strangers forced under the same roof. itâs whatever, really. the mansion had far too many empty rooms anyway.
three months pass like that.
the routine becomes almost mechanical. you wake up separately. leave for work separately. return home separately.Â
real conversations only happen at the office. meetings. sale projections. marketing campaigns. brand collaborations. like business partners instead of husband and wife. which, you probably should have expected.Â
at home, chenle barely spares you a glance. he doesnât sit beside you on the sofa. doesnât ask about your day. doesnât linger in rooms you enter. dinners are eaten across opposite ends of a table long enough to seat twenty people comfortably, silence filling the space where conversations shouldâve been. sometimes the only sounds are the clink of silverware against plates and the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
and at night, the lights still glow beneath two different bedrooms. youâve never stepped into his this entire time. and he wouldnât be able to tell anyone what the colors of your walls were. sometimes you wonder if he stays awake as long as you do.Â
one night, you walked into the living room to find him watching basketball. for the first time in weeks, he actually looked alive. completely relaxed against the couch, eyes fixed on the television while quietly reacting under his breath. stephen curry had just made an impossible three-point shot and chenle actually laughed softly, shaking his head with genuine enjoyment lighting his face. you had almost smiled seeing it. because it reminded you of the boy he used to be. then he noticed you standing there and immediately, everything disappeared. his posture straightened. his expression flattened. he watched the rest of the game in complete silence, pretending not to care when curry hit the game winning shot minutes later. pretending he hadnât been enjoying himself at all before you arrived â that one hurt more than you expected. you realized then that your presence drained the life out of him. he physically could not relax around you anymore.Â
so eventually â you stopped trying to fill the silence. stopped asking if he wanted dinner together. stopped lingering in shared spaces hoping he might speak first.Â
if chenle wanted distance that badly, then fine. you would give it to him. even if the loneliness of this massive mansion swallowed you whole because of it.Â
âď¸ THE OTHER WOMAN âď¸
you couldnât help it though. every night, no matter how much you told yourself to stop caring, you still waited for the sound of chenleâs bedroom door shutting. just to make sure he came home.Â
some nights he came home early, footsteps echoing through the quiet mansion before midnight. other nights, he returned a little later, long after you were supposed to be asleep, the distant sound of his shoes against the floor enough to finally let the tightness in your chest loosen.
he never knew you waited. or maybe he did. either way, neither of you acknowledged it.
but tonight was different.
the grandfather clock in the foyer had already struck two a.m. nearly fifteen minutes ago, the sound heavy and hollow throughout the massive estate.Â
chenle has never been out this late.
you glance toward the entrance again before lowering your gaze to the untouched cup of chamomile tea in your hands. it had gone cold almost an hour ago, when you first realize how late it was and your husband was nowhere to be heard.Â
âdid chenle say where he was going tonight?â you ask the maid standing nearby.
âno, mrs. zhong,â she answers carefully, âbut he did call for the driver around twenty minutes ago, he should be making his way back.âÂ
and itâs ridiculous, really, how your maid knows more about your husband's whereabouts than you do.Â
âokay,â you nod gently, setting the untouched tea aside, âgo ahead and get some rest,â you offer her a smile despite the exhaustion sitting heavily behind your eyes, âiâll wait up for him.â
âare you sure, mrs. zhong? i could wait instead.â
you wave her off, âitâs a wifeâs duty to take care of her husband.âÂ
she smiles politely at your response, âokay mrs. zhong, iâll be here when you need me.âÂ
âthank you,â you say genuinely.Â
she bows her head slightly before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you alone with the silence again. the moment sheâs gone, your smile fades. slowly, you rise from the sofa and make your way toward the grand staircase. more specifically â the left staircase. chenleâs staircase. the one you never use.
the mansion had been designed almost absurdly symmetrical, splitting the house in two. like the house itself understood the distance between you.Â
you settle onto the second step quietly, smoothing the fabric of your silk pajama dress beneath you, waiting for him to come home. your eyes drift across the foyer absentmindedly â the massive chandelier overhead, the single round table with the antique vase filled of flowers you didnât even like, and the wedding portrait hanging near the entrance your mother-in-law gifted. it always made your chest ache a little. you looked so happy in it. chenle looked convincing.
you wonder if this is what arranged marriages are supposed to feel like. waiting around in silence for someone who never notices you waited at all. you lean your head lightly against the staircase railing. maybe he was working late. maybe he was drinking. maybe he didnât want to come home anymore. the last possibility settles the heaviest.Â
your mind drifts despite yourself, back toward the beginning. a time when chenle used to text you constantly whenever he went anywhere. texts that were as silly as:
look at this ugly dog i found
watch basketball with me, i have popcorn
and others, that always made you smile and your heart race:
just tried the new restaurant down the street from our favorite tea place. i have to bring you there..it will make you cry tears of joy.
i saw this dumpling plushie and it reminded me of you, so guess who has a new dumpling plushie
letâs go on trip this weekend, just me and youâŚalready got the flight ticketsÂ
my momâs annoying me. come save me. please.Â
where are you? iâm picking you up
you used to be the first person he looked for in every room. now you barely knew what was going on in that mind of his. a soft laugh escapes you suddenly, quiet and humorless. if the tabloids could see you now, theyâll realize just how easy it is to create fake gold.
another thirty minutes pass when headlights appear through the front windows. your body straightens instantly before you can stop yourself, heartbeat quickening embarrassingly fast.Â
the front doors open moments later, chenle walking in. his tie hangs loose around his neck, dark hair slightly messy like someone has been running their fingers through it repeatedly. he smells faintly of alcohol, expensive cologne and perfume that definitely wasnât yours. your stomach drops before you can even process it fully. itâs sweet, floral, feminine â not familiar.Â
chenle freezes the second he notices you sitting on the staircase. for a brief moment, genuine surprise flashes across his face.Â
âwhat are you doing up?â he asks, voice rough and tired.Â
you force your expression to remain soft, normal, âwaiting for you.â
something unreadable flickers in his eyes. guilt. maybe. or irritation. you can never tell with him anymore. whatever it is, it disappears almost instantly.
âgo to bed, y/n,â he says with a sigh, already sounding exhausted by the conversation before it even begins. then he walks past you. just like that. and something inside you finally snaps.Â
there were many things that you could let slide. chenle ignoring you. chenle barely speaking to you unless necessary. chenle looking at you with those cold eyes sharp enough to cut skin open. chenle hating you for a life neither of you truly chose.Â
but this? coming home way past midnight smelling of alcohol and another womanâs perfume while wearing lipstick marks on his neck like he didnât even care enough for you to hide them???
a wife could only take so much.Â
you could only take so much.Â
before you know it, youâre standing abruptly and following him up the staircase. his staircase. your slippers hit the marble harder with every step as anger burns hotter beneath your skin. he pushes open his bedroom door and you follow him inside immediately, shutting it sharply behind you, the sound echoing through the room.
itâs your first time entering his bedroom in the four months youâve been married. that realization alone feels pathetic. itâs cleaner than you expected. dark walls. dark sheets. expensive furniture. floor to ceiling windows overlooking the green landscape, similar to yours. it looked less like the room of a married man and more like a luxury bachelor suite. nothing about it felt like there was space for you.Â
âare you fucking cheating on me?!â you demand, voice coming out harsher than intended, anger cracking through the polished composure you spent years perfecting.
chenle groans immediately, dragging a hand through his hair before kicking his shoes off carelessly, âi donât want to fucking talk about this right now.â
you ignore him completely, hurt and fury already boiling too violently inside your chest.Â
âis this why you hate me so much?,â you ask, voice rising, âbecause youâre already in love with someone else?!â
that catches his attention instantly. his head snaps toward you so fast it almost startles you.
âwhat?â
you let out a bitter scoff, âoh my god, chenle!,â you gesture toward him angrily, âyou have her scent all over you, thereâs lipstick all over your neckâiâm not fucking stupid.â
your voice gets louder with every word. so much for grace. so much for being poised. right now youâre just angry. hurt. humiliated.Â
chenle stares at you for a second before rubbing both hands down his face tiredly, âiâm not fucking in love with someone else,â he mutters.Â
âthen what the fuck is this?!â
silence stretches for half a second.
âi needed to get laid.â
chenle laughs once humorlessly, âif you havenât noticed,â he says coldly, âiâve basically been fucking abstinent for four months and i justâŚneeded a release.â
itâs almost sickening how that makes you feel better. your anger doesnât disappear but the crushing feeling in your chest eases slightly knowing there wasnât some other woman holding his heart while you sat here playing the perfect wife. it was just sex. not love.Â
you step closer before you can think better of it. chenleâs brows furrow slightly at the sudden closeness.Â
âif you need to get your dick wet, you come to my room.âÂ
his expression changes instantly, genuine shock flashing across his face. you continue before he can interrupt.Â
âno one elseâs.â
your chest rises sharply with each breath.
âiâm your wife now, for fuckâs sake.â
chenle just stares at you like he genuinely doesnât know what to say.
âi donât care if this marriage was arranged for business,â you snap, âyou do not get to cheat on meâŚagain.â
that room falls silent after that. you can practically see the conflict moving behind chenleâs eyes now. because he hates this. all of it. the marriage. the expectations. the loss of freedom. but you can also tell he didnât expect this reaction from you. didnât expect you to claim your place beside him so bluntly.Â
âbesides,â you add bitterly, âwe need to have a child eventually, as our parents love to remind me,â your laugh comes out hollow, âyouâd be doing me a fucking service.â
irritation flickers in chenleâs face immediately. but you donât stay long enough to examine it. you turn sharply and walk out before he can say anything else, your heartbeat pounding violently in your ears as you cross to your side of the mansion.Â
âď¸ THE BEST FRIENDS âď¸
the two of you never talk about that night again. it got buried beneath the same routine. work meetings. silent dinners. passing each other in hallways without speaking. but something had changed after that. because you opened a door that night. and whether or not chenle chose to knock was entirely up to him.Â
it takes another month before he finally does.Â
chenle canât believe heâs actually considering this. he stands in his bedroom, staring at the half empty whiskey glass in his hand. this was insane. he was about to walk into your room and what? sleep with his wife? his best friend? except heâs not even sure that title still belongs to the two of you anymore.Â
best friends didnât look at each other the way he looks at you now â like you were both the wound and the knife that caused it. best friends didnât spend five months barely speaking despite living under the same roof. best friends definitely didnât resent each other enough to split a mansion into separate lives.Â
chenle exhales sharply before taking another shot. not enough to get drunk, just enough for that liquid courage to settle into his bones, silencing the voice in his head that told him this was wrong and allowing himself to knock on your door.
he knows this is so hard to do because of him. he knows heâs been irrational. resenting you for decisions neither of you truly got to make. taking every ounce of frustration and grief and anger about his life and placing it onto your shoulders because it was easier to have someone to blame than to accept that this is his reality.Â
and yet despite all of that â the only thing you had ever truly asked of him during this marriage was to not cheat on youâŚagain. you couldâve demanded affection. attention. a real marriage. instead, you simply looked him in the eye and told him to come to you first. that memory hasnât left his head since.Â
another sigh escapes him before he sets the empty glass down and finally walks out of his room. the hallway separating your bedroom feels strangely longer tonight. every step making him question himself again. this was a terrible idea. he should turn around. go back to his room. pretend this impulse never happened. but fuck, he needs to get laidâŚright now.Â
the knock startles you instantly. you glance up from your bed in confusion. itâs almost midnight. no one ever knocks this late and the maids only enter when called. for a second, you wonder if somethingâs wrong.Â
slowly, you slip off the bed and walk toward the door, your silk, short pajama dress flowing around you. and there he is â standing in the hallway looking strangely tense beneath the dim lights.
for a moment, neither of you speaks. then chenle says flatlyâ
âi want to have sex.â
simple. direct. like heâs discussing a business proposal instead of standing outside his wifeâs bedroom at midnight. your chest tightens painfully because somehow, even after everything, a part of you still hoped heâd come here for another reason. that maybe he missed you. maybe he couldnât sleep either. maybe tonight, after months of silence, he finally wanted to talk to you like he used to.
but of course not. he wasnât your chenle anymore. and this was your marriage - transactional. carefully detached. emotionally hollow.
âokay,â you answer softly after a second, stepping aside to let him in.Â
chenle walks past you quietly, eyes scanning your room almost curiously. unlike his bedroom, yours actually looked live in. warmer lighting. books scattered across tables. skincare and makeup products lining the vanity. blankets thrown carelessly across the couch near the windows â and trinkets, gifts, specifically from him â scattered around different parts of the room.Â
the dumpling plushie he got you when you were fifteen all because it reminded him of you.
the vintage camera on your shelf he bought behind your back when you were sixteen because you had mentioned once, only once, that you loved taking pictures because it made moments feel permanent. he remembers showing up the next day with your dream camera like it was nothing. âdonât say i never support your hobbies,â he teased.Â
even those damn crybaby figurines he bought you when you were seventeen were lined carefully beside your bookshelf. every single one from the collection you obsessed over years ago. you had a frown on your face over not getting the rare one from a blind box once and chenle spent nearly two weeks secretly hunting every figurine down until your collection was complete. you used to tell him he was insane for it. he used to think seeing you happy made the effort worth it.Â
suddenly the room feels suffocating. because there are pieces of him everywhere in here. small reminders scattered throughout your life of proof that before everything fell apart â chenle used to love you loudly. maybe not romantically. maybe not in the way you wanted. but enough to memorize the smallest things about you. enough to notice every passing comment and quietly turn it into something real.Â
chenle rubs the back of his neck awkwardly before finally looking at you fully and for the first time in months â he doesnât look angry when he does. if anything, he looks shaken. then he clears his throat.
âwe donât have to make thisâŚâ he pauses, brows furrowing slightly, âmore than what it is.â
âokay,â the answer leaves your mouth too quickly. too easily. like youâve already accepted that this was how it was always going to be.Â
he nods, leading the way as he reaches for the buttons of his pajama shirt. you look away the second the fabric slips from his shoulder, the room suddenly feeling warmer. chenle drops his shirt onto the chair near your vanity while you remain frozen beside the bed, fingers nervously toying the hem of your pajama dress.
neither of you knows how to start this. that becomes painfully obvious almost immediately. thereâs no romance here to guide the moment. no affection softening the edges. just tension and awkwardness.Â
finally, because if you stand there any longer, you think your heart might actually burst through your ribs, you reach beneath the fabric of your dress. with shaky fingers, you hook the elastic of your underwear and slide them down your legs, stepping out of them and leaving it on the floor. you keep the pajama dress on through, the thin material clinging to your curves.Â
the room goes still. chenle's eyes lift instinctively toward you, tracing the silhouette of your body before darting away almost immediately. and somehow that reaction hurts more than if heâd stared openly. because this feels like restraint. like guilt. like he is forcing himself not to want you.
you climb onto the bed quietly, trying desperately to appear calmer than you feel.Â
âyou can turn the lights off if you want,â you murmur softly.Â
and maybe that was better. maybe if he couldnât see you, he could pretend you were just another one of his one night stands. maybe the darkness would erase the history between you, leaving only the physical need. darkness settles over the room instantly, softened only by the lights outside filtering through the windows.Â
chenle approaches the bed slowly afterward, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he climbs in beside you, leaving enough distance between your bodies. neither of you speaks. thereâs nothing comforting to say. just the sound of breathing filling the dark room.Â
then, he finally reaches for you. his hand settling against your waist, his palm warm against the thin fabric of your dress. he pulls you toward him and your breath catches immediately. and itâs sad, really, that despite the coldness, despite the hate, youâve wanted this for years. you want him so badly it feels like a physical ache in your chest.Â
you close your eyes as he shifts closer, the last fragile layer of distance between you finally disappearing. he doesnât lift the dress, simply just bunching the fabric up around your waist, exposing your hips and thighs to the cool air. he doesnât kiss you. he doesnât whisper your name. he simply positions himself, his cock hard and pressing against your entranceâŚand he thrusts in.Â
âfuck,â chenle groans under his breath, his hand gripping your waist harder instinctively, digging his fingers into your skin, âyouâre so fucking tight.â
your breath catches painfully at the stretch, a sharp, searing pressure tearing through your center as your body struggles to accommodate the sudden intrusion. your fingers unconsciously claw into his biceps, gripping the hard muscle as a gasp of genuine pain escapes your lips. it hurts â more than you expected it to. there was no slow build up to soften any of this. no tender words whispered against your skin to ease the transition. this wasnât lovemaking.Â
for chenle, this is only a physical release, a way to drown out the noise of his own sadness and the crushing weight of his expectations. for you, it was simply duty. the possibility of giving both families the heir everyone expected from the moment your engagement was announced. just two emotionally exhausted people trying to fulfill a role theyâd been pushed into years ago.Â
chenle notices your pain immediately. you know he does because his movements stall, his body freezing inside you for a beat. in the dim light, you see his brows furrow, a flicker of something â hesitation, perhaps, or a ghost of the boy he used to be â crossing his features. he gives you a moment to adjust, his chest heaving against yours, but. neither of you say anything.Â
what would even be the point? there are no sweet words to be exchanged here. no declarations of love. only uneven breathing filling the dark room and the occasional strained sound slipping from both of you despite yourselves.Â
chenle keeps his eyes fixed downward, jaw tense like heâs trying not to think too hard about any of this. about you. about the way you feel wrapped around him. about what this act actually means for the two of you.
your fingers loosen from his arm eventually, your grip shifting to the silk sheets beneath you, bunching the fabric in your fists as the initial, blinding ache slowly dulls into a manageable throb. but as the physical pain recedes, a different kind of agony takes its place â one that is far more suffocating, your mind cruelly reminding you that this is the boy who used to hold your hand while crossing the street to make sure you were safe. the boy who bought you random gifts because they reminded him of you. the boy you had loved with a purity that now felt like a joke. and now, here you are, beneath him in a silence so heavy it felt suffocating.Â
he doesnât try to make it last. he doesnât try to find your pleasure or bridge the emotional divide between you. he simply drives into you with a mechanical, rhythmic intensity, his movements devoid of affection.
he lasted six minutes before it was finally over.Â
chenle curses softly under his breath as he paints your walls white. his forehead drops briefly near your shoulder, breathing unevenly before finally stilling completely. the room falls quiet almost immediately afterward except for both of your breathing.Â
then, chenle carefully pulls away. he begins to shift back but freezes mid-motion, his eyes dropping toward the sheets beneath you, the air in the room vanishing â small, vivid spots of red stain the white sheets.Â
âshit,â he breathes, his entire expression changing instantly. the detachment he had maintained through the act vanishes, replaced by a sharp, jagged edge of alarm, âare you okay?â
the concern in his voice catches you off guard more than anything else. real, genuine concern that you havenât heard from him in years. the same boy who used to worry if youâd scraped your knee.Â
still trying to steady your breathing, you blink at him tiredly, âwhat?â
âyou bled,â he says immediately, eyes darting back toward the sheets before the realization visibly crashes into him. his face tightens, jaw locking as the implication sinks in.Â
âfuck, y/nâŚ,â he exhales sharply, âare you a virgin?â
you stare at him for a long second, the silence stretching between you. you feel empty, raw and utterly exhausted. you shrug lightly, âwell,â you mutter dryly, âas of a couple minutes ago, i no longer am.â
chenle looks at you like youâve just punched him in the chest. thereâs disbelief there. guilt. and worst of all â pity. you hate it instantly. you arenât a porcelain doll. you are the owner of an empire and you had walked into this encounter with your eyes wide open.Â
âdonât look at me like that,â you scoff, reaching for your blanket and pulling it over you, âitâs not a big deal, chenle. it was gonna happen one way or another.â
he lets out a frustrated sound immediately, dragging both hands through his hair, âwhy do you keep saying that?!,â he snaps suddenly.Â
you blink, startled at the sharpness in his tone, the sudden eruption of emotion, âbecause itâs true.â
âno, itâs not,â his brows pull together harder, frustration and disbelief bleeding into his voice, âand this is a big deal. i just took your virginity.â
âand?!â you shoot back instantly, emotions finally cracking open.
âit was always yours to take!â
silence. thick. heavy enough to suffocate the entire room. chenle stills completely. the lights spilling through the windows cast shadows across his face, but you can still see the shock there clearly. he looks haunted, as if youâve just revealed a truth he wasnât prepared to handle.
âwhat?â he asks quietly.Â
âunlike you,â you say bitterly, your chest rising sharply, âi never thought marrying my best friend was something so repulsive.â
the words hit hard enough that chenle just stares at you. stunned. because he genuinely cannot understand it.Â
when he found out about the arrangement years ago, it felt like his entire life stopped belonging to him. suddenly every conversation had contracts hidden beneath it, every family dinner felt staged, every interaction between the two of you became another reminder that his future had already been decided before he even got a say. he panicked. rebelled. slept with girl after girl trying to desperately prove to himself he still had freedom. he still belonged to himself. still had choices before marriage locked him into a life he never asked for.Â
but you â you just accepted it.Â
you didnât run. you didnât scream. you didnât burn the world down to get away.
he remembers sitting in those meetings, hating every single second of it and every single time he looked at you â you were just sitting quietly beside him. calm. composed. nodding along politely whenever someone addressed you. you never argued. never pushed back. never looked angry enough.Â
and chenle convinced himself that meant you didnât care. that maybe this really was just business to you, too. he resented you for it. resented the way you accepted everything so easily while he felt like he was suffocating. resented the way you let your parents decide both of your lives without fighting harder beside him. resented how fake everything started feeling after that. like your friendship had never really belonged to the two of you. like it had been another transaction always meant to happen.Â
just like tonight.Â
just like this bed. this room. your first time.Â
the reality settles sickeningly into his chest. because despite all his anger, despite all the resentment he carried for years â this should have been special. not because virginity itself mattered to him. but because you did. somewhere beneath the layers of bitterness, the boy who loved you was still there, and he realizes with a jolt of horror that he is the one to turn this moment into something cold. another deal to complete. another box to check.
for the first time in months, chenle genuinely feels ashamed standing in front of you.Â
you slide beneath the blankets completely, turning away from him. your voice goes cold again. controlled. composed. your expression slowly shutting down. piece by piece. the same way it always does whenever he hurts you. itâs a practiced defense, a wall built from years of his indifference.
âiâll have the maid clean the sheets tomorrow.â
chenle opens his mouth slightly. then closes it again. because thereâs nothing he can say that fixes this. nothing that gives you back the moment he just ruined. he cannot un-take your innocence.
âif youâre done here,â you murmur quietly, âyou should just go.â
the guilt eats him alive, gnawing at his insides as he stares at your curled-up form. yet, chenle walks out anyway.Â
âď¸ THE MOTHER IN LAW âď¸
you get your period two weeks later and it annoys you far more than it should. the second you see the faint streak of red, disappointment settles heavily into your chest before you can stop it. pathetic. you actually let yourself hope that one night would be enough. that somehow, despite how cold and emotionally disastrous it had been, it mightâve at least resulted in something tangible. something that would finally make this marriage feel like itâs moving forward instead of rotting quietly in place. something that would finally make this mansion feel like a house.Â
youâre afraid of the possibility it wonât happen again. not after the way things have been recently.Â
itâs gotten worse between you and chenle. at least before, when he looked at you, there was fire there. albeit, not the good kindâŚbut fire, nonetheless.Â
now, it was just stone cold. and every now and then â guilt. itâs like he doesnât know what to do with himself around you anymore. and every single time you notice it, sorrow settles deeper inside your chest. guilt isnât love. you donât want him feeling sorry for you. you want â no. you force yourself to stop that thought before it finishes.
wanting things from chenle only ever leads to disappointment.Â
ây/n, dear, how are you and chenle?â mama liâs voice breaks through your thoughts. sheâs sitting elegantly across from you in the living room, posture perfect even in something as simple as afternoon tea. sunlight pours through the massive windows behind her, catching the gold resting against her fingers as she lifts her teacup gracefully.Â
sheâs beautiful in the same terrifying way chenle is. composed. sharp. impossible to fully read. sometimes looking at her hurts because all you can see is him.Â
she asked the question gently. but thereâs always command hidden beneath her voice, years of power woven naturally into every word she speaks.Â
âuhm,â you hesitate, âi donât know, mama li,â the nickname leaves your lips naturally. it always has, âi donât think weâll ever go back to the way we used to.â
for a moment, genuine sadness flickers across her face. she exhales softly before offering you a small smile, âjust give it time,â she says gently, âyou know heâs always loved you.âÂ
your chest tightens painfully. itâs what everyone says. your parents. his parents. family friends. employees who watched the two of you grow up together. everyone insists chenle loved you once. maybe still does. but lately, youâre not so sure anymore. maybe everyone simply misunderstood him all these years. maybe being comfortable around someone your entire childhood wasnât the same thing as loving them.Â
after all â chenle himself has never actually said it. not once.Â
mama li studies your expression carefully before continuing, âchenle has always been difficult with his emotions,â she says with a quiet sigh, âbut that boy would follow you around everywhere when you were younger. you were the only person who could calm him down whenever he got upset.â
you force out a faint smile, âthat was a long time ago.â
âfeelings donât disappear that easily,â she replies smoothly.Â
you wish you believed that. instead, you take another sip of tea to avoid answering.Â
âeven so, my dear,â her eyes linger meaningfully on you, âi hope youâre not forgetting your duties.âÂ
there it is. the real reason behind this conversation. behind her visit. Â
children. heirs. you suddenly feel exhausted. you donât know what to say. youâve only slept with chenle once. and considering the fact you got your period this morning, youâre very aware you are not pregnant. still, you canât exactly tell his mother that her son barely touches you. so instead, you straighten your posture slightly and force your voice to remain calm.Â
âweâre trying.â
mama liâs expression brightens immediately, genuine excitement sparkles in her eyes, âwell, thatâs wonderful news,â she says warmly, âwe have to continue our legacies after all,â she adds with a soft smile, lifting her teacup once more.Â
legacy. sometimes you wonder if anyone in this family actually understands how lonely that word feels.Â
âď¸ THE DRUNK WIFEâS PINKY PROMISE âď¸
itâs been a month since mama liâs visit. and half a year since you and chenle got married. he hasnât touched you once since that night. not even accidentally. no lingering touches while passing each other in hallways. no brushing shoulders. no quiet midnight knocks at your bedroom door. absolutelyâŚnothing.Â
and lately, the restlessness sitting inside you has started turning into panic. because six months into marriage and you still werenât even close to being pregnant. your parents ask constantly. mama li asks so often that your stomach knots every single time. even the public has started wondering. the media hasnât said anything outright yet, but youâve seen the headlines.Â
WHEN WILL THE GOLDEN COUPLE ANNOUNCE THEIR FIRST HEIR?
A BOY OR A GIRL? IT SHOULD BE ANY DAY NOW.
and worst of all â people at work were starting to notice things too. the whispers had gotten louder these past few weeks:
why do you never arrive together? why do you leave separately? why do the two of you never eat lunch together despite literally being married? were you both simply that professional??? or did you secretly hate each other???
the stress had been eating at you slowly. you feel like youâre being watched even more so than usual.Â
so tonight, for the first time in months, you finally leave the mansion for something other than work. with your best friend - yizhou ning-qian. if anyone understood arranged marriages, it was her. except for the obvious difference that her husband, kun qian, absolutely adored her. even with their seven year age gap, they worked. somehow effortlessly. which honestly made your own marriage feel even sadder by comparison.Â
âhave you tried initiating it?,â yizhou asks casually, sipping her tequila.
the two of you were tucked away inside one of the private rooms at a high-end bar where membership alone cost more than most peopleâs yearly salaries. dim lights glowed against velvet seating while soft jazz echoed faintly beyond the closed doors.Â
you stare at her, âyizhou,â you say flatly, âi canât even get close enough to try.â
she snorts immediately, the sound sharp and mocking of the situation.
âevery time i walk into a room,â you continue, âhe leaves. immediately.â
"man,â she sighs, shaking her head, âchenle seriously needs to grow the fuck up.â you canât even disagree. âthis was always going to be our lives,â she continues, taking a quick sip of her drink, âand honestly? itâs not even that bad.â
another tequila shot arrives at the table. she pushes it toward you with a mischievous glint in her eye.
âi mean,â she giggles, âweâre literally billionaires! it canât get better than this.â
you burst into laughter with her despite yourself, the alcohol finally beginning to warm your chest pleasantly.Â
âexactly!,â you groan dramatically after downing the shot in one go, âall we have to do is marry someone else rich and pretty yet chenle thinks the world has ended.â
yizhou nearly chokes, laughing, âgod, heâs just been too spoiled.â
the two of you dissolve into another fit of giggles. and if it was any other person, youâd feel awful for trash talking your husband. but she was your best friend, one of your safe spaces. and it feels good to laugh. you havenât done that in a while.Â
yizhou wipes beneath her eyes dramatically before leaning back against the couch, âif anything,â she says, still grinning, âyou guys are the luckiest out of all of us.â
your smile falters, âand whyâs that?â
âyou married someone you already knowâŚsomeone you already love.â
the words silence the laughter instantly. the love you carry for chenle is a heavy, aching thing â a devotion that has survived his coldness and his resentment. but love is a two-way street. and chenle has shown it loud and clear that he didnât share those same feelings for you.Â
âhe doesnât love me, yizhou,â you say quietly.Â
for a second, she just stares at you. then suddenly, she bursts into even louder laughter. âyeah,â she says sarcastically between giggles, âand my husband is fucking poor!â
you shove her shoulder weakly while laughing. considering kun was literally one of the ten wealthiest men in the country, the statement sounds ridiculous.Â
her expression softens after laughing, ây/n,â she says more seriously now, âthat boy has loved you since before we even knew what love was.â
âyou donât know that,â you whisper, chest tightening painfully as you shake your head immediately.
âoh, please,â she rolls her eyes, âeveryone knows that.â
you sigh into your drink. you wish people would stop saying that. it just lets the hope linger longer. just reminds you of the boy he used to be. just makes the man he has become feel more like a tragedy.
âseriously,â she continues, leaning forward now, âhe just needs to wake up from whatever self-pity hole he dug for himself.â
you stare down at the amber liquid in your glass quietly.Â
âi mean, come on, he has to know that it could be worse,â she adds.Â
âhow could it be worse than this?â
âjaeminâs literally arranged to marry someone he actually hates,â she points out, âand even he isnât acting as childish as chenle,â she reaches for your hand then, intertwining her fingers through yours.Â
âitâs not your fault, y/n.â
your throat tightens at her comfort, the alcohol heightening the vulnerability of your emotions.Â
âand sooner or later,â she says softly, "chene's going to realize that too. heâs going to realize that while he was busy hating the arrangement, he was losing the only person who actually gives a damn about him.â
you drank a lot more than you shouldâve. at first, it was just to loosen up. but somewhere between the expensive tequila, the soft jazz playing in the private room and yizhouâs ridiculous stories, the warmth spreading through your body started feeling addictive. every shot made things quieter. lighter. your thoughts blurred around the edges. your chest stopped hurting so much whenever chenle crossed your mind. for the first time in months, you werenât thinking about the empty side of your dinner table or the way your husband avoided looking at you like eye contact physically pained him.Â
you were just laughing. drinking. existing. and maybe thatâs why you didnât realize how much time had passed until yizhou was shoving your purse into your hands while laughing at your completely incoherent attempt to put your heels back on.Â
by the time your driver finally pulls into the mansionâs driveway, itâs nearly three in the morning. the second the car door opens, cold air hits your face and you instantly regret every decision you made tonight.Â
âmmm,â you groan softly while stepping out drunkily, âwhy is the ground moving?â you complain.
âthe ground is not moving, mrs. zhong,â your maid says gently while helping steady you. you squint suspiciously at the marble steps leading toward the front door. you manage to stumble inside the mansion without face-planting into the floor. barely. if it wasnât for your maidâs help, youâd be on the ground.Â
âits uhâkay,â you mumble as your maid carefully tries helping you remove your coat, âmmm okay, i can take care of myself. iâm a professional. iâm aâŚceo of being okay!â
you absolutely are not. your words are slurring into a thick, honey-like mess and you nearly take out a priceless vase with your shoulder before you finally collapse onto the bottom step of the right staircase.Â
upstairs, chenle hears your voice immediately. he had been awake. waiting. though heâd never admit that out loud. usually, when he came home from work, your bedroom light would still be visible through the tiny crack beneath your door.Â
tonight, it had been dark.Â
and when he checked downstairs earlier under the excuse of getting water, you hadnât been in the living room either. and for reasons he doesnât want to examine too closely, it unsettled him. so tonight, he intentionally left his bedroom door slightly cracked open. just enough to hear when you returned home.Â
and now here you were. sounding very, very drunk.Â
chenle exhales sharply before stepping out into the hallway. he makes his way downstairs quietly only to stop midway down the staircase at the sight in front of him. youâre sitting on the bottom step of your staircase now with your head slumped against the railing while your maid looks one second away from panicking.Â
âi said iâm okayyyy,â you groan.Â
âsir zhong,â the maid says immediately in relief the second she notices him.Â
your head snaps upward clumsily at her voice, eyes unfocused as you follow her gaze. chenle stands halfway down the staircase dressed in dark sweatpants and a loose shirt, his hair looking unbelievably soft. he looks unfairly handsome for three in the morning â a devastatingly beautiful statue carved from ice and moonlight.Â
âmrs. zhong is drunk,â the maid explains carefully.
âiâm not drunk,â you counter immediately. then your body sways sideways slightly and she catches your shoulder before you topple over completely.Â
she turns back toward chenle helplessly, âiâm trying to help her up the stairs, sir. she might hurt herself without guidance.â
chenleâs jaw tightens slightly. then he nods once. âiâll take care of it, you may go.â
she bows politely before quickly disappearing down the hallway, leaving the two of you alone. silence settles briefly. chenle walks down the remaining stairs slowly before stopping in front of you.Â
âyou drink now?â he asks flatly, clearly not amused.Â
you squint up at him from the floor, âwow,â you mumble, a small, crooked smile playing on your lips, âjudgmental much? mr. perfect.â
stubbornly, you attempt standing on your own. terrible decision. the second you rise, the world spins 360 degrees. chenle reacts immediately, one arm hooking firmly around your waist and hauling you flush against his chest. the contact is electric. itâs the first time in months he's touched you with any kind of intent, and the sudden heat of his body against yours makes your breath hitch. he is solid, warm, smelling of expensive soap and something uniquely him.
you blink up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs as you reach out, poking his chest weakly with a finger, âyouâre not the only one,â you whisper, your voice losing its playful edge and becoming raw, âwho wants to forget.â
the words come out quieter than intended. more honest too. youâre too drunk to notice the way his face softens for half a second. deep down, heâs always known it. he just never wanted to acknowledge it â the fact that you were hurting, too.Â
he reaches forward, his hand cupping your face and squishing your cheeks together, forcing your lips into a pout. his brows furrow, gaze scanning your flushed face, âyou know youâre not good with alcohol.â
you sway weakly at his wrist with a dramatic scoff, âpsh, whatever.â
then you wriggle yourself fee from his hold before turning toward the staircase again, âiâm a big girl now,â you mumble stubbornly as you begin walking upwards, âi can do it.â
chenle hums behind you, not convinced in the slightest. you make it about five steps before the world starts tilting unpleasantly again. he was right. you were never good with alcohol. your head feels heavy. your feet hurt from the heels you still havenât taken off and suddenly the stairs look impossibly long and all you want to do is fall asleep right here.
with a defeated sigh, you finally turn around. and only then do you realize how close chenle actually is. heâs standing just two steps below you. close enough that if you slipped backward even slightly, heâd catch you instantly. it softens you immediately. the way he still followed you. your expression crumbles into something smaller, softer.
âlele,â you mumble quietly, the nickname naturally slipping from your lips. you havenât called him that in years. not since everything between you became sharp and complicated.Â
chenle visibly freezes. the air in the stairway seems to solidify, trapping him in the space between who he is now and who he used to be.
your lower lip juts out slightly as you blink at him tiredly, âi need help,â you admit finally, your voice small and stripped of all its corporate armor.
his heart stops. he swears the world stops moving. because you sound exactly like her. not the polished corporate heiress version of you who sits through board meetings with perfect posture and calculated smiles. not the wife who carefully measures every word around him now.Â
you sound like the girl he used to know. the one who used to cling onto his arm after getting tired at amusement parks. the one who cried dramatically over a barely scraped knee and demanded he carry her because âbest friends are supposed to help each other.â the one who looked at him as if he were the only source of light in a dark world.
you sounded like the girl he loves.Â
before business meetings hollowed everything out between you. before his own resentment poisoned every room you shared.Â
chenle exhales slowly through his nose, a shaky breath that rattles in his chest. he sighs, and for the first time in years, the sound isn't one of annoyance, but of defeat.
âcome on, you big baby,â he mutters.Â
the tease slips out so effortlessly it surprises both of you, a sudden echo of a decade ago. your eyes widen slightly, he hasnât sounded like that with you in a very long time. before you can even respond, chenle bends slightly and hooks an arm beneath your knees. you let out a tiny squeak as he lifts you effortlessly into his arms, bridal style. instinctively, your hands grab onto his shoulder, settling against his chest automatically as he starts carrying you up the stairs properly this time. his warmth surrounds you immediately, steady and safe, your alcohol fogged brain melting into it without resistance.Â
chenle tries very hard not to think about how natural this still feels. how your body still fits against his as if they were two pieces of a puzzle designed by a higher power. he feels your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, a subconscious grip that mirrors the way you used to hold onto him when you were children. years ago, this wouldâve been normal. he used to carry you all the time. after you fall asleep in the car rides home. after twisting your ankle once trying to impress him at basketball. after you threw a dramatic tantrum at sixteen because your heels hurt during some charity gala. back then, touching you was easy. now it feels dangerous.Â
he pushes your bedroom door open with his shoulders before walking inside. carefully, he lowers you onto the mattress. but the second he starts pulling away, your hands grab onto him tighter.Â
ânot yet,â you mumble immediately, tugging him downward with surprising strength until he half falls onto the bed beside you. your arms wrap around him instinctively, face burying against his chest, holding him close.Â
chenle freezes for half a second. then exhales slowly. because fuck. he missed this. he missed you. not the tense silence between board meetings. not the careful distance. not the version of you that flinches emotionally every time he looks at you now. but this â warm and soft and clinging onto him like he was still your safest place in the world.Â
your hugs always used to calm him down faster than anything else. even now, after everything, his body relaxes embarrassingly quick the moment your arms tighten around him. he lets himself stay there for a little while. just a little. his hand settles carefully against your back as your breathing slowly evens out.Â
eventually, he pulls back enough to look at you properly, brushing your hair away from your face gently, his fingers lingering slightly longer than necessary.Â
âwhyâd you drink so much anyway?â he asks softly.Â
and maybe itâs the alcohol. maybe itâs the exhaustion. or maybe you simply miss your best friend too much to keep pretending you donât. because suddenly, you start talking to him like heâs still that person.Â
âmy husband wonât touch me,â you mumble sadly.
the words hit him directly in the chest. especially because you say it like your husband and the man currently holding you are two entirely different people. his eyes widen slightly, heat creeping into his face almost instantly and heâs almost grateful youâre drunk enough not to notice.Â
âand everyone keeps asking me about children, leleâŚâ your voice grows smaller, âitâs justâitâs too much,â you pout slightly afterward, eyes glossy and tired.Â
chenleâs guilt continues to grow. he knows all of the pressure has been landing on you. his mother stopped bringing children up around him months ago. your parents tread carefully too. everyone gives him space, shows him more grace. he thinkâs itâs because everyone is afraid that if they push him too hard, it will make him snap completely. make him finally leave. no one realizes he never actually could. not when the thought of a world where he wasnât with you, even in this broken, tragic way, felt more impossible than the marriage itself.
âdo you even want a child?â he ask quietly, not sure why he keeps this conversation going. maybe because this is the most honest the two of you have been with each other in years.Â
you shift, turning on your side to find a more comfortable position, and in the process, you instinctively seize his hand again. without a second thought, you tug his arm around your waist, pulling him flush against you until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. the position nearly wrecks him. because this used to be normal too. movie nights. sleepovers. lazy afternoons tangled together on couches while studying. you always used to curl into him naturally like he was home. and he used to hate having to leave, always wanting more time with you.
âit wouldnât be that bad to have one,â you admit softly, your fingers playing absentmindedly with his, tracing the lines of his palm, âi meanâŚwe have all the money in the world.â
chenle huffs quietly through his nose, a small, dry sound. it always comes back to that, doesn't it? the money. the wealth. the legacy. the gold-plated chains that bind you together.
âwe could have twenty and still have plenty left over,â you add with a sleepy, whimsical giggle.
that actually almost makes him laugh. the image of the two of you with twenty children running around this mansion sounds absolutely insane. he can barely handle one drunk wife right now. still, his chest feels strangely warm hearing you talk like this â domestic, hopeful, almost dreaming. it stirs something in him that he thought he had buried under layers of corporate coldness.
chenle doesnât even know if he wants children. at least, not like this. not because families and investors expect it. not because itâs another duty to fill.Â
suddenly, you shift again, turning in his arms to face him fully. your movements are slow, languid, you lift your hand, fingers grazing his jawline with a touch so light itâs almost a hallucination. you caress him carefully, your eyes searching his with a heartbreaking intensity.
âgive me a baby, lele,â you whisper.Â
his entire body stills. every muscle locks. he knows its the alcohol talking.Â
but, fuck.
the way youâre looking at him right now could ruin him. chenle would give you anything. money. houses. companies. his entire fucking life if you asked for it. just â not like this. not when it would feel like another transaction instead of something real.Â
his hand slides carefully into your hair instead, âwhy do you want a baby so badly?â he asks quietly, voice strained.
you shrug faintly. then your expression softens into something heartbreakingly vulnerable.Â
âi just donât want to be so lonely anymore.â
his heart breaks instantly. completely. itâs his fault. he is the one who built the walls. he is the one who turned this house into a gilded cage.Â
âsoâŚâ you mumble sleepily, eyes barely open now, âwill you give me one?â
hope flickers across your pretty face so softly it nearly kills him.Â
he swallows hard, ânot right now, y/n,â he says gently. your expression falls immediately and the guilt twists violently inside him again. so he adds.. quietlyâŚâmaybe someday.â
your eyes lift toward him again slowly. then, you raise your pinky between the two of you.
âyou promise?âÂ
chenle stares at it and suddenly heâs thirteen again. you donât link pinkies the way others do. you once declared that it âfelt fakeâ and that crossing fingers didnât feel lucky enough for important things. so, the two of you had invented your own ritual. your own secret language of loyalty.
carefully, with a tenderness that makes his chest ache, chenle takes your hand and he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the very tip of your pinky finger.
âi promise.âÂ
your sleepy face brightens instantly. you grab his hand and softly kiss the tip of his pinky too.Â
a promise sealed. except this promise wasnât as simple as the ones before.Â
eventually, your body relaxes fully against his chest while his fingers continue stroking slowly through your hair until you fall asleep in his arms. chenle stays there longer than he should, watching you sleep peacefully against him, finally not hurting for a little while. once heâs sure youâre completely asleep, he carefully slips out of bed. but before leaving, he gently pulls your heels from your feet one by one. then he places a glass of water and two pieces of tylenol on your nightstand. the same way he used to after parties years ago. for a while, chenle just stands there staring at you. then quietly, he turns the lights off and finally lets the night end.Â
âď¸ THE DEATH GUMMY âď¸
another month passes. and things were starting to shift subtly. youâre not entirely sure what happened that night you got drunk. honestly, most of it is blurry fragments in your memory â warm arms, soft whispers, the feeling of safety you hadnât felt around chenle in years.Â
whatever happened though, it softened chenle a little. just a tiny bit.Â
he still doesnât initiate a conversation unless absolutely necessary. still keeps most of his thoughts locked tightly behind careful expression. still retreats into himself more often that not. but he doesnât leave rooms as soon as you enter anymore. and slowly, he starts joining you for dinner again. you ate silently, still on opposite ends of the table but at least he was there now.Â
then, one night, you found him in the living room watching an episode of f.r.i.e.n.d.s. normally, you wouldâve turned around to avoid making him uncomfortable. instead, chenle glanced at you briefly, eyes soft, not leaving, not telling you to go away either. so, cautiously, you sat on the opposite end. the two of you watched an entire episode, occasionally laughing at the same jokes. at one point your laughter overlapped and both of you went awkwardly still afterward. but even that tiny moment felt precious. more than you could ask for.Â
maybe everyone was right. maybe chenle simply needed time.Â
today, the two of you are at yĂź skincare headquarters. a product development meeting. one of the companyâs biggest launches planned for next year. your team had spent nearly eleven months developing a new type of vitamin e supplement. and because you took your work seriously, you always insisted on testing products yourself. if consumers were putting your products into their bodies, then so would you.Â
the testing room buzzes quietly with concentration. there are only five people here today â you, chenle, your assistant, mark lee â head of the vitamin research development team, and another researcher seated nearby typing notes rapidly into a laptop.Â
mark steps forward excitedly, holding the newest batch carefully, âtoday is mainly flavor testing,â he explains, âwe finally stabilized the texture, so now we just need to ensure the taste is actually enjoyable for the mass market.â he places one small green chewable into your palm. then another into chenleâs, âwe infused it with natural fruit extracts to eliminate the vitamin aftertaste.â
you nodded absentmindedly, your mind already drifting toward the logistics of the rollout. you trusted mark implicitly â he was one of the best in the industry.
without a second thought, you and chenle both placed the gummies into your mouths.
and thatâs when everything goes wrong.
your throat locks almost instantly. your eyes widen violently. for half a second, you think you might have swallowed wrong. but then your airway starts closing. fast.Â
you canât breathe.Â
in a blind surge of terror, you slapped your hand hard against chenleâs arm, the sound sharp in the quiet room. his head snapped toward you, and every ounce of color drained from his face. he watched, in horror, as you began to turn a terrifying shade of red, your mouth opening desperately, gasping for air that wouldn't come. your eyes were wide, filled with a raw, primal terror.
chenle reacted before anyone else could even process what was happening. he lunged forward, gripping your shoulders with a strength that nearly knocked you back, facing you fully.
âY/N?!â his voice was tight, laced with immediate alarm.
your lips parted, but no sound emerged â only a wet, wheezing struggle. you clawed at your own throat, your nails digging into your skin in a desperate attempt to open the airway.
a wave of pure, unadulterated terror hits chenle, his eyes darting around the room frantically, searching for the cause, mind racing through every possibility.
âwhat the fuck happened?!," he roared, voice echoing off the sterile walls.
the room froze. everyone stood paralyzed, their faces masks of confusion and sudden fear. no one answered. no one has answers. the silence was suffocating, broken only by the horrific, whistling sound of your struggle to breathe. chenleâs gaze snapped to the tray of green gummies. he pieced it together then.
âweâre there kiwis in these?!â chenle demands sharply.
mark blinked, nodding quickly, his voice trembling, âuhâyes, sir. we infused it with concentrated kiwi juice because itââ
âSHEâS ALLERGIC!,â chenleâs voice cracks through the room so loudly everyone jumps.Â
you were deathly allergic to kiwi. not mildly allergic. not uncomfortable. deathly. a single slice of the fruit in a room could make your throat itch, a concentrated extract delivered directly into your system was a death sentence.
his breathing turns uneven instantly as fear floods his system. youâre not coughing anymore. youâre struggling. really struggling. your body starts slumping sideways in your chair and chenle catches you immediately before you hit the floor.
âheyâhey, stay with me!â his voice shakes.Â
for the first time in years, he completely loses his composure in front of other people. he was no longer the cold heir, he was a terrified boy watching the only person he truly loved slip away.
âher bag,â he barked, the command slashing through the chaos, âsomeone get me her fucking bag now.â
your assistant rushes forward immediately, handing your bag over. another employee is already yelling for medics outside the room. everything becomes chaotic around him. but chenle barely hears any of it. all he can focus on is you. the violent red of the reaction was fading into a ghostly, terrifying pallor. your lips were tinged with a bruised blue, and your head kept dipping weakly, your consciousness flickering like a dying candle. your hand, resting against his suit jacket, felt colder with every passing second. for one horrifying, timeless moment, he genuinely believed you were dying.
âlook at me,â he pleaded, his voice urgent and wrecked. he gripped your face, his fingers trembling against your cheeks, trying to force your unfocused eyes to lock onto his. ây/n, look at me! stay with me!â
your eyelids fluttered, your pupils blown and hazy. you could see him â the panic in his eyes, the sheer, unadulterated terror â but you couldn't reach him. you were drowning on dry land.
âfuckâ!â he let out a choked sound, his hands shaking violently as he dove into your bag. he tossed aside your wallet, your phone, a lipstick, his movements frantic and clumsy, âwhere is itâwhere the fuck is itââ
then finally â the epipen. you always carried it for emergencies.Â
relief crashed through him so hard it was almost physical, a wave of adrenaline that surged through his veins. he didn't hesitate. he didn't even remove your clothing, he slammed the injector hard against your outer thigh, the needle piercing through the fabric of your trousers with a sharp, clinical click.
âstay with me,â he whispered, his voice rough and broken, âplease, please stay with me.â
the seconds that followed were an eternity of agonizing silence. chenle held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs, watching your face for any sign of life. then it happened â you let out a sudden, violent gasp, a broken, desperate inhale that sounded like a sob. it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. oxygen flooded back into your lungs, and the sudden rush of air brought a torrent of tears that spilled from your eyes, soaking into the fabric of his shirt.
chenle exhales shakily like he forgot how to breathe too, his forehead nearly dropping against yours from relief, his eyes closing tight.
âthatâs it,â he whispers frantically, his voice a breathless wreck, âthatâs it, baby, breathe.â
he doesnât even realize what he called you. he only cared that your hand, though weak and trembling, was curling around his fingers, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you anchored to the earth. chenle grips tighter immediately, as if letting go would allow the death that had just brushed past you to return and take you away.Â
his breathing is uneven. his eyes are glossy. everyone in the room is staring now because theyâve never seen zhong chenle like this before.
but chenle doesnât care about appearances anymore. not when he thought he was about to lose you forever.Â
âď¸ THE ONLY CHOICE HEâS EVER MADE âď¸
chenle never visits you in the hospital.
the first day, mama li told you he was busy dealing with the fallout at work, there were investigations happening now, meetings with legal teams and a very furious chenle. the second day, you waited. by the third day, you stopped expecting him entirely.
your private hospital suite overlooks the city skyline, expensive and pristine in the way only billionaires could experience. fresh flowers arrive every morning from companies and family friends. assistants rotate in shifts outside your door. nurses practically hover around you like youâre made of glass. everyone treats you like you almost died. which, to be fair, you technically almost did. still, you feel fine now. a little tired maybe. but alive.Â
your father is currently standing near the windows watering the ridiculous amount of plants someone sent earlier when the question finally slips out of you quietly.
âhas chenle come by?â
he pauses mid-motion before looking over his shoulder at you. then slowly, he shakes his head, âsorry, sweetheart.â
you look down at the blanket pooled over your lap, âyou were right, dad,â you admit softly, your voice sounding hollow in the vast room.
his brows furrow, âiâm right about a lot of thingsâŚbut what is this one about?â
you force out a weak laugh, âmaybe it wouldâve been easier to marry someone i didnât love.â
that makes him stop completely. he places the watering can onto the nearby table before he walks toward your bed. your father has never been particularly good with emotions. he showed love through stability, protection and business lessons disguised as life advice. still, he takes the seat beside your bed quietly.Â
âsweetheart,â he says carefully, âthere are positives and negatives in every situation. and sometimesâŚthe choices we make can hurt more than we expected them toâbut you already made your decision,â he sighs softly, âand just like every good business deal, you have to commit to it fully.â
you almost smile. trust your father to turn emotional comfort into a corporate lesson.Â
âtrust your instincts,â he adds quieter this time, his hand patting yours awkwardly. itâs probably the closest thing to emotional reassurance he knows how to give. it helps a little.Â
âthanks, dad,â you murmur.Â
he nods once before leaning down to kiss the top of your head gently, âget some rest.â
then he leaves you alone again. the second the door shuts, the loneliness creeps back in. because despite his words â the only person you actually wanted to see was chenle.Â
unbeknownst to you, chenle visits every single night.
always after midnight. always once heâs certain youâre asleep. he slips into your hospital room quietly, dressed in dark clothes and exhaustion. the first night, he genuinely thought you looked dead. too still. too pale. fear hit him so hard he crossed the room immediately just to place a trembling hand near your face and make sure you were still breathing. only after feeling your warm breath against his skin did he finally relax. after that, it became routine. every night he checks your breathing first. sometimes, he sits beside your bed for hours in complete silence, staring at you while guilt slowly eats him alive from the inside out.Â
because you couldâve died.
and worseâ
you couldâve died believing he hates you.Â
chenle doesnât think he wouldâve survived losing you. that realization was a cold, jagged blade, cutting through the carefully constructed armor he had worn for years. it terrified him more than anything else. for years, he convinced himself the opposite, that you were the reason he felt trapped, the reason his life no longer belonged entirely to him. the reason everything started feeling planned and suffocating. but the second your breathing stopped sounding normal â none of that mattered anymore. all he remembered feeling was pure, violent fear.Â
the memory keeps replaying in his head every night no matter how hard he tries to shut it out. your hand grabbing his arm desperately, your face turning red, the sound of you struggling for air, the way your fingers slowly weakened in his grasp, the horrifying weight of your body slumping against him and worst of all â how cold he felt. like someone had dumped ice water directly into his chest.Â
he hates that it took a near-death experience to shatter his delusions. he hates that he had been so blind. fear like that doesn't stem from obligation. you donât unravel, you donât scream into the void, and you donât beg a person to breathe if all they ever were to you was a responsibility â he hates how almost losing you made him realize that everything he felt for you had always been real. not planned. not arranged. not a script written by two powerful families to ensure a monopoly on the cosmetic industry.
because long before contracts existed. before business meetings and inheritance talks and engagement announcements â chenle loved you.Â
he loved you when you were thirteen, sealing promises with kissed pinkies. he still remembers the first time you came up with it. the two of you had been sitting on the rooftop terrace of your parentâs vacation house, legs dangling over the edge while sharing melted popsicles in the middle of summer. âcrossing fingers feels fake,â you complained dramatically after he broke a promise to watch a movie with you the week before, âpeople break pinky promises all the time.â he laughed, âso what? we sign contracts now?â you rolled your eyes before grabbing his hand. then, with complete seriousness, you pressed a tiny kiss against the tip of his pinky finger. âthere,â you said proudly, ânow itâs permanent.â after that, every important promise between the two of you was sealed that way. he never broke a single one.Â
he loved you at fifteen when you attended every single one of his basketball games with his number painted proudly across your cheeks in bright blue despite both your parents immediately scolding you for putting âcheap toxic paintâ on your skin. you didnât care though, you sat front row, screaming, âthatâs my lele!,â every time he scored. he used to pretend to act embarrassed in front of his teammates while secretly searching for you in the crowd every few minutes just to make sure you were still there. you always were. and after the games, youâd rush toward him, still wearing his jersey, eyes sparkling. no victory ever felt as good as seeing you proud of him.Â
he loved you at sixteen when your vintage camera became permanently filled with blurry pictures of him. half the photos were terrible â his face cut off, him mid-yawn, him glaring because you kept shoving the camera into his face while he was trying to eat. but mixed between those were softer ones too like him asleep in the car with his head tilted towards you, him laughing with his head thrown back, pictures of the two of you together. he once asked why you took so many pictures of him and you shrugged like it was obvious, âbecause youâre my favorite person.â he thinks maybe that was the first time his heart ever genuinely stuttered inside his chest.Â
he loved you when you were seventeen, in a moment so sudden it had nearly knocked the wind out of him. he remembered the weight of the shopping bags in his hands, the handles digging into his palms, and the sheer, unfiltered joy radiating from you. you had spent weeks in a state of mourning over your crybaby figurine collection, devastated after failing to pull the secret rares. you hadnât asked him for help â you never did â but chenle had watched your disappointment from the sidelines, and it had felt like a physical weight in his own chest. he spent nights contacting resellers behind your back until he found every missing figurine himself. when he finally handed you the completed set, the expression on your face had been blinding. you had looked at him as if he were the center of the universe. without a second thought, you reached up, grabbed his face in your small hands, and pressed a fervent, lingering kiss to his cheek. âi love you the most!â you squealed, your voice high and breathless with excitement. chenle remembered the way the blood had rushed to his face, a heat so intense it felt like a fever, while you remained blissfully oblivious, already turning back to admire your figurines. in that moment, he had realized that your affection was a drug, and he was already hopelessly addicted.
and deep, deep down, he knows he loved you at twenty-four. especially on the day you became his wife. the moment those heavy doors opened and you stepped inside wearing that white dress you spent months carefully choosing â he forgot how to breathe. everything around him blurred instantly. time slowed to a crawl, yet he felt his entire future rushing toward him at the same time. all he could see was you. the slight tremble in your hands, the way your eyes shimmered with a mixture of hope and fear, and the way you looked at him as if he were still your favorite person in the world, despite everything. you looked beautiful. not in the polished, public way magazines later described. not like âthe perfect heiress.â you looked devastatingly you. and chenle wanted so badly to reach for you, pull you close, wanted this marriage to be real in every way that actually mattered. when the officiant gave the command to kiss the bride, his chest ached with a sudden, sharp grief. it felt cruel that this â a choreographed moment in front of a thousand witnesses â was your first kiss together. he remembers leaning down slowly, your lashes fluttering, lips soft and warm and gentle against his. and for a second, chenle forgot there were a thousand people surrounding you both. forgot cameras existed. forgot he was angry. kissing you felt terrifyingly natural, like a missing piece of his soul finally clicking into place, a homecoming he should have claimed years ago.
but the truth was, he had loved you long before he even had a word for it. back when the two of you were six years old and accidentally broke expensive glass tubes inside one of the zhong cosmetics labs while playing tag in the rooms. assistants had panicked instantly, someone yelled, another employee nearly cried seeing the shattered equipment all over the floor. you got scared immediately, eyes filling with tears as adults crowded around the two of you. and without even thinking, chenle stepped in front of you protectively, âit was my fault,â he lied. he remembered the feeling of your watery gaze on the back of his head while he stood there, taking the brunt of the scolding from every adult on the floor. he hadn't cared. the only thing that mattered was that you weren't crying anymore. later that evening, you had secretly slipped half of your dessert onto his plate, whispering that âheroes deserve rewards.â
everything else in his life had been a predetermined path. the schools, the internships, the board meetings, the carefully curated image of a successor. his life had been a series of checkboxes marked by people who didn't care about his heart.
but all those moments â the pinky swears, the blue paint on your cheeks, the secret figurines, the shared dessert â those belonged entirely to him. entirely to the two of you.
loving you was the only choice he ever truly made on his own.Â
it had happened naturally, quietly, and without permission. he had built this love in the secret spaces of his heart, and in his desperate, panicked attempt to protect his freedom, he had almost destroyed the only thing that had ever actually set him free.
he hasnât forgiven himself for any of it yet. not for avoiding you all these years. not for making you lonely inside your own marriage. not for turning your first time into something cold and painful. not for the way your face looked when you admitted you just didnât want to be lonely anymore. and definitely not for freezing in that meeting for even half a second before realizing what was happening.
which is exactly why he canât face you while you were awake right now. he physically canât. because the second you look him with those eyes of yours, heâs terrified heâll completely break apart in front of you. he imagined himself sobbing at your bedside, begging for a forgiveness he didn't believe he deserved.
and everyone keeps reminding him stress is bad for your recovery. the irony was a bitter pill to swallow. chenle knew he was the primary source of stress in your life. so, he remained a shadow, visiting only in the dead of night, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest. it was pathetic. it was cowardly. but it was the only way he knew how to love you without hurting you further.
by the third day, your regular hospital meals suddenly disappear. instead, trays arrive with your favorite comfort foods â steaming siomai, all types of dumplings, wonton noodles â all warm and prepared exactly the way you like them. you canât hide your smile when you see them because there is only one person in the world who knows your comfort order by memory, a relic of a childhood where he used to sneak you treats when you were sad. you stared at the tray fondly. chenle might not have visited you, but this feels like proof he still cares anyway.Â
and by the fifth day, youâre completely over it. everyone is being ridiculously dramatic. you feel so energized already. bored out of your mind. still, every doctor insists your body needs more recovery time after the severity of the reaction. your parents refuse to let you leave early and the only person who actually has the authority to pull you out, your husband, isnât taking that risk either.
you end up staying in the hospital for two more days before finally coming home.Â
âď¸ THE AIR âď¸
when chenle got home that afternoon, heâs exhausted. the past week had destroyed him more than he let anyone sees. he barely slept. barely ate. and every single time his phone rang unexpectedly, panic seized his chest before he could stop it.Â
he loosens his tie tiredly as he walks through the mansion doors, mentally preparing himself to go to the hospital to pick you up. but as he walks into the kitchen â he freezes.Â
youâre standing there, alive and healthy, wearing one of your silk pajama sets while leaning casually against the island, sipping water and scrolling through your phone like nothing happened.
for a second, he thinks heâs imagining you. you werenât supposed to be released for another three hours. then again, you were stubborn enough to convince almost anyone to do what you wanted eventually. no one ever really knew how to tell you no when you looked at them with that specific, determined glint in your eyes.
âyouâre home.âÂ
the sound of his voice quickly diverts your attention from all the emails you were catching up on to him. you glance up and in his eyes â you see the difference. the armor he usually wore wasn't just cracked â it was gone. his eyes were wide, vulnerable, and shimmering with a relief so profound it looked like pain. slowly, you place your phone down on the counter, smiling at him gently.Â
âiâm home.â
for the first time all week, he remembered how to breathe again. like he had given you all of his air and itâs now finally being returned to his own lungs.Â
the briefcase he was carrying hit one of the glass tables with a loud, jarring crash. he didn't care. he didn't even look at it. he crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between you and collided with you, pulling you into his arms so suddenly and with such force that the air left your lungs in a small gasp.
chenle hugs you tightly. desperately. like he needs physical proof youâre still here. still warm. still breathing.Â
your eyes widen in shock, breath hitching against his shoulder. then, slowly, you let your guard down and wrap your arms around him, feeling the frantic, erratic thumping of his heart against your ear.
âi thought i was gonna lose you.â
his voice cracked, the sound raw and jagged against your hair. the confession was stripped of all pride, all resentment, and all the distance he had spent years cultivating. the fear was completely exposed, leaving him naked before you.
you pulled back just enough to look at him, though you stayed in his arms. the sight of him broke your heart. there were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his skin looked sallow from lack of sleep. and then, a single tear escaped, tracing a slow path down his cheek.
you froze. in all the years you had known him â from the boy who chased you through the labs to the man who ignored you across the dinner table â you had never seen chenle cry. not once.
with tenderness, you lifted your hand and brushed the tear away, your fingertips lingering on his skin, impossibly soft.
âzhong chenle,â you murmur softly, voice trembling with a mixture of ache and affection, âyou really think you can get rid of me that easily?â
his eyes close briefly at your touch like your fingers can undo the pain inside him. he doesnât answer, doesnât joke, doesnât hide behind sarcasm or distance or that cold indifference he perfected over the years. instead, chenle just pulls you back into his arms again, holding you tighter this time. and for the first time in years, you let yourself lean into him fully.Â
eventually though, reality settles back between the two of you. chenle slowly loosens his hold first. the second he realizes how tightly heâs been clinging to you, his expression shifts immediately. he clears his throat quickly and takes a half step back like distance might help him regain control again.Â
âiâm glad youâre okay,â he says quietly, guarded again.
before you can even process the moment properly â he leaves. just walks out of the kitchen entirely, leaving you standing there alone trying to understand what the hell just happened.Â
none of that made sense.
chenle has spent the last six years hating you. yet, for a few minutes, he had held you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. you stare at the doorway long after he disappeared through it. confused. hopeful. terrified. you didn't want to read too much into a moment of panic-induced weakness, but the ghost of his heartbeat was still echoing in your ears.
until your phone buzzes nonstop, dragging you back to reality, life continuing on like your world hadnât just tilted.
âď¸ THE MISTAKE THAT ALMOST TOOK YOU FROM ME âď¸
the next day youâre back at the office like nothing happened. your heels click softly against the marble flooring of yĂź skincare as staff members greet you nervously on your way toward your office.
you settle into your executive chair with a quiet sigh, immediately scanning through the pile of reports waiting for you. the vitamin incident had already become a nightmare with legal teams involved, quality control investigations and public relations teams working overtime to keep information contained.Â
you press the intercom button lightly, âsend mark lee in.â
less than a minute later, the heavy door to your office swung open to huang renjun, human resource manager. his posture was stiff, his expression carefully neutral, yet there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes that immediately set off alarm bells.
your brows furrowed as you continued flipping through a document, âwhereâs mark?â you asked, your voice cool and professional, âi need the updated reports on the supplement.â
renjun coughs awkwardly, the sound immediately making you look up, something about his expression feeling off, âmaâamâŚâ he hesitates, âheâs no longer with the company.â
your hand stills completely against the papers, ââŚwhat?â
âheâs been terminated.â
âi didnât receive a resignation letter, nor did i authorize a termination,â you pointed out calmly, though your eyes narrowed, âexplain.â
renjun uncomfortably shifts beneath your gaze, âsir chenle fired him.â you stare at him for a moment, trying very hard to not let your surprise show too obviously. renjun clears his throat again, âhe actually fired everyone involved in the vitamin project.â
your mind raced. chenle was many things â arrogant, distant, and emotionally stunted. but he was never impulsive when it comes to business. he was a strategist who weighed every risk. for him to wipe out an entire department without a single consultation, without even a courtesy to call you, meant he had completely lost his composure.
you force your expression neutral anyway, âi see. you may go, renjun.â
renjun bows quickly before practically escaping your office. the second the door shuts, you lean back into your chair slowly. you should be angry. technically, you are. chenle had overstepped every professional boundary, sabotaging your chain of command and stripping you of your most experienced researchers. but beneath the irritation, a treacherous warmth bloomed in your chest. for the first time in six years, chenle had been emotional. he had been protective. he had burned down a project just because it had dared to hurt you. it was a violent, impulsive gesture of care, wrapped in the guise of corporate cruelty.
that night, you leave your office long after most employees have already gone home. the building is quieter now. the endless clicking of keyboards and ringing phones reduced to distant murmur somewhere far below. through the massive windows lining your floor, the city glows beneath the dark sky, millions of lights flickering like stars against the glass.Â
you wrap your blazer tighter around yourself before stepping out into the hallway. your heels echo sharply against the tiles as you make your way toward the glass bridge connecting yĂź skincare headquarters to zhong cosmetics tower beside it.
the bridge had always fascinated everyone. two billion dollar companies physically connected in the middle of the skyline. a symbol of merger. of power. of the marriage between you and chenle. you used to love walking through it. now it just feels symbolic in the cruelest way possible â close enough to see each other yet still separated by glass.Â
you knew these buildings like the back of your hand. every hallway. every hidden office. ever late-night corner where you and chenle used to sit as teenagers avoiding meetings your parents forced you into. the memories follow you all the way across the bridge tonight.Â
by the time you reach the executive floor of zhong cosmetics, the receptionist has already gone home. only chenleâs personal assistant remains seated outside his office. the man immediately stands and bows politely the second he sees you.Â
âmrs. zhong.â
you nodded once, your gaze fixed on the closed doors. âis he busy?â
his assistant hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing at the clock. âyes, maâam, but⌠you may go in.â
you donât bother knocking, simply pushing the doors open and walking inside. his office is dim except for the warm lighting near his desk and the city lights pouring through the windows behind him. chenle sits in his massive leather chair, sleeves rolled up slightly while scanning through documents with quiet concentration. he doesnât look up immediately, probably assuming itâs just his assistant.
âyou fired mark lee?â your voice cuts cleanly through the room, chenleâs attention snapping upward instantly. for a fleeting second, relief flickers across his face, like part of him still instinctively checks whether youâre okay every time he sees you now. then the expression disappears again, turning into something neutral.Â
âwhoâs that?â
you exhale slowly through your nose, already irritated, âchenle,â you say flatly, âmark lee. head of the vitamin research team.â
understanding clicks across his face immediately, but it isnât accompanied by apology.
âahh,â he leans back slightly in his chair, âyes. that guy. how could i forget.â
the dismissiveness in his voice immediately annoys you further as you walk deeper into his office, âyou cannot fire my people without consulting me first.â
chenle finally sets the file in his hands down, âyour people are my people,â he says coolly, âthatâs the whole point of this marriage.â
you ignore the sting in that statement â the reminder that in his eyes, you are just another asset to be merged.
âi want him back on the team.â
his jaw tightens almost instantly, âno. y/n.âÂ
the answer comes too quickly. too firmly.Â
you stop dead in front of his desk now, arms crossing, refusing to back down, âchenle,â you say, your voice carefully modulated, fighting to keep the anger out, âmark lee has been employee of the month for seven consecutive years. heâs one of the best researchers in the industry. heâs valuable to this company and firing him is a strategic mistake.â
"valuable people donât almost kill my wife."
the room goes still. your heartbeat stumbles slightly at the sharpness in his voice, at the way he says my wife. the possessiveness of it nearly undoes you, but your frustration and stubbornness is stronger.
âfor fuckâs sake, chenle,â you snap, the poise youâve spent years perfecting finally cracking, âit was an accident!â
his expression hardens immediately, âan accident?â
"yes, an accident!," you throw your hands up, âhe didnât even know i was allergic to kiwis!âÂ
which was true. almost nobody did. allergies were weaknesses and weaknesses were dangerous in industries like yours. information could be weaponized to easily. chenle knew that better than anyone.Â
suddenly, he stands, furious enough that his chair rolls backward sharply against the floor. his palms slam loudly on his desk, a sound that cracks through the office.Â
âan accident that almost took you from me!â
his voice hits the room heavily â raw, furious, terrified â completely unraveled in a way youâve never heard before. you stare at him across the desk, chest tightening painfully before anger rushes back to protect you from the hope that can completely blind you.
âoh please,â you scoff bitterly, rolling your eyes, âi bet youâd be jumping up and down if i actually died. it would have been the perfect exit strategy for you wouldnât it? no more obligations, no more arranged marriage.â
the second the words leave your mouth, the atmosphere changes completely. the heat of his anger vanishes, replaced by a cold, suffocating stillness. chenle freezes, his eyes locking onto yours, hurt plastered all over his face.
âwhat?â he whispers.
your own emotions spill over immediately afterward. because youâre angry too. and hurt. and most of all, confused. you donât know what he wants anymore. he needed space, you gave him space. you offer him a physical relationship that benefits him, he barely even touched you. and now â now heâs acting like he cares.
âyouâve spent the last six years making it very clear that you hate me,â you say, refusing to let your voice shake, âyouâve avoided me, ignored me and treated me like a burden. so donât suddenly start playing the caring husband because i almost died. donât pretend you have a heart now just because youâre scared of the paperwork a death certificate would cause.â
his expression breaks even more. the anger is gone, replaced by a look of such profound devastation that it almost feels like a crime to feel the way you do.
âi donât hate you.â
and he sounds painfully, devastatingly honest.
you stare at him from across the desk, your heart beating so loudly it almost drowns out the silence filling the office. chenle doesnât look away from you. the room feels too small now. too full of things neither of you know how to say.Â
âyou donât get to say that now,â you whisper finally, your voice cracking, ânot after all these years.â
he looks down sharply, jaw tightening hard enough for you to see the muscle twitch. then he laughs once, a miserable, dry laugh.Â
âi know.â the words come out rough. he drags a hand over his face like heâs trying to pull himself back together. it doesnât work. âi know,â he repeats weaker this time, sounding small and hollow.Â
you watch him carefully now, even more confused. zhong chenle never falls apart. not publicly. not privately. not ever. he is the gold standard of control â composed, untouchable, a man carved from ice and expectation. yet, standing before you, he looks like heâs seconds away from total collapse.Â
your anger starts cracking around the edges as you look at the boy in front of you. you were always weak when it came to him. if there were a list of your weaknesses, heâd be right there, on top of that damned fruit.
âchenleâŚâ
he suddenly shakes his head. he physically canât let you comfort him right now.
âdo you know what i thought when you stopped breathing?â
the question hangs in tha air as you hold your breath.Â
âi thought,â he exhales shakily, âi thought the last thing you were ever going to believeâŚwas that i hated you.â
he finally looks at you again then, completely wrecked, his eyes bloodshot and swimming with a grief that has been simmering for years.Â
âand i couldnât fucking breathe,â he admits quietly, his voice trembling, âbecause all i could think was that you were going to leave me believing i didnât love you.âÂ
the world feels like it stops spinning. love. he said love. not care. not obligation. love. your lips part slightly but no sound comes out. chenle laughs bitterly again before shaking his head.Â
âyouâre right. i spent years blaming you for everything because it was easier than admitting i was scared,â he confesses, his gaze searching yours, âscared that none of my choices were mine anymore. that my entire life was a script written by our parents,â he swallows hard, his adamâs apple bobbing, âbut loving youâŚthat was the only choice that was actually mine.â
that brings tears to your eyes instantly. chenle looks at you helplessly now. he doesnât know what to do with all the emotions spilling out of him anymore.Â
âand i ruined us anyway.â
he moves then, walking around the desk quickly, finally removing the barrier that always sat between the two of you. you think heâs going to stop in front of you.
instead â he drops to his knees.Â
âwhat are youââ
before you can even process the gesture, his arms wrap tightly around your waist, forehead pressing against your stomach and finally â he breaks completely. you feel the shuddering breath leave him in a great, racking sob, his grip tightening almost painfully around you, tears slipping down his cheeks.Â
âiâm sorry.â
the words come out cracked. wrecked. nothing like the polished man the world knows.Â
âiâm so fucking sorry.â
you cover your mouth with your hand, stifling a sob of your own, even though you could already taste the salt from your own tears. this is the same boy who never apologizes unless forced to. the man who would rather bleed out than let people see weakness. and here he is, kneeling at your feet, clinging onto you like youâre the only thing keeping him together.Â
âiâm sorry for all of it,â he gasps, his voice breaking, âfor hurting you, for making you feel lonely, for making you believe i hated you when iâ,â his voice breaks completely.Â
slowly, tentatively, you thread your fingers through his hair. the moment your touch meets him, chenle exhales a shaky, broken sound against your stomach, his entire body shuddering. even a small gesture of comfort from you is enough to undo him.
âstop that,â you whisper, voice trembling.
your heart is breaking for him, for the boy who spent years pretending to be a monster so he wouldn't have to admit he was a prisoner. you can't stand to see him like this â on his knees, apologizing as if he is something broken and discarded at your feet, rather than the person youâve loved for all of your life.Â
you gently tug at his hair, coaxing him to look up. when he finally does, his eyes are swimming with tears, his expression completely defenseless. in this moment, everything else feels distant and irrelevant. there is only one overwhelming realization pouring through your chest:
chenle loves you.Â
the boy you spent years mourning while standing right beside him this entire time still loves you. your heart feels too full for your body. before you can overthink it, before the fear and doubts can return, you slide your hands down to his face, pulling him upward carefully.
âget up,â you murmur through your own shaky tears. chenle obeys immediately, still staring at you like heâs afraid this moment isnât real. your hand slides slowly against his cheeks, wiping his tears away before settling on his jaw.
âyou really love me?âÂ
the question is a fragile thing, barely a whisper, floating between you like glass that could shatter at the slightest breeze. you sound disbelieving, your voice trembling with the weight of six years of silence and cold shoulders.
chenleâs expression dissolves. the hardness in his eyes, the armor heâs worn since he was eighteen, it all melts into something so painfully tender it nearly wrecks you.Â
âi always have,â he confesses.Â
thatâs the final blow. the last shred of distance, the last wall of resentment.
you kiss him first.
but chenle returns it immediately, kissing you back like heâs been starving for it, years of tension snapping instantly. his hands come up to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, enough to pull a gasp from you while your fingers tangle tightly into his hair.Â
this kiss feels nothing like your wedding day. itâs not polite. not careful.Â
itâs desperate. itâs the sound of two people drowning and finally finding air. all the years you spent silently loving each other crashing together at once. he kisses you like heâs trying to make up for every moment he wasted. every cold shoulder. every lonely dinner. every time he walked away instead of reaching for you.Â
your back bumps lightly against the edge of his desk. he breaks the kiss for a fraction of a second, his forehead pressing against yours, both of you panting, breaths mingling in the charged air.
âfuck,â he whispers against your lips, his voice a wrecked, needy rasp, âi missed you so fucking much.â
the words makes your head spin. you don't let him breathe, pulling him back down, your mouth seeking his with a hunger that matches his own. his grip on your waist tightens, and in one fluid, powerful motion, he lifts you effortlessly, hoisting you onto the desk. papers scatter, sliding across the desk and fluttering to the floor. he doesn't give a damn about the reports. the only thing that matters is the heat of you.
you wrap your legs around his waist automatically, pulling him into you as he steps between your knees. he crashes his lips back onto yours, his tongue sweeping through your mouth with a possessive urgency. this isn't just lust, itâs an exorcism. he is purging years of loneliness, and you are drinking him in, fingers clutching his hair, pulling him closer as if you could merge your very souls.
âdo you know-,â he groans, his voice sounding almost angry at himself, his mouth moving to the sensitive skin of your jaw, â-how long i've wanted to do this properly?â
âstop talking then,â you tease, your voice breathy and laced with desire. you reach down, hooking your fingers into his belt loop, tugging hard, dragging his hips flush against your center.
chenle lets out a grunt as he grinds his cock firmly into your clothed core, the friction sending a jolt of pure electricity through both of you. he freezes, a shudder racking his entire frame, his breath coming in jagged hitches.
âwait... wait, baby,â he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he forces himself to pull back just an inch.
âwhatâs wrong?âÂ
âi really, really want to do this,â he rasps, âbut...not here.â
you laugh softly and it almost undoes him. almost makes him take back what he just said. with a tiny smile on your lips, you nod, âokay.â
then you glance around the wreckage of his desk, your smile turning into something playful, âdo you need help finishing up those reports first, then?â
âare you crazy?â he asks, though his tone is fond. he doesn't let go of you, his hands sliding down to squeeze your hips one last time before he helps you down.
âweâre going home...right now.â
the ride home is a blur of friction and heat. for the first time in your marriage, you don't sit in separate cars. you spend the entire journey tangled together in the backseat, the partition slid up to shield you from the driverâs view. you canât stop kissing him. you canât stop laughing into him, feeling the giddy, overwhelming rush of being loved back.
chenle is just as relentless, his mouth roaming all over your exposed skin, leaving a trail of dark, possessive marks that claim you as his. every time you try to catch your breath, he finds a new spot to kiss, his hands roaming your curves.
the air in the car is thick with the scent of expensive cologne and arousal, the silence of the ride punctuated only by the sound of wet kisses and the shaky, happy sighs of two people who have finally come home.
âď¸ THE MASTER BEDROOM âď¸
as you step through the front door, chenle is practically jumping beside you, a boyish grin plastered on his face. he looks at you with a hunger that is now subdued by an overwhelming sweetness.
ârace you to the top!,â he shouts.
before you can even process the challenge, heâs already bolting up the left staircase, his laughter echoing through the foyer.
âlele! this isnât fair! iâm in heels!â you squeal, your voice sounding lighter than it has in years. you run up the right staircase anyway, feeling like a kid again â the version of you that loved him without fear, and the version of him that followed you everywhere.Â
by the time you reach the top, breathless and flushed, heâs already there, leaning against the railing with a smug, sparkling expression.Â
âthat was not nice, you shouldâve given me a head start!,â you complain, crossing your arms and pouting, a childish expression you havenât dared to show him in a lifetime. he chuckles then, stepping forward, his presence enveloping you as he pulls you back into his arms.Â
his finger lifts your chin to tilt you face up to his, âand what does the winner get?,â he asks, eyes dancing with a mix of mischief and adoration.Â
you lean back slightly, a playful, daring glint in your eyes, âhmmâŚyou get to choose.â
he quirks a brow, gaze dropping to your lips, âchoose what?â
âmy room or yours?â you say with a smile that looks innocent but tastes like a provocation.Â
a slow grin spreads across his face, âhow about ours?â
âours?â confusion flickers across your features.Â
without a word, he takes your hand and begins leading you. he doesn't turn toward the left wing or the rightâŚinstead, he guides you toward the central hallway â the one youâve spent months ignoring. it was the dead zone of the house, a place too painful to acknowledge because it represented the void in your marriage. the hallway that leads straight to the master bedroom.
as you walk, he slides behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist in a tight back hug, pulling your back flush against his chest. he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, his breath hot and steady as he pushes open the two grand double doors.
you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. the room is breathtaking. grand and dipped in gold.Â
âwow,â you whisper, stepping inside, âi havenât been in here since your mom gave me the tourâŚi thought it wouldâve collected cobwebs by now.â
âit did,â he whispers against your ear, his voice thick with a sudden, piercing apology, âi had the maids clean while you were in the hospital. i wanted it to be perfect for when we finally came home together.â
you turn in his arms, looking up at him. a small, bittersweet smile tugs at your lips., âmaybe i shouldâve eaten that kiwi a lot earlier.â
chenleâs grip on your sides tightens, his expression shifting into one of genuine panic, âdonât joke about that, baby. please.â
you giggle, the sound soft and melodic. he scolds you, though his eyes are softening, âitâs not funny, y/n.â
âiâm not smiling because of the kiwi,â you reply softly, your voice barely a breath.
âthen why are you smiling?â he asks, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.
you look away for a second, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment, âi justâŚi really like it when you call me baby.â
chenleâs heart is practically audible in his chest, his gaze intensifying as he tips your chin up gently, making you look into the depths of his devotion.
âi love you,â he declares, the words sounding like a vow.
âi love you, too,â you whisper back.
he kisses you then â not the desperate, starving kiss from the office, but something slow, sweet, and profoundly tender. itâs a promise of a future. a seal on the new life youâre starting.
then, without warning, he breaks the kiss and sweeps you off your feet. you let out a startled gasp, clutching his shoulders as he lifts you bridal style. he carries you across the room with effortless strength, eyes locked on yours, matching smiles on your faces before placing you carefully in the center of the massive king-sized bed.
as chenle looms over you, the playful energy morphs into something more deeper. he moves with deliberate, agonizing slowness, as if he wants to memorize every single inch of you, making up for every second of the years he spent pretending he didnât want you.Â
he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that starts as a whisper and grows into a demand. his tongue swirls against yours as you moan into his mouth, hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
âyou have no idea,â he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low, gravelly vibration, âhow long iâve dreamed of kissing you.â
his hands move to the hem of your blouse, fingers grazing your skin and sending jolts of electricity through your nerves. he undresses you with a reverence that borders on worship, peeling away the fabrics slowly, pausing to kiss the hollow of your throat, the slope of your shoulder, and the middle of your breast. when youâre finally bare beneath him, he pulls back for a moment, his eyes darkening as he drinks in the sight of you.
âyou're so beautiful,â he whispers, his gaze heavy with adoration.Â
he descends slowly, lips finding your breast as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly, you let out a sharp gasp, your back arching off the mattress. the sensation is new â a focused, searing heat that radiates from your chest down to your core. he alternates between soft licks and deep, demanding suctions, moving from one breast to the other, leaving a trail of wet, burning kisses across your ribs.
âleleâŚoh, god,â you whimper as he continues trailing lower, his tongue tasting the skin of your stomach, circling your navel and teasing the very edge of your underwear. you can feel the heat radiating from him, the scent of his skin mixing with the luxury of the room, your breath coming in short, jagged hitches.
youâve only known one kind of intimacy ever â that cold, transactional night with him that left you feeling empty. this is different. this is a slow burn, a deliberate awakening.
as he slides your underwear down your legs, he settles between your thighs, pushing them wide. you feel a surge of vulnerability, a sudden flash of inexperience that makes you shy away slightly.
âwait, chenleâŚi've... i've neverâŚâ you start, your voice trembling.
chenle looks up at you, a tender, knowing smile on his face, âi know, baby. just relax. let me take care of you.â
the first contact of his tongue against your clit pulls a soft moan out of you, a sensation you werenât prepared for. the feeling of pleasure, making your hips instinctively jerk upward, arching off that mattress in a desperate search for more. he presses deeper, his tongue swirling in a slow, rhythmic motion that targets the most sensitive part of you.
âdo you like that?â he mumbles, his voice a low, vibrating growl against your wetness, the heat of his breath sending fresh shivers racing down your spine.
âyesâŚâ you whisper shyly, voice trembling. you try to keep your eyes open, wanting to witness the sight of him. but you donât get to watch for long before your eyes begin to roll back, lids fluttering as he begins to feast on you with a sudden, hungry intensity. heâs no longer just tasting you â heâs consuming you. his tongue flickering rapidly, alternating between broad strokes and sharp, pointed pressure that makes your toes curl. when he suddenly sucks your clit into his mouth, creating a powerful vacuum of pleasure, your vision blurs into a haze of white and gold. you are completely undone. the tension in your lower belly coils tighter and tighter, building into a frantic crescendo that makes you feel like you're vibrating.
âchenle, iâm⌠i think iâmâŚâ you gasp, your fingers clutching the silk sheets until they bunch up in your fists.
âgo on, baby. give it all to me,â he encourages, his voice thick with desire. he works his tongue faster and harder, driving you relentlessly toward the edge.
as he does, he glances up, his dark eyes focusing on the sight of you â your head rolled back, your mouth parted in a silent, desperate gasp, your body arched, your nipples peaked.
he reaches up, grabbing your hand and locking his fingers with yours, anchoring you to the bed. you squeeze his hand with everything you have, clinging to him as the world finally shatters. you cum hard, your clit pulsing against his tongue in a series of intense spasms that leave you sobbing for air. the release is so overwhelming that it feels as though you're floating in a void of pure euphoria, a level of pleasure you never knew existed. you collapse back into the pillows, panting heavily, chest heaving as the aftershocks continue to ripple through you.
chenle slowly lifts his head, your pleasure glistening on his lips. he looks at you with a mixture of triumph and pure, unadulterated love. he crawls back up your body, kissing your forehead, your nose, and finally your lips, making you taste yourself on his tongue.
you reach up then, your fingers hooking on his tie. itâs already loosened from your earlier desperation. you tug on it firmly, finally removing it.Â
with a low, needy sound against his lips, you sit up, beginning to undress him, your movements hurried and clumsy with eagerness. buttons pop and fabric slides until heâs completely naked, his skin warm against yours.Â
your breath hitches in your throat. you hadnât seem him fully the first time â but now, in the soft glow of the bedroom, you canât seem to look away. your gaze drops to his cock.
driven by a sudden, bold curiosity, you reach out, your fingers wrapping around the warm skin of his shaft.Â
chenle lets out a sharp, strangled whine, his hips jerking towards your touch instinctively. the sound is so visceral, so unlike the composed man the world knows, that you freeze, your eyes widening.
âdid that hurt?â you whisper, looking up at him with genuine concern, as if you've just discovered a secret vulnerability.
a small, breathless smile tugs at his lips, though his eyes are clouded with lust. he shakes his head slowly, his voice a strained rasp, "no, baby... fuck, it feels so good. you drive me insaneâ,â he kisses you again, pulling back just an inch, forehead resting against yours, breath hot on your skin, â-but you need to stop,â he groans, the sound vibrating in his chest, âi need to be inside you.â
he carefully guides you back to lay on the bed, hands sliding under your thighs to pull you closer to him. he spends a long moment just looking at you, his gaze roaming over your flushed skin and swollen lips.
âiâm sorry about before," he whispers, âi promise iâm going to make up for every single second of it,â he says, voice thick with emotion before grabbing your hand and pressing a soft kiss to your pinky. and before he can let go, you pull his hand towards you, returning the kiss to his pinky too â not the innocent promise of children, but a mature, desperate vow of devotion. chenleâs breath hitches, the small gesture acting like a catalyst, snapping the last thread of his restraint.
he doesn't rush though. he moves with a slow, reverent precision, parting your legs with a gentle nudge of his knee, his eyes never leaving yours. as he positions himself, the head of his cock brushes against your entrance, slick and searing hot. you gasp, your hips instinctively arching upward, seeking the friction. chenle lets out a shaky exhale, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding back. he enters you in one slow, agonizingly steady glide.
âoh...chenle,â you moan, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. youâve never felt so full.
he freezes for a moment, buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, a low groan escaping his throat, âyou're so tight... so warm. i can't believe you're actually mine.â
then he begins to move, and it is nothing like the clinical urgency of the first time. this is a dance. he pulls back until he is almost out, only to plunge back in with a slow, heavy thud that makes you cry out. every thrust is deliberate, designed to make you feel the weight of him, the heat of him, and the sheer intensity of his love.
âchenle... please,â you whimper, your fingers clawing into his shoulders, âright there... don't stop.â
âi've got you, baby,â he whispers, kissing the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips leaving searing trails of heat.
he picks up the pace slightly, the wet, slapping sound of skin on skin filling the quiet room. then he reaches down, his hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit, thumb circling your swollen nub, perfectly timed with the deep, rhythmic thrusts of his hips. the combination is electric. you feel that same tension building again, faster this time, a coil of pleasure tightening with every stroke. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting to erase any remaining space between you.
âlook at me,â he commands softly. you open your eyes to find him watching you with an expression of pure, unadulterated worship, âtell me you feel it. tell me you know how much i love you.â
âi feel it,â you sob, your voice breaking, âi love you...i love you so much, chenle."
the words breaks something inside him. his movements become more urgent, more passionate, though he never loses that sweetness. he begins to whisper things against your skin â promises of a future, apologies for the past, and raw admissions of how much he craved this specific moment.
as the climax begins to crest, you feel your walls clamp down on him in tight, rhythmic waves. you gasp his name, body shuddering under the force of a release that feels like a spiritual cleansing. chenle lets out a guttural, strangled cry, his body stiffening as he delivers a few final, powerful thrusts. he pours himself into you, his own release consuming, his head falling at the crook of your neck as he gives in to the euphoria, collapsing onto you, his chest heaving against yours, his arms wrapping around you in a protective, crushing embrace. for a long time, the only sound in the room is the synchronized thumping of two hearts finally beating in the same rhythm.
âi love you,â he whispers into your hair, his voice exhausted but certain.
âď¸ THE REST OF YOUR LIFE âď¸
you wake up to the sound of light snoring from your husband, his arms locked firmly around your naked waist, your back flushed against his bare chest. the warmth of skin on skin is electric, but itâs the prominent, hard bulge of his cock pressing firmly into the small of your back that makes your breath hitch.
you pinch your arm, a sharp sting that confirms this isn't a fever dream.Â
then you shift gently in his embrace, turning in the circle of his arms to face him. as you move, his cock slides against the curve of your hip, dangerously close to your core. the proximity makes your pussy clench instinctively. youâve always loved chenle but this kind of hunger was new - a desperate need to be consumed by him.
âstop staring at me, you creep,â he teases, his voice thick with sleep.
you let out a breathless laugh, swatting his shoulder. the sound of your own laughter feels foreign yet right.
it hits you then â the terrifying, beautiful ease of it all. like the past six years of coldness, the resentment, and the silence were just a bad dream, easily erased by the heat of his body.
sensing your sudden silence, chenle opens his eyes. the gaze he meets you with is soft, searching, and filled with an intensity that makes your heart race.Â
âwhat are you thinking about?â he asks softly, his hand drifting up to thread his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp.
âjust⌠thinking about how nice this is,â you whisper, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips.
âyeah?â he lets out a playful hum, his eyes shimmering with complete adoration, âthink you could do this with me for the rest of our lives?â
you lean in then, kissing him softly, âyes,â you murmur against his lips with absolutely no doubt, âyouâve always been the only person i could ever do this with.â
chenleâs heart stutters. he had thought his love for you had reached its peak, but every time you surprise him with your tenderness, the feeling grows, expanding until it feels like he might burst.
âdo you think this would still be nice with twenty kids?â he teases, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes.
you recoil slightly, a look of genuine horror flashing across your face. âwhat?! iâm not giving you twenty kids, chenle! are you insane?!â
he bursts into a loud, genuine laugh, his eyes disappearing into crescents, his kitten-like smile whiskers prominent. as he calms down, he smirks, leaning closer, âiâm not the one who wants twenty kids. iâm pretty sure it was my beautiful wife, coming home drunk a month ago and begging me for a baby.â
you groan, your face flushing a deep crimson as you try to rack your brain for any memory of such a confession. but you donât remember anything.
âi was drunk! i wasnât in my right mind!â
âhmm,â he draws the word out fondly, his hand sliding down from your hair to trace the curve of your hip, âhow many kids do you actually want then?â
âtwo,â you admit shyly, looking away.
âonly two? baby, this mansion would go to waste,â he teases, a playful smirk on his face.
âokay⌠three then,â you say, trying to hide the smile growing on your face.
âwhat if one of them feels left out?â
âfour. and thatâs it!â you exclaim.
in one fluid motion, chenle rolls you onto your back, pinning you beneath his weight, his eyes dark with lust, his hard cock hitting your thigh with a heavy thud.Â
âguess we should start getting to work then,â he smirks.
you giggle underneath him, pulling him in for a quick kiss before murmuring against his lips, âcan you do that thing you did last night first, though?â you ask, cheeks burning.
âwhat thing, baby? i did a couple of things.â
the embarrassment is overwhelming, but the craving is stronger. you bite your lip, unable to say it aloud.
âcâmon, mrs. zhong, owner of two beauty empires,â he teases, his voice a low, sultry drawl, âyou can tell your husband exactly what you want.â
âgo down on me again, chenle,â you whisper.
he grins, a predatory yet loving expression, âof course, baby⌠but you do know thatâs not how babies are made, right?â
you groan, shoving at his chest, âi really don't care.â
he chuckles, the sound vibrating in his chest before he slides down your body. he doesn't stop until his face is buried between your thighs, letting out a low moan at the scent of your arousal, his hot breath ghosting over your clit before his tongue makes a slow, wet sweep from your bottom to the top, tasting every drop of your longing.
âď¸ THE OFFICE âď¸
when you get to the office later that day, arriving in the same car, and walking through the lobby of yĂź skincare together â the atmosphere shifts. you can feel the collective intake of breath from the staff, the employees practically vibrating with curiosity, eyes darting between you and chenle, trying and failing to hide their sheer shock. you don't blame them. for seven months, your marriage had been spent apart. to see him not only accompanying you to your door but looking at you with an expression of raw, unfiltered adoration is enough to send the office gossip into overdrive.
your eyes scan the room, landing on a familiar figure â mark lee is back at his desk, focused and working. a surge of triumph rushes through you. youâve won.
the moment the heavy door to your private office clicks shut, the professional facade vanishes. chenle doesn't waste a second. his hands are instantly back on you, grip firm and possessive as he spins you around to face him, pinning you lightly against the edge of your desk.
you grin, your eyes dancing with mischief, âi see mark lee is back,â you say teasingly.
chenle huffs a small, amused breath, his forehead resting against yours, âyeah, heâs back. but tell him heâs walking on a very thin line,â he murmurs, though thereâs no real heat in the threat. you laugh, a genuine, light sound, and shove his shoulder playfully.Â
his expression shifts, the playfulness melting into something achingly sincere as he cups your face in his hands, thumbs tracing your cheekbones with a reverence that makes your heart stutter.Â
âyou know iâd give you everything you want, right? just say the word and itâs all yours.â
itâs not just a statement â itâs another confession, a continuation of the vow heâs been making since you woke up.Â
âi told you,â he whispers, his gaze searching yours, âiâll spend the rest of this life, and every single one after that, making it up to you.â
you let out a soft, breathless laugh, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, âwhen did you become such a sap?â you tease, reaching up and winding your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck to pull him down.
the kiss is slow, languid, and deep â a sweet contrast to the hunger of the morning, but filled with the same desperate need to be close. as your tongues slide together, the corporate world outside the door ceases to exist, there is only the scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, and the overwhelming realization that you are finally, truly, loved.
âď¸ THE FULFILLED PROMISE âď¸
it didnât take long after that before you finally got pregnant.
you and chenle fucked all the time. and it wasnât even to conceive â the two you just physically could not get enough of each other. the mansion became your personal playground. you were pretty sure there wasnât a single square inch of the estate that hadnât felt the heat of your bodies.Â
like that one time when you both got home after a charity gala. you had worn a red dress that hugged every curve, the slit climbing dangerously high up your thigh. all night, chenle had been a predator in a tuxedo, his gaze burning into you, hand possessively gripping the small of your back, whispering filth into your ear while you smiled for the cameras. he didn't want to network, he wanted to rip the dress off your body. the moment the heavy doors of the mansion clicked shut behind you, the facade crumbled. he didn't even let you take off your heels. chenle grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you up with a grunt of effort and placing you down onto the large, circular marble table that sat centrally between the grand staircases, not even caring about the priceless antique vase sitting on top of it. he didn't waste time with foreplay â he reached down, bunching the red silk upward, exposing your lace panties and with one violent tug, he ripped the lace aside, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the vast foyer. âiâve been thinking about this since the moment you put this dress on,â he growled, voice raw. he freed his pulsing cock, already leaking pre-cum, and shoved it into you in one deep, punishing thrust. you moaned his name so loud, back arching off the marble, legs locking around his waist to pull him deeper. the sound of your shared moans bounced off the high ceilings, filling the foyer with the raw noises of pleasure. he fucked you desperately, hips slamming against yours with a wet, slapping sound that could be heard all around the mansion. you knew the maids were nearby, you could almost feel their shocked eyes on you, but the thought only made you wetter. you gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his tuxedo jacket, sobbing his name as he hammered into you, driving you toward a shattering climax that left you shaking and drenched.
then there was the discovery of the billiards room. it had been a forgotten wing of the house, dusty and silent until you both stumbled upon it during a lazy afternoon. the moment the door closed, the atmosphere shifted. the green felt of the billiard table looked like an invitation. chenle didn't even let you stand still. he lifted you up the billiard table, hiking your dress up and spreading your legs wide. âyou smell so sweet,â he murmured, breath hot against your inner thigh. he didn't hesitate, burying his face in your pussy. his tongue was your favorite weapon â broad, wet, and relentless. he licked your folds, swirling around your clit, making your toes curl. he fingered you with his other hand, two fingers sliding deep inside your soaking walls, stretching you while his tongue continued to drive you insane. it was an intense combination. you were sobbing, fingers clutching his hair. just as you reached the peak, he pulled away, leaving you gasping and dripping. he didn't give you a second to whine about it, grabbing your hips to help you down then bending you forward until your chest was pressed against the green felt. âlook at you,â he whispered, his voice a dark caress, âalways so ready for me.â he entered you from behind, his cock filling you completely over and over again. the friction of the billiard table against your skin and the relentless pace of his thrusts sent you over the edge. he fucked you ruthlessly, his hand reaching around to pinch your nipples over your pajama dress, his chest heaving against your back. every thrust was a claim, a promise that you belonged to him, until he finally groaned, filling you with a hot, thick surge of cum that left you both breathless and spent.
and also that one time in the hot tub, it wasnât even night timeâŚit was pure daylight, the sun was out, illuminating every inch of the outdoor sanctuary. the risk of being seen by the gardeners or the staff was immense, but the adrenaline only fueled the fire. you were draped across him, your legs wrapped around his waist as you rode him. the warm, bubbling water splashed around you, clinging to your skin. chenleâs hands were everywhere â one gripping your ass to keep you steady, the other reaching up to grab your breast. he leaned in, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking it hard, his tongue swirling around the peak. you threw your head back, your moans echoing across the open terrace, completely uninhibited. you could feel the vibration of the water and the rhythmic slide of his cock deep inside you. every time you sank down, you felt him hit your cervix, a sensation that made you whimper and cling to his shoulders. âwho cares if they see?â he gasped, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a mixture of lust and adoration, âlet them see who you belong to.â he gripped your waist tighter, lifting you slightly before slamming you back down onto him. the splashing grew more violent, the water churning as the pace increased. you rode him with a frantic energy, your clit rubbing against his pelvic bone with every downward stroke. when the climax hit, it was explosive. you screamed his name into the open air, your walls clamping down on him in tight, rhythmic waves, while he groaned, thrusting one last time and flooding you with his cum under the bright, midday sun.
and then there was that one week honeymoon that chenle insisted on, saying that he never got to give you a proper one. you two spent a week in the most luxurious private resort in hawaii. the resort is beautiful, open to the tropical air and the rhythmic crash of the ocean, but you barely saw the view. you were too occupied by your husband. for seven days, the world ceased to exist. there were no board meetings, no family expectations, and no corporate rules â only the sound of wet, slapping skin and the desperate gasps of two people becoming one. he fucked you in the private pool, the warm water swirling around your hips as he held you against the edge, his cock sliding in and out of you with a frictionless ease that made you scream into the salty air. he fucked you on the outdoor daybed, under the moon, the linen sheets soaking through with your combined juices. he would spend hours worshipping your body, his tongue tracing every curve, every fold, before driving himself into you with a force that left you shaking and sobbing his name.Â
and of course, eventually, you fucked in both of your offices. the two of you tried to keep it professional at first but at one point, you just couldnât stop yourselves. i mean, no one can fire you anyway. and the two of you spend so much time at work it just makes sense. your favorite routine involved the desk â when you were the one who gets to play, disappearing from view while chenle continued a conference call. the contrast was intoxicating, his voice, cool and commanding, discussing quarterly projections, while your mouth was wrapped tightly around his cock. you would suck him with a focused intensity, swirling your tongue around the head and taking him as deep as your throat would allow, listening to the slight hitch in his breath and the way his hand gripped the edge of the desk to keep from groaning. when he finally hangs up, he would haul you out from under the desk by your waist and slam you down onto the edge of it, âmy little slut wants to play, huh?â heâd growl against your lips as you cling to the desk for dear life, heels digging into the carpet. he took you right there in the center of his power, filling you to the brim.
but still...nothing beats fucking in your shared bedroom, this was where the real intensity lived, especially on the nights when chenleâs gaze turned dark and determined. on those nights, he didn't just want to fuck you â he wanted to possess you completely. he would start by flipping you over, forcing you onto your hands and knees in doggy style. he loved the view of your arched back and the way your ass looked spread wide for him. he would grip your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, and thrust into you from behind. the sound of his balls slapping against your cheeks echoed through the room, a raw, primal beat that drove you insane. he would reach forward to pull your hair back, whispering filth into your ear about how much he loved the way you took him. then, he would flip you onto your back, hoisting your legs up high, sometimes draping them over his shoulders, so that he could penetrate you at the deepest possible angle. in this position, there was no escape. he drove himself in until he hit your cervix, each thrust a heavy, thumping blow that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. âlook at me,â he would command, his eyes burning with an obsessive kind of love, âtell me you're mine.â the friction and the intensity pushed you toward a peak you had never experienced before. in the heat of those nights, you discovered the sensation of squirting â your pussy drenching the sheets and leaving you gasping for air. the feeling of losing control, of your body literally overflowing with pleasure, sends chenle into a frenzy. he would fuck you even harder, driving you through multiple, shattering orgasms, his own release coming in a hot, thick flood that filled you completely, leaving you both tangled in the damp sheets, hearts racing in a synchronized rhythm of absolute devotion.
now, a year into marriage and you were two months pregnant with your first child.
it hasnât been easy, your baby was stubborn â which you honestly shouldâve seen coming knowing how stubborn its father is (and you, too).Â
the pregnancy had stripped away your usual composure. for a woman who navigated the cutthroat world of billionaire cosmetics with a steady hand, the loss of control was infuriating.
your morning sickness wasn't just âmorningâsickness â it was a rolling tide of nausea that lasted the whole day. you had spent the last few weeks throwing up everything from expensive lobster to plain crackers. to add to the misery, your breasts had swollen, becoming agonizingly sore to the touch.
you were, in a word â grumpy. a whirlwind of mood swings, snapping at assistants and sobbing over the smallest of things, existing in a state of perpetual irritation. which was especially unfortunate considering you had never been particularly good at dealing with discomfort. you are a billionaire. struggle is not your forte.
still, chenle had been unbelievably sweet and understanding through all of it. he spent his days balancing both companies and his nights massaging your back or holding your hair back while you retched into the toilet, kissing your forehead with a tenderness that still made your heart ache.
today, you were plagued by a craving so specific, so visceral, that it felt like a physical hunger. you wanted a tomato-egg dish. but not just any version. it had to be right.
chef sung ahn, a culinary genius, was currently in the midst of a crisis â seven bowls of the dish sat on the marble island, each one a slightly different variation of seasoning and texture. and yet, none of them were right.
you pushed the seventh bowl away with a pout, your lower lip trembling. you knew you were acting like a spoiled child, but as you rested a hand over your still-flat stomach, you reasoned that you were carrying what is about to be the most spoiled heir in the country. it only made sense.Â
the heavy thud of the front door announced chenleâs return. he stepped into the kitchen, shedding his blazer and loosening his tie, his eyes immediately landing on the scene.
âbaby,â he murmured, stepping behind you and pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to the crown of your head.
his scent, expensive cologne and the lingering musk of a long day at the office, usually calmed you, but today you were too frustrated to be fully appeased, âwhatâs going on in here?â
you let out a dramatic groan, leaning back into his chest, âyour stupid baby wants a certain taste, and the chef canât do it!" you complained, pouting up at him, ânothing tastes right, chenle! everything is wrong!â
chenle looked from your frustrated expression to the exhausted but patient chef sung ahn, a small, apologetic smile playing on his lips as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders.
âiâm so sorry, chef. sheâs been incredibly sensitive since the pregnancy started. i think we're dealing with a very demanding little one.â
chef sung ahn smiled knowingly, unfazed by the seven wasted bowls. he was paid far too much to be offended by the complaints of a pregnant billionaire.
âthatâs perfectly alright, mr. zhong. my wife was exactly the same way. i remember a week where she nearly kicked me out of the house because the toast was too loud.â
the two men share a low chuckle while you try not to roll your eyes. his wife was valid and you know it.Â
âi think i know exactly what she wants, though,â chenle said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming soft and confident.
"iâll take care of it. thank you, chef. you can head out for the day."
as the chef departed, chenle took his place, rolling up his sleeves and exposing his forearms. you remained seated on the bar stool, watching him. there was something hypnotic about the way he moved â the precision of his knife, the way he cracked the eggs with one hand, the sizzle of the tomatoes hitting the pan.
as the aroma began to waft through the air, something happened â for the first time in hours, the nausea in your stomach vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense surge of appetite.
your mouth watered. the scent was an exact match â not to a michelin-star recipe, but to a memory. a flash of nostalgia hitting you. you were seventeen again, shivering under a duvet in your room, delirious with a fever. chenle visited you with a simple, home-cooked tomato-egg dish. it hadn't been fancy, but it had been made with a quiet kind of care that had spoken louder than any words.
you looked at your husband â the man who had once been your best friend, then your cold stranger, and now the love of your life. a small, amused smile tugged at your lips. your baby, barely the size of a fruit, was already exerting its will, bypassing the expertise of a world-class chef to demand the specific, nostalgic touch of its father.
god, you thought, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips as you watched him plate the food. the baby already has a favorite. what a traitor.
chenle finished the dish quickly, the steam curling upward, carrying that precise, comforting scent that had finally silenced the storm in your stomach.
he slid the bowl in front of you, the colors vibrant and the aroma intoxicating. as you picked up the spoon to take a bite, he stepped towards you.Â
âhow is it?â he smirks teasingly. because he knows you. and he knows itâs exactly what you needed.Â
you let out a soft, involuntary sigh of contentment, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a verbal compliment just yet. instead, you pouted, looking up at him through your lashes. without warning, you reached out and gripped the fabric of his shirt, bunching the material in your fist and tugging him towards you as you burrowed your face into chest.
âyouâre not allowed to go to work anymore,â you mumbled against his shirt, âyouâre staying with me. every second of every day.â
a low, vibrating chuckle erupted from his chest, the sound echoing against your cheek. he wrapped his arms around you, hands splaying across your back.
he adored this version of you â the spoiled, demanding, vulnerable woman who only wanted him.
âiâm perfectly okay with that,â he whispered, his voice dripping with fond adoration.Â
you pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes shimmering. the stubbornness was still there, but it was softened by a deep, aching affection.
you reached up then, hooking your arms around his neck to pull him down toward you for a soft, lingering kiss filled with tenderness and love.
âď¸ THE END âď¸
an: weeee!!!! did i spend my entire weekend glued to my computer writing this like a loser? yeahâŚi did. but i had to ride on the high of inspiration and delusions before i lose it or else this would take me months to finish lmao. anyways, i loved writing this! and iâm also realizing itâs very easy for me to write for chenle idk itâs always so fun for me!!! fun game: can you guess what kind of dad chenle is!! aka can you guess the gender of the baby??? put in the comments what you think! đ (i do have the answer). and please let me know your thoughts! thank Ăź for reading, much love to Ăź đ
EXTRA: GENDER REVEAL PARTY
đ likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated
đł if you enjoyed this story and would like to show extra support, my kofi is open! (iâm so broke rn guys pls spare some change đđŹ)
cw: smut, dubcon (drunk!afab!you x predator!jaehyun).Â
a/n: this is strictly my own dark fantasy. i'm not condoning this in reality.
summary: your friends left you in the care of goody-two shoes jaehyun, thinking you'd be safe with him. you're weren't.
word count: 2k
i want to fuck her so bad.
jaehyunâs eyes trail across your body, searing each minute detail into his mind: your pink lips so plump and full, the curve of your waist leading down to your full ass, and the sight of your white lacey panties peaking out from under your hiked-up skirt.Â
he reminds himself of why youâre even in his bed. your friends had entrusted you to him at a party only because he is the always-responsible, honest and reliable, stand-up student council president. heâs the guy that everyone trusts. iâm a good guy. iâm a good guy. iâm a good guy.
but it who was he kidding? nothing about this situation speaks to his good nature. not his aching dick tenting up his pants, nor the explicit thoughts running through his mind.
iâm a good guy.Â
âheeeeeelloooooo,â you said before a half-hiccup-half-burp.Â
âiâm right here,â he replies.Â
âjaehyunnnnnnnn,â you giggle, âwhat are â hic â what are you doing hereeeeee?âÂ
jaehyun reins in his thoughts of how youâre so completely out of it that youâd wouldnât even remember anything if he were to do anything.Â
âyouâre in my room,â he finally musters, âyouâve had a little too much to drink.âÂ
âoh,â is all you say.Â
iâm a good guy.
that last reminder is rendered useless when you, in your drunken state, decides to make yourself more comfortable by spreading your legs wide open, not the least aware of the predator lurking just a few feet away.Â
his brain shortcircuits when he sees, between your parted legs, your panties, so thin that he can almost make out the outline of your pussy. the last shred of self-control jaehyun had evaporates.
fuck it.Â
he sits himself down at the foot of his bed and lifts your skirt over your torso. his hand shakes as it approaches your clothed pussy.Â
you can still turn around. you still havenât technically done anything. Â
when his fingers finally make contact with your pussy, he swears he feels a jolt of electricity going straight down to his dick. no turning back now. his index and middle fingers move in circlesâcareful at first, then settling into a steady rhythm around your clit.Â
you donât react immediately and it lulls jaehyun into a false sense of security. he almost jumps when you speak.Â
âjae â hic âhyun? wh⌠what are you doing?âÂ
it takes a moment for jaehyun to steel his nerves. he tries to ignore your question, unsure how or what to answer. itâs his first time doing⌠this. what was he supposed to reply to you.
âs-stop⌠it feels â hic â weird.âÂ
this time heâs sure he canât just pretend you didnât say anything. his brain rummages through an appropriate response.Â
coercionâs the only thing that comes to mind. âshhh, just⌠just enjoy this, yeah? iâll make you feel real good.âÂ
you donât answer.Â
his fingers continue moving against your clit, but it doesnât take long for your next protest to come.Â
âs-stop⌠it feelsâŚâ you trail off.Â
âgood right?â jaehyun finishes your sentence. âthis feels nice?â
âmmh,â you hum back.
âyeah? you like this? like it when i doâŚâ he says, trailing his fingers down your slit with pressure, âthis?â
the wet patch in your panties spread and jaehyun canât believe his eyes. youâre actually getting turned on by his touch. if he is a pervert, he wagers that youâre one too. fucking slut.
you gasp at his touch, then shake your head, ânooooo. i âhicâ just nowâŚâÂ
jaehyun doesnât need to be told twice; his fingers return quickly to your swollen clit. he likes it that youâre honest.Â
i need to fuck her brains out.Â
your soft gasps melting into whines and moans bolsters his ego and encourages him in this endeavour. he leans down against your panties and his tongue licks a strip down your slit, ending at your clit. the taste of you through your panties whets his appetite.Â
when he finally pulls off your panties, heâs shocked at how fucking drenched you are. he presses his face flush with your pussy and swirls his tongue around your clit. your thighs tremble at his touch. whimpers and incoherent thoughts fall out of your lips.Â
âbaby girl, you taste so fucking sweet,â he murmurs against you before dipping his tongue back into you.Â
your hips buck as you squirm against him. your hands reach out to grab something, anything, only able to reach the sheets besides you. jaehyun can tell that youâre close. something evil glints in his eyes.
âuse your words baby girl,â he coos.Â
he watches from between your legs. your eyes, half-lidded, lips parted and drool spilling over. you look so completely fucked out and he hasnât done much.Â
you whine, head spinning too much to string together a coherent thought. all you want is his touch on you.Â
âuse your words,â he says, this time a little more stern.Â
âwâna⌠i want⌠come,â you manage and he smiles like heâs just won a millionaire dollars.Â
âgood girl. good girls get rewarded.â
his lips connect with your core again, this time with a renewed passion: he wants to watch you, taste you, as you fall apart on his tongue. it doesnât take long for that to happen. your voice reaches a higher pitch, your back arches further into the bed and your entire body tenses.Â
âcoming! coming!â your voice strains.Â
still jaehyun doesnât let up. his fingers dig into your hips holding you against his face and preventing you from wriggling out of his grip. even as your hands carelessly swats at his face, trying to push him off, his tongue continues as he wrings out your orgasm.Â
you get a brief respite when he finally removes himself from between your legs but itâs short-lived. jaehyunâs quick to replace his tongue with two fingers, burying them deep in you.Â
your body jolts at the sudden intrusion.Â
âlook at you, so⌠so wet for me. arenât you a little pervert? getting off to me doing this to you?âÂ
blood rushes to your cheeks and the tops of your ears. you want to protest him, but canât find the words in your brain â half clouded by the haze of your intense orgasm, half by the alcohol. instead, you find yourself just shaking your head.Â
he laughs at your measly attempt.Â
âare you sure?â he says with a false incredulity. âjust listen to how wet you are.âÂ
his fingers thrust into your cunt with a greater force, amplifying the sloshing between your legs. even as drunk as you were, you still flush with embarrassment.Â
âyouâre such a good slut for me, arenât you? so wet and needy,â his tone is condescending, âif i didnât know any better, iâd think you wanted this.âÂ
you want to fight back at his last sentence, scream at the top of your lungs that itâs not true. you want to defend yourself. but all your stupid mind could think about was how good his fingers fucking you felt.Â
ân-noâŚâ is all you say. youâre sure it came out as self-assured and defending. yet all jaehyun heard is a soft careless mumble. he would have missed it, if he hadnât been paying attention.Â
âno?â he repeats, âoh sweet baby, my sweet dumb baby. how can you say no when youâre clenching so tightly around me? bet you wished this was my cock instead right?âÂ
your mind is hazy and you canât think straight. you try and try. but all you can think about it pleasure twisting inside of you. you feel it building up, tightening and tightening and you know itâs about to explode. you canât even remember what was it that you wanted to say.
tears well in your eyes as your whines and whimpers turn into a loud mewl when your orgasm comes crashing down on you. the immense tension all at once releases and your body jolts through every wave of ecstasy crashing through you. Â
âfuck, didnât know that my sweet little slut could squirt so much.âÂ
squirt? youâre sure that youâve never done that before. jaehyunâs fingers leave you and you almost let out a whine at the emptiness between your legs.Â
in all of jaehyunâs eagerness, he doesnât bother actually pulling down his boxers or jeans. instead, he just releases his aching, leaking cock from his pants and lines it up with her drenched hole.Â
you can still turn back. Â
with a thrust of his hips, he buries himself, and any semblance of rationality, deep within you.Â
(and really, jaehyun reasons, itâs your fault. you shouldnât have made such delicious sounds. you shouldnât have made it so easy. you should have said no, kick him away. but there you lie, halfway asleep, halfway enjoying his touch. which idiot would turn this opportunity away?)
âyouâre so fucking⌠perfect,â he groans, his voice is guttural, rough like concrete. like itâs taking everything in him to not turn into a feral dog, âyouâre like my own personal cum dumpster.âÂ
you try to shake your head in protest.Â
âsay it, baby girl. say âiâmâ...â jaehyun waits for you to repeat after him.Â
âi-iâŚâÂ
âiâm,â he repeats again, âmy dumb, dumb slut. i know you can do it.âÂ
âiâm,â you say, partly to prove that youâre not dumb like he says; you can still say words. surely that must mean youâre not completely dumb, right?
âyour,â jaehyun continues.Â
âyour.âÂ
âcumdumpster.âÂ
âc-câŚâ this time the words are stuck in your throat as humiliation washes over you.Â
âmy pretty pretty little thing, you can do it,â jaehyun goads in a sickeningly sweet voice.Â
you swallow, mind hazy from relishing in his praises. âcumdumpster,â you repeat.Â
he laughs, as he starts moving his hips. whatever words that you couldâve said melts into drawn out whimpers and whines. each thrust gets progressively more impatient. he fucks you like a child opening presents on christmas day: eager and excited.Â
âfuck, you make me feel like a complete virgin.âÂ
his comment may have made you feel something, if you werenât so completely dazed. you could focus on all but one thing: the pleasure between your legs. your hips buck against his, angling them so that he hits the spot. and when he does, a long string of incomprehensible words tumble out your lips. for that, youâre awarded with his hand around your throat.Â
âbaby girlâs so fucking dumb she canât speak properly,â he taunts, âsince you canât say anything that makes sense, then just shut up.âÂ
his grip tightens against the sides of your neck. he cuts off the oxygen and chokes down any sounds back into your throat. Â
âwoah,â a smirk creeps across his face, âyou like being choked, donât you?â
he leans down right beside your ear and whispers like itâs a secret, âyour cunt got so fucking tight. slut.âÂ
his words shouldnât send chills down your spine, but they do.Â
he starts thrusting into you again, rougher this time. you want to tell him to stop, you want to tell him that you canât breathe, you want to tell him that heâs hurting your neck. but no words form, though youâre not sure if itâs the orgasm, alcohol or lack of oxygen thatâs causing it. it hurts. it hurts. it hurts.
still, it feels like your body betrays you when your orgasm nearly tears you apart. no words or sound form, even when his hand leaves your neck. you heave and draw in the oxygen that your lungs yearned. youâre sure if he had choked you for a second longer, you would have passed out.Â
he doesnât give you time to breath or bask in the afterglow, instead choosing to continue his tirade against your uterus. each thrust prolongs your orgasm just a bit more, until your cuntâs so sensitive that each thrust brings fresh tears into your eyes.Â
âoh-fuck me,â he groans as he frantically pulls himself out of you. his hand jerks his cock a few time before the searing ropes of white cum cover your inner thighs.Â
the last thing you hear before passing out from sheer exhaustion is jaehyunâs voice whispering in your ear, âgood night my pretty slut.â
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đŻHIRD WHEEL â L.HEESEUNG's! âââ ( a spider-man au. )
( ě ě¸ ) đžn which ︾ heeseungâs a quiet engineering student by day and the cityâs favorite hero by night, but he's somehow losing a romantic rivalry with his own alter-ego. youâve fallen for the witty, masked boy who swings by your window, never realizing heâs the same nervous friend who canât look you in the eye at the library. it turns out the hardest part of being spider-man isn't saving the cityâitâs playing the third wheel to your own mask.
mdni smau parts fluff angst hurt/comfort eventual smut friends to lovers megan (katseye) yunjin (le sserafim) soobin (tomorrow x together) yunjin & soobin are dating 15k words 16ss
i think this will be my magnum opus & as always, enhypen is seven! i hope this fic can provide anyone, even if it's just a little, comfort during these times âĄ
there will be another part! i just got nerfed by tumblr's image limit
â¨ď¸ like&&reblog for a kiss. ââ #click4masterlist to see more.
THE SMELL OF THE ENGINEERING LAB AT 3:00 AM WAS A SPECIFIC KIND OF DEPRESSING. It was a mix of burnt solder, stale energy drinks, and the metallic tang of copper wiring. Heeseung leaned over a glass beaker, his eyes burning from staring at the same translucent blue liquid for the last three hours.
It was supposed to be his newest batch of web-fluidâhigher tensile strength, faster drying time, and hopefully, less prone to jamming the shooters. But instead of hardening into a fiber, it was just sitting there, looking like a sad, lukewarm puddle of expired Elmer's Glue.
"Itâs not polymerizing, Jake," Heeseung muttered, his voice raspy from lack of sleep. "Iâve adjusted the catalyst three times. Itâs still just⌠soup."
A few feet away, Sim Jaeyunâbetter known to Heeseung as the only person keeping him saneâwas buried under a mountain of physics textbooks and a laptop that was whirring so loudly it sounded like it might achieve liftoff. Jake didn't look up, his fingers flying across the keys as he ran another simulation.
"Give it a second, Hee. Youâre being impatient," Jake said, his tone remarkably calm for a guy dealing with someone as sleep-deprived as his best friend. "I just recalculated the shear stress. If we want it to hold a literal city bus, the viscosity needs to be higher at the point of exit. Check the temperature again."
Heeseung sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted. Not the kind of exhausted you get from staying up late to cram for an exam, but the kind that settled into your bones and stayed there. The kind that came from spending six hours in back-to-back engineering lectures, three hours at the campus library, and then four hours swinging through the soot-stained alleys of the city trying to make sure nobody got mugged on their way home from work.
Being Spider-Man was a full-time job that paid zero dollars and offered zero sleep.
"If I check the temperature one more time, I'm going to throw this beaker at the wall," Heeseung whispered.
"Don't do that. Glass is expensive and I'm not cleaning it up," Jake replied, finally looking up. He leaned back in his swivel chair, his hair a messy nest of brown curls. He looked at Heeseungâreally looked at himâand frowned. "You look like a zombie, man. When was the last time you actually closed your eyes for more than twenty minutes?"
"Yesterday? Maybe?" Heeseung leaned back, his spine popping in three different places. "I tried to nap during Fluid Mechanics, but the professor has a voice like a foghorn. Itâs impossible."
"Youâre going to crash," Jake warned, pointing a pen at him. "And when you crash, youâre going to miss a ledge, and then Iâm going to have to explain to your mom why youâre in a full-body cast. Iâm not doing that. She scares me."
Heeseung opened his mouth to argue, but his phone buzzed on the metal table. The vibration was loud in the quiet lab, a sharp zzzt-zzzt that made him jump. His reflexes were so keyed up that his hand shot out and grabbed the device before the screen even fully lit up.
It was a notification from the group chat, named something completely ridiculous, because Sunoo was the one who insisted on naming it.
Heeseungâs heart did a weird, fluttering skip when he saw your name. He swiped the screen open, the brightness of the display making him wince.
It was a photo. A grainy, flash-brightened picture of a massive, glistening plate of chili cheese fries. In the background, he could see the tacky neon signs of the 24-hour diner near the edge of campus.
Your face was partially in the frame, tucked next to Sunooâs, both of you grinning like idiots. He thought he saw Yunjin somewhere in the back, too, but his eyes were fixed on you.
You looked vibrantâyour hair a little messy, your cheeks flushed from the cold night air, and your eyes sparkling with that bright shine that always seemed to draw people toward you.
Heeseung stared at the photo. He stared at the way you were laughing, the way your hand was reaching for a fry, and he felt a sharp, familiar ache in his chest. It wasn't his Spider-sense warning; it was just plain, old-fashioned pining.
He wanted to be there. He wanted to be sitting in that cramped booth, arguing with Sunoo about music or listening to Ni-ki complain about basketball practice. Most of all, he wanted to be near you. He wanted to hear your voice without a police scanner crackling in the background.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He started to type: Save some for me?
Then he paused. He looked down at his handsâhis knuckles were bruised from a fight with a car thief two nights ago, and his fingernails had traces of black grease under them. He looked at the red and blue suit stuffed into the bottom of his backpack, hidden under a pile of dirty laundry and a copy of Thermodynamics for Dummies.
He couldn't go. He was a junior engineering student with a secret identity and a lab report due. He was the guy who was always too busy, too tired, or just plain gone.
"She looks cute in that photo, doesn't she?"
Heeseung flinched, nearly dropping his phone. Jake was leaning over his shoulder, a knowing grin on his face.
"Shut up," Heeseung muttered, quickly locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket.
"I didn't say who 'she' was, but you clearly knew," Jake teased, sliding back into his seat. "Just text her, Hee. Tell her youâre coming. Take a thirty-minute break. The web-fluid isn't going anywhere."
"I can't," Heeseung said, his voice flat. "I have too much to do. And besides⌠she's⌠she's her. Look at that photo. Sheâs friends with everyone. Sheâs pretty, sheâs nice, sheâs literally the campus sweetheart. And Iâm just the guy who falls asleep in the back of the room and smells like chemicals."
"You smell like nice laundry detergent and existential dread, actually," Jake corrected. "And she likes you, man. She always asks where you are when you don't show up to the hangouts. Sunoo says she mentioned you three times yesterday."
Heeseungâs heart gave another annoying thud. "She was probably just wondering if I died. Itâs a valid concern."
"She thinks youâre mysterious. Use it to your advantage."
"I'm not mysterious, Jake. I'm a mess." Heeseung looked back at the beaker of soup. "Iâm a guy who spends his nights hanging off the side of a skyscraper because I have an overactive sense of responsibility. I can't take her to a diner. It took me three weeks to tell her my last name because I was so worried that some guy in a mask was going to follow her home."
Jakeâs expression softened. He reached over and clapped Heeseung on the shoulder. "Youâre doing a good thing, Hee. But youâre allowed to be a person, too. Youâre allowed to want the fries."
Heeseung looked at his phone again. He imagined walking into the diner. He imagined the way youâd look up, your face lighting up when you saw him. Youâd probably slide over to make room for him in the booth, your shoulder brushing against his, smelling like that sweet, flowery perfume you always wore.
He was just about to reach for his phone again when the silence of the lab was shattered.
A small, black box on the workbenchâthe police scanner Heeseung had modified to pick up local precinct frequenciesâerupted into a burst of static.
"All units, we have a code 3. High-speed pursuit in progress. Suspects in a black SUV heading north on Mapo Bridge. Shots fired. Repeat, shots fired."
The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. The warmth of the diner photo, the longing, the simple desire for a plate of friesâit all vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. Heeseungâs posture straightened. His eyes went from tired to laser-focused in a matter of seconds.
Jake cursed under his breath, turning back to his laptop to pull up the cityâs traffic cam feed. "Thatâs heading right toward the residential district. If they don't stop them at the bridge, things are going to get messy."
Heeseung didn't say a word. He stood up, grabbing his backpack from the floor. He didn't look like a shy engineering student anymore. He looked like someone who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and didn't have time to complain about it.
"Viscosity is still low," Heeseung said, his voice tight. "But itâll have to do." He reached into his bag and pulled out the mask. The fabric was soft, but it felt heavy in his handsâa reminder of everything he had to give up every time he put it on.
He moved to the shadows at the back of the lab, where the security cameras had a blind spot heâd mapped out months ago. He stripped off his oversized hoodie and jeans, the cool air hitting his skin. He pulled on the suit, the tight fabric clinging to his frame like a second skin. It was damp in a few spots from his earlier patrolâhe really needed to wash itâbut he didn't have time to care.
He thought about you. He thought about the diner. He thought about the fries.
Then he pulled the mask over his head.
The world turned red and digital. The heads-up display flickered to life, highlighting the fastest route to Mapo Bridge. The HUD also showed a lingering notification in the corner of his visionâa small icon representing the group chat message he hadn't replied to.
Heeseung swiped the notification away with a flick of his wrist.
"Save me some caffeine for when I get back," Heeseung said, his voice now filtered through the suitâs vocoder, sounding deeper and more confident than he felt.
"Iâll have the lab results ready by the time you're done," Jake replied, already typing again. "Try not to get shot. Itâs bad for the suitâs aesthetic. Also, blood is really fucking hard to get out of spandex."
Heeseung didn't respond. He moved to the window at the back of the labâthe one heâd loosened the latch on weeks ago. He slid it open, the cold Seoul air rushing in, whipping against his masked face. He climbed onto the ledge, looking out over the city.
The lights of the skyline stretched out before him, a sea of neon and glass. Somewhere out there, you were laughing in a diner. Somewhere else, people were in danger.
Heeseung took a breath, checked his web-shooters, and dived into the night.
The fries would have to wait. The city wouldn't.
The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall felt like they were vibrating. It was 9:00 AM on a Friday, and Heeseung was pretty sure he was vibrating, tooâpartly from the four shots of espresso Jake had practically force-fed him ten minutes ago, and partly from the sheer, bone-deep exhaustion of having spent the last five hours chasing a stolen SUV through the narrow backstreets of Mapo.
He sat in the very last row, slumped so low in his seat that his chin was almost touching the scarred wood of the desk. He had his hoodie pulled up, the fabric shielding his face from the harsh glare of the overhead lights.
His eyes were bloodshot, the whites of them crisscrossed with tiny red veins that throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Every time he blinked, it felt like someone was dragging sandpaper across his corneas. Not pleasant.
He didn't look like a hero. He looked like a guy who had spent the night fighting a losing battle with his bedsheets.
His knuckles were still stinging, tucked safely into the pockets of his sweatshirt. Heâd taken a nasty hit to the ribs during the chaseâone of the suspects had a literal crowbarâand every breath he took felt like a dull knife scraping against his lungs.
Sure, he healed faster than most, but there was only so much that he could do. But the SUV was in a ditch, the suspects were in zip-ties, and the police had recovered three crates of stolen tech.
A win. Theoretically.
But as Heeseung stared down at the blank pages of his notebook, his brain felt like it was made of wet cotton. The professor, a man who seemed to take personal offense at the concept of joy, was droning on about structural integrity and load-bearing beams.
It was ironic, really. Heeseung spent a lot of his life now thinking about structural integrityâmostly while swinging off of itâbut right now, he couldn't even remember how to spell the word 'load.'
He shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn't make his side ache, and his gaze drifted downward, scanning the sea of heads in the lecture hall.
The room was packed. It was one of those massive, stadium-style halls where everyone looked like a tiny speck from the back. But Heeseungâs eyes found you instantly.
It was like his brain had a specialized tracking system just for you. No matter how many people were in a room, no matter how loud the noise or how dim the light, his focus always snapped to you. You were sitting three rows down, tucked into the middle of a row next to Sunoo.
Even from this distance, you looked like you belonged in a different world than him. You were leaning forward, your chin resting in the palm of your hand, looking perfectly awake and attentive. And pretty. So pretty. You wore a soft, cream-colored sweater that made you look warm and approachable, the kind of person people instinctively wanted to stand near.
Next to you, Sunoo was busy doodling in the margins of his notebook, his soft hair catching the light. He looked bored out of his mind, but every few seconds, heâd lean over and whisper something in your ear, making you let out a small, silent laugh that made Heeseungâs chest tighten.
Heeseung watched the way your shoulders shook slightly when you laughed. He watched the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He felt a familiar, dull ache in his throat. This was his routine. He watched from the shadows, a silent observer in a life he wasn't quite sure he was allowed to join.
He was so busy staringâso busy memorizing the curve of your neck and the way you tilted your headâthat he didn't realize Sunoo had looked up.
Sunooâs eyes scanned the back of the room, squinting against the light, until they landed on Heeseung. A huge, mischievous grin broke across his face. He didn't care about the professorâs lecture on tension or the fifty other students between them. He raised a hand high in the air, waving enthusiastically at Heeseung.
Heeseung froze. He wanted to melt into the floor. He wanted to vanish into the vents and crawl back to the lab. He didn't want to be perceivedânot like this, not when he looked like heâd been dragged behind a bus.
Sunoo nudged you, pointing toward the back row.
You turned around.
The air seemed to leave the room. Heeseung stopped breathing entirely. For a second, he forgot about his bruised ribs, his ruined sleep schedule, and the lingering smell of exhaust on his hoodie. He just saw you.
Your eyes locked onto his, and for a heartbeat, your expression was one of pure surprise. Then, your gaze softened. You took in the dark circles under his eyes, the messy state of his hair, and the way he was practically hiding in his oversized clothes.
Instead of turning back around, you gave him a small, sympathetic smile. It wasn't the courteous smile he saw you give everyone else. It was softer. Kinder. It was the kind of look that said, I see you, and you look like you're having a really hard time.
Heeseung felt a jolt go through his body. It was his Spider-sense this time, but it was wrong. It was malfunctioning. There was no danger in the room, no ceiling about to collapse, no hidden villain in the front row. But his skin was prickling, his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, and his stomach felt like it had dropped into his shoes.
He couldn't look away. He felt like he was caught in a spotlight. You crinkled your nose at himâa tiny, playful gestureâbefore turning back to the front of the room, leaving him breathless and reeling.
He was so dazed that when his phone started vibrating against his thigh, he almost jumped out of his skin. He fumbled for it, his hands clumsy and trembling, nearly knocking his notebook off the desk. He caught the phone just before it hit the floor, his heart racing.
He ducked his head, hiding behind the person in front of him, and checked the screen.
It was a text from Jake.
Heeseung blinked, his face flushing a deep, hot red. He risked a glance to his left. Jake was sitting five seats away, pretending to take notes, but he had a tiny, smug smirk on his face. He didn't even look up, just tapped his pen against his desk in a rhythmic, mocking beat.
Heeseung looked back at his phone, his thumbs hovering over the screen.
Heeseungâs hand flew to his forehead, rubbing frantically at his skin. He felt like a total idiot. He was a superhero. He fought criminals. He saved lives. And here he was, getting bullied by his best friend over a girl who had done nothing but smile at him.
He looked down at you again. You were back to taking notes, your head bowed. Sunoo was back to doodling.
Heeseung let out a long, shaky breath, leaning his head back against the wall. The exhaustion was starting to win again. The adrenaline of the smile was fading, leaving him feeling heavy and hollow.
He closed his eyes for just a second. Just one second.
The professorâs voice became a distant hum. The scratching of pens on paper sounded like rain. Heeseung drifted, his mind floating somewhere between the Mapo Bridge and the diner from the night before. He imagined you sitting next to him, handing him a fry, telling him it was okay to be tired.
Zzzt-zzzt.
He snapped awake, his head jerking forward. He had no idea how much time had passedâfive minutes? Ten? The lecture was still going. The room hadn't changed.
He checked his phone again.
Heeseung stared at the message. You haven't seen him in forever. You wanted him there. You were asking for him.
He felt the familiar tug-of-war in his chest. One side of himâthe tired, lonely sideâwanted to say yes immediately. He wanted to sit on a floor in a crowded dorm room, surrounded by his friends, and just exist. He wanted to be near you without a mask on.
But the other sideâthe side that currently had a bruised rib and a police scanner in his bagâwas already calculating the risks. Tonight was Friday. Friday nights were busy. Crime didn't take a night off just because some college juniors wanted to have a mixer. If he went, heâd be distracted. Heâd be checking the time every five minutes.
Heâd be a ghost at the party, just like he was a ghost on campus.
He looked at your message again. He could almost hear your voice saying itâthat bubbly, sweet tone that made even a text message feel like a hug.
He started to type. Iâll try to be there.
Then he deleted it.
I have a lot of work to do. Maybe next time.
He deleted that, too.
It was a non-committal, cowardly answer. It was the best he could do.
He put the phone away and tried to focus on the lecture. Something about trusses. Something about equilibrium. He looked at the back of your head, the way your hair bounced slightly as you wrote.
He felt like he was walking a tightrope. On one side was the life he wantedâthe life where he was just Heeseung, the guy who liked you. On the other side was the life he hadâthe life where he was a secret, a symbol, a protector.
He didn't know how much longer he could stay in the middle.
The lecture finally ended with a sharp, dismissive comment from the professor. The room erupted into the chaotic sound of zipper-closings and chair-shuffling. Heeseung stayed put, waiting for the crowd to thin out. He didn't want to get caught in the rush. He didn't want to have to talk to anyone.
But Sunoo had other plans.
From three rows down, Sunoo stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and started climbing over seats toward the back. You were right behind him, moving a bit more gracefully, navigating the narrow aisles with ease.
Heeseungâs heart started that annoying hammering again. He scrambled to pack his things, stuffing his notebook into his bag with trembling hands. He accidentally knocked his pen onto the floor and had to dive under the desk to retrieve it.
When he sat back up, Sunoo was standing right in front of him, leaning against the desk with a grin that was far too bright for this early in the morning.
"Heeseungie! You survived!" Sunoo chirped, poking Heeseungâs shoulder. "You look terrible. Like, really, truly awful. Did you get hit by a truck?"
"Rough night," Heeseung muttered, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself. He kept his head down, focusing on the zipper of his bag. "Just a lot of studying."
"Studying? You're always studying," Sunoo scoffed. "Youâre an engineer, not a monk. You need to live a little."
"I live plenty," Heeseung said, finally looking upâand immediately regretting it.
You were standing right behind Sunoo. Up close, the kindness in your eyes was even more overwhelming. You were looking at him with genuine concern, your head tilted slightly to the side.
"Are you okay, Heeseung?" you asked, your voice soft and steady. "Sunooâs right, you look exhausted. Youâre not getting sick, are you?"
"No," Heeseung said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, trying to sound like a normal human being. "No, I'm fine. Just... didn't sleep much. Projects and stuff."
"Well, you should come tonight," you said, stepping a little closer. Heeseung could smell your perfume nowâsomething light and sweet, like cherries. It was a dizzying contrast to the smell of burnt rubber that was still clinging to his skin. "Yunjin and Megan missed you at the diner last night. We all did."
We all did. Heeseung felt like he was melting. "I... I'll try. I have a lab report due, but maybe I can finish it early."
"Don't let Jake help you," Sunoo joked, glancing over at Jake, who was finally standing up from his seat. "Heâll just talk about physics until your ears bleed."
"Hey, I heard that!" Jake called out, walking over to join the group. He looked perfectly fine, of course. He hadn't been the one chasing SUVs. Heâd just been the guy in the chair. "And for the record, physics is fascinating."
"It's nerd talk," Sunoo countered.
While they were bickering, you stayed focused on Heeseung. You reached out, your fingers lightly touching his forearm for just a second. The contact felt like a lightning strike. Heeseung almost flinched, his muscles tensing under your touch.
"Seriously, Heeseung," you whispered, so the others wouldn't hear. "Take some rest. You look like you're carrying the whole world on your shoulders."
Well, you hadn't been too far off.
Heeseung looked into your eyes, and for a terrifying moment, he thought you knew. He thought you could see right through the hoodie, right through the lie, and see the red and blue suit hidden in his bag.
But you just smiledâthat sweet, soft smile that made everyone love youâand gave his arm a tiny squeeze before letting go.
"See you tonight?" you asked.
"Yeah," Heeseung said, the word leaving his lips before he could stop it. "Yeah. See you tonight."
You beamed at him, then turned to Sunoo. "Come on, Sunoo, weâre going to be late for our elective."
"Damn, already? Bye, Heeseung! Bye, Jake the Nerd!" Sunoo waved over his shoulder as the two of you headed toward the exit.
Heeseung stood there, frozen, watching you walk away. He watched the way you navigated the crowded hall, waving to a few other people, clearly the person everyone wanted to talk to.
"You're so whipped," Jake said, leaning against the desk next to him.
"I'm not whipped," Heeseung muttered, though his face was still burning.
"You literally just promised to go to a party after spending all night getting beaten up by car thieves. You can barely stand, Hee. How are you going to survive a party?"
Heeseung slung his bag over his shoulder, the weight of the suit shifting against his back. He felt the ache in his ribs, the sting in his knuckles, and the fog in his brain.
"I'm... not," he said.
"What do you mean?" Jake asked him, tilting his head.
Heeseung looked toward the door where you had disappeared.
"I panicked," he admitted. "I can't go. I have patrol. Plus, I think I'm falling behind in some of my classes."
He walked out of the hall, his heart still doing that strange, fluttering dance. He was exhausted, he was hurting, and he was a mess. He hated that he lied to you, that he got your hopes up. If he could even call it that. Heeseung wasn't sure you actually cared about him. You were polite like that... it didn't mean anything.
He just hoped the city would stay quiet for one night. He just wanted that for a few hours, where he could be Heeseung, and not the guy in the mask.
But as he walked down the stairs, he felt a familiar prickle at the base of his neck. It was faintâbarely thereâbut it was a reminder.
The city never stayed quiet for long. And he was the only one who could hear the noise.
The night air was sharp, biting through the thin spandex of the suit as Heeseung perched on the cold steel of a suspension cable. Below him, the Han River looked like a sheet of black glass, reflecting the neon hum of the city. Usually, the height was where he felt most at homeâaway from the crowded hallways and the crushing weight of his engineering textbooksâbut tonight, his mind was miles away.
Specifically, it was stuck in a dorm room on the other side of campus.
He checked his suitâs internal clock. 11:45 PM. By now, Soobinâs mixer was in full swing. He could almost hear the muffled bass of the music through the walls, smell the cheap snacks, and see you laughing in the middle of a circle of people.
He imagined you looking at the door every time it opened, wondering if he was finally going to show up. Or maybe you weren't. Maybe you had already forgotten the stuttered "yeah" heâd given you in the lecture hall.
He let out a long, foggy breath that clouded his eye lenses for a second.
"Youâre brooding again, Hee. I can hear the dramatic pouting through the comms."
Jakeâs voice crackled in his ear, sounding far too crisp and awake. Heeseung could hear the faint click-clack of a keyboard in the background. Jake was likely sitting in their shared dorm, surrounded by three different monitors and at least two empty ramen cups.
"Iâm not brooding. Iâm patrolling," Heeseung muttered, shifting his weight. His ribs still throbbedâa dull, rhythmic reminder of the crowbar from the night beforeâbut the adrenaline of being in the suit usually acted as a decent enough numbing agent.
"Patrolling is just brooding with more gymnastics," Jake countered. "Why are you even out there? I told you the police scanners have been dead for an hour. Go to the party. Go see the girl. Live a little before you turn into a literal gargoyle."
"I told her I had a lab report," Heeseung lied, even though Jake knew better.
"No, you told me you had a lab report. You told her youâd see. Which, in girl-code, means youâre coming. If you don't show up, youâre just the guy who flaked."
Heeseung winced. "I can't just... walk in there, Jake. Look at me. Iâm exhausted. Iâve got a bruise the size of a dinner plate on my side. I wouldn't even know what to say to her. Spider-Man can talk to anyone, but Heeseung? Heeseung can barely order a coffee without tripping over his own feet."
"Thatâs the secret, man. Youâre the same guy. The mask just gives you an excuse to stop overthinking. Just pretend youâre wearing the suit under your clothes. Big, hero energy. You got this."
"You were invited, too. Why don't you go? You don't have to be here, y'know. Go live your life."
Jake paused for a moment before responding, "Solidarity, dude." Heeseung cracked a smile at that. There were times he felt that his best friend was too kind to him, and this was one of them.
"I'm hanging up now," Heeseung said.
"Fine. But don't come crying to me when Sunoo texts me saying you missed the best party of the semester. Be safe, Spidey."
The comms went dead with a soft beep. Heeseung sighed, standing up on the cable. He looked toward the campus buildings in the distance. He really should just go home. He should sleep. He should be the responsible student his parents thought he was.
But his feet didn't move toward the dorms. He shot a line of webbing toward the underside of the campus bridge, swinging out into the open air. The wind rushed past him, tugging at the suit, and for a few seconds, the heavy thoughts in his head felt a little lighter.
He was just finishing a sweep of the perimeter near the south entrance when his Spider-sense gave a tiny, almost imperceptible prickle. It wasn't the "get out of the way of a speeding bullet" kind of warning. It was more of a "pay attention" nudge.
He stuck to the side of a brick pillar under the bridge, his gloved fingers clinging to the rough surface. He looked down.
There was someone walking on the pedestrian path above.
Even from the shadows, he knew it was you. You were walking alone, your dress a bright spot against the dark pavement. You looked a little tired, your shoulders slumped, but you were still smiling as you looked down at your phone. You were probably texting the group chat, telling them youâd made it out of the party and were headed back to your dorm.
Heeseung felt that familiar, painful tug in his chest. You were so close. If he just climbed up, if he just took off the mask...
But he stayed still, hidden in the dark. He watched you walk, a silent guardian who couldn't even say hello.
You were halfway across the bridge when you stumbled. It was a small thingâyour foot caught on an uneven piece of concreteâbut it was enough to make you lurch forward. Your phone, which youâd been holding loosely in your hand, slipped from your fingers.
He watched it happen in slow motion. The phone hit the ground, bounced once, and started sliding toward the gap between the bridge floor and the railing.
"Well, fuck," Heeseung murmured.
You gasped, lunging for it, but your fingers missed the glass by an inch. The phone slid through the gap, vanishing over the edge.
Heeseung didn't even think. He didn't have time to.
He let go of the pillar, dropping into a freefall. He shot a web at the underside of the bridge to swing himself upward, his body arching through the air. He saw the phoneâa small, silver rectangle tumbling through the darkness toward the rocky bank of the river.
He tucked his knees to his chest, spinning once to gain momentum, and reached out. His fingers closed around the cool metal of the phone just a few feet above the ground.
With a sharp flick of his wrist, he shot another web toward the bridgeâs support beam, using the tension to slow his descent. He landed silently on the pavement directly in front of you, his boots hitting the concrete with a soft thud.
He stood up slowly, the phone held safely in his hand.
You were frozen, your eyes wide, your hands still hovering in the air where youâd tried to catch the device. You looked like a deer caught in headlightsâbreathless, shocked, and incredibly pretty. The moonlight hit your face just right, and for a second, Heeseung forgot he was supposed to be a mysterious hero. He just wanted to stare at you.
But then he remembered. He was wearing the mask. He wasn't the guy who stuttered in the back of the lecture hall. He was Spider-Man.
He stepped forward, the white lenses of his mask narrowing as he looked at you. He felt a strange, intoxicating rush of confidence. It was like Jake saidâthe mask was an excuse.
"Looking for this?" he asked.
His voice was different when he was in the suit. It was steady, tilted with a bit of a playful edge that he could never manage as Heeseung. He held the phone out to you, the screen still glowing with a half-finished text message to Sunoo.
You blinked, finally coming back to your senses. Your face went from pale shock to a deep burning within seconds.
"Oh my god," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. "You... you caught it. How did you... I didn't even see you."
"I have a habit of being in the right place at the right time," he said, stepping even closer. He was well within your personal space now, close enough to smell the faint scent of cherries on your skin. It made his head spin. "You should be more careful, sweetheart. Gravity is a clingy boyfriend. Itâll take everything you give it."
You let out a small, breathless laugh, reaching out to take the phone. Your fingers brushed against his gloved handâa tiny, electric spark that made Heeseung want to jump out of his skin. But he didn't move. He held his ground, watching you tuck the phone into your pocket.
"Thank you," you said, looking up at him. You were still blushing, your eyes searching the blank white lenses of his mask. "I would have been so dead. All my photos, my notes... everything was on there."
"Can't have that," Heeseung said. He leaned one hand against the railing of the bridge, posing slightly. It was a total Spider-Man moveâarrogant, smooth, and completely unlike him. "A girl like you shouldn't be walking home alone this late anyway. Itâs dangerous."
"A girl like me?" you teased, finding your voice again. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, a gesture heâd seen you do a thousand times in class. "And what kind of girl is that?"
The kind Iâve been staring at for six months, he thought. The kind who smells like cherries and makes me forget my own name.
"The kind whoâs too distracted by her phone to see a superhero swinging by," he said instead. "The kind who probably had a long night at a party she didn't want to leave."
You looked surprised. "How did you know I was at a party?"
"Lucky guess. You look like youâve been dancing. Or at least trying to avoid being danced on."
You laughed again, a bright, genuine sound that filled the quiet night. "You're not wrong. It was a bit much. My friend Soobin throws loud mixers."
Heeseung felt a pang of jealousy. He was talking to you. He was actually having a conversation with you, and he wasn't fumbling his words. You were looking at him with admiration, with interest. You liked this version of him.
"Well," he said, pushing off the railing. He knew he couldn't stay too long. The more he talked, the more likely he was to slip up. "Since Iâm already here, I might as well make sure you get to your door in one piece. Wouldn't want gravity to try anything else tonight."
"Are you offering to walk me home?" you asked, a mix of curiosity and something else in your eyes. "Is that part of the superhero service?"
"Special occasion," he said.
He didn't walk with you, exactly. He hopped up onto the railing, crouching there like a bird, moving along the edge as you walked on the pavement. It was a show-off move, and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted you to keep looking at him.
"So," you said, looking up at him as you walked. "Do you do this often? Save phones from certain death?"
"Only for pretty girls," he said. The words came out so easily it almost scared him. "The guys usually have to buy their own replacements."
You flushed again, ducking your head. "You're a flirt, Mr. Spider-Man. I didn't expect that."
"I've been told I have a certain charm," he said. "Though usually, Iâm just told to be quiet and stop webbing up the police cars."
The walk to your dorm felt far too short. Usually, the trek across campus felt like a marathon when Heeseung was carrying his heavy engineering bag, but tonight, he wanted the bridge to stretch on forever. He listened to you talkâreally talk. You told him about how you were tired of school, how you missed your family, and how you had this one friend who was always disappearing.
"Heeseung," you said, the name hitting him like a physical blow. "Heâs an engineering major. Super smart, but heâs like a ghost. He said heâd come tonight, but he flaked. Again."
Heeseung felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He looked away, staring out at the dark trees lining the path. "Maybe heâs just busy. Engineering is hard."
"I know it is," you said softly. "I just... I worry about him. He looks so tired all the time. Like heâs carrying a lot of weight."
Heeseung turned back to you. You were looking at him, but he knew you were thinking about himâthe other him. The messy, tired version.
"Heâs lucky to have someone like you worrying about him," he said, his voice dropping a bit.
You smiled, a sad, sweet little thing. "I hope so. Anyway, this is me."
You stopped in front of your dorm building. The lobby lights were bright, casting a long shadow behind you. You turned to face him, your hands tucked into your sweater sleeves.
"Thank you again. For the phone. And the walk."
"Anytime," Heeseung said. He stayed on the railing, looking down at you. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to tell you that he was right there. He wanted to tell you he was sorry for flaking.
But he just gave you a two-finger salute. "Sleep well, sweetheart. And stay away from the edges."
He shot a web at the top of the building and swung away before you could say anything else. He didn't look back until he was three roofs away.
He landed on a ledge, ripping the mask off his face. His skin was cold, but his cheeks were burning. He leaned his head against the brick wall, his heart racing.
He loved it. He loved the way you looked at him. He loved the way you laughed at his jokes. He loved being the guy who could make you blush.
And he hated it.
He hated that he had to hide behind a mask to get you to notice him. He hated that he was jealous of his own shadow. He hated that the version of him you liked wasn't the version that had to sit next to you in class and pretend he didn't care.
"How was the walk?" Jakeâs voice came through the comms. Heâd clearly been listening.
"Shut up," Heeseung said, his voice cracking.
"You called her sweetheart, Hee. That was bold. A little cheesy, but bold."
"I'm going home, Jake."
"Yeah, yeah. See you at the dorm, lover boy."
Heeseung stuffed the mask into his bag and started the long walk back. He felt like a fraud. He felt like a hero. But mostly, he just felt like a guy who was falling deeper and deeper into a hole he didn't know how to climb out of.
He looked up at your window as he passed your building. The light was on.
He wondered if you were thinking about the hero. He wondered if you were still mad at the guy.
He didn't have the answer. He just had a bruised rib and a secret that was getting heavier with every swing. He walked into the shadows of his own dorm, the ghost returning to his grave, while the hero stayed tucked away in a backpack, waiting for the next time gravity tried to take something precious away.
The gym was a cavern of echoes, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a basketball competing with the squeak of sneakers against the polished wood. Heeseung sat on the bleachers, shoulders hunched, feeling like he was vibrating out of his skin. He was only here because Jake had insisted he needed "human interaction" that didn't involve soldering irons or police scanners, but as usual, Heeseung felt more like a ghost than a person.
"You look like youâre waiting for a root canal," Yunjin said, nudging his shoulder.
Heeseung blinked, shaking himself out of his trance. Yunjin was sitting next to him, her eyes glued to the court where Soobin, her boyfriend, was currently setting up a three-pointer. She looked perfectly comfortable, her legs crossed, a relaxed smile on her face.
"Iâm just tired," Heeseung muttered, pulling the strings of his hoodie until the fabric partially obscured his face. It was his default defense mechanism.
"Youâre always tired, Hee. Itâs your brand," she teased, but her attention quickly snapped back to the game as Soobin made the shot. She let out a loud whistle that echoed through the high-ceilinged room. "Nice one, babe!"
Heeseung looked down at the court. It was a heated game of pickup. Soobin was holding his own, and Jayâalways the most charismatic and driven of the bunchâwas leading the flow with a bold, effortless energy that Heeseung secretly envied. Then there was Riki.
Riki was a sophomore, like you. Even though he was a year younger than the rest of the group, he moved like a blur of sheer, terrifying talent. He played with a professional level of focus, his eyes sharp as he navigated the court.
Heeseung watched them move, his brain unconsciously tracking their trajectories, calculating the force needed for a jump. It was an engineering habit, but also a survival one. He knew exactly how fast Jay was going to pivot before he even did it.
"Nice hustle, Riki!" Jay called out, clapping his hands together. He wiped sweat from his forehead, looking like he could go for another three hours. Jay didn't do anything halfway; if he was playing a casual game, he was playing it like it was the finals. "Riki, youâre dropping your shoulder on the drive. Keep it square!"
Riki rolled his eyes, leaning over with his hands on his knees. "I'm not dropping my shoulder, Jay. I'm just dying of thirst. I forgot my water bottle in the dorm and my throat feels like a desert."
"Determination, Riki! Push through it!" Jay joked, though he was grinning.
Riki checked his phone, which was sitting on the sidelines. A small, knowing grin touched his face. "It's fine. I texted for reinforcements."
Heeseung didn't think much of it until the heavy double doors of the gym groaned open. The sound of the basketballs hitting the floor seemed to sync up with the thumping of Heeseungâs heart the moment you walked in.
You weren't dressed up like you were for the mixer. You were wearing jeans and a hoodie, your hair pulled back in a half-up, half-down. You looked casual, comfortable, and devastatingly pretty in the harsh, yellow gym lights. In your hand, you held a large, bright red bottle of Gatorade.
"Reinforcements are here!" you called out, your voice carrying across the court.
Rikiâs face lit up. He jogged over to the sideline as you approached. To anyone else, it might have looked like a romantic gesture, but everyone knew the truth. You and Riki had been friends since you were toddlers. Your parents were practically family, and the two of you had grown up like siblingsâor even twins, given you were the two sophomores in a group of juniors.
You were each other's safe haven. He was the one person who could text you at 9:00 PM to complain about a water bottle and actually get a response.
"You're a lifesaver," Riki said, snatching the bottle and taking a massive gulp.
"You're a dork," you replied, reaching out to ruffle his sweaty hair, which he dodged with a laugh. "I was right in the middle of a movie, you know. I expect interest on this delivery."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll pay you back in snacks later," he said, already turning back to the guys.
The game didn't start back up immediately. The guys drifted over to the sideline to grab their own drinks, congregating near where you stood. Heeseung stayed on the bleachers, feeling his skin start to prickle. He wanted to say something, to wave, to let you know he was thereâbut he also felt that familiar, heavy shyness pinning him to the metal bench.
"Hey, look who showed up," Sunoo said, appearing from the other side of the gym where heâd been chatting with some other students. "The hero of the hour."
You laughed, leaning against the padded wall near the court. "I'm just the delivery girl. How's the game going? Is Jay winning by sheer force of personality yet?"
"Always," Soobin said, walking over to press a quick kiss to Yunjinâs cheek as she hopped down from the bleachers to join the group.
Heeseung felt like he was watching a movie he wasn't cast in. He stayed seated, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He watched you interact with themâthe way you joked with Soobin, the way you easily matched Jayâs boldness. You were the glue. You always were.
"So," you said, your eyes shining with a sudden, excited energy. "Speaking of heroes, I have to tell you guys something crazy. Youâre not going to believe what happened last night after I left Soobinâs."
Heeseung, who had been trying to look at his shoes, felt his entire body go rigid. He knew exactly what you were about to say. He reached for his own water bottle, which was sitting next to him on the aluminum seat, and took a long, desperate swig to keep his mouth from going dry.
"What happened? Did you run into a cat again?" Riki teased, leaning on his knees.
"No!" you said, swatting at his arm. "I dropped my phone. Like, right off the side of the bridge near the dorms. I thought it was gone. I was ready to cry."
"And?" Jay asked, crossing his arms, looking genuinely curious.
"And Spider-Man caught it," you said, your voice going a little higher in pitch. "Iâm serious! He literally dropped out of the sky, caught it mid-air, and landed right in front of me."
Heeseungâs throat suddenly decided to stop functioning. He tried to swallow the water heâd just taken in, but it went down the wrong pipe. He erupted into a violent, hacking cough, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled the Gatorade youâd brought.
"Whoa, Hee, you okay?" Jake asked, looking up at him with a suspicious, knowing glint in his eyes.
Heeseung wanted to sock him in the jaw, but he couldn't answer. He just kept coughing, clutching his chest, while Yunjin patted his back with a little too much force. "Geez, breathe, Heeseung. The water isn't going anywhere."
Once the coughing fit subsided into a pathetic wheeze, Heeseung wiped his eyes and tried to look normal. It was impossible.
"You were saying?" Jay prompted you, completely ignoring Heeseungâs near-death experience. (Heeseung was grateful for this.)
"He was so... I don't know, charming?" you continued, your cheeks flushing. "He didn't just give it back and leave. He actually talked to me. He was so witty and cool. He even walked me to my dorm building. Well, he swung along the railings while I walked, but still. He was so smooth."
Heeseung felt a strange, conflicting surge of emotions. Half of himâthe Spider-Man halfâwas incredibly proud. Heâd done that. He was the charming guy you were gushing about. The other halfâthe Heeseung halfâfelt like he was being stabbed in the heart with a dull pencil. You were blushing over a version of him that didn't even have a face.
"Smooth, huh?" Jay said with a chuckle, bouncing the basketball once. He wasn't being mean, just his usual audacious, skeptical self. "The guy wears spandex and crawls on walls. Heâs probably some theater major in a unitard who likes the attention. It's a bit theatrical, don't you think? The whole 'mysterious hero' act?"
Heeseungâs eye twitched. A theater major? He spent ten hours a week doing differential equations and another twenty recalibrating web-fluid viscosity in a basement that smelled like ozone.
"It's not an act, Jay," you defended, your voice firm. "He saved my phone. He didn't have to do that. And he was really nice. It felt... I don't know, real."
"It's a mask," Riki added, taking another sip of Gatorade. "Anyone can be 'smooth' when nobody knows what they actually look like. He's probably a forty-year-old dude with a receding hairline."
"He is not!" you exclaimed, laughing. "He sounded young. And he was... I don't know, athletic? Obviously."
Heeseung wanted to scream. He wanted to stand up, rip off his hoodie, and show them the bruise on his ribs. He wanted to tell Jay that a "unitard" didn't have reinforced carbon-fiber padding. But he just sat there, looking every bit as depressed as he felt. As one would feel after hacking their lungs out in front of their long-time crush.
"I think he's cool," Sunoo chimed in, always the one to support a good story. "He makes the city feel more like a movie. Iâd love to meet him."
"You just want a selfie for your Instagram, Sunoo," Soobin pointed out.
"And? It would get, like, a million likes."
You turned away from the guys then, your gaze drifting up toward the bleachers. You saw Heeseung sitting there, looking small and rumpled. Your expression softened, and you walked over to the base of the bleachers.
"Heeseung," you said, your voice much gentler than it had been when you were arguing with Jay. "Youâve lived here longer than some of us. Have you ever seen him up close? Spider-Man, I mean?"
The group fell quiet, all eyes turning toward Heeseung. Jake had his arms crossed, watching Heeseung with a look of pure, unadulterated amusement. He was enjoying this way too much.
Heeseung felt the weight of everyoneâs gaze. He felt your eyesâso bright and curiousâwaiting for his answer. He felt like he was suffocating.
"I... uh," he started, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "No. Not really. I mean, I've seen him on the news. In the distance, maybe."
"You don't think he's cool?" you asked, noticing his lack of enthusiasm. The disappointment in your voice makes him want to throw himself off the Lotte World Tower. Without his web-shooters.
Heeseung felt a petty, irrational urge to defend his civilian self. If you liked the hero so much, maybe you should know that the hero wasn't all that special.
"I don't know," Heeseung said, shrugging with a forced nonchalance. "I think he's probably... mid. Like, heâs just a guy doing his job, right? Itâs kind of a lot of work for not much reward. And the suit is probably really itchy."
The silence that followed was heavy.
You looked at Heeseung like heâd just grown a second head. Your eyebrows shot up, and your mouth hung open just a tiny bit. "Mid? Heeseung, he saves people! He caught my phone from like a fifty-foot drop!"
"Yeah, but... he couldâve just used a net or something," Heeseung said, digging his own grave. "The swinging looks dangerous. Itâs statistically inefficient."
Oh, God. A net? Really?
"Statistically inefficient?" you repeated, shaking your head. "You are such an engineer, Heeseung. Honestly, sometimes I think you don't have a romantic bone in your body."
You turned back to the guys, clearly done with Heeseungâs "mid" take. "Ignore him. Heâs just being a hater because heâd rather be looking at a blueprint than a hero."
"Hey, I'm not a hater," Heeseung protested, but it was too late. The guys were already moving back toward the court.
"Back to the game!" Soobin yelled.
You stayed on the sideline for a few more minutes, chatting with Yunjin. Heeseung watched you from the bleachers, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed by a giant, invisible hand. Heâd done it. Heâd successfully annoyed you. You were currently thinking he was a boring, uninspired buzzkill, all while you were harboring a crush on his alter-ego.
Jake caught his eye from across the court and mouthed the word: Mid?
Heeseung flipped him off under the cover of his hoodie.
As the game resumed, the gym filled with the sounds of squeaking sneakers and the heavy thud-thud-thud of the ball. Heeseung tried to focus on the game, but his mind was spinning.
He was his own worst enemy. He was competing with a version of himself that didn't exist in the daylight. He was jealous of a piece of fabric and a pair of white lenses.
When the game finally ended an hour later, the guys were exhausted. They collapsed on the sidelines, panting. You were still there, helping Riki pack up his bag, still talking about the bridge incident to anyone who would listen.
"I'm telling you, his voice was so familiar," you said to Yunjin as you both walked toward the exit. "But I can't place it. It was like... I've heard it a million times but in a different context."
Heeseung, who was walking a few paces behind you with Jake, felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
"Maybe you should ask him for his number next time," Yunjin joked.
"I should," you laughed. "I wonder if he has a phone. Or does he just use a tin can and a web?"
The two of you disappeared out the doors, your laughter fading into the night air.
Heeseung stopped in the middle of the parking lot, staring at his shoes. The cool night air felt good against his skin, but it didn't help the knot in his stomach.
"You really leaned into that hater angle, didn't you?" Jake said, bumping his shoulder.
"I didn't know what else to say," Heeseung admitted, his voice quiet. "I can't exactly agree with her, can I? 'Yeah, I'm super charming and my voice is amazing.' That would be even weirder."
"You couldâve just said he was okay. You didn't have to call yourself 'mid'. That's a blow to the ego, man."
"It's the truth," Heeseung sighed. "Heeseung is mid. Spider-Man is the one she wants."
"Sheâs talking to you in class, Hee. Sheâs bringing Gatorade to your friends. Sheâs worried about your sleep schedule. She doesn't even know Spider-Manâs real name."
"Exactly," Heeseung said. "She likes the mystery. If she knew it was just me... the guy who chokes on water and talks about statistics... sheâd be disappointed."
Jake looked at him for a long moment, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "I think you're wrong. I think she'd be relieved. But you're too stubborn to see it."
"Whatever. I'm going to the lab," Heeseung said, turning away.
"It's 11:00 PM!"
"The web-fluid won't recalibrate itself, Jake."
Heeseung walked away, his shadow stretching long and dark behind him. He looked at the silhouette on the pavementâthe tall, lean shape of a boy in a hoodie. It looked nothing like the hero on the news. It looked like a ghost.
As he reached the lab, he didn't turn on the lights. He sat in the dark, surrounded by the smell of acetone and chemicals. He pulled the mask out of his bag, the white lenses staring back at him in the moonlight.
"Charming," he whispered to the empty room. "Smooth."
He threw the mask onto the workbench and put his head in his hands. He was winning the war against crime, but he was losing the war for your heartâand the worst part was, he was losing it to himself.
He stayed there for hours, the only sound the distant hum of the city he was sworn to protect. He thought about your smile, the way youâd defended him against Jay, and the way youâd looked at him on the bleachers.
He wanted to be the hero. But more than that, he just wanted to be the guy you didn't think was mid.
And right now, that felt like the hardest mission heâd ever faced.
The university basketball arena was a different beast than the quiet, echoey gym where the guys played pickup games. Tonight was a legitimate campus event, and the energy was electric. The air was thick with the smell of overpriced popcorn, floor wax, and the collective roar of a thousand students who had nothing better to do on a Tuesday night than scream themselves hoarse.
Heeseung sat in the middle of a packed row of bleachers, and he was currently losing a very difficult battle with his own eyelids.
He had been out until 4:00 AM. A group of specialized thieves had tried to break into a high-end tech warehouse near the docks, and Heeseung had spent most of the night playing a high-stakes game of hide-and-seek among shipping containers. By the time heâd webbed the last guy to a crane and made it back to his dorm, the sun was already threatening to peek over the horizon.
Heâd had exactly two hours of sleep before his first lecture, and the three cups of coffee heâd downed since then were currently doing absolutely nothing.
On his left sat you. You were wearing a university hoodie that looked slightly too big for you, and you were cheering with an intensity that made Heeseungâs head throb in a rhythmic, dull way. On his right were Yunjin and Megan, who were currently busy taking selfies and trying to spot Soobin and Jay on the court.
"Look at them! Jay is actually terrifying when heâs in the zone," Megan shouted over the noise, pointing toward the court.
Jay was indeed in the zone. He was moving with that signature bold, charismatic style, barking plays at the rest of the team. Riki, the star sophomore, was weaving through defenders like they were standing still, and Soobin was a literal wall under the basket. Jake was darting around the perimeter, his eyes sharp, looking for an opening.
It was a great game. A thrilling game.
And Heeseung was about five seconds away from passing out.
The roar of the crowd started to sound like a distant ocean. The bright, flickering lights of the scoreboard blurred into a singular, warm glow. Heeseung felt his chin drop toward his chest. He snapped his head back up, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on the orange blur of the basketball.
Stay awake. Stay awake. Youâre in public. Youâre with her. Donât be weird, he told himself.
But his body was done. Every muscle ached from the dockyard fight, and the warmth of the crowded arena was like a heavy blanket. His head started to nod again. It was a slow, rhythmic movement. Down... up. Down... further down...
He didn't mean for it to happen. He didn't even realize it was happening. But as his consciousness finally slipped away, his head tipped to the left. It drifted through the air until it found a soft, steady place to land.
Your shoulder.
You froze. You had been in the middle of shouting something to Yunjin, but the words died in your throat the moment you felt the weight of Heeseungâs head press against you. You looked down, your eyes wide. You sat perfectly still, your back as straight as a board. Your face was very warm.
You didn't move an inch, terrified that any slight shift would wake him up. You could feel the weight of his head, the softness of his hair against your skin, and the warmth of his breath through your shirt. It was the most domestic, heart-stopping moment of your life, and you were currently being broadcasted to the entire friend group.
Heeseung was out cold. His breathing was deep and even, his face finally relaxed and free of the stressed engineer expression he usually wore. Without the glasses and the constant look of worry, he looked... peaceful. Vulnerable.
Yunjin noticed almost immediately. She nudged Megan, pointing at the two of you with a mischievous grin.
"Oh my god," Megan whispered, fumbling for her phone. "Look at the sleepy little guy. He finally crashed."
"Don't," you hissed, though you didn't move an inch. You were terrified that if you even breathed too deeply, heâd wake up and realize what he was doing, and the resulting awkwardness would probably cause him to flee the state.
"I have to," Megan said, her thumbs flying across her screen as she opened the group chat. "The guys need to see this. Heeseung actually chose a person over a nap in the library. This is historic."
Sunoo, who was sitting in the row directly in front of you, turned around with a devious glint in his eyes. He saw Heeseung slumped against you and let out a tiny, delighted giggle.
"Is he dead?" Sunoo asked, reaching out a finger.
"Sunoo, stop it," you whispered, trying to sound stern.
But Sunoo was Sunoo. He leaned over and very gently poked Heeseungâs cheek. Heeseung didn't even flinch. He just let out a tiny, soft sigh and tucked his face a little closer into the crook of your neck, seeking the warmth.
"He's definitely dead," Sunoo concluded. "Or heâs just really, really comfortable. Look at his face. He looks like a kitten."
Megan snapped a pictureâthe flash was off, thank goodnessâand sent it to the group chat with the caption: rip heeseung. heâs never living this shit down!
You felt your face heating up. You could feel the warmth of his skin through your hoodie. It was a strange sensationâhaving him so close. Usually, there was a visible three-foot radius of complete secrecy around Heeseung, but right now, that wall was completely gone.
You felt a sudden, sharp surge of protectiveness. You knew how hard he worked. You saw the dark circles under his eyes in class, the way he was always the last one to leave the lab, and the way he seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his back. You didn't know why he was so tiredâyou just knew that he deserved this rest.
"Leave him alone," you said to Sunoo, who was reaching out for a second poke. "If any of you wake him up, I will personally make sure you don't get any of the snacks I brought."
Sunoo pouted but retracted his hand. "Fine. But if he drools on you, don't say I didn't warn you."
You looked down at him again. His eyelashes were long and dark against his skin. You noticed a small, faint scratch on his jawline that you hadn't seen before. You wondered how he got it. He was always getting these random little nicks and bruisesâclumsiness, he called it.
You leaned your head back against the bleacher, trying to stay as still as possible. The game continued below you. Riki made a spectacular dunk that sent the crowd into a frenzy, but you didn't jump. You didn't even cheer. You just sat there, smiling like an idiot, leaning into his touch.
It was a strange feeling. You were still thinking about the bridgeâabout the hero who had saved your phone and walked you home. He had been so smooth, so confident. And yet, here was Heeseung, who was the complete opposite. Heeseung was quiet, awkward, and currently using you as a warm pillow.
And yet, you found yourself wanting to tell the whole world to be quiet. You wanted the announcers to stop talking, the cheerleaders to stop dancing, and the crowd to stop roaring, just so he could get another twenty minutes of rest.
You found yourself shifting just a tiny bit, making sure he was as comfortable as he could be. You didn't care about the game anymore. You didn't care about the group chat or the fact that Megan was probably recording a video of the two of you right now.
You just cared about the way his breathing hitched for a second before smoothing out again.
Then, the buzzer for halftime went off.
It wasn't just a buzzer. It was a sharp, loud, electronic blare that seemed to vibrate through the very marrow of your bones. It was designed to be heard over ten thousand screaming fans, and in the relatively enclosed space of the arena, it sounded like a bomb going off.
Heeseung didn't just wake up. He launched into consciousness.
His Spider-sense, which had been blissfully dormant while his brain tried to recover, suddenly screamed DANGER at the sudden, violent noise. To his sleeping brain, the buzzer sounded like a building collapsing or an explosion in the dockyards.
His body reacted before his conscious mind even realized where he was.
He jerked upright with such force that he nearly knocked you over. His eyes snapped open, wide and bloodshot, and his hands instinctively flew to his wrists, his fingers twitching in the specific motion used to fire a web-string.
"Who? What? Where?" he barked, his voice loud, jagged, and full of a combat-ready adrenaline that absolutely did not belong in a college basketball arena.
He scrambled backward, his sneakers squeaking against the metal bleachers as he tried to create distance from the "threat." He nearly tumbled over the row behind him, his heart hammering against his ribs so hard he was sure everyone could see his hoodie vibrating.
He looked around wildly. He didn't see a villain. He didn't see a falling crane.
He saw the court. He saw the cheerleaders starting their halftime routine. He saw a thousand students looking confused.
And he saw Sunoo, who was currently doubled over, clutching his stomach as he laughed so hard no sound was coming out.
"Oh my god," Megan wheezed, holding her phone up. "I got the whole thing. I got the jump-scare of the century."
Heeseungâs brain finally started to catch up with his body. The red mist of adrenaline began to clear, replaced by a cold, crushing wave of realization. He felt the phantom weight of your shoulder where his head had been just seconds ago.
He turned his head slowly, his neck feeling stiff and heavy.
There you were.
You were looking at him with a mix of genuine concern and a tiny, suppressed smile. Your shoulder felt suddenly very cold and empty, and you were still slightly tilted from the force of his sudden departure.
"Good morning, Sunshine," you said softly, your voice a calm anchor in the sea of his panic.
Heeseung stared at you. He felt like he was hovering about three inches off the ground. He looked down at his shirt, his hands trembling as he smoothed out the fabric.
"I... did I..." he stammered, his face rapidly turning a shade of red that was probably visible from the moon. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean toâwas I leaning on you?"
"For about twenty minutes," you said, tucking a loose hair behind your ear. "You looked like you needed it. You were out like a light."
"Twenty minutes?" Heeseung whispered, horrified. He checked his chin, his hand frantically searching for any sign of drool. He had visions of a giant, embarrassing wet spot on your hoodie. He imagined the group chat. He imagined moving to a different country and changing his name to something like 'Evan'.
"You didn't drool, Heeseung. Relax," you said, noticing his panic.
"I... I'm so sorry," he repeated, his voice barely audible over the music playing on the loudspeakers. "I didn't sleep much. I was... studying. Late."
"Must have been some intense studying," you said. "You jumped like someone had just pulled a fire alarm."
"I have a startle response," he lied, his heart finally starting to slow down. "Engineering stress. Itâs a real thing."
"Sure it is," Sunoo chimed in, finally catching his breath. "Riki is going to lose his mind. He didn't think you were capable of physical contact with anyone other than a calculator."
"Sunoo, don't you dare," Heeseung groaned, burying his face in his hands.
But it was too late. On the court below, the halftime break had started, and the guys were heading toward the bench. He saw Riki grab his phone from his bag, look at it, and then immediately whip his head around to stare up at the bleachers.
Riki caught Heeseungâs eye and gave him a massive, theatrical thumbs-up, grinning like a maniac. Jay, standing next to him, looked at the screen, looked up at Heeseung, and just shook his head with a smile. And then there was Jake, with his eyes wide, like he was doing a double take. Right before launching into a fit of laughter, grabbing Soobinâs shoulder as to not topple over.
Heeseung wanted to vanish. He wanted to turn into dust and be swept up by the janitorial staff.
"They're never going to let me live this down," he muttered into his palms.
"It's just a nap, Heeseung," you said, reaching out and gently patting his arm. The touch was brief, but it sent a jolt of electricity through him that was stronger than any buzzer. "It's not a big deal. Honestly, it was kind of nice to see you actually relax for once."
Heeseung looked at you through the gaps in his fingers. You didn't look annoyed. You didn't look creeped out. You looked... happy?
"You're not mad?" he asked.
"Why would I be mad? You're a good pillow," you joked.
Heeseung let his hands fall, his face still glowing pink. He looked down at the court, where Jake was now waving at him mockingly.
"I'm still going to kill Megan for taking that video," he said, though there was no heat in it.
"Good luck! Iâve already uploaded it to the cloud," Megan said, not looking up from her phone. "Youâre a viral sensation in our circle now, Hee. Embrace it."
The rest of the game was a blur for Heeseung, but for a completely different reason. He wasn't sleepy anymore. He was hyper-aware of everything. He was aware of the inch of space between his arm and yours. He was aware of the way you smelled like cherries and laundry detergent. He was aware of the fact that for twenty minutes, he had been closer to you than he had ever been to anyone in his lifeâwithout a mask on.
As the final buzzer soundedâwhich Heeseung handled much better this time, only flinching slightlyâthe crowd began to pour out of the stands.
"We're going to meet the guys at the diner," Yunjin said, standing up. "You guys coming?"
"I think I should go back and actually sleep in a bed," Heeseung said, his voice a bit more stable now. "I don't think my heart can take another halftime buzzer."
"I'll walk with you," you said, surprising him. "I'm a bit tired too. All that cheering is exhausting."
Heeseungâs heart did a little flip. "You don't have to. You should go eat with the others."
"I want to," you said, and there was a finality in your tone that he didn't dare argue with.
The walk back to the dorms was quiet. The campus was cool, the air smelling of damp leaves and distant woodsmoke. For the first time, Heeseung didn't feel the need to fill the silence with technical facts or stammered apologies.
"Seriously though," you said as you reached the fork in the path where you had to head toward your building. "Get some sleep, Heeseung. You're working too hard."
"I'll try," he said. "Thanks for... you know. The shoulder."
"Anytime," you said, giving him a small wave. "See you in the lecture hall tomorrow? Try not to fall asleep on the professorâs shoulder."
"I'll do my best," he promised, face heating up.
He watched you walk away, the same way he had on the bridge. But this time, he wasn't crouching on a railing. He was standing on his own two feet.
He felt a strange sense of victory. Spider-Man had saved your phone, sure. Spider-Man had been charming. But Spider-Man had never felt the warmth of your shoulder or the way you had protected his sleep.
Maybe being Heeseung wasn't so "mid" after all.
He walked back to his dorm with a slight spring in his step, oblivious to the fact that his phone was currently vibrating in his pocket with a relentless stream of messages from the group chat.
He didn't care about the photos. He didn't care about the jokes.
He just cared about the fact that for twenty minutes, he didn't have to be a hero. He just had to be a guy who was tired, and you had been there to catch him.
He reached his door, unlocked it, and collapsed onto his bed without even taking off his shoes. As he drifted back off to sleepâthis time a real, deep sleepâhis last thought wasn't about web-fluid or crime rates.
It was about the way you had called him 'Sunshine'.
The night was quiet, but the air against Heeseungâs face was anything but calm. He was currently crouched on the side of a brick chimney three stories up, his gloved fingers finding purchase in the mortar. Below him, the university campus was a map of orange streetlights and long, dark shadows.
It had been nearly two weeks since the basketball gameâtwo weeks since he had practically catapulted off your shoulder in a state of sheer panicâand the memory still made his stomach do a weird, uncomfortable flip every time he saw you in the lecture hall.
He hadn't been sleeping much (which wasn't new). Between the mountain of engineering projects and the fact that a group of carjackers had decided to make the north side of the city their personal playground, Heeseung was running on fumes and caffeine. But tonight, his... patrol had taken a very specific, very intentional detour.
He shot a line of webbing toward the roof of your dorm building, swinging through the crisp night air with a practiced ease. He landed silently on a ledge just above the fourth floor. He knew which window was yours. Heâd "accidentally" seen it from the ground enough times to memorize the position.
He crawled down the brickwork, moving like a shadow, until he was perched just to the side of the glass. He stayed in the darkness, the white lenses of his mask narrowing as he looked inside.
This was not creepy, by the way. He was not being creepy. He was just a guy checking on his... friend. Or something like that.
The room was bright and warm, a stark contrast to the biting cold of the rooftop. You were sitting at your desk, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks and highlighters. Your hair was up in a messy bun that looked like it was held together by sheer willpower and a single pencil. You were wearing fuzzy, light blue pajamasâthe kind with little clouds on themâand thick wool socks.
Heeseung felt that familiar tug in his chest. You looked so normal. So safe.
But you weren't alone.
The door to your room was open, and he could see Yunjin and Megan in the common area, their shadows dancing against the wall. Suddenly, the two of them burst into your room, music blaring from a phone. They were laughing, doing some synchronized TikTok dance that involved a lot of arm-waving and rhythmic jumping.
You groaned, burying your face in your hands as they circled your desk, trying to get you to join in. Even from behind the glass, Heeseung could tell you were fighting a smile. You swatted at them with a highlighter, pointing toward your open textbook, but they just laughed harder.
Heeseung watched for a long time. He felt like a voyeur, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. This was the part of your life he never got to seeâthe messy, loud, roommate-filled reality of being a student. In the lecture hall, everything was academic and structured. At the mixers, it was crowded and overwhelming.
But here, in the glow of your desk lamp, you were just... you.
Finally, after one last dramatic pose that nearly knocked over your lamp, Yunjin and Megan retreated. He heard the muffled sound of your door closing as they headed out to the kitchen or down the hall.
The room went quiet. You let out a long sigh, rubbing your eyes before leaning back into your chair.
Heeseung waited a beat. Then, he reached out and gave the glass three soft, rhythmic taps.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
You jumped, nearly falling out of your swivel chair. You spun around, eyes wide, staring at the dark window. For a second, you looked terrified, but then you saw the faint outline of the mask and the flash of red and blue.
Your face transformed instantly. The exhaustion seemed to vanish, replaced by a bright, genuine light that Heeseung could feel even through the glass. You scrambled toward the window, fumbling with the latch before sliding the frame up.
"You!" you breathed, the cool night air rushing into the room. "What on earth are you doing here? I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
"And leave my favorite phone-dropper behind?" Heeseung asked, his voice tilting into that smooth, playful edge he only had when the mask was on. "Not a chance."
He hopped onto the windowsill, crouching there with his knees tucked to his chest. He looked around the room, making sure the coast was clear. "Are your roommates gone? They seemed pretty busy with... whatever that was."
You flushed, leaning against the window frame. "You saw that? God, theyâre obsessed with that dance. Iâm trying to pass my classes, and theyâre trying to go viral."
"It wasn't bad," he teased, his head tilting to the side. "Though I think you couldâve handled the footwork better."
"I wasn't even doing it!" you laughed, throwing a stray eraser at him. He caught it out of the air without even looking, tossing it back onto your desk. "What are you doing here anyway? Isn't there, like, a bank being robbed somewhere?"
"Itâs a slow day," he shrugged. It wasn't every day that the city was this quiet, and maybe he should've been at home, using this time to rest upâbut it seemed like he could never say no to the idea of you. "Besides, I figured Iâd check in. See if youâve managed to keep your phone in your pocket for more than forty-eight hours."
"I have, thank you very much," you said, crossing your arms.
His lenses scanned you up and down, settling on the fluffy blue fabric of your outfit. "Nice pajamas, by the way. Are those... clouds? Is there a matching hat, or is that reserved for special occasions?"
You looked down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious, and smoothed out the fuzzy fabric. "They're comfortable! Itâs cold in this building, and I have a lot of studying to do. Don't judge my fashion choices, Mr. Spandex."
"Hey, this isn't spandex," he countered, leaning closer into the room. "It's a highly sophisticated tri-weave polymer. Very high-tech. Very serious. Not at all like fuzzy clouds."
"It looks like you're wearing a unitard," you teased, echoing Jay's words from two weeks ago.
Heeseung flinched internally. "A unitard? Ouch. Thatâs a low blow. Iâll have you know this suit is aerodynamic. It helps with the swinging. Fuzzy clouds, on the other hand, probably create a lot of drag."
"Well, I'm not planning on swinging anywhere tonight, so I think I'm safe," you said. You looked at him, your expression softening. You reached out, your hand hovering near the edge of the windowsill. "You look tired. I mean, I can't see your eyes, but your shoulders... you look like you haven't slept in a week."
Heeseung felt a jolt of panic. Was it that obvious? Was his Heeseung side leaking through the mask?
"Occupational hazard," he said, trying to regain his footing. "The city doesn't sleep, so I don't really get to either. Itâs fine. Iâve had plenty of... uh, coffee."
"You sound like a friend of mine," you said, a small, sad smile touching your lips. "Heâs an engineer. He works himself to the bone. He actually fell asleep on me during a basketball game last week. I think I've mentioned him before," you hummed.
Heeseung felt the air leave his lungs. He stayed perfectly still, his heart thumping against his ribs. "Uh, yeah. I think you have. Sounds like a real thrill-seeker, this friend of yours."
"He's not," you said softly. "Heâs quiet. A bit awkward. He called you 'mid,' actually."
Heeseung let out a dry, forced laugh. "Mid? Wow. Remind me to web his locker shut tomorrow."
"Don't you dare," you said, but you were smiling. "Heâs actually really sweet. I think heâs just... lonely. Or maybe heâs just carrying something he won't tell anyone about. I felt really bad for him. He woke up so panicked, like he was expecting a fight."
"Maybe he was just embarrassed," Heeseung suggested, his voice dropping an octave. "Maybe he didn't want the girl he likes to see him at his weakest."
You paused, your eyes searching the white lenses of his mask. "The girl he likes?"
Heeseung realized heâd said too much. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight on the ledge. "I mean... lucky guess. A guy doesn't just fall asleep on someone unless heâs comfortable with them, right?"
"I guess so," you said, though you sounded a bit distracted. You looked back at your desk. "Anyway, I should probably get back to these equations. If I fail this midterm, my parents are going to kill me, and not even a superhero can save me from that."
"Right. Uni work. Nasty stuff," he said. He stayed for a few more minutes, teasing you about the way you chewed on your pencil when you were thinking, and listening to you complain about your professor. It was the easiest conversation heâd had all week. There was no stuttering, no tripping over his feet, no embarrassing himself.
He was smooth. He was the hero. He was the guy you were leaning toward with interest in your eyes.
"I should go," he said finally, standing up on the ledge. "The clouds are calling you, and I have a city to... not rob."
"Wait," you said, reaching out and catching the fabric of his sleeve.
He froze.
"Will you come back?" you asked. "I mean... I know youâre busy. But itâs nice having someone to talk to who doesn't try to make me do TikTok dances."
Heeseung looked down at your hand on his arm. He felt a wave of affection so strong it made his head dizzy. "Yeah. I'll be around. Just keep your window unlocked."
"It's a deal," you said.
He shot a web at the building across the street and leaped into the night. He did a celebratory flip in mid-air, the adrenaline of the conversation buzzing through his veins. He felt invincible. He felt like he was on top of the world.
But as he landed on a nearby rooftop and looked back at your glowing window, the feeling started to change.
He pulled the mask off, the cold wind hitting his sweaty forehead. He leaned against a cooling vent, his chest heaving.
The high was fading, and in its place was a sharp, bitter sting.
He thought about the way your eyes lit up when you saw the mask. He thought about the way you laughed at his jokes and the way you flirted back with Spider-Man.
And then he thought about Heeseung.
Heeseung, the guy who had sat next to you for months and barely managed a "hello." Heeseung, the guy who had finally, by some miracle, ended up with his head on your shoulderâonly to ruin the moment by launching himself into the air like a startled cat.
You liked the guy in the mask. You liked the confidence, the wit, and the mystery. You liked the version of him that was a lie.
The version of him that was realâthe tired, awkward engineer with the scratched jaw and the inability to talk to his crush like a normal personâwas just a boring friend. You felt bad for Heeseung. You felt protective of him. But you looked at Spider-Man like he was something special.
Heeseung looked at the mask in his hand. It was just a piece of fabric, but it was a wall he had built himself. A wall that kept him safe, but also kept him out.
He imagined telling you the truth. He imagined landing on your windowsill and pulling the mask off. He saw the look of shock on your faceâand then, he imagined the disappointment. The realization that the charming hero was just the guy who drooled in his sleep.
"She doesn't like you, Heeseung," he whispered to the night air. "She likes the suit."
He felt a sudden, irrational flash of jealousy toward his own alter-ego. He wanted to rip the suit to shreds. He wanted to be the guy who made you laugh without needing a voice changer or a hidden identity.
But he wasn't that guy. He was just a boy who was too afraid to be himself, competing with a shadow that he could never beat.
He put the mask back on, but the magic was gone. The suit felt heavy. That stupid fucking polymer weave felt like lead.
He turned away from your window and started the swing back to his dorm. He would see you tomorrow in class. He might sit next to you, and if he did, he would probably stutter when you asked him for a pen. You would look at him with that kind, pitying smile, and then you would probably go back to thinking about the hero who had visited your window.
It was a cycle he didn't know how to break.
As he reached his own room and crawled through the tiny gap in the window, he didn't feel like a hero. He felt like a fraud.
He changed into his own pajamasâplain gray ones, nothing as cute as fuzzy cloudsâand climbed into bed. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a message from the group chat.
Heeseung turned the phone off and stared at the ceiling.
You had called him 'Sunshine.' Well, you called Heeseung that. But that one word wasn't the same as anything else you'd said to Spider-Man. He was the guy who had your heart, but he was also the guy who could never have it.
He closed his eyes, hoping for a dream where the mask didn't exist. But even in his sleep, he could hear the sound of his own heart beating for a girl who would never see him the way he saw her.
đˇď¸ ( third wheel ) : @imsleepingwhataboutu @rianzysworld
âáâ in which . . . it's been a few years since you've started street racing. slowly, but surely you've been climbing the ranks and now, you're considered one of the best on the scene. however, the emergence of a totally new face sparks... interesting discussions. how could it be that no one's ever seen him before, and yet, some might argue he's on par with your level. with the end of the year race coming, you've got a lot more to prove this time round with a new enemy hot on your wheels.
author's note | reupload of my first fic on tumblr from 2 years ago! might reupload some other fics soon from my old blog. this really was the peak of my tumblr career
night lights blur into a singular entity as you speed through streets, intersections, and shortcuts. the body of your hair whipped up by the windâyou know you should be wearing a helmet, you know it full well, but you rushed out of the door tonight and simply forgot. your fingers grip onto the handles of your motorcycle even tighter as your bike accelerates even more. the stinging as wind enters your eyes is becoming nearly impossible to ignore, but you persist, knowing there's only a little bit left to go.
extending your fingers to the brake, you slowly begin to come to a halt in front of a bright white sign, flashing: open 24 hours! sat on the curb below the sign was haechan. he doesn't even wince at your abrupt appearance, no flinching at how close you stopped next to him. "took you long enough," he utters without looking up from his phone.
"that took me 7 minutesâ10 at worst," you shoot back.
he gives an overtly exaggerated sigh before mumbling, "whatever," but made sure it was loud enough so you can hear. shoving his phone in his pocket, he springs to his feet, "ramen?"
after pushing your bike into the somewhat hidden employees' parking slots and resting it against the wall, you follow haechan into the convenience store.
soon enough, the two of you come out with instant ramen bowls that are hot to the touch. haechan sits back down on his spot on the curb, being careful not to spill any of the hot water onto himself and you do the same.
"so," haechan says in a tone that almost mimics an announcement. "how are you feeling?"
while in the midst of setting your bowl down next to you, a breath escapes you, nearing on the edge of a scoff. "great. thanks for asking," you put your chopsticks over the top of the foil lid of the bowl.
"really?" though you're not looking directly at him, you can picture haechan's eyebrows shooting up as he says that.
you lift your head to make direct contact with haechan's gaze. "why would i lie?"
haechan doesn't shy away from your stare, in fact, he seems to study your expression for any sign of disjointedness. after a beat or two, he resumes, "people can get nervous, you know," he breaks away from looking at you to pick up his bowl of ramen, "like most of the population does. you don't have to hide it," one of his shoulders rises as if to imitate a shrug.
using the palm of your hand, you push on his arm slightly swaying him away from you. "asshole," you mutter, evoking a muffled chuckle from haechan.
you go to take the chopsticks off of the lid and uncover the bowl; steam rises, hitting your face.
"i'm kidding," haechan chews, and then swallows impassively. "i know you have nothing to be nervous about."
"hopefully, not."
"did i suddenly shake you up or something? you sounded confident enough a minute ago."
you use your chopsticks to give your ramen a stir before bringing it up to your mouth and carefully blowing on it. "no," you say before stuffing a mouthful of noodles into your cheeks. "but who knows what will happen? like, last year, those freak accidents?"
haechan seems to give what you said a careful thought. "i think we all know they weren't just 'accidents,'" he pauses at his last word. "people always take the closing race so seriously--"
"yeah, and you know why," you jump in, one side of your mouth still full.
haechan rolls his eyes. "yeah, yeah, prize moneyâall that. but, they act like it's worth sabotaging other people for it."
you sit with his words for a minute. they ring a certain truth to it, but to some extent, you can also understand the motive behind the so-called "sabotage" that haechan was talking about. you were sure that you would never stoop so lowâbut again, you've never been put into a position where you had to cross that line.
the two of you continue wolfing down your midnight snack in prolonged silence.
"renjun asked about you the other day."
and with that simple sentence, it catches you off guard. you try your best to stifle a cough by sipping on some of the ramen brothâsalty to the point that it reminds you why you shouldn't have done that. "what did he say?" despite sparing no effort to sound unaffected at the sound of his name, a waver in your voice can be heard if you paid close enough attention.
haechan finishes the remaining broth in his bowl before giving you an answer. "you know, the same old." an answer that's barely an answer.
you're unsure whether you should prod to find out more, or if you should just leave the topic here. you know what you would find out if you asked, anyway, so even though your lips opened up to respond, nothing came out of you.
"he's worried about you."
the word strikes a familiar chord within you. worry. as expected, it's nothing you didn't already know; he's always been worried.
"i'm not telling you this to try and change your mind about anything; i know you well enough to know you won't," haechan continues, "but maybe just talk to him."
"and say what?" instead of sounding defensive, your tone instead comes across as helpless, and haechan simply shrugs. "we're never going to see eye to eye on this. he wants me to stop racing. if i do now, what was it all for? if i don't win now, then everything i've done, i've done for nothing."
haechan inhales a deep breath. he lifts up his hand and lands two pats on your knee. "then, tell him that," he adjusts his body so he can get up on his feet, "the both of you are stubborn, and i don't want to play middleman anymore."
haechan stands towering over you still sat on the curb, his shadow casted over the entirety of your body. he extends a hand toward you, a sheepish grin overtaking his face and you know what he's about to ask you: "be a gentleman and give me a ride home?"
you take his hand, pulling yourself up from the ground. making sure the annoyance is visible on your face, you cock your head in the direction of your bike, "sure, i guess."
...
after dropping haechan off at his apartment, you return to yours. the rest of the night seems to pass like a blur. and before you know it, you're in front of your apartment door, trying to forcibly push it open. the door's lock has been jammed for at least a couple of months. telling your landlord would do absolutely nothing and a strong budge is good enough to get it open. so you're in front of your apartment door, putting your all into getting this damn thing to move, and it does after a few attempts.
you drag yourself inside, and once again, having to put your weight into making sure the front door is locked. in all honesty, you would up and leave here any second if you could, but you're barely making the rent on time here, so forget any wishful thinking of finding another place to stay here in the city.
plopping down on your slightly decrepit beanbag, your mind starts jumping back to the closing race. the last race of the year, where the prize is always the most considerable. this year, there's a hundred grand on the line.
maybe, wishful thinking isn't so bad, after all.
you push harder and harder onto the pedal until your toes curl. in your sight, there is nothing but the finish line. in this instance, the finish line being where haechan stood with a stopwatch in his hand. your back tyres leave skid mark after skid mark on the concrete of the desolate parking lot. you speed past where haechan stood, so fast to the point where he didn't even register in your peripheral. and you come to a stop, turning so that your vehicle is now horizontal in relation to the track. kicking open the driver's door, you step out, almost with a kick in your step. there's certainty in your head that this had to be your best time.
"how was that?" you shouted over to haechan, who was now stalking over to where you had stopped.
he waited until he had reached within an arm's distance from you to speak, "not badâ1:27.03"
you exhale a deep breath, puffing out your cheeks. "1:27's better than 1:29," you had bested your own personal record. haechan holds his hand up and you meet his gesture with your own. he gives your hand a firm shake up in the air, "good job," a slight, but sincere smile appearing on his lips.
a sudden vroom catches both of your attentions from a distance. you turn your head to the entrance of the parking lot. a black blob, somewhat resembling the shape of a motorcycle, swiftly darts from one side of your vision to the other from behind the wire fence that surrounds the lot. "who's that?" you mutter.
you've never seen anyone here before. you thought that this lot was just a deserted junkyard that happened to be of good use to you, and no other racer bothered to drive out here, and to what? to practice? they simply roamed and tyrannised the streets for that.
then again, the same shadowy figure blitz past the entrance gate, but this time in the opposite direction. "they're leaving?" haechan voices, watching the figure as attentively as you.
that's weird, you thought, who just drives into a dead end and then turns around to leave immediately?
"huh," haechan pokes his tongue into his cheek.
as if you've been reminded of something, you hastily drag your phone out of your back pocket to check the time. "shit," you mutter under your breath, "i need to get to my shift." you turn on your heels, taking strides toward your car. leaning over the driver's seat, you dig around in the bag sat in the passenger for your keys. your fingertips quickly rifle through your belongings until you feel something cold and metal. swinging your keys into the palm of your hands, you walk back over to haechan. "she's yours," the pitch of your voice going up near the end of your statement, making it sound more like a question.
"i won't hurt your baby, don't worry," haechan responds to the clear concern in your voice with a teasing smile in his eyes.
you take purposeful steps toward the entrance of the parking lot, your bike parked right next to it. sliding your helmet off of the handle, you flip it over atop your head, each action carried out with an awareness of time. without hesitation, you secure on your helmet, swing one leg over your bike, and switch on your engine. a blare erupts from behind youâhaechan is already lined up for the entrance with you being his only obstacle. fighting back the urge to flash up a gesture at him, you reluctantly begin to drive off to your shift.
...
"hey," you greet your coworker, almost out of breath, as you stagger into the convenience store right on time for your shift.
"i thought you weren't gonna show up, again," she comments, clearly impatient. eagerly, she makes her way out in front of the cashier counter.
you mumble a quick apology, and she doesn't respond further. she goes into the employees' lounge to collect her stuff; two minutes later, she's back and she's clocking out without a word.
seeing as there's no one in the store right now, you enter your pin to the employees' only room. there's a small circular desk in the middle of the cramped room with two teal sofa chairs next to it. you set down your bag, your jacket, and your helmet before getting out again.
as you straighten your shirt, you start thinking about the next several boring hours you're obligated to spend in this stuffy shop as you make your way behind the counter. immediately, as if it's muscle memory, your head tilts upwards to the right side of the store where the tv is positioned. on screen, they seem to be showing some celebrity reality show that you've seen once or twice but haven't kept up with. you watch absentmindedly, counting down the hours you have left before you can go home. 8 hours. 8 hours until it's 11pm. 8 hours until youâre done. whatever made you pick the evening shift over the morning shift, anyway? now that you think about it, 7-3 seems a lot more desirable than 3-11.
as you're lost in your regretting your work decisions, the door bell chimes, snapping you back into consciousness.
a manly figure steps through, dressed in ash grey jeans paired with a brown leather jacket, visibly worn. the figure's face is covered by a jet black helmet, one similar to yours. the figure stops in front of the glass doors, gloved hands reaching up to cast off the helmet. once it's off, the man tucks his helmet into the crook of his left elbow and attempts to adjust his hair in a rather shaggy manner with his other hand.
your eyes dart outside through the glass panes; a black motorcycle.
as the man browses through the aisles lackadaisically, you try to pay him no mind, returning your gaze back to the mediocre reality tv.
he takes several minutes, walking up and down, then down and up again through the display racks, only picking something up once. then, he approaches the counter, helmet still in his arms. he sets down a bottle of water in front of you, "can i have a pack of those?" he gestures behind you, pointing to the cigarette stand. you pick out the brand he's pointing at and scan it through on the register, then repeating the same with his bottle of water.
"that'll be 8.99."
the man sets his helmet down on the edge of the counter, careful not to knock any of the gum packets on display off. his arm reaches behind him and pulls out a worn leather wallet. as he's digging through to find his card, or cash, you don't know for sure, your eyes dart back outside. "that your bike outside?"
he seems to be caught off-guard by your small talk. the man's head snaps to look at you, eyes wide, eyebrows raised, and his lips slightly ajar. "uh- yeah," he returns his attention onto his wallet. now, his fingers look to be struggling to pull a card out.
you nod your head, almost like in approval. "what model is it?" truth be told, you knew what model it was, you even knew the make. but something about the man standing before you made you want to keep talking to him, regardless of if it was small talk.
"tuono 660," basically confirming what you thought you knew, "aprilia."
he hands you his card and you take it in your hands, m. lee embossed along the bottom. you hover over the card reader until a beep sounds out. you return his card wearing a small smile on your expression, "would you like your receipt?" instinctually returning to your customer service tone.
"no... thanks," he replies, followed by a tight-lipped smile. he shoves his wallet back inside his pocket and grabs ahold of both his water and cigarettes in one hand.
"thank you," your much practiced tone and expression still dripping on each word.
the man catches your eyes for a split second, before he turns his head, then his whole body to exit the store.
a sudden eruption of laughter comes from the tv but it fades into the background of your mind. the man is now outside on the curb, pocketing his pack of cigs into his jeans before climbing onto his bike.
"haechan!" you exclaim as you push the door closed behind you. it's surprise visits like this that makes haechan sometimes regret giving you a key to his apartment. "helloo?" you call out again.
you make your way over to the kitchen island when you hear a door click. footsteps begin to shuffle on the wooden floorboards.
"yn," a curt voice speaks out.
the voice sends a sudden jolt through your body. you lift your head to see a pair of brown eyes fixated on you. "renjun," you greet him but the enthusiasm you had a second ago is now nowhere to be heard.
in your head, you debate whether you should ask how he's doing, you know, normal friendly stuff people do. would it be weird? surely not. but before you can reach a consensus in your mind, renjun cuts your thoughts off.
"haechan's in the bathroom."
your lips mimic an 'oh.' perhaps this is the one time that you regret haechan giving you his key. you purse your lips together, an "um," tumbling out of you. and now you're back to debating whether or not you should ask him about his day. seconds tick by, made evident by the clock hung up in the centre of their living room. seconds that feels like hours.
haechan bursts out from the bathroom, curses slipping past his lips. thank god, was the only thought you can form. you don't know how much more of the awkward silence you can take from renjun.
"yn! oh my god," haechan demands your attention from the other man standing right across from the pair of you.
"what?" you blurt out, unsure whether haechan's franticness is genuine, or if he heard the scene that went down before and decided to be a saving grace.
"listen!" his thumbs scroll on his phone at a rate that you're sure he can't be comprehending anything.
after waiting a few seconds for him to follow up on his eagerness and having been met with nothing, you prod a bit, "go on, then. i'm listening."
his thumbs suddenly stop, eyes scanning the lines of text rapidly on his screen. "they're saying some new kid won the league race last night." his words almost slur into one another at the pace which he is speaking with.
"...so?"
haechan must've seen the genuine confusion that's struck your face; he seems stuck in a trance-like state for a moment as he tries to register your hint of nonchalance.
"you don't get it!" he clicks his tongue and his eyes go back to his phone. "he won, by like- a lot. his time was only 3 seconds away from yours."
and that's when you begin to understand the sort of panic seeped into haechan's demeanor. in all honesty, he's acting more panicked than you are, or should be.
"what- who's telling you this?"
"people we know- it doesn't matter! what matters is they're saying he might beat you at closing this year."
you lean over to catch a glimpse of what haechan is intently looking at. your head turns to the back of the hallway leading to renjun's room, and he's not there anymore; his door shut as well. you would've said something about renjun to haechan but the both of you are rather preoccupied right now.
"there's no way," you whisper under your breath, more so to relieve your own disbelief than anything. "who is this guy?"
haechan scrolls up in the groupchat thread that he's in, until he lands on a picture sent by someone who you don't recognise. "i don't know," he clicks on the picture, zooming in. it obviously was taken with the subject being unaware of it. "they're saying his name- well, at least his racing name, is drift."
"a little on the nose, don't you think?" you mutter as your eyes study the picture haechan is showing you. the man pictured is in the distance, in the middle of taking his helmet off. dressed in an outfit you've seen before. that same brown leather jacket and the grey jeans that looks black due to the poor resolution. "i've seen him before," you admit to haechan.
his head turns to you as fast as humanly possible, "you have?"
you give him a nonchalant nod of the head, the corners of your mouth dropping down like in understanding.
"why do you not seem even a bit concerned?" haechan questions.
"should i be?" you distance yourself from haechan as you approach their fridge. maybe you should be, but humility has never been a strong virtue of yours.
haechan watches your every action carefully, even as you reach inside of his fridge to grab a cold soda into your hands. "i'm telling you, yn, this guy is good."
the league races sound exactly like the opposite of what they are. they're the smaller street races that take place right before the closing race for people to blow some steam off; kind of... take the pressure off the closing for some. point is, they're unimportant. to you, at least. which is why for as long as you've been racing, you've never attended one, to save some gas for the closing, that's what you've convinced yourself.
your fingernails dig below the tab of the can and a release pops. 'i guess i'll have to see for myself," you swig back a mouthful of sweet, bubbly soda. "when's the next league race?"
boring, boring, boring.
that's how every one of your shifts go. but you don't have a choice. well, you do. either you work, or get evicted, and it's pretty clear to you which one you prefer. the only strand of motivation you're holding onto at this point, is the fact that after you win closing, you can maybe start looking for a better job somewhere else. maybe even move out of that shitty apartment. but that's after the closing, and haechan would like to remind you that that's even if you win.
and as if scripted, the topic of debate between you and your best friend for the past few days steps through the glass doors to the convenience store. you don't know how you recognised him that quickly, you don't know why you recognised him, but you know it's him. once again. m. lee, huh. drift. you still haven't grown fond of his stage name.
today, he's wearing grey, baggy sweatpants, with the same leather jacket you've seen him in on all occasions you've seen him. he's browsing through the aisles again, with a cap obstructing your view of his face. you watch him more carefully this time than before. looking outside, no bike this time.
he walks over to the row of refrigerators situated on the left side of the store and pulls out a can of beer. his actions seemed to be performed with a certain kind of preciseness, meticulousness.
he saunters over to you, stood behind your counter.
you watch as he places the can in front of you, head down, once again, looking for his wallet. it's like you have deja vu. instead of scanning the can through, your fixation on watching his every action overrides your muscle memory.
"so, are you new 'round here?"
he looks at you through his brows, the same deer in headlights expression he wore the first time you've seen him. however, his lips quickly break into a small curve. "you're really fond of small talk, aren't you?"
you don't know what to make of his toneâhalf teasing, half amused, but his gaze is cold and hard, despite the smile lifting on the corners of his mouth.
"just being friendly," you break eye contact with him, a slight gratefulness twinges within you for your duties as a cashier as you go to scan his can of beer through to the system.
"well, in that case, yes. i am new around here."
you go to meet his gaze again, now with a small, satisfied grin on your own face. as subtle as you can, you scan his outfit, or what you can see of it with the counter in the way. the hems of his leather jacket washed out in colour; a lighter brown as compared to the darker shade on the sleeves. a light discolouration throughout that you can't deem whether as intentional or not. a sudden urge overtakes you.
"do you race?"
his off-guard expression is now back again, "sorry?"
"i saw your bike last time," you try to say casually, "it's modified, isn't it?"
he purses his lips tightly together, eyebrows lifted as if you caught him in a lie. then, his expression softens. "yeah, it is. you know quite a bit about bikes, i assume?"
"just a bit."
a smirk now dragging on his lips, "i'm delighted that you think i'm good enough to race." something about the way he enunciated his sentence made you pause for a split second. "so, how much?" his finger gestures toward the beer on the counter, drops of condensation beginning to pool at the base of it.
it should be here, you think to yourself as you begin to approach a rather quiet part of the city. haechan said it was going to be here. he would've went with you, like he'd said, if renjunâhis roommateâwasn't conveniently out of town tonight.
you take a turn onto the main road, and sure enough, there's a crowd of people standing on the pavements on all sides of the intersection a little bit further down. indistinct murmuring begins to fill your ears. the sound of bottles hitting the concrete ground, laughter, music, all of it. as you get closer and closer, a heavy smell of smoke also enters your airways.
you approach the crowd a bit more, but keep your distanceâabout 6 feet away from the perimeter of the group of people. suddenly, several heads turn in your direction. the scene is unsettling, you've never seen it from this perspective. it's as if they're all being remotely controlled as more and more heads turn. they're not looking at you though butâ
without warning, a car speeds past you.
speed is an understatement; it was in your peripheral vision for less than a second before it zooms off down the rest of the main street. right as the car passes you, cheers erupt from the conglomerate of people, all of them following the car's trajectory. a loud voice booms, seemingly out of nowhere.
"and there we have it! newcomer drift takes another one!"
there's a moment of stillness before another car zooms by, one that you recognise. the voice continues without missing a beat, "and revy comes in at second!"
the crowd of people all start to move up the street towards the two cars that have now slowly come to a halt up at the next intersection, their movements reminiscent of a stampede of sorts. giving into curiosity, you follow the crowd but with the same distance you kept as before.
cheer and fanfare can probably be heard from several blocks away. excited screaming strikes your eardrums, and before you can even hope that it quiets down at least a little bit, even more screaming fills the atmosphere. you tilt your head to get a better view at what everyone is cheering at. and sure enough, a familiar silhouette steps out. the man raises a palm as if to wave at the crowd of people who all cheered instantaneously louder for him the second he did so. he walks toward the crowd, and the voice booms once again all over this part of the street. you see a boy, presumably a teenager, approach the man with a mic in one hand and a speaker in the other. the boy drops his microphone as he goes to whisper something in the man's ear. of course, you can't hear anything, but you're also a bit too far to even attempt to read his lips. it's hard to say you're not intrigued by all this commotion. and for what? for the man who you've now decided frequents the convenience store you work at? you need to find out more, we'll call it researching your competition.
you cut your way through the crowd. cars are still zooming past that first intersection, which is now behind you, but no one seems to pay them any mind.
you're behind the first row of people within the crowd and you're just about to come out on the other side when a familiar face peers out from the side, startling you just a tiny bit.
"surprised you turned up," her voice is silky smooth. a too perfect beam tugging on her lips.
"minjeong," you try your best to mirror her smile right back at her. you have no energy for trivial smack talk tonight.
"i always thought you were too good for the leagues... what changed?" her charm is undeniable. the expression on her face still as polite as ever, but you know better than to assume what you can see.
"nothing, just wanted a change of scenery."
before minjeong replies, someone else steps in to join your conversation. "come on, we have to go," they don't seem to be addressing you. you do them the favour of letting yourself fade into the background as your eyes search again for man you've been focused on prior. at that second, the two of you stare directly at each other. you force yourself to look away but you can't, it's like there's a magnetic field surrounding just the two of you. he turns his head away first, refocusing his attention to the teenage boy who is still stood next to him.
"we'll see you around, yn," minjeong waves goodbye to you but instead of rotating her wrist, she flutters her fingers lightly. her words spoke with such careful calculation, and yet her voice as sweet as honey. you eke out a small, courteous smile; no point in calling her out on her bullshit tonight.
as you're watching minjeong and her friend walk off into an alley, someone else is headed towards you. you don't notice until you turn your head and-
"so, we're stalking now?" he stands a little bit taller than you, a glimmer in his eyes as he's staring down at you. this man is an enigma. how could he come off as shy one second back at your work, and here, he's completely charismatic. must be in his element.
the people around you seems to take notice of the pair of you, or maybe just him, but you've grown used to scenes like this; it's not like you've never been to a race before where there's an attractive racer that everyone seems to go weak in the knees for.
"you flatter yourself," you can't hold back the urge to bat your lashesâjust onceâat him.
"if i didn't know better, i would think so," he drags his words out one by one. his response causes you to wrinkle your brows, not sure what to say to that, which earned a light chuckle out of him. "you think i don't know who you are?" a playfulness ringing in his tone. is he teasing you right now? had he known this whole time?
"how did you-?"
a chorus of voices flare up in the middle of the crowd. you turn on your heels to see people running off in every direction. suddenly, the same teenage boy from before is propped up on others, shouting out, "someone called the cops!"
immediately, you turn back around. you can feel a firm grasp on your wrist pulling you in the direction of the alley that minjeong and her friend walked into earlier. for a second, you're stood still where you are, the panic of everyone else around you freezes you to the spot. then, you hear a "come on!" from the man holding your wrist, and before you know it, you let yourself get hauled away in midst of the chaos into leather jacket man's car.
wordlessly, he starts his engine and speeds off into... you don't know where, yet, but far enough away from where the gathering was. once the two of you are at enough distance away from the race, he starts decelerating, but shows no indication that you will be stopping any time soon. you look over to the driver's seat, his gaze is fixated on the road ahead and you're not sure whether you should make conversation.
you sit in silence for about 5 minutes as you watch out of the window. you can tell that you're getting further and further away from the centre of the city, and in fact, you're nearing the beach that runs along the coast.
it wasn't long until you turn into the parking lot, and finally, come to a stop. he unclicks his seatbelt, provoking you to do the same. he flips the handle on his door and gets out, still without a word. you watch as he zips up his jacket, stuffs his hands into his pockets, and crouch slightly to look at you through his windows. he tilts his head in the direction of the beach which you took as a signal to get out of the car as well.
as soon as you step out onto the tarmac parking lot, a cool evening breeze sweeps right past you. with the wind caught up in your hair, you clasp your hands together to gain some warmth. leather jacket man is already headed for the shoreline, a lax pattern in his steps, making it easy for you to catch up to him.
"congratulations," you break the silence once you're at the side of him. he looks at you, and you continue walking down the beach. "for winning leagues tonight," you follow up.
he stops walking. when you peer back at him, you're met with the same playful expression that was on his face back at the race. "thanks," a glint reflected in his teeth. "sorry about... dragging you back there," he bends at his waist, and then sits down on the soft sand shimmering under the moonlight.
you take a step towards him, and then decide to join him on the ground. your fingers sink into the sand as you're setting yourself down. waves lap over and over at the shoreline, the body of the ocean twinkling under the void of stars up above.
"so you knew, huh?" you grab a handful of sand and delicately let it fall off your fingers.
he extends his legs and leans back on his hands that rested behind his torso. "how could i have not?" an air of confidence interweaved within his voice. you turn your head towards him, and he looks to be biting back a cocky smirk, "gotta know your enemies, right?"
you're not sure which part of his sentence you should address. "know?" what does he know about you? and it didn't register within you that he saw you as an enemy, as a threat before.
"alright, then, since you know so much about me, it's my turn to ask you something." you dust off the sand on your hands and reposition yourself so that your body faces himâyour legs criss-crossed with each other.
"shoot."
"what's your name?"
he gives you a suspicious look; a slight tug at his lips and furrowed brows. he pushes himself off one hand to lean in closer towards you, "well, did you not hear the announcer? i think he said my name pretty loud and clear when i passed that finish line."
you roll your eyes, seriously considering the idea of shoving sand down his throat so he could stop with his mockery. "do you know mine?"
without missing a beat, he replies, "yn."
"so what's yours?"
he looks straight at you, a face full of careful consideration, before he gives in. "mark," a smile plastered on his face that you can't describe as other than 'dorky.'
you repeat his name under your breath, attention now back to the sand between the two of you.
a brief minute passes by as you two listen to the ocean's waves rippling quietly.
"i'm guessing it was you that day at the junkyard?" mark asks.
and so the puzzle completes itself in your mind, "you say that like i'm invading in on your space." a sudden gust of wind blows past you, sending a chill down your spine.
"it was my uncle's," mark hangs his head back, directing his gaze at the stars. "i'd recently just moved back so i didn't know it'd be empty. or that you'd be there." you watch mark watch the stars.
"what happened to it being your uncle's?"
mark's adam's apple dips as he gulps down a swallow. "he'd passed, not too long ago."
"oh..." you return to fidgeting with the sand under your fingertips, "i'm sorry for your loss."
"it happens," mark exhales a deep breath. you feel there's a change in conversation coming with the way he's readjusting his shirt, pulling down on its hem poking out from underneath his jacket. "anyway. you down to help me practice tomorrow?"
your eyebrows shoot up, not just at the sudden change in topic, but at his request, "help? you practice?" it's almost laughable.
"i mean, yeah," he shrugs, "the enemy of your enemy is a friend, right? we have plenty of shared enemies."
as promised, you show up the next day up at the parking lot that you're pretty sure you would've went to anyway regardless of if mark asked you to or not. after all, closing's in a week and you need to get whatever amount of practice in that you can.
sure enough, mark is already there. you park your car right at the entrance gate and you step out to see him controlling his vehicle expertly. at every turn, he steers sideways with a precision that's unrivalled to anything you've ever seen in person. his front wheels pointed in the opposite direction of his turn as the back tyres glide on the cement as if it was iceâa screech can heard as a result.
he begins to pick up his pace again and drive in your direction, his focus seemingly entirely on the front of your car. he wouldn't. it's not that you trust him, but he wouldn't put himself in a danger like that, would he?
and before he reaches the point where it'd be too late for him to swerve, he carries out another one of his perfectly controlled, drifted turns, stopping with his driver's side window facing right at you. you stand unflinching and notice that his window is rolled all the way down.
"flashy," you voice, "going for style points, are we?"
he juts his head out of his window. cheekily, he suggests, "you down for a race?"
not being one to back down, you agree. mark points to a spot in the middle of the parking lot and you get back into your car to follow him. you pull up right next to where mark is, rolling down your passenger's window so you can communicate with him. "how does a lap sound?"
"sounds good to me," mark smirks back at you.
you turn your head to face the vastness of the empty lot in front of you. mark counts down out loud from 3. you press down on the gas pedal, revving your engine. 2. your hand reaches for the gear stick. and 1. both of you shoot off into the distance, and unexpectedly, you're neck in neck with him. you push on harder on the pedal, gaining you a little bit of ground, which mark makes up for without hesitation.
the remainder of this little mock race carries on like this. you earn the lead for 2 seconds, then mark takes it back. then you're in the lead again, and... not anymore. as you're close to finishing your lap, you can tell you're just the tiniest bit behind mark. so, in a last ditch effort, you step on your pedal to the fullest, as hard as you can, allowing you to surpass him the most you have so far, and just as you're about to pass the finishing point again, you can see mark catching up to you. and like that, both of you have crossed into the second lap. it's impossible to tell which one of you took the lead at the end with just the naked eye.
mark's car comes to a slow.
you'd be lying to yourself if you said there wasn't even the slightest hint of frustration within you. no one has ever been that close to you before. sure, when you were just starting out. but not now. not when you've earned yourself the title of being known as the best in this city. needless to say, you're pissed. but not at mark.
you throw your head back onto the headrest, sighing a deep sigh.
mark makes his way around to your side of the vehicle. he rests one hand on the roof of your car and the other on his hip. "was that just a practice for you, or...?" a light pant in his voice.
"don't get cocky now." you gesture for him to back up. flinging open your door, you step out, pulling on the muscles of your traps as you stretch your neck.
he takes a single step closer to you. now he's standing a little too close for comfort, close enough that you can smell the woody notes of his cologne. "that take a lot out of you?"
"you got lucky, that's all." his gaze on you is unwavering, only moving away from your eyes to study the other parts of your face.
"i did, didn't i?" you catch his eyes flicker between yours and your lips.
an unsettling feeling sparks in the pit of your stomach. slowly, mark brings his hand up to your face. with his index finger, he traces from the back of your jawline to your chin. at the slight of his touch, you can feel a shiver running down you.
you can feel his warmth emanating off of him. bit by bit, he closes the gaping distance between the two of you. mark places his thumb on the other side of your jaw, gently guiding your face towards his.
but, something in you tells you to stop. stop whatever he's doing, stop yourself from giving into whatever he's doing.
you place a hand on his chest, met with the cold, harsh leather of his jacket. you drop your head, so that you're not facing him directly.
"i think..." at your words, mark releases the gentle hold he had on you and shuffles a step or two away from you. he clears his throat.
"i'm..." mark shuts his eyelids for a moment, "i'm sorry," his hands seem to begin to gesture something before he puts them in his pockets.
"no, no," you feel a slight shake of your head. a sudden train of thoughts rush through your mind. "i think i should go."
mark seems to mutter a small "yeah," as he backs away from your car.
...
"haechan, open your damn door right now," you call out as you're knocking so hard on haechan's bedroom door that it's sure to give out after another minute.
"i'm coming! i'm coming," you hear his voice from the other side. "god, you don't have to come breaking down my apartment every time; phones exist for a reason, y'know?" the handle twists and his door swings open.
your heart is practically pounding out of your chest. you had so much to tell him that you don't even know where to start. haechan stare at you blankly, "so, speak."
"mark! mark fucking lee-"
"sorry- is this someone that i'm supposed to know?"
you're pacing up and down the hallway of haechan's apartment, "yes! you do know him, it's that guy! that drift guy from the leagues."
"you're on first name basis with him?" he questions with a grin on his face that you know too well.
"it's not like that!" you take a pause in pacing, "i don't know, maybe it's like that- i just- ugh!"
haechan exhales and steps out of his doorway. he closes his door behind him, and begins to shuffle you towards the kitchen. "slow down, take a seat," he points at the kitchen stool, "you want a drink?"
"what- no, just listen!"
"i am, i am," haechan proclaims as he goes to grab a glass bottle of beer in the middle of the island as he sits on the stool facing you. "go on, then."
you tell him that you met markâdriftâback at the league race that he was supposed to go to with you the other night. then, about how mark took to you the beachside for whatever reason afterwards. then, today, you were racing him and he was about to kiss you? now that you're regurgitating all this information, you couldn't even wrap your head around it.
"but he was good, haechan, you were right."
"you should say that more often," haechan takes a sip of his beer.
"bro, if he beats me at closing..." your shoulders deflate at the thought. you hadn't even considered this possibility of losing until mark showed up out of nowhere.
haechan forcefully sets his bottle down on the hard counter. "you're tweaking. like, actually," a chuckle comes out with his words. what he's saying doesn't seem to be resonating with you, so he tries to go another approach, "look, listen, i know i was worried before but, i know your skillset, yn. there's no way some guy can just come in and beat you."
you try to convince yourself into believing what haechan is telling you, but rationally, you know that today's race proved to be way too close. "no, but, that kiss as well- that almost kiss. what am i supposed to make of that?"
haechan leans his elbows onto his knees. "isn't it obvious? he's distracting his competition," he goes to wrap his fingers around the base of the bottle, "and look at you; it's working, isn't it?"
you sigh. you hated how logical haechan's reasoning for it was. surely, that was it, it's stupid to think it was anything more, right?
"so, what do i do?"
haechan takes you in for a second. a devious smirk begins to appear on his face. you know that whatever he's about to say, you won't like it.
"you show him..." he points the neck of the beer bottle at you, "...that two can play that game."
you sit in silence staring at haechan for a momentâhe looks like he expected to be applauded for such a genius idea. "okay... and how the hell do i do that?"
"revy's party, tomorrow night. we're going."
you step through into a dimly lit kitchen, it's floor sticky with who knows what. it's been less than 24 hours since haechan suggested the two of you attend a party thrown by another one of your racing rivals. less than 24 hours since you've gone back on your word, claiming to yourself that you will never attend a party like this. and the reasoning is right in front of your eyes: a cramped room filled with people you don't know, music so loud that it penetrates inside of your skull making your brain physically vibrate, and not to mention the lack of actual food? there's no way you can survive on cheap liquor and cheese puffs all night. and thinking about tomorrow makes it all the worse.
and that's why when haechan first proposed this idea to you, you were dead set on denying it. "no," you'd said, "absolutely not." his genius idea turned out to be voluntarily putting yourself in uncomfortable social situations? added with the fact that it's the night before closing?
"what other option do you have?" haechan had asked.
and you supposed he was right. you had no other choice. you had tonight, and only tonight, to really play your cards right.
so, that's why you're here, in the kitchen of someone's houseâwhose, you didn't know. haechan steps through with you right at your side. you're scanning through the heaps of people, some drinking, some making out, some straight up dry humping on each other. truly a stereotypical scene that looks as though it came straight out of a coming of age movie.
and you spot him. just like haechan had said, he's here.
mark stands all the way across the kitchen, preoccupied talking to a girl. you haven't seen her before, and you certainly haven't seen the pair of them together before. cups in both of their hands, they seem to be chatting, enjoying each other's company, and you turn the plan you had come up with together with haechan over in your head.
finding yourself stuck in a rutâluckily one that's shallow enoughâyou tap haechan on his arm, then gesture toward the beverage table. the both of you approach it but neither giving in to the giant bowl of red punch in the centre of it. the kitchen floor was sticky, the air is sticky, you don't want to think about the implications of what could be in this bowl. you reach out to grab a can of beer, and haechan follows. "i spotted him," you tell haechan, not necessarily speaking carefully because if you did, he wouldn't hear you over the booming of the house music that's being played.
"yeah?" he takes a swig of his room-temperature beer. "you know what to do then?" he lifts a brow at you, and when you respond with an expression that told him 'yes' no matter how hesitantly, he snapped you a quick wink, and did a 180 heading for another cramped room in the house.
for the next several minutes, you're stood by the bar, back facing the rest of the party downing gulps after gulps of canned beer. you don't feel it doing much aside from warming you up a little bit. you're about to reach for a second one, when a figure steps into your peripheral.
you try to discreetly figure out who the person is standing next to you, but the moment you caught a glimpse of his face, you knew.
mark wanted to break the ice by saying something witty, but... was that appropriate after your last encounter?
"you're a... big fan of the beer, i'm guessing?" he remarks as he's observing your hands; one holding an empty can, and the other reaching out for a new can.
"it's not as bad as i thought," you respond curtly.
as you're pulling back the tab on the new can, you think to yourself. if you want to make this plan work, you've got to kill the awkward tension. and so, your mind jumps to the only topic you can think of.
"who's that girl you were talking to?"
mark seems to be surprised; were you asking him? after a brief moment of silence, a recognition slips out of him, "oh," he shrugs, "she was just saying how she always wanted to race and, stuff like that." he seemed to have caught himself rambling, and stopped before he went on any further.
"sounds like she was hitting on you," you shoot a quick look in his direction as you take a small chug from your can.
he gently shakes his head, eyes fixed on the bottle clasped between his hands, "no, she was just being friendly."
"mh," you're watching mark now. "so, not another one of your conquests?"
mark truly looks puzzled, if he's not, then he's doing great acting like he is with that expression on his face. you can practically read his internal monologue at this very second: what are you talking about?
"i'm not... picking up on what you're saying, exactly."
you have to turn this around somehow. but how? in your mind, this is already botched. go home, you ruined it.
"i just..." you set down your can on the table in front of you. one thing that obnoxiously loud house music is good for is filling in the spaces of silence as you think about what to say next to him. "i guess, i'm just thinking about the other day."
at this moment, you piqued mark's interest. he looks at you with a glint in his eyes. "about that," he turns his body to face you, "look, i'm so sorry- i didn't mean to misread the situation and-"
"you didn't."
mark's lips are still left slightly parted, frozen from his last words. confusion strikes him again.
"i'm sorry- you didn't," for whatever reason, you can't look into his eyes, but you continue anyway, "just in that moment, it was so..."
the bass had been booming since the moment you stepped foot into this house but right at that second, it blared even louderâyou didn't even know that that was possible. you can physically feel your heart in your chest jumping each time it thundered.
mark wears an agitated expression from this sudden change in atmosphere, and now, you practically had to yell out to even hear another person standing a foot away from you.
he gestured toward the window outside, mouthed something along the lines of, "wanna head out?" and you followed. mark grabs ahold of your hand, leading you through the horde of sweaty, sticky people until he finally pulls you outside. though, you're not completely free from the roaring bass, you can at least rest your ear drums for a bit.
mark exhales, air puffing up his cheeks. "you were saying?" he turns his gaze towards you, and it strikes you as the perfect time now.
your features twist in a manner of disarrayâ"i think i have a headache from that whole... situation." you press the inner wrist of your right hand up against your temple.
mark takes one step closer towards you, "are you alright?" he tilts his head to get a better look of your expression.
"yeah, i think i just need to get somewhere quiet," you wave the concern in his voice away.
"do you want me to take you home?"
for a second, you would've agreed, but then you thought back, and you don't think your apartment's in any state to be seen right now.
you give a brief shake of your head, wrist still pinned to your temple. "no, not right now," you say, hoping that he wouldn't ask for an elaboration.
"um, i can take you to my place if you don't mind?"
not wanting to give away too much of your act, you agree hesitantly. "is that alright with you?"
"yeah, of course," and he leads you to his car.
he'd insisted on you waiting out where you were so that you didn't have to walk all the way to his car, but he also didn't feel right about making you wait on your own, so he guided you to where he'd parked, each of his steps designed to match your pace.
...
the ride to his place was quiet, but not uncomfortable. it was a quick drive, but even so every now and then he would look over to make sure you're not too out of it.
he unlocked the door to his apartment, and it was beautiful to say the least; much more kempt than yours. it was mainly one big room with the bathroom tucked away somewhere in the corner. floor to ceiling windows lined the walls facing the entrance door and his bed laid in the centre of the room, facing the windows with a view of the cityscape.
you drag your feet inside, trying to hide at least some bit of your awe.
mark's voice snaps you out of it a little, "do you want some water? anything?"
"i don't mean to have you take care of me," you look back at mark, a tiny spark of guilt igniting within you.
"it's just water, yn," he chuckles as he goes to grab a glass off of his drying rack and pours you some water. "if you want you can rest a bit in my bed."
you're not sure what it is, but it's like you're seeing another version of mark; another side to him. his generosity takes you by surprise and as you take the glass from his hands, wanting to extinguish that guilt, drinking from it only makes the flame grow stronger.
you're stood by the counter, him being only a few steps away from you. the kitchen lights are off, the entirely of his apartment dimly lit with ambience lighting being the only sources of light.
you watch mark's face. the parts of it that are in light, and the other parts that are in shadow. his lips are illuminated by the light along with the right side of his face. maybe the alcohol has gotten to you, or maybe it's your raw, unfiltered desire, but you reach out with the back of your fingers and gently caress the sunken plane under his cheekbone. he seems to melt at even a trace of your touch. he takes ahold of your hand with his, and brings it down.
you take half a step closer towards him, eyes lingering on his.
"what are you doing?" he whispers breathily, eyelids fluttering.
you lean in the slightest bit closer, eyes focused on mark's lips and that was all the invitation mark needed to press his lips onto yours.
he's slow, and gentle. he takes your lips into his with a softness you hadn't expected. one hand goes to cup your face and the other wraps around your waist, pulling you closer into him. he savours every second that your lips are on his, and every time they part, he would go in deeper so as to not forget the taste of your lips on his tongue.
he kisses you with a deep, deep hunger. his hands, too. they roam every inch of your back, pulling you into him as close as you possibly can be until your chests are pressed against each other. you go to wrap your arms tightly around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, and it's still not enough. you need to breathe him in as if he is the very oxygen that your life depended on.
he pulls away with a smack from your lips. panting heavily, he begins to breathe out, "do you-?"
"yes." whatever he would've said, you knew you wouldn't have denied him.
"are you sure you want this?" he asks again, still breathing heavily with his chest rising and falling against yours.
you give a quick nod of your head, "just kiss me again."
and so he does. mark devours your lips with a newfound lustfulness; pressing onto your lips a little bit harder than before, even biting down on your bottom lip, eliciting a curse out of you.
his hands slide all the way down to your thighs, and he grips tightly onto them as he lifts you up to around his hips. you wrap your legs around him, without breaking away from your kiss. you can feel the two of you moving, but your eyes remain shut.
mark once again pulls back from you, eyes looking right through you with a need to devour. he drops you onto his bed but his hands stays on you. one of them runs up... and then down the underside of your thigh. you're leering at him, desperate for him to touch you more, explore you more, and he can tell.
he kneels down, hands still gripping onto your thighs, and he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. he pushes your legs open, making space for himself in between your thighs. "take this off for me, baby," he utters quickly, impatiently, as he taps on your upper thigh, veiled by the thin fabric of your skirt.
you respond not with words, but with the speed of which the skirt is stripped off of youâeager to please, eager to be pleased.
his fingertips settle into a crook on either sides of your upper thigh as he's pulling you closer to him. you can feel his breath sticking to your skin. every second that he's not touching you, you're aching. the tip of his tongue glides over your panties and you shudder at his movements. you're growing more and more impatient with his obvious teasing as the desire within you becomes harder and harder to fulfil. "fuck, mark," you curse him for purposefully not removing the barrier standing in between you and pleasure. you hear him chuckle, and a word from you is enough to get him to oblige, for now. he pushes the fabric of your panties to the side, baring your slit on full display for him.
"god," he breathes out, and you can feel his breath fan out on your pussy. and in a second, his tongue is licking circle after circle over your clit, exploring between your every fold. he's losing himself in eating you out. he can't help but groan against every buck of your hip, and every time, it sends vibrations that seep into your skin. "you taste so fucking good," he mumbles out. in between the insatiable movements of his tongue against your cunt, he would plant soft kisses onto your foldsâthe contrast of it all driving you absolutely crazy.
a mixture of his drool and you is running down his chin, but that's nowhere near enough to stop him. the thought of having you dripping down him turns him on even more. your hands are grabbing at fistfuls of mark's hair. with a single swirl of his tongue, you suddenly jerk too hard and he moans against the fiery sensation pulling on his scalp. you try to fight against the urge to push him deeper into you, both of your arms and legs shaking at this point.
as you begin to feel a clench in your stomach, mark uses his hand to separate your legs that are threatening to close together, "keep your legs open for me, baby." you try and try, but you can't help the pressure that's building between your thighs. you bite down on your lip, trying not to let mark hear any of the embarrassing moans and cries you would want nothing but to let out. and just as you're so close to your orgasm, mark takes his tongue off of you.
he stands up again, using the back of his hand to wipe his chin.
"what the fuck-?" you bite out. a bit dazed, but you know enough that that wasn't the release you wanted.
mark coos at you with feigned sympathy, "aw, poor baby." he plants one palm onto the mattress as he leans in, hovering over you. "don't you want to taste yourself on my lips?"
you pull yourself out of your haze, latching your lips onto his. his thumb drags along your jawline. mark hums against your kiss, "you turn me on so goddamn much." he climbs over you, his entire body hovering over yours, and your hands grip at his waist before flipping him under you. he looks surprised, a delighted smirk drips on his mouth. "you had that in you the whole time?"
you reply brusquely, "lose the shirt already," not up for any more teasing tonight.
"bossy," he utters, but complies without hesitation.
you place your hands directly on top of the waistline of his jeans, positioning yourself so that you're sat directly on top of the bulge in his pants. a tiny moan escapes you. mark watches you with a satisfaction glistening in his eyes, "can you feel how hard i am for you?"
you would grind down on his bulge until you gave yourself the release that he owed you if it weren't for the roughness of his jeans. frustrated, you moved yourself further down his lap and impatiently worked the zipper on his pants, pulling them down until his hard cock sprung up hot and red. you ignore the watering in your mouth at the sight of his dick, too eager to feel it inside you.
you wrap your fingers around his cock along the base of it, giving it a tiny squeeze before you slide your hand up his shaft. mark watches with a furrow in his brow and grumblings stuck in his throat. he doesn't want to take his eyes off of you for even one second. you give his cock a few more strokes, so, so painfully slow, though. then, using just your middle and ring finger, you run it up on the side of his dick, reaching the tip, and you drag small little circles over on top of itâspreading his precum all over. mark breathes out a repeated string of curse words as you begin to apply more pressure to his head.
holding back a sly smirk, you take your hand away from mark. you get up on your knees, still straddling him, and you extend your hand out in front of mark's face. "spit on it."
he follows your words without even having the chance to think about challenging you. he is so, so eager to please you. you bring your hand with his spit up to your own chest and you do the same. you smear the two of you all over his cock, applying more pressure with each stroke now than before. his hands goes to grip tightly on your hips, fingertips already digging into your flesh.
you position yourself so that you're hovering directly over mark's big, hard cock, twitching under you. reaching under you, you can feel the tip of his erection resting against your cunt. you drag your hips in a back and forth motion, sliding his head up and down your slit. mark throws his head back, groaning and whining, "fuck, baby- please." you have to admit, the sight of him absolutely unravelling under you is the sexiest fucking thing you've ever seen. "please, please, please," he blurts out a few more pleads..
"what do you want me to do, huh?"
"please, just ride me," he mumbles, words just tumbling out of his mouth at this point. and who are you to deny such a polite request?
you sink down on mark's cock, with each inch you can feel your core beginning to shake. the two of you moaned and groaned with a shared pleasure. a gasp whacks itself out of you as you fully sit down on his cock, taking every inch of him.
mark bites down on his lip, pleasure overriding him, "look at that." he throws his head back, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth, "you're taking all of me." his hand palming over your ass in a way that you can tell he wants to just pick you up and bounce you on his cock.
you start moving your hips gently, still letting yourself adjust to his size. with every whimper that you let out, mark goes absolutely crazyâhe wanted to hear you, he wanted that so badly.
and deciding that he needed more, his hands goes to lift your hips up from him and he pins you back down underneath him. his erection now rested atop your thigh, dragging over your skin as he goes to whisper in your ear, "you tell me if it's too much, okay?" you nod, eyes lingering on each other.
he looks downwards, aligning himself with your entrance. he doesn't waste any more time and-
"fuck!"
you cry out, with the first thrust of his hips into you. mark stops and watches your expression for a second before he rams his hips into you again.
he picks up the pace, hips smacking into yours at a steady rhythm. the sloppiness of the two of you filled the room with the melodies of your moans.
"shit, baby," disjointed thoughts fell out of his mouth one after another, moans peppered throughout. as he thrusted himself in and out of you, all he could do was whisper next to your ear how good you felt.
as he kept on thrusting into you, it wasn't long before you can feel that pressure building up again. "fuck, i'm so close," you pant out breathily to mark.
"yeah?"
he pounds into you even harder and harder, making you want to scream out his name but you fight against it.
"don't hold back, baby," he grunted, "i want you to get fucking loud for me."
however embarrassing the noises you made were, you didn't care anymore. you just wanted to feel good with mark's cock dragging in and out of you and you wanted him to know how fucking good it felt. you moan out, alternating between 'fuck,' his name, and pure cries of ecstasy. you slither your hand down in between you two, rubbing violent circles on your clit just so you can reach that orgasm you so badly wanted faster.
you can feel your core tightening around mark. you try to tell him but your mind is gone, only leaving behind unintelligible moans.
"you gonna cum for me?" mark teased, his hips still ramming into you at the same pace, "come on, then. cum on my cock, baby."
even at the slight of his request, you begin to fall apart. your muscles tensing up, fingertips digging into his back and your head thrown back as you reach your orgasm. you scream out in pleasure.
"that's it, baby- good girl," mark's hips are still thrusting into yours, though at a slower pace, fucking you through your orgasm. "god," he looks down to see you clenching around him so tightly that it propels him into his own orgasm. "oh, fuck- i'm gonna cum-"
and just as he does, he pulls himself out of you as he shoots his load all over your stomach. still coming down from the high of your own orgasm, you feel an aching void now in between your legs. mark grunts and collapses his head into the crook of your neck, trying to steady his breath as he milks all the cum out of him onto you.
the air is sticky between you two, heavy breathing filling the silence. mark flops onto his bed next to you, one hand covering his forehead.
"are you okay?" he looks over at you.
"yeah," you breathe out, catching your breath.
"good," he mutters as he reaches out to cup your face in his hand. "come here," he pulls the two of you closer on the bed. then, he returns to kissing you ever so gently, his fingers on the back of your neck and his thumb resting in front of your ear. "let's get you cleaned up."
...
you're sitting on mark's bed in a fresh new t-shirt that he gave you, drinking from the glass of water that he also gave you. mark is in the bathroom, cleaning himself off.
now that the heat of the moment's gone, you're not too sure what just happened. what does this all mean? because believe it or not, your original plan with haechan did not include jumping mark's bones.
mark walks out of the bathroom, sweatpants on with a thin white tee. he throws a towel over his shoulder, his hair wet from his shower. you watch as he walks over to his kitchen to grab another glass of water for himself.
he approaches the bedâyouâand truly, you did not know if you should address some of your concerns with him. so, what are we? or is this a one time thing? you should've known that this would make you spiral.
he sits down right next to you after setting down his glass on his bedside table. "are you sure you're okay?"
to be met with a consideration like that shocked you a little, when you yourself didn't even think to ask him that. "yeah, why wouldn't i be?" you try to dismiss his worry and concern.
"you just looked a little shaken up- that's all." he watches you for a moment longer before turning his head. you look over at the clock on top of his bedside table: 11:17pm. it's still not too late, you can go home if you wanted, to run away from the consequences of your own actions, but what then? you're still going to see mark tomorrow at the closing race, and leaving now would just make everything the more awkward.
as if he read your mind, mark voices out, "stay the night," he's not looking at you as he says this, "stay with me," but now he is. his hand reaches over and clasps over the back of your hand, giving it a tiny squeeze.
you were about to protest, "don't you know what tomorrow is?" but of course he knew. so instead, you mumble out a fragile, "okay."
he crawls into bed, lifting up his covers, and he pats on the space next to him. taking that as a signal, you set the glass in your hands on your side of the bedside table, and slide in underneath the covers next to him. you pull the sheets up over your shoulders, head laying half on the pillow, half on mark's chest. mark wears a silver necklace with a cross pendant hanging from it. as he's laying down, that pendant droops down the top of his chest sliding along its chain, sitting right in front of your eyes.
you rest your hand over mark's heart, feeling every thump underneath your palm. mark breathes out loud, then he plants a kiss on your head. your fingertips fidget with his pendant.
"can i ask you something?"
mark looks down at you playing with his necklace, "sure."
"why did you start-?" you take the pendant in between your thumb and your pointer finger and you flip it over so the right side is facing you. "...racing?"
you thought you'd knew what was not the answer: money. living in a place like thisâno doubt it wasn't cheap.
mark hums. he shifts his body so that he's now laying on the back of his head on top of his hand. "i like it," he drawls.
you tilt your head up to look at him, without a word, saying that's it?
he continues, "my uncle used to do it." he has one arm wrapped around you and you begin to feel a gentle tapping on your shoulder from his fingers. "it's something i can do to remember him by."
before he even lets you contemplate what to say to that that's not "i'm so sorry for your loss," again, he reflects the question back onto you.
"what about you?" he tucks his chin inwards, looking at you lying on his chest. "tell me about your big goals and ambitions," you can tell he's trying to lighten the mood with the way his voice carried an airiness to it.
"mmh, i like it as well," you say, "and it'd be nice to not have to rely on working at that convenience store." you catch yourself in an unexpected moment of unbridled honesty.
you didn't mind it so muchâmark. you didn't mind telling him more about yourself; something about being in his arms made you feel like the world was small, and only the two of you are in it.
"for what it's worth, you're my favourite cashier," mark smiled a skittish smile.
"how many cashiers do you know?"
"two."
"i guess i'll take that."
NEW YEAR'S EVE, 10AM
you wake up the next morning with an ache in your neck. you raise your head from mark's chest from the night prior. he's asleep.
as quietly as you can, you slide your body out of mark's bed. as soon as you're up on your feet, the scent of mark's cologne hits youâhis shirt.
immediately, you get to scavenging for your clothes that got strewn all over the apartment last night in a frenzy. haechan had given you something the night before, and you hid it in the pocket of your skirtâwhere is it?
you spot your skirt on the floor. you kneel on the floor, hands patting down every panel of the fabric, fingers dipping into every crevice. and then you feel it. something soft, but not like the softness of the skirt. you pull out a carefully folded square of tissue paper. you grip the tissue tightly in your hands, crumpling the square.
you pull your clothes up from the floor and quickly change back into them, shedding out of mark's t-shirt that you toss onto his bed.
tissue still in your hand, your head snaps toward markâlying there, still asleep. then, your attention turns to the glass next to him. it was half full last night, now it's filled up again. he must've refilled it in the middle of the night.
you look back in your hand. then, at his glass. you close your fingers tightly, folding the tissue paper into itself, and you can feel two distinct pellet shapes pressing into your palm through the paper.
there's no way you can even contemplate this, right?
you recall your conversation with haechan just the previous night, before all of this happened:
"you want me to-?"
"no. whatever you're gonna say- no. well..."
"this is insane," you remembered exclaiming in the living room of haechan's apartment.
"2's barely enough to knock him out, much less kill him," haechan started to sound unhinged trying to rationalise this idea to you. "he'd just be too out of it, he won't show up to closing tomorrow, and boom. you're winning, guaranteed."
your mouth is agape, mind completely blank. there's no way you're willing to drug someone for a race. you may not be the most humble, yes, but being immoral?
haechan seems to have given up trying to convince you, "look, just take it with you. whether you use it or not, it's up to you."
and now you're staring at your closed palm, shocked that you're even hesitating to up and leave right now, when you're given the chance.
they're just sleeping pills. you can hear your thoughts merge with haechan's rationale.
no, no, no, no, no. you have to leave.
you have to leave right now, before doing something you're going to regret.
you contemplated throwing the pills away still wrapped up in the tissue here, at mark's place. but if he finds them, what is he going to think? so, you shove it back inside of the pocket of your skirt, rush to grab whatever you'd taken here with you last night, and hurried off.
...
luckily enough, mark didn't live too far away from where haechan lived, and as you make your way out of the lobby, you can recognise where you are in the city.
you walk the few blocks it takes to get to haechan's place.
bright and early, you knock on his door for onceâyou didn't bring his key with you last night.
you wait outside for a minute or two, before deciding to knock again. this time, calling out for his name as well.
then, an alert pings through on your phone. a text. from haechan
'you're scaring my hookup.'
before you can type out a response, haechan appears in front of you as his apartment door swings open.
"so, where's the hookup?" you step in, making sure your voice is loud and clearâyou know haechan too well.
"she climbed out the window, she was so scared," haechan yawns. his hair messy and his glasses slanted on his nose bridge. "so, what happened?"
you draw out the crumpled piece of tissue from your pocket and hold it up like you're putting it on display for him.
"i knew you weren't going to do itâi'm talking about your outfit. you clearly didn't go home last night... what happened?"
oh, you thought, shit. maybe you should've changed first before coming here. now you have to come up with a logical cover-up, or tell haechan the truth of what happenedâyou don't know what's worse.
"i guess... i was the hookup who climbed out the window or something, i don't know," you mutter under your breath, trying to shrug it off nonchalantly but you can see haechan's jaw drop.
"oh, my god, yn," a sense of pride booming through in his tone, "look at you turning over a new leaf. sleeping with the competition?" he gives a slight shake of his body that makes you immediately regret your decision to tell him.
"no, it had nothing to do with that," you shake your head, "i don't know."
haechan looks at you with a certain look, one that has his eyebrows raised and one that tells you 'i don't believe you.' "whatever you say~" he mocks. "you're ready for closing tonight, though, right?"
"yeah, i think i am."
NEW YEAR'S EVE, 11PM
you haven't spoken to mark today, yet. you've never exchanged phone numbers, or any social medias now that you think of it.
you spent the day tirelessly getting yourself ready, both physically and mentally, for the big closing race tonight. tonight's the night. tonight is what you've been looking forward to all year. the culmination with 100k on the line. practically double your annual pay all in one night. you don't want to sound shallow, but you don't want to disregard that this could have a genuine impact on your life.
you're familiarising yourself with the streets tucked away in another quiet part of the city. as you're walking through intersections and making turns at the corners, you hear a sudden blast of feedback.
"hello, testing."
the voice is not too loud but strong enough. you decide that you need to put your mind to rest, and walking, roaming these streets weren't going to do that. you make your way back to where the majority of people are; at the finishing line. crowds of onlookers haven't manifested yet, but soon these streets will be full of people, chanting and cheering either at your loss or your triumph.
although you have a few years of experience under your belt, it was this year that rapidly shot you into notability. last year, you also attended a closing raceâyour first closing raceâbut your performance wasn't the most remarkable. you had less to lose then. but since then, you've gained more and more recognition, more credibility. it'd be crushing if you had a repeat of what happened last year.
time seems like a blur. before you know it, there's 10 minutes left until the race. tradition was that it begins right as the clock strucks midnight, cars speeding off into the new year. and now you're standing off to the side, watching 11:50 statically on your lock screen.
a group of people heading for one direction catches your attention. the other racers. they're all already getting into their cars, you suppose you should, too.
there's a certain melancholy within you. there shouldn't be, right? tonight's the big night. but you can't fight this feeling away.
you crouch into your car. your previous performances earning you a spot right in front of the starting line; a huge advantage.
you shake off your wrists, cracking one side of your neck, then the other. your fingers grip onto your steering wheel tightly. to your right, you spot minjeong already looking at you, a sweet smile on her face. you turn your focus back onto yourself.
you know what to expect. the 'announcer'ânot official, but whateverâwill give you a 10 second warning. then, along with the crowd, they'll all count down to the new year from 3, and from there, it's all you.
you still haven't seen mark around, yet, you have no idea what spot he would be in. as you're attempting to get a deep breath into you, the 10 second warning comes... then...
"and everyone! 3!"
"2!"
"1!"
you had your foot already on the gas before '1' was chanted, so once you heard the signal, you shift your gear and you race off onto the meandering street. cheers erupt behind you, but you're already too far gone to hear the choruses of "happy new years!" clearly.
the velocity at which you're racing at forces and pins you against your seat. the grip on your steering wheel tightens. before you knew it, the adrenaline kicks in. minjeong isn't next to you, and you don't have time to check behind you.
you tell yourself you don't care. you don't care where your opponents are at, as long as you're first.
and so, you put yourself in the forefront of your mind. the beginning's gone pretty smoothly so far.
just as you're about to fly past a speed bump, you hear a long beep from behind you. as your tyres land, jolting you in your seat, you flash a quick glance at your rearview mirror. you can barely make out the person's face, but you recognised the car as mark's. shit. and what was he thinkingâhonking at youâis this a joke to him?
he's following closely behind you, you don't know exactly how close but the audience does. he tails directly behind you as you zoom past the horizontal road running through the starting intersection. for a second, you can hear the collective shouts and hollering as you speed past the crowd. the announcer makes some comment onâyou're assumingâhow close mark is to you, but you can't hear.
you're nearing the incline, the part of the course that spirals up, then leads back down again reconnecting into the main streets. you press onto your pedal harder to maintain your speed even as you're driving up at an angle. mark is catching up, the front of his car now aligned with where the edge of your door is. you twist your steering wheel, turning way sharper than necessary, but that's the only way you can think of to gain some more ground on mark.
you're going back down now, and the finish line isn't far. one more turn, and it's a straight line to the end. the revving of mark's engine is still within earshot.
approaching the turn, you push your steering wheel down to the left, your body swinging in the opposite direction. you can see the horde of people at the end of the street, now just a blended blob to you, about 100m away.
you glance back at your rearview, and just at that moment, mark looks to have overdone his turn. he quickly recovers from it, but you've gained at least 2 seconds from that, and even a split second matters.
you had it.
the adrenaline now courses all throughout your body, and it's like you get deja vu from that make-pretend race you had with just mark. you step on your gas as hard as you can, like you did before... and you blitz past the finish line. mark, too, right behind you.
you slowly release the pressure on your pedal and you can hear the fanfare in the not-so-far distance. finally, you feel like you can take a breath.
you pull off into the parking lot reserved for the candidates, the whole time with mark following you. there's no spectators around this area. you come to a halt, your body forced forwards before leaning back into your seat again.
you hop out of your vehicle, a jittery feeling arising within you. you'd just won, but you're not sure if that's the sole reason for your giddiness.
mark pops his door open and practically jumps out at you, launching himself towards you with his arms open. "you did it!" mark exclaims. you jump onto him and he catches you, arms tight around your waist.
"oh, my god," you pant, still in disbelief.
"you did it, yn," mark repeats. his smile beaming so brightly.
you look down at him, eyes glimmering, and you can't hold yourself back from kissing him. you take his lips into yours and you wish in that moment that you can stay like that for eternity.
"mark, i-" you're at a loss for words, truly. he puts you down onto the ground again. you exhale.
"you did it, baby," he leans down to peck your cheek softly.
you don't know how to feel. there's a wild range of emotions within you that you can't comprehend all at once.
"go on, they're all waiting for their winner out there. go and celebrate," there's a sweetness in the melody of his voice.
you grab onto mark's hand.
everything else, you're not too sure about, yet, but right now, you want to share this moment with him.
At the height of everything he ever wanted, Mark Lee realizes something is missing. Not success. Not people. Not even home. So he leavesâquietly, without telling anyoneâchasing a feeling he doesnât know how to name. A month in a different country, with no schedules, no expectations, no explanations⌠just distance.
In a place where no one knows him, he meets someone who doesnât ask who he isâonly who he chooses to be. What begins as an unlikely arrangementâfive days under the same roofâslowly unfolds into something deeper. Shared spaces become familiar. Quiet routines become comfort. And somewhere in between, a stranger becomes something far harder to leave behind.
Mark came looking for space. Instead, he found a home he was never meant to have.But time doesnât stopâand the life he left behind is still waiting for him.When he returns, nothing feels the same. Because sometimes, being homesick has nothing to do with where you are and everything to do with the place, the person, you canât go back to.
MASTER LIST | PART I
CUTS | TORONTO | PRESS RUN | BTS
GENRES.
Romance , Angst , Slice of Life , Emotional Drama , Soft Comedy , Slow Burn , Hurt/Comfort , JUST ONE SMUT
WARNINGS.
Emotional Angst , Themes of Identity & Burnout , Mild Language , Slow Emotional Build , Protected Sex , Make outs , Lots of kissing , Open-ended emotional tension (no heavy breakup, but strong longing)
COPYRIGHT.
This story is an original work of fiction written by the author.
The use of Mark Lee as a character is purely for creative and fictional purposes. His name, likeness, and public persona are used only as a face claim and do not represent or reflect his real-life personality, actions, or experiences. All characters, events, and narrative elements within this story are fictional and are not intended to depict real-life situations.
Please do not copy, repost, translate, or distribute this work without permission.
Something you donât have a name for yet. âSo you were just going to leave?â you ask the only question to seem to be asking quietly. Mark hesitates. Just for a second,
âI didnât think youâd want me to stay.â
That lands somewhere deep and before you can stop yourselfâ You step closer,
âDo you want to leave?â
The question is barely above a whisper. Mark looks at you and for the first time since you met him he doesnât dodge it, âNo.â The word is simple. Honest and it changes everything. Your breath catches. âThen why are you packing?â you ask, softer now. He lets out a quiet breath, âbecause I didnât know if I was allowed to stay.â Without thinking, you close the distance completely. Your arms wrap around him. Itâs not graceful. Not planned but itâs real. Mark freezes. Completely. For half a second. Maybe less. Then, slowly, carefullyâhe hunches down to your level to hold you back. One hand settling at your waist, the other against your back. Keeping you flush against him as you rest your head on his chest. The hug is not tight, not possessive. JustâŚthere. Grounding.
âI donât hate being here,â he murmurs, voice low against your hair. Your fingers curl slightly into his shirt. âI know,â you whisper. Even though, five minutes agoâ You didnât. He exhales softly and you feel it. Warm.
Real.
âI just didnât want to assume,â he adds. You pull back slightly, just enough to look at him. âStay,â you say, softer now. âNot because of the five days. Not because you think you have to.â
A pause.
Your voice drops,âbut because you want to.â Something in his expression shifts. Deepens. âOkay,â he says quietly but it feels⌠big.
Neither of you move right away.
The suitcases still sit open on the floor. Half-packed. Forgotten and somewhere between the misunderstanding and the truthâ Something else has settled in its place. Not just comfort or familiarity, something heavier. Warmer. More dangerous because now itâs not about five days anymore. Itâs about choosing to stay and neither of you are ready to admit what that really meansâŚbut you both feel it. After that, things donât become easier. They become quieter, more loaded. When night comes again the following week, it doesnât come empty, it doesnât feel like the first night anymore. You notice it the moment you step out of your car. The house looks the same but it doesnât feel the same. Thereâs light in the windows. Warm. Waiting. Your fingers tighten slightly around the strap of your shoulder bag as you step closer, your heels clicking softly against the pavement.
You tell yourself itâs nothing. That this is normal. That heâs just⌠inside but something in your chest feels⌠different. You push the door open and step into the house, heels clicking softly against the floor, your body tired in that familiar, satisfying way after a long day and before you can even call out, the door opens wider to reveal Mark. Heâs standing there like heâs been waiting and beside him sits Biscuit like heâs been listening for you as well. You just stand there because heâsâ different now. Not in a big, obvious way but enough. He looks⌠comfortable, relaxed in a way he wasn't the previous week with the sleeves of his shirt pushed up, hair falling naturally almost into his eyes, posture easy like heâs started to fit into the space instead of just occupying it.His eyes land on you and everything elseâ stops because you see it. The shift. The way his gaze catches, the way it lingers. You hadnât thought much about what you were wearing when you left that morning. Now, you do. The dress hugs where it should. The heels add just enough height. Your hair sits perfectly in a way that feels effortless but isnât. âHi, Angel.â He says almost breathlessly and it comes out quieter than he probably intended.Your steps slow because something about the way heâs looking at youâit lingers. You became too aware of it slowly. The way his eyes take you in. Not in a way that feels uncomfortable but in a way that feelsâseen. Too seen, almost like you are the only thing he can't help focus on.
âHi,â you echo.
You step in slowly, closing the door behind you, your gaze drifting past him and then you see it. The table. Set. Candles. Food. Tonightâs dinner doesnât feel like dinner, it feels like something neither of you agreed to call it what it actually was. The candles arenât too bright. The house holds warmth in a way that feels intentional nowâlike itâs aware of the two of you sitting side by side instead of across from each other.
You notice everything.
The way he adjusted the cutleryâslightly uneven, like he wasnât sure what the right way was but wanted it to look like he tried. The way the napkins are foldedânot professionally, but carefully. The way the takeout containers sit next to the trash by your back kitchen door is replaced by plated food like it didnât arrive in paper bags thirty or so minutes ago. You hoped he wasn't waiting for you long. Your brows lift slightly teasing, âYou didnât cook this.â âI learned my lesson,â he says quickly. You laugh under your breath, stepping closer, your fingers brushing the edge of the table, âbut you set it up like this?â He shrugs, suddenly a little unsure,ââŚIs that weird?â You look at the chairs set side by side. Close and your chest tightens slightly. âNo,â you say softly. âItâs not weird.â Itâs something else, something you donât name. He pulls out one of the set chairs offering it to you. You sit and sits beside you closer than necessary. Closer than expected and as the candlelight flickers between you, you feel it. That shift. Not loud. Not overwhelming but there. Growing. Time doesnât rush after that. It unfolds. Slowly. You glance at him. Heâs pretending to be focused on his food but he isnât. His posture gives him awayâslightly too aware, slightly too still. You take a bite first just to break it. âOkay,â you say after a moment, thoughtful. âThis is actually good.â He exhales, not dramatically but enough for you to notice that this dinner is important to him.
âGood,â he mutters. âI was worried youâd say it tastes like the eggs.â You smile into your glass of wine, lifting it slightly, âI wouldâve been honest.â
âI donât doubt that.â
You both laugh at that and thereâs a quiet rhythm to the conversation. It doesnât rush, it doesnât try to fill every space. It moves the way the rain doesâsteady, patient. At some point, your knee brushes his under the table. You both still, just for a second. Then continue like nothing happened but something did. It lingers. You donât realize how much time has passed until your phone buzzes faintly on the table. You glance at it. A message. Another. You ignore it at first, reaching for your red again instead.
ââŚYouâre busy,â he says, not as a question. You tilt your head slightly, âSometimes.â He nods, like he expected that. Silence stretches again. Not empty, just⌠waiting.You tap your fingers lightly against the glass, thinking and then, âYou know,â you say casually, almost like it just crossed your mind, âthis is the part people donât see.â
He looks at you, "âŚThis?â
You gesture vaguely between the two of you. The table. The quiet. âThe in-between,â you explain. âEveryone thinks itâs just filming, posting, smiling. But itâs mostly this. Planning. Thinking. Editing. Redoing things that already took hours.â He listens, really listens. Not interrupting, not rushing you along. You glance at him, then away again. âI donât like being on camera,â you add, softer now. âNot really.â He frowns slightly, âbut you still do it.â âParts of it,â you correct. âHands. Voice. Angles. Enough to tell the story withoutâŚâ You trail off, shrugging lightly. ââŚbeing in it.â He leans back slightly, studying you in a way that feels different now. â So you wouldn't be on camera at all?â he says. You blink at him. Itâs not a question and itâs not said lightly. Itâs⌠observed. Your lips part slightly, âyeah, maybeâŚit depends.â He nods once, like that makes sense to him. Like it fits and for some reason, that matters more than it should. Later, when the plates are empty and the candles have burned lower, you donât move immediately. Neither does he. Biscuit has claimed the space near your feet, curled into himself like this is his version of approval. âYou didnât have to do all this,â you say after a while. Your voice is softer now. Not teasing, not light. Just honest. He looks down at his hands for a second. Then at you. âI wanted to,â he says simply and thereâs no performance in it. No exaggeration. Just the truth. It sits between you, heavy in a quiet way. You nod, not because you have something to say but because you understand it and somewhere in between the question begins to form
Not spoken. Not yet. Too afraid to but very present all the same. In him. In you, something that neither of you is ready to askâŚbut neither of you can ignore anymore.
The first thing you noticed wasnât the groceries. It was the way he walked in like he belonged. Keys set down in the same spot. Shoes nudged off near the door without hesitation. A soft exhale leaves him as he steps fully into the space like heâd been holding his breath outside. Then, âAngel, awake from your nap?â
âHey.â
You looked up from the couch, laptop balanced on your knees.
âYeah, I decided to work on something finally."
Your voice comes out softer than you intend. He places the bags he was carrying on the counter, already moving like he knew where things went and thatâthat made you pause. âYou went shopping?â you ask, sitting up slightly. âYeah.â Mark glanced over his shoulder, â we were running out of things.â
We
We as in us. We, as in we are a unit. As ifâŚ
We are dating�
âThat doesnât meanââ
âYou were out of the granola you like to plate your favorite banana yoghurt bowl,â he added simply. You blinked.
Since when did he know how I like my fruit bowl?
You stood slowly, walking into the kitchen, watching as he unpacked everything. Bananas, apples, strawberries and thenâ granola. Your favorite. The kind that was extra nutty and packed with raisins for sweetness.The exact brand, the exact variety you reached for everyday. Your fingers hovered over it. âYou remembered?â you asked, quieter now. Mark froze for just a second. Then shrugged, casualâbut not really, âYou can't exactly function in the afternoon without it.â
You swallowed and you swallowed hard because you were starting to realise how much trouble you would be in when he decides to go back to wherever the hell he came from. He didnât think it was a big deal. Exceptâit was because he hadnât even been trying to remember.
He just⌠did.
Somewhere along the way, your preferences matter. More than they should. âYou didnât have to,â you said softly, ignoring the fluttering waking happening in the depths of your chest. Mark glanced at you thenâreally looked at you.
âI know.â
And that was the problem.
Morning settles into late morning without you noticing. It always does when youâre working. The house shifts around you quietlyâthe kind of quiet that isnât empty, but lived-in. The windows are still slightly open from earlier, letting in the cool, rain-washed air. The scent of damp earth lingers faintly, mixing with the clean sweetness of the fruit Mark had cut earlier. Youâre already halfway into your workflow. Laptop open, camera set. Tripod adjusted just slightly off-center because you hate perfect symmetryâit feels too staged, too forced. Your sleeves are pushed up to your elbows, one of your oversized shirts slipping slightly off one shoulder without you noticing. Your hair is tied loosely, strands falling where they want because you stopped caring about fixing them after the third take.
ââŚand then you let it simmerânot too long, just until it thickens slightlyâŚâ
Your voice is calm. Measured. Familiar. You donât look at the camera, you never do. Your hands move insteadâconfident, precise, comfortable in a way that makes it clear this is your space. Your rhythm. Behind you, Mark leans lightly against the doorway. Heâs been there longer than you realize. He hadnât meant to stop, he was just passing by but then he heard your voice and now, he canât move because this version of you isâŚdifferent. Not louder, not bigger. JustâŚfully in yourself. He notices everything. The way your fingers move without hesitation, the way you tilt your head slightly when youâre thinking, like youâre listening to something only you can hear, the way your voice softens at certain pointsânot for an audience, but because it feels right. He doesnât understand what youâre making but he understands you. Or at least, he feels like heâs starting to.
He shifts slightly, his shoulder brushing the doorframe. The sound is small but you notice. You glance back and for a second you freeze because you hadnât realized he was there. He looks⌠comfortable. Grey sweatpants. A loose black t-shirtâone of his, not a baggy one of yours this time. His hair falls naturally over his forehead, slightly damp at the ends from his shower after a quick workout. Thereâs something unfair about it, the way he stands there like he belongs. âYouâve been there long?â you ask, your voice softer now, the filming tone slipping away naturally. He straightens slightly, ânot really.â A lie but not one you call out. You turn back to your setup, reaching forward to stop the recording, your fingers brushing lightly against the camera. The click is soft and the silence that follows is softer. You exhale, stretching your shoulders slightly, rolling tension out of your neck. Behind you, âI didnât know you talk like that when you work.âYou pause, âlike what?â âCalm,â he says. âDifferent.â You turn halfway, leaning back slightly against the counter, arms loosely folded, âdifferent how?â He shrugs, pushing himself off the doorframe, stepping a little closerâbut not too close. âLike youâre not trying,â he says. âYou just⌠are.â that lands. You donât show it immediately but it does. âThatâs kind of the point,â you reply after a moment, quieter now. He nods, like that makes sense, like it fits into whatever heâs already building in his mind about you and then, there's a knock on your front door. Sharp. Familiar. You donât even think about it.âThe door's open!â you call out, already turning back to adjust your setup again, checking the angle, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Footsteps. Fast. Unapologetic. âFinally,â your best friendâs voice carries in before you even see him, dramatic as always. âDo you know how long Iâve beenââ
He stops. Mid-step and mid-sentence. Mid-everything. The silence that follows is immediate and strange. You donât look up right away because Eli is always dramatic like that. Youâre used to his pausesâthey usually mean heâs about to say something ridiculous and stupid but this one stretches too long. âWhat?â you ask, still focused on your screen. No response. You glance up and thatâs when you see it. Heâs not looking at you. Heâs staring past you at Mark. Completely still, like his brain is buffering.
âNo,â he says slowly. You blink, âno what?â He doesnât answer, he only takes a step forward. Then another, like heâs being pulled. ââŚNo way,â he breathes, quieter now, like he doesnât trust the sound of his own voice. You follow his gaze to Mark. Who has gone very still. Thereâs a shift in him. Subtle but there. His shoulders straighten just slightly. His expression closes offânot completely, but enough that you can feel the difference without understanding it. âWhat is happening?â you ask, slower now, your eyes moving between the two of them. Your best friend finally looks at you and the look on his face. Itâs not confusion. Itâs disbelief. âWait,â he says, pointing between you and Mark. âWaitâwait, wait.â You frown slightly, âyouâre not making sense.â âWhen you told meââ he starts, pacing once, running a hand through his hair like heâs trying to physically rearrange his thoughts, ââwhen you told me you had a stranger in your houseâŚâ You nod slowly, ââŚyes.â âI thought you meant, like, a stranger!!!â he says. You blink, âhe is a stranger!!â âNo,â he says, pointing again, more aggressively this time. âThat is not just a stranger.â
You glance at Mark again. He exhales quietly.âHi,â he says, almost apologetically because he already knows where this conversation is about to go. Your best friend lets out a sound thatâs somewhere between a laugh and a scream, âyou said his name was Mark,â he continues, turning back to you, voice rising slightly. âYou said âMarkâ like it was justâjust Markânot THE MARK!?!?â
Your brows knit together, âThe what Mark?â He freezes then says your name in disbelief and looks at you, really looks at you as if you've just managed to grow another head, âyou can't be serious!!â You stare back. âAm I not serious enough?â He turns slowly, ignoring your existence completely and back to Mark. Back to you. Then, âyou know those groups Igogo and I are always talking about?â he asks carefully.
You nod, âyeahâŚâ
âThe one I keep sending you songs from. Videos. The ones you never watch properly.â You shrug slightly, âI listen sometimes.â âYou donât look,â he corrects.
ââŚI donât need to. Ears are meant to listen.â
He inhales sharply with closed eyes before he points at Mark again. âThatâs him. At least one of the men behind some of the songs.â Silence. Real silence this time, the kind that stretches, settles and waits. You look at Mark, really look at him. Not the way youâve been looking at him, not the way you look at someone youâre getting to know but like youâre trying to place something. Something familiar that never mattered enough before.
ââŚOh.â
It comes out softer than expected. Not dramatic, not shocked. Just⌠realization. Your best friend stares at you like youâve just committed a crime. âThatâs it?â he demands. âThatâs all you have?â You glance at him then back at Mark, âshould I scream?â âYes!â he says immediately. âNo,â Mark says at the same time. You pause. Then, a small smile pulls at your lips. âYouâre famous, Mr Celebrity?â Itâs not a question, itâs not admiration. Itâs just⌠a statement. Mark nods slightly, ââŚsomething like that.â
You tilt your head. Studying him, no wonder he can take some time off in this economy and strangely, nothing changes. Not the way he laughed this morning, not the way he stood in your kitchen and definitely not the way he looked at you last night.
Your best friend, however, is losing his mind. âI need to call her,â he mutters, already pulling out his phone. âI need to call Igogo right nowâsheâs not going to believe this.âYou sigh softly, rubbing your temple, âdonât start.â âItâs too late,â he says, already dialing. âItâs already started, I love you but she'll give me the enthusiasm I need right now. You are a kpop buzzkillâ Mark watches the entire thing unfold and for the first time since the revealâhe laughs. Soft. Real because somehow, this chaos feels⌠normal and that feels more dangerous than anything else.
Igogo arrives in less than fifteen minutes. Hair slightly disheveled, breath uneven, eyes wide like sheâs just sprinted through half the city. âI CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!!â she exclaims the second the door opens. âI CAN'T BELIEVE MARK LEE IS IN YOURââ and then she sees him again. In full. Not through a screen Eli had shown her when he called and she told him to shut up because the chances of that happening were almost as extinct as you showing your face on your channel. Not distorted. Real. Standing in your kitchen like he belongs there and she justâ freezes. âHi,â Mark says softly and the sound that comes out of her after is not human.
Lunch happens after the chaos settles, after introductions that are half coherent, half laughter, half Eli and Igo hitting each other's arm before they hit Mark hard on his and make him sign an autograph on paper before claiming two of your thrifted picture frames for themselves. After Eli has already started retelling the story like itâs breaking news, after she circled Mark twice like sheâs verifying his existence now, youâre seated together. All four of you.The table is fuller than usual. Thereâs the dish you filmed earlierârich, layered, something slow-cooked with spices that cling to the air even now. A soft stew, thickened just enough, served beside fluffy rice that still carries heat. There are leftovers tooâsmall plates you'd had for dinner the previous night. Roasted vegetables tossed lightly in oil and herbs. A chilled fresh pasta youâd forgotten about until midmorning as you were thinking what to prepare for you, Eli and Mark before the company got bigger. Sliced fruit arranged lazily on a side plate. Eli was supposed to help you filmâŚhe clearly could not be bothered with that anymore. Mark sits beside you. Not angled away. With his knee brushing yours under the table. His arm resting along the back of your chair againâlike earlier, like itâs becoming something he does without thinking. You donât move away and you donât acknowledge it either but Igogo sees it, Eli sees it and the silent conversation that passes between them is loud enough to feel.
âSo,â Igogo starts, slowly, dragging the word like sheâs savoring it, âwhen you said âMarkââŚâ You close your eyes briefly, âdonât.â
ââŚyou meant him.â
âI didnât know I meant him.â Eli snorts, âthatâs worse.â Mark huffs a quiet laugh beside you. âIn my defense,â you add, picking at your food, âhe didnât exactly introduce himself with a rĂŠsumĂŠ.â
âI said my name,â he says.
âYou said your name like it was normal.â
âIt is normal!!â
Igogo leans forward, ânot that name.â You nudge her lightly with your foot under the table and she grins. Unapologetic. Conversation flows. Easy, layered with teasing, curiosity, small moments that slip between laughter.They ask him questions. Some direct, some disguised as jokes. He answers. Carefully at first, then less carefully because something about this space, about youâ makes it easier to loosen the edges of himself. ââŚso you just left?â Eli asks at some point, chewing slowly, eyes fixed on him and there it is. That shift. Subtle but real. Markâs fingers pause against his glass, âIâm on a break.â
Igogo tilts her head. âThat sounds temporary."
âIt is.â
âDo you want it to be?â
Silence. It doesnât stretch awkwardly, it settles. Heavy. Mark exhales quietly, âI donât know.âAnd thatâ that lands because itâs honest. Too honest. You glance at him, really glance and for a momentâ you see it. Not the version people know, not the composed, polished version but the one you know, the one sitting beside you now and having lunch with two of his fans. The uncertain one. The one tired in a way that isnât physical, looking for something he hasnât named yet. Lunch lingers. No one rushes, no one checks the time. It justâŚexists until plates are empty and the conversation slows naturally. âIâll wash up.â Mark says it easily, already standing, gathering plates before you can protest.
âYou donât have toââ
âI know.â
He meets your eyes briefly. Soft and certain. âI want to,â and something about the way he says itâ makes your chest tighten.The kitchen fills with the sound of running water. Low, steady and familiar. You donât stay not because you donât want to but because Elii is already grabbing the wine bottle and Igogo is already trailing behind him like sheâs been waiting for this moment all afternoon. âCome on,â she says, dragging you gently by the wrist. âWe need to talk.â You've learnt not to resist. The living room feels quieter. Warmer and softer. You sink into the couch, the glass of wine pressed into your hand before you even realize it. Eli sprawls across the armchair like he owns it. Igogo curls beside you, knees tucked under her, eyes already locked on the kitchen.
On him.
âHeâs washing dishes.â
âYes.â
âLike this is his house.â
You sigh, âheâs helping.â Eli snorts, âheâs settling.â Igogo hums in agreement, âvery quickly.â You shoot them both a look, âcan we not?â âNo,â they say in unison. A moment passes, then, Igogo leans closer more mischievous now, lowering her voice for the drama of it all, âso.â You already hate the tone, âwhat?â She tilts her head toward the kitchen, âhe hasnât stopped looking at you. Have you guys had sex already?â Your grip tightens slightly around the glass, â seriously? Thatâs whatââ âand you havenât stopped pretending you donât notice, â Eli raises his glass to his lips taking a cheeky sip before lifting it up in the air.
âTo mutual delusion.â
You glare, âIâm not delusional.â âNo,â Igogo agrees lightly. âYouâre just letting a very attractive, very famous man live in your house and acting like that means nothing.â âIt doesnât mean nothing,â you snap quietly. They both pause becauseâ that wasnât what you meant to say. In the kitchenâMark rinses a plate slowly but his focus isnât on the dishes. It drifts to the sound of your voice. Soft. Lower now and private. He canât hear the words but he can feel the shift and something in his chest pulls because he wants to be there. Not here, not separated by a room. He dries his hands slower than necessary trying not to think about why.
Back in the living room, Igogo nudges your shoulder lightly,ââŚif you two end up togetherââ
âWeâre notââ
ââI need tickets.â
You stare at her, ââŚyouâre unbelievable.â âIâm practical,â she corrects. Eli nods, âvery, ticket prices are outrageous these days.â You laugh despite yourself shaking your head but your gaze drifts back to the kitchen where he stands. Quiet and focused. Like he fits too easily and somewhere, quietly, without asking permissionâ something shifts inside you. Not loud, not dramatic but enough because now, itâs not just curiosity anymore and across the room, Mark feels it too.
He just doesnât have the words for it yet, only the weight, only the pull, the quiet, growing realization that leaving is going to be harder than he thought not because of where he came from but because of where he is now and you being in it.
One afternoon, you are working in your office space when he finds you. Curled into your chair, glasses slipping slightly down your nose, your attention fixed on your screen. Your world again. Structured and focused. Safe. You donât hear him come in. You only notice when something appears beside you.
A bowl. You glance. Fruit.
Cut neater than before. It's always fruit. You look up. Heâs standing thereâone hand resting lightly against the back of your chair, the other still holding the edge of the desk.
ââŚYouâve improved,â you murmur.
âIâve been practicing,â he replies quietly. Thereâs something softer about him now, something lighter. Like the building tension hasnât disappearedâbut itâs been⌠redirected. You reach for a piece without thinking.
ââŚThanks.â
He doesnât move, not right away. Instead, his gaze drifts to your screen, âWhat are you working on?â You tilt the monitor slightly toward him,âmy next video,â you say. âPlanning, editing⌠fixing things Iâll probably change again tomorrow. Itâs complicated.â
A pause.
Then, unexpectedly, âI get that,â he says slowly. You look at him more carefully now. He continues, quieter, âMusic used to feel simple for me. Now it doesnât.â That is the first time he admits it out loud. Not the decision but the fracture. He leans in slightly. Closer, close enough that you feel it before you register it. His arm shifts, brushing lightly against your back. Not intentional but not entirely accidental either. Your breath stutters. He notices because of course he does but he doesnât pull away. Not immediately. Instead, his gaze lingers on the screen. Then drifts slowly to you. Your glasses. The way your lips part slightly when youâre concentrating, the faint crease between your brows and something in his chest tightens. âYou should rest later,â he says quietly. You blink, âWhat?â âYouâve been at this for a while,â he adds, softer now. You swallow.
âOkay I will.â
But neither of you moves. The air changes..Thickens and your awareness sharpens. Every small movement amplified. His hand shifts slightly against the chair, your shoulder brushes his arm and then before either of you can think it throughâŚhe leans in. Just slightly to press a soft kiss to the side of your head. Your temple. It's barely there but enough to make everything stop.
You freeze.
He freezes.
The world narrows into that single point of contact that no longer exists and suddenly itâs too much...he pulls back immediately, âIââ .You donât respond. You canât because your heart is racing too fast. Your thoughts are too loud and your body is too aware. He steps back and runs a hand through his hair, âI didnât meanââ but he did and you both know it. Silence crashes in.
Heavy.
Awkward and charged. Then, he turns and leaves. Too quickly. Like if he stays, something else will happen, something bigger. Something you both won't be able to walk back from. You sit there. Frozen. The fruit untouched beside you, your screen forgotten and your thoughts spiraling becauseâ
What does that mean?
Days later when you both mutually, reluctantly decided to ignore what had happened in your office that night, the room was quiet except for the soft clicking of the keyboards on your laptop. Mark sat next to you on your kitchen island, headphones on, one foot tapping lightly against the floor in a rhythm only he could hear. The lamp between you cast a warm glowâsoft enough to blur the edges of everything. Including him.
You glanced up.
Just for a second. He was focused on his worksheet in front of him. Completely and for a moment, you forgot what you were doing. On his end, he felt it. That look. Still, he didnât turn, didnât break. Minutes passed or maybe hours, neither of you kept track. At some point, you both reached for something at the same time.
Your hand.
His.
Brushing. Lingering. You didnât look at each other but neither of you pulled away quickly either. And that silence? It said more than anything else could have.
Another night comes slowly. Deliberately and neither of you knows how to act but itâs you who breaks it.
âPizza?â
Your voice carries from the kitchen. Casual. Like nothing happened but like everything happened. He appears a moment later smiling softly at you with a nod, âYeah.â
You lead him to the small makeshift terrence you had on your roof. One you insisted your brothers helped you make one past summer when the house was still new. Now, the rooftop is colder than expected. The city stretches around youâlights scattered like something alive, distant but present. You sit close on the small two seater couch you had. Not touching, but close with the pizza box sat squarely on his lap. The silence is different now. Not awkward, not entirely. Just⌠full.
ââŚDo you ever think about leaving?â he asks suddenly.
You glance at him, âLeaving what?â
âEverything,â he says.
His voice is quieter now, more honest. âIâve been thinking about it a lot.â You donât interrupt. You let him speak because something about this feels important. âI donât know if I fit where I am anymore,â he continues. âOr if I ever did.â The confession sitting between you is heavy. Real. The truth behind his almost distant smiles and the permanent do not disturb on his phone. You exhale softly, âmaybe youâre not supposed to stay there forever.â He looks at you. Like that possibility terrifies him. âWhat if I regret it?â You shrug lightly, âthen at least it was still your choice.â You both stay silent again until he speaks up again after a sip of his coke, âI think I might leave.â
You donât ask what, you already know. His group. His contract. The life he has been performing inside. The life people only seemed to care about. His jaw tightens slightly.
âI donât know how theyâll take it.â
A pause.
Then, softer, "I'm terrified to find out who I am outside of it.â That is the first time he sounds afraid in a way that is not controlled. Your hand reaches up to pull some of his hair out of his eyes, he turns to look at you, âYou donât have to know all of it right now.â Mark looks at you and there is something dangerous in how much he is looking at you. Not possession. Recognition. His hand finds yours without ceremony and you let it stay. You both grow silent again in understanding but this one feels closer, warmer and thenârain. Sudden.
Sharp.
You both laugh instinctively, scrambling to stand, grabbing the box, the drinks before seeking shelter back inside. Breathless, drenched and laughing. The rain doesnât stop when you reach the stairwell. It follows you inâsoft at first, then louder, drumming against the rooftop door you just pushed open, as if it refuses to let the moment end.
Youâre laughing.
Not gracefully. Not softly. Youâre laughing in broken pieces, breathless, shoulders shaking, fingers still curled around the cardboard pizza box that is now slightly ruined from the rain and Markâheâs behind you, one hand hovering near your back like he doesnât trust the wet steps, like he doesnât trust himself not to reach for you. His other hand is still holding onto both your drinks. âCarefulââ he says, but heâs laughing too, the words barely forming, dissolving into quiet disbelief. âYouâre the one who said rooftop,â you shoot back, glancing over your shoulder. Your sweater is soaked through. It clings and itâs heavier now, dragging at your shoulders, the hem brushing against your thighs where your shorts barely exist beneath it. Your socks are damp, soft against the cold tile, and your hair is dripping down your neck in slow, quiet rivulets. Mark notices everything.
He shouldnât but he does.
Every step down the stairs feels slower than it should be. Like time is stretching. Like something is building and neither of you is naming it. By the time you reach the hallway, the laughter has softened. Not gone. Just⌠quieter. Warmer. The house greets you with stillness and Biscuit is sitting right by the hallway entrance like a silent judge, tail flicking lazily, watching the two of you drip rainwater all over the floor like youâve lost all sense of dignity. âOh my God,â you breathe, pointing weakly, âheâs judging us.â Mark huffs a laugh under his breath. âHe should. We look insane.â
âYou look worse.â
âThatâs offensive.â
âItâs honest.â That earns a real laugh from himâlow, easy, the kind that makes your chest tighten without permission and then it fades naturally because now youâre both standing there.
Close. Too close.
âIâuhâŚâ you start, suddenly aware of everything. The wet fabric against your skin, the way your hair sticks to your neck and most importantly, the way heâs looking at you. âI should get towels,â you say quickly, stepping past him but he moves at the same time.
You almost collide.
For a secondâjust a secondâyouâre chest to chest, breath to breath, the space between you disappearing so fast it feels like a mistake. âSorry,â he murmurs.
âYeah. Me too.â
Neither of you move. Mark recovers first. He clears his throat, dragging a hand through his wet hair, pushing it backâwater droplets flicking onto the floor, âIâll grab them,â he says. You nod, grateful for the distance but it doesnât last because when he comes back, he doesnât hand you the towel. He steps closer.
Again.
âHold still,â he says, softer this time and you do. You donât even question it. He lifts the towel to your head, hesitatesâjust brieflyâbefore pressing it gently against your hair. His touch is careful, almost⌠reverent, like heâs afraid youâll disappear if heâs too rough.You laugh under your breath. âYou donât have to be that gentle. Iâm not glass.â âI know,â he says quietly but still, he doesnât change the way he touches you.
This is dangerous.
He thinks in between his movements with both his hands on either side of your face, looking down at your frame as you find the floor more intriguing in exaggerated wonder.
You are dangerous.
The way youâre standing in front of him, soaked, smiling softly, trusting him without even realizing it. He drags the towel down slowly, drying the strands near your temple, your cheek and his fingers brush your skin. Accidentally but not enough to ignore. You feel it. The shift, it's small but itâs there.Your laughter fades completely now, your breath catchesâjust slightlyâas his hand pauses against one side of your face and suddenly youâre hyper-aware of everything.
The quiet. The rain. Him.
âYouâre freezing,â he says but his voice is different now. Lower. Closer. You swallow, âSo are you.â And thatâs when you notice it, really notice it. His shirt. Clinging and soaked through, the fabric outlining everything it shouldnât be outlining so clearly.Your gaze flickers, just for a second but he catches it.
Of course he does.
âOhâright,â he mutters, almost to himself and then, he pulls the shirt over his head. Itâs not dramatic.Itâs not slow for effect but to you it feels like everything slows anyway.The way the fabric lifts, the way his shoulders move, the way the air changes. You forget how to breathe for a second.âBetter,â he says, running the towel through his own hair now with his eyes still on you. Not casually and definitely not lightly. Heâs looking at you like heâs trying to figure something out. Something important. You shouldnât step closer but you do anyway. âLet me,â you say softly, reaching for the towel in his hands. He lets you take it but he doesnât step back. Your fingers brush his bare shoulder as you start drying his hair, mimicking what he did for you. Except youâre not as careful.Youâre nervous.Your hands arenât steady and when the towel slips slightly, your fingers graze the back of his neck, he inhales sharply.
You freeze.
âIâm sorryââ
âNo,â he says quickly. Too quickly. Your eyes meet and this time, neither of you looks away. Something unspoken passes between you. Heavy. Undeniable. This is the moment. The one youâve been circling for days. Almost touches, almost glances, almost something more and now thereâs no space left for almost. âMarkâŚâ you whisper, you donât even know what youâre going to say. You donât get the chance because he closes the distance. The first kiss isnât rushed, it's not overwhelming. ItâsâŚcareful. Tentative. Like heâs asking a question and you answer immediately. Your palms rest carefully on his chest, grounding yourself as the kiss deepensânot fast, not messy, but certain. His hand finds your waist. Warm and steady, pulling you closer like heâs afraid you might step back. You donât. The world narrows. To this, to him.To the way your breath mixes, your movements slowly syncing without thought and then, something shifts. The kiss breaks for a second. Just enough for air, just enough for realization.âWe shouldnâtââ you start but your voice is weak, reminding him how cruel the world he lives in is to whatever is starting between you. Unconvincing.âFuck,â he curses yet he doesnât move away, telling you that he couldn't give two shits about it when you kissed him back âI know.â
Silence. One heartbeat. Two. Then, he kisses you again. This time, it's not careful, itâs deeper. Hungrier. Like something in him finally gave in. You stumble back a step, then another and he follows. Not forcing, just not letting go either. Your back meets the hallway wall. Softly but the impact sends a spark through you anyway. His other hand slides up, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your face just enough and his lips move from yours, to your cheek. Your jaw, slowly down to your neck.You gasp. Quiet. Sharp. Mark is gone. Heâs so gone he couldn't even be bothered with saving himself at this point. Completely. He knows this is the line. He knows this changes everything but the way you react, the way your hands grip him tighter instead of pushing him away. He canât stop. Doesnât want to and heâll be damned if he has to, still, he can't help asking.
âTell me to stop,â he murmurs against your skin. He doesnât sound like he wants you to.
Please don't.
You donât. Your fingers weakly slide into his wet hair instead and thatâs all the answer he needs.The tension thatâs been building, days of it. Weeks, maybe. Every almost moment, every held breath, every glance that lingered too long.
It finally breaks.
He pulls you off the wall. Not roughly but with intention and suddenly youâre moving backwards. Towards the room that's undeniably yours.Your laughter comes back for a second. Breathless. Disbelieving. âThis isâthis is insane,â you whisper. âI know,â he says but heâs smiling against your lips. The door hits softly behind you. You donât even remember walking that far along and when it closes, the space becomes smaller, quieter, all him, everything intensifies again. He pauses. Just for a second. Forehead resting against yours weakly, breathing you in like he needs it.âIs this okay?â he asks and this time, he means it. You nod because you donât trust your voice to not betray your desperation and then, he pulls you back in. Slower this time. Deeper, like heâs savoring it now. Not rushing, not questioning. Just⌠feeling and the world completely disappears.
The brush of Mark's lips was softâŚtoo soft, like he could break if you pulled away. Softly, they travelled down your throat as he took a step forward, pushing you back to where your bed was. Then, you wanted moreâŚneeded it actually, because what was once slow built itself up into something you both couldn't hold back from much longer. The crash of your lips again becomes feral and desperateâŚtoo desperate from the tiptoeing you both have been doing around each other since the first day he stepped into the world you've managed to make your own. The world he's long since wanted to belong to from the moment you blinked up at him and asked if he was serious about staying with a stranger all because he was lonely. All because he actually could open up about being lonely, something he forgot how to open up about because his glossy and flashy world expects him to be okay with everything handed to him.His hands travels low to edge of your soaking sweater, fingers travelling under, touching skin before cupping the curve of your ass through your ever tempting boyshorts. Yours clawed on his shoulders, travelling down to feel him up fully.Your hands slowly run over his chest then trace up to his muscles and biceps before settling back on his shoulders, tugging him down as you braid your fingers on the hairs at the back of his head. Mark pulls away pulling your sweater up and over your shoulders. Then his lips are back on you again, softly placing a kiss on your forehead, your cheek. Then the other before kissing you longingly and traveling down south to your neck again, your shoulder while his hands worked on your bra unclasping it before snapping it off like an expert auditioning for a magic mic number.
Mark took both your breasts warm in his hands, toying with them softly as he kissed down your cleavage leaving wet traces behind as he kneeled down in front of you before taking one into his mouth with hooded eyes that hadn't looked away from you since his cruel ministrations started, the hardened bud warm despite the cold in the room and the cold from the rain outside. The taste of your skin was enough to grow his hunger. You hummed in approval before sighing in pleasure as your fingers held the side of his head. Mark nips on the skin under the other breast he's left neglected, both his hands pull on your shorts, drawing them off your smooth legs and removing one wet sock after the other, still kissing low on your stomach. He then slowly stands up nipping his way up, on your sternum, your shoulder, your neck laving his tongue on the sting he leaves behind before kissing you on the lips again.
âYou're so fucking gorgeous Angel.â He whispers on your lips as he held on your jaw. He pushes you back on the bed, climbing over you, âmy gorgeous gorgeous baby.â Soft whimpers leave your lips as you arch your back into him. Your fingers dig into his back making the flesh there turn red, drawing him closer to you as he settles between your thighs. âI want you.â You whine lifting your hips to grind on his still in sweatpants. He moves to your neglected breast, flicking on your nipple with his toungue so deliciously that it has you moaning desperately for him. âNo rush.â Mark smirks before latching his mouth around it and sucking hard before heading south and kissing his way over your stomach before surprising you by spreading your thighs open with his hands, groaning low when his eyes feast upon your glistening pussy with a wet lick of his lips his hunger for you clear as day when he looks at you.
âFuck.â
Mark doesn't wait for you to protest, he dives straight in, burying his face between your legs and sliding his tongue up and down your slit. He moans into you, the vibrations make you shudder and even before you can recover, he's pulling back again to play with your clit with his thumb, his other hand opening your legs further apart before lightly slapping on your arse and grabbing a handful. He sucks on your clit again, flicking his tongue over it repeatedly as one of his fingers slowly eases into you building pressure deep inside your stomach. You don't even think you've breathed properly since all of this started and it's slightly getting to you because you are practically breaking and screaming. Your hands pull at his hair as you roll your hips against his tongue while he slowly adds in another finger, fucking you slowly as you come undone before him.
Mark pulls away from you completely and he hurriedly tugs on his sweatpants, baring himself completely naked before you. He kneels on the bed again, âDo we have protection?â You nod pushing yourself up to your bedside table pulling the bottom drawer to grab one. You hand it to him and watch as he swipes your wetness from his bottom lips while opening the condom up. Mark's eyes never leave yours as he wraps himself up. His dick long, veiny and thick that just looking at it threatens to have you soaking the bed. Then, he drags your backside into his lap grabbing his cock, slapping it against your pussy, rubbing the broad tip on your clit torturously. Your thighs twitch in his hold as he presses into you ever so slightly before pulling back.
âReady?â
You nod moaning his name before your voice cuts short when he slides his cock into you so slowly until he is fully seated. Your spine arches wordlessly as you bite down on your bottom lip hard and he starts thrusting slowly, holding your legs to his chest so that they are straight up in the air and apart. Slowly, his thrusts begin to build up, his hips begin to move so fast. The pleasure is maddening. His cock presses every nerve, stroking every sweet spot with every delivered hard thrust. The pressure in your stomach is steadily building into higher heights than the last, faster than you anticipated. One of his hands rests squarely on your stomach, tracing his movements slowly before pressing down so deliciously that it has him pushed out of you abruptly. Mark's other hand comes down hard on your arse before holding himself to your entrance again and sliding right in. The bliss feeling makes you clench around him. His hips stutter as he rubs on your clit with his thumb in tight precise circles. You know you both won't last with how worked up you've both been to make your first time last long and he's not really helping your case with his head down, watching his cock slide in and out of you, shining with your juices as beads of cum gather in the condom. His hand slaps on your arse again and he groans at the feeling of you clenching even tighter than before around him before plunging in balls deep. He draws back slowly and slams back in again and again. Your brain is fuzzy and you can barely hold on already losing all your senses. Mark leans over you to kiss you sweetly while still fucking into you, sending you over the edge making you clench around him so hard he groans while spilling into the condom. He sucks keenly on your bottom lip as you contract down and milk him dry for all he is worth.
He calls out your name softly, still kissing you deeply as he gives long slow thrusts to keep your aftershocks going, âI like you a lot Angel.â He sighs deeply as he releases your legs from beneath him while slowly pulling out letting you wrap them around his waist while he covers you up with the soft sheet. He brushes your hair out of your face while cupping the back of your head and presses his mouth hard to yours before pulling back to look at you. âI like you too, Mr Celebrity.â You tell him and he smiles ecstatic. You smile back happy and calm, euphoric in the aftermath of the bubble he has created around you. Mark pulls back from the bed already stepping into your bathroom and you get curious as to what he's doing because you can hear water running. Then he steps back into the bedroom, pulling the sheets away from you and carrying you towards the bathroom again. The man sits you on the toilet and you look at anything but him, âWe have to pee.â
Oh my goodness!?! There's that âweâ again?!
âCan you turn around?â
âBaby,â Mark is about to protest but the redness on your face stops him. So he simply sighs and turns around. You thank him for it and pee, when you tell him you are done, the man takes you into his arms again before carrying you into the soapy bathtub.
âA good ten minute soak, a kiss to your forehead and a good night's sleep.â
âYou're doing too much.â
Mark simply shakes his head while kneeling besides you outside the tub, âthis is the bare minimum Angel.â All you do is laugh. Mark places a kiss on your forehead again, âI'll come back for you,â before walking back outside for some fresh shorts to sleep in. Your heart is swelling like you like him a little bit more than you intended to even though that seems impossible. The way he makes you feel is beyond your comprehension and you can't help hoping that he feels the same because his actions towards you would be cruel if he didn't want anything serious after tonight.
The next morning does not arrive all at once. It seeps in. Soft, gray light filtering through the curtains, the kind that doesnât wake the world but brushes against it gently, like itâs asking permission first. Mark is awake before it fully settles. He doesnât move at first, doesnât know exactly when he woke upâonly that at some point in the quiet, his eyes open, and he doesnât move. For a momentâjust a momentâhe forgets everything else. He turns his head slightly and you are there.Your presence is everywhere. In the quiet, in the warmth. In the unfamiliar, overwhelming awareness that he can still smell the faint scent of your body wash on the pillow. Curled into him, half on his chest, half tangled in the sheets like you belong there. Like youâve always belonged there.
Your breathing is slow, deep, even.
One of your hands rests loosely against his ribs, your fingers occasionally twitching in your sleep, like youâre dreaming something soft. For a long moment, he doesnât breathe properly because thisâthis right hereâis the kind of peace he didnât know he was allowed to have.
His gaze traces your face slowly.
Your lashes resting against your cheeks. The faint crease between your brows that only appears when youâre deeply asleep. The way your lips part slightly, relaxed in a way heâs never seen on you when youâre awake. No guardedness. No quick wit. No careful distance. JustâŚyou. Something in his chest tightens. Not painfully but enough to make him swallow because thereâs something painfully tender about it.
Something that makes his chest ache.
Carefullyâso carefully he almost doesnât move at allâhe lifts his hand and brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face. His fingers linger longer than they should. They always do with you. You stir slightly, shifting closer instead of away, your cheek pressing more firmly against him. Markâs breath catches.
âYouâre mine,â he whispers under his breath, like heâs reassuring himself more than anything. He lets his fingers trail down, just once, along your templeâsoft, reverent. âHow are you this pretty?â Then, before he can think too much about it, he leans down and presses a quiet kiss to your forehead. Itâs instinctive, gentle. Almost shy and it lingers. For a second too long. When he pulls back, his expression shiftsâ something deeper settling in his eyes. Something heavier because this isnât just comfort anymore and he knows it.
It is dangerous
You are dangerous.
He thinks and not in the way people usually mean it. Not reckless. Not impulsive.
No.
This is dangerous because it feels right. His gaze lingers longer than it should. Long enough to memorize. Carefully, he shifts under you, easing himself out from your hold without waking you. Itâs a slow processâadjusting the sheets, lifting your arm, guiding you gently onto the pillow. You mumble something incoherent, brows furrowing for a second and he freezes but you donât wake. Instead, you curl into the space he leaves behind, instinctively seeking warmth.
His chest tightens.
âSo fucking pretty Angel,â he exhales quietly. Then he reaches for the blanket, pulling it up over your shoulders, tucking it around you like it matters more than anything else in the world because right now, it does. He lingers there, just watching you for a second longer. Like heâs trying to memorize this version of you.
Soft, unaware and his.
His phone vibrates. The sound cuts through everything. Sharp and unwelcome. Markâs jaw tightens immediately. He doesnât need to look. He already knows. Still, he reaches for it. Careful and slow. Trying not to wake you. The screen lights up. A name.
One heâs ignored for days.
His manager. Thereâs a pause. A long one. His thumb hovers over the screen and for a second, he almost lets it ring out again. Like he has every other time because itâs easier that way. Easier to stay here, easier to pretend the outside world isnât waiting for him, demanding things from him or expecting answers heâs been avoiding giving. His mind flickers, Unwanted. Uninvited. Missed calls. Texts stacking up.
Call me back.
We need to talk.
Mark!! Where the hell are you?
He remembers silencing them. Turning his phone face down, choosing you, choosing quiet dinners, choosing the shared glances. The slow, careful way something had been building between you. ChoosingâŚthis. His gaze slowly shifts back to you. Still asleep, still close and still unaware of the way his world is starting to pull at him again. His chest tightens. He exhales, soft. Resigned. The phone vibrates again before it rings a second time. A sharp, intrusive sound against the quiet. Markâs head snaps back down toward it instantly. He doesnât need to see the name but he does anyway and his jaw threatens to break. Heâs ignored the calls for days. Weeks. Letting them ring out while he sat in your living room, while he laughed with you in the kitchen, while he stood on the rooftop just yesterday under the rain like nothing else existed. It's more insistent this time. Mark exhales slowly and glances back at you. Still asleep, still peaceful. Still completely unaware of the storm waiting just outside this room.
ââŚI canât ignore this one,â he murmurs to himself under his breath.
Not today.
Carefully, he looks back at you with soft smitten eyes and doesnât miss the way your hand instinctively reaches for warmth thatâs no longer there. He pauses. Just for a second. He doesnât put on a shirt. He doesnât even think about it. He just steps out in black boxer shorts, bare chest still warm from where you were pressed against him moments ago, his hair still messy, sleep clinging to him in the way he movesâslower, heavier.
Real.
He steps out into the hallway, closing the door gently behind him. Only thenâthe call connects almost immediately, âYeah.â His voice is low. Rough with sleep but steady. His voice is sharp. Controlled. Frustrated. Thereâs no greeting on the other end. Just tension. Immediate. âWhere have you been?â
Mark closes his eyes briefly. Straight to it. Of course.
Mark exhales quietly, leaning against the wall, one hand running through his hair, âIâve been busy.â Thereâs a pause. A dangerous one, âbusy ignoring your responsibilities?â Markâs gaze drifts. Not really seeing the hallway but seeing something else entirely. You. Laughing over burnt eggs, standing barefoot in the kitchen. Looking at him like he wasnât just what everyone else saw him as. His jaw tightens slightly. A few days ago, he wouldâve apologized immediately, he wouldâve softened. Backtracked. Made himself smaller to make this easier but something about this morning, about you still asleep in your bed changes the way he answers.
âI needed time.â
The silence on the other end stretches, âthatâs not how this works, Lee.â His jaw tightens slightly, âI know how it works.â
âThen act like it.â
There it is. That tone. Familiar. Pressing. Expecting. Mark straightens slightly. Not defensive, not aggressive butâŚfirmer.
âI said Iâd come back,â he replies. Itâs quiet again. Thereâs a shift on the other end. âYou donât get to just disappear, Mark. We have schedules. We have commitments. The comebackââ
âI know.â
He cuts in, but not harshly.Just steady. Measured.
âI know.â
Silence. Then, âthen explain to me why youâve been unreachable.â Mark exhales slowly, looking down at his hands. For a second, his voice almost falters. Almost. Then it steadies again, âbecause I didnât want to make a decision Iâd regret.â
That lands. He hears it in the pause.
âDecision?â
Mark tilts his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. His chest feels tight but clear. âIâll be in time for the comeback,â he says finally. âDonât worry.â Another pause. This one is heavier. âThatâs not enough.â Mark closes his eyes briefly, âitâs what I can give you right now.â The words hang between them. Not careless, not impulsive. Deliberate. âYouâre risking a lot,â his manager says. Mark lets out a quiet breath. A humorless one. âI know.â
âAnd for what?â
The question lands. Sharp. Mark doesnât answer immediately because the answer isn't simple anymore. His gaze shifts toward the closed bedroom door, âI have some decisions to make,â he says instead.
âThatâs not reassuring.â
âItâs honest.â
Silence. Then, âyouâre not thinking clearly.â Thatâthat almost makes him laugh, but he doesnât. âIâve never thought more clearly,â Mark replies, quieter now. Steadier and he means it because for the first time, heâs not just thinking about expectations. Or schedules, or what heâs supposed to be. Heâs thinking about what he wants and somehow even though he had been contemplating it for a while, youâre now at the center of that. On the other end, his manager exhales sharply, âweâll talk when youâre back.â Mark nods, even though it canât be seen.
âYeah.â
The call ends and the silence that follows feelsâŚlouder than the conversation did. Mark lowers the phone slowly. His hand lingering there. The door creaks open behind him. Soft. Barely there but he hears it and when he turns, he expects you there but you aren't and it makes him release a breath he didn't even realise he was holding.
The house had learned the shape of him. That was the first thought that crossed your mind as you stood barefoot at the kitchen doorway, watching him. You were always watching him. Late afternoon light spilled through the windows in long, golden sheets, settling across the counters, the floor, him. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, catching on the soft fabric of the oversized grey hoodie he woreâyours, you realized absently. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Hair slightly messy, like heâd run his hands through it one too many times. He was standing at the counter, cutting fruit on your small fruit chopping board with your favorite watermelon bowl in front of him already prepped with your yoghurt and granola.
Carefully.
Too carefully. Like if he focused hard enough on slicing strawberries into perfect halves, he wouldnât have to think about anything else. You leaned your shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded loosely across your chest, and just⌠watched. He had been like this all day. Soft. Attentive.
Careful.
Breakfast had appeared without you askingâtoast slightly uneven, bacon cooked better than the disaster from that first morning because in order to achieve the crunchy bacon they needed to slightly be burnt so he was safe from your scrutiny, but still clearly his effort. Heâd hovered while you ate, pretending to wipe the already clean counter. Heâd carried your camera bag without being asked when you filmed. Heâd folded laundry, your laundry and his, with this quiet concentration that made your chest tighten and every time your fingers brushed, every time your eyes met, he smiled but it didnât quite reach the place you had memorized. Not anymore. You shouldnât have listened in. That thought had replayed in your head all day, like a song stuck in a loop. The phone call. His voice, low and firm in the hallway that morning.
âI said Iâd come back.â
ââŚbecause I didnât want to make a decision Iâd regret.â
And then softer, softer in a way that made your chest ache, âI have some decisions to make.â
You hadnât heard everything. Just enough, enough to let doubt bloom, enough to make you feel like this had an expiration date and now he was being so kind. Gentle. Like someone preparing to leave without making a mess. Your throat tightened.You pushed yourself off the doorframe, âAre you⌠opening a fruit shop?â Your voice came out lighter than you felt. Mark glanced up and for a secondâjust a secondâhis face softened fully, âThere you are.â There it was, that look. The one that made everything inside you go quiet. He smiled, small, almost shy. âI was starting to think you were avoiding me.â Your stomach dropped because you had been. âJust a little busy,â you said, stepping into the kitchen. It sounded wrong even to your own ears and he noticed. Of course he did.
He always noticed.
Something was off.Heâd felt it the moment you woke up, in the way you didnât wake up. The way you stayed turned away from him in bed, the way your breathing had been just a little too even. Like you were pretending and now, now you stood across from him like there was a line drawn between you.
Invisible.
But there. His grip tightened slightly on the knife before he forced himself to relax.
Dude, donât overthink it. Donât mess this up.
You were quieter today. More distant and the thought hit himâsharp, suddenâ
Did I push too far?
Last night. The way you had looked at him, the way you had said his name, the way he had kissed you like he had been starving because he actually was and then some.
God.
His chest tightened. Maybe, maybe it had meant more to him than it did to you.
MaybeâŚ
He set the knife down, âI, uhâŚâ He cleared his throat, wiping his hands on a towel that didnât need wiping. âAbout last nightââ Your head snapped up. Too fast. Too sharp. Something in your expression flickeredâpanic? hurt?âand suddenly he becomes very aware that he was stepping into something fragile. Still, he pushed forward because the silence between you felt worse. âItâs okay,â he said, voice careful. âIf it didnât meanâif you donât want what happened last night to mean anything. I get it. We didnâtâŚtalk about it, and I donât want you to feel likeââ
Oh.
Oh.
The words hit you like cold water. Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.
So thatâs what this was?
You let out a small, breathless laugh but there was nothing amused about it, âWow.â Mark freezes. You stepped back slightly, arms wrapping around yourself now. âThatâsââ you swallowed, shaking your head. âThatâs actually insane.â His brows furrowed. âWhat?â âYouâre leaving,â you said, the words spilling out faster now, emotion cracking through your voice, âand the first thing you think to say is that it meant nothing?â His eyes widened. âWhatâno, thatâs notââ âYou think I didnât hear you?â you cut in, sharper now. Silence. Heavy and immediate. Markâs expression shifted, realisation hitting him all at once.
Slowly.
âYouâŚheard?â he asked, quieter. Your laugh came out hollow. âHard not to.â You looked at him then. Really looked and God, that hurt more because he still looked at you like you mattered and that just made no sense. âYouâre going back,â you said, voice trembling now despite your effort to steady it. âYouâre making plans. Youâre deciding your future. And Iâm justâwhat? A stopover? Something that happened while you were figuring things out?â
âThatâs notââ
âAnd now youâre trying to make it easier by pretending it didnât matter?â Your chest tightened, âDo you know how insulting that is?â He stared at you. For a second. Two, and then threeâ Nothing made sense. âYou think Iâm leaving you?â he asked, almost incredulous. âYes!â you shot back. âWhy would you think that?â You laughed again, but this time it broke, âbecause you said youâre going back!â
âI said Iâm going back for work!â
âAnd what happens after that?"
âIââ he stopped because he didnât have a clean answer and the hesitationâ It hit you like confirmation. Your face fell, âExactly.â Something inside his chest finally snaps, âHeyâno.â He steps forward quickly. âThatâs not what that means.â âThen what does it mean, Mark?â you asked, voice softer nowâbut somehow that made it worse. âBecause from where Iâm standing, it sounds like youâre already preparing to leave.â
âIâm not leaving you.â
âThen what are you doing?â
âIâm trying to figure out my life!â he said, the words coming out sharper than he intended. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once. âIâve spent years doing what everyone expects of me and for the first time Iâmââ he exhaled, frustrated, vulnerableâ âIâm trying to decide something for myself.â Your eyes softened slightly but the hurt didnât disappear, âAnd where do I fit into that?â you asked quietly. He stops and looks at you, really looks. The answer comes easily. Too easily.
âYouâre the only thing that feels certain.â
Silence.
Soft and fragile. Your breath hitched. His shoulders dropped slightly, like the fight had left him all at once, âI wasnât saying last night didnât matter,â he said, quieter now. âI was sayingâŚI didnât want to assume it meant something to you and make things harder.â Your lips parted slightly, âThatâs what you meant?â
âYes.â
You blinked. Once. Twice.
âOh.â A beat passes.Then, softer, âOh.â
You felt stupid. Not in a harsh way. Just⌠small because everything suddenly made sense. The way heâd been careful, the way heâd been watching you, the way heâd been trying. You let out a shaky breath, looking down at your hands. âI thoughtâŚâ you trailed off, then shook your head, âI thought you were trying to make it easier to leave.â Mark steps closer. Slowly. Like approaching something delicate, âI donât want to make anything easier if it means losing you.â Your heart stuttered. You looked up at him and this time, there was no confusion. No hesitation. Just the truth.
Say it.
Youâve been circling it for days. Weeks.
Say it.
âI love you,â he said. Simple but it landed heavy. âI donâtââ he exhaled softly, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. âI donât even know when it happened. But it did and now I canât imagineâŚnot having this.â
You swallowed hard.
âI love you too,â you whispered and that was it. The last thread snapped. He closed the distance first. Not rushed, not hesitant. Just certain. His hand comes up to your cheek, warm, grounding. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie and when your lips met, it wasnât like last night.That had been fire. This wasâ
Home.
Slow. Deep. Intentional. Like both of you were trying to say everything you hadnât managed to put into words. You exhaled softly against him. He pulled you closer. Your bodies fit together like something that had already learned how.The kiss deepened, then softened, lingered.Foreheads resting together. Breath mingling.His arms wrapped around you.Fully.Firmly.Like he meant it. You melted into him, your face tucked into his chest.For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, quietly, âIâm not leaving you,â he murmured into your hair. Your fingers tightened slightly against him.âNot now,â he continued.
A pause.
Then softer, âNot ever, if I can help it.â Your chest ached but this time, it wasnât from fear. You pulled back just enough to look at him, âEven when you go back?â He nodded. âIâll come back too.â A small, shaky smile broke across your face, âYou better.â He smiled back, âI will.â Soft and certain, âand if not, I can always fly you out to me.â
And just like that, the tension didnât disappear. It settled. Turned into something steadier. Something deeper, something that could survive distance because now, it had a name.
The next morning doesnât feel heavy. It feelsâŚsettled. Not perfect, not resolved in some dramatic, life-changing way. Just more gentle. You wake up before him this time and for a moment, you donât move.
Because heâs there.
On his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, hair falling messily over his eyes like he lost a fight with sleep and didnât care enough to fix it. One arm is stretched toward your side of the bed, fingers just barely brushing your wrist like even in sleep, he refuses to let you drift too far. Your chest tightens.Not painfully, just⌠full. You shift slightly, careful not to wake him, but his fingers react anywayâcurling faintly, like your movement pulled him closer even in his dreams.
A small smile tugs at your lips, "clingy,â you murmur under your breath. His response is immediate. A quiet groan, âI heard that.â Your eyes widen slightly, âYou were asleep.â âWas,â he mumbles, voice rough, barely awake. âThen you started talking.â You huff softly, âWell, you shouldnât eavesdrop on people when youâre unconscious.â That earns a low, sleepy laugh from him, âthat's what she said.â You scoff in disbelief, hitting his arm playfully at the jab from your previous day's overthinking. He shifts, turning onto his side now, facing you properly. It feels different, being looked at like that first thing in the morning. Unfiltered. Unhurried.He studies your face for a second. Then, without saying anything, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. It lingers. Too long to be casual yet too natural to question. ââŚmorning,â he murmurs against your skin. Your breath catches slightly, ââŚmorning.â
The day starts slowly. No rush, no urgency pulling either of you away. You drift out of bed together, half-laughing, half-arguing over everything that makes sense but doesn't like its routine. Like you always do but this time, it doesnât feel like youâre adjusting to each other. It feels like you already have. Biscuit winds between your legs as you open the fridge, âTraitor,â Mark mutters, watching the cat ignore him completely.
âHe knows who feeds him.â
âI fed him yesterday.â âYou dropped half the food on the floor.â âThat was strategic.â The man argues back like a prodigal child. You turn to look at him, ââŚhow?â He shrugs, completely serious, âBonding experience.â
You stare at him.Then laugh and something about that laugh, the way it comes easier now, fuller, makes his expression soften without him realizing. Cooking becomesâŚchaotic. Not because either of you canât cook but because neither of you is really focused on it. You bump into each other constantly, reach for the same thing at the same time and pause too long when your hands brush. At one point, he stands behind you to grab something from the cabinet aboveâand doesnât move away immediately after. You feel him there.Close. Warm. Your breath stutters slightly, ââŚMark.â
âHm?â
âYouâre not grabbing anything anymore.â
A pause.
Then, âI forgot what I needed.â You turn your head slightly. Just enough to meet his eyes. Heâs closer than you expected. Your gaze flickers to his lips, then back up and for a second, it almost happens again. That same pull, that same quiet gravity but this time, you both smile instead. Small. Knowing and stepping away before it consumes the moment. The rest of the day unfolds in pieces that feel almostâŚunreal in how normal they are.
You film.
He sits nearby, watching, occasionally offering suggestions that are surprisingly good. You tease him about it, âSince when are you a creative director?â He shrugs,âI have range.â âYou have opinions Mr Celebrity.â
âSame thing.â
You roll your eyes, but you keep his suggestion anyway. Later when you both end up on the couch. Not doing anything important, not talking about anything serious. Just, existing in the same space with your legs draped over his lap, his hand absentmindedly tracing slow patterns against your skin. Neither of you acknowledges it but neither of you stops it either. At some point, your head ends up resting against his shoulder, at some point, his chin rests lightly on top of your head and at some point, you both realize how quiet the world feels when youâre like this. âThis is nice,â you murmur. He hums softly in agreement, âYeah.â
A pause.
Then quieter, âFeels⌠easy.â Your fingers curl slightly against his shirt, ââŚyeah.â
Easy and somehow, that feels bigger than anything else. When night rolls in, it feels softer. Quieter. Like the house itself is exhaling.Youâre both in comfortable clothes now. You are in one of your oversized sweaters, sleeves swallowing your hands, the tiny shorts you love to wear swallowed whole by it. Mark is in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, hair still slightly damp from a shower. Thereâs music playing low
A guitar rests next to him on the couch.
You notice it immediately, ââŚyouâre going to play?â He glances up. A little hesitant, âmaybe.â Your heart does something strange at that. You shift slightly on the couch, turning toward him more fully, âI didnât know you brought it with you.â He shrugs, âI didnât. This is rented. I didn't think I was going to want to play anytime soon. A pause, then quieter, âcause I didn't for a while.â
Thereâs something there, something heavier but he doesnât sit in it long. Instead, he adjusts the guitar, fingers brushing the strings lightly. The sound is soft. Tentative. Like heâs testing the space. You pull your legs away expectantly. Mark takes the guitar into his lap. Then, he starts playing. Itâs not loud. Not showy. JustâŚgentle. A melody that feels unfinished, like itâs still finding itself but itâs beautiful. In a quiet, aching way. You donât interrupt. You donât move, you just watch him and for the first time, you see it clearly. Not just Mark. Not just the version of him thatâs been living in your house but the part of him thatâs still searching. Still figuring things out, still deciding who he wants to be. Your chest tightens, âthatâs new,â you say softly when he stops. He nods, âYeah.â â It sounds really good.â
He hesitates. Then, âthank you.â Honest. Uncertain. You shift closer without thinking. Your shoulder brushes his.âYou should keep it,â you say quietly. âIt sounds like you.â He glances at you, âyou think so?â You nod, âYeah.â A small pause settles. Then, softer, âNot the version people expect.â That lands. He looks down at the guitar for a second. Then back at you. Something in his expression shifts. Warms.
âStay?â he asks quietly.
You blink,âI am staying.â He shakes his head slightly, âI meanâlike this.â You understand.
ââŚokay.â
You donât move away and neither does he. He starts playing again. This time more sure. More grounded and you lean into him slightly, your head resting against his shoulder again, your presence steady, quiet, supportive. Outside, the world keeps moving but inside, time stretches. Slows and becomes something soft and almost fragile. His playing steadies, your breathing matches it and somewhere between the notes and the quiet, something deeper settles between you. Not rushed. Not loud. Justâreal. When the song fades, neither of you moves immediately. âThank you,â he murmurs. You tilt your head slightly, âFor what?â He hesitates. Then, âfor making this feel like mine again.â Your chest tightens, you donât answer with words, you just lean further into him, pecking his lips lightly before taking his hand in yours, holding his tight. Like youâre not trying to keep him just letting him know he doesnât have to leave. Not yet not tonight. Not from this and this timeâŚ
He holds on too.
The night settles into the house slowly, like it doesnât want to disturb whatâs already there. The rooms had settled into one of those quiet, lived-in silences that didnât feel empty. It felt full. Full of the low, steady hum of the desktop, the faint crackle of the record spinning lazily as it played one of the records Mark brought home days ago, tucked under his arm like something precious. It plays from the corner of your office, warm and slightly imperfect, the kind of sound that makes everything feel softer around the edges and the soft rhythm of ASMR keys being pressedâhesitant at first, then more certain, like someone relearning a language they once spoke fluently. Your office light is dimâjust the desk lamp on, casting a golden pool across the desk, across him where he sat at your desk like he had always belonged there.
You pause at the doorway.
He hasnât noticed you yet.
Your chair is pulled in close, his posture slightly hunched, one elbow resting on the table while his other hand scrolls slowly across the screen. The monitorâs glow reflects faintly on his glasses, and for a second, you just watch the way his eyes moveâfocused, intent, quieter than youâve ever seen them. With the hood up, sleeves pushed just enough to reveal his wrists, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose every few minutes before he nudged them back up without thinking. There was something almost disarming about itâhow easily he had folded himself into your space. Your chair, your desk, your work⌠your life. Like heâs settled into your world so naturally it almost scares you, like if you blink, he might disappear and take that feeling with him. Your fingers tighten slightly around the mug in your hands. He said he booked the ticket. That thought still sits somewhere in your chest, heavy but⌠not unbearable. Not anymore because now thereâs this. This quiet, this closeness, this choice to stayâuntil he canât. Still, there was a tension under him, you could tell from the stiffness on his shoulders. Not loud, not obvious but there.
Your gaze flickers to the screen. Lines of text. Emails. Too many.
He hadnât opened them in daysâweeks, maybe. Not properly anyway, not like this. Now they sat open on your screen, one after the other. His name threaded through subject lines. Urgent. Follow-up. Final notice. Check-in. His jaw tightened slightly as he read one, fingers hovering over the keyboard longer than necessary.
He exhaled slowly. Typed. Paused. Deleted.
Typed again.
You didnât announce yourself when you reached the doorway. You just watched him. The soft glow of the monitor painted his face in pale blues and quiet shadows, catching on the curve of his cheekbone, the faint crease between his brows. He looked different like this. Not like the version of him the world knew. Not polished, not performing. Just⌠Mark.
Your Mark.
The thought landed softly, but it stayed and for a second, you didnât moveâjust stood there with your mug warming your hands, letting the moment settle into you like something youâd want to remember later. Then your foot shifted against the wooden floor and he felt it, he always did. His head turned slightly, eyes lifting over his shoulderâand the moment he saw you, something in his face changed.
Softened.
âHey,â he murmured, voice quieter than the room. Your lips curved before you could stop them. âHey.â You stepped in slowly, the oversized sweater slipping just a little off one shoulder as you moved. Bare legs, no socksâhe noticed that immediately, even before his eyes consciously tracked it. He always noticed. âCold?â he asked automatically, gaze dropping for half a second before returning to your face. You shook your head, walking toward him. âI have coffee. That counts.â He huffed a quiet laugh under his breath, but his eyes lingered anywayâlike he didnât quite believe you and then you were close. Close enough to feel the warmth of him, close enough to notice the faint scent of his body wash mixed with something warmer, something that had become distinctly him over the past weeks. You didnât ask, you just climbed onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. One leg swinging over, then the other, settling carefully so you faced him fullyâknees on either side of his hips, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders for balance. He freezes for half a second, breath catchingâbarely noticeable, but you feel it, not because it was new. It was but, it still did something to him every time. His hands come up instinctively, landing on your hips to steady you, fingers warm even through the thin fabric of your shorts.
âHi,â you said again, softer now, closer.
His hands instinctively came upânot gripping, not pulling, just settling at your waist like they had learned exactly where to belong. Hi,â he echoed. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The record crackled softly, the cursor blinked on the screen behind you and Mark became painfully aware of everything at onceâyour warmth, your weight, the way your sweater bunched slightly under his fingers, the way your hair fell forward just enough that it brushed against his cheek when you leaned in closer. âWorking?â you asked, even though it was obvious. He let out a quiet breath, glancing briefly past you at the screen. âTrying to.â Your eyes followed his for a second before returning to him. âThat bad?â He huffed softly, a small smile tugging at his lips, but it didnât quite reach his eyes this time.âItâs just⌠a lot,â he admitted and because you were here, because it was you, he didnât stop there. âTheyâve been waiting for me to respond,â he continued, voice quieter now, more thoughtful. âI just⌠didnât want to open anything. Because once I do, it would mean I have to actually decide.â
Thereâs something in the way he says itânot dread, not quite fear, but something heavier. Something that carries weight.
You donât respond right away.
Instead, your fingers traced absent patterns along the fabric of his hoodie trying to sooth him, ground him soft and steady, âdecide what?â He looked at you then, really looked and for a moment, all the noiseâthe emails, the expectations, the pressureâfell somewhere far behind you.
âEverything,â he said simply.
There was no dramatics in it. Just the truth. Your chest tightened slightly, but you didnât let it showânot in a way that would weigh him down. Instead, you leaned in just a little more, your forehead brushing his lightly. âOkay,â you whispered. âThen don't decide everything.â
His breath caughtâjust for a second because you said it like it was simple. Like he could, like he was allowed to. His hands tightened slightly at your waist before relaxing again, thumbs brushing gently over the fabric of your sweater. âI think I already know,â he admitted after a moment. âIâm just⌠scared of what happens after I say it out loud.â You smiled softly, âThen donât say it out loud yet.â He blinked at you, âWhat?â âKeep figuring it out,â you said, voice calm, steady. âYou donât have to rush it just because they want you to.â
There it was again. That quiet way you had of making things feelâŚpossible. Mark let out a breath he didnât realize heâd been holding, his shoulders dropping slightly and then his eyes flickered downward again. Your legs. Still bare, "Seriously," he muttered suddenly, reaching blindly to the side. âHow are you not freezing?â You blink. âIâm not.â âYouâre not even wearing socks,â he argued back incredulously. âI donât like socks.â âThatâs not true and you know it baby.â
âItâs my house.â
He stares at you like thatâs not a valid argument and you laugh softly as he grabs the throw blanket from the nearby beanbag, shaking it out before draping it over your shoulders and around your legs with gentle, careful movements. âThere,â he said, adjusting it unnecessarily. âBetter.â You tilted your head, watching him, âyouâre very domestic.â That makes him snort, âI burnt eggs, like, three weeks ago.â
âGrowth,â you said lightly.
He rolled his eyes, but there was a smile there nowâreal this time and then, without thinking, he leaned forward. Just a little, just enough. Your lips met his in something soft, unhurried. Not the kind of kiss that demanded, the kind that stayed. Warm, familiar and Certain. It lingered for a few seconds before he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours again, his nose brushing lightly against yours as he exhaled.
âGirlfriend privileges include temperature regulation now?â he murmured. You smiled, eyes still closed. âBoyfriend duties,â you corrected softly. That word settled between you, not new but still⌠delicate, still something that made his chest tighten in the best, most terrifying way.
His girlfriend.
The vinyl crackles softly in the background. The room feels smaller, warmer. You lean in just slightly, resting your forehead against his shoulder. âGo on,â you whisper. âWork.â He huffs quietly. âYouâre not helping.â
âYou like it.â
âI do,â He can't help grinning as his hands settle againâone firm at your waist, the other returning to the keyboard. He starts typing, slower now, like his focus is split between the screen and the fact that youâre sitting on him like this. You tilt your head, watching the screen from over his shoulder, âWhat are they saying?â âEverything,â he mutters. âAsking where I am. Why Iâm not responding. Schedules. Contracts. Deadlines.â
âSounds fun.â
âItâs not.â
Youâre quiet for a moment. Then, âAre you scared?â The question is soft but it lands. He stills slightly. His fingers hover over the keyboard, ââŚYeah.â
Honest.
You shift a little, your hand sliding up to the back of his neck, fingers threading lightly into his hair, âof what?â He exhales slowly, âof making the wrong choice.â Your thumb brushes gently against his skin, âthere isnât one.â âThere is,â he says quietly. âThereâs always one.â You pull back just enough to look at him, âyouâve spent so long doing what everyone else wanted,â you say. âMaybe the right choice now is just⌠doing what you want.â His eyes soften, âand what if that costs me everything?â You hold his gaze, âIt wonât.â
âYou donât know that.â
âNo,â you admit softly. âBut I know youâll regret it if you donât try.â Silence. The kind that settles deep. He studies your face like heâs trying to memorize something. Then, his hand leaves the keyboard again and slides up your arm reaching for the back of your neck. Fingers brushing lightly against your skin and light hairs behind. âYou make it sound easy.â âItâs not,â you whisper. âBut it could be worth it.â He swallowed slightly with his hands shifting just enough to pull you closerâcloser than before, like he needed to remind himself you were real. âIâm gonna have to go back,â he said quietly after a moment. You didnât flinch, didnât pull away. Just nodded at him, âI know.â His grip tightened âI donât want to,â he added, almost under his breath.This time, you pull backâjust enough to look at him properly, âI know,â you repeated gently and you did. That was the thing. You understood him in ways that made it harder, not easier. Your hand came up, brushing a strand of hair away from his face before your fingers lingered there. âYouâre not choosing between things,â you said softly. âYouâre justâŚadding something new.â His eyes searching yours, âand what if I mess it up?â he asked. You smiledâsmall, but certain, âThen we fix it.â
We.
The word landed heavier than anything else. Mark exhales slowly, something in him settlingânot completely, not permanently, but enough. Enough to keep going, enough to try. He leans in again, and for a moment, the emails donât matter, the world outside doesnât exist. Thereâs just this.
You.
Him.
The quiet. It's slow, like he doesn't know how not to give you time to pull away. You donât. Your lips meet. Soft and unrushed. The kind of kiss that doesnât ask for anythingâjust stays. Your hand tightens slightly in his hoodie and his grip on your waist firms. Just a little, enough to pull you close, to pull you flush against him. Like heâs grounding himself in you. When he pulls back, itâs not far. His forehead rests lightly against yours. Then he pulls back slightly, tucking you closer against him. You shifted slightly, settling more comfortably nowâyour head resting against his shoulder, your arms loosely around him as the blanket cocooned you both. His chin rests lightly against your hair and then, quietly, he turns back to the screen. His hands moved againâtyping, pausing, thinkingâbut this time, there was less hesitation. Less fear because you were still there. Warm. Close.
Real.
And even as his thoughts wanderedâback to contracts, to music, to the uncertain shape of everything waiting for himâone thing stayed clear. He didnât know how everything would turn out. He didnât know what choosing himself would cost but he knew this, he wasnât walking away from you. Not now, not after this. His fingers pause over the keyboard for a moment. Then he types again and behind him, you breathed softly against his shoulder, your presence steady in a way that made everything else feel⌠manageable. His thumb brushes absently against your side. Like a reminder that youâre still there, that heâs not doing this alone. The vinyl spins. The night deepens and in the quiet rhythm of keys and breath and closeness âYou both hold onto the same fragile, steady thought.
Weâll figure it out.
The airport noise didnât hit him all at once.It felt louder than he remembered or maybe it was just that everything inside him had gone quieter. It layered itself inâfirst the low hum of voices, then the sharper edge of camera shutters, then the unmistakable swell of recognition as people began to notice him stepping out of the car. Mark adjusted the hood of his jacket a little lower over his head as he stepped out of the car, the familiar choreography of it all settling over him like muscle memoryâsecurity, staff, movement, timing. He paused for half a second with the door still open behind him. Not long enough for anyone else to notice, long enough for him to feel it.
That shift.
From being yoursâquiet, unobserved, soft around the edges, to being this again.
Public. Watched. Interpreted.
His fingers tightened briefly around his phone before he slipped it into his pocket, rolling his shoulders back as he stepped fully into the light.
And just like that, he wore it.
The small smile. The wave. The careful way his gaze lifted just enough to acknowledge without lingering too long. He knew how to do this, he had always known but now, there was a part of him that stood slightly apart from it, watching himself move through it like it was choreography he no longer fully belonged to. Somewhere between the flashes, his phone vibrated faintly in his pocket. He didnât check but he felt it and the corner of his mouth softened, just slightly as his mind drifted. To your voice, to the way you had laughed into his shoulder. To the way your fingers used to absentmindedly trace patterns against his hoodie as you watched the many reality shows you loved to hate so much.He swallowed, stepping through the doors.
Back to this.
The schedule swallowed him whole. It always did. Fittings blurred into rehearsals, rehearsals into recordings, recordings into meetings. Rooms changed, outfits changed. The studio smelled faintly of hairspray and fabric steamers. Racks of clothes lined the wallsâstructured jackets, layered textures, pieces chosen with intention, curated to create something larger than any one person wearing them. Mark stood in front of the mirror, stylists moving around him with practiced easeâadjusting a collar, smoothing fabric along his shoulders, stepping back, stepping in again.
âTurn a little,â someone said.
He did. Automatically. The reflection staring back at him looked right. Sharp, controlled and composed but his eyes lingered on himself just a second longer than usual. Not because he didnât recognize the person but because he was starting to realize that wasnât all of him anymore. âMark, ready for the first set!â He blinked, stepping away from the mirror. âYeah,â he answered.
Then lighting changed,but the rhythm stayed the same. Fast. Efficient. Demanding. The photoshoot set was brightâwhite backdrops, stark lighting, cameras already positioned. He stepped into frame, posture shifting instinctively, expression settling into something precise. Click. Flash.
âChin up slightlyâyeah, hold that.â
Click.
âGood. Now soften your eyes a bit.â
Soften. He thought of you, not intentionally. Just, naturally. The way your eyes looked when you laughed. The way your voice softened when you called him Mr. Celebrity like it meant something more than just teasing him.Something in his expression changed. ââyes, that,â the photographer said quickly.
âHold that.â
Click.
Mark blinked slightly, refocusing but it lingered. That softness, that warmth. He couldnât turn it off as easily as he used to. Still, he moved through it all with the same quiet precision he always had.
Only now, there were cracks.
Small ones.
Barely visible. But there. In the way his eyes drifted toward his phone when he thought no one was looking. In the way his laugh came a little softer, a little slower, like it was echoing from somewhere else.
_____
The nights were the hardest. The dorm room felt quiet and impersonal, lights dimmed low while the city buzzed endlessly outside. Mark sat on the edge of the bed, guitar resting against his thigh, fingers moving absentmindedly over the strings. The melody was soft. Unfinished. It had been like that for days nowâpieces of something forming, dissolving, reforming again. He thought of you when he played. Not intentionally, justâŚnaturally. The way you used to sit and listen, your head tilted slightly, eyes focused on him like the sound mattered more because it came from him. He swallowed, fingers pausing. His phone buzzed. This time, he didnât wait. He answered immediately. Your face filled the screenâslightly pixelated, hair messy, wrapped in one of your oversized sweaters.
âHi,â you said softly and just like that, everything eased. âHey babyâ he breathed. For a moment, neither of you said anything. JustâŚlooked. Smiled, existed in the same space, even if it was through a screen. âYou look tired,â you murmured. He huffed a quiet laugh. âYou look like you just woke up.â
âI did.â
âOf course you did.â He rolls his eyes groaning cheekily, âIâd give up anything for our midday naps.â
The naps were the best, after lunch, after clean-up, especially if it was days where you didn't have to edit till late at night. On the day bed you had on your balcony. Cuddling snugly, legs tangled up and hands wandering where the sun didn't normally shine under a big light throw blanket to protect you both from the wind before Biscuit interrupted your deep slumber with his constant meowing needing something to eat. He secretly believed the cat just grew jealous when he didn't see you for too long.
You smiled, shifting slightly, pulling a blanket tighter around yourself. âDid you eat?â He glanced at the half-empty takeout container beside him, âyeahâŚbut I miss your food most Angel.â You laugh at that before answering softly, âI miss watching you eat my food. You should still eat.â âIâm eating,â he corrected quickly. âCurrently. See?â He lifted the container into view like proof. You laughed softly, shaking your head. âOkay. I believe you.â Silence settled againâbut this time it was softer. Comfortable. âI miss you,â he said suddenly. It slipped out the same way everything important with you always did. Unplanned, unfiltered. Your expression softened immediately. âI know,â you whispered. âI miss you most, my idol.â His grip on the phone tightened slightly. âI donât like this part,â he admitted.
âThe distance?"
âYeah.â
You nodded slowly, âbut we knew it was coming.â âI know,â he sighed. âI just⌠didnât think it would feel like this.â
âLike what?â
He hesitated, ââŚlike I left something important behind.â Your breath caught slightlyâbut you smiled anyway. âYou didnât leave it,â you said gently. âItâs still yours. Iâm only yours.â Something in his chest ached. In the best way, in the worst way and all at once. âIâll come back,â he murmured, more to himself than anything.
âI know you will.â
And you did. You always said things like that with so much certainty it made him believe them too.Even when he wasnât sure how everything would unfold. For a moment, he wasnât in Korea. He wasnât in a hotel room, he wasnât a performer, or an idol, or someone standing on the edge of a life-altering decision.
He was justâYours.
âDid you talk to Taeyong?â you asked gently, startling him back to reality. He pauses not because the name seems so foreign coming from your glossy lips, it is but he pauses because you remembered him telling you about wanting to talk to him first before fully committing to what he wanted. That conversation was so rushed then and still, you remembered. Then he nodded, even though you couldnât see it fully, â yeah.â
âAnd?â
He laid down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. âI think Iâm really going to do it.â Silence. Not empty, just⌠full. âOkay,â you said softly. No fear, no doubt. Just. Okay. His chest tightened. âYouâre not scared?â he asked quietly. âI am,â you admitted. âBut not about you.â That made him pause, âthen what?â âThe world youâre stepping into,â you said. âAnd how it might try to pull you away from yourself.âHis grip on the phone tightened, âI wonât let it.â âI know,â you whispered and somehow, that was enough For now, for this moment, for the version of him that was still standing in between two lives, trying to figure out how to carry both.
Later that night, alone again, Mark sat by the window, city lights stretching endlessly beyond the glass. His phone rested in his hand, your voice still lingering in his head from earlier and beneath everythingâthe noise, the schedules, the expectations, his decision sat quietly. Steady. Unmoved. He hadnât said it out loud yet. Not to them, not to the team he led that had become brothers ever since they fought for him back into the group when the system was meant to function differently. Not properly but it was there. Waiting, like everything else.He exhaled slowly, leaning his head back against the wall. He didnât know how it would go, didn't know what it would change but he knew this. He was choosing something for himself. For once and somehow, that choice still led back to you.
Always.
It scared him but for the first time in a long while, even before he met you, it felt right and for nowâŚ
That was enough.
_______
It was late when he met Taeyong. Not planned through managers or schedules. Just a message.
Hyung, are you free?
And somehow, Taeyong always was.The cafĂŠ was quiet, tucked away enough that they could sit without being watched too closely. The kind of place that didnât demand attentionâjust offered space. Mark arrived first. Sat and waited. His fingers tapped lightly against the table before he forced them still, exhaling slowly. When Taeyong walked in, it was with that same calm presence he always carriedâlike he understood more than he said, like he saw more than he let on. âHey,â Taeyong greeted, sliding into the seat across from him.
âHey, hyung.â
They ordered drinks. For a moment, it was just comfortable silence. Neither of them spoke. They didnât need to. Taeyong had always been like thatâsomeone who didnât rush silence, who let it stretch until it became comfortable instead of heavy.
âYou look tired,â Taeyong said finally, studying him. Mark huffed softly. âThat obvious?â
âA little.â
He nodded, glancing down at his hands.
âI think too much,â he admitted. Taeyong smiled faintly. âThatâs not new.â Mark huffed a quiet breath. âYeah.â A pause. âAnd distracted.â Markâs eyes flickered up. Taeyong held his gaze, not accusatory, not pressing. Just there. Mark looked down at his hands, fingers tracing absent patterns against the edge of the table.
âI went away,â he said finally.
âI know.â
âIt wasâŚdifferent.â Taeyong nodded slightly, waiting. Mark swallowed, âI think I needed it more than I realized.â
Another pause.
Mark let out a quiet laugh, but it faded quickly. âI made a decision,â he said, voice lowering slightly.
Taeyong didnât interrupt, just listened. Mark swallowed, âI donât think I can⌠keep doing this the same way anymore.â There it was. Not fully said but close enough. Taeyong leaned back slightly, eyes steady on him, âwhat does that mean to you?â Mark hesitated because saying it out loud would make it real, would make it irreversible. ââŚI donât think Iâm going to renew,â he said finally. The words settled between them. Heavy but not surprising. Taeyong didnât react immediately. He just nodded. Like he had already known. âAre you sure?â he asked gently. Mark exhaled, running a hand through his hair. âIâve been thinking about it for a long time even before I left,â he admitted. âI just didnât have a reason to actually do it.â
âAnd now?â
Markâs lips curved slightly, almost involuntarily. Now, there was you. He didnât say your name but it was there. In the way his expression softened, in the way his voice steadied. âI think I want to try something that feels like mine,â he said. Taeyong watched him carefully and then, quietly. âThen you should.â Mark blinked,âthatâs it?â Taeyong shrugged lightly. âYou already decided. You just wanted someone to tell you itâs okay.â Mark let out a breath that felt like it had been sitting in his chest for weeks. âIs it?â he asked, softer now. Taeyongâs gaze didnât waver. âItâs your life,â he said simply. âNot the companyâs. Not the fansâ. Not even ours.â
The words landed deeper than anything else.
âAnd youâre not leaving us,â Taeyong added. âYouâre just choosing yourself differently.â Markâs throat tightened. He nodded slowly. âI was thinking maybe after the comeback,â he murmured. âWhen contract talks come up again. It can be announced officially when Dream and I head out for tour.â Taeyong tilted his head slightly, âhow soon do you think youâll do it? To tell the guys?â âSoon enough that it still feels like my decision.â Mark stared at the table for a moment, âHeachan might try to talk me out of it,â he said quietly. Taeyong laughed and nodded, âthatâs all that matters.â
That, that hit deeper than anything else.Markâs throat tightened slightly, his gaze dropping again, âit doesnât feel that simple.â âIt never is,â Taeyong replied softly. âBut that doesnât mean itâs wrong.â
Silence settled again. Warm and steady. For the first time since he had made the decision, it didnât feel like something he was carrying alone.
Now, the silence doesnât break all at once. It loosens. Gradually. Like the house itself exhales the moment you step fully inside, the door closing softly behind you with a quiet click that feels louder than it should. The cold from outside lingers in the entryway, clinging to your coat, to the ends of your hair, to the space between you and himâbut it doesnât last. Not when his presence is this close. Not when your hands are still on him like you havenât quite convinced yourself heâs real.
Mark still hasnât spoken.
But he moves.
Itâs small at firstâhis hands coming up, slow, hesitant, like heâs not entirely sure heâs allowed to touch you back. His fingers hover near your wrists before settling there, warm against your skin, grounding in a way that makes your breath hitch without permission. You donât step away, neither does he and for a moment, the world narrows down to just thatâyour hands on him, his on you, the quiet between breaths that says more than words ever could.
Thenâ
âMinhyung-ah?â
The voice comes from deeper in the house, gentle but curious, carrying the warmth of familiarity that doesnât belong to you yetâbut doesnât feel unwelcome either. Everything shifts. You blink, the moment softening but not disappearing, and Mark exhales like heâs remembering where he is, who he is supposed to be here. His hands tighten around your wrists for just a secondâjust enough to say stayâbefore he finally, finally speaks.
ââŚIâm here.â
His voice is quieter than usual. Rougher when he looks at you. Really looks at you this time, like heâs catching up to what just happenedâyour presence, your hands, the way you crossed continents just to stand in front of him like this. Something in his expression softens, almost dangerously so. âCome in,â he murmurs, softer now, and this time his hand doesnât leave yours when he turns.The house feels different once youâre inside it properly. Warmer. Lived-in.The kind of warmth that doesnât come from temperature but from yearsâfamily dinners, laughter tucked into walls, quiet mornings that smell like coffee and something sweet baking in the oven. You notice everything because you donât know where to look. The framed photos along the hallway. The soft hum of a heater somewhere. The faint clinking of dishes from the kitchen. And then, you see them.
His parents.
His mother turns first, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her expression shifting from mild curiosity to something softer the moment her eyes land on Markâand then, immediately, on you.
Thereâs a pause. Not uncomfortable. JustâŚassessing. Gentle.
âOh,â she says, a small smile forming, âyou must be the one he canât stop reverting back to when I cook something wrongly,â like she already understands more than either of you have said out loud. âYou didn't tell me she was so pretty, honey.â
Mark exhales sharply beside you.
âMomââ
But itâs too late because his father is already stepping forward, a quiet warmth in his presence that mirrors Markâs in a way that makes something in your chest tighten unexpectedly. âYou came a long way,â he says simply, his voice calm, welcoming without being overwhelming. âYou should sit. You both should.â
And just like that, the moment shifts again.From the doorway to something steadier, something real. The dining table is already set. Not formally, not in a way that feels stagedâbut thoughtfully. Plates arranged neatly, a soft cloth laid across the center, small bowls of cut fruit, slices of cake that look homemade. Thereâs steam rising from mugsâcoffee, hot chocolateâthe scent wrapping around you like an embrace you didnât know you needed. Mark settles beside you after pulling out a chair for you. Your knee brushes his under the table and neither of you move away. His hand finds yours under the table before you even realize itâs happening. Firm. Grounding.
And this timeâhe doesnât hesitate.
At first, the conversation is light. His mother asks about your flight, your work, even roping you into making lasagna for dinner that night despite you claiming to be booking a hotel as you didn't want to disturb them only for his father to threaten to disown his own son if you slept outside. His father asks about how long youâre staying, insisting that you stay as long as you want to. You answer, politely, softlyâbut your awareness never leaves Mark because heâs quiet. Too quiet. Not distantâno, not that. Present but like something inside him is gathering itself, slowly, carefully, waiting for the right moment to surface. You feel it in the way his thumb brushes over your knuckles. Absentminded, repetitive and nervous. And then, It happens.
âI told them.â
Itâs simple. Too simple for what it means.The room stillsânot dramatically, not abruptlyâbut in a way that feels intentional. His parents donât interrupt. Donât rush him. They wait because they know this matters.Mark exhales, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly, like he needs that contact to anchor himself, "my managers. The company. The membersâŚâ His voice steadies as he speaks, but thereâs something underneath itâsomething raw, something exposed. âI told them Iâm not renewing.â
The words land softly but they carry weight. Years. A decade of something built, something lived in, something that shaped him into who he isâand who heâs trying to become beyond it. âIâll finish the tour,â he continues, quieter now, more certain. âIâll stay until everything we planned is done. But after thatâŚâ
He doesnât finish. He doesnât have to because itâs already there, sitting in the space between all of you. The decision, the ending and the beginning of something else. You donât realize your grip has tightened until he squeezes back. A quiet reassurance or maybe a question. You turn your head slightly, just enough to look at himâand when you do, you see it. The fear. Tucked carefully behind the confidence heâs trying to hold onto and something in your chest aches because you understand it, because you feel it too but more than that, you believe in him. Your thumb brushes over his hand, slow, deliberate, and when you speak, your voice is softâbut steady.
âItâs going to be okay.â
Not rushed. Not forced.Just⌠true. You donât say it because itâs easy. You say it because youâve seen him. All of him. The uncertainty, the passion, the way he lights up when he talks about music that feels like his. When you watch him make music he actually likes and you trust that version of him more than anything heâs leaving behind.
His mother is the first to respond, âyouâve always known when something feels right for you,â she says gently, her gaze steady on him. âEven when itâs difficult.â His father nods once, slower, thoughtful, âyouâre not losing anything,â he adds. âYouâre choosing something else.â
Simple but it lands and you feel it in the way Markâs shoulders loosen, just slightly. In the way he exhalesânot like heâs been holding his breath, but like heâs finally allowed to. For a moment, no one speaks. Not because thereâs nothing to say but because everything that needed to be saidâŚhas been.The warmth of the room settles around you again. The quiet returnsâbut itâs different now.
Full.
Complete.
Mark turns his head, just slightly to look at you and this time, thereâs no hesitation in it. No uncertainty. JustâŚsomething soft. Something certain, something that looks a lot like hope. His fingers lace through yours fully now on the table, not hidden, not tentativeâjust there, open, real and when he squeezes your hand this time, it feels different. Like a promise, not just that heâs not leaving you but that heâs finally choosing himself and for the first timeâŚ
Mark had to cast a spell with Doctor Strange to make sure everyone forgot he's Spiderman, including you, his girlfriend. Slowly but surely, you find your way back to each other.
18.2k, No smut, just fluff and angst. First person pov.
-----------------
Hi. You donât know me, but you used to.
The first sentence in the letter always starts the same.
Hi. You donât know me, but you used to.
Mark stares at the sentence until the ink bleeds slightly into the paper, his grip tightening without him realizing. The cheap desk in his one-bedroom apartment wobbles under his elbow. Outside, a siren wails somewhere in the city, fading into the hum of traffic and distant voices.
He exhales slowly.
Starts again.
Hi. You donât know me but you used to. My name is Mark Leeâ
The pen stops.
It always stops there.
Because what comes after that? How do you explain a life that technically never existed? How do you tell someone you were everything to them⌠without sounding like a stranger whoâs lost his mind?
He crumples the paper, tossing it toward the overflowing bin. It misses. They always miss when he's like this.
The room is dim, lit only by a flickering lamp and the glow of the city sneaking through half-broken blinds. His Spider-Man suit hangs by the window, still slightly torn at the shoulder from earlier. He hasnât had the energy to fix it yet.
He hasnât had the energy for much of anything lately.
Except watching you.
You pull your jacket tighter around yourself as you walk down your street, the night air brushing cool against your skin. Itâs quietâtoo quiet, but not enough to make you afraid.
Just⌠aware.
Thereâs that feeling again.
Like someoneâs there.
Not close enough to hear. Not close enough to see. But there.
Your steps slow for a second, eyes flicking behind you. Empty sidewalk. Parked cars. A streetlight buzzing softly.
You shake your head.
âGet it together,â you mumble to yourself.
And yetâŚ
The feeling doesnât go away.
From above, Mark doesnât move.
Perched on the edge of the building across the street, he watches you walkâcareful, steady, memorizing every small detail like heâs afraid the world might take this away too.
The way you tuck your hands into your sleeves.
The slight furrow in your brows when you think someoneâs watching.
You always used to do that.
His chest tightens behind the mask.
âYeah,â he whispers softly, voice barely audible under the fabric. âIâm here.â
You canât hear him.
Youâll never hear him say your name the way he used to.
Not unlessâ
No.
He shuts the thought down immediately.
That choice is already made. Thereâs no undoing it. Not without risking everything all over again.
So he stays where he is.
Watching.
Waiting.
Protecting.
Always protecting.
You reach your door, fumbling slightly with your keys. For a brief second, you pauseâglancing over your shoulder again. Your eyes scan the empty street, lingering just a little longer this time.
Mark freezes.
Something in his chest sparksâhope, sharp and sudden.
Do you feel it?
Do you remember?
But then you shake your head again, unlocking the door and slipping inside.
The light clicks on.
The curtains close.
And just like thatâ
Youâre gone.
Mark waits a few more seconds. Just in case.
He always does.
Only when heâs sure youâre safe does he move, shooting a web and swinging away into the night. The city rushes past him in blurs of gold and shadow, wind cutting through him, grounding him.
This is what he has now.
Not laughter. Not shared secrets. Not your hand in his.
Just distance.
And duty.
Back in his apartment, the silence feels heavier than before.
He lands softly by the window, peeling off the mask. His hair is damp with sweat, his face drawn, eyes tired in a way sleep hasnât been able to fix.
He glances at the desk.
At the pile of failed letters.
At your name, scribbled over and over in the margins of crumpled pages.
Mark walks over slowly, sitting down again. He picks up a fresh sheet of paper, smoothing it out carefully like it mattersâlike this one might be different.
The pen hovers.
For a long time, he just⌠breathes.
Then...
Hi.
His hand trembles slightly.
You donât know me but you used to.
A pause.
Longer this time.
His jaw tightens.
My name is Mark Lee.
The words sit there.
Lonely.
Incomplete.
His throat burns.
Because the next sentence should be easy.
It should be something like:
I love you.
But you donât know him.
And love, coming from a stranger⌠isnât love at all.
Itâs just confusion. Maybe even fear.
So instead, he writes
I just wanted to make sure youâre safe.
His breath catches.
That, at least, is still true.
That will always be true.
No matter what the world remembers.
No matter what you remember.
Mark leans back slightly, staring at the page like it might somehow fill itself in if he waits long enough.
It doesnât.
It never does.
Outside, the city keeps moving.
Inside, he sits there,
caught between a past thatâs gone
and a love that refuses to leave.
The bell above the cafĂŠ door jingles softly as Mark pushes it open.
Warmth hits him firstâthe smell of coffee, steamed milk, something sweet in the oven. Itâs familiar in a way that aches, like a memory just out of reach.
And then he sees you.
Youâre behind the counter, sleeves pushed up slightly, hair falling just the way it always used to when you got busy. Thereâs a light in your eyes as you laughâeasy, effortless.
But itâs not because of him.
Mark stops mid-step.
Thereâs a guy leaning against the counter, grinning at you like heâs already decided he likes everything he sees. He says somethingâMark canât hear it from hereâbut you laugh again, softer this time, a little shy.
Something sharp twists in Markâs chest.
Itâs not fair.
The thought comes fast, ugly, selfishâbut he canât stop it.
Thatâs my place.
Not in a possessive way. Not like you belong to him.
But that momentâthe way you smile, the way your eyes crinkle just slightlyâthat was something he used to earn. Something he used to protect. Something he used to know.
Now heâs just⌠standing there.
A stranger.
Invisible in a world he saved.
Mark swallows hard, forcing his feet to move, stepping aside so heâs not blocking the door. He lingers near the wall, pretending to check something on his phone, but his eyes keep drifting back to you.
The guy finally leaves, tossing you one last smile before pushing the door open and disappearing into the street.
Mark exhales.
He hadnât even realized heâd been holding his breath.
This⌠this isnât something he can keep doing.
Watching from rooftops. Standing in corners. Writing letters heâll never give you.
Living a life where he exists around youâbut never with you.
He loves being Spider-Man.
He really does.
Saving people. Doing the right thing. Carrying something bigger than himselfâit matters.
But he matters too.
Or at least⌠he used to.
Mark straightens slightly, something shifting in his chest. Not the sharp ache this timeâbut something steadier.
A decision.
I canât have what we had, he thinks.
But maybe⌠I can have something.
Even if itâs small.
Even if itâs just 'hi.'
He doesnât remember leaving the cafĂŠ.
Only the rush of wind against his face as he swings through the city, faster than usual, like heâs chasing something before he loses his nerve.
Back in his apartment, he lands a little harder than intended.
The room looks the same. Feels the same.
But he doesnât sit down this time.
Doesnât reach for a pen.
Instead, he moves.
Quick. Purposeful.
The mask comes off, tossed aside. He runs a hand through his hair, stepping into the small bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror.
For a second⌠he almost doesnât recognize the person looking back.
âOkay,â he mutters quietly. âOkay.â
His voice sounds strange without the filter of the suit. Too raw. Too real.
He fixes his hairâagain, and again, until it sits just right. Changes his shirt twice before landing on the black one.
The one you loved.
You used to say it made him look soft.
He hesitates for half a secondâthen reaches for the cologne. Just a little. Not too much.
His hands are shaking.
âRelax,â he whispers, letting out a breath that doesnât quite steady him.
This shouldnât be harder than fighting villains.
But it is.
Because this time thereâs no mask to hide behind.
The bell jingles again.
You glance up automatically, mid-sentence, your eyes landing on him.
Mark smiles.
Or at leastâhe tries to.
Itâs a little stiff at first, a little unsure. But itâs there.
âHey,â he says, voice softer than he expected. âUhâcan I get a coffee?â
You blink at him for a second, not in recognition, just⌠normal curiosity. The kind youâd give any new customer.
âYeah, of course,â you say, returning the smile easily. âWhat kind?â
He steps closer to the counter, heart pounding so loudly heâs convinced you can hear it.
âJustâuhâregular? I mean, not regular, Iâwhatever youâd recommend.â
Smooth.
Very smooth.
You let out a small laugh, and it hits him harder than anything else today.
God, he missed that sound.
âOkay,â you tease lightly. âAnd what milk do you want?â
Milk.
Right.
Mark blinks.
âIâuhââ His brain completely blanks. âNormal?â
You raise an eyebrow, amused. âNormal?â
âLikeâmilk milk,â he corrects quickly, wincing at himself. âRegular milk.â
âGot it,â you say, smiling as you turn to make it.
He exhales, shoulders dropping slightly.
Still alive. Good.
You hand him the cup a minute later, fingers brushing his for the briefest second.
Itâs nothing.
Itâs everything.
âHere you go,â you say.
âThanks,â he replies, quieter now.
For a split second, you look at him, really look.
And something in him aches with hope.
Please.
Justâsomething.
But thenâ
You smile politely and turn away, already calling over your shoulder, âHyuck, do we have more lids in the back?â
And just like thatâ
The moment passes.
Mark nods to himself slightly, like he expected that. Like it doesnât hurt.
He moves to a table near the window, sitting down slowly, wrapping his hands around the warm cup.
From here, he can hear you.
You and Donghyuck talking. Laughing. Bickering over something small and stupid.
Normal.
So painfully normal.
He pulls out his phone, unlocking it just to have something to look at but his eyes arenât on the screen.
Theyâre on you.
On the way you lean against the counter.
On the way you laugh without holding back.
On the way you exist in a world where he doesnât.
And yet for the first time in a long time...
Heâs not watching from a distance.
Heâs here.
Close enough to hear your voice without wind rushing past his ears.
Close enough to feel⌠something other than empty.
Mark takes a slow sip of his coffee, letting the warmth settle into him.
Itâs not what he had.
Not even close.
But itâs something.
And for nowâ
Something is enough to keep him from breaking.
Weeks pass in small, careful pieces.
Mark becomes part of your routine the same way the morning rush doesâpredictable, constant, almost comforting.
The bell jingles.
He walks in.
Black shirt sometimes, sometimes a hoodie, hair a little messy like he didnât try too hardâbut youâve noticed he does try. Just not in an obvious way.
âHey,â he says, soft smile, every single time.
âHey,â you reply, already reaching for his usual.
You donât even ask anymore.
âRegular milk, right?â you tease one morning.
He lets out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. âYeah. Milk milk.â
It becomes a thing between you.
Small. Easy.
Safe.
From behind the counter, you watch him sometimes.
Not obviously.
Just⌠when youâre waiting for the espresso to pull, or when Donghyuck disappears into the back.
Mark always sits by the window.
Sometimes he scrolls on his phone. Sometimes he writesâpages and pages, head bent slightly, brows furrowed in concentration like the words matter more than anything else in the room.
And when he leaves he always smiles.
Always waves.
Like itâs important.
Like youâre important.
You donât know why that sticks with you.
But it does.
Mark on the other hand notices everything.
The way you hum under your breath when itâs slow.
The way you sigh when the line stretches to the door.
The necklace around your neck.
His necklace.
He sees it the first time and nearly forgets how to breathe.
You still wear it.
Every day.
The small chain catches the light when you move, the pendant resting right where he remembers it.
His fingers twitch slightly around his cup.
Do you even know where itâs from?
Do you remember who gave it to you?
He wants to ask.
God, he wants to ask.
But what would he say?
Hey, that necklace? I gave it to you when you said youâd never take it off.
He swallows it down.
Like everything else.
One afternoon, after he leaves, Donghyuck leans against the counter, watching the door swing shut behind him.
He hums thoughtfully.
âYou know,â he says, casual but not really, âI think he has a crush on you.â
You glance up, immediately shaking your head. âNo, he doesnât.â
âHe so does.â
âHeâs just nice,â you insist, grabbing a cloth and wiping down the counter. âSome people are just⌠nice.â
Donghyuck snorts. âYeah, and some people come in every single day, order the same thing, stare at you like you hung the moon, and then leave smiling like an idiot.â
You try not to react.
You really do.
âHe does not stare at me.â
Donghyuck raises an eyebrow.
You roll your eyes, turning away before he can see the slight smile tugging at your lips.
Becauseâ
Okay.
Maybe Mark isâŚ
cute.
In a quiet way.
The kind that sneaks up on you.
But you donât say that out loud.
Instead, you shrug lightly. âHeâs just a regular.â
There are faint shadows under his eyes, his movements just a little more tired than usual.
You notice.
Of course you notice.
But you donât say anything.
You just make his drink.
Slide it across the counter.
âHere.â
âThanks,â he says, fingers brushing yours again.
You linger for half a second.
Just a second.
Then you pull away.
It happens quickly.
Too quickly.
Mark reaches into his bag, fumbling slightly, probably for his penâand his elbow nudges the cup.
You both see it at the same time.
The tilt.
The fall.
The inevitable spillâ
Exceptâ
It doesnât hit the ground.
Mark catches it mid-air.
Fast.
Too fast.
A few drops still splash out, darkening the floor, but the cup stays intact in his hand.
Thereâs a beat of silence.
Then heâs moving, hurried, almost panicked.
âSorryâsorry, Iâve got it,â he says quickly, setting the cup down and grabbing napkins.
âItâs fine,â you say immediately, stepping around the counter. âItâs my job, donât worryââ
But heâs already taking the paper towels from your hands, crouching down, wiping the spill himself.
âIâll clean it,â he insists, voice tight.
You pause.
Watching him.
Something about the way he movesâthe speed, the precision, the instinctâ
It feelsâŚ
familiar.
A strange sensation settles over you.
Like a memory just out of reach.
âHey,â you say slowly.
He freezes slightly, still crouched.
âYou have good reflexes,â you continue, tilting your head. âHave we met before?â
Markâs heart stutters.
He looks up at you.
For a secondâjust a secondâthereâs something in his eyes.
Hope.
Fear.
Everything at once.
âI mean,â you add quickly, laughing a little, âI know youâve been coming in for weeks. But likeâbefore that? Outside the coffee shop? Maybe we had a class together or something?â
The air feels too still.
Mark stands, tossing the used paper towels into the trash.
âMaybe,â he says, keeping his voice light. Casual. âI meet a lot of people.â
Itâs a terrible answer.
He knows it is.
You narrow your eyes slightly, but thereâs no real suspicionâjust curiosity.
âHm,â you hum. âMaybe.â
You nod toward the sink. âGo wash your hands.â
âYes, maâam,â he says automatically.
The words slip out so easily it almost scares him.
You blink.
Another flicker of that strange feeling.
But itâs gone as quickly as it came.
While heâs gone, you glance at the table.
At the paper he left behind.
You donât mean to read it.
You really donât.
But the words are right there.
Hi, my name is Mark Lee.
Your breath catches slightly.
You repeat it in your head.
Mark Lee.
Something about itâŚ
You frown faintly.
It feels familiar.
Not in a clear, obvious way.
But like a name youâve heard before.
Like a song you almost remember.
Mark comes back, drying his hands.
âEverything okay?â he asks.
You look up at him.
Study his face for just a second longer than usual.
Then you smile.
âYeah,â you say lightly. âJust⌠your name.â
He stiffens.
âMy name?â
âYeah,â you shrug, tapping the paper. âIt sounds familiar.â
The world seems to hold its breath.
Mark doesnât move.
Doesnât blink.
âDoes it?â he asks quietly.
You nod, though thereâs uncertainty in it. âI donât know. Maybe Iâm imagining it.â
Maybe you are.
Or maybeâ
Somewhere deep inside youâ
Something is trying to come back.
And for the first time since everything was erasedâ
Mark lets himself feel it.
Hope.
For the past couple of months, something hasnât felt⌠right.
Not wrong in a loud, obvious way. Nothing you could point to and say, there, thatâs the problem. Itâs quieter than that. Subtle. Like a song playing just a little off-key in the background of your life.
You notice it in small things.
A bracelet sitting on your dresserâdelicate, pretty, yoursâbut you donât remember where it came from.
A book tucked into your shelf you donât remember putting there.
Mom says she didnât buy it. Dad shrugs, says maybe it was a gift. From who?
You donât know.
And thatâs the thing.
There are⌠gaps.
Not huge ones. Not enough to scare you, not enough to send you spiraling. Just little pockets of missing pieces, like someone took scissors to your memories and cut out random moments for no reason at all.
Your last birthday.
You remember the cake. Your family. Donghyuck complaining about something stupid like always.
But thereâs this feelingâ
like someone else was there.
Someone important.
Someone who should be easy to remember.
And yetâŚ
Nothing.
You sit on the edge of your bed, frowning slightly as you try to piece it together.
But then you shake it off.
Because this is New York.
In a world with the Avengers flying overhead, alien invasions, time travel rumors whispered like urban legendsâmemory being a little fuzzy doesnât feel like the strangest thing that could happen.
Maybe itâs stress.
Youâre young. Youâre figuring life out. Thatâs enough to mess with anyoneâs head.
So you let it go.
Or at leastâ
you try to.
By the time youâre getting ready for your shift, the feeling has dulled again, tucked neatly into the back of your mind.
You smooth out your clothes, grab your bag, and catch your reflection in the mirror.
Thereâs a small smile on your face.
You pause.
It grows just a little.
Becauseâ
Youâre thinking about him.
Mark.
Your new regular.
You donât even realize how often he crosses your mind now until moments like this.
The way he walks in like heâs trying not to take up too much space.
The way he smilesâsoft, a little shy, like it means something every time.
The way he stutters sometimes when you ask him simple questions, like youâve somehow made him nervous just by existing.
Itâs⌠cute.
Really cute.
And kind ofâ
You bite your lip slightly, shaking your head at yourself.
But stillâŚ
Thereâs something about him.
Something you canât quite explain.
You donât know what he does. You donât know much about his life outside of those brief conversations about weather and rush hours and the occasional complaint about how busy the city gets.
You want to ask.
Youâre curious.
But you donât want to push.
Donât want to scare him off.
Because selfishlyâ
you like that he comes in.
You like that little moment in your day where the bell rings and you know itâs him.
And now you know his name.
Mark Lee.
You say it quietly to yourself as you walk down the street, testing the way it feels.
âMark LeeâŚâ
It rolls off your tongue so easily.
Too easily.
Your steps slow slightly.
A strange feeling curls in your chest.
Like youâve said it before.
Not just once.
But a hundred times.
A thousand.
Softly. Laughing. Maybe whispered into the quiet of a moment that mattered.
You frown.
You shake your head quickly, brushing it off with a small huff of air.
Itâs a common name.
Mark.
Lee.
In New York City?
There are probably hundreds of them.
Thousands, even.
So yeah.
Of course it feels familiar.
Anything is possible in a city like this.
But as you push open the cafĂŠ door, the bell chiming above youâ
Thereâs still that feeling.
Lingering.
Soft.
Unfinished.
Like a memory waitingâ
just on the other side of your reach.
The bell jingles like it always does.
Mark is already there.
Same seat by the window. Same cup in his hands. Same quiet presence that somehow feels⌠steady now. Familiar.
You catch his eye as you tie your apron, giving him a quick smile. He returns it instantly, like heâs been waiting for it.
Donghyuck notices.
Of course he does.
He dries his hands on a towel, glancing between you and Mark with a look that already means trouble.
âDonât,â you warn under your breath.
âI didnât even say anything.â
âYou were about to.â
He grins.
And then before you can stop him, he walks right over and drops into the chair across from Mark like he owns the place.
Mark blinks.
âOh uh hi.â
âHi,â Donghyuck says easily, leaning back like this is the most natural thing in the world. âYou mind?â
Mark shakes his head quickly. âNo no, itâs fine.â
Thereâs a moment where Mark just⌠looks at him.
And something flickers across his face.
Recognition.
Not conscious. Not clear.
But there.
Because this...
This is familiar.
Donghyuck, inserting himself into situations he wasnât invited into. Asking questions he probably shouldnât. Pushing just enough to get a reaction.
Thatâs how he found out the truth the first time.
Mark almost smiles at the memory.
âWhatâs your deal?â Donghyuck asks, blunt as ever.
Mark chokes slightly on his drink. âMy deal?â
âYeah. You come here every day, sit in the same spot, write mysterious stuff, smile at her like sheâs the sunâ he jerks his head toward you âand then leave. Iâm curious.â
Markâs ears go red.
âI donâtââ he starts, then stops, clearly flustered. âI just like the coffee.â
Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. âSure.â
Mark frowns slightly, brows furrowing in that quiet, almost unintentional way he does when heâs annoyed but doesnât say anything.
It makes Donghyuck grin.
God, heâs cute.
So different from him.
Where Donghyuck is loud, Mark is soft.
Where Donghyuck pokes and prods, Mark absorbs, thinks, chooses his words carefullyâif he even says them at all.
âYou new to the city?â Donghyuck asks, tilting his head.
Mark hesitates for half a second. âKind of.â
âThat explains it,â Donghyuck nods. âYouâve got that âI donât know anyone but Iâm tryingâ vibe.â
Mark lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, looking down at his cup.
âSomething like that.â
They talk.
Or⌠Donghyuck talks.
Mark answers.
Short sentences. Careful ones. But he doesnât shut down. Doesnât pull away.
And the more it goes on, the more something settles in his chest.
Because he knows this.
Knows the rhythm of Donghyuckâs voice. The way he fills silence without even trying. The way conversations feel less like effort and more like⌠momentum.
Itâs been so long since heâs had this.
Something normal.
Something easy.
By the time Donghyuck stands up, stretching slightly, his break clearly over, he glances down at Mark again.
And pauses.
Because Mark looksâŚ
Content.
Not just polite.
Not just âthat was fine.â
But genuinelyâquietlyâhappy.
Like that short conversation meant more than it should have.
Donghyuck notices everything.
ââŚYouâre interesting,â he says, narrowing his eyes slightly, but not in a bad way.
Mark blinks. âOh.â
âIâll be back,â Donghyuck adds casually, like itâs already decided.
Mark nods before he can stop himself.
âOkay.â
Donghyuck slips into the back where youâre restocking cups.
âWell?â you ask immediately.
He leans against the counter, thoughtful for once.
âI think he doesnât have many friends.â
You pause. âWhat?â
âYeah,â he shrugs. âOr heâs new. Or both. But heâs⌠I donât know. He seemed really happy just talking.â
You glance out toward the front, where Mark is back to sitting quietly, phone in hand.
Your chest softens slightly.
âHm.â
Donghyuck watches your face, then smirks. âWhat?â
âNothing,â you say quickly, turning back to your task.
âAnyway,â he continues, âwe should talk to him more. Maybe hang out outside of work. Get to know him.â
You let out a small laugh. âWhy? So you can interrogate him in a different location?â
âExactly.â
You roll your eyes.
âAnd,â Donghyuck adds casually, âmaybe heâll get over his crush on you.â
You shove him immediately. âHe does not have a crush on me.â
âHe does.â
âHe doesnât.â
âHe does.â
âHeâs just nice!â
Donghyuck laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. âOkay, okay. Fine. Heâs âjust nice.ââ
You glare at him, but thereâs no real heat behind it.
Then, after a second, you sigh.
ââŚBut yeah. Iâm down to be friends.â
The words come easier than you expect.
Like the idea of knowing Markâreally knowing himâfeels right.
Natural.
Like something you were supposed to do a long time ago.
Out front, Mark glances toward the back where you disappeared.
He doesnât know what youâre saying.
Doesnât know whatâs about to change.
But for the first time in a long timeâ
Heâs not just watching your life from the outside.
Heâs being pulled into it.
Slowly.
Carefully.
But finallyâ
Heâs getting closer.
It comes back to him in flashes.
Not the loud, world-saving moments.
Not the battles, or the fear, or the choices that cost him everything.
But something quieter.
Softer.
The first time he met you.
It was two years ago.
A lecture hall that was just a little too cold, filled with half-awake students and the low hum of side conversations. Mark had been sitting near the middle, notebook open, pretending to pay attention while his mind drifted elsewhere.
Then your professor clapped their hands.
âAlrightâpairs. Final project. Post-conflict justice. Youâll present in four weeks.â
Groans filled the room.
Mark barely had time to process it before you slid into the seat next to him.
âGuess weâre partners,â you said, offering a small smile.
And that was it.
That was all it took.
He was gone.
You were easy to talk to.
Thatâs what he remembers most.
Not intimidating. Not cold. Just⌠open. Curious. The kind of person who made conversations feel like something to enjoy, not survive.
What started as discussing case studies somehow drifted.
It always did with you.
One minute it was restorative justice, the next it was media narratives, and thenâ
âOkay but like,â you said, tapping your pen against your notebook, âin a city like New York, how does the legal system even keep up with superheroes?â
Mark blinked.
ââŚSuperheroes?â
You grinned. âDonât tell me youâve never thought about it.â
He had.
A lot more than you knew.
Your eyes lit up slightly. âLike Spider-Man. Heâs basically operating outside the law, right? But people still love him.â
Mark felt his chest tighten.
There it was.
He tried to play it cool. âWhat do you think about him?â
You shrugged lightly.
âI think heâs brave,â you said simply. âAnd he does good. Thatâs⌠pretty admirable.â
Mark nodded slowly.
But something in himâsomething selfish, something hopefulâwanted more.
âThatâs all?â he asked before he could stop himself.
You glanced at him, then shrugged again, softer this time.
âI meanâŚâ You leaned back slightly, thinking. âI also think it must be a lot.â
Markâs breath caught.
âA lot?â
âYeah,â you said. âThat kind of pressure? Always having to be the one who shows up, who saves people, who does the right thing?â You shook your head a little. âThatâs heavy.â
He stayed quiet.
Listening.
Really listening.
âI just hope,â you continued, voice gentler now, âthat he has a good support system. People he can rely on.â
Mark looked down at his notebook.
At his hands.
At the life he didnât talk about.
ââŚWhy?â he asked quietly.
You gave him a look like it was obvious.
âBecause that kind of thing gets lonely,â you said. âAnd no one should have to carry all of that by themselves.â
Something shifted in him then.
Something deep.
Something that stayed.
Then, just as quickly, you grinned againâlightening the mood like you always did.
âBut also,â you added, lowering your voice slightly like you were sharing a secret, âI hope whoeverâs under that mask is getting some.â
Mark choked.
âW-what?â
You laughed. âWhat? Iâm serious. Youâre telling me someone that committed to saving the city doesnât deserve a littleââ
âOkay,â Mark cut in quickly, face burning red, laughing nervously. âI get it.â
You laughed harder.
And just like thatâ
The moment passed.
You moved on.
But he didnât.
He never did.
A year later, you were sitting on his bed.
Closer than youâd ever been back then.
Not just partners.
Not just friends.
Something more.
Everything, really.
His heart had been racing just as hard as it was that first dayâmaybe even more.
âCan I tell you something?â he asked.
You nodded immediately. âAlways.â
And thatâs when he told you.
Everything.
Who he was.
What he carried.
What it meant.
He expected fear.
Shock.
Maybe even distance.
But you just looked at him.
Really looked at him.
âYou idiot,â you whispered, eyes soft.
His stomach dropped. âWhat?â
âYouâve been carrying all of that alone?â you said, reaching for his face. âMarkâŚâ
And just like thatâ
He wasnât alone anymore.
The memory fades.
The city comes back.
Wind. Night. Distance.
Mark sits perched on the edge of a building, mask on, watching as you unlock your door and step inside.
The light flicks on.
Youâre safe.
Youâre always safe.
He exhales, something warm settling in his chest.
Because today you smiled at him. You said his name. You almost remembered.
Itâs not the same.
It never will be.
But itâs closer.
Closer than heâs been in a long time.
Mark leans back slightly, gaze lingering on your window just a second longer than necessary.
ââŚGetting there,â he murmurs softly.
Not just you.
Him too.
For the first time since he lost everything...
He doesnât feel like heâs standing outside his own life anymore.
He feels like heâs finding his way back.
The invitation catches Mark off guard.
Theyâre closing up for the day, chairs half-stacked, the smell of coffee still clinging to the air. Heâs standing near the counter, lingering like he usually does, when Donghyuck leans over it and says, âHey, weâre going to the park after this. You should come.â
Just like that. No build-up. No hesitation.
Mark blinks at him, then glances at you.
Youâre wiping down the machine, but you look up at the same time, meeting his eyes with a small, easy smile. âYeah, if youâre free.â
Free.
He almost laughs at that. His life is anything but free. Patrols, responsibility, the constant weight of something happening somewhere at any moment.
But this⌠this feels important.
He hesitates for half a second too long, then nods. âYeah. Sure.â
Donghyuck grins like he knew the answer already.
The park is warm with early spring. The kind of day where the sun isnât too strong, but it lingers on your skin just enough to make everything feel softer. There are people scattered around, dogs running loose, someone playing music faintly in the distance.
You sit on the grass together, coffees in hand, shoes slightly sinking into the ground. Donghyuck stretches out immediately like he owns the place, while you sit cross-legged, absentmindedly pulling at blades of grass between your fingers.
Mark sits a little more carefully, like heâs still figuring out where he fits.
But heâs here.
Thatâs what matters.
Conversation comes easier than he expected. Or maybe itâs just familiar in a way that makes it feel easy.
Donghyuck is talking about some game heâs been obsessed with, going on about levels and rankings and strategies like itâs life or death.
âI finally hit top tier,â he says proudly.
Mark huffs a quiet laugh, looking down at his coffee. âYouâre still playing that?â
Donghyuck squints at him. âStill? What do you mean still?â
Mark shrugs, trying not to smile too much. âNothing.â
âIâve upgraded,â Donghyuck shoots back. âItâs called commitment.â
Mark rolls his eyes slightly, but thereâs no real bite to it. If anything, thereâs something fond underneath. He remembers this. The endless obsession, the way Donghyuck throws himself fully into whatever he likes.
Some things donât change.
âYouâve been busy though,â you say, turning to Mark. âWhat do you usually do?â
The question is simple. Dangerous in a way only he understands.
He shrugs lightly. âJust⌠stuff. Work. Keeping busy.â
You nod like thatâs enough, not pushing, and he feels something loosen in his chest because of it.
âWhat about you?â he asks, shifting the focus. âYou mentioned baking before.â
Your face lights up slightly. âYeah. I started recently. Just to, I donât know, do something with my hands.â
âSheâs been stress baking,â Donghyuck cuts in.
You glare at him. âI am not stress baking.â
âYou made three different cakes in one week.â
âBecause I was trying recipes!â
Mark smiles quietly, watching you. âWho do you bake for?â
âMy parents mostly,â you say, softer now. âI bring home coffee after shifts and make something sweet. It just⌠helps, I guess.â
He nods, something warm settling in his chest.
He remembers your parents. The way theyâd welcome him in without question, how your mom would insist he eat more, how your dad would ask him about school like it mattered. He never really had that growing up, not in the same way. But with them, it always felt⌠easy.
Like he belonged.
âTheyâre good people,â he says before he can stop himself.
You blink at him, a little surprised. âYou donât even know them.â
Mark pauses, then recovers with a small shrug. âI can tell by the way you talk about them.â
You smile at that. âYeah. Theyâre the best.â
Thereâs a quiet moment, comfortable, filled only with the distant sounds of the park.
Markâs eyes drift to your necklace again.
It catches the sunlight just slightly, the small pendant resting against your skin. His chest tightens as he looks at it, wondering if youâve ever turned it over, ever noticed the tiny engraving on the back.
M.L.
He remembers how careful heâd been, how long it took to carve something so small, so precise.
Youâd laughed when he gave it to you, then immediately put it on, saying youâd never take it off.
And you havenât.
Even now.
âDo you know what you want to do?â he asks suddenly, voice quieter.
You glance at him, then look out at the park, thinking.
âNot really,â you admit. âWhich is⌠kind of scary. But my parents donât pressure me or anything. They just want me to be happy.â
Mark nods slowly, smiling to himself.
That sounds like them.
âThatâs good,â he says. âNot everyone gets that.â
You hum in agreement, then tilt your head slightly. âWhat about you? Where were you before New York?â
The question lands gently, but it still makes his chest tighten.
Youâre still smiling, glancing between them, and something about it feels so normal that Mark almost forgets himself for a second.
The sun, the grass, your laughter, Donghyuckâs voice in the backgroundâit all blends together into something warm and familiar.
Something he thought he lost.
He leans back slightly, hands resting in the grass, letting himself just exist in the moment instead of watching it from the outside.
For the first time in a long time, the heaviness in his chest isnât there. The constant ache, the loneliness, the feeling of being just out of reach of everything that mattered.
Itâs quiet.
Replaced with something softer.
Something steady.
This feels like home.
And for once, he isnât thinking about what he lost.
Heâs just⌠here.
They leave the park slowly, the sun dipping lower, the air cooling just enough to make the walk back feel easy. Donghyuck walks between you both at first, still talking, still full of energy, but as you get closer to your streets he stretches and checks his phone.
âAlright, Iâm cutting through here,â he says, pointing down a side road. âIâm not walking all the way around like you two lovebirds.â
âWeâre notââ you start, but heâs already grinning.
âBye, Mark,â he adds, a little too knowingly.
Mark nods, trying not to react. âSee you.â
Donghyuck disappears, leaving the two of you alone on the sidewalk.
For a moment, itâs quiet. Not awkward, just⌠softer. The kind of quiet where every small thing feels a little more noticeable. Your footsteps, the distant traffic, the way your shoulder almost brushes his once before you both subtly adjust.
âI can walk you home,â Mark says after a second, like he doesnât want to assume.
You glance at him, smiling. âYeah. Thanks.â
Itâs simple, but it makes something in his chest settle.
They walk side by side, a little closer now, conversation coming in small pieces instead of long stretches. You talk about the cafĂŠ, about a customer who tried to order something ridiculous, about how Donghyuck nearly messed up three drinks in a row earlier.
Mark listens more than he talks, but when he does, itâs enough. It always is.
As your building comes into view, you slow slightly, then glance over at him.
âOhânext week,â you say, like you just remembered. âMe and Donghyuck are throwing a party. You should come.â
Mark looks at you, surprised for a second before it softens into a smile. âYeah. Sure. Iâd like that.â
âGood,â you say, pleased.
You hesitate for half a second, then pull out your phone. âWaitâlet me get your number.â
Mark fumbles slightly, pulling his out a second too late, almost dropping it before catching himself. âRightâyeah.â
You both laugh quietly as you exchange numbers, standing just outside your door now.
âDo you have socials?â you ask, already typing. âLike Instagram?â
âUhâyeah,â he says, nodding. âI do.â
You find it quickly, tapping the follow button without hesitation. âThere.â
He glances at the notification, something small and warm settling in his chest again. âGot it.â
Thereâs a pause.
Not uncomfortable.
Just⌠full.
âOkay,â you say softly, stepping a little closer. âIâll see you tomorrow?â
âYeah,â he answers, just as quiet. âTomorrow.â
And then, before either of you overthink itâ
You hug him.
Itâs quick. Casual. The kind of hug youâd give a friend.
But to Markâ
Itâs everything.
He freezes for half a second, like his body has to catch up to whatâs happening. Then he lifts one arm, wrapping it around you gently, careful, like you might disappear if he holds too tight.
He breathes in without meaning to.
You smell different.
Not the same shampoo you used to use.
Something softer. Sweeter.
It throws him off for a second, the realization hitting him in a quiet, unexpected way. Time has moved on. Things have changed. Even the smallest details.
But youâre still you.
You pull away, smiling up at him like it was nothing.
âGet home safe,â you say.
He almost laughs.
The irony of it sits right there, obvious and a little absurd, but he just smiles instead.
âYeah,â he says. âYou too.â
You turn, unlocking your door and stepping inside. The light flicks on, warm against the evening dim.
Mark stays there for a second longer than he should, just watching.
Thenâ
It hits.
Sharp. Immediate.
His senses flare, the world snapping into focus in a way it only does when somethingâs wrong.
He doesnât hesitate.
Before the thought even fully forms, he steps back, shooting a web and pulling himself upward, disappearing into the skyline in one smooth motion.
You turn back just before the door closes.
âByeââ you start, stepping back toward the door, pulling it open slightly.
But heâs gone.
You frown faintly, looking out at the empty street.
âThat was fast,â you murmur.
You step inside again, closing the door slowly.
And then you notice it.
That feeling.
The one youâve had for weeks now.
Like someoneâs watching you.
It was there the whole walk home. Quiet, lingering, just at the edge of your awareness.
But nowâ
Itâs gone.
Completely.
You pause in the middle of your hallway, brows furrowing slightly.
You glance back at the door one last time.
Then shake your head, brushing it off as you head further inside.
But somewhere, deep downâ
Something shifts.
Like a piece of a puzzle just barely moved into place.
Warm weather always brings in more crime.
Mark had forgotten that part.
Winter slows things down, keeps people inside, gives the city a kind of quiet it doesnât usually have. But springâspring cracks everything open again. More people, more movement, more opportunity for things to go wrong.
Heâs been busier.
Too busy.
Nights blur together into sirens, rooftops, fists, and the sharp sting of getting hit harder than he expected. Cuts that should scare him but donât anymore, bruises that bloom and fade before anyone else would even notice.
By the time he makes it back to his apartment most nights, he barely has the energy to sit, let alone think.
Stillâ
He thinks about you.
About the cafĂŠ.
About the way you smile when he walks in.
He goes less now. Not because he wants to, but because he canât always make it. And when he does, itâs quick. A rushed hello, a coffee, a promise thrown over his shoulderâ
âIâll be at the party. Even if itâs just for a bit.â
He means it.
Tonight, he barely makes it.
He crawls in through the window, landing harder than usual, breath uneven. His suit is torn again, darker this time where blood has soaked through. He winces, peeling it off carefully, tossing it aside as he drops onto the edge of his bed.
For a few minutes, he just sits there.
Waiting.
Letting his body do what it always doesâhealing faster than it should, the worst of it fading just enough to function.
Itâs not perfect.
It never is.
But itâll do.
Mark stands, moving quickly now. Shower, clothes, hands running through his hair until it looks somewhat intentional. He pulls on a white shirt, then a denim jacket, matching jeansâsomething casual, something that doesnât scream I just got out of a fight.
A little cologne.
Just enough.
He stops in front of the mirror.
For a second, he just⌠looks.
At himself.
At the version of him standing there trying to piece together something normal out of a life that isnât.
Thereâs a strange feeling in his chest.
Like heâs pretending.
Like heâs stepping into a role he used to know by heart but doesnât quite fit anymore.
His old life isnât waiting for him.
Itâs gone.
This, whatever this is now, is new.
Different.
And whether he likes it or notâ
Itâs all he has.
Mark exhales slowly, straightening his jacket.
ââŚDo it right this time,â he murmurs.
Then he leaves.
Donghyuckâs place smells exactly the same.
The second Mark walks in, it hits himâfamiliar, warm, a mix of something sweet and something faintly burnt like someone forgot about food in the oven at some point.
âHey!â Donghyuckâs voice cuts through immediately.
Before Mark can even properly step inside, heâs being pulled in, a drink shoved into his hand.
âYou made it,â Donghyuck says, like heâs half-surprised.
âTold you I would,â Mark replies, smiling.
âYeah, yeah. Come on.â
He doesnât get a chance to look around much before Donghyuck is dragging him toward the TV, already setting up a game.
âYouâre playing.â
Mark barely has time to protest.
And heâs terrible.
Actually terrible.
Donghyuck is relentless about it, laughing, trash-talking, fully in his element while Mark fumbles through controls like heâs never held one before.
âAt least pretend youâve played a game in your life,â Donghyuck says.
âI have,â Mark mutters.
âClearly not well.â
Mark huffs, shaking his head, but thereâs something easy about it. Something light.
He glances to the side.
And sees you.
Youâre across the room, laughing.
Not just smilingâreally laughing, head tilted slightly, eyes bright.
Thereâs a guy standing close to you. Someone Mark doesnât recognize.
And heâs leaning in.
Too close.
Saying something that makes you laugh again.
Markâs grip tightens around the controller.
He tells himself itâs nothing.
Just a conversation. Just a party.
But then the guy reaches out, brushing a piece of hair away from your face.
Something in Mark snaps.
He doesnât think. Doesnât pause.
Heâs already standing before he realizes it, crossing the room in a few quick steps.
âHey.â
You turn, startled for a split second before your face lights up.
âMarkâhi.â
You step forward immediately, hugging him without hesitation.
And this time, he doesnât freeze.
His arms wrap around you instantly, holding you just a little tighter than necessary, his eyes lifting over your shoulder locking onto the guy.
Thereâs something in his stare. Sharp. Unreadable.
Enough to make the guy shift uncomfortably, then mumble something about getting another drink before walking away.
Mark doesnât look back at you until heâs gone.
When he does, your expression has changed.
Youâre studying him.
âAre you okay?â you ask, brows knitting together slightly. âThereâs⌠blood on your eyebrow.â
Mark almost groans.
Of course there is.
âIâyeah, itâs nothing,â he says quickly.
But youâre already reaching for his hand.
âCome on.â
You donât give him time to argue, pulling him down the hallway, into Donghyuckâs room. Itâs quieter there, the noise of the party muffled behind the door.
You sit him down on the bed.
Markâs pulse spikes.
This isâ
Too close.
Too familiar.
His hands rest awkwardly on his knees, trying not to think about how youâre standing between them, how close you are, how easy it would be to justâ
No.
You disappear for a second, then come back with a damp tissue.
âHold still,â you say softly.
You step closer.
Closer than before.
Your hand comes up, cupping his face gently as you tilt his head slightly toward the light.
Markâs breath catches.
This is wrong.
Not wrong in a bad way.
Wrong because it feels too right.
Because his body remembers this even if you donât.
The way you touch him like itâs natural.
The way you focus on him like nothing else matters.
His chest tightens.
He jerks back suddenly, pulling away.
âI canâfinish it,â he says quickly, voice a little strained.
You pause, then nod, handing him the tissue. âOkay.â
Thereâs a small shift in the air.
Not uncomfortable.
Just⌠aware.
You clear your throat, stepping back slightly.
âThis might be a weird question,â you say, glancing at him. âBut do you have a girlfriend?â
Mark blinks.
âNo.â
âHave you dated recently?â
He hesitates, then nods. âYeah.â
You hum softly, watching him.
âOh.â
âWhat?â he asks, a little defensive without meaning to.
You shrug, but thereâs something thoughtful in your expression. âI donât know. You just⌠seem kind of heartbroken.â
Mark lets out a small, surprised laugh. âWhat?â
âI mean it in a nice way,â you add quickly. âLikeâyouâre trying to move on. Which is good. But it feels like somethingâs still⌠holding you back.â
He doesnât respond.
Canât.
Because youâre right.
âWhoever she was,â you continue, softer now, âshe mustâve been really special.â
Mark looks down at the tissue in his hand, the faint smear of red against white.
âYeah,â he says quietly. âShe was.â
Thereâs a beat.
Then he exhales, forcing a small smile like itâs easier this way.
âBut itâs in the past.â
You nod slowly, like you understand, even if you donât fully know what youâre understanding. The moment lingers for a second longer than it should, then you shift your weight and turn toward the door.
âOkay, wellââ
Your foot catches on nothing.
Or maybe the edge of the rug.
You donât even register it properly before your balance goes, a small gasp leaving you as you pitch forwardâ
And Mark is already there.
He stands up at the same time, one arm coming out instinctively, catching you around the waist with a steadiness that feels almost too easy. Like heâs done it a hundred times before. Like your weight doesnât even faze him.
Your hands fly up, grabbing onto his arms to steady yourself.
And for a secondâ
You freeze.
Becauseâ
Heâs strong.
Not just in a vague way. Not just âhe works out sometimesâ strong. His arm under your hand is firm, solid, like muscle layered over muscle, like heâs built for something more than just sitting in cafĂŠs and writing in notebooks.
Your breath catches slightly.
âThanks,â you say after a second, a little quieter than before.
------------------
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Genre: s m u t , friends to lovers đ˝, kinda fluffy too
WC: 5.7K
Warnings: 18+ content (pls don't be reading shit ur not old enough to be doing :), this is pretty soft core tbh, unprotected seggs (be safe out there y'all)
Synopsis: You and Mark have always been friends. You've never considered being anything more, until feelings, realizations, and the desire to be wanted leads to something special.
You donât mean to stay this late.
You never really do. It justâŚhappens.
By the time youâre aware of the clock, itâs already close to midnight. The city outside Markâs apartment hums in that oddly soothing way it does at nightâdistant traffic like ocean waves, the sharp wail of a siren somewhere blocks away, a thump of bass from a neighborâs questionable music taste filtering through the walls.
Inside, itâs warm. Soft. Safe.
Markâs place isnât big, but itâs cozy in a way that feels almost unfair. A couple of mismatched lamps cast a honey-colored glow across the living room, catching on the framed prints he swore heâd hang straight one day and the books stacked in uneven piles near the coffee table. The couch is a little too old and a little too soft, but itâs perfect for sinking into after long days, which is exactly what youâre both doing.
Youâre curled up against one end, socked feet half-buried under a blanket. Mark is beside you, one knee up, arm slung along the back of the couch in that easy, thoughtless way he always does when itâs just you. His hoodie hangs loose on your frame, sleeves covering your hands, the faint scent of his laundry detergent and something undeniably him clinging to the fabric.
The TV plays some random show you started twenty minutes ago and promptly stopped paying attention to.
This isnât unusual.
Your spare toothbrush lives in his bathroom. One of your old sweatshirts is draped over the back of his desk chair. Thereâs a half-empty bottle of your favorite sauce in his fridge because he remembered you said you liked it once. The edges of your lives have been blurring for a while now, your things quietly migrating into his space like they belong here.
Mark notices all of it.
He notices the way your shoulders drop as soon as you step through his door, like you left the whole world in the hallway. The way you tuck your feet under his thigh for warmth. How his hoodie dwarfs you, the sleeves slipping over your fingers. How right it looksâyour body, your laughter, your scentâtucked into the little corners of his apartment.
He tells himself itâs normal. Friends get comfortable with each other. Friends share hoodies. Friends leave toothbrushes. Friends know exactly which crack in the ceiling the other person stares at when they canât sleep.
Still, his gaze lingers.
On the curve of your cheek as the TV light flickers across your skin. On the way your lips twitch when something almost makes you laugh. On the soft line of your throat when you tilt your head back against the couch.
You shift closer, your shoulder bumping his. The contact is casual, familiar, the kind thatâs been happening for so long that neither of you really registers when it started. Once upon a time, you would have been hyperaware of something this intimate.
Now? Itâs justâŚhow you are.
Your feet end up in his lap like they always do, ankles crossed, blanket draped sloppily over both of you. He doesnât think before resting his hands lightly on your calves, thumbs tracing idle patterns over the fabric of your sweats.
You sigh. Itâs a little sound, small and content.
His chest tightens.
On-screen, some character is crying about heartbreak, about being tired of trying with people who never see them. Youâre only half-listening, the dialogue washing over you, but a line cuts through the haze:
âIâm just so tired of being everyoneâs almost.â
Your breathing goes quiet beside him. He feels, more than sees, the way you still.
Without meaning to, you and Mark both turn toward the TV at the same time. You catch each other in your peripheral vision and your gazes snagâjust for a heartbeat. Long enough for something to flash between you, quick and indefinable.
You look away first. He does, too, pretending to focus on the screen again. The show continues, laugh track blaring at something neither of you find that funny.
The unspoken thing settles between you like a third presence on the couch.
Itâs a weeknight. Thatâs the excuse.
Most of your mutual friends are busy, working late or out with other people. You had tentative plans to go out earlierâmaybe hit that bar downtown, maybe grab dessert somewhereâbut when the time came, you were both somehow too tired, too worn around the edges.
âYour place?â you texted.
âAlways,â Mark replied, before he had time to talk himself out of how much he meant it.
Then the rain started.
Now, outside his windows, it streaks down in silver sheets, tapping against the glass and making the city feel smaller, quieter. The world shrinks to the glow of his lamps, the low murmur of the TV, the warmth under the shared blanket.
It feels like being in a cocoon. Like the rest of your life is on pause.
Youâre tired. The weight of the day has your body heavy and boneless, your thoughts soft at the edges. At some point, you shift again, pulling your feet from his lap to stretch out along the couch. Thereâs not enough room for both of you to lie down fully, but thatâs never stopped you.
âMove,â you mumble, nudging at his side.
He huffs a laugh. âYou move.â
You kick his thigh, no real force behind it. âIâm exhausted, Mark. Iâm claiming horizontal rights.â
He rolls his eyes dramatically, but he shifts anyway, twisting so heâs sitting more upright, knees bent to make space. You scoot, rearrange, and somehow you end up with your head sliding into his lap, the side of your face pillowed against his thigh.
Youâve done this before. Late nights. Early mornings. After parties when the room tilted a little too much.
But tonight, it feels different.
His breath stutters when your cheek settles on him, warm and familiar. Your hair fans out over his legs, a few strands tickling his fingers where they hover, uncertain, above you.
You notice the hesitation.
âComfortable?â you ask without looking up, voice blurred with exhaustion.
Mark wets his lips. âYeah.â He clears his throat when it comes out rougher than expected. âYeah, youâre good.â
He lets his hand drop.
His fingers find your hair like they always do. Itâs easy, absentminded at firstâjust smoothing a flyaway here, gently combing through the strands there. Your body relaxes even more, a soft hum of appreciation escaping you.
His fingertips trace the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. Itâs innocent. Itâs always been innocent. Just touch, just grounding, just comfort.
Tonight, it burns.
He doesnât know what changed. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
Conversation drifts the way it often does at this hour.
You talk about work. About that coworker who chews too loudly in meetings. About the neighbor in your building who insists on doing laundry at 2 a.m. You complain about the app that keeps crashing on your phone and the podcast youâre trying to get into but canât.
Eventually, inevitably, it circles back to the same topic it always does when the night gets late and the rain gets heavy:
Dating.
âTell me again about your latest Hinge tragedy,â you mumble, eyes half-closed.
Mark snorts. âTragedy is a strong word.â
âYou literally texted me âthis is a tragedyâ last week.â
âWell, okay, that one was bad,â he concedes. âIn my defense, she told me her favorite hobby was waking up at five a.m. to âoptimize her productivity cadence.ââ
You groan, dragging a hand down your face. âPeople like that are why I donât go outside.â
âYeah, well, maybe if I had better standardsââ
âYour standards are fine,â you cut in. âYour taste is justâŚquestionable.â
He gives your hair a little tug at that. You yelp, swatting vaguely at his knee.
âOw. Rude.â
âYou were rude first,â he says mildly, but thereâs a smile in his voice.
You fall quiet for a moment, the air between you thickening with the weight of things unsaid. The show continues to play in the background, a meaningless noise youâre both using as cover.
You speak again, but your tone is different this timeâsofter, more raw.
âHonestly?â you sigh. âIâm just tired.â
âTired of what?â
You stare at the television without seeing a single frame. âAll of it. Swiping, small talk, pretending to be interesting to people who clearly donât care. Itâs likeâŚno one really sees you, you know? They see whatever they want to project, and then the second youâre a real person with real baggage and weird habits, theyâre out.â
His fingers pause in your hair.
You keep going, the words spilling out now that youâve started.
âI donât even need some big epic thing,â you murmur. âI justâŚmiss being wanted. Like, really wanted. Not âyouâre convenientâ or âyouâre fun for now,â butââ
You falter, searching for the right words.
âLike someone looks at you and thinks, âThat. I want that. I want you,â and they actually mean it.â
Your voice dips, quiet and fragile.
âI justâŚmiss feeling like someone wants me.â
Mark goes very, very still.
His hand rests against your temple, fingers threaded gently in your hair. He stares at the TV without seeing it, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ache.
He wants to say, I do.
Iâve wanted you for so long I donât remember what itâs like not to.
The words swell in his chest, a pressure that has nowhere to go.
He doesnât say them.
âYeah,â he manages instead, his voice low. âI get that.â
You huff a humorless little laugh. âDo you? Because you actually get matches. People want you.â
He glances down at you, at the side of your face pressed against his thigh. âPeople wantâŚsome version of me,â he says. âThe easygoing guy. The one who makes decent playlists and shows them new food spots. But thatâs not the same asâŚyou know. Wanting someone.â
You swallow. âYeah. Exactly.â
Silence settles over you again, but itâs not empty.
Itâs thick. Charged.
You think about all the almosts youâve had. The dates that were fine, but not enough. The people who liked your jokes but flinched away from your bad days. The ones who called you âtoo muchâ or ânot enough,â never pausing to consider you might be exactly right for someone else.
Beside you, Mark thinks about every time heâs swallowed back something he wanted to say around you. Every time heâs stopped himself from reaching out, from pulling you closer, from pressing his mouth to your forehead when you fell asleep on his couch.
He thinks about the night, months ago, when youâd both stumbled back here after a party, laughter bubbling between you, your hand in his. How youâd stopped in his doorway, faces inches apart, your breath warm against his lips.
He remembers the way your gaze dropped to his mouth.
He remembers the way his heart stuttered, the way every cell in his body leaned forward.
He remembers the phone ringingâsome drunken friend asking where you were, if youâd gotten home safeâand how the moment snapped like a rubber band.
He remembers pretending that was nothing, too.
The TV is still going, but neither of you is watching.
Your eyes have slipped closed, but youâre not asleep. Just floating in that strange space where your mind is both sharp and soft, more honest than it would be in daylight.
Markâs touch changes.
Itâs subtle at first. His fingers move slower, less like idle habit and more like intention.
He traces the shell of your ear, the curve of your jaw. The pads of his fingers linger at the corner of your mouth, just long enough to make you catch your breath. He drags a thumb lightly along the side of your throat, feeling your pulse skitter under your skin.
Your heart thumps faster.
You donât open your eyes, but you tilt your head the tiniest bit into the contact. Just enough to say, I feel this. Just enough to say, Iâm not pulling away.
He notices.
Heâs always noticed you.
âMark?â you murmur.
âYeah?â His voice comes out rough.
You hesitate. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth.
âDo you ever think,â you start, then stop.
He waits.
You swallow. âDo you ever think maybe weâre justâŚmeant to be lonely together? You, me, your terrible Netflix recommendations.â
He huffs a small laugh, but the sound is unsteady. âMy Netflix recommendations are elite, actually.â
âDebatable,â you mumble. âBut really. Sometimes it feels likeâŚmaybe this is it. Maybe itâs just us. And thatâs notâŚbad. Itâs actually kind ofâŚnice.â
You donât see it, but your words hit him like a blow.
You donât count, you mean.
When you talk about being alone, about not being wanted, about people not choosing youâyou donât mean him.
Because youâve always had him. You always will.
Heâs your constant.
Something in his chest twists, painfully tight and painfully sweet.
âYou donât count,â you add quietly, like youâre reading his mind. âYouâre justâŚyou.â
His hand stills in your hair.
You. Like a category of one. Like an exception to every rule.
He exerts every ounce of willpower he has not to say something that would change everything.
âHey,â you say after a beat, your tone dipping, almost shy. âCan I ask you something kind ofâŚdumb?â
He forces his lungs to work. âYou can ask me anything.â
You bite your lip, gathering courage.
âWhy do youâŚput up with me?â you ask softly. âLike, all of this. My late-night freakouts, my rants, my existential crises about snack choices. You alwaysâŚshow up. You always make space for me. Why?â
His throat goes dry.
âBecause I care about you,â he says. Itâs the simplest, safest truth he can offer.
âYou care about a lot of people,â you murmur.
âNot like this,â he says before he can stop himself.
The words hang in the air, heavy.
Your eyes open.
For the first time in a while, you tilt your head back enough to really look up at him. His face is bathed in the dim gold from the lamp, shadows cutting across his cheekbones, his mouth pressed into a thin line like heâs holding something back.
âMark,â you say quietly.
His gaze flicks down to meet yours, then away, then back again. He swallows hard.
âYou know Iâd do anything for you, right?â he says, voice low, almost hoarse.
Your breath catches.
He doesnât quite look at you when he says it. His gaze hovers somewhere over your head, like if he meets your eyes fully, heâll give himself away.
Your heart is beating too fast now, each thud echoing in your ears.
âAnything?â you ask, half-teasing, half desperately serious.
He lets out a soft, unsteady laugh. âYou have no idea,â he says under his breath.
Something in you clicks.
Pieces slide into placeâlittle moments you brushed off or didnât let yourself examine too closely. The way his hand always finds the small of your back in crowded places. The way his eyes soften when he looks at you, like youâre answering a question he didnât know heâd asked.
You shift, rolling carefully from your side so youâre half-turned in his lap, your body twisted to face him. The movement brings you closer, your faces a breath apart.
The TV is just noise now. The rain is just a blanket around the city.
Here, in this small, warm pocket of the world, itâs just the two of you.
You can feel his breath on your lips.
His gaze keeps dropping to your mouth, then back to your eyes, like heâs fighting himself. His fingers flex in your hair, the slightest tremor betraying how hard heâs trying to stay in control.
âMark,â you whisper.
âYeah?â
âIf this isâŚnothing,â you say slowly, âyouâre doing a terrible job pretending.â
His lips part.
He laughs once, a quiet, broken sound. When he speaks, itâs barely more than air.
âYou have no idea,â he repeats.
Your chest tightens, nerves lighting up like a live wire.
âThen donât pretend,â you say.
The words leave your mouth before you can second-guess them.
For a split second, everything stops.
His eyes search yours, frantic, disbelieving, hopeful, scared. Like heâs waiting for you to laugh, to say youâre joking, to snatch the floor out from under him.
You donât.
You stay right where you are, your hand coming up to rest lightly on his chest. You feel his heart slam against your palm, wild and stuttering.
He inhales sharply.
âTell me to stop,â he murmurs.
His hand slides from your hair to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone, touch reverent. He leans in, slow enough to give you every chance to pull away.
âMark,â you breathe.
âTell me to stop,â he repeats, voice barely there now, his forehead dipping to rest against yours.
You donât say stop.
You lift your chin just a fraction instead.
Itâs all he needs.
The first brush of his mouth against yours is almost nothing.
A ghost of a kiss. A question.
Your eyes flutter shut. Your fingers curl into his hoodie, knuckles pressing against his chest. He tastes like the soda you shared earlier and something warm and familiar thatâs just him.
He pulls back a millimeter, just enough to look at you. Your breaths mingle in the narrow space, your noses almost touching.
âYou okay?â he whispers.
You nod, the movement tiny, shaky. âYeah,â you breathe. âAre you?â
He huffs a silent laugh that trembles. âNot even a little,â he admits. âBut I donât want to stop.â
âThen donât,â you murmur.
This time, when he kisses you, itâs not quite so timid.
Itâs still soft at firstâcareful, almost reverent. His lips move against yours like heâs memorizing the shape, the texture, the way you breathe out a tiny sound whenever he changes the angle.
Then something gives.
Maybe itâs the way your hand slides up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair. Maybe itâs the little sigh that escapes you when his thumb strokes a slow line along your jaw. Maybe itâs simply the weight of every moment youâve both spent wanting this without admitting it.
Whatever it is, the kiss deepens.
It turns urgent. Messy.
Your mouth parts under his, and his response is immediate, like heâs been waiting for years for that one small invitation. His other arm wraps around your waist, hauling you closer, somehow impossibly closer, until youâre half in his lap, the blanket slipping to the floor unnoticed.
You gasp quietly against his lips as your bodies press together, every inch of you alive and humming.
He breaks away just long enough to drag in a sharp breath, his forehead dropping to yours again.
âWeâre supposed to be friends,â you whisper.
âWe are,â he says, voice rough. âWe still are.â
His thumb strokes your cheek, his eyes flicking between yours. âBut IâveâŚâ He swallows hard. âIâve wanted you for so long. I tried to be okay with justâthis. With just being your friend. But every time you walk through that door, Iââ
He cuts himself off, like heâs afraid if he keeps talking, heâll say too much.
Your heart aches in a way thatâs both terrifying and perfect.
âHow long?â you ask quietly.
He lets out a breathy, humorless laugh. âLong enough that I donât remember when it started. Long enough that I can tell you exactly how you take your coffee and which movie you put on when you canât sleep and the exact sound you make when youâre trying not to cry in front of people.â
Your throat tightens.
âIf you donât want this,â he says, his voice suddenly trembling, âif this is justâtonight, or because youâre lonely, or because Iâm hereâtell me now. Please. Iâll stop. Iâll pretend this never happened. Iâllââ
âMark.â
You cut him off by leaning in and kissing him again.
The answer is in the way you press your mouth to his, in the way you sigh into him like your body finally found something it didnât know it was searching for.
He makes a small, helpless sound, his hand tightening at your waist.
The kiss turns slower again, then deeper, then slow again, ebbing and flowing with all the things youâre both too overwhelmed to say.
You donât remember when your hands slide under his hoodie, palms flattening against the warm skin of his back. You donât remember when he shifts you fully into his lap, one arm firm around you, the other cradling your face like youâre something precious, breakable, irreplaceable.
Time blurs.
The world narrows to the drag of his lips, the rush of his breath, the way he whispers your name like a promise between kisses.
âIâve thought about this,â he confesses against your mouth, words punctuated by soft, breathless kisses. âEvery time youâre here, Iââ
âYeah?â you murmur, your forehead resting against his, your fingers curling in the fabric at his shoulders.
âYou have no idea what you do to me,â he says, voice low and raw.
Heat flares in your chest, in your cheeks, everywhere.
You donât need the details. You donât need the graphic edges. The intensity in his voice, the way his hands tremble slightly where they hold you, tells you everything.
His care is threaded through every movement.
âIs this okay?â he asks when his lips wander to your jaw, your throat. He presses slow, lingering kisses there, each one a question as much as a declaration.
âYeah,â you whisper, your head tipping back in silent invitation. âMore than okay.â
He exhales shakily, relief and want tangling together.
âTell me if anythingâs too much,â he murmurs. âIf you want to slow downââ
âMark,â you say softly, pulling back just enough to look at him.
His eyes search your face, pupils blown wide, vulnerability stark and open.
âI trust you,â you say simply.
Something in his expression crumples, then rebuilds itself into something even more tender.
âOkay,â he breathes. âOkay.â
The night stretches out.
Everything stays close, intimate. The couch. The low lamplight. Your bodies pressed together like youâre both afraid the other might vanish if you let any space open up between you.
His touch is reverent. Patient. Like every inch of you is something heâs been waiting a long time to trace, to memorize.
Your kisses break again and againâbecause youâre laughing softly against his mouth at some half-whispered joke, because youâre both breathing too hard, because he keeps pulling back to check your eyes, to make sure youâre still there with him.
You are.
Youâre more here than youâve been in a long time.
At some point, the couch becomes too small, too cramped. You donât remember who suggests moving, or if itâs just a wordless agreement when he stands and you cling, your legs wrapped around his waist, his arms secure beneath you.
The bedroom is dim, the citylight leaking in through the curtains painting soft stripes across the bed he drops you on.Â
The feeling of Markâs mouth, hot and wet on your skin, leaves your mind unravelling in spirals. You feel light, delicate and sensitive, unsure of the journey your bodies will take as they get lost in exploration of one another, but youâre eager and curious.Â
Almost effortlessly, his hoodie gets lifted off your body, leaving you bare and exposed. Under the scrutiny of his eyes, you feel shy, aware that heâs taking in a sight of you thatâs never been revealed to him before.Â
A breath catches in your throat when his mouth connects with your chest. His tongue moves over your skin in a slow and controlled trail, wanting to savor every inch of you. Heâs squeezing your waist, jaw fighting against biting down on your breasts. Your back curves instinctively, your body giving into him completely. You feel drunk on the warmth that courses through your nerves, all in response to him.Â
He moves lower, bringing a familiar pulse alive between your legs. The only thought circling your mind is that you want him like youâve never wanted anything more. An almost greedy groan escapes him when your fingers meet his by the waistband of your sweats, helping him push them off and away.Â
His name is but a whisper on your tongue as his mouth finds the sweetest spot of you. Your brows furrow, the ache he had spurred within you dissipating the second he covets your taste. Wetness rushes through you, and he drinks it all up.Â
You tug on his hair as he makes you cry out for him. Somewhere in your daze, your eyes meet, telling him everything he needs to know. His fingers replace his mouth while he sits up, the tent in his pants a hint at whatâs to come next.Â
Like any distance at all is unbearable, you reach for him, and heâs right there, fitting his mouth over yours once again. You can taste yourself on his tongue, a sensation thatâs foreign yet so inviting. Under your palm, his jaw feels strong. His ears are hot to the touch, his entire body buzzing with a fervent energy that matches yours.Â
He spreads your legs and dips his hips to meet yours, his pants bunched carelessly by his knees, too impatient to take them off completely. His cock is heavy and throbbing against your cunt as he rubs between your folds. Then, finally, he pushes himself inside you.
Lips parted, shared gasps, eyes shut, the sensation makes you crumble underneath him. Gripping your waist in place, he buries his face in your neck, jerking his hips forward. Quiet curses fill your ear as he begins thrusting into you, his movements precise and deliberate.Â
You throw your head back, calling his name to give you more.
Everything that follows is slow and careful, threaded with breathy laughter and whispered names and the constant hum of, Is this okay? Are you okay? and your steady, gasped yes, yes, Iâm okay, Iâm with you.
It doesnât feel filthy. It doesnât feel wrong.
It feels like finally.
Like coming home to a place you didnât know youâd been walking toward the entire time.
He flips you around, taking the time to completely undress himself now. Breathless, you wait for him, watching his every move from over your shoulder. His hand slips around you, holding you as close as he can as he enters you once more, pressing himself deep against the curve of your ass.Â
You reach for his cheek as his mouth splays wet kisses all over your shoulder. The intimacy of it all, the way heâs so gentle and passionate, it drives you crazy. Heâs giving you so much and yet, you canât get enough of it.Â
And neither can he.Â
The sudden rouse of his hips tells you all you need to know, and youâre there with him.Â
He lifts himself just slightly, skin slapping against yours in desperate vigor. Your moans spur him on, guiding him to the peak of ecstasy. He pulls out of you on instinct, fingers quick to wrap around his pulsing member as he releases onto your back, whining weakly.Â
Then, without missing a beat, he raises your hips in the air and pulls your body back to his mouth, tongue circling your clit until youâre squirming in a way that confirms the knot of pleasure thatâs been tightening within you has finally snapped.Â
When he rises, you fall back into the mattress, the weight of your body finally registering in your mind. You feel him shift off the bed, only to be back moments later with a warm towel in tow, cleaning the traces of himself off of you.          Â
You turn around lazily, breaking into a breathless grin when your eyes meet his. His gaze is full of endearment, his skin flushed, chest rising and falling stiffly.Â
âMarkâŚâ
âYeah?â
The words feel zealous coming from you, âThat was perfect.â
He trades you a laugh in his usual embarrassed but agreeable way, handing you his hoodie that had fallen to the floor somewhere in all the chaos. You slip it on, carefully observing as he clothes himself partially and returns to your embrace.
The world eventually knits itself back together.
The rain has gentled to a soft patter outside. The sounds of the city have dulled to a distant murmur. The TV in the living room is still on, long forgotten, casting mute light across an empty couch and a discarded blanket.
In Markâs bed, you lie tangled in the sheets, skin warm and a little damp, breaths slowly steadying.
For a while, neither of you speaks.
Youâre on your side, facing him. The room is dim, but thereâs enough light to see the detailsâthe way his hair is mussed, the flush still lingering on his cheeks, the softness around his eyes.
You share a pillow, noses almost brushing.
He looksâŚyoung, suddenly. Unshielded. Like the Mark you see when heâs half-asleep on lazy weekend mornings, not the Mark the rest of the world gets.
His hand finds your waist under the sheet, fingers spreading over your skin with an unconscious possessiveness that makes your chest ache.
You let your own hand settle over his, threading your fingers between his.
He exhales, a small, disbelieving sound.
âYou okay?â you ask quietly, echoing his earlier question.
He smiles, crooked and a little dazed. âYeah,â he says. âJustâŚtrying to wrap my head around the fact that this is real and not something I made up in my head at three a.m.â
Your heart stutters.
âHow many three a.m.s have you spent thinking about this?â you ask gently.
He hums, pretending to consider. âEnough that if I told you the number, youâd bully me forever.â
You snort softly. âRude of you to assume Iâm not already going to bully you forever.â
His smile widens, the tension in his shoulders easing further.
âYeah,â he says. âI guess I can live with that.â
He shifts closer, if thatâs even possible, his forehead pressing to yours. You can feel the steady beat of his heart where your chests touch, solid and reassuring.
A quiet settles over you again, but itâs different now.
Not tense. Not filled with sharp, unspoken almosts.
Itâs soft. Heavy with warmth.
âI donât know what this means,â you admit after a while, voice barely above a whisper. âLikeâŚfor us. For everything. I donât want to mess this up. I donât want to lose you.â
His hand tightens around yours.
âYouâre not going to lose me,â he says immediately, fiercely. âHey. Look at me.â
You do.
His gaze is steady, even in the dim light.
âWeâll figure it out tomorrow,â he says, echoing the thought thatâs been hovering in the back of your own mind.
Thereâs something about the way he says weâlike itâs a promise. Like itâs a given.
âTomorrow?â you murmur.
âYeah,â he says. âWe canâŚtalk. Decide what we want this to be. Or try to, anyway. Iâm probably going to be an idiot about it and youâre going to make fun of me and itâll be a whole thing.â
You huff a soft laugh against his mouth. âProbably.â
âButâŚâ He trails his thumb along the back of your hand. âYouâre here. Iâm here. Youâre wearing my hoodie in my bed, and I can feel your heartbeat under my hand, and Iâm notâŚimagining this.â
He lifts your joined hands to his lips and presses a slow kiss to your knuckles.
âFor tonight,â he says quietly, âcan it just be this? You and me? No labels, no panic. JustâŚthis.â
You feel your eyes sting.
âYeah,â you whisper. âYeah, I want that.â
His shoulders drop, some final thread of anxiety unwinding.
âOkay,â he says again, more to himself this time.
He moves in closer, tucking you against his chest like itâs the most natural thing in the world. One arm wraps around your waist, firm but gentle, hand resting at your hip. The other slips under the pillow, his fingers brushing your neck.
He holds you like he has no intention of letting go.
He doesnât realize heâs doing it until you make a small, pleased sound and burrow in even further.
âComfortable?â he asks, voice already going soft with impending sleep.
âYes,â you mumble into his skin. âYouâre warm.â
âSo are you,â he replies, pressing a lazy kiss into your hair.
You feel him shift again a few minutes later. He slips away just long enough to grab a bottle of water from his nightstand and offers it to you.
âHere,â he says. âDrink.â
You take a few sips, hand trembling with leftover adrenaline and something like wonder. He watches you with that same soft, aching look in his eyes, like youâre something heâs not quite sure he deserves but canât stop reaching for.
When youâre done, he sets the bottle aside and wipes a thumb gently under your eye, even though thereâs nothing there.
âYouâre staring,â you murmur.
âYeah,â he says, unbothered. âI know.â
You smile, small and full.
Minutes pass.
Your breaths start to sync up. The city outside keeps movingâcars passing, lights flickering, people living entire lives beyond these walls.
Inside, the world has shrunk down to the warmth of his chest under your cheek, the slow circles his thumb rubs against your hip, the steady beat of his heart.
Youâre almost asleep when you feel his lips brush your temple.
âIâm not going anywhere,â he whispers into your hair, so quiet you might have missed it if you werenât pressed right against him.
You donât know if he means tonight or tomorrow or every day after.
You decide to believe itâs all of them.
Your last coherent thought before sleep pulls you under is that for the first time in a long time, you donât feel like an almost.
You feel wanted.
Chosen.
Held.
The city lights leak in through the curtains, painting you both in soft silver. Outside, the world keeps humming. Inside, in the small, warm space of Markâs apartment, you lie tangled together, his arms around you like heâs afraid you might disappear if he loosens his grip.
Tomorrow will come. Questions, complications, conversations.
But tonight, there is only this:
You. Mark. The quiet between you, no longer empty but full.
And him holding you like he finally has what heâs been reaching for all alongâand he has no intention of letting go.
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content: established relationship, teasing, kissing, sexual content, fingering, soft dominance undertones, praise, and whatever else happened in this đ
note: maybe not a masterpiece but itâs honest work â no proofread
mark had been staring at the same line for almost twenty minutes.
the cursor blinks at him from the laptop screen like itâs mocking him, the unfinished lyric sitting there with half a sentence and three different versions underneath. crumpled paper covers the floor around his desk, his headphones hanging crooked around his neck while he rubs both hands down his face with a tired groan.
nothing sounds right.
every melody suddenly feels annoying. every word too dramatic or too empty.
he leans back in his chair and sighs hard, eyes drifting toward the closed bedroom door when he hears faint music coming from the kitchen.
the apartment smells warm the second he opens the door. garlic, butter, something sweet simmering in a pan. the kitchen lights are dim except for the warm yellow one over the stove, and there you are in the middle of it all wearing one of his oversized shirts and socks sliding slightly against the floor.
completely lost in the music.
lady gaga blasts from the speaker while you stir something in the pan dramatically like youâre performing on stage.
âi want your ugly, i want your disease~â
mark leans against the hallway wall quietly, arms crossing over his chest as he watches you.
and god, he could stay there forever.
youâre dancing with absolutely no shame, hips moving around the kitchen, hair messy from cooking, cheeks warm from the stove heat.
meanwhile heâs spent the last hour frustrated out of his mind.
but somehow just looking at you makes the pressure in his chest disappear.
you spin around while singing louder and finally notice him standing there.
your face lights up immediately.
âi want your love andââ
you point at him dramatically with the kitchen knife in your hand.
ââi want your revenge~â
markâs eyes widen and he instantly bursts out laughing.
âwhy do you have the knife out?!â he laughs.
âitâs part of the performanceâ
âyou look insaneâ
mark shakes his head, grin still stuck on his face as he finally pushes himself off the wall and walks into the kitchen.
âi thought we were ordering food tonightâ he says, voice softer now. âor going out or somethingâ
you turn back to the stove, casually stirring the pan again. âi know but⌠youâve been working all dayâ you shrug. âi felt like cooking something for youâ
âoh~â he drags out dramatically, stepping closer. âthank you chefâ
you grin and lift the spoon toward him proudly. âlookâ
mark leans closer beside you, looking down into the pan while the steam rises between both of you.
âwaitâ he blinks. âthat actually looks sooooo goodâ
âobviously, everything i do is goodâ
mark looks at you sideways after that, lips twitching like heâs trying not to laugh.
âyeahâ he says slowly. âi can personally confirm thatâ
âyouâre such a pervert! oh my godâ
âwhat?â he says innocently. âi literally just complimented your skillsâ
âmark leeâ
his grin gets bigger immediately at the tone of your voice.
âokay but am i wrong?â
you try to keep a straight face but fail immediately when he steps closer behind you.
his arms slide around your waist slowly, pulling you back against him while the music keeps playing softly in the background. mark rests his chin on your shoulder for a second before dipping his face into your neck with a quiet hum.
âmmh?â he murmurs against your skin. âam i wrong?â
you smile instantly at the feeling of his voice there.
âguess youâve done enough research to knowâ
mark goes completely still.
then he pulls back fast just to stare at you in shock.
âyoââ
you burst out laughing immediately.
his mouth falls open before he starts laughing too, loud and completely caught off guard.
ânahâ he says, pointing at you accusingly. âyou canât say stuff like thatâ
âwhy not?â
âthatâs my thingâ
you grin proudly while stirring the pan again. âmaybe iâm learningâ
âno, noâ he shakes his head dramatically, still laughing. âyou shouldnât be learning those things, youâre my babyâ
his lips brush against the side of your neck once, soft enough to make your shoulders tense instantly. then again, lingering longer, completely deliberate about it.
you let out a small laugh, already squirming in his arms.
âmarkâ you mumble. âiâm literally cookingâ
âi knowâ
another kiss.
âare you too busy?â he asks quietly against your skin.
you laugh again, trying to focus on the pan while his kisses keep distracting you.
âkind of?â
âis there still a lot left?â
you glance at the stove quickly before shaking your head.
ânot reallyâ
you finish the last few things quickly: lowering the stove heat, moving the utensils aside, tasting the sauce one last time before nodding to yourself in approval.
all while feeling his eyes on you.
âdoneâ you announce finally.
mark smiles immediately. âfinallyâ
you laugh softly before turning around in his arms properly this time, hands sliding up his chest until they rest around his neck.
âneedyâ
âveryâ
he doesnât even give you another second before kissing you.
your fingers slip into his hair while his hands settle firmly on your waist, pulling you closer against him.
then lower.
his palms squeeze your ass suddenly and you let out a surprised sound against his mouth.
you narrow your eyes at him even while smiling. âhuh?â
he kisses you again quickly before pulling back with the most fake sad pout imaginable.
âiâm just stressedâ he sighs dramatically. âworking all day. sufferingâ
ââŚoh my godâ
he tries to look innocent and fails completely.
you laugh under your breath. âand what exactly can i do to help you relieve all this stress?â
mark leans down brushing his lips against yours while whispering softly.
âyou knowâ
you laugh right into his mouth.
âyouâre not subtle at allâ
âdo i need to be?â
you shake your head smiling before lightly pushing his chest.
âgo sit on the couchâ
mark obeys immediately.
âyes maâamâ
you laugh while watching him walk to the living room, still looking way too pleased with himself.
he drops onto the couch comfortably, spreading his arms across the back cushions like he owns the place (which, technically, he does).
you stop right between his legs and he looks up at you slowly, already smiling.
then he bites his lip.
âwowâ you say. âyou look desperateâ
his eyebrows lift instantly.
âi do notâ
âyou absolutely doâ
mark straightens up with fake seriousness, hands resting on your hips.
âiâm completely okay, actuallyâ
âmhmâ
âperfectly normalâ
you snort softly while looking down at him.
his hair is messy from you running your hands through it earlier, lips pink from kissing, eyes still carrying that warm sleepy look he always gets around you.
you reach down and brush his hair back from his forehead gently.
âyouâre so prettyâ you say quietly.
his eyes close for a second while a smile spreads across his lips.
âcome hereâ he murmurs. âlie downâ
markâs expression relaxed the second you got close enough for him to pull you down onto the couch with him.
carefully, one hand at your waist while he settles between your legs naturally, like this is exactly where heâs supposed to be.
his eyes move over your face with the softest expression, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your side under your shirt.
âwhat?â you whisper with a smile tugging at your lips.
mark shakes his head a little.
ânothingâ he murmurs. âjust really love looking at youâ
he leans down and kisses you.
you melt into him, fingers sliding into his hair while his mouth moves against yours. every kiss lingers. every touch feels deliberate.
âmissed you all dayâ he whispers against your lips.
a quiet laugh escapes you.
âboyâŚâ
he grins softly before kissing you again, desperate.
his body shifts carefully between your legs until his full weight settles over you, the couch dipping. his chest presses against yours, warm and solid, and suddenly heâs everywhere.
his warmth.
his scent.
the feeling of his thighs nudging yours apart just enough for him to fit closer.
pulling little sounds out of you one by one until his own breathing starts getting heavier too.
âfuckâ he whispers quietly when your fingers tighten in his hair. âdo that againâ
you tug lightly without thinking and the sound he lets out is low and rough, hips pressing down against yours.
the friction makes both of you inhale sharply.
he closes his eyes briefly, forehead resting against yours.
âsorry, babyâ
your face burns hotter.
his hand slips under your shirt, fingertips dragging slowly across your waist and stomach. his touch is gentle, almost lazy, but the way he pays attention to every reaction makes it impossible to stay calm.
âyouâre so sensitive tonightâ he murmurs against your jaw.
âmhmâ you answer weakly.
his (very) visible erection reacting immediately at how breathless you already sound.
âpretty girlâ
the praise alone makes your stomach tighten.
every few seconds his hips shift unconsciously against yours again, enough to make your head tip back against the couch.
you can feel how badly he wants you.
âso fucking perfectâŚâ
his hand slides lower gradually, fingers tracing along your thigh.
mark glances up at you instantly.
âokay?â he asks softly.
you nod fast.
âyeahâ
âgood. be patient for meâ
he takes his time touching you, fingertips brushing teasingly over you until your hips twitch impatiently.
âmarkâŚâ you whisper.
âi know, babyâ he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth.
when his fingers finally slide through your folds, your mouth falls open immediately.
a quiet curse slips under his breath at your reaction.
âlook at youâ he whispers softly. âalready falling apart for meâ
your hands clutch at his shoulders while he keeps touching you, you can barely focus on anything except him.
âgod, you look so prettyâ
your legs start trembling the longer he keeps going.
his fingers push inside you slowly. enough to pull shaky little sounds from your throat that only make him groan softly against your mouth.
âfuckâ you breathe out weakly, fingers tightening in his shirt.
his fingers curl just right and your hips jerk immediately.
mark smiles against your lips.
âyeah?â he murmurs. âthat feel good, love?â
he keeps going at that same steady pace, fingers sliding deeper while his thumb strokes over your clit gently, talking you through every reaction because he loves hearing you fall apart.
he looks completely obsessed with you.
âclose?â he whispers quietly after a while.
you nod immediately, barely able to think straight.
âyeah? câmon thenâ
your legs shake hard around him.
mark slows his movements, helping you through it while kissing your cheek and jaw softly, murmuring little praises the entire time.
âthatâs it, my loveâŚâ
he smiles completely gone for you.
âhiâ he whispers.
you let out a weak embarrassed laugh and hide your face against his shoulder immediately.
âdonât hide from me nowâ
âshut upâ
he laughs quietly under his breath before kissing the top of your head.
âyou okay?â
you nod against him.
âmhmâ
âyeah?â his hand rubs slowly up and down your back. âyou with me again?â
âbarelyâ
âthat good, huh?â
âyouâre so proud of yourselfâ
âbabyâ he whispers, still smiling. âyou were shakingâ
you pinch his side weakly.
âokay, okayâ he murmurs. âiâll stopâ
he pulls a blanket down from the back of the couch and throws it over both of you.
âlove youâ he murmurs.
âlove you tooâ
âstill thinking about the sounds you made, by the wayâ
SYNOPSISââ¤âdespite all that went down, you're quite settled on letting lee heeseung be 'the one that got away', and you swear you aren't the type to break no-contact but when the ground starts shaking, you realize your pride isn't worth not letting him know how you really feel.
CONTAINSââ¤â6.5k words. ânon-idol!heeseung. mild enemies to lovers. lovers to exes. exes to ?. (they be going thru all of the tropes.) angst-adjacent? breakup. profanity. fluff. flashbacks in between narration. slightly toxic relationship dynamics. descriptions of an earthquake. usage of Y/N. kissing. pet names. (baby, princess, love, etc.) not proofread. ⎠mentions of enhypen's sunghoon, lsrfm's yunjin, and txt's beomgyu.
NOW PLAYINGââ¤âwhen the world stopped moving â lizzy mcalpine ; feel something â clairo ; heavenly â cigarettes after sex. ; i love you, i'm sorry â gracie abrams ; like it tends to do â lizzie mcalpine ; kung wala ka â hale (this is 4 my filo girlies.) ; always, i'll care â jeremy zucker.
"i'm fine, momâyes, i'm eating very well. no, i'm not staying up late. iâ"
you sucked in a deep breath. listening to your mother's worried voice barrage your with one question after the other was heartwarming, yes. but it does get to a point.
she claimed it was just a wellness check. that she just wanted to catch up and know how you're doing.
"can't i check up on my daughter?" she asked one time, offended when you pointed out the unsual amount of call logs that have been piling up, all labelled "mom đ".
you knew this would be her reaction, and it was exactly why you dreaded having to admit the break up to her in the first place. maybe that, or the fact that doing so would make it real. it would make the separation permanent.
so you put it off for a week, and then another, and another one. and when your heart learned how to form itself around the knife lodged deep in your chest, when you got used to its existence there, you figured it was time to break her the news.
you phoned your mom who, in turn, told the rest of your family.
it was no question all of them loved heeseung to bits. it was hard not to. the first christmas you brought him home, your dad immediately gave you an approving nod as if to acknowledge the good choice you made. and the moment you let your little brother know heeseung played video games too? oh, he was a goner for your then-boyfriend too.
it's now been a month since that awkward facetime call with your family and your mother still wouldn't let up.
she called regularly to make small talk. she asked about your day, about the going ons in university, about the puppy you've been eyeing to foster. call it a daughter's instinct, but you knew what she was really doing. with each question, she was gauging how you were coping with the loss of the man you once claimed was the love of your life.
"i'm sorry, Y/N-ah. i'm just⌠worried. it must be tough being alone there." you heard her say through the crackle of your phone's speaker, the sound of the dishwasher running accompanying her careful tone. you didn't miss the way she paused a little before the word 'alone', like she was scared the implication might be a little too straightforward.
you chuckled mirthfully. if she saw your state right now, her worries would be validated instantly.
you were alone. in day old pajamas, hair a mess, eyes partially swollen from the sad k-drama you watched just to feel sadness that wasn't yours. all that while curled up in your bed in a fetal position as if to protect your body from any more hurt that could come.
she had every reason to be worried, but you couldn't let her know that.
"and i'm telling you you don't have to be! i'm okay, i swear. i've been okay," you forced a smile that she wouldn't see like it would make your words more honest. "i'm actually going to go out with yunjin and the girls so i'll call you back in a bit, okay?"
lies, one on top of another.
"i love you too.." your mom trailed off, voice unsure. "have fun. and i love you."
"love you too, mom!" you mustered in the most cheerful voice you could before hanging up.
a deep-seated sigh erupted from your chest. it's a friday night after exams, for gods' sake. your peers were out drinking themselves stupid, engaging in situations they're bound to forget the next day and yet here you were in bed, tapping through their instagram stories like you could vicariously live through each fifteen second clips.
the phone casted harsh shadows on your face as you tapped, and tapped, and tapped away.
then, you held your thumb to it, putting the screen on pause.
beomgyu uploaded a story just half an hour ago. a bright smiling face of him with the rest of your friends, shot glasses full of clear liquor in their hands. on the back, you could clearly see a familiar smileâthe lazy kind that he always used whenever he got forced into taking a group photo.
you believed that, with time, you'd gotten accustomed to the worn down ache in your chest. you forced your heart to rebuild itself, after all. muscles and tissue formed around the sharp blade with nothing else pride and tenacity to protect it.
but seeing him again, even just through a screen, felt like someone had just pulled the knife out only to stab it in again and twisting it for good measure.
it was the first time you'd seen him after the breakup. you barely crossed paths in university anymore, and with all the responsibilities and extra-curriculars you had going on, you didn't really have time to camp on the app just for a quick peek of him through your mutuals' stories or posts.
and you're glad you didn't, because seeing him be so carefree, so⌠normal brought you so much physical pain you had to let go of your phone to press on your chest with a pained whimper.
you and heeseung initially didn't like each other.
when your high school acquaintance, sunghoon, introduced you to heeseung and the rest of his friends at at a house gathering, you thought of him as nothing more than a sleazy nobody. just someone you'd need to put a polite mask on for whenever your friends were around simply because he was their friend too.
and heeseung, immediately seeing through it, smirked.
a pretentious snob who rode the highest horse she saw all while pretending it didn't kill her having to interact with lowly frat boys? it was nothing new to him. you were an eyecandy thoughâyeah, he'd give you that. but like most eyecandies, you were better experienced from afar. especially when his friends constantly gushed to him about you, too dumb to see all the bitterness you had in your heart below your sweet facade.
so for that party and the following months, you avoided each other. you both intentionally turned down invitation to parties when you knew the other would be there, or simply act like the other didn't exist if your friends were annoying enough to gather the whole group in an outing.
that was the norm until a chance meeting on a late friday evening.
heeseung slipped on a tall bar chair, chuckling when the owner remarked something about his consistent attendance. his usual glass got served and just as he was about to call on the him for a chaser, his eyes fell on you.
seated at a booth. alone.
you were dressed to impress with your short maroon dress, hair curled and flowing to one side of your exposed decollatage save for the ones hanging over your faceâthe ones that failed to cover your empty eyes as it burned through your half-empty glass of wine.
you looked small and frail clutching on your purse. nothing like the pompuous bitch who refused to even acknowledge his presence whenever he raised a hand to wave at you in the hallways.
every now and then, you'd tap on your phone to check the time. people would pass by and you'd fix your posture, disappointed creases on your forehead smoothening out as you forced yourself to look composed, to look like you sat there in your lonesome with intention.
every bone in his body told him it would be a terrible idea to engage, but his feet carried him before his frontal lobe could fully conlude the decision.
heeseung slumped across you on the other end of the booth, the velvet lining of the couch rustling against his denim jacket. "you ought to turn that frown upside down, missy. they might think your date ditched you or something."
you looked up, expecting it to be the guy your friend recommended. you were ready to lay it on him, profanities lined up from your chest all the way to the tip of your tongue, but the words got caught in your throat when you saw heeseung wearing that usual, ever-annoying cocky grin of his.
he only grinned wider at the shock you wore, snorting when it quickly turned into an irritated glare. "huh. so you did get ditched. didn't think i'd see the day someone would stand up the Y/N."
"it's none of your business."
"it kind of is. i was ready to have a good time with my whiskey but your loner ass is dampening up the mood of the place. you could have at least ordered fries or salad or something, make your self-date look a little more convincing and a little less⌠pathetic."
you clutched on your purse a little tighter. "are you so used to having someone hanging on your arm that you can't stand the sight of someone being happily alone? and for the record, i was going to order. until you interrupted me, that is."
"happily alone? really now?" heeseung raised an eyebrow. "is that why you've been anxiously checking the time? why you've been staring at the entrance like your fairytale prince's finally going to be the one the step in next?"
he could tell you wanted nothing more than to leave, but leaving alone meant admitting that you, in fact, got ditched. and getting ditched meant someone had the audacity to turn you down. and that, other than terribly bruising your pride, meant heeseung would see you in the same light as the other girls he probably ditches himself.
and you'd rather get run over by a fourteen wheeler, because that would be less embarrassing than him equating you to his silly little flings.
so you sat there, crossing your arms over your chest like a shield against his presence. "shut up and go be annoying somewhere else, heeseung."
he put his interlocked hands on top of the table, leaning forward with a smile. "tell you what, princess. let's make a deal."
your eye twitched at the nickname. but you apparently had all the time in the world, and your mood was too fucked up to even fight him more, so you shrugged. "i might entertain it as long as it's not stupid, so shoot."
"let me be your date tonight."
you raised your eyebrow and heeseung stared back, clearing his throat when you refused to reply. "you pay for the food, i pay with my presence."
you snorted. "you really are a piece of work, lee. do you really think your presence is anything worth paying for?"
heeseung just hummed. "i'm just saying⌠i can get my stomach filled with food, and you'll walk out of here with your reputation still spotless."
"sounds like a losing deal."
"think about it, Y/N. no snark, no sarcasm. just you, and me, and food, and pretending you weren't waiting for a man for nearly an hourâand if he hits you up after this then you can say you didn't even remember him because you spent the night with a tall, handsome guy who's so much better giving you a good time."
you hate the fact that his idea was actually not as dumb as you thought it'd be. you hate that it made you giggle. you hate that he took kindly to your laughter, like he just unlocked some sort of hidden achievement in those dumb video games he loved playing so much.
the deal was sealed with a warm handshake.
the mostly empty table quickly got crowded with different snacks, various shaped glasses of cocktails and beers. as agreed upon, you didn't glare at heeseung, not even once. it was hard to when he kept making you laugh every other minute because he heard it once and wanted to keep hearing it.
you tried to keep the date prim and proper by poking at your wings with a fork and knife but he urged that you had no one to impressâcertainly not him.
"eat wings with our natural tools, just as god intended." heeseung said, nudging your heels under the table. you chuckled and ate it with your fingers. he smiled, a soft one, eyes lingering on your buffalo-sauce stained lips while pushing the napkins towards you just in case.
you talked about the classes you had, got a giggle out of discovering your shared dislike of a certain professor and laughed. you nudged each other's feet under the wide table, tried each other's drinks, talked of your first impressions of each other and laughed some more.
he made it clear he wasn't the player you thought he was, though you argued he was still far too flirtatious. that, he couldn't deny.
not when he played the part of your date all too well. not when he spoke up whenever you wanted to order another, carried conversation to another interesting topic when the current one's beginning to die out, and even let you borrow his jacket when he noticed you rubbing your arms for warmth.
you dreaded imagining how bland this night would have been if the original date went as planned.
when it was your turn to uphold your end of the deal, heeseung smacked his credit card right on top of yours, brows furrowed like he was offended. you scoffed, pulled it out and smacked yours over his again in retaliation. "you did your part, let me do mine."
heeseung just squinted his eyes at you, a weak attempt to look intimidating, before slipping his card to the waiter who quickly processed the payment and handed him the receipt before walking off.
you huffed. "heeseungâyou just broke the deal."
"you're dumb if you think i'm gonna give you a reason to tell our friends i let a girl pay for a date."
"so why did you offer then?" you grumbled, slipping the card in your bag.
"truth be told, i didn't think it through. you seemed lonely and i just wanted some assurance you wouldn't be a bitch to me all night. and you can say what you want to say but it worked," he hummed, popping a piece of cold fry in his mouth. "you've never been the type to just let people be nice to you."
"well i'm not going to give you a reason to hold something over my headâ"
"and if you shut up and stop complaining, then no oneânot even our friendsâwill ever know you got stood up." he sighed. "i'm not asking for anything in return, Y/N. not your money, not a second date, not pretend nicetiesâbut i enjoyed tonight and i want us to be able to exist around each other from now on. not just for our friends but for us."
you pursed your lips, unable to deal with the upfront honesty he's giving you. you just stared at his face, fidgeting with the zipper of your purse. "are you offering a truce?"
"i'm offering friendship. a proper one. like this, or something less intimate if the reputation i have in your mind still precedes me."
as it turned out, he wasn't offering just friendship.
it wasn't supposed to go further than that. but between the way heeseung's eyes kept lingering on the smooth skin of your upper thigh and the flirtatious jokes he kept cracking throughout the drive to your apartment, it was hard to ignore the growing tension in his car.
"so⌠we're here." you muttered as he pulled to the sidewalk in front of your apartment.
"guess we are." he smiled weakly. "don't tell me you want me to open the door for you too?"
"fuck off." you replied, lacking the usual venom the words usually came with. "thank you for the night, hee. i had a great time."
"i did, too. you be safe, 'kay?"
you stared at each other for a beat before you finally broke it off by stepping out of the door. you took a few steps before you heard the quiet whirring of the passenger window rolling down.
"you can just give my jacket back on monday, by the way." heeseung hollered with a smug smile on his pretty face.
you gasped softly, realizing the only thing that was keeping you from shivering all night was still wrapped around your shoulders. "oâoh. um.." you bit your lower lip, mentally chastising yourself from the decision you were about to do. "actuallyâit's still quite cold. do you want to warm up inside for a few minutes? have some water⌠or something."
heeseung's impulsiveness has brought him to many places, but for it to bring him in front of your doorstep was the last thing he expected. he'd be a liar to say he didn't feel the suffocating electricity in the bar, and even more so when he got you alone in his car, but he was dead set on staying true to his words.
however, the moment he got you alone in your apartment, his hand immediately cupped your cheek. he pulled you in for a kiss filled with need and urgency and every emotion pent up from the months where you pretended like he was invisibleâone so slow, yet so deep that it left you in a daze after.
"sorry. i⌠got carried away, i think." he muttered, quietly gulping. his forehead was still pressed on yours, doe-like eyes looking for assurance in your half-lidded ones. instead of giving him a proper answer, you pulled him back in for another kiss.
and the rest was history.
all your friendsâthe same ones who were so insistent in making you guys exist in the same roomâsaid it shouldn't have worked as well as it did. you came across as cold, composed and too structured, where heeseung was warm, exceptionally loud, and thrived on free-balling whatever problem life threw at his way. they said you were too different, but you balanced each other out, mellowing each other's strong traits and ugly habits through careful compromises.
if anything, the fact that you had fundamental differences was the reason why your relationship thrived so much. but the phrase "opposited attract" can only go so far.
you picked your phone up again, thumb hovering over heeseung's name in your messages. you tapped once, reading through the last conversation.
from: heeseung lee. â princess i'm coming over with ramen and my switch. can we play pokemon tgt pls
to: heeseung lee. â i'm still studying but the door's unlocked if u just want to hang babe
from: heeseung lee. â be there in 15. i love you < 3
that was the last text he ever sent.
the truth is, you don't remember the details of how you broke up. or why, for that matter. all you knew was that you were both on edge the night he came over, exhausted from a long day and already dreading the weight of what the next day would hold.
heeseung wanted to find solace in your presence but you were too absorbed in your responsibilities, not even bothering looking up from your meticulously organized notes. you had books, pastel highlighters, and sticky notes scattered on your desk when he barged into your room.
he nudged your shoulder, begging for scraps of your attention but you kept brushing him off, muttering an empty promise about only needing a few minutes more.
"baby⌠come on. that assignment can wait. it's likeâ fuck, do you even care about me? about us?"
"the world doesn't revolve around our relationship, heeseung. unlike you, i actually care about things bigger than just 'us'."
heeseung got offended and accused you of being too callous. you muttered something passive-aggressive about his childishness under your breath, telling at him to stop putting words in your mouth.
what started as a petty argument quickly escalated into a full-blown screaming match with you pushing at his chest and him saying shit just to be cruel and get you to back down. but much like him, you were stubborn. annoyingly competitive, too. so you fought back twice as hard, hurling remarks you didn't really mean but you said them anyway just for the sake of winning.
in the grand scheme of things, losing the argument was a much better option than losing heeseung entirely.
you didn't know it then, but you definitely knew it now that you were alone and reminiscing through the good and bad times of your relationship like a pathetic loser while he was on the other side of your small university town, drinking with the friends you used to share, probably having a great time now that he's severed himself from you.
you bit your lip as your thumb hovered over the keyboard on your screen.
hey. no, that sounds too casual considering how the both of you ended things.
still out drinking? one, you sound pathetic. two, he'd find out you were stalking.
i miss you. noâthat's stupid and fucking desperate.
you bit on your lip, trying out different variations of what text to send when you felt your bed rocking slightly. you paused, glaring at the wall of your bedroom.
jesus christ. just how hard were your neighbors fucking?
you slipped on your fluffy slippers and stomped out of your bedroom, prepared to give them an earful when the floor moved underneath you again in gentle horizontal sways. you gripped on a shelf, eyes widening in realization.
panic swiftly overwhelmed your senses. you learned about this in a disaster management seminar. drop to the ground. find something sturdy for cover. hold until the shaking stops. but your body wasn't following suit no matter how loud your mind scrambled for you to act.
not until the ground shook again. stronger this time. violent enough to sway the hanging lamps and throw you off balance. so much of the dust that have accumulated on your shelves fell like fine grey snow while you crawled towards the questionable safety of your dining table that it turned the room slightly hazy. or maybe it was your tears. you didn't really know anymore.
you heard glasswareâa collectible, probablyâdrop somewhere behind you, making a loud shatterring sound resonate across the moving room. it made you cry even louder.
the shaking made everything clatter. from the cultery in your shelves to the pen organizers rattling in your room. you heard the shuffling of feet outside your door, mixed with your neighbors' cries and shouts. you wanted to run with them, to leave for safety, but terror had your body paralyzed. you could only sob while you hugged your knees closer to your chest, one arm holding the dining table steady over your head.
this was it. this was the end of you.
through your terrified sobs, you unlocked your phone. and with trembling thumbs, you typed out a messageâthe words you truly wanted to say.
to: heeseung lee. â i love you.
heeseung was on the backseat of an taxi. he was tipsy, the apples of his cheeks and tips of his ears still blooming red from his inability to process the ungodly amount of alcohol he consumed tonight. he was never going to let beomgyu hold a bottle of patron ever again.
with a soft groan, he rested his head against the glass while staring at the view outside with heavy eyelids. it was odd how many people were out in the streets when it was already so late at night, but he wasn't one to judge considering how he spent his.
an ambulance passed by the car. a firetruck. then, another ambulance.
heeseung brushed off the shrill whirring sound they made, but the driver was quicker to pick up on what happened.
"did you feel it, sir?" the older man asked, shooting him a look through the rearview mirror as he weaved through the road easily.
"feel what?" heeseung replied, sitting up straighter.
"i think there was an earthquake. must be why traffic's so light. you never really feel it inside a moving metal can, can 'ya?" the driver joked then laughed softly.
unease settled in heeseung's chest. the new information sobered him up quickly, allowing him to scan the city outside with a clearer vision, clearer mind. people were huddling together.
a few were still in their work-attire, eyes glued to their phones. an elderly person getting tended to by the medic. a young couple who held each other with tears in their eyes.
his phone vibrated and he was quick to snatch it from his lap, dread stealing his breath as he read the three words.
from: one and only ⥠â i love you.
he stared at the message with tears welling in his eyes.
where are you? are you with your friends? are there aftershocks? are you inside? are you safe? god, he could only pray you are.
he gripped on his phone, voice shaky as he begged the driver. "sirâcan we go to a different address? it's an emergency. i'llâi⌠i'll pay extra! aâanything! justâplease."
the driver, clearly surprised, just nodded as heeseung stammered out your building's location which he knew by heart. the man's eyes flew back to the rearview mirror every now and then, feet pressing on the gas in sympathy for the boy who couldn't seem to sit still.
you weren't answering his calls nor his texts. he hit up your other friends but most of them were either asleep, ignored him, or had no clue where you were. but he was going to chance waiting for you in front of your apartment anyway.
the taxi came to a stop a few blocks away from your apartment. "this is as far as i can goâit looks like emergency services blocked the way in." the driver whispered in apology. heeseung only nodded and fished out a generous bill, whispering a quiet 'thank you' as he quickly exited the car.
his body moved on autopilot as he weaved through the familiar path to your building. his sneakers sounded percussive with each stomp his running feet made against the asphalt. he bumped into a few strangers but he couldn't be asked to look back or apologize. time was of the essence. each second was precious and he couldn't risk coming late. not when the consequence meantâno. he couldn't bear thinking of it.
you're so fucking unfair. even with your final message, you made sure you'd be able to come out on top of it winning. to be the good one. to be the one who came back. the one who forgave. the one that loved the other more.
but him⌠the last words he had for youâwhat were they?
he doesn't even remember. the adrenaline rush and the hurt that ensued after it blurred whatever memory he had of that night. he could only hope it wasn't something too harsh.
if his greatest fear did happen, he wouldn't be able to live with himself knowing that that fight was your last memory you had of him. of him screaming that he regrets being in love with you. of him concluding the beautiful thing you had with a slammed door.
"i love you. i love you too. pleaseâfuck!" heeseung screamed. his lungs burned with each desperate inhale. the soles of his feet were pounding with hurt. salty tears naturally got swept away from his face by the wind as he ran with all his might.
the sound of sirens grew louder as his tired feet came to a stop. his calls for your name got drowned out by the cacophony of voices speaking all at once and the distorted, crackling sound of a personnel speaking through a megaphone rose above it all.
"ânot panic. please calmly evacuate to the open parking lot across the building. medics will tend to those who need it shortly."
"Y/N! excuse me! have you seen the tenant from 418-A? ma'am, have you seen the tenant from 418-A? this girl?" he asked repeatedly, even fishing his phone out to show them a picture of you. the people either brushed him off and walked past him in search for their own safety. his eyes skimmed over the different faces, fear seeping deeper into his bones the longer it took to find you.
he stood on the tips of his toes with eyes squinted to fight against the blinking headlights of the parked cars. "Y/N! Y/N!" he shouted helplessly, his hair messily falling over his forehead after running his finger through it for the millionth time.
just then, he saw the security guard of your building. an old man in his mid-50s who's grown fond of the both of you. heeseung, more than you, if he could admit, especially after seeing him come over so often, once even carrying you like a sack of rice over one shoulder after you blacked out at jake's party.
"mr. wooâ"
the guard's eyes widened. "heeseung-ah, you're hereâŚ"
he wasn't expecting to see heeseung tonight. especially not after he stormed away months ago and never reappeared with you again. though if the worried expression and the anxious twitching of his fingers were anything to go by, the old man already knew why he was here.
mr. woo pointed to the children's park nearby, patting his shoulder. "don't worry, son. she was the first tenant i looked for after the shaking stopped."
the relief he felt might have been able to bring him to his knees if only heeseung wasn't so determined to be reunited with you. he whispered a breathless 'thank you' before running to the direction the older man pointed at, weaving his way through the small crowd shoulder first.
there, he found you.
sitting on a rusty swing set. alone.
you were in mismatching pajamas, hair getting swept by the wind, clearly showing the quiet distress in your red-rimmed eyes. you looked even smaller and more frail now, shaking like a leaf as you clutched on your phone. nothing like the confident, reassured woman he'd grown to love.
your empty gaze was directed out in the distance, police lights bouncing pale hues of blue and red against your complexion. you looked beautiful, even with the awful situation you've been put into.
as if sensing his presence, your eyes turned to his direction.
heeseung met your eyes and he swore the world stopped moving. no sirens, no crying children, no brassy megaphone announcements. just your tearful eyes and the unstable whisper of his name.
heeseung was on you in an instant, one arm around your waist and the other guiding your head to the crook of his neck. "heeseungâhâheeâŚ" you whispered in disbelief, eyes fluttering shut as you hugged him back and melted in the warmth of the embrace.
the rush of adrenaline from running had started wearing off, and the familiarity of your scent clouded heeseung's mind before he could remember the promise he made to himself not to break down if he ever saw you again.
"Y/N. you're here, you're safeâi kept looking for you. god, you scared me so much." the words tumbled out of his mouth, only muffled by the lips half-pressed to your temple as he shakily held you to himself while crying.
there was no pride anymore. no ego nor arrogance.
shock, fear, and longingâall of the emotions you set aside for the sake of survival came crashing down all at once. your own tears turned his sleeves damp while you spoke through your sobs. "hâheeseung. i was so scared. i was so fucking scared. it was so noisy and everything was breaking and shaking, and i thought i was going toâ"
heeseung hushed you, his large palm rubbing soothing lines across your back all while tears of his own ran down at the horrible thought. "shhh, no no. don't think of that, baby. you're safeâi'm here. i'm here now, right? you're okay. you'll be safe here in my arms."
the night was much more calm now that the people left. one by one, the ambulances and firetrucks left, their sirens fading out along with the noise of the people who previously crowded the park. you overheard some choosing to settled in airbnbs, but most just opted to spend the night in a hotel.
you stayed behind, mind too muddled to even worry about what next steps you should be taking. you just watched them leave, and heeseung sat beside you on the sidewalk with a pinky finger linked to yours like a quiet promise of staying.
"the earthquake wasn't too strongâit wasn't even felt from the next city over. it barely reached a 3 point magnitude. thankfully didn't cause any casualties. at least that's what the articles said." heeseung whispered from beside you.
"oh, is the signal already back?" your words got cut off by the incessant ringing on your phone. multiple texts and notifcations flooded it back to back: a few of your friends checking up on you, a few missed calls from your family, a few from the man whose jacket was draped over your shoulders.
to: heeseung lee. â i love you.
from: heeseung lee. â Y/N? what is this?
from: heeseung lee. â is this because of the earthquake?
from: heeseung lee. â you're scaring me. please tell me you're okay.
from: heeseung lee. â [ you missed a call from the sender. ]
from: heeseung lee. â love. please answer the phone.
from: heeseung lee. â [ you missed 3 calls from the sender. ]
from: heeseung lee. â i love you too. i love you more.
from: heeseung lee. â i never stopped. you have to be there to tell me this again in person okay?
from: heeseung lee. â i love you, princess.
for the first time, a smile cracked on your lips, albeit a weak one.
"what're you smiling about?" heeseung asked from beside you, craning his head.
you tilted your screen towards him, nudging his shoulders jokingly. "talk about clingy."
heeseung blushed, but he didn't really feel shame in what he did. "you weren't replying. i was losing my mind in the taxi, you know."
"i'm sorry for texting you out of nowhere, hee." you said after a while, staring at the pebbles under your feet. "i was convinced i was going to die andâŚ"
"and?"
"and you were the first person i thought of." you finally admitted, biting down on your lip. "i guess i didn't want to leave some things unsaid. is that selfish of me?"
heeseung just smiled, shaking his head. "nah, i don't think so."
silence enveloped the both of you again. the air suddenly turned heavy, as if it was telling you no jokes or casual conversation could gloss over the fact that the two of you still found yourselves sitting side by side despite the fact that you both wordlessly agreed not to cross paths anymore after that night.
"you don't have to apologize, you know."
"hm?"
"about texting me, i mean. because you were the first thing i thought of, too." heeseung sucked in a deep breath before continuing. "the driver said there was an earthquake, then i got the message, and i damn near lost my mind in that taxi because⌠all i could think of was you. because you hate noise, you hate unexpected things, because you freeze during times of emergencies. fuckâi was so worried about you, Y/N. did you know i was crying while i ran here?"
"like how you're crying now?" you pointed out.
heeseung paused, feeling his cheeks and grimaced when he felt the dampness of his tears sticking to the back of his hand. he wasn't even aware he'd been crying. again.
you tilted heeseung's face towards you and gently wiped them away with sorrowful smile. "i think the only thing i'm good at is making you cry. i'm sorry."
"why do you keep apologizing?" he laid a hand over yours to keep it on his cheeks with eyebrows furrowed, frustrated at the unrecognizable amount of guilt in your approach.
you smiled softly as you swipe your thumb back and forth against his cheekbones. "because i'm ashamed that it took a threat to my life to admit that i loved youâthat i still love you. i was a coward who couldn't bring themselves to admit that when we were fighting because i thought it'd make me look weak and desperateânot even an hour, or a day, or a month after our breakup. and i feel like an asshole for doing this thing to you. you know... making you run all the way here, worrying about me and all."
heeseung removed your hand from his face and opted to hold it instead, long bony fingers intertwining with your own. he scooted closer to you and you rested your head on his shoulder. "i'd have done that whether you texted me or not."
you closed your eyes, tension growing in your jaw as your fingers dug into the back of his palm. "i know⌠butâ"
"i meant what i said in those texts, Y/N." heeseung laid a hand over your interlocked hands, gently squeezing yours in between them. "every single part of them. i love youâa whole lot. i don't think i ever stopped. everyday since our break up, i gaslit myself into thinking i could survive without youâŚ" he paused, then let out a soft sigh. "but considering how scared i was when i heard the news, i don't think i can. nor would i ever want to."
"i love you too, hee." you mumbled, smiling when you felt his lips press on the crown of your head. "you know⌠that night, i told you that there's a lot of things bigger than us. but whatever ambition, whatever stupid test i was studying for seemed so insignificant then. because when the ground started shaking⌠all i wanted under that dingy dining table was to be held by you."
and held you, he did. heeseung pulled you on top of him and wrapped his arms snug around you like he was afraid you'd disappear if he didn't hold on to you tight enough. your confession, the honest vulnerability behind them, gave him the courage to press his lips on yours.
the kiss drove home everything he needed you to know. a promise and an apology in the form of chapped lips meeting your own. his hands cupped your nape, an arm still securely wrapped around waist as heeseung poured everything out into the kiss.
it was passionate, full of eagerness, and bittersweet like the fear of almost losing you permanently mixed with the relief he felt because it was the same thing that brought you back into his arms. it seeped into the way he moved your lips against yours, languid and deep.
heeseung kept you close even as you pulled away for air. his hand carefully pressed on the small of your back, the other settling to warm your cheek as he pressed a final kiss on the corner of your mouth.
the world could end tomorrow for all you know. but in this specific time, and in this specific moment, the ground felt firm under your feet.
especially because heeseung was finally here to anchor you and keep your trembling figure steady.
YAN'S NOTESââ¤âending is a bit shite and rushed, but i had to post it now or else it might never see the light of day again. kinda got the rush to write this back when me and my friends were on a trip and a mild earthquake happened, but never got to the ending until today lmao. also, i miss my bambhee a lot, so.
INCLUDES ! â non idol!bf mark x fem!reader, just straight fluff because i miss mark and i see him on sunday, lmk if i've missed anything else
AUTHORS NOTE ! â my friend helped me with writing this one, she doesn't have tumblr though so heartbreak, not proofread!
the sun was beginning its descent behind the sleek modern architecture of the Starfield Library in Seoul, casting long golden rays through the massive glass windows. Inside, rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched like endless towers of knowledge, the quiet hum of soft footsteps echoing in the air. It was a typical late afternoon, but for mark and y/n, this moment felt anything but ordinary.
mark was lounging in one of the cozy chairs near the top floorâs balcony. His legs were crossed, a book propped up in one hand, but his attention was on y/n. his eyes were drawn to y/n, who was skimming through a shelf of romance books on the shelf in front of him
she didnât know he was watching her. she rarely did, and that was just one of the many things he loved about her. y/n had this quiet, unassuming way of being like she was always in her own world, focused, intent on whatever she was doing, but completely present in the moment.
y/n had this gentle grace when she moved, and as she reached up to pull a thick book off the shelf, mark couldnât help but smile and chuckle softly to himself. y/n's hair was tied up in a messy bun, with a few strands escaping to frame her face. she looked effortlessly beautiful, she always did.
it's been three years since they'd met, since they'd walked into this very library for the first time, two nervous 21-year-olds both obsessed with books, one obsessed with manga or anything spider-man related and the other with romance. it was there, amid the stacks of poetry, that they'd found each other.
he first noticed her when she bumped into him in the crime section, her book flying out of her hands and landing right at his feet. she apologised over and over, a deep pink blush colouring her cheeks. they laughed it off, and after a while, their shared love of books drew them back to the library every week. they studied together, talked about dreams, books, and everything in between. eventually, that awkward friendship blossomed into something more.
y/n glanced up from her book and caught his gaze. her face lit up instantly, that warm smile spreading across her lips, making his heart stutter in his chest.
she made her way over to him, the sound of her soft footsteps making him feel like he was living in a dream.
âare you going to keep reading that book, or should we go grab a drink?â she asked, her voice as soft and soothing.
mark slowly set the book down with a soft grin. âiâd rather have you in my arms.â he said and gently pulled her closer to him.
y/n rolled her eyes playfully, but mark could see the blush creeping up her neck. she always did that, pretending to be embarrassed by his cheesy lines, but he knew better than anyone that she liked it. he had a way of making her heart flutter, just like she did to him.
âi should have known you'd say something like that,â she teased, sitting down next to him on the plush chair. her scent, a mixture of rose and strawberry, wrapped around him like a warm hug. he promised to breathe her in forever.
mark leans closer to her and places his hand on her thigh, his thumb gently stroking the fabric of her jeans. he smiles up at her and places a soft kiss on her neck.
they sat there for a moment, simply enjoying the quiet and each otherâs presence. it wasnât often they had moments like this just the two of them, surrounded by books, a world of possibilities and quiet joy.
âso, whatâs next for us?â mark asked softly, his voice almost a whisper as he glanced at the horizon through the window, his hand never leaving her thigh. the sky was streaked with pink and orange as the sun set, and for a moment, the entire world felt still.
y/n's smile softened, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. âwhat do you mean, markie?â
he turned to look at her, his hand instinctively brushing her hair back. âi mean⌠weâre 25 now. weâre no longer in school anymore. what do we do now? whatâs our next chapter?â
y/n smiled, her eyes closing as she savoured the quiet moment. âi think weâre already writing it. this is our next chapter.â
her words brought a contented sigh from him. of course, they were already living it. their life, right here, right now, together, was perfect. they didnât need to have all the answers right now. all that mattered was that they had each other.
âdo you ever think about the future?â he asked, his voice quieter now, as if he was revealing a hidden vulnerability.
âmost of the time,â y/n said, her voice steady and reassuring. âbut i think... i think the future will always be uncertain. the important part is that weâre in it together. iâm happy with you, mark. wherever we go, whatever we do... as long as youâre by my side.â
he reached over to take her hand in his, his fingers threading through hers. there was a sense of peace in that touch, a promise that no matter where life took them, they would always be together.
âiâm happy with you too, babyâ he whispered. âMore than Iâve ever been with anything or anyone else in my life.â
y/n smiled softly, her eyes shining with the kind of love that made mark feel like the luckiest man alive.
the library around them continued to hum with soft conversations and the rustling of pages, but to them, the world seemed to stop. there was no rush, no pressing need to be anywhere else. they were in this moment, wrapped up in the quiet, safe in their love.
âso, baby,â mark said after a moment, letting her hand go and squeezing her thigh lightly. âhow about that drink, hmm?â
âhmm,â y/n hummed, looking up at him with a mischievous gleam in her eye. âonly if you promise not to say any more cheesy things for the rest of the day.â
he laughed softly. âi canât make that promise, but i can promise to make you laugh.â
her eyes twinkled as she leaned in and kissed him gently making him smile against her lips. âdeal.â
together, they stood, hands still intertwined, and made their way toward the elevator, leaving the serenity of the library behind them for a while. but as they stepped into the bustling streets of Seoul, surrounded by the noise and energy of the city, they both knew they had everything they needed.
they had each other, and that was more than enough.
the warmth of the coffee shop was a welcoming relief from the cold winter outside. mark and y/n settled into a corner booth, their mugs of coffee steaming between them. y/n curled her hands around her cup, her fingers gently tracing the edge as she gazed at mark, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips.
âdo you ever think about the past?â she asked, her voice contemplative.
mark raises an eyebrow. âthe past?â
âyeah,â she says, her eyes softening. âlike⌠when we first met. back in the library.â
mark leans back in his chair, taking a long sip from his mug. the memory felt like it belonged to another lifetime. âi think about it all the time. how nervous i was to even talk to you. how much i wanted to ask you out but didnât have the courage to do so.â
y/n laughs softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. âi was so nervous too. i thought you were way out of my league.â
âout of your league? me?â mark babbles surprised. âi was a mess. you have this way of making everything seem so effortless.â
they both fell into a quiet moment, reminiscing about the small, awkward beginnings of their relationship. from that first, fumbled encounter in the library to the late-night study sessions, their connection had grown with each passing day. what had started as friendship had blossomed into something deeper, something unspoken but undeniably strong.
âi think weâve come a long way since thenâ y/n says softly, her voice full of affection for the man in front of her.
âyeah,â mark hums, his eyes locking with hers. âand i canât wait for whatâs to come.â
mark reaches across the table, placing his hand in hers. âweâll write it together. just like weâve been doing all along. the story of y/n and markâ
and in that moment, as they sat together in the coffee shop, mark knew that no matter where their lives led them, they would always have each other. their love, like the books in the library, would continue to fill the pages of their story, one chapter at a time.
a/n- hi, my loves! Itâs been a while, but mama is back. This is just something short, but I promise I have a full length fic coming soon, maybe more if yâall want another toxic ficâplz lmk! Hope you enjoy, love you all <3
The music in the apartment was loud enough that you could feel it in your ribs before you could really hear it. Someone had the bass turned up way too high, the floor vibrating under your shoes while people packed into every corner of the place. You hadn't even wanted to come, but your friend insisted it would be "fun" and now you were wedged between strangers laughing too loudly over a kitchen island, but when you looked up there he was.
Jaemin
Leaning back against the wall like he'd been standing there the whole time. One arm resting casually behind him, black jacket pushed up his forearms, dark hair falling messily across his forehead like he'd been running his hand through it all night. He looked almost exactly the same.
Except the moment his eyes landed on you, everything changed.
For a few seconds, neither of you moved. You just stared at each other from across the room, the distance filled with strangers who had no idea they were standing in the middle of something that had exploded months ago.
You hadn't seen him since the fight, not once, not by accident, not in passing, nothing. It had ended badlyâworse than badly, honestly. The kind of argument where by the end of it, both of you were too angry and too hurt to even look at each other.
And now he was here.
Your fingers tightened around the plastic cup in your hand.
Jaemin didn't look away, his eyes stayed locked on yours, like he was trying to figure out if you were really there or if you were just another face in the crowd.
God, that expression used to drive you insane.
Nope⌠absolutely not.
You turned away immediately, setting your drink down harder than necessary and pushing through the crowd before your brain could talk you out of it. Someone called your name, but you didn't answer. The only thing on your mind was getting out of there before he decided to walk over and start something.
The hallway outside the apartment felt almost eerily quiet compared to the noise inside. For a second you just stood there breathing, trying to calm the weird mix of irritation and nerves under your skin.
You pressed the elevator buttonâŚonce, twice.
"Come on..." You muttered under your breath.
A few seconds later, the elevator dinged softly and the doors slid open. You stepped inside, already digging your phone out of your pocket.
And then a hand slammed against the door.
The elevator beeped and reopened. You didn't even have to look up to know who it was.
He stepped inside, the space suddenly felt way smaller than it actually was. Neither of you spoke as the doors slid shut behind him.
You kept your eyes on the glowing numbers above the door, arms crossed tightly across your chest like that might somehow create a barrier between the two of you. But even without looking, you could feel him there, standing just a couple feet away. His presence was frustratingly familiar, the faint scent of his cologne, the quiet sound of his breathing.
God, this was awkward.
The elevator hummed as it started to descend.
Then he let out a quiet, humorless chuckle.
"Wow." He said, his voice filled with dry sarcasm. "Of all the places I expected to run into you tonight."
You rolled your eyes, still staring straight ahead. "Trust me, this wasn't exactly on my to-do list."
Silence again, you could practically feel him looking at you now.
Then the elevator jolted, hard. The lights flickered, the movement stopped abruptly, and the entire thing went still with a low mechanical noise.
"Fucking hell." You cursed, hitting the emergency button a little harder than necessary, explaining what happenedÂ
A voice came through the speaker. âWeâll try to get this repaired as fast as possible, most likely in 15-20 minutes.â
Great, just great.
Jaemin let out a short laugh that sounded more irritated than amused. "You can't make this up."
You leaned your head back against the wall and closed your eyes for a second, trying to ignore the fact that the last person on earth you wanted to be trapped in a metal box with was currently standing three feet away from you.
He shifted beside you, clearly just as annoyed, a minute passed⌠then another. And finally he spoke.Â
"You know." He said slowly. "It's kind of funny."
You opened one eye. "What?"
"That the first time we see each other after months..." He gestured vaguely at the elevator walls. "We end up stuck in here together."
You scoffed. "Yeah, hilarious."
Another pause, but then his tone changed slightly. "...You left pretty fast back there."
You frowned and turned your head toward him. "Excuse me?"
He let out a small chuckle. "You saw me and immediately bolted."
"I didn't bolt."
He shrugged. "You practically sprinted."
"I walked out."
Jaemin raised an eyebrow. "Right. Very calm and casual."
Your irritation flared up, heâs so annoying. "Maybe I didn't feel like dealing with you tonight."
"Oh, dealing with me?" He repeated, incredulous. "That's rich."
Your eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He pushed himself off the wall, standing a little straighter now.
"It means you don't get to act like I'm the problem after the way things ended."
You shook your head. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're avoiding the point."
"Oh, I'm avoiding the point?" You shot back. "Last time I checked, you were the one yelling at me like I ruined your life."
"Because you hurt me." He said immediately.
The words came out faster than he probably meant them to. You blinked, caught off guard for half a second before the defensive wall slammed right back into place.
You scoffed. "Like you didn't do the exact same thing to me."
He stared at you, something tense flickering across his face. "Maybe because you never actually admitted you were wrong."
"Oh my god." You muttered, shaking your head. "You're still doing it."
"Doing what?" He questioned.Â
"Acting like you're the victim in all of this."
Jaemin scoffed under his breath. "You know what? Forget it."
But he didn't step away. If anything, he moved a little closer. The small elevator suddenly felt even smaller.
"You always do this." He said, quieter now, but still tense. "You say something that gets under my skin, then you act like I'm crazy for reacting."
"And you always think you're right." You shot back. "God, that drove me insane."
"Yeah?" He said, tilting his head slightly. "Funny. You didn't seem to mind it when we were together. You remember that, right?" He continued, his voice dropping slightly. "We actually liked each other once."
You glared at him. "Don't start."
"I'm just saying." He shrugged.
"You're being annoying."
"You're being defensive."
You shoved his shoulder. "Maybe because you won't stop talking."
His hand caught your wrist before you could pull back. The sudden contact made both of you freeze, but neither of you moved.
His fingers were warm around your wrist, his grip firm, but not tight. His eyes dropped briefly to where he was holding you before lifting back to your face.
The anger between you didn't disappear, but you could tell something else slipped into the space alongside it.
"You still do that." He muttered.
You frowned slightly. "Do what?"
"Get mad when you don't know what to say."
You looked into his eyes. "I know exactly what to say."
"Yeah?" He said quietly. âSo say it.âÂ
Your heart was pounding now, and you hated how aware you suddenly were of how close he was. His thumb brushed slightly against your wrist without him seeming to notice.
"You're still stubborn." He said.
"You're still irritating."
A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. "There it is."
You narrowed your eyes. "What?"
"That look you get when you're about to argue with me for another twenty minutes, or... something else."
You tried to pull your wrist back, but his grip tightened just slightly.
"Jaeâ"
"Be honest." He interrupted quietly. "You really didn't feel anything when you saw me tonight?"
You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. His eyes softened for half a second before he huffed out a quiet laugh.
"Yeah." He murmured. "That's what I thought."
Your heart was beating way too fast now.
"You're so full of yourself." You muttered, but it came out weaker than you intended.
He stepped closer, now there was barely any space between you.
"You're the one who ran." He said softly.
"I didn't run."
He smiled. "You ran."
"I walked away."
He shrugged. "Same thing."
"God, you're annoying." You said, rolling your eyes.Â
"And you're still here arguing with me."
You stared at him, and he stared right back.
Your faces were inches apart now. "You gonna push me away again?" He murmured.
Your fingers curled into the front of his jacket before you could think about it, and then you pulled him down and kissed him, your frustration crashing. His hands immediately found your waist, pulling you closer like he'd been waiting for it, and you kissed him just as fiercely.Â
When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing harder. He rested his forehead lightly against yours, letting out a quiet laugh under his breath.
"...Yeah." He muttered.
Your voice cracked slightly. "What?"
He let out an airy laugh. "We're bad at breaking up."
And despite everything, you couldn't help the small breathless laugh that slipped out of you.
He pulled you back into a rough, desperate kiss as he slammed your back against the elevator wall. The metal was cold against your shoulders but you barely noticed, too caught up in the heat of him. He bit at your bottom lip, making you gasp.Â
"You taste the same." He mumbled against your mouth, pressing his hips into yours.
You bucked against him. "You feel the same." You said breathlessly, pushing him back a little to take off his shirt, but he stopped you.Â
âBaby, weâre still in public.âÂ
You let out a quick sigh. âWhenâd you get so boring?â
He chuckled as he stepped closer to you again, lips brushing yours. His fingers dug into your hips as he found the zipper of your jeans, unzipping them roughly and shoving his hand inside.Â
âYouâre wet already." He said, placing a kiss on your neck.Â
You moaned into his mouth, head falling back as his fingers stroked you roughly. "You like that?"
"Fuck yeah..." He breathed against your neck, licking and biting at the skin there. "I missed this."
You gripped his hair, pulling his head back to look at him. "Don't make me regret it..." You warned, even as you thrust into his hand desperately.
He chuckled. "Or what?" He muttered, curling his fingers around your neck, pulling you closer. "Not gonna stop me..."
"Try me..." You said, voice clipped from his grip, but he just grinned, slowly unbuckling his belt with slowness.Â
Your eyes followed his every movement as he unzipped himself, pulling out his dick, stroking it slowly.
 You undid your jeans fully, shoving them down along with your underwear. You turned around, bracing your hands on the wall.
"Fucking hell..." He groaned again, coming up behind you. He rubbed himself against you, making you shudder. "Look at you all ready for me, been so long."
"Missed me?" You teased breathlessly. He grunted in response, grabbing your hips and pulling them back against him.
"Gonna remind you what I do to that pretty pussy of yours..." He grunted. "Not gonna be gentle either..." You wanted that so bad. Wanting him inside you and ruining you all over again.
"Please..." You whimpered shamelessly. "I need it... need you..."
He chuckled. "Beg for it then."Â
You bit your lip, words tumbling out of you in a rush. "Fuck me Jaemin... please fuck me. Want to feel you inside me, please."
"Listen to you, so desperate for me." He pressed against your entrance and you pushed back against him, trying to take him in, then he pushed forward roughly.Â
"Oh fuck." You cried out.Â
He was big and it hurt so good, stretching you in that intoxicating way he always did. He started moving immediately, hips snapping into yours without restraint.
"You like that?" He groaned. "Like taking me like this?"
"Fuck yeah." You moaned brokenly. "Harder, please."
He complied immediately, pounding into you with force. The elevator shook with each harsh thrust, both of you moaning and cursing. His hips made slapping noises against your ass as he took what he wanted from you.
âFuck, baby. Iâm gonnaââ He groaned loudly, speeding up his thrusts as his release approached. You felt yourself tightening around him, own climax just out of reach.
"Cum for me baby, cum on me." He mumbled.
Those filthy words pushed you over the edge, crying out as your orgasm crashed over you.Â
You clenched around him, milking him for everything he had. He came with a guttural whimper a moment later, spilling inside you.
He collapsed against your back, both of you breathing harshly. "Holy fuck..." He panted after a moment. You just laughed breathlessly in response.
Suddenly, the elevator started to move again. You pulled apart reluctantly, fixing your clothes quickly before the elevator dinged and opened.
"Are you coming home?" You said with a smirk as you stepped out into the night.
"I think I will." He replied with a smile.Â
And with that, you walked off into the night together, ready for anything that came next.
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You've never had a positive male figure in your life, so when Mark Lee shows up with his unexpected silliness, curiosity and care, you're suspicious that it's all an act and it's just a matter of time he'll finally show his true colours.
Until he shows you that he is genuinely a good guy.
âł Characters:Â neighbour!Mark x female reader/you
âł Genre:Â romance, comedy, opposites attract, sunshine x sunshine protector, badass female lead x loser boy energy, manhater fl x best boy ml
âł Words:Â 10.3k
âł Warning:Â mentions of food, drinks, misogyny, men being jerks, lack of positive male figures in reader's life including a demanding and unsupportive father
âł A/N: Dedicated to @dat-town with all my love â¤ď¸ Because you're the Johnny to my Mark haha #4yearagegapmeansnothingtous
Also, I recommend you listen to 'Little Miss' by GIRLSET for the vibes!
The only reason you said yes to this blind date was because your mother specifically warned you not to intimidate the guy she would want to set you up with.
Which meant that you had successfully intimated some guys before, enough that she would hear back from the indignant mothers of the other douchebags you had been set up with. Also, if being honest and being yourself meant that guys were scared of you, then so be it. You needed no oneâs approval to live your life the way you wanted, much less a manâs.
Itâs not that you hated all men. You knew there were nice ones out there. Like your primary school headteacher, your next door neighbour when you had been living in a flatshare during university, the elderly men selling your favourite mandu, the owner of your favourite second-hand bookshop and so onâŚ
However, all the men in your life were just disappointments. Your grandfather had never cared about you, not even before he had become a little too reliant on alcohol (your other grandfather had passed away when you had been little, so you couldnât fault him). One of your uncles was someone who would never admit that they were wrong even when they were and completely controlled your aunt whereas the other one wouldnât lift a finger to help out at home and as soon as he got home, he turned on the TV and stayed there until he fell asleep on the couch, so your aunt had to bring him food and drinks.
Letâs not talk about the worst of all: your father. The sad thing is that you used to idolise him. He was smart, hard-working, and seemed to know everything you were curious about as a child. For this reason, he had seemed so perfect, and you had wanted to be just like him. So you had followed his every word, his every command, and soon enough, you had lost yourself.
You had realised that you werenât happy doing the things that he wanted, not like they were ever enough. It was like a zero sum game: you could never win no matter how much you tried. Even if you did just what he wanted - you chose the university he wanted, the major he wanted, the career he wanted -, he wasnât satisfied. There was always something he could nitpick, and worst of all, you had started noticing how he had always put women down. He thought of his female engineer colleagues as less than him, always complained about your motherâs hobbies because he didnât deem them sophisticated enough, and he said that business in any way was not for women.
So you had disappointed him majorly when you had left engineering behind and moved abroad to study financial management at a university that you had chosen for yourself in a country that you had chosen for yourself. Guess what? You had graduated with a first-class honours degree.
On the other hand, the most important thing was that you had found yourself in the process. Your university had offered free counselling and you had taken advantage of it, working through your past of people-pleasing, inability to say no, inability to set boundaries and holding yourself back from being yourself. Being in a foreign country on your own was challenging enough, but it was also deliberating. Away from home, you realised even more how surface-level your fatherâs care was, and that was the final nail in the coffin.
When you had moved back to Korea, you had also started looking for a new place because you wanted to move out of your parentsâ house to start living on your own as soon as possible. You had enough money because you had worked a couple of years as an engineer and worked throughout your second degree, so you didnât need to ask your parents for money. Of course, your father had disapproved of it, but you couldnât care less. You had become a different person, a stronger, bolder, more confident person, and he wanted nothing of it.
Fine, it was his loss anyway. He could go back to idolising your sister no matter how much she fucked up because her? She was perfect. Even without straight As or a flawless track record of classroom behaviour, she had always been his favourite. That you couldnât really compete with, and you hated how much you had let it affect you growing up; chasing a mirage in the desert, an illusion that had nothing to do with reality.
As for your mother, she tried in her own way to stay in touch with you including setting up blind dates for you. You were practically a spinster in their eyes, and she thought that she was doing something good by playing the matchmaker, but in all honesty, her efforts were futile because all the guys you had met so far were complete idiots. Cheating, lying, manipulating, two-faced jerks.
This time too, the date was a disaster. The food at the restaurant was at least good and more easily digestible than the nonsense the guy was spewing. Frankly, he resembled your father so much that you felt like trampling on his ego with your high heels. Did he really think that by criticizing your choice of profession, you would fall at his feet, pleading with him to marry you, so that you could be a housewife instead of working in finance?
âLook⌠As they say, time is money, and I feel like Iâm nearing bankruptcy listening to your nonsense, so I suggest we both go our own ways instead of wasting our time here. You wonât change my mind about my career, you wonât change my mind about a womanâs place in the household, and you definitely wonât change my mind about you being a jerk, soâŚâ
You shrugged at the end of your monologue, your smile so mellifluous that someone without context might think that you were actually harbouring feelings for this prick who was not only shocked but also annoyed upon hearing your words.
Ding-dong. Thatâs when they all show their true coloursâŚ
âYou listen to me, you little-â
âBlablabla, I canât hear you, and you canât tell me anything I havenât heard before, so let me just remove myself from this extremely uncomfortable and unsupportive atmosphere,â you announced as you stood up from the table and pushed your chair back.
You gave him one last death stare before turning on your heel and leaving the restaurant, his not-so-pleasant words thrown at you not reaching you anymore.
Needless to say, you werenât really in a good mood after such a disastrous date. So the last thing you wanted was to run into your neighbour when you got home, but as you were fumbling with your keys in front of your door, the door of the flat opposite of yours flew open and a chatty male voice called out:
âHey, yo! I finally ran into you.â
Hey, yo? What on Earth?
You cautiously turned around, your keys in your hands, ready to be faced with a typical fuckboy who felt like he could talk to women like one of his dudes, but instead, a boy who literally looked like a boy-next-door kind of guy looked back at you.
He wasnât super tall, he wasnât super muscular either, but he had these big doe eyes and boyish features that made it difficult to guess whether he was 16 or 26. Though judging by the fact that the landlord said that one single guy lived on this floor, he should have been over 18 to live alone.
âHi!â You greeted him back, your voice neutral at best, but the guy either didnât catch onto it or he was this merry-go-round even when faced with a girl who wasnât in a good mood.
âIâve heard that someone was moving in, but I guess we didnât manage to catch each other before,â he chatted excitedly, but you just deadpanned as you mumbled.
âApparently.â
An awkward silence filled the air which was usually the cue for the other person to whimper away, but this boy looked way too casual and friendly for his own good. Plus, he beat you to it, so instead of you excusing yourself to actually enter your flat, he introduced himself as Mark Lee.
So you had no choice but to introduce yourself too, solely out of politeness.
âUhm, so, what do you do for a living?â He asked as if you had all the time in the world when you just wanted this day to end.
On the other hand, this Mark Lee guy didnât look like he meant harm, so you unlocked your jaw and dropped your shoulders (you were usually tense and cautious around new people) before you answered.
âI work in finance.â
âWait, so youâre like a finance bro! But in a female version, of course. Is there a female version to the term? Finance lady, perhaps?â He blabbered, carefree like a puppy waggling its tail.
You had to give it to him that you had never been asked the same question when people heard what field you worked in, but men didnât usually react like this, they merely judged your choice of profession.
âI wouldnât know. Thereâs only one other female employee in the finance team.â
âWhat? Thatâs not right.â
Mark looked as if you had told him that the world would end the next day. Truth to be told, it was kind of flattering that a guy could ever react like that when it came to your job and the environment you worked in. Needless to say, the only other female employee in the finance team was your manager, the one who had hired you. She had been promoted after the previous male manager had left for a different company, so she knew exactly how hard one must work in this field to be taken seriously as a woman. You were lucky that you could confide in her though.
âWhat about you?â You asked about his side instead of pondering over his reaction, and he immediately switched back to chatty mode.
âOh well, Iâm not really good with numbers. Iâm actually a songwriter. But donât worry, I donât make a lot of noise at home. I have my equipment in the studio,â he explained in detail even if you didnât ask.
When the second momentary silence fell over you, you took it upon you to break it by announcing:
âWell, it was nice meeting you, but if you excuse me, Iâll head inside now.â
âYeah, sure. My bad,â he replied with a semi-nervous chuckle and he literally stepped back as if you were heading that way.
Instead, you turned back to your own door and let yourself in, feeling the weariness of the day taking over you as soon as you got rid of your high heels.
Ah, what a day!
It was truly astonishing how men had the audacity to make comments on a womanâs body, choice or opinion, but when women bit back, they got offended, pleaded that they were only joking or blamed women for being too emotional or uptight or perhaps being on their period.
Like that day when you went to pick up your new blanket chest from the store. Even though the order was under your name, the man at the collection point dared to ask you where your boyfriend was to help you take it home. When you proceeded to tell him that you would be fine on your own, he laughed and said that âeventually all women are broken inâ.
He even dared to smirk at you as if you were ready to fall at his feet and marry him for being so witty. Instead, you picked up the box on your own and pulled your lips into a mellifluous smile as you remarked:
âWomen are not horses, but how would a man like you with the brain capacity of a bathroom rug know that?â
Now, he didnât feel like smirking anymore, but you were already out of the store by the time his comeback would have reached you. You definitely didnât need a manâs help because though the blanket chest wasnât that big, it weighed quite a bit, but thatâs why you were exercising. Not to look good and definitely not to appeal to men, but to be able to carry everything you wanted, let that be groceries or new furniture.
Thankfully, you had a seat on the metro, so you were saved from holding the box for half an hour, but you were panting a bit by the time you reached your flat.
Obviously, Mr-eager-neighbour just had to walk out of his flat as you reached your floor.
âOh hey, Y/N! Need some help with that?â
âWhat is with you men thinking that a woman canât do this on her own?â You muttered, rolling your eyes, as you put the box on the floor in front of your door. Then, you turned towards Mark who looked back at you with his big doe eyes, ready to defend himself. Before he could do so, you continued. âIâve brought this back on my own all the way from the store, so I think I can manage for the last few metres.â
âOh wow, youâre strong!â He remarked in awe, but as soon as he saw your unamused expression, he explained himself. âI mean, youâre right. You were literally just three steps away from your door. I guess it just came naturally to me to offer help. Not because you couldnât do it on your own, but in case you were struggling but didnât want to say so yourself.â
âOh, I will tell you if I need help. Iâm not one to hold back my opinion,â you laid down your cards in case he was wondering if you were a damsel in distress.
If you genuinely needed help, you would say so without shame, without caring what others might think. You had grown a thick skin over the years, so such things didnât make you freeze on the spot anymore, leaving you with regrets as to how else you could have handled the situation.
If Mark was like the typical example of the male species you usually encountered, he would make a comment on how you were high on your horses or how you were so brazen. Maybe he would even give you a seductive smirk, saying that he liked girls who didnât hold back. Or he would even remark that you should know your place and this was no way you should speak to a man.
Instead, Mark looked so apologetic (like a puppy who did something wrong) that you felt bad for him for a millisecond before the walls around your heart recomposed.
âThatâs absolutely fine. Honestly. Like⌠just be yourself, you know?â He tried to play it cool, but his wild hand gestures didnât exactly help his awkward self. He giggled like a school girl when he realised that he had just made a fool out of himself, but then, as if lighting struck him, he snapped his fingers and asked:
âDoes it mean I can also ask you for help?â
You were about to open your mouth to say something when you realised that you werenât quite sure how to word yourself. This was not a question you had been asked. Even when you were young, your father had only asked you to help your mother (because obviously he was too mighty to help out his wife), not him. Never him. Even when he had wanted you to take after him and be an engineer, he had literally never let you see the projects he had been working on. You had never done those experiments at home together that other kids who had nothing to do with physics had done with their parents.
âI mean⌠sure,â you blurted out, slightly uncertain, but even that was enough to light up his whole face.
âCool. I might ask your opinion on some songs that Iâve been working on because I need a femaleâs perspective on it. Iâm only working with dudes, and to be honest, I donât want my lyrics to come across negatively to the most likely female listeners that will listen to it. If that makes sense.â
Markâs whole monologue was said in one-go, and though he was clumsily trying to get to his point, you actually appreciated his idea. Huh, a male songwriter who cares about what female listeners would feel about his lyrics? How unlikely. How revolutionary for the male species!
âOkay,â you bobbed your head, giving in.
âThanks. That would be awesome!â Mark hollered excitedly. At times like this, it was even harder to tell just how old he was because he looked like a kid at an amusement park. âI gotta go now though. See you soon!â
He bid his goodbye with a wave of his hands and a big smile, and all you could do was to watch him go down the stairs with the most perplexed expression ever.
Just who was this guy? And what was his deal?
Surely, he would show his flaws soon. He would make those remarks, go against your opinion, try to mansplain and make you regret that you had ever allowed him to talk to you.
Surely, it will happen soon.
Markâs personality confused the hell out of you.
You were always ready for him to drop his act, to finally act like the douchebags you had the chance to meet previously, but it never came. Instead, he just appeared more and more⌠innocent, if you will.
As it turned out, he was the same age as you, but he was still in awe at random things like the project you were working on at work. One time, he even showed you the picture he took of the sunset, claiming that you just had to see it because it was the prettiest sunset he had ever seen. He said it with such enthusiasm, it felt like he had just won the lottery.
Then, there was his kind heart. Even though you had been suspicious at first, the boy had literally never said anything offensive to you, had never even looked at you any differently no matter what you wore or how much make-up you put on (as neighbours, he frequently bumped into you in your PJs as you were taking out the trash or in smart casual clothes when you were going to work). He was rather clumsy and silly at times, stumbling over his words and going on whole monologues about his point instead of getting straight to it, and he got shy more often than not when you challenged him with a question or gave him one of your trademark death stares.
He was⌠different. For the first time in your life, you had no idea how to act around a guy because you couldnât diss him for who he was because he was a nice guy. He didnât even bat an eye when you vented to him about men. In fact, he even took your side! So very strangeâŚ
Also, he did end up asking you for help with a couple of songs. He said that he wanted face-to-face feedback if you were up for it and suggested coming over to his flat, but the alarms went off in your head immediately. You told him âabsolutely notâ and asked him to choose a neutral place instead - a coffee shop or a park, for instance.
So you ended up going to a coffee shop where one of his friends allegedly worked, and sat down at a table somewhere in the back. Right away, a tall guy appeared at your table and after a few âhey, dude, how have you beenâ questions, Mark introduced you to his friend, Johnny.
âNice to meet you, Y/N. Just so you know, youâre the first girl Mark brought here, so I have a feeling you must be special,â Johnny gave you an amused smile, but your eyes immediately averted to Markâs who wanted to hide his face behind his hands.
âDude, donât embarrass me like that,â he whimpered, and truth to be told, the sight was kind of funny.
And cute.
Good god, not cute.
Not⌠cute.
âI was just stating facts,â Johnny shrugged (though Mark couldnât see it because he was covering his face with his hands), and gave you a knowing look before he went behind the counter to get started on your drinks.
It took Mark a few seconds to pull himself together and be able to look you in the eyes. Not that you would take it the wrong way that you were the first girl he brought here. In fact, it showed you that he wasnât the womanizer type, and this wasnât the place he frequently brought girls to. Not that you were on a date or anything, but it was good to know. He could get a cookie point for it on your non-existent nice guy chart.
âSorry about that. Heâs tooâŚâ
âHonest?â
Mark let out a semi-awkward giggle before he answered.
âWell⌠yeah.â
It was evident from the way they interacted with each other that their friendship was very brotherly. Which made you curious about how they had met because Johnny did look older than him, and they apparently didnât work at the same place either.
So you decided to ask the boy about it and he let you know that he actually lived across the street when he was at uni. Johnny had already worked here back then, and they had become friends almost immediately.
âSometimes I feel like he treats me as if I was his little brother. Which is funny because neither of us have any siblings,â he shared casually before asking if you had siblings.
âI have a sister, but we donât really talk to each other when itâs not necessary. Sheâs always been the favourite child and I was not.â
âOh, shoot, Y/N. Iâm so sorry. I didnât know.â
âOf course you didnât. Iâve never mentioned it, and itâs not your fault that itâs the way I was brought up,â you pointed out, your voice measured.
Othersâ pity didnât help your situation, but you had learned how to be okay with that. It took you a long time, but by disappointing people around you, you actually became the happiest, most authentic version of yourself. Turns out not everyone loved you for who you really were when you finally spoke up, stood up for yourself and chased your own dreams, but that was on them, not you.
âStill. I didnât want to make you uncomfortable,â Mark said so apologetically that coupled with his big doe eyes, you found it difficult to contain the stoic facade you usually had on.
âItâs okay, Mark. It really is,â you reassured him, your voice more gentle than ever before.
The moment was interrupted by Johnny who showed up with the drinks, his eyebrows furrowed when he caught sight of your facial expressions.
âIâm sensing a tense atmosphere here. What happened?â Johnny asked first thing first as he started serving you the drinks.
âNothing,â you said in unison with Mark, but that just made Johnny more suspicious. He squinted his eyes as he looked between you two before turning towards you.
âLet me know if you ever need better company than Markâs.â
âDude!â Mark said in that boyish, whining voice of his, and for the first time that day, you found yourself smiling at their antics. That seemed to put Johnnyâs mind at ease because he walked up to another table instead, a smile hiding in the corner of his lips.
As you turned back to Mark, you prompted him to show you the songs that he had prepared.
âOh, right. The songs. Silly me. Thatâs what weâre here for,â he singsonged giddily before he opened his laptop and smashed his keyboard a few times a bit too enthusiastically.
You brought your own noise-cancelling headphones, so after pairing it with his device, he started playing the songs for you one by one. You listened attentively, taking a few notes in your trusty notebook, and you discussed your feedback in between songs. Mark really did appreciate your comments, and he never seemed offended by what you said. Which was a relief because you hated men who told you how you should feel.
However, at one point, you couldnât help but chuckle and slid your headphones off because you couldnât continue with the song.
âWhat is this âlong ass rideâ part?â
âAh wellâŚâ He let out an awkward little giggle, his hand scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. âIs it bad?â
He blinked back at you with those chocolate-brown eyes of his, worried as if you were about to say that it was the worst piece of songwriting you had ever encountered in your entire life. He really did look so innocent at times.
âIt was certainly⌠surprising,â you decided on the appropriate word before adding with a shrug. âBut itâs not really a love song either way, so I guess itâs fine.â
He seemed so relieved by your comment that he gifted you with the widest, happiest smile you had seen from him, and you instinctively followed. How on Earth did this guy have this effect on you?
Either way, you werenât here on a date, so your smiles didnât mean anything. Even if Mark turned out to be a nice guy, it didnât mean that you were in love with him or something. You had so many bad experiences with men around you (even without dating them) that you couldnât just fall for a guy like him.
Interestingly so, even if you were neighbours with Mark, you didnât usually bump into each other in the neighbourhood. Which was funny because you had a downstairs neighbour, Xiaojun, who lived together with his friend, Ten (and Tenâs three cats), and you always bumped into him when he was taking his dog for a walk. At least his dog (Bella) was pretty quiet, so her barking didnât disturb the peace of the apartment, but you just couldnât imagine how two guys with four pets managed to live together.
Either way, that particular Friday night, you spotted Mark sitting by himself beside the windows at the local GS25 with a steaming bowl of noodles in front of him. He seemed quite deep in thought or maybe he was in a bad mood. Either way, something in you moved at the boyâs apparent lack of spirits, and you decided to sit beside him when you were done filling up your own plastic cup with water.
âHi Mark!â You greeted the boy as you halted beside him, but he just kept staring ahead, so you cleared your throat and repeated yourself.
He snapped his head back when he heard you, and gave you an apologetic smile.
âOh hey, Y/N! Iâm so sorry. I was totally zoning out. My bad.â
âItâs okay,â you shrugged because it was no big deal, really. âDo you mind if I sit with you?â
âNot at all,â Mark replied immediately and shook his head. He even adjusted his chair, so that you could have enough space for yourself by the table even though there was already plenty to begin with.
You were never really one to comfort people, especially not men. However, Mark had been nothing but kind and supportive towards you, and you felt like fighting anyone who might have caused his smile to turn into a frown, so you couldnât help but inquire if everything was alright.
âAh yeah⌠I justâŚâ He started cautiously, scratching the back of his neck out of nervousness. He was usually bubbly and talkative, so seeing him not just nervous but sad as well did not sit right with you. âWell, a lot of my songs were rejected at todayâs meeting, and it felt⌠not so good. They just said that the songs wouldnât fit the artists they wanted them for, but no constructive feedback was given. And that wasnât so helpful, you know? Like⌠how else am I going to⌠you know⌠improve?â
He was trying to hide behind a nervous chuckle, but you could tell that his features were solemn instead of soft and he was clenching his jaw as well. He was so not fine despite wanting to appear fine in front of you.
âAnd I know itâs silly because my songs get rejected all the time because thatâs how the industry works, you know? Usually, it doesnât affect me either. But today, it just hurt,â he admitted, his voice becoming quieter and quieter by the end of his monologue.
Then, he sucked in a deep breath, and if nothing had happened, he turned his head towards you and forced a smile onto his lips.
âHow about you though? Iâm sure you have bigger problems than I do,â he tried to direct the conversation elsewhere as soon as the confession was out, but you didnât have any of it.
âMarkâŚâ You started tentatively, trying to think about your wording, so you would get the message across and he wouldnât feel even more disheartened. âItâs okay to talk about yourself. Itâs okay if something hurts you even if you usually donât take such things to heart. But itâs not okay to belittle your own problems because you think that someone else has bigger problems. Okay? You are a completely different person and you have a completely different life. Thereâs no use in comparing us to one another.â
This was something that you had to learn the hard way, and you wanted nothing more than to see everyone else adopt this mindset, too. The world would be a much better place if people didnât bring each other down but rather celebrated each otherâs success. Everyone was on such different paths, there was literally no use comparing yourself to others.
You used to compare yourself to your sister as well, wondering why she was the favourite child and why you werenât, but as years went by and you started to become more in tune with your own emotions, you realised that you were chasing a fantasy. Sisterhood should have never been about being in a race or a competition, and even if it was, being second place didnât mean that you were a bad person. It just meant that your parents created the rules differently for your sister.
Markâs shoulders visibly slumped in ease and he unclenched his jaw. His lips began to form a pout and he let out a sigh before he spoke up.
âYouâre right. Youâre absolutely right. I guess itâs just hard since Iâm surrounded by dudes all the time. They donât really like to talk about emotions,â he pointed out what you had already assumed, but you were glad that he drew that conclusion himself.
âThatâs why youâre better than them,â you blurted out without thinking twice about it, and Markâs face literally reddened hearing your words.
âOh, so you think Iâm not like other boys?â He teased you playfully, the dimples around his lips deepening. The sudden change in his behaviour put your mind at ease, but being called out didnât feel so good, so you turned back to your noodles and urged the boy to do the same before his food would get cold.
While having cheap convenience store food, you talked about everything from work to hobbies, misogyny to sustainability, childhood memories to future goals. Mark was an easy person to talk to because he had something to say about everything, but you meant it in the best way possible. He wasnât trying to mansplain anything, he was rather conversational and curious, and someone willing to share so much about his life. He never wanted to tell you what you should think even if you didnât agree with him on something, and he was such a down-to-earth person. A guy who was down-to-earth⌠now that was a big thing in your eyes.
He was also really funny and had a childlike innocence to him. He also used big hand gestures and made funny noises when reacting to things. You couldnât really put it into words, but the way he saw the world was both mature and full of that kind of curiosity that kids possessed. You had long lost that kind of curiosity in the world, in the little things in life, in the positivity hiding behind the negativity. You were usually focused on major problems like global warming and gender inequality, but he did see the good in everyday interactions and he did see the good in people. You wished that you could see the world through his eyes a bit more, too.
After talking for what felt like hours, you ended up walking home together, but before you would have opened the door to your flat, Mark called after you and thanked you for today.
âAnytime,â you responded with a smile, and you were surprised to realise that you were actually being serious.
You didnât help Mark with his lyrics to get something in return, but the boy kept telling you that he wanted to repay you, especially after doing a couple more sessions together when you helped him finetune his words.
Obviously, Johnny was there to witness the other sessions too, and you caught him staring at you two whenever he wasnât serving customers. Which could have been scary and outright creepy under different circumstances, but he was a nice guy, and he really acted like a big brother to Mark, so you had a feeling that he was just watching over you two. Plus, you generated some extra income for him and the coffee shop because the sessions did stretch for a couple of hours at times, so he really couldnât complain.
At first, the boy just kept dropping things off in front of your door - such as your favourite brand of mango juice or your favourite flavour of Pepero -, then, he kept paying for your drinks at the coffee shop. Then, he ended up asking you if he could take you somewhere, but it would be a secret, so you couldnât know beforehand where it was. When you told him that you hated surprises, he insisted that you would enjoy it.
And oh boy, was he right⌠Because the guy literally took you to the very same exhibition that you had wanted to attend the day later, the one about gender inequality globally and in Korea, dissecting topics like the underfunding regarding womenâs healthcare research, gender pay gaps in the workplace, the freedom (or the lack thereof) of womenâs clothing choices back in the day vs modern times and such. It was an exhibition put together by sociology students from two Korean universities and their partner universities in Europe, and displayed at an art gallery where mostly menâs art pieces were shown, further encouraging conversation around these issues.
âYou like it?â Mark inquired tentatively when you set foot inside the art gallery (after getting lost because he was terrible with directions), and when you looked at him, he appeared genuinely nervous, biting down on his lower lip as if he was ready for a scolding.
Which, to be fair, wasnât unwarranted coming from you, but this time, your lips curled into a smile, and your voice was free of sarcasm when you admitted:
âI love it! This is an exhibition Iâve also wanted to attend!âÂ
âOh my gosh, really?â Markâs eyes widened to twice their size before he let out a joyous giggle. âGosh, Iâm so relieved. I was scared for a second when you didnât say anything,â he confessed truthfully, his eyes twinkling with mirth. You joined in on the laughter before sharing with him that you were actually at a loss for words because you were surprised that he knew about this event in the first place.
Mark chatted your ears off about how he had come to find out about this exhibition, and what other ideas he had in mind to repay you for your help. Some were more fitting for your personality than others, and you laughed when he mentioned that it had even crossed his mind that you should have attended one of Johnnyâs barista workshops because he was sure that you wouldnât hear the end of it from the older guy if you had ended up attending it. Though Mark was more afraid of embarrassing himself in front of you (and Johnny) than you actually being there with him.
The exhibition was fascinating, but Markâs presence did make it even better because he was his usual curious self and oftentimes asked you if you felt the same way about the experiences that were shared or admitted that he didnât even know about such inequalities when it came to women. Most men you knew would never admit that they were in the wrong, but he was unashamed about it, and you loved that about him.
Wait, what?
Love?
No, nope⌠not in that way, of course. You loved that about his personality, that was a better way to put it.
After the exhibition, you headed to a coffee shop together, and as you were waiting for your drinks to arrive, you asked the question that had been on your mind for quite some time now.
âWhy donât you ask about it?â
âAbout what?â He asked back, his eyebrows furrowed in question. He looked genuinely perplexed, but you were more surprised by the fact that he hadnât yet inquired about the reason behind your hatred towards men.
âAbout why I hate men so much,â you stated (what seemed like) the obvious, and his features softened hearing your words.
âYou donât have to tell me anything that you arenât comfortable sharing. Besides, Iâm sure you have your own reasons, I know some men can be real jerks,â he shrugged as if it was common knowledge, but yet again, you were at a loss for words because how could you object? How could you go against his words?
You simply couldnât because he was yet again being understanding and empathetic, and given that you had not really encountered men who had admitted such things, you werenât sure how to react. On the other hand, you were saved by the barista who showed up with your drinks, and gave you some time to think.
You decided on telling him the reason either way. About how you had not had a positive male figure growing up; about your fatherâs obsession with getting you into engineering and his disapproval when you had chosen to do a degree in finance; about your grandfather never really caring about you even before he became an alcoholic; about your uncles being lazy and controlling and not helping out their wives at home, even when they had kids they could have taken care of. You had talked about high school classmates who had objectified women and watched porn during breaks besides the sports field, and men during your time abroad who had looked down on you simply because you were a woman studying finance.
Mark was big on reactions, and even though he was listening attentively, he couldnât hold himself back from saying things like âWhaaaat, thatâs crazyâ or âOh my god, are you being for real? Thatâs insaneâ when you had told him what you had been through. Of course, not every single male had been a complete jackass in your life, and you made sure to point that out, but the ones who should have been role models and who should have set good examples were exactly the ones that had made you feel small, uncared for and easy to control.
Mark apologised on behalf of all the men who had wronged you before, and said that he completely understood why you acted the way you did. Then, he added that he hoped that he could set a good example, and show you that not all men were bad.
âDonât worry. You arenât in that category,â you eased his nerves as you turned towards him, and he gifted you with the kind of smile that also made his dimples visible.
âIâm glad then.â
So were you.
But you were equally concerned about what your feelings might have been hinting at, and you werenât sure that you were ready to face them head-on, so you turned back to nursing your drink instead, and let the conversation steer towards a different topic.
One would think that just because you hated most men, you also hated romcoms.
However, you were actually a big fan of romantic movies, dramas and books because fictional men were way better than real ones. Fictional men couldnât cheat on you, disrespect you or disappoint you as real men could, so what could go wrong?
That Friday too, you were binge-watching a newly dropped Netflix series when you heard muffled sounds from the corridor. You usually didnât pay attention to such noises because you lived with others, so it was natural that they made some noise. Mark was usually quiet, but it was odd that he would talk to someone outside of his flat for more than a few minutes close to midnight.
So after you gave it a couple more minutes, you decided to look through your peephole to see what Mark was doing, and realise that he was actually not with someone, he was talking to himself.
The boy was swaying in front of his front door, dramatically clutching his chest while singing something about not remembering the numbers (what a weird thing to sing about), and you could already tell from his miniature version through the peephole that he was drunk.
You opened your door much to the boyâs surprise who almost stumbled over his own feet when he turned around to face you.
âOh heeey theeeeere,â he singsonged giddily and hiccuped after his words.
You rolled your eyes at his antics but to be fair, you were more afraid of him falling down the stairs than him making a bigger fool out of himself.
âWhat are you doing out here, Mark?â
He pouted like a little child, his eyes shining dreamily, and even his cheeks were tinted pink, so there was no way you would not call the sight cute even though he had very obviously underestimated his limit and you usually didnât condemn such behaviour.
âI forgot the numbers to my doorlock,â he whimpered, looking back at his front door with such a sad expression that you would have thought somebody died.
Oh, so those were the numbers he was singing aboutâŚ
You tried to ask him if it was his birthday or his parentsâ birthday or anything like that, but he said that he had tried everything that he could think of. He faintly remembered having it changed recently, but he couldnât recall as to what the new combination was.
âOh my god⌠do you think Iâm going to have to sleep on the streets? Alone? In the rain?â
His voice was so desperate (yet dramatic), you had a feeling that his tipsy self actually believed it to be true. Thatâs when you noticed that he was already wet, tiny raindrops sitting on his pitch-black hair, and the sleeves of his puffer jacket was darker than usual.
âStupid, stupid me⌠why did I change the numbers? I mean, I had to⌠for security reasons or whatever the doorlock company said, but arghâŚâ
Mark continued acting like a child, complaining about his lack of memory regarding the new combination, but when he started saying that he will just sleep on the floor in the corridor, an alarm went off in your head, and you immediately said something that you would have never thought you would say to a man:
âAre you crazy? Stay at my flat instead!â
Despite his drunken state, the guy looked as shocked as his sober self would, and his eyes widened as well. Then, he drooped his head low and mumbled something akin to:
âBut I donât want you to hate me.â
âDonât be silly! I donât hate you, and you better believe it because I wouldnât offer such a thing to someone I hate,â you stated matter-of-factly.
He still seemed pretty reluctant, but when you opened the door wider to let him inside, he tentatively walked in and immediately started taking off his shoes. Gosh, he had manners even when he was drunkâŚ
You gave him a pair of unused slippers, and beckoned him inside. He looked around as if he was Alice in Wonderland while you were busy getting him some water and some towels for his hair from the bathroom. When you went back to the living room, he was sitting on your couch, looking at a framed photo of you with your peers on your graduation day abroad.
âThere were so many guys in your class just like youâve said,â he pointed out when you put the glass of water on the table in front of him. It was pretty amusing that he remembered such a small thing that you had said to him a while aho but not his new doorlock combination.
âGroupworks were pretty gruesome. None of the guys really wanted to pull their weight.â
âAh, such a shameâŚâ Mark noted as he put the photo back on the table. âYour parents must have been so proud,â he added as he turned towards you, but when he saw the change in your expression, he hit his forehead with his right hand. So dramatic, even when tipsy!
âOh my gosh, Iâm sorry. I just remembered that your father didnât approve of your studies. Iâm so sorry, Y/N.â
âItâs alright. My mother actually said that she was proud of me when I graduated, so thereâs that,â you shared with him, and that seemed to put his mind at ease.
Instead of dissecting your graduation story, you inquired why he had been drinking so much. He said that one of his songs got an award, and he was really proud of it, but because he wasnât the artist, he wasnât invited to the ceremony, and only got to know about it at work, so he and his colleagues went out for some drinks to celebrate.
âI swear I started with apple juice!â He tried to save some face, but you just shook your head.
âSureâŚâ You replied, but there was a smile in the corner of your lips. âNow, dry your hair and drink some water!â You practically ordered him, but you didnât want him to catch a cold. Or to wake up with a throbbing headache tomorrow morning.
âYes, maâam.â
He saluted for you and you couldnât help but laugh at the sight. Gosh, he was really something.
However, Mark was quite childish when tipsy, and though he did gulp down the glass of water you had given him, he was fussy about the towels. He said that he wasnât even that wet and that he was actually more sleepy than cold, but you just rolled your eyes at him as you reached for the towel.
âAt least donât wet my couch,â you reprimanded him before starting to dry his hair yourself, but you realised at the same time as him how awfully domestic this scene was because he suddenly seemed all too sober, his foggy expression replaced by a surprised one.
However, instead of making a comment on your odd behaviour, he blurted out something that no one had ever told you before.
âIâm so sorry that men have been such jerks to you. You deserve better. Youâre such a wonderful person,â he confessed gently, and though it was rare that you were rendered speechless by a manâs actions, you were unable to form a response. What is more, you felt a squeezing sensation around your heart.
You were staring into each othersâ eyes for what felt like an eternity before his sudden hiccups ruined the mood and you decided to drop the towel on the edge of the couch. The boy picked it up himself this time and ended up drying his hair to a pretty chaotic mess but at least it wasnât wet anymore.
âThe bathroom is to the right. If you need anything, just knock on my door. Iâm a pretty light sleeper,â you told him before turning away and closing yourself in your room, your heart hammering away rapidly.
Thankfully, Mark didnât make things awkward the next day. He profoundly apologised for his behaviour and ended up gifting you a hamper box as a token of his apology two days later with all your favourite things (which, by this point, didnât surprise you because he was perceptive like that).
On the other hand, you werenât sure what to do with your feelings because surely, you should have been frustrated, angry and disappointed. You never liked people who drank too much (mostly because of your grandfather), and you definitely wouldnât let just any man sleep over at your place. However, Mark was not just any man, and somehow, his tipsy antics didnât put you off. Rather, you found it endearing. The thought itself should have disgusted you, and you were very surprised by how you were feeling, so you tried to give yourself enough time to ponder over it.
After all, Mark was the first and only guy you let close to yourself, and he went against anything you had against men in general. He had never acted like a walking red flag, had never disrespected you (or for that matter, any women), and he had seemed so genuine, you were sure that he wasnât just acting. He was curious and empathetic, and yes, he was a bit silly and childlike, but not in a bad way.Â
On the other hand, you had always been alone, and your experiences with men were rather disappointing, so you had never imagined yourself beside anyone, let alone a man. You had never liked any boy either, not as a crush, not as a boyfriend. You had been perfectly fine on your own, and even though admitting to yourself that you liked Mark was nowhere near a confession, you were kind of torn about what the next step should be. After all, just because you liked Mark didnât mean that he liked you back even though his words and actions sometimes made you think so.
Your unsaid questions were answered when you bumped into Xiaojun one day who was taking Bella on a walk while you were walking back to your flat after work.
âHey, Y/N!â The guy greeted you cheerily, and as he halted in front of you, Bella also followed suit and started sniffing your shoes enthusiastically.
âHi Xiaojun!â You greeted him back before crouching down to pet his dog. Sometimes you wondered if your love for dogs replaced your love for men because you sure would have liked spending more time with dogs.
You had a little chit-chat about work and Bella before Xiaojunâs question made you freeze for a moment.
âYouâre coming to Henderyâs wedding, right?â
âWhat?â You furrowed your eyebrows in question, sending him a deadpan look.
âHendery and Ahyunâs wedding, you know,â he looked back at you quizzically, but that didnât help your case one bit. You still had no idea what he was talking about. The name âHenderyâ rang a bell (was it one of Markâs colleagues?), but the girlâs name⌠not so much.
âI donât know whom you are talking about.â
The guy let out a surprised âhuhâ before he asked a question that yet again made you confused.
âMark hasnât asked you to be his plus one yet?â He quirked an eyebrow, but you just shook your head hearing his words.
You stopped petting Bella to be able to stand up and look him in the eye for further explanation. As if hit by lighting, the guy hit his forehead with his hand before he exclaimed as if he had set something on fire:
âOh shit⌠I shouldnât have told you that. Mark asked me to keep it a secret.â
He looked genuinely remorseful, but you were more intrigued by the âwhyâ behind Markâs actions than Xiaojunâs guilt.
âWhy would he want to bring me as a plus one though?â You questioned as you laced your arms in front of your chest, becoming uneasy.
You were sure that you had not met the said Hendery or the said Ahyun, but if Mark wanted to bring you as a plus one to their wedding, he must have been serious about it. He wasnât flimsy about these things, especially because he knew how much you hated surprises and last minute plans.
âBecause he likes you,â Xiaojun shrugged as if it was common sense, but when he caught sight of your flushed cheeks and your surprised expression, he hit himself on the forehead yet again.
âDamnit, I shouldnât have told you that either. He hasnât told you yet how he feels, has he?â He asked for confirmation, and you shook your head in return.
He let out an aghast sigh, so loudly that even Bella perched up, wondering what her owner was so dramatic about.
âOh no⌠I just ruined everything for him. He said he wants to wait until he feels like youâre ready to hear his confession because he wants to respect your feelings, and he doesnât want to force you to reciprocate his feelings. Oh gosh! Act like you havenât heard anything,â he frantically shook his hands in front of his chest and immediately made an excuse about having to take Bella closer to a green area because she had that pooping face on her.
Poor dog looked so confused at the mention of her name, and though you knew Xiaojun was chaotic like this, you would have never thought that you would one day get to know that Mark liked you back thanks to his loose mouth.
The remaining question was how to let Mark know about it, too.
The thought of confronting Mark about what you had heard didnât entirely scare you. It was rather unsettling because you had no idea how to bring up the topic and also admit that you liked him back without him thinking that you were joking.
You knew that you could come off rather standoffish and stiff, and you wanted nothing else than the boy to think that you werenât serious or worse, that you wanted to make fun of his feelings. Of course, you didnât care about menâs feelings on the daily because if they said something rude or misogynistic, women werenât allowed to feel hurt, but if a woman said something slightly offensive about men, they were ready to start a revolution.
However, Mark was different. You had to realise that you did care about his feelings because he deserved it. That wasnât an easy feat when it came to you, but you genuinely cared whether your words hurt him or not, because he was so gentle and kind and honestly too good for this world. You werenât even sure how he had ended up liking you, but if he did, who were you to question his feelings? You felt the same way, so you should have been happy.
On the other hand, you had never done anything like this before, and being sentimental wasnât your forte either. So you decided on sleeping on it, but it seemed like someone had other plans because Mark ended up knocking on your door about an hour after your encounter with Xiaojun.
You had just finished putting in a load of laundry and were about to have some dinner when you heard the frantic knocking on the door, and instead of a busybody neighbour fussing about the upcoming residentsâ meeting or an elderly lady asking you to help her cat get off a shelf (both had happened before), it was the boy with the big doe eyes who turned up on the other side of your door.
âHey! Do you have a minute?â Mark asked, panting as if he had run up the stairs. You furrowed your eyebrows in question, but he seemed rather indignant, so it was either about something unexpected or Xiaojun had confessed everything to him and he wanted to come clean.
Either way, you werenât one to be suspicious of his intentions. Not anymore.
âSure,â you bobbed your head and invited him inside.
You had not done so since the day he had drunkenly sung to himself in front of his own flat after forgetting the password to his doorlock, but you deemed this matter quite urgent and personal if he came up to your door without asking about it via text beforehand.
âThanks,â Mark let out a long sigh before he walked inside.
You closed the door behind him and turned to him, totally expecting him to already make himself comfortable on the couch or maybe by the kitchen table, but instead, he just stood there, frozen, as if his mind had drawn a blank.
âAre you okay?â You quirked an eyebrow, slightly concerned. The boy, as if woken from a stupor, started talking so fast that you could barely follow.
âLook, I know that Xiaojun has told you about Hendery and Ahyunâs wedding. I know he has spilled the beans that I wanted to ask you to be my plus one. Hendery is one of my colleagues, by the way, he is a songwriter and producer on the team, and Ahyun, you probably know her by the name âLittle Missâ. The solo singer, you know. Hendery has contributed to a lot of her songs as did I, as you know because you helped me with some of her lyricsâŚâ
âMark, breathe!â You reminded him with a slightly amused smile, and though the boy let his lips curl upwards for a few seconds, his features returned to solemn afterwards.
âSo anyways, heâs also told me that heâs told you that I like you, and thatâs why I wanted you to come with me to the wedding. But I was hesitant, and I am still hesitant whether you like me back, and you know that I would never, ever force you to do something that you donât want to. Let that be accompanying me to the wedding or liking me back. And I also know how much you hate men and even though I like you that doesnât mean that you have to like me, too. But since heâs already-â
âMark, I like you, too,â you broke his monologue, but he was so lost in his own monologue that the words just seemed to fly over his head.
âTold me about what happened, I was like, might as well let her know that itâs cool if she doesnât like me-â This was the point Markâs whole demeanour changed, and the first flicker of hope glinted in his chocolate-brown eyes. âWait, did you just say you like me?â His eyes grew to twice their size, completely appalled.
It was funny how much you had agonised over you finally coming clean with your feelings towards him, and yet, all it took was a simple sentence to actually make it real.
âYes, I did. I like you too, Mark Lee.â
Mark was frozen for a moment, then he started giggling, and then, he finished off his performance with a long sigh. He shared with you that he had been running all the way from the first floor where he had talked to Xiaojun in-person after his friend had frantically texted him regarding your encounter with him.
âI could guess that much,â you blurted out with a smile, and that was enough to ease the tension in the air. The boy let out a chuckle before his lips finally pulled into a boyish grin.
âSo are we good then?â
âWeâre good,â you hummed. âAnd if the date is okay with me, Iâll be happy to be your plus one for the wedding,â you added on a second note, and he seemed like he had just won the lottery.
âOh gosh, I canât believe it! Iâm so happy. I thought Xiaojun had blown up everything for me,â he admitted candidly, and you couldnât stop the laughter from bubbling up in your throat.
âI mean, if he hadnât told me that you like me, I might not have been sure enough to bring it up myself, so I think we should thank him one day,â you pointed out and even though you knew that Mark felt the same way, he went on a whole monologue about how long he had known that he liked you (since you had comforted him in the GS25 after his lyrics had been rejected without constructive feedback), and how he had even changed his doorlockâs password to the day that you two had met, but completely forgot about it when drunk, but was too ashamed to say anything about it afterwards, so he was glad that you didnât ask about it.
âThatâs so corny⌠but itâs also very much something that you would do,â you admitted before you asked the boy if he wanted to have some dinner with you.
Needless to say, he was more than happy to join you, and he even said that it was the best day of his life.
A/N:Â Hope you enjoyed this story of mine. Let me know what you think. I'm always happy to hear your feedback. đ
Header taken from this Mark vlog.
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âł NCT masterlist
I started writing this story before Mark's announcement to leave NCT, so I will put the story into the NCT masterlist for the time being. However, I might move it to the 'Other' masterlist that contains soloists' stories and Kdrama fics in the future, so just a heads-up!
Hope you have a lovely day/night! Take care! â¤ď¸