‘beginnings can not be changed; endings are always sad; i’d settle for a happy middle instead.’

the sky over namhae always looked like a bruised peach right before the sun dipped into the ocean.

“you’re late,” a voice said. juhoon was leaning against the rusted ice cream freezer outside the convenience store, his uniform vest hanging loosely off his shoulders. he didn’t look up from his phone, but he slid a wrapped melon popsicle across the plastic table toward you anyway.

you dropped your canvas bag onto the plastic chair, the straps heavy with books your mother had packed for you—baggage for a summer exile she called ‘reconnecting with your roots,’ which was really just code for ‘please stay in south korea while i finalize my third divorce’.

you couldn’t even remember the guy’s name. an aaron? a grayson? it didn’t matter. you were seventeen, stranded in a sleepy seaside town where the air tasted like salt and fish scales.

“the bicycle chain fell off again,” you complained, tearing the plastic wrapper open with your teeth.

juhoon finally looked up, his dark hair falling into his eyes, a faint, amused tug at the corner of his lips. “you really don’t know how to do anything, do you, canada?”

“i know how to do things,” you shot back, sitting down and taking a huge bite of the popsicle. “i just don’t know how to navigate rural roads on a machine built in the eighties.”

“it’s a good bike,” he said, finally pocketing his phone and crossing his arms. “you just have no rhythm. you pedal like you’re trying to kill the ground.”

that was the first week of june.

june was a month of friction and slow thaws. the convenience store was small, cramped, and smelled faintly of cardboard and dried squid. you spent the first two weeks overlapping shifts, sitting on mismatched plastic stools behind the counter, separated by a foot of empty space and a profound, awkward silence. you were the girl from toronto who spoke korean with a slight hesitation, and he was the boy from seoul who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

the ice broke over a broken slushee machine, of all things. it had started leaking a bright blue, sticky syrup all over the floor, and you had both panicked, trying to block the blue tide with cheap paper towels that dissolved on contact. juhoon had slipped, his sneakers losing traction, and he’d gone down with a dull thud, his white t-shirt stained an absurd, electric shade of blueberry. you had frozen, terrified he’d be angry, but then he had looked up at you, looked down at his shirt, and let out a laugh so loud and genuine it echoed off the metal shelves. you had laughed so hard your stomach ached, sitting right there in the blue puddle next to him.

“don’t just look at me,” he gasped out between laughs, pointing a blue-stained finger at you. “help me up, canada. my pants are ruined!”

“you look like an avatar,” you wheezed, extending a hand. he took it, but instead of pulling himself up, he yanked you down into the sticky mess right along with him. “juhoon! no!”

“if i’m going down, you’re coming with me,” he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. that was the first time you noticed how bright his eyes got when he genuinely smiled.

after that, june became a game of shared rule-breaking. you learned that the store owner rarely checked the inventory counts for the ice cream, so juhoon developed a system for stealing popsicles. he would wait until the afternoon rush of noisy beachgoers cleared out, look over his shoulder, and slide the freezer door open with a dramatic, exaggerated stealth.

“pick a flavor,” he’d whisper, as if he were heist-planning a bank robbery instead of taking a cheap ice lolly.

you’d always pick the melon ones, and you’d spend the next thirty minutes sitting on the concrete curb outside, the heat radiating off the asphalt, watching the occasional car pass by. 

you learned things about him in snippets. he was in namhae because his parents were fighting and his grandparents’ quiet house was supposed to keep him out of the crossfire. he hated the sound of the cicadas in the trees because they were too loud to let him sleep, but he loved the way the ocean sounded at three in the morning.

by the time july arrived, the space between your tiny chairs behind the register had entirely vanished.

july was a fever dream of salt water, sticky skin, and a quiet, consuming desperation. you didn’t just work together anymore; you existed together. the summer break was in full swing, but you didn’t care about the tourists. you cared about the way juhoon’s shoulder brushed against yours whenever you both reached for the same barcode scanner. you cared about the way he always took the heavier boxes of ramyeon crates so you wouldn’t have to carry them.

“hey,” he said one rainy afternoon, leaning his chin on his palm as he watched you struggle to tie up a garbage bag. “why do you always do that?”

“do what?”

“sigh like the world is ending every time you look at a trash can.”

“because it’s gross,” you muttered.

he chuckled, standing up and snatching the plastic ties from your hands. “move over. go sit down and listen to your weird western music. i’ll do it.”

“it’s not weird, it’s just english,” you said, but you sat on the counter anyway, swinging your legs.

he tied the bag with a quick, practiced knot and then leaned against the counter right next to your knees. he looked up at you, his expression softening in a way that made your throat go dry. “teach me an english word.”

“beautiful,” you whispered.

“byu-ti-ful,” he repeated, his accent clumsy and endearing. he reached out, his thumb gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your jawline. “what does it mean?”

“it means something that makes you happy just by looking at it.”

juhoon didn’t drop his hand. his gaze slid down to your lips and then back to your eyes. “then yeah. you’re byu-ti-ful.”

one night in mid-july, after closing the store at midnight, he didn’t head toward his grandparents’ house. instead, he untangled a pair of old, wired earphones from his pocket and held one out to you.

you walked side-by-side down the narrow, unlit road, the ocean a dark, breathing mass to your left. when your hands bumped together for the third time, he didn’t pull away. his fingers slid between yours, cautious at first, then tightening into a firm, warm hold. you spent that night sleeping on the sand, using your canvas bag as a shared pillow. you woke up at four in the morning to the sky turning a pale, ghostly blue, his arm heavy across your waist, his breath even against the back of your neck.

the kisses came naturally, like a language you both already knew but hadn’t spoken aloud yet. they tasted like the sea and the mint gum juhoon chewed constantly. you kissed behind the counter while a sudden summer thunderstorm rattled the glass windows; you kissed under the pier while fireworks from a local festival boomed overhead, painting his face in flashes of red and gold.

“i’ve gotten too used to you,” he murmured one afternoon in late july, his head resting in your lap as you sat on the floor of the stockroom. the air conditioner was broken, and you were both sweating. you were tracing the sharp line of his collarbone with your index finger. “if we stop talking after august, it’s going to be weird.”

“weird how?” you asked, your fingers moving up to tangle in his damp hair.

“i’ll just be lost,” he said simply, looking up at you with an intensity that made your chest ache. “i’ve spent every day of the last two months looking at you. if i cut contact, it’ll take forever to unlearn you. i don’t think i know how to be alone in seoul anymore.”

“then we won’t cut contact,” you said, leaning down to press your lips to his forehead.

“promise?” he asked, sitting up and holding out his pinky finger.

“promise,” you whispered, locking your smaller finger with his.

august was a countdown. you could feel the days slipping away like sand through your fingers. the playfulness of june and the intensity of july turned into a heavy, quiet clinginess in august. you held hands under the counter even when customers were standing right in front of you. you took photos on a cheap polaroid camera you bought at the stationary shop—blurred, overexposed images of him laughing with ice cream on his nose, of you squinting against the sun, of your shadows stretched out long on the sand.

“what are you going to do with those?” he asked one evening, pointing at the stack of polaroids slipping out of your pocket.

“keep them,” you said, sorting through them. “so when i’m back in toronto and freezing to death in the snow, i can look at them and remember that i spent a summer with a boy who ruins white t-shirts with blueberry syrup.”

juhoon smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “don’t forget me, canada. seriously. if you forget me, i’ll find a way to cross the ocean just to annoy you.”

“i couldn’t forget you if i tried, jju,” you whispered into his shoulder, tears threatening to spill.

“i’ll call you the second i get back to seoul,” he promised on your last night on the beach, his forehead pressed against yours. “i’ll buy an international calling card. i’ll write down your address. we’re going to make this work.”

“i know,” you said, though a horrible, heavy weight was settling into your stomach. “i know we will.”

“say it in english,” he demanded softly, his grip on your hands tightening. “tell me you love me in english.”

“i love you, jju,” you said, your voice breaking.

“i love you, canada,” he replied, his pronunciation perfect this time, right before he kissed you for what would be the very last time ever, the taste of salt and cold august wind lingering on his lips.

then… september arrived. he went back to seoul on a morning bus. you boarded a flight back to toronto the next afternoon.

the transition wasn’t a clean break; it was a slow, agonising fade. 

you texted him the moment you landed in canada. 

i’m home. the flight was long. 

i miss the beach already. 

i miss you.

no reply.

you texted him a week later.

school started today. it’s raining here. 

how is seoul? do you miss the slushee machine?

the messages stayed delivered, never read. after a month of silence, the texts became less frequent, until you stopped sending them altogether. you thought he had simply left the summer in namhae behind. he had gotten back to his real life, his real friends in seoul, and he had forgotten the girl from canada.

but you never did. he was your first love. 

you got older; you went to university; you lived a life. but you remembered that single summer more vividly than the entire decade that followed it.

when you met martin in toronto years later, it was completely different. he was like a warm hearth on a freezing winter day. he was kind, incredibly patient, and he loved you with a fierce, quiet devotion.

you had a quiet life together—a comfortable apartment in the city, shared coffee in the mornings, grocery trips on sunday afternoons. but the ghost of namhae always hung over you like a thin mist. martin noticed it, of course. he noticed how your eyes unfocused when the winter wind rattled the apartment windows, or how you always picked the melon-flavored treats at the asian supermarket, staring at the packaging just a second too long.

“you’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” martin had asked softly one night, early into your marriage, as you both lay in bed. the city lights cast long shadows across the ceiling.

you had tensed, guilt twisting in your chest. “martin, i’m sorry. i’m here. i’m with you.”

martin had just smiled, a small, sad, incredibly gentle thing. he turned on his side and pulled you against his chest, tucking your head under his chin. “i know you are. and i love the parts of you that you give me. i’m okay with sharing your thoughts with a memory, as long as i get to hold you in the real world.”

he knew there was a ghost. he knew he was the second choice, the safe harbor after the shipwreck. but martin loved you so entirely that he swallowed his own pride, choosing to believe that his warmth would eventually melt the ice around your heart. he didn’t feel bad for loving a girl who was only three-quarters there. he just loved you harder to make up for the missing piece.

until the afternoon he found the box.

you were at work, and martin was looking for a spare camera lens in the back of the closet. instead, he found a small, dusty tin. inside were a handful of faded polaroids from that summer—the ones of you and juhoon on the beach, your fingers locked together, his bright, crinkled eyes staring back at the lens.

when you came home, martin was sitting at the kitchen table, the polaroids laid out in a neat, clinical row. the apartment was freezing; he hadn’t turned on the heating. he wasn’t angry; he just looked incredibly, profoundly hollow.

you froze in the doorway, your keys slipping from your fingers and clattering onto the floorboards. “martin…”

“i always knew there was a guy,” martin said, his voice terrifyingly quiet as he kept his eyes glued to a photo of you, laughing, covered in sand, with juhoon’s arm thrown over your shoulder. “i told myself it was just a teenage fling. some guy from a village who made you feel special for a month.”

“martin, please, it was just an old box—”

“but you never told me it was him,” martin interrupted, finally lifting his eyes. they were swimming with a sudden, sharp, catastrophic grief. “this is juhoon. kim juhoon.”

your breath hitched, the room suddenly tilting. “how do you… how do you know his name?”

“he was my childhood best friend,” martin whispered, his voice cracking down the middle. he reached out, his thumb trembling violently as he touched the faded edge of the photo. “we grew up in the same neighborhood in seoul before my family immigrated here. we wore the same middle school uniform. we promised to meet up again when we were older. he was… we were like brothers. i lost touch with his family years ago, but… god, it was him? all this time, the shadow i’ve been competing with… it was my best friend?”

you couldn’t breathe. the coincidence was too violent, too cruel to be real. “mars, i didn’t know. i swear to god i didn’t know.”

“i know you didn’t,” he choked out, a single tear spilling over his lashes. he looked at the photo of juhoon, then up at you, his face twisted in a horrible, agonising realization. “that’s what hurts the most. you didn’t do this on purpose… but you love him. you still love him, don’t you? i’ve been holding you for years, sleeping in the same bed, building a life with you, and the person you’re wishing for is the boy i used to share my toys with.”

“i love you, martin,” you cried, stepping forward, trying to reach for him.

he pulled back slightly, his chest heaving. “not like that. not the way you love him. you look at his faded, ten-year-old picture with more life in your eyes than you’ve ever looked at me with. i thought… i thought i was competing with a ghost i could beat. but how am i supposed to beat juhoon? how am i supposed to hate him for taking your heart when he’s the person i miss the most from home?”

the truth didn’t fully unravel until the following june.

a corporate project required you to travel to seoul for two weeks. martin came with you, the heavy, suffocating silence of juhoon still hanging between you both like an iron wall. he wouldn’t hold your hand on the plane. he wouldn’t look at you when you spoke. the kindness in him hadn’t died, but it had turned into a fragile, bleeding thing.

through old family connections, martin managed to track down juhoon’s grandparents’ contact information. he needed to see him. he needed to look his old friend in the eye and figure out how to live with the reality of their shared history.

you sat on the edge of the hotel bed in seoul, watching martin stand by the window, the phone pressed to his ear.

the conversation was short. martin barely spoke. he just listened, his posture slowly collapsing, his face draining of color until he looked like marble. when he hung up, his arm dropped limply to his side. he didn’t look at you; he just stared at his own reflection in the dark window glass.

“mars?” you asked, a sudden, cold dread pooling in your stomach. “what is it? did they say where he lives? can we go see him?”

“he’s dead,” martin said. the words came out flat, entirely devoid of life. “juhoon… died.”

the world didn’t stop spinning—oh, what a cruel fucking world—but your heart did. “what? no. no, he just… he didn’t reply to my texts. he went back to seoul. he’s probably married, he’s—”

“he died in september,” martin shouted, turning around, his voice breaking into a harsh sob. the anger and the grief finally collided inside him. “the same september you left namhae! he’s been dead this whole fucking time!”

you fell back onto the bed, the breath punched entirely out of your lungs. martin dropped to his knees right there by the window, burying his face in his hands as he wept. it was a dual mourning—he was weeping for his childhood friend who had been wiped off the earth a decade ago, and he was weeping for his marriage, because he knew, with absolute, terrifying certainty, that if you loved a ghost before, you would never, ever belong to the living now.

“he’s gone,” martin whispered through his tears, rocking back and forth on the floor. “he’s been gone the whole time we’ve been together. you thought he abandoned you, and i thought he stole you from me, and he was just… he was just dead.”

you found out the rest the next day from his grandmother, a frail woman who wept into her tea when she saw you standing on her doorstep in seoul, recognising the girl from the stories her grandson had muttered about during his last days in the countryside. martin stood behind you in the cramped living room, his shoulder tense, absorbing the loss of his friend—a boy he still considered his brother—his eyes fixed on the small memorial photo of juhoon on the shelf.

the story was painfully, brutally simple: that september, the day after juhoon arrived back in seoul, his phone had fallen out of his pocket on the subway, the screen shattering into useless black glass. he hadn’t known your email, and he hadn’t known your address in canada. but he had memorised your number. he had spent the entire summer repeating it like a mantra so he would never forget it.

he had walked to a phone store near the main transit station to buy a replacement. he had inserted the new sim card, booted up the screen, and opened the messaging app.

he typed in your canadian country code. the digits blurred together as he punched them in from memory. he typed out a message.

i’m back in seoul. 

i miss the ocean. 

i miss you, my beautiful angel.

he was standing right outside the glass storefront, his thumb hovering over the send button, looking down at the screen, completely consumed by the thought of you.

he never got the opportunity to click send.

a delivery truck, its brakes entirely failed, veered off the massive, chaotic seoul intersection and crashed directly through the storefront, striking him instantly. he died before the ambulance could even pull away from the curb.

that night, you and martin stood on a bridge overlooking the han river. the neon lights of seoul bled into the dark, rushing water below. the wind was warm, carrying the heavy scent of a city summer.

martin stood a few feet away from you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. he looked much older—the boyish patience he had carried for years in canada had been replaced by a heavy, exhausted maturity.

“he was trying to call you,” martin said, his voice barely audible over the distant traffic. “he memorised your number. juhoon hated memorising things. we used to cheat on our history tests together because he couldn’t remember dates to save his life. but he memorised you.”

you couldn’t speak. the tears were silent, hot, and endless, tracking down your cheeks and dripping onto the concrete railing.

“i keep thinking,” martin continued, his voice trembling as he looked out over the river, “if his phone hadn’t broken… or if he had just clicked send a second faster… he would have found you. you guys would have figured it out. and i never would have met you at that coffee shop in toronto. you never would have looked at me.”

he turned his head to look at you, his eyes completely broken, filled with a quiet, devastating sadness. “i’m alive, and i’m right here, standing next to you. but i’ve never felt more invisible in my life. you’re looking at the city where he died, and you’re wishing it was him standing here instead of me. and the worst part is… i can’t even blame you. i miss him too.”

you reached out, your fingers trembling as you touched martin’s sleeve. “mars… i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

martin let out a small, breathless sob, looking down at your hand on his arm. he didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean into it either. “i know you are. but apologies don’t fix a broken heart, yn. and they definitely don’t bring back the dead.”

there was a dead boy in seoul who had died entirely in love with a girl, a husband whose heart had been collateral damage to a summer he wasn’t even a part of, and the girl who had spent her whole life grieving a ghost, believing she was forgotten.

you closed your eyes, the heavy summer air of june pressing against your skin, identical to the heat of namhae all those years ago.

beginnings cannot be changed, you thought, as the neon lights of seoul blurred into a smear of red and gold. endings are always sad.

you would have settled for a happy middle. but the middle had ended a long time ago, on a beach you could never go back to, frozen in a summer that had cost everyone everything.

© hyuneskkami ❦

Some more proofs included, but not limited to, the way both of you instinctively shifted away in crowded rooms, shoulders angling just enough to carve out space. The way your expressions would flicker, barely there, but identical, when someone reached too casually for your hair (usually Euijoo). The shared look, sharp and fleeting, that said don’t without either of you having to speak.

The first time someone had called you two cute, you’d both reacted at the exact same second. A pause, a slow blink and then matching frowns, almost synchronized.

“I’m not cute,” you’d said, flatly.

“Neither am I,” Nicholas added, just as dry.

Yudai had laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You’d rolled your eyes, Nicholas had scoffed.

However, to this strict rule of the banning of the word ‘cute’, there was one exception, as there always is to all laws of the word.

“Cute.” Nicholas said, his hands coming up to pinch your cheeks, which you nearly avoided. 

It was a lazy Saturday evening, both of you had done nothing all day except show each other the occasional tiktok and go back to doomscrolling or reading a book. Even Nicholas, usually so full of zest on his free days was dead as a fish today, as proved by the long (and long meant long) nap with his head plopped right on your chest.

You’d decided to finally get up and do something other than rotting in bed. Which had led to Nicholas waking up at 5 pm to an empty bed. At first, it didn’t register, his hand moving instinctively, reaching for his beloved. His brows knit slightly as his fingers brushed against nothing but wrinkled sheets. With a groan, Nicholas had pushed himself up, running a hand through his hair as he blinked the sleep away.

He had found you by following the faint sounds from the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, leaning against it with his arms crossed. For a moment, he didn't say anything, just watching you. 

You were standing by the counter, focused, completely unaware of him. There was flour dusted lightly across your fingers, a faint smudge near your wrist. Your hair was tied back loosely, a few strands falling out around your face.

And you were wearing his shirt. It hung a little too big on you, the neck slipping off slightly exposing your shoulder, the hem brushing mid-thigh.

There was something about the scene that made his chest feel strange. Fuller than usual. There was something oddly calming about it—the rhythm in which you danced around the kitchen, the quiet clinks of utensils, the faint hum of the oven preheating in the background. Nicholas exhaled quietly.

Cute. 

You didn’t even get the chance to react before he moved, his steps silent as a cat’s, quick despite the lingering drowsiness. One second you were alone and the next—

You let out a small squeak of surprise as you felt the sudden heat of Nicholas' body against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against him. His lips pressed against your neck, soft and warm, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Hi baby." Nicholas murmured, his voice still rough with sleep. He nuzzled his face into your hair, inhaling deeply. "Something smells good."

You huffed out a laugh, leaning back into his embrace even as you tried to focus on the task at hand. "It's supposed to be cookies," you said, holding up the wooden spoon in your hand. "But I don't know if I'm doing it right. The dough is so sticky."

Nicholas chuckled, his hands smoothing over your stomach as he peered over your shoulder at the bowl of cookie dough. "Looks good to me," he said, reaching out to snag a small bit of dough with his fingers. He popped it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"Mmm, yeah, that's good," he said, nodding in approval. "You're doing great, cutie."

You felt a little surge of pride at his words, even as you rolled your eyes at the unusual nickname. "Don't call me that," you muttered, but there was no real heat behind it.

Nicholas just laughed, pressing another kiss to your neck. "Sorry, sorry," he said. "What should I call you then? Chef Extraordinaire? Mistress of the Oven?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "Shut up," you said, but you were grinning. "Just help me with these cookies, would you?"

Nicholas smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Of course, my love," he said, his tone exaggeratedly formal. "I live to serve."

You couldn't help but laugh at that, even as you elbowed him lightly in the stomach. "Ass," you muttered, but you were still smiling. Nicholas just laughed again, leaning down to nip playfully at your ear. 

"You love me," he said, his voice a low, teasing murmur.

“Hmm unfortunately I do.” You said, even as you felt your cheeks heat up, “And would you stop eating the cookie dough?” You tried (and failed) to elbow him away as he put yet another fingerful of cookie dough into his mouth.

“Not my fault my baby bakes such delicious things.” Nicholas hummed, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You rolled your eyes again.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Yixiang.” He winced at the sound of his government name, “Go sit down.” 

“No.”

“Nicholas.”

“Too tired.”

“You literally just woke up.”

“Exactly.”

You turned your head slightly, giving him a look, which he met lazily. He looked handsome as always, his hair still messy from rolling out of bed, eyes closed blissfully as he melted into the warmth of his lover. You stared at him for a while, utterly startstuck. All these years of dating and you still could never get used to how beautiful he was.

“Go pick a movie,” you said in a flat tone, “and I’ll be there before you know it, alright?”

That, apparently, was acceptable, because a few minutes later, he was sprawled across the couch, scrolling through Netflix with the same level of intensity he had applied to absolutely nothing else that day. By the time you finished with the cookies, he still hadn’t picked one.

What ever were you going to do with your handsome, lazy ass of a boyfriend?

“You’ve been there for ten minutes.”

“Shh, I'm thinking. This is important.”

“It’s really not, baby.”

He ignored you, even as you set the tray down, pulling your hair loose with a quiet sigh. And eventually, although thankfully would be a more appropriate word, a movie was chosen.

Which led to this.

Your couch was an unnaturally big one, courtesy of Nicholas’s sweet talking at IKEA to buy the extra large plushy one so that you could cuddle easily and….do other stuff. 

But even with all that space on your big luxurious king sized couch, you and your boyfriend were still stuck to each other like glue. Not that either of you seemed to mind.

You were tucked into his side, one leg thrown over his, your shoulder pressed lightly against his chest. It wasn’t something you would’ve done with anyone else, not this easily or naturally. But with him, it didn't feel like too much. His arm rested loosely around you, not quite holding you, but there. The movie played like background noise, neither of you really focused on it.

The rhythm of his chest moving up and down as he breathed was lulling you to sleep. That combined with the way he felt so warm and the way his fingers were lazily massaging your scalp was about to make you fall asleep right there and then.

Nicholas glanced down at you once. Then again. And again. His loving gaze lingered longer each time, taking in the way your expression shifted slightly with the scenes, even if you weren’t fully paying attention, the way your fingers absentmindedly played with the edge of his sleeve, the way his shirt hung on you. It was too big, too beautiful and way too—

“Cute.”

As Nicholas's hands came up to your cheeks, you instinctively leaned back, but his fingers were quick, grasping your face gently but firmly. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones as he pinched, his touch soft and warm.

“Stoppp…” you whined, brows furrowing in annoyance, but you couldn't quite muster up the energy to really protest properly. 

Maybe it was because it was Nicholas, or maybe it was because you were just too comfortable, curled up against his side on the couch. Either way, you let him have his moment of cuteness, even as you grumbled under your breath.

Nicholas just chuckled, a low sound that vibrated through his chest and into yours. "I'm serious, you're so cute baby." he insisted, his voice a little teasing but also a little fond. "You look good in my shirt."

You glanced down at yourself, taking in the sight of Nicholas' blue shirt. You had to admit, it was a good look. But you weren't about to let Nicholas know that.

"Cute." you scoffed, trying to sound unimpressed even as a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. "You’re really about to break our number one rule?”

“Of course I am.” Nicholas smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief, “Because my baby is sooooo cute.” He leaned down to press a kiss on the crown of your head, “My cute darling.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help but laugh at his dramatics. "Shut up," you said, shoving lightly at his chest. "Or you’re going to be on the other side real soon.”

“Oh no I’m so scared.” Nicholas grinned, clearly enjoying your misery, “You’re still cute you know. Especially when you’re blushing like that.” He said, giving your cheeks one last pinch before releasing your face.

You felt your cheeks heat up even more at his words, and you quickly looked away, trying to hide your embarrassment. Nicholas just laughed again, pulling you in closer to his side.

"Don't worry," he said, his voice softening. "I won't tell anyone that my tough girlfriend gets all flustered over a little teasing."

You huffed again, but you couldn't quite suppress the small smile that pulled at your lips. "Shut up," you muttered, even as you snuggled in closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Nicholas just wrapped an arm around you, holding you close as he turned his attention back to the movie. But you could still feel the smile on his face, and you knew that he was probably going to bring up this moment again later, when he was trying to get a rise out of you. But for now, you were content to just sit there with him, feeling warm and safe and happy in his arms.

But the next attack that followed was probably your fault—you should have known when Wang Yixiang wants something, he’ll do everything he can to get it.

Especially when that something involves his girlfriend’s pretty smile.

“Nicho!” 

You let out a squeal of laughter that seemed to fill the room. Nicholas's attacks were relentless, his lips and teeth and tongue leaving a trail of tingling sensations across your skin. His hands gripped your waist, holding you in place on his lap now, as he continued his assault on your face and neck.

"Stop, stop!" you gasped out between giggles, trying to push him away. But your efforts were weak, your hands slipping against his chest as you dissolved into laughter again.

But Nicholas just grinned, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he continued his assault. "Come on, just admit it," he said, his voice muffled against your skin. "You're cute. The cutest."

You huffed, trying to glare at him even as you continued to giggle. "I am not!" you protested, even as you found yourself smiling like an idiot. "And stop using that word!"

Nicholas just laughed, his hands sliding down to tickle your sides. "Cute, cute, cute," he chanted, his fingers dancing over your ribs. "My cute girlfriend is so cute."

“Ahh stop it tickles!” You yelped, squirming even more as you tried to wriggle out of his grasp. 

Nicholas just grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief and amusement. "Never." He declared, before diving back in to attack your jawline with quick, fluttering kisses.

You shook your head, trying to catch your breath as you reached up to grip his hair. "Cute…" you managed to get out, your voice breathless and shaking with laughter. "You’re so cute Nicho..”

He froze for a moment, his lips paused in their ministrations against your neck. Then, slowly, he lifted his head to look at you. His expression was a mix of surprise and delight, his eyes wide and his mouth curved into a soft, almost awed smile

"Did you just call me cute?" he asked, his voice soft and somewhat disbelieving.

You felt your cheeks heat up again, but you held his gaze, trying to look unimpressed even as a small, reluctant smile tugged at your mouth. "Mhm," you hummed, nodding slowly. "You're cute when you're like this." You leaned in to press a small kiss to the tip of his nose, “My cute boyfriend.”

Nicholas's smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, I guess I can't argue with that," he said, his voice a low, teasing murmur. "Especially since you're the one who said it."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't quite suppress the grin that was threatening to split your face. “You’re still annoying.” You muttered, even as you pressed a quick kiss to his lips. 

He just laughed, the sound warm and happy against your mouth. "And you're still cute," he replied, his arms tightening around you.

Your beloved’s lips moved against yours, soft and slow and oh-so-sweet. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his.

You hummed softly, your fingers threading through his hair as you deepened the kiss. Nicholas made a quiet sound of approval, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, sensual dance.

“You taste like chocolate.” You chuckled against his lips. He had eaten one too many cookies.

“Don’t I always taste this sweet, baby?” HIs hands slid up your back, his touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

You felt like you were melting into him, your body going soft and pliant as he held you. His kisses were drugging, slow and deep and utterly consuming. You felt like you could kiss him forever and never get enough.

Nicholas sighed softly, his breath mingling with yours as he savored the feeling of his lips against yours. His hands slid down to cup your ass, squeezing gently as he pulled you even closer.

Nicholas's hand slid under the hem of your shirt, his fingers splaying across the small of your back. You shivered at the contact, your skin prickling with goosebumps. He took his time exploring your body, his touch light and teasing as he mapped out every inch of your skin, like a poet composing his art.

He seemed to sense how much you were enjoying this, because he continued his ministrations, kissing and caressing you with a slow, steady rhythm that had you aching for more. 

Even though you had been together for years, it still felt like the first time every time he touched you, like a spark igniting a flame, sending your blood singing through your veins.

You lost yourself in the feeling of his hands on your body, his lips against yours. Everything else faded away until there was nothing but the two of you, lost in a world of your own making.

You broke the kiss, panting softly as you leaned your forehead against his. "I love you," you whispered, your voice rough with emotion.

Nicholas smiled, his eyes soft and warm as he looked at you. "I love you too," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of his lips against yours, the way his arms felt around you, the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. In this moment, everything felt right. Everything felt perfect.

As you lost yourself in the taste and touch and feel of your beloved, you felt content with life and all its deeds. 

And maybe, just maybe, you felt a bit cute too. 

fin. 

A/N: nicholas i love you bro be my best friend jebal, taking a lil smut break im still cooking dw because idk I feel soft sometimes

heeseung tells himself it’s normal that you don’t answer his calls, or reply to his texts, and that every minute past your promised return (he hates the word curfew), is just you being busy and you get too carried away in the moment. 

even though it carves yet another line of betrayal and anxiety. that’s normal too, you should know—everyone worries, everyone waits, and everyone feels that small, sick twist when the person they love most is unreachable, when the phone stays silent and the minutes stretch like taffy candy.

mmhm. normal people definitely stand in empty lobbies at 10 p.m. waiting for their partner to come back while checking their phone every fifteen seconds, thumb refreshing the messages app even though they know better than anyone that it won’t do shit. 

normal people rehearse the tone they’ll use when their partners finally walk in—soft, relieved—followed by a small worried lecture to please don’t make me worry. 

normal people do all that.

what normal people don’t do is—

“ding! you’ve reached the ground floor.”

the elevator doors slide open with that mechanical groan—and there you are.

flushed from the night wind and obvious signs that you were running your ass off from wherever you were back to the condo. your hair slightly tangled and tousled, backpack hanging off one shoulder, eyes widening the second you see your boyfriend standing right there in the lobby. 

“oh my gosh—hee? what are you doing?” you panted, voice comes out half laugh, half relief, already stepping forward with that instinctive reach toward him. you haven’t expected to see heeseung yet.

his mouth curves—gentle, the smile he always has on his handsome face when you’re guilty but he doesn’t have the heart to be mad. “i was going to go and get you,” he says quietly, voice low. the exact tone he rehearsed in his head on the way down like normal people. 

“you didn’t answer me, so i got worried.”

you wince, guilt flashing across your face as you close the distance. “i’m so sorry—my phone ran out of battery while we were studying and i was gonna text you once wonyoung was done with her powerbank and.. god,” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “i feel awful, i’m so sorry. you didn’t have to come down.”

heeseung exhales through his nose, soft. then steps closer to reach you out for a hug. 

“oh, yeah?” 

and the doors begin to slide shut. 

in the half–second before they close completely, heeseung’s arm extends and his fingers twist into your hair—roots tight, unyielding. 

and he yanks, hard.

your body jerks forward brutally with a startled gasp that cuts off into a sharp yelp as your scalp lights up with white–hot pain. the momentum drags you inside the elevator, your backpack slams against the wall as he spins you, slamming your front against the mirrored panel. 

the impact jars your teeth together, a thin trickle of blood already blooming from where you lip split against the glass. “ouch—!” you yelp in pain, bottom lip throbbing as you taste metal on your tongue.

the doors seal shut with a quiet click. 

the elevator begins rising again—indifferent and smooth. heeseung leans forward just to press the floor 28.

your boyfriend keeps his fist locked in your hair, wrenching your head back until your throat arches, exposed, pulse hammering under the thin skin. your hands shot up to grip around heeseung’s hard wrist, your reflection staring back at you both—eyes wide, mouth open in shock, a smear of red streaking the mirror from your lip. 

“hee—hee, hee, hee—what are you—” 

heeseung just watches you in the reflection on the side mirror from the corner of his eye—watches the way your chest heaves with shallow, panicked breaths, tears beading at the corners of your lashes, fingers trembling around his wrist like you’re still hoping this is a joke, a misunderstanding.

it’s not that he wants to do this. 

he doesn’t, seriously. he never wants to hurt you—not really, not like this. but god, what’s so hard about replying or updating him? 

what’s so hard about one single text, one call back, one anything to let him—your own boyfriend—know that you’re still breathing and well alive, still thinking about him, still his? you could’ve used the public phone. there’s one right outside the library, heeseung knows that. sure, it’s old and scratched, but it works.

you could’ve dialed his number, and just let him know you’ll be home soon. you could’ve borrowed one of your friend’s phone, sent a quick dm on insta, so he’d see it in his notification and the knot in his chest would loosen just enough to get up from the bed.

you could’ve done any of those things, so many things to update heeseung if you don’t want to come home just yet. but instead, you went radio silence on him. not only that, you also went over the promised time you were supposed to reach home. 

you slipped into a world where heeseung didn’t exist, where within those hours of missing, someone else could make you laugh, hold your bag, walk you to the station. where you forgot him. 

“i waited,” he sighs, yanking your hair back until you drop your bag and your feet tangle in panic, stumbling backward and knees almost buckling as the pull forces your spine to arch painfully. “i waited like i always do for your text.” 

the elevator keeps rising—only past floor 8 now, the digital numbers ticking upward like a countdown. just then, heeseung spins you in one motion, hand still locked at your roots, and slams the back of your head against the mirrored wall. 

the impact is dull—the thud of skull on glass—but the second is harder. so hard your head snaps back again like a child on a trampoline, and this time, the mirror cracks. 

a sharp spiderweb explodes on the surface from the contact—fine lines across the surface like lightning. your reflection features instantly—dozens of yourself staring back, each version bleeding from the nose, each version with the same wide–eyed and gasping. 

blood blooms fast—warm trickle from your temple, your scalp splits along the impact line. you cry out raw, the sound bouncing off the steel walls, muffled by the way your cheek is now pressed sideways against the cold surface. 

“hee—please—stop,”

he doesn’t. his other hand comes up to squish your cheeks, thumb brushing to wipe away a tear. then, his palms flattens against your cheek, fingers splaying wide, and he presses hard—pinning your head to the cracked mirror so the shards bite into your scalp like tiny teeth,

“how could you forget?” he murmurs against your ear, lips brushing the shell. “are you so selfish you didn’t even think of me for a second? you left me waiting like an idiot.”

your hands claw at his wrist again—nails scraping in desperation—but that only drives heeseung to twist his fist tighter, pulling your head back an inch just to slam it forward once more.

another section of the mirror shatters—small pieces rain down onto your shoulders, catching in your hair. one shard shallows in your forehead; another round of blood wells up, running into your eyebrow, stinging in your eye.

your breaths come in wet, ragged hitches. your knees tremble, threatening to give out completely but his body keeps you upright, pressed between him and the glass. “i treat you nicely, trust you, let it loose, and this is how you fucking repay me.” 

the elevator passes floor 20. 

heeseung exhales once, measured—like he’s finally made a decision. like pain, dishonesty should also be the last thing on the list. if you can’t allow heeseung to trust you on a daily, heeseung just can’t allow you to live. 

he yanks your head back one last time—using the fist tangled hard and painful in your hair—and slams it forward into what’s left of the mirror.

the impact is wet and final. 

glass explodes inward in a shower of sharp shards, driving straight through your temple, piercing bone and brain in one motion. blood sprays in a bright arc across the control panel, buttons flickering erratically as your body jerks once—hard—then goes limp against the wall.

your knees buckle, and heeseung lets you slide down slowly—until you’re crumpled at his feet on the cold steel floor, head lolling to the side, eyes half–open and glassy, rolled behind your lids. a trickle of blood pools beneath your cheek, spreading outward that catches the overhead light. 

24.

25.

26.

heeseung crouches beside you, brushing a strand of blood–matted hair from your face with the back of his knuckles. then, he leans down until his hips hover over yours. 

“i told you,” he murmurs against your cooling lips, barely brushing. “i don’t like waiting.”

floor 28.

the ding echoes through the small space as the doors slide open. silence immediately rushes in with the familiar cool hallway air hitting heeseung’s face.

“hee?” 

you blink up at him, the mirror behind him is whole again, reflecting the back of heeseung’s head. “you okay, love?” 

heeseung shakes his head, clearing the dazed and fog in his head. your backpack is in his hand now, and your hand is slightly extended so he can hold it. 

“yeah,” he says quietly, clearing his throat before he intertwines his fingers with yours. “just missed you more than i thought.”

you guide him down the hall with your gentle hand—the elevator doors shut behind the two of you. in the quiet of the hallway, in contrast to the chaos that’s going on in his head. but the thought comes wriggling in his head anyway, that—

the next time you pull this shit again,

heeseung’s not sure if he’ll let the elevator reach the top.

"Hey, isn't that cafe you like about to open at this hour? How about walking over for a hot chocolate?" he calls out, his voice muffled slightly by the cold air, carried on the breeze.

When you don’t acknowledge him at all, Jungwon sighs quietly and stuffs his hands into the deep pockets of his thick winter jacket, shielding himself from the biting wind and the potential rejection he senses.

He observes your slumped figure sitting on the weathered wooden bench, surprised to see you shivering despite the crisp cold, knowing you are usually able handle the winter chill with ease.

He crouches down slowly, seemingly debating with himself before resting a gentle hand on your knee. Instead of the usual comforting warmth, all you feel is a bitter, indistinct sensation from his touch, like cold metal against your skin.

You look up and see the sun rising behind him, casting a faint purplish halo that seems to chill rather than warm. He smiles softly when he notices your expression, and your stomach twists uneasily.

What does your body sense that makes you feel sick and anxious in the presence of your longest friend? Jungwon, who carries your fears and soothes your scars.

You glance past him towards the lake, where a lone skater twirls and glides gracefully, leaving delicate patterns in the snow-dusted ice.

"You don’t come around for Christmas, then suddenly you only reach out last night asking to meet before the year ends. I think you need to do more than just offer a hot chocolate and an explanation, Jungwon," you frown and your voice remains ice-cold and emotionless.

He sighs again, looking downcast but still managing a soft, gentle smile. “I know it won’t be enough to make up for hurting you, but let me start with this,” he pleads, squeezing your knee gently, and for a moment, you feel a flicker of hope, a brief warmth amidst the cold.

You nod silently, causing his dimples to deepen and his eyes to sparkle, as if you had hung the moon for him. You rise from the bench, carefully grasping the small package placed beside you.

“What’s that?” Jungwon asks, his brow furrowing with curiosity as he leans in to examine the small, carefully wrapped box you hold in your trembling hands.

“Your Christmas gift,” you reply simply, offering no hints or clues, your voice steady despite your trembling hands.

You extend your hand, inviting him to take it. As he notices the careful way you place the box in his open palms, he gently brings it to his chest, cradling it as if it were a fragile, precious newborn.

“Please, don't open it just yet,” you plead softly, bottom lip trembling slightly.

He walks quietly beside you along across the snow-covered path, the only sounds being the crunch of snow beneath your boots and the faint rustling of the wind through the bare branches.

“Hey, about Christmas Day, I wasn't really thinking—” he begins hesitantly.

“Jungwon, please, not now,” you cut in gently, closing your eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath before continuing.

“Can we just stay here a little longer like this? I have a feeling everything’s about to change and...” your voice trembles as you exhale shakily, tears threatening to spill over.

“I just want us to stay like this— just for a little while,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath, so softly that Jungwon almost misses it.

When you open your eyes, he notices the hidden turmoil behind them— the unspoken feelings he's always been too afraid to ask you about.

Once again, he pretends not to see them, nods quietly in agreement, and all you hear in response is a soft, reluctant okay.

Both of you remain frozen in that moment as the rest of the world around you moves in a blur.

Neither of you wants to break the delicate peace that hangs between you.

Suddenly, Jungwon breaks the silence, his voice low, “I asked her out.”

The words hang heavy in the air, shifting the atmosphere dramatically, like a sudden gust of wind that throws you off balance, your entire world comes to a halt with his confession.

Your heart freezes as you replay his words in your mind.

“I spent Christmas with her family, and like an idiot, I forgot to call you to let you know— I swear it wasn’t on purpose. You know how much our Christmas means to me. I—” he continues, his voice tinged with regret.

You look at him during his pause, a puzzled smile spreading across his face. “I think I might really like her,” he says softly, almost aloud.

You don’t realise you've taken a step back until the crunch of snow beneath your boots jolts you and Jungwon out of an illusion you both seemed trapped under.

He looks at you carefully, and his heart aches as he finally understands that he caused the cut you’re now wearing…

Because we only accept the love we believe we deserve.

“What’s that?” you pout softly, eye narrowing in curiosity as Jungwon stands in front of you with a small box behind him. Every time you try to look around him, he subtly shifts to hide it, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

You’re getting annoyed. The Christmas party around you has grown noisier, with adults laughing loudly and tipsy from the drinks, their arms wrapped around each other as they lose focus on their noisy, squealing children.

Jungwon, ever attentive to your changing mood, gently guides you away from the bustling crowd to the quiet of the backyard, where the soft glow of fairy lights casts gentle shadows.

You're grateful for his thoughtfulness, especially since one of the other girls from your class keeps interrupting your moments together, trying to catch Jungwon's attention.

“You have to guess!” he insists playfully, giggling as he keeps the mysterious box just out of your reach, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

A smile spreads across your face, your two front teeth missing as you tilt your head curiously. "Hmm, is it fairy dust?"

“Nope,” Jungwon teases, exaggerating the ‘P’ sound with a shake of his head, then adds excitedly, “but it does have glitter!”

You start listing everything that could contain glitter, your child’s mind racing with possibilities. However, nothing you call out matches the gift your friend bought.

Noticing your bottom lip quivering and your eyes shimmering with unshed tears, Jungwon gently extends the gift towards you. Carefully, you take the box from him, your small hands trembling.

Together, you sit on the old swing set in the backyard, trying to keep the wrapping intact, obvious to anyone that a child wrapped it.

You cradle the box in your lap, and as you do, a tiny globe slips out and lands softly in your palm.

There it is, the little boy bundled up in a winter coat, his cheeks rosy, as snow particles whirl around him. It's the very same snow globe you and Jungwon marvelled at yesterday while shopping with your parents.

You carefully turn the globe over in your hands, look up at Jungwon, and whisper with bright eyes, "I promise to get the matching girl globe for you someday!"

In your excitement, you jump up from the swing, throwing your arms around him in a quick, warm hug before scampering inside to show your parents.

Unbeknownst to you, a small note slips from the wrapping as you dash away.

'I like you'

“again?”

it was a cold, winter night. heeseung was sat down on a chair on your balcony, forgetting to close the door behind him. work became too stressful to maintain for heeseung, until he found out cigarettes could be a temporary solution for a bit.

it was around 2 am. the smell of cigarettes drifting to your room woke you up, figuring it was heeseung who had another stressful work shift coming up again.

you sighed and wrapped your arms around his neck from behind. heeseung let out a chuckle and shook his head when he put his cigarette on the ashtray.

“you don’t mind, do you?”

you shook your head and gave him a quick kiss on the top of his head before resting your cheek against his shoulder—his hand cupping your other cheek.

“it’s just that the smell woke me up.” you explained to him, his lips forming a smirk on his face as he traced his fingers in your hair.

“i’m sorry, baby. things are getting stressful for me.” heeseung sighed out and reached over to grab the cigarette again, taking a long drag before exhaling it to the other direction—so he wouldn’t breathe it out in your face.

you nodded and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

heeseung closed his eyes, taking another long drag before ticking the ash off and exhaling the smoke into the air when he leaned back into the chair, his hand dropping to rest on the chair’s armrest.

you stood up straight again, hands gripping onto his shoulder to give him a slow, relaxing massage. heeseung closed his eyes with a soft smile, clearly enjoying the moment with you.

you gripped tightly, but not to hurt him. heeseung took one last drag and put out the cigarette on the ashtray before completely leaning back into the chair again, waiting for you to continue.

you let out a chuckle and pushed his head lightly.

“get back inside, jackass. i’m freezing.”

heeseung clicked his tongue and nodded with a smile.

—

you came back home after a night out, but you didn’t expect the house to reek with an unfamiliar smell. something strong and it wasn’t just cigarettes.

you could’ve sworn heeseung was already home somewhere aswell. normally he would’ve been outside on the balcony, his cigarette intake increasing more than last time.

you shrugged it off, closing your nose as you hang up your jacket and take off both shoes with one hand, having to breathe through your mouth because the longer you stayed there, the stronger the smell got.

the balcony wasn’t the only place with an ashtray anymore. heeseung already mentioned the fact that he would get so tired that he couldn’t be bothered to step outside and catch a smoke. now there were ashtrays on the coffee table, in the kitchen and it took a long time of discussion whether he was allowed to have one in the bedroom.

he got angry when you refused, telling him it was no use to have one in the bedroom while the rest of the house already had enough for him to use.

today was the next day after that argument. he woke up earlier for work and you remembered it was the first time he didn’t give you a kiss before he left.

the smell kept throwing you off and you walked towards the kitchen, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe once you saw him there, sitting on the chairs surrounded by multiple different stuff on the kitchen table.

a bottle of bacardi, shot glasses, ripped up cigarettes, a bag with a dark green type of look and probably the reason why the house reeked—marijuana.

heeseung felt your presence and turned his body around, revealing him with a thin piece of paper in his hand with the tobacco and weed on it. he licked a piece of the paper before rolling it up, causing you to sigh.

“switching over to something else now?”

you felt your fist tighten when he barely showed any reaction and just smirked.

“colleague told me this would help more than cigarettes. it’s cheaper than a pack and way more helpful aswell.”

“and it smells horrible!” your eyebrows furrowed, shaking your head as you walked away from the kitchen, hoping the smell didn’t reach the bedroom and thank god it didn’t.

you refused to cook dinner for him—eat anything for yourself at all today aswell. the smell of weed was already enough to ruin your appetite for the night. you scrolled endlessly on your phone, trying to lay down comfortably and think about anything other than knowing heeseung was switching over to drugs. softdrugs, but it still threw you off.

you grew insecure, making stupid thoughts roam around your head that made no sense. did he do this because you said no to the ashtray in the bedroom? there’s no way he would do that. you let out a huge sigh wondering if his work really was that stressful for him.

maybe he had a lot of pressure out there and a complaining fiancee would only make it worse.

you took a look on the engagement ring on your finger. the ring he went down on his knees for—the time when there was nothing to stress about.

you smiled to yourself, hoping the drug phase of his life would only be temporary. maybe once he saved up enough money, the two of you could finally have a wedding already.

you stood up from the bed and stretched your arms before leaving the room, spotting heeseung outside the balcony with the joint he rolled up earlier.

you couldn’t help but chuckle once you saw him outside on the balcony. maybe after the argument he still cared that you didn’t like the smell.

a wave of deja vu hit you once you stepped outside, wrapping your arms around his neck again. it was just like the time the smell of his cigarettes woke you up—except this time, he didn’t smile.

not even a smirk either. he just gazed off infront of him and took long, deep drags of the joint. the burnt weed smelled even worse than his cigarettes, making you scrunch up your nose.

“i’m sorry i got upset at you earlier.”

heeseung just hummed, tapping his foot on the ground with his eyes closed. you didn’t smoke, let alone do marijuana. you had no clue what he felt right now. was he sad? angry? the tone in his hum barely had any recognizable emotion.

“is everything okay, hee?”

heeseung nodded slowly. his head felt fuzzy, making his responses to everything take longer than usual.

you stroked his shoulders, moving down to his arms and fidget with the ring on his hand.

“do you remember that day?”

heeseung grew a stupid smile on his face and nodded slowly again. he leaned his back back into the chair, looking into your eyes from upside down.

his eyes seemed much smaller now, half lidded. they weren’t as red as you thought they would be. he seemed more relaxed, but he also didn’t reply to anything you said.

“i’m going to marry you someday..” heeseung chuckled and closed his eyes, making you giggle at his actions.

“come on, back inside.” you planted a kiss on his forehead and quickly walked back inside.

you expected him to come with you, but he just remained sat there. he seemed stoned enough to tick the ash off and keep it for another time, but he felt like he didn’t. he stayed there, smoking up the whole joint before putting it out.

when he stood up, he gripped tightly onto the table and chair, trying to balance himself. his knees seemed weak and he coughed loudly, so loud you could hear him, even though the doors were closed.

he stepped back inside with a satisfied smirk and his eyes barely even open. he collapsed on the couch next to you and rested his head on your lap when he closed his eyes.

you giggled and scratched his hair lightly, tapping his nose. heeseung slowly opened his eyes with a smirk and slowly made the motion to tap you back on the nose aswell, which took him about 4 attempts.

you shook your head with a smile and sighed. heeseung was very cute once he was stoned, but you also didn’t want it to happen more often. the stress he had was bad, he was allowed to have a coping mechanism of course, but you didn’t want him to grow addicted. you were sure you could trust him.

heeseung had his eyes closed and smiled, his cheeks standing out—making him appear adorable.

“you’re not mad at me, right..?” heeseung mumbled and fidgeted with your fingers.

“no,” you shook your head and reassured him, planting another kiss on his forehead. “just don’t do this more often, okay?”

heeseung nodded and chuckled, giving you a kiss back on the cheek. “it won’t happen again, i promise.” he whispered softly into your ear and mumbled stupid gibberish before falling asleep on your lap.

—

he seemed normal. heeseung has never been this happy when he came home from work. you were cutting up vegetables for dinner and flinched when you felt his arms around your waist.

“my beautiful girl..” he murmured and flooded your cheek with endless kisses.

you giggled when he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, a ticklish feeling distracting you from the food you wanted to prepare for him.

“good day at work?” you smiled and continued to cut up vegetables.

“no,” he chuckled and pressed soft, slow kisses on your neck, “just missed you a lot..” he let out a breathy laugh and rested his chin on your shoulder, hugging you tightly.

you felt his jaw shiver, figuring it was just the cold weather. you found it odd, it was colder the other day, but you didn’t think much of it.

“succesfully managed to quit smoking.” heeseung smiled and kissed your shoulder before moving to the other side of your cheek, pressing even more kisses. he was proud of his success.

“that’s great, hee.” you giggled and put the knife away, cupping his cheek without turning around yet.

“found another coping mechanism, one that doesn’t make the house smell bad.” heeseung giggled. he said it way too happy. you had no idea what this new coping mechanism was and you were not sure if you could trust that tone of his.

you turned around and looked up into his gaze, your hands flying over to your hands immediately as you leaned into the kitchen counter.

his pupils were dilated, his jaw was shivering, he kept biting his cheeks. something was clearly off. you had no idea what he took, but it was definitely not the effect of a joint. heeseung let out a sigh and held both of your hands, desperate to explain himself.

“look..”

“no!”

you pushed him away and shook your head. you couldn’t believe he broke his promise like that. he promised it would be a joint and some cigarettes, not this.

“what the hell did you take and why?!” you were seriously upset at him. you were worried sick and crossed your arms around your chest, curious to the excuse he’d have for any of this. work again? colleague giving him more?

“you’re always complaining that i smell bad. all i’m doing is cigarettes, weed and pills. nothing more.” his hands reached yours again, his thumb brushing against the back of your palm to calm you down. he hoped his words would soothe your nerves, but he only made it worse.

“i can’t trust you anymore, hee.” you gave him an upset look, a hint of disappointment in your eyes.

even though you had all the right to stay mad at him, you couldn’t help but still worry about him.

you kept your distance from him in the bedroom that night. the intimacy between you two felt like it was fading. no more cuddling to sleep, soft kisses, slow and sensual sex, it felt like you were living with someone who chose addiction over your love.

still, you loved him. you wanted to be there for him. you were engaged to him and here was no way marriage would go well if there was no communication or teamwork.

you were lying down on your side—heeseung was mumbling nonsense. it was 1:30 am already. you were desperate for sleep, but the ecstasy kept him awake. blue diamond shaped pills with a skull on them. he hid it well when you saw his pupils dilated, afraid you would’ve thrown it away.

you found it anyways and gave him one last chance.

“baby?” heeseung snuggled up against you, placing his arm around your waist to put a hand down your shirt, stroking gently.

“you know i love you, right?” he spoke softly, in a gentle tone. heeseung pressed a kiss on the top of your head before resting his cheek on yours.

“not really.” you replied and shifted your position, lauing down flat on your back. heeseung balanced himself on his side and cupped your cheek.

“you upset?”

you felt the anger inside of you rise at that question. of course you were upset at him. you leaned back completely into the pillow and looked him in the eyes. the lights were off, luckily—his dilated pupils wouldn’t remind you to how much of a failure he was being right now.

“yes.”

heeseung nodded and pulled closer towards your face, kissing your cheek multiple times. heeseung’s hand was now tracing over your body, slowly sliding down your pants as he nibbled on your neck.

“don’t.”

heeseung stopped immediately with what he was doing and scooted away quickly. “not in the mood?” he quirked up an eyebrow.

you didn’t want to tell him the truth. how much you did want it, but only if he was sober and not ruining himself. you’ve craved the intimacy between you both ever since his stupid way of coping started getting worse, but not right now. now all you wanted to do was sleep it off, forget about it in the morning.

“not really, i’m sorry.”

heeseung let out a chuckle and shook his head. “it’s fine, baby. don’t worry.” heeseung was completely unaware over how much he was actually hurting you with his habits. it hurt a lot to you.

you turned around to the side and tried to lie down comfortably in bed, but it was too difficult considering your fiancé was slowly turning into an addict.

“he would only do this occasionally.” you thought to yourself. you tried so hard to focus on the bright side, hoping everything will be alright in no time once you finally wake up.

you felt your vision getting blurry and the pillow wetter than before. tears of hurt were finally let out. you were too ashamed to talk, especially if he wouldn’t listen anyways.

—

he was smoking.

thank god he was just smoking.

you let out a sigh of relief when you saw him with a joint in his hand when you entered the living room. maybe not something you wished to see, but it was better than seeing him on the pills.

it’s been 6 months now since he came home to pop pills much stronger than just ecstasy. 6 months straight of him being on substances every now and then—it got so bad you were practically begging to see him smoke something instead of swallowing again.

he got fired 4 months ago, his work effort has dropped a bunch ever since his addiction started. his focus and concentration got worse and his boss grew sick of him. understandable, but you promised to stay by his side and help him, even through dark times like this.

he looked serious, like he always did when the marijuana kicked in. but this look was hiding something.

you sat down next to him, holding him in your arms. you’ve lived long enough with him to know his behaviour wasn’t normal. there was something up with him. heeseung hugged you back tightly, letting out a quiet sob on your shoulder.

“i’m so stupid..” he mumbled and hugged you even tighter. you agreed with him, he really is stupid, but you weren’t any better. you let yourself stay with a man like him, a man who can’t control himself.

you comforted him for a while before trying to step into the bedroom. it was night, heeseung was already sober. he had an uneasy look on his face when he saw you walk towards the bedroom and walked with you quickly, covering the door.

“don’t, just not yet..” heeseung begged and breathed heavily. he seemed nervous, really nervous. your suspicion grew and you tried opening the door, bit had no luck. heeseung gripped your wrist tightly, causing you to curse underneath your breath.

“fuck… what’s wrong with you?!” you tried fighting him off, but his grip kept growing tighter. you felt scared, intimidated by him. this wasn’t the man you wanted to marry later, nor was he the man you wanted to have your future with.

you kept on trying until he had enough of trying to defend himself and let go, allowing you to enter the bedroom.

you looked around, trying to find the reason why he was so defensive, but couldn’t find anything. you had no clue why he freaked out, until your eyes darted on the desk.

you walked towards it and covered your mouth with your hand. 3 different ziplock baggies. two of them with a bunch of pills and the other a white powder. you were desperately fighting off tears, but you couldn’t hold them in anymore. you broke down, muffled sobs due to you covering your mouth and kept shaking your head. you refused to acknowledge the fact that you weren’t just hallucinating it.

you turned around and looked up at him, tears streaming down your face while he kept a neutral expression. he didn’t show any emotion, other than disappointment in himself. he didn’t even feel exposed, just stupid for buying worse substances.

you felt angry at yourself, angry for letting him ruin himself with drugs. you felt angry for letting him go on for so long that you were happy if you saw him smoke instead of seeing his jaw shiver.

angry you didn’t notice how bad it got.

you scanned him up and down, noticing something was missing on him.

“where’s… your ring..?”

heeseung didn’t answer. instead, he dropped down on his knees, hands covering his face as he sobbed out loudly. you have never seen him cry so loud before, especially not over himself. he had sold his ring, hoping to purchase more and more stuff to calm himself down and temporarily forget about the pain.

you breathed heavily, hoping none of this was real. you cried along with him, but not out of empathy. you couldn’t believe someone could be so sick and careless once an addiction starts.

did he even love you after all if he was willing to sell an important memory away?

maybe he loved you so much that he hoped you would’ve noticed how bad he got so you could leave him and gain your self respect back.

but that self respect was gone a long time ago.

you still blame yourself every night, even though you weren’t the one encouraging him to go on.

but you weren’t a good person either.

you knew he was struggling and instead of throwing his stuff away, comforting him or seeking professional help for him, you just accepted it.

addiction is a serious issue that can affect relationship bonds with people who are close to you, even if you’re not the one who’s the addict in the situation.

you never thought too much of anything like this, purely because you didn’t expect it to go this far.

you didn’t even expect him to start in the first place.

maybe in another life, he knew how to deal with stress.

maybe then he would’ve been sober and not create all this mess because of his doing.

in the end, it wasn’t his fault anyways. it was yours.

dating a drug addict was something you never expected to happen in your life, until you barely showed heeseung any signs that you wanted him to quit.

next time, maybe show some more care.

——————————————————————————

Tags: @cheriwons @rikifleur

just completely dead.

you twisted the key in the ignition again—nothing. not even a weak cough or a vibration—just silence. “baby, seriously? now?” your voice cracked with frustration as you let your forehead thud against the steering wheel—once, twice—hands gripping the wheel. 

“i just got you out of the workshop!” 

you were already running late, even dressed up nicer than usual—your baby tees that weren't oil stained for once, the one that hugged your curves just right, paired with shorts that fit, and the delicate necklace your boyfriend had given you last month. 

not to mention, your hair was done, a touch of makeup—with that fluttery feeling in your tummy because tonight was supposed to be special. weeks of texting, late–night calls, finally seeing him again…

and now you were stuck on the side of some forgotten highway with a dead car and no signal. 

you let out a shaky breath. thank god the sun wasn’t dipping yet—it was only around 4 p.m. there was plenty of daylight left, hours before the sky would think about turning purple orange. that bought you time to get some help and inform your boyfriend the car was broken.

except…

your phone had no signal.

“oh my gosh—is this a joke?” you shook your phone again, tapping the surface on your palm in hopes it’d suddenly receive a signal from somewhere. when it didn’t—you tossed your phone to the side, landing on the passenger seat. 

“okay… okay yn, think,” you muttered to yourself, leaning back and rubbing your temples. pop the hood? you weren’t a mechanic—you’d only do damage to the car. or wait it out—someone had to drive by eventually, right? 

you stared out the windshield at the empty road stretching both ways, the quiet was almost too loud. your eyes trailed up to the little hill. you could walk a little ways to see if you could find higher ground for signal?

but it’s so… high and your last meal was a brunch that was almost four hours ago…

sit here and… hope?

you reached for the door handle, about to step out and at least look like you were doing something, when a sound caught your ear—clearer and closer.

hoofbeats.

steady… unhurried… like the rider itself had all the time in the world. 

you froze, hand still on the handle, and watched from the rearview mirror as he emerged fully into view.

a lone rider on a sleek black horse, moving along the edge of the highway. dark jacket opened over a fitted black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. his black cowboy hat pulled low, shadowing his face just enough to make your stomach flip with curiosity.

the way he sat on the saddle—straight–backed, relaxed but controlled—that quiet confidence dripping off him. 

the man guided the horse closer, slowing to a stop a respectful distance from your car. the animal snorted softly, tossing its head to the side, and the rider leaned forward to calm it with a gentle pat on the neck.

then—those dark eyes lifted to meet yours through the mirror.

sharp. intense.

your breath hitched in your lungs—he swung down from the saddle effortlessly, boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. tall—taller than you’d expected—long legs, lean build … biceps… the kind of presence that made the wide–open desert space around you feel suddenly smaller.

he adjusted his hat with one hand, the other holding reins loosely, and took a few slow steps toward your opened passenger window.

“hey there,” he said, voice low and smooth like… whiskey over ice, a faint tint drawl curling around the edges. he tilted his head just slightly, studying you—and the dead car—with calm interest.

“car troublin’ ya?”

your mouth went dry and you swore you forgot how to breathe. up close—he was even more fuckin’ striking. high cheekbones, honey skin glowing in the sunlight, lips pressed into a subtle line that hinted at amusement. 

you… you didn’t know who this guy was—but fuck, he’s fucking hot. 

you swallowed, managing a small nod. “y—yeah,” you finally said, voice coming out softer than you meant. “it just… died. won’t start—and there’s no signal out here.”

his gaze flicked to your phone on the passenger seat, then back to you. one corner of his mouth lifted.

“mind if i take a look?” 

you gave him a small nod—he knew you’d say yes anyway, what option did you have? he stepped toward the front of the car. you popped the hood from inside, the latch clicking, then pushed the door open and climbed out.

the warm, dry, afternoon air hitting your skin.

sunghoon moved with that same unhurried motion, grace, looping the reins over his horse’s neck so she stayed put. he took off his jacket and rolled off his sleeves a little higher as he approached the engine, revealing his… toned forearms and biceps dusted with dust and sunlight.

you tried not to stare.

he leaned over the hood, one had bracing against the metal, the other tracing—his index and middle fingers—along the battery cables, checking connections… peering at belts and fluids… things that a pretty girl like you wouldn’t and shouldn’t know anyway. 

those nice… slender fingers… suited being somewhere… better.

your eyes travelled at the way his black shirt stretched across his back and shoulders when he shifted… the light caught the sharp line of his jaw. 

you stood a few feet away, arms loosely crossed against your chest, pretending to care about the car—but there’s a better view before you.

“battery looks fine,” he murmured, almost to himself. he straightened slightly, wiping a smudge of grease onto his jeans without care, then glanced over at you.

his eyes lingered.

not that… quick check–in if you were okay; but that slow… deliberate… lingering sweep—down the length of you. sunghoon swallowed in the baby blue baby tee clinging softly to your frame, the way your hair fell across your shoulders, the faint flush rising on your cheeks.

sunghoon tried so hard—so fucking hard—to not let his eyes fall onto the dip of your cleavage.

he failed.

when his gaze came back up to meet yours, he made it so obvious he was checking you out. there was something dark and unreadable flickering behind those orbs. curiousity—interest, something warmer than… the polite stranger act.

you shifted, suddenly hyper–aware of how close he was, how the faint scent of leather and sun–warmed skin drifted on the breeze. 

“there’s a leak,” he said finally, tipping his chin toward your engine. “that’s why she overheated and shut down.” his tone was matter–of–fact, but he held your eyes longer than necessary made it feel anything but casual.

“...oh,” you managed, stepping closer—to see what he was pointing at—but honestly, just really drawn into his aura. you were so close to see the faint sheen at his temple, the way his lashes cast shadows. you were so close sunghoon could see the droplets of sweat trailing down the side of your neck, the way your upper teeth caught on your bottom lip.

he didn’t move. 

instead, sunghoon stayed leaned against your car, arms loosely folded, watching you—not the engine—so painfully obvious it made your pulse flutter. 

wow—you had no idea what’s leaking… in terms of the car, at least.

“you headed somewhere importan’?” he asked, voice dropping a fraction lower. his gaze flicked to your lips, then back up before you caught it. you swallowed. “mmhm. i… was supposed to meet… someone.”

a beat. 

sunghoon’s head tilted slightly, the corner of his mouth twitched into the tiniest smirk. “must be real disappointed right now,” he said, soft and slow, eyes never leaving yours. your breath hitched and the tension coiled tighter, warm and heavy in your chest… spreading lower.

“i—it’s okay,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out shy and a little breathless. your laugh soft and nervous as you tucked a strand of hair. “they’ll understand.”

his eyes stayed on you for a beat, dropping down just a little on your collarbone—but that faint smirk deepened just enough to make your tummy flip. after what felt like hours, sunghoon pushed off your yellow car, straightening to his full height that just towered over you.

“sunghoon,” he said simply, extending his hand. his voice was low, steady. 

sunghoon, you rolled his name mindlessly in the back of your mind, tasting his name on your tongue. “mmhm,” you slipped your hand into his—warm and rough against your bare, softer skin—his grip firm but careful, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

the contact lingered, and neither of you pulled away first. 

“yn,” you answered. 

“yn,” he repeated, tasting the name like he was trying it out. a small nod, almost approving. sunghoon licked his lips before continuing. “pretty name for a pretty girl stuck on the side of the road.”

heat rushed to your cheeks and you quickly glanced away, pretending to look at the engine, but you could feel his gaze still on you. it’s so unfair, you thought. 

you broke it first. “well,” sunghoon sighed, closing the hood with a gentle thud, wiping his hands on his handkerchief he pulled from his back pocket. “car’s ain’t gonna fix themselves out here. leaking like that—you’re not drivin’ anywhere tonight without coolant.” 

you bit your lip, shaking your head, glancing at the empty hallway. “yeah… i figured.”

sunghoon looked at you—pity girl—then at his horse, then back at you—something flashed in his eyes. 

“look,” he said, running his fingers through his dark locks. “i’ve got tools back at the ranch. spare house, too. it’s only a couple miles down the road.” he tilted his head slightly, making his gaze feel more intense. 

“you can ride with me. get it fixed before dark, get your back on your way.”

your heart stuttered. ride with him..? ride him? on the horse? or…?

he must’ve seen the question in your eyes because the corner of his mouth lifted again. “my girl can take us both. or i can lead and walk, and you just sit pretty.” 

you swallowed, glancing at the sun still high enough in the sky, the golden light catching on his shirt. then your gaze flicked back to the horse—big, calm, but still a horse…

what about… stranger danger…? 

the thought slipped out before you could stop it, soft and uncertain, fingers twisting around the hem of your baby tee. 

“um… what about stranger danger?” you asked, half laughing to cover your nerves, cheeks heating up again. you supposed you could just… ask this kind sunghoon stranger to return with a pipe… or something…

“i mean, i don’t know you—you don’t know me… and you want me to just… hop on your horse and ride off to your ranch?”

sunghoon paused. for a second, his expression didn’t really change, but the corner of his mouth curved. he’d find your worry both endearing and adorable. 

cute.

“fair,” he said, shrugging. there was no defensiveness, or offense in it at all. he let his hand drop to his side, giving you space. “if you’re wonderin’ or scared, i get it. pretty girl alone out here—i’d be worried too.”

he glanced down the road in the direction he’d come from, then back at you.

“i live just a couple miles that way,” he continued, nodding toward a faint dirt turnoff you hadn’t noticed before. “there’s a diner right off the main road before you even get to my ranch—folks and ladies there know me.” 

a small huff escaped him. 

“or,” he added, tilting his head slightly, eyes softening. “we can walk the whole way. i’ll lead the way slow. you stay ten feet back if you want, i’ll even let you hold the reins.”

he said it completely serious too… like your comfort truly mattered more than getting back quickly. the sincerity in his voice, the way he didn’t push or be weird about it—just offering—made something in your chest loosen.

you looked at him again—you supposed… there was no point in waiting for other help to come by—and your heart gave a traitorous little thud. 

“mm… okay. lead me the way.”

you slipped your hand out—and his fingers closed around yours and he guided you toward his horse. the animal watched you with dark eyes—much like the owner—ears flicking as you approached. 

“easy now,” sunghoon murmured, more to the horse than you, running his hand down her neck. “snow’s gentle, she won’t throw you.”

he turned to you, smiling. “you ever been on a horse before?”

you shook your head, laughing nervously. “never… not even once—never had a reason to.”

a soft huff escaped him—almost a chuckle. “first time for everything.”

sunghoon moved to the side, cupping his hands together in a boost. “left foot here, grab the saddle horn and swing your right leg over it when i lift.” 

your heart pounded, but you did as he said. sunghoon’s hands settled on your waist as he hoisted you up, strong and sure, and then you were in the saddle—legs dangling awkwardly, gripping the horn.

“eek—!”

he chuckled, swung behind you in a motion he’d done a billion times, settling in close—really close. his chest brushed your back as he reached around you for the reins, thighs framing yours, the heat of him immediately and overwhelming. 

“you good?” sunghoon asked, voice low near your ear. you swallowed the lump in your throat, his warm breath hitting the shell of your ear. “m—mmhm,” you managed, hyper aware of every little shift and contact. 

sunghoon’s arm circled loosely around your waist just to steady you on the horse—and you felt the subtle shift of his body as he nudged the horse forward with his heels. 

snow started walking and rolling—making you sway instinctively. you tensed, gripping the horn harder.

“relax,” he said quietly, breathing now against the side of your neck. “lean back a little, i got you.”

you eased against him just slightly. his arm tightened the tiniest bit in response—reassured. the horse settled into a rhythm along the edge of the highway, hooves clopping against the dirt. the sun was still bright, golden, warm breeze carrying the scent of dry grass and… him.

for a minute, neither of you spoke. 

until sunghoon broke it.

“so… where were you headed, dressed up like that?”

you laughed softly, glancing down at your baby tee and your nice jeans. “just… meeting someone.” sunghoon hummed, a deep sound that vibrated against your back from how close he was. “poor lad, waitin’ somewhere wonderin’ where you are right now.” 

“probably,” you bit your lip, suppressing back a smile. 

another beat. 

his thumb brushed idly against the rein near your hip. “must be somethin’ special between you two,” he murmured, humming. “to get you out here lookin’ this pretty.”

your cheeks burned. you turned your head just enough to catch him—sharp line of his jaw… the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes.

“mayhaps,” you said softly. “could be i just like dressing up sometimes.”

sunghoon let out a quiet breath of laughter. “fair enough.”

snow kept walking, carrying you both on her strong body. you shifted slightly, getting used to the rhythm, and you slowly realised you weren’t as scared anymore. 

actually… it felt kind of nice. the warmth of sunghoon, the strength of his arms, the quiet that didn’t feel awkward at all. 

“so…” you said after a moment, corner of your lips twitched into a teasing smirk. “you do this often? rescue stranded girls on horseback?” 

his lips curved—just a little. “first time of everything.”

you smiled despite yourself. “lucky me, then.”

he didn’t answer right away, just tightened his arm a fraction, guiding snow off the highway and onto the dirt path leading to the ranch. “yeah,” he said finally, voice warm against your ear. 

“lucky me.”

——

sunghoon reached up for you, hands settling on your waist again—firm and steady—lifting you down like you weighed a feather. your boots hit the ground, but his hands lingered a second longer than necessary before he let go.

“welcome to the house,” he said dryly, gesturing at the perfect tidy yard. a faint smile tugged at his lips as he tied the reins. “come on in, i’ll grab you something while i check the garage.”

he led you up the porch steps and pushed open the front foor—no lock, you noticed. must be safe around here, you thought, humming. the cool air inside hit you—the faint smell of coffee and wood floors.

“make yourself at home,” sunghoon said, tipping off his hat and hanging it on a hook. his dark hair fell slightly messier without it, a few strands brushing his forehead. “water, iced tea, lemon—fridge it through there.” he nodded toward the open kitchen.

“i’ll be in the garage. shouldn’t take long.”

his space was simple and tidy—leather couch facing a fireplace, shelves lined with books and framed photos of … sunghoon and his friends. his six other friends. equally as fine. a worn acoustic guitar leaned in one corner, blankets folded neatly over the couch arm.

no clutter, nothing sterile either. 

just him.

you wandered through the big picture window overlooking the fields, the late–afternoon light pouring in soft. a few horses grazed in the distance. 

everything was peaceful in a way the city never was. 

the glass of lemonade cold in your hand as you turned slowly. your eyes landed on a small cluster of framed photos near the front door—one of sunghoon on horseback, younger; another him with an older man who shared the same features. must’ve been his father. 

you didn’t realise you’d drifted closer, drawn in by that smile on his face. you were standing right in front of it, lemonade tilted slightly in your grip—completely lost in the photo,

when the door swung open.

sunghoon stepped inside, grease smudged rag in one hand, the other pushing the door wide—and you startled hard.

the glass jerked in your fingers—cold lemonade sloshed over the rim, splashing down the front of your baby tee in a sticky streak that soaked straight through the thin fabric. 

“oh—gosh—” you gasped, jumping back a step, holding the glass out. sunghoon’s eyes widened half a second before he was moving, closing the door behind him with his boot and crossing to you.

“fuck, sorry—didn’t mean to scare ya’,” he said, voice rushed, already reaching for the rag in his hand. but it was dirty, so he stopped. “gosh, you okay?”

you laughed, breathless, embarrassed heat flooding your face. the lemonade left a cold, clinging patch right… across your front. “it’s fine, i wasn’t paying attention,” you mumbled, dabbing at the stain with your fingers instead. 

“was looking at your pictures.”

he didn’t move back, didn’t look away. the air between you felt suddenly too small and cold again… despite everything burning. 

“i’ve got spare shirts in the laundry room,” he said after a beat, eyes dropping to the stain—pervert—once more before meeting yours again. “clean ones, if you want to change.”

you nodded slowly, heart thudding in against your ribs. 

“mm.. yeah, sure,” you said softly, glancing up to him from underneath your lashes. “that… might be good.” 

——

you peeled off your soaked baby tee, the sticky lemonade making it cling uncomfortably. you’re only grateful your bra was there to soak the rest before the liquid reached your skin. 

his… white shirt was huge—falling halfway down your thighs and completely covering your shorts, sleeves past your elbows, the collar loose enough to slip off one shoulder if you weren’t careful. 

it smelled like sunghoon—clean cotton and traces of wood musk.

“... nice,” you caught your reflection in the small mirror above your dryer and laughed quietly to yourself. you looked swallowed whole by it.

just then, your eyes landed on something else through the reflection—his brown cowboy hat, hanging on a hook just inside the door. the different one from what he wore earlier. you bit your lip, glancing toward the door.

no signs of him.

just for fun, you never wore a cowboy hat before.

you reached up on your tippy toes and plucked it off the hook, settling in your head. it was too big, obviously—sliding down over your eyebrows until you had to tip it back with a finger. 

to be honest, you looked kinda… hot. yeah—seductive, almost. 

you smoothed his shirt down, adjusted the hat, and pushed the door open. 

sunghoon was leaning just against the kitchen counter, arms loosely crossed, looking down at his boots—but the second you stepped out, his head lifted.

and he froze. 

his gaze swept over you—deliberately. the—his—oversized shirt hanging loose on your smaller frame, the hem brushing your thighs (only the little ripped strands of your shorts were showing up), the way the fabric draped over your shoulders.

that… hat tilting playfully on your head.

everything about him stilled. even the air felt heavier. his pants got tighter.

“everything’s… big,” you giggled, laughing to break the sudden tension, tugging at the sleeve that swallowed your hand. you gave a small spin, the shirt flaring slightly—you held the hat by the brim. 

“like, really big.”

he didn’t laugh. didn’t even smile at first.

sunghoon just stared, his eyes darker than before, jaw tight, lips… wet. 

then he pushed off the counter, closing the distance in one slow step. 

“yeah?” he murmured, voice rougher, dropping an octave lower… low enough that you swore it vibrated in your chest. sunghoon reached out, fingers brushing the brim of the—his—hat, adjusting it slightly so it sat better.

so he could see your pretty face clearer.

his thumb grazed your temple as he did. 

“looks better on you.” 

your breath caught. he was close again—too close—hand lingering near your face. you could feel the heat radiating off him, the faint scent of his musk and sweat filling every inch of space between you.

he didn’t step back.

he took a slow step forward—then another.

until your back met the wall with a soft thud, the cool wood at your spine contrasting to what’s warming you up in front of you. the hat tilted slightly on your head as you tipped it back to look up at him, and his eyes—heavy lidded—locked onto yours.

“r—really?” 

his hand dropped from the brim, trailing down the side of your neck, over the loose collar of his shirt on you, until his palm settled at your waist. fingers splayed wide—possessive—puling you in just a fraction closer.

then his hand went lower, skimming the curve of your hip, thumb pressing lightly into the dip above your shorts. 

you didn’t want to move.

your hands came up instantly, fingers curling into the front of his black shirt, feeling his heart thumping under your palms. 

“mmhm,” sunghoon leaned in, forehead almost touching yours, breath warm against your lips. “you’ve been driving me crazy since i saw you in that car,” he said, voice low. “now you’re in my shirt, my hat—lookin’ like you belong here or somethin’.”

your lips parted, but no words came—just a soft, shaky exhale.

his gaze dropped to your mouth. 

“you do this often?” sunghoon murmured, his fingers drumming your skin. “wreck your car hopin’ some stranger’ll come along and fix it?”

you felt the words more than heard them… the teasing edge softened by the way his thumb traced your hip. 

“only cowboys like you,” you whispered, the words barely out before—

sunghoon closed that tiny gap.

he slammed his lips against yours—evoking a soft, surprised gasp out of you—his hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him and positioning his knee in between your legs. 

you melted almost instantly into his mouth, hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck, pulling him down as sunghoon angled his head to kiss you harder and deeper. his tongue traced your bottom lip, teasing, then slipped inside when you gasped for him—slow, hot, unhurried. 

it made your knees buckle and weak. 

sunghoon groaned quietly when you tagged at his hair, the sound rumbling through his chest into yours. “ngh—hngh—” you moaned into his mouth, tugging him down. the hat titled precariously; but he caught it with one hand, readjusting it on top of your head without breaking the kiss. 

both of his hands were back on you—one splayed across your lower back, the other cupping your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek, lifting your head up. sunghoon glided his tongue along your row of teeth, tasting you slow and thorough. 

a low hum rumbled in his chest when you parted for him, your own tongue meeting his in a slick curl that made you tighten your grip around his shirt. “hah—s—sunghoon,” you breathed out. your salivas mixed, messy and hot, a thin strand connecting your lips when he pulled back just enough to breathe—

only to dive back in harder, swallowing every little whimper and moan. 

sunghoon kissed like he worked for it… having complete control like he would with snow—angling your head to take it deeper how he wanted it to be. your back arched against the wall as his hand on your lower back slid lower, palm running along the globe of your ass before it spread over the curve of your hip.

“ah—,” you gasped as he pressed forward. you felt the head line of his cock beneath his jeans against your stomach—he was just as wrecked as you were.

sunghoon broke the kiss only to drag his mouth along your jaw, teeth scraping at the sensitive spot under your ear before coming back to your lips, no less filthy than before—long and wet and deep that left you dizzy.

your pussy was growing crazily wet and warm—heat pooling your tummy as you began grinding and rubbing yourself on his knee. 

“still wanna get that car fixed?” he whispered, teasing against your swollen mouth, lips brushing but not quite kissing.

you panted, looking up at him through half lidded eyes, before answering by pulling him back in, kissing him open–mouthed and desperate, fingers threading through his hair to keep him there. he groaned into you, low and raw, and kissed you back just as deep.

sunghoon’s hands roamed—down your sides, slipping into the loose fabric of his shirt on you—until he suddenly spun you around in a smooth motion—your palms hitting the kitchen counter with a slap. 

“hngh—?” you gasped as he pressed in behind you, chest to your back, hips slotting against you. sunghoon didn’t stop kissing you—his strong… bigger hand came up to your jaw, fingers curled around your soft jaw as he turned your head sideways so he could claim your mouth from this new angle.

deep.. messy, relentless—the other hand splayed across your tummy, pulling you flush.

“fuck,” he murmured, grinding slow and deliberate against the curve of your ass through your shorts, the friction sending sparks down your cunt. a low rumble vibrated from his chest as he rolled his hips again, his hard on pressing hard between your asscheeks. 

sunghoon’s lips broke from yours to drag wet kisses along your exposed side of your neck, teeth grazing the skin as he left angry lovebites before he turned your face toward him again, capturing your mouth in another horny kiss. 

all while his hips kept that rhythm—rubbing against you, clothed but undeniably fucking horny. “you feel what you’re doin’ to me?” 

you could only whimper in response, arching your back and pushing against him—eliciting a groan out him, deeper, his hips snapping forward—so fucking hard—before he slowed.

you pulled back to catch your breath, knees weakening as you braced yourself on your forearms. the words slipped out before you could stop them—half plea, half teasing.

“are you going to keep humpin’ me, or are you going to let me ride you, cowboy?” 

the air went still for a beat.

the corner of his lips twitched—and so did his eye—sunghoon scoffed dryly. you barely had time to register the shift in his energy and demeanour before his palm cracked against your ass through the denim. 

not gentle.

a firm, stinging smack echoed in the kitchen made you gasp, jolting forward against the corner. 

“watch that mouth,” he hummed low against your ear, body still pinned, his hand caressing the globe of your ass where he’d just smacked them. “you don’t get to call the shots just yet.” 

you breath hitched at the first rush of the sting, at the command of his voice. you bit your lip to keep another bratty remark to yourself—but failed to hide the way your hips rolled back against him. 

he huffed before he moved—hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady, turning you just enough to guide you back against the counter before he sank down. 

slowly.

until sunghoon was on his knees behind you, eye level with the curve of your ass, one palm smoothing over the spot he’d just smacked. “i’ll tell you what to do,” he murmured, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your jeans. he didn’t ask; just straight up unbuttoned them with a quick flick of his slender fingers and tugged everything down in one drag—

jeans and panties together—until they pooled at your knees. 

“mmmh,” cool air hit your skin, but only for a second before his warm hands were back on your asscheeks, spreading them apart from behind. “hold still, pretty girl,” he muttered—and just like that—

his mouth was on your cunt. 

no teasing and no hesitation—just confidence dripping down like your juices down your thighs. sunghoon licked a long, flat stripe up your centre, groaning low at the taste that he’d been starving for. “ungh—oh gosh,” you gasped, knees buckling on his face as you gripped the counter harder, shaky moans slipping out.

sunghoon’s tongue circled your clit from behind—once, twice—sucking the little pea in pressure that made your hips jerk back against his face. “fuckin’ hell, so sweet,” he rasped. his strong arm banded across your lower tummy, locking you in place—on his handsome face, sharp nose digging between your ass.

he didn’t let you move or shift as much as he slipped his tongue inside your cunt—sliding back up, in and out, flicking, and swirling around inside. “s—sunghoon, sunghoon,” you moaned softly, eyes fluttering. 

wet sounds filled up his kitchen, filthy and so fucking obscenely loud—his mouth working you open, lips sealing like he’s making out with your pussy lips now before it moved around your clit again and again, sucking until your thighs trembled.

he sucked and tugged the pea towards him. 

it’s something you’ve never, not in the years of your life, ever experienced. every time you tried to push back down for more, sunghoon only tightened his hold and slowed down like he’s telling you that you’re not in charge here. 

then, he dragged his tongue in lazy, torturous strokes until you whined, before speeding up suddenly—fast with relentless flicks that had you gasping his name. “your tongue feels s’good, oh fuck,” 

his free hand came up between your legs, two fingers sliding into you without warning, stretching you tight cunt and curling deep and stroking in time with his tongue. the combo wrecked you badly—your head dropped forward, forehead pressing to the cool counter as your toe curled inwards on itself.

“w—what—?! oh, fuck, sunghoon—” 

he hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks in your tummy, and doubled down. “gotta stretch you out before i give you the real thing,” he murmured against your wet cunt, sucking hard, fingers thrusting faster, pressing on that spongy spot inside. 

your legs shook as you began subtly riding on his two fingers as he flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue. “‘m cumming, wanna cum, cum—,” you whined adorably, chest heaving as pleasure swelled up in your gut.

“mmhm—?” sunghoon hummed teasingly, you felt the corner of his lips twitched. you tightened around his fingers—walls spasming around his digits. sunghoon curled his fingers inside and traced his name against your walls. 

he’s so fucking filthy, it’s disgustingly hot.

an ecstasy tidal wave quickly rushed over you—and before you knew it, your walls pulsated before you came right on his fingers and tongue, against his face. “oh fuck—!” you cried out sharply, curling your hands into fists as you hung your head low.

every limbs of yours felt like jelly, your body twitched—clenching around him as he licked you through every pulse, gulping down your juices and squirt that trailed down your inner thighs. 

“fuck, you’re so sweet, so good,” he moaned, slowly pulling his fingers out that left you empty almost instantly, pussy squeezing the thin air. your thighs trembled in pleasure as sunghoon spread your asscheeks with his wet fingers, pressing one last slow, deliberate long lick from your sensitive clit up to your entrance. 

“good girl,” he whispered, hands smoothed up your sides before rising behind you. 

“now… about that ride you wanted…”

you turned in his arms, still buzzing, still twitching, legs unsteady. sunghoon’s eyes were swimming with lust, lips slick and swollen from you. the hard line of him pressed against your hip through his jeans—impossible to ignore. 

a slow, wicked smile tugged at your mouth as you sank down now—your turn, mirroring the way he’d just knelt for you—until you were on your knees in front of him. 

sunghoon’s breath hitched, hand automatically coming up to lift the brim of his hat to look at your face. you looked up at him from under your curled lashes, palms sliding up his thighs, feeling his cock tense and twitch under denim. 

“fair’s fair, cowboy,”

he exhaled a rough laugh, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “you don’t have to—”

but you were already popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down slow enough to make him groan—preparing himself. “don’t have to what?” you asked innocently, tugging everything down just enough, and his—

his cock sprang free—thick, heavy, flicked dark and already leaking precum at the tip. 

your eyes widened and your breath hitched, his cock throbbed right in front of your eyes—it casted shadow over your face. your lips parted, a gasp escaped your lips.

sunghoon was fucking big—no, huge—the biggest you’ve ever seen before. 

you could tell it was painful for him from the way his cock twitched in neediness, a low hiss escaped from his lips. “shit… surprised?” 

you wet your lips before swallowing the lump in your throat. there was… almost no way it’d fit in your mouth, much less your pussy. but you wrapped your hands around him—even with both hands, it still wasn’t enough to hold his whole cock—stroking once, twice, feeling him throb in your grip.

sunghoon’s head tipped back slightly, jaw clenched, but his eyes stayed locked on you. 

you continued jerking him off in your hands, dragging every skin, feeling every veins, milking more of his precum that trailed on the side of your hands. “i thought only horses have big cocks…” you murmured before leaning in—tongue flicking out to taste the bead at the head, salty and warm—before taking him into your mouth in one slow slide.

“but i guess their owners have too…?” 

“fuck—” the curse tore out of him, low and husky, fingers tightening at your hair as his hat tipped to the side a little. he didn’t push, just holding as you took him in deeper, lips stretching around him. 

you only managed to take half of his cock inside your mouth before pulling back almost all the way, tongue swirling around the tip, then took him again, deeper this time, cheeks hollowing. sunghoon tasted manly—sweaty, but not the nasty kind. just… a man. 

his hips twitched, but he let you set the pace yourself. you worked him slow at first—wet, messy suckings, hand twisting in strokes at the base at the same time as your mouth—then faster, taking him in as far as you could until the tip hit your uvula, and your eyes watered.

“yn, fuck,” he groaned your name. your mouth was warm and wet, like entering a slimy, hot pond, cock totally engulfed in your saliva. it felt heavenly. you were disheveled and messy—but still so hot. glossy and smudged lipstick over your lips, leaving a pink ring mark around his cock with your flushed cheeks.

every time you pulled off to breathe, you looked up—watching his handsome face, thick brown furrowing, lips parted before his canines dragged the bottom lip, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he fought not to thrust and fuck your mouth.

you hummed around him, the vibration sending sparks up his cock that made it twitch and he cursed again, “just like that,” he murmured.

you took him inside your mouth again, this time picking up your speed and pace in sucking him—the tip hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag and roll your eyes behind. 

his veins glided along your wet tongue, sunghoon squeezed his eyes shut as wet, clicky sounds filled the space. sunghoon falls into his temptation and thrusts his hips upward, hitch in his breath as you deepthroat him. 

“shit, ‘m cummin, fuck,” 

his whole body went rigid, hips jerking shallowly before spilling hot down your throat, pulse after pulse. your eyes widened but didn’t pull away, taking it all. contrasting from how soft you hummed around him while he shuddered through it, curses and your name tumbling from his lips.

your throat worked in gulps as you swallowed his milk down, hands steadying his thighs. sunghoon sagged back against the counter, chest heaving as you eased off low—lips sliding along his cock until he slipped free with a pop.

a thin strand of cum and spit connected you before breaking.

“hah… hngh,” you looked up at him, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb before slipping it inside your mouth to lick it clean, a smug little smile tugging at your messy lips. sunghoon stared down at you, breathing ragged, furrowing. 

“jesus fuckin’ christ,” he muttered, running his hand down his face before reaching down to haul you up by your arms until you were pressed against him, foreheads touching. “you’re g’nna kill me.”

then he kissed you—deep, filthy—combining both the taste of him and you on your tongue and groaning into it. his hands slid down to grip your thighs, turning and lifting you easily onto the counter. 

“my turn again,” he murmured, hiking up your—his—shirt until it bunched at your waist. you were fully exposed to him from the hips down. “i ain’t stoppin’, so don’t tell me to.”

you only whimpered in response as sunghoon’s palm splayed across your lower stomach, holding you while the other hand wrapped around his cock, guiding himself to your entrance. the head of his cock scooped your slickness.

sunghoon teased you by slipping in just the head, stretching you and barely enough to evoke a soft gasp from your lips. from behind, he smirked at your reaction, looking down at how your slick hung down from his cock. 

“easy now,” he muttered, hissing as finally pushed in slow. the stretch was immediate though, thick and burning in the best way possible. you gasped aloud, head falling forward, fingers clawing at the granite as he sank deeper—inch by inch—until he almost bottomed out with a low, guttural groan against your neck.

“oh my fuckin’ god, sunghoon,” you cried out, feeling him in your stomach. “shit, you’re perfect,” he rasped, pulling back almost all the way before snapping his hips forward, hard—burying all his inches inside you. the slap of skin echoed in the kitchen as your body jolted forward with the force, the hat you’re wearing tipped sideways.

he set a relentless, needy pace from the start—deep and punishing thrusts that had you moaning and crying with every slam, his hand on your stomach pressed down his bulging cock through your flesh, feeling the skin swelling.

his other hand gripped your hip, steadying you while his fingers dug hard enough to bruise, pulling you back to meet every roll of his hips. “so goddamn tight,” he hissed, teeth grazing your shoulder. 

“takin’ me like you’re made for me.”

every thrust only dragged your walls, the head slamming and bullying that soft spot inside you, forming a wave of pleasure that coiled tighter and tighter until you’re left trembling against the counter. your breath hitched, babbling his name.

“more—more, more, more,” you whined. sunghoon didn’t let you up, his fingers moved down to work on your clit, rolling and rubbing his middle finger on that little pea as his hips snapped forward without mercy. 

sunghoon’s so horny it’s fucking crazy—he fucked into you deep and hard, every thrust punching air from your lungs. sweat beaded along his neck, rolled down his collarbone; dark hair stuck to his forehead—barely leashed hunger. 

he was always like this when he finally snapped—weeks, sometimes months, of nothing but endless ranch work and journey, early mornings, late nights, calloused hands busy with fences and horses and hay to even think about getting laid. 

there’s almost no time for bars, patience for games (although he liked to indulge himself in dart games), just pure, pent up need stacking higher and higher. 

so when you showed up—pretty, stranded, looking at him with those wide, pleading eyes, spilling lemonade down your shirt and ending up in his clothes and hat, space, hands…

 a girl like you, soft and city–sweet and practically begging to be taught how the town works, walking straight into his world—he couldn’t have stopped if he tried. he didn’t want to stop. 

a guttural sound tore out of him when you tightened, fingers rubbing your clit harder, pressing down. “fuck—take it,” he rasped. “take every fuckin’ inch,” 

you gasped, blossoming with excitement and arousal. your pleasure spills out in trembling moans, breathy cries mixing with the echo of your skin slapping together. “fuck, fuck, it feels so good, hoonie,” 

his eyes twitched before he delivered a smack against your asscheeck, the flesh jiggling before he quickly smoothed it down with his hand. “good,” he panted, clamping his teeth down on your shoulder. the sound of his balls slapping against your cunt reverberated through the kitchen. 

“wanna cum, a—again, please,” you pleaded, lips parting as you hung your head down. his cock was able to delve deeper from this position of your leg on the countertop, spreading your thighs further. “hm—? cummin’ again already?” sunghoon chuckled softly, slamming and bucking his hips up that the tip slammed against your cervix.

you nodded eagerly, whimpering. you’re so overstimulated—couldn’t think straight at the way your pussy spasmed around his throbbing length. “please, please i wanna cum real bad,” you whined, pleading. 

sunghoon dragged his nails and held your hips, his cock dragged against your velvety walls. “show me,” his words broke apart, the rhythm of his hips frantic and desperate. he wasn’t as close to cumming, and he wished to keep fucking you—but he supposed city girls didn’t have a lot of stamina. 

“cum on my fuckin’ cock, baby,”

you cursed out loud as a gush of warm liquid squirted out and down on your thighs—and his cock totally engulfed him warm and wet. he was buried so deep inside you, not moving as much to allow you to steady yourself. 

the orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami—overwhelmingly relentless. your vision whited out at the edges, walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses, milking him, pulling him deeper like your body refused to let go. 

heat bloomed low in your tummy and spread in shocks as your body twitched, slumping on the counter. “oh gosh—oh my gosh,” you whimpered, thighs trembling, breath sharp, desperate gasps.

“fuck—look at you,” sunghoon rasped, fingers digging into your hips as he thrust through your climax, chasing his own release in the tight, slick grip—still not pulling out. “soakin’ me like that…” 

you felt vulnerable and claimed—there was no fucking way any other men can ever come close to this—sunghoon, his demeanour, his energy, his cock—ever again. not your boyfriend, not any boys anywhere. 

the wet mess between your legs proof of how thoroughly he done fucked you up.

“hngh—ah, i…” your words trailed off as you panted, pussy twitching around his cock… you stayed like that for a long moment—bent over his counter, wearing his shirt, his hat—his chest heaving against your back. 

sunghoon caressed the globe of your asscheek, spreading to see his wet cock and the way your squirt dripped down on his tiles. “you what?”

you shook your head, biting your bottom lip to stifle another whimper, then turned your head just enough to meet his gaze—eyes glassy, cheek adorably flushed, with that little bratty smile.

“i still haven’t ridden the cowboy…” 

sunghoon’s eyes widened for a fraction before a grin spread across his face.

“oh darlin’,” he chuckled softly. “you’re takin’ the reins.”

——

“oh fuck—!”

the sound tore out of you, high and whimpery as sunghoon licked straight up between your pussy lips one long stroke. no teasing this time—just pure filth and hunger. his tongue plunged inside you, swirling and thrusting back and forth inside your cunt, lips sealing around to suck hard.

your hands flew to the wooden headboard for balance, gripping the wood, hips rocking instinctively against his handsome face. the tip of his nose brushed your clit every time you moved. 

sunghoon groaned into you, the vibration going up your cunt. his hand held your hips from falling, the other wrapped around his throbbing cock, jerking off the taste of your cunt and the sound of your moans. 

wet sounds filled this room now, his nose brushing your clit as he devoured you from below. 

“hoonie—fuuuckkkk,” you whimpered, head falling back as you quickly held the hat on your head. sunghoon insisted—begged—you keep it on your head. said it’s fuckin’ hot, said you’re—

his.

sunghoon answered by clamping his teeth down on your flesh, not hard that it’s painful, but enough for you to feel the pressure and his canines. his one hand left your hip to reach up and palm your tits, thumb flicking the nipple while he sucked your clit relentless. 

there’s no way you could last much longer. not like this—not with him eating and tongue–fucking you like a straved man. 

and from the way his hips rolled up in his grip, cock leaking against his hand—he was loving every second of it. 

“hoonie, here it is’, oh jesus,” your voice broke as you grind harder. the orgasm hit like a bungee—your whole body tensed as your thighs trembled and kept his head locked between you as you came hard down on his face. 

a rush of warmth flooded out of you again, coating his mouth, chin, and sunghoon licked you clean, drinking your liquid down. your legs gave out completely and you sagged forward against the headboard, panting, shaking, the aftershocks rippling through you as he gentled his tongue in soothing licks to ease you.

slowly, sunghoon lifted you off him—guiding you down to straddle on his hips again. his face was slick with you, lips red and swollen, eyes dark and triumphant as he looked at you—hair a mess, tipped hat, chest heaving. 

your nipples perked up.

“fuck,” he rasped, cupping your tits. “you taste even better the second time.”

you collapsed forward onto his chest, feeling his cock hard and hot against your stomach. 

sunghoon wrapped his arms around you, one hand stroking your back, the other tangling in your hair. “ready to be a cowgirl, babe?” he murmured against your temple, hips rolling up once—his cock glided against your tummy. “or you need another minute?” he teased.

you whimpered and shook your head, already shifting your hips and straightening your spine. you placed your hands on his toned chest, biting your lip. 

“no more minutes,” you murmured, flicking your thumbs over his nipples. “i want my cowboy now.”

he grinned, rolling his eyes playfully. 

“then take him.” 

you didn’t need to be told twice.

you sank down slowly at first—teasing the head along your folds, coating, moving your hips and drawing it out until his hands gripped your hips. silent warning to not tease him—he ain’t the strongest soldier here.

you giggled softly before taking him in one smooth drop, all the way to the hilt.

“ngh—!” the stretch burned perfectly, filling and stretching you up that you both groaned at the same time at the pleasure. your head tipped back slightly, his fingers digging into the flesh. sunghoon was thick, hot, throbbing inside and you felt every inch as you adjusted, walls fluttering around him.

you were pretty, tight, warm—wrapping around him nicely.

“fuck,” he hissed, eyes squeezing shut before he opened them again, watching the lewd expression on your face. “juuust like that… ride me, pretty cowgirl,” 

you began—rolling your hips in deep, lazy circles, grinding down so he hit every spot inside on every pass. your hands braced on his chest, nails dragging lightly over his skin as you lifted yourself and sank back down.

like a cowgirl—sunghoon let you lead for a while; watching you through half lidded eyes, one hand slipping up to play with your tits, thumb teasing your nipple in the same breath as your movements. the other stayed on your hip, guiding but not controlling. 

he lets you take what you want.

but that only lasted a while.

you started moving faster, riding, hoping (more like a bunny, than a cowgirl)—tits bouncing so lewdly, pitchy little ah, ah ah’s moans escaping your lips. the slap of skin got louder, his cock disappeared as quick as he saw it.

sunghoon couldn’t stay still anymore.

his hips snapped up to meet you halfway, driving deeper, harder, making your cries louder as pleasure spiked suddenly. 

“that’s it,” his voice wrecked, sitting up suddenly so you were chest to chest, his hands on your hips as he lifted you up and down on his cock, pulling you down harder onto every thrust. 

“fuckin’ ride me just like that—use me,”

you clung to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, moving together in a frantic rhythm. your sweat dripped down on his skin as his did too, sunghoon’s mouth found your neck where he sucked marks into your skin as you clenched tighter. 

“hoonie, hoonie, so good, feels s’good,” you whimpered, holding his hat on your head with one hand, the other wrapped around his neck.

“come on,” he chuckled low and filthy against your throat, your head tipped back. one of his hands palmed your tits, pinching your perky bud. “keep ridin’ me like that. fuck—takin’ my cock so good. you’re made for this ranch—made for me,”

you nodded, his balls slapping the curve of your ass as you go—giggling—just mind fucked over his cock. 

“love it, don’t cha?” he kept going with his filthy talks, breath hot against your skin. “love bouncin’ on a cowboy you just met, creamin’ all over him while your little guy’s waitin’ somewhere,” sunghoon hummed, lips grazing the slope of your shoulder. 

“bet he’s never fucked you this good—never made this pussy cream so many times in one evening.”

you moaned louder, clenching at his voice and words. he grinned against your neck, thrusting up harder to meet you. 

“say it,” he rasped, rolling your nipple slow and mean between his fingerpads. “tell me how good you’re gettin’ it.”

“hoonie—” you whined, walls fluttering wildly. 

“say it,” he coaxed, hands dropping to grip your ass, guiding you faster, deeper. “tell me whose cock you’re gonna be thinkin’ about from now on,”

you were too far gone to care—pleasure coiling tight and how low in your tummy. “yours,” you gasped, hat tilting crooked as you slammed down faster. “only yours—hoonie, fuck—only you, wanna be yours,” 

sunghoon’s cock twitched. “that’s my girl,” he praised, voice dripping sin, hips snapping. “cream this cock again. milk me—let me feel that pretty pussy.”

and with his mouth on your collarbone, fingers twisting your nipple, his thick cock dragging your velvety walls—you came.

your whole body seized—back arching, a broken cry tearing from your throat. another rush of warmth flooded out of you, soaking where you joined, dripping down his length and onto his thighs. the fourth orgasm rolled through you, thighs shaking. 

sunghoon groaned as well, holding you tight but he didn’t follow you over the edge—not yet. the night is still young, after all. his cock throbbed inside, impossibly harder, slick with release, but he gritted his teeth, letting you ride the aftershocks while he stayed buried. 

“hngh—i—hah,” you slumped forward, panting against his chest, hat slipping sideways. sunghoon caught it and settled it back on your head. “came so pretty for me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“but i’m not done with you yet.”

he didn’t give you much time to recover before his arms hooked under your knees and he flipped you onto your back. the air left your lungs as your body bounced lightly on his mattress. “hm—?” 

sunghoon folded you in half, knees pushed to your shoulders, hips tilted up—completely open, bare, exposed, and pinned beneath him in a deep, filthy—

mating press.

the hat finally tumbled off your head and onto the pillow. you barely noticed before sunghoon picked it up and wore it himself.

sunghoon loomed over you, dark hair falling into his eyes, cock still rock–hard and wet as he nudged back inside in a slow thrust. the new angle dragged him deeper than before—stretching you wide, pressing and making your eyes roll back from pleasure. 

“fuck… look at ya,” he chuckled, hips rolling slow to let you feel every thick inch. “takin’ me so deep… pussy made for me, wasn’t it?”

you could only nod and whimper, looking up at him with doe, glassy eyes and swollen lips from clamping down. you looked so fucking feastible like this—body filled with his lovebites, nipples perky and red from pinching, your sweaty and glossy skin—

so perfect.

sunghoon only meant to help a poor stranded girl with her broke down car, he swore—but he supposed ending the day with a girl didn’t sound so bad.

he began moving—long, solid hard strokes that punched the air from your lungs each time he pulled up. the position left you no room to move, no escape from the overwhelming fullness, every thrust driving him against your g–spot. 

sweat dripped down from his brow onto your chest—sunghoon crashed his lips against yours in open mouthed kisses with tongue involved. “tell me again,” he snapped his hips to draw a cry out of you. “who’s makin’ you feel this good?”

“you—hoonie, only you—,” the words slipped out rushly. sunghoon chuckled, the headboard knocked against the wall from the way your folded body rocked with every thrust, breasts bouncing. sunghoon gripped the backs of your thighs to keep you spread wide and pinned.

“gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he rasped, eyes locked on where you joined—his cock disappeared inside you over and over. “everytime you close your eyes, you’re g’nna remember how deep i got, how hard i fucked you, how many times i made this tight pussy come.”

your heart thumped, tummy’s doing cartwheels at his words. “yes! please, please, please—’m cumming!” you gasped, back arching as you dragged your nails down his shoulders. sunghoon’s relentless thrusts hitting your soft spot without mercy. 

the coil snapped again—you came with a cry of his name, walls clamping down around him in tight, waves, another nth gush of warmth soaking you both as you whole body shook helplessly in his hold.

“fuck,” sunghoon cursed filthy, fucking you turned erratic as he chased his own high. a few more deep, brutal strokes and burying himself to the hilt—sunghoon spilled inside of you, pulsing hot and endless streaks of semen, hips jerking through every wave. 

he held your hips up, milking himself dry as your pussy spasmed around him, squeezing every last drop. “shit… shit…” he panted, staying pressed for a long moment as he lazily thrusted his cum inside.

both of you panted, trembling, sweat slick, and spent. your body twitched in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut as you catch your breath. slowly, carefully, sunghoon eased your legs down, letting them fall open around his hips as he pulled his cock out.

cum dribbled down your puffy, swollen cunt, messy—sliding down your folds and onto his sheets beneath you. more followed as your body slumped down.

sunghoon’s gaze dropped between your legs before back on your face—his hand gently stroking your thigh like he couldn’t stop touching you. his cowboy hat tilted crookedly on his head, casting a shadow over his eyes as he fixed it. 

you whimpered—too sensitive and overstimulated—but didn’t pry him off when he pushed his cum lazily inside just to watch you shiver. finally, sunghoon leaned down, lips brushing to exhaustedly kiss you—your lips, cheeks, and temple.

“you okay, darlin’?” he murmured, arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest as he rolled to the side. sunghoon tucked you against him, tangling your legs together. 

you nodded into his neck, fingers tracing idly. “more than okay.” you murmured, “never been better.” sunghoon huffed a hum, kissing the top of your head. 

“good,” he said simply, voice low in the dim room. “‘cause car’s definitely ain’t gettin’ fixed anytime soon,” he murmured, pulling the blanket to cover the two of you. “means ‘m keepin’ you here till mornin’. maybe longer.”

the last of the daylight had faded into deep twilight.

oh well—

your… ex boyfriend waiting somewhere could sit tight and wonder all he wanted; his plans had been bucked off the trail the moment the real cowboy rode in. 

this filly had found her herd, and she wasn’t wandering back to any old pasture soon.

you supposed some breakdowns are just detours to exactly where you’re meant to end up.

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ♡໒꒱.°⑅ @yenienha @hoonsocks @imnotyizhuo @nesquikluvr @hhoneyhan @jjongsies @s3ouln1 @hiddencavernsun @stellargolden @astelunar @somuchdard @eirlyscloud @slu33yblushlace @solonenova @jinsuus <3

"Hee...please...too much..."

"You can take it," he growls, thrusting faster, bringing you to your orgasm.

You cry out, and he feels it, right against his lips, the vibrations in your throat, the pure pleasure he's giving you.

Heeseung's mind goes into overdrive, driven crazy by lust and want- then, suddenly, his hands reach for your neck.

It happens so fast. Your body reacts before your mind, freezing still.

You feel his fingertips just graze your skin, his hands about to wrap around your neck, driven by uncontrollable lust that makes you tense in terror, before you scream.

"Stop!" You cry out, jerking away from him. "Red, red, red!"

As soon as the word leaves your lips, everything stills, as suddenly as he started.

His hands instantly move away from your throat.

He gently pulls out of you.

He notices you then. Truly looks at you. The way your whole body is shaking, your face a mess of tears.

He instantly sinks down against the wall, his legs spread out on the floor, pulling you into his lap as he does so, letting you curl up close to him. His movements are calm. Decisive.

You cry so hard into Heeseung's chest, leaving splotches of wetness on the grey fabric of his hoodie as you bury your face in it, but he could care less about that, not when you're crying, not when you're scared.

His hands stroke your back in slow, slow circles. He gently pulls your skirt back over your thighs, hands a gentle caress as he dips his head to kiss your ear softly.

He stays like that for a few minutes, just breathing you in- lips on the rim of your ear, arms holding you close as you shake uncontrollably. Your safe space, your anchor, your everything.

Eventually, you let out a long, ragged breath. Look up at him with wrecked, tear-filled eyes.

"Heeseung," you whisper. "Hee, I'm sorry, it was just too much-"

The way your voice trembles, like you're still overwhelmed, breaks him. He instantly brings a finger to your lips, gently shushing you.

"Shhhh," he murmurs. "Don't ever say sorry. You did the right thing."

His voice is so soothing, yet when he looks at you, you see genuine regret. Heeseung slides his hand from your hip to the top of your spine, just below the smooth curve of your neck.

"Can i touch you above here?" He asks, the serious weight of his words settling on you. You can feel his fingers cautiously resting on your skin, a feather-light touch.

You nod, looking up at him with trusting eyes. He softly trails his fingers over the vulnerable nape of your neck, and you let him, let him because you feel safe, feel loved.

"You're okay," he says, fingers gently stroking your neck. "I'd never hurt you. Ever."

When he feels the muscles of your body tense the slightest bit, he instantly stops himself, looking at you for permission, for reassurance. You nod again, and he resumes, fingers curling on your neck slightly.

You rest your head on his chest, eyes growing heavy. Heeseung laughs softly.

"You can't fall asleep on me here," he teases, his hand resting on your neck now, fingers splayed apart and curled slightly. But his own head is dropping onto your shoulder, as he curls around you a little more, eyelashes fluttering on your collarbones.

"Maybe just for a few minutes," you murmur.

sunghoon tilts his head at first like he’s in a thought, then nods. slowly. his shoulders give a mild shrug, as though trying to shake something off. his gaze flicker down and to the left—toward the floor, the memory, or maybe the guilt—before returning to the lens. his lips lift into a half-smile. not sheepish. not smug. just soft.

not guilty either. just nostalgic.

in the background, the cameraman shifts, the mic briefly catching the creak of the rig. the room holds its breath for a second. 

sunghoon blinks, thumb brushing his ring finger absently. 

cut.

—

the classroom door slammed open with the metallic scrape of plastic on the tile. “dude! why didn’t you tell me she’s in your class?!” jake’s voice rang out before his body even fully entered the frame. few heads turned, but he didn’t care.

he was still out of breath from soccer practice, hair messy and damp and tousled, shirt clinging to his collarbone, only half–buttoned over the white tee beneath. his bag hung off one shoulder like an afterthought, swinging as he made a beeline for the back row.

sunghoon pulled out one earbud and looked up, brows lifting in confusion.

“what?”

jake dragged a vacant chair across the floor and dropped into it beside sunghoon’s desk with a thud, exhaling hard and dramatically. his eyes were wide, buzzing with disbelief. “yn! yn ln! she’s in your class this whole time?” 

sunghoon blinked, pulled halfway out of his nap. “who? we just started school last week.”

jake groaned, running his hand across his face. “are you serious? my primary school crush! you know i liked her since forever, right?” 

the friend leaned back in his seat and turned slightly, eyes scanning the front rows. the classroom was half-full—just a few students finishing lunch or completing their homeworks for the next period. someone was napping near the teacher’s desk, and some boys were playing moba games in their circle.

somewhere in the middle of the class—a pink and white bag with a rabbit keychain hung from the back of a chair. the seat was empty, but her presence lingered like the smell of a body lotion after someone passed you in the hallway.

jake followed sunghoon’s gaze—pointed at it, nearly leaping out of the chair he was sitting on.

“that’s hers! that’s her bag—she was here just now,” his eyes went wide, smacking sunghoon’s forearm. he winched softly. “dude, you seriously didn’t notice her? are you even my real friend?” he joked, shaking his head with mock betrayal. his grin was all teeth and obvious.

yeah—he hadn’t noticed. 

but now that jake said it, now that he was looking—he could picture you. it came back like a slow pour. the way you always came into class with the same two girls by your side, always laughing over some inside joke only the three of you knew. always in those white socks higher than regulation because you think it’s boring to be the same as others. 

your hair was always tied loosely with a ribbon, strands falling into your eyes, and you’d blow them away with a breath even when your hands weren’t full. the boys in class noticed.

honestly, everyone kind of did. 

“she just moved—and for the record, the last time i saw her was when we were 12.” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “you expect me to remember her face after five years?”  jake turned, eyebrows raised. “yeah? i mean, i do. i’ve remembered everything.”

he said it like a joke, but there was something almost serious in his tone. “she had braces then and she always tied her braid with a yellow ribbon.” sunghoon chuckled under his breath, “you’re insane.”

jake went out—recounting old stories, from how pretty you looked during a sports carnival when you had to be the mascot, the time you beat everyone in musical chairs, the time you cried when the class hamster died—sunghoon found himself searching through his own memory.

your face then was rounder, softer. you had those blindingly overly chalked white velcro shoes everyone hated (because they get dirty so quick) that you wore with pride anyway. your fringe was always a little crooked like you trimmed them yourself. 

then he remembered your voice, light and unbothered and painfully childish. sunghoon remembered you running in socks down the corridor when one of the boys took your shoes. how he always found it so fucking weird that you held your chopsticks like pen. it was all coming back, bit by bit.

“—then she had to move to japan when we were starting middle school,” jake sighed, planting his chin atop the heel of his palm. “gosh, i didn’t know she came back.” he continued, almost dreamily. as if your return to korea was fate for jake.

sunghoon didn’t answer. he was still looking at your desk, still trying to match that blurry–faced girl from the past with the version of you now (that he only caught a glimpse of when everyone was doing self-introduction). 

but then, the sound of the door sliding open woke both jake and sunghoon from their drifting thoughts. you stepped in, laughing at something your friend said. the sunlight from the hallway poured in behind you, catching in your hair and casting your silhouette long across the floor.

you didn’t look their way.

jake perked up almost immediately, he grabbed his water bottle, slung his bag over one shoulder like he hadn’t just been melting into some rando’s seat for the past fifteen minutes. “fuck, pretty girl is here,” he said under his breath, pushing the chair back. “gonna head out, see ya hoon.” he muttered it casually but there was a bright, giddy buzz to his voice. 

“keep your eyes on her for me, thanks!” he exclaimed just as he exited the classroom.

sunghoon didn’t even get to bid his goodbye or reply when the chair clattered as jake left, footsteps fading quickly down the hallway. then, quiet.

his eyes flicked to the front again. 

at you, who sat in the middle row stuffing your lunchbox inside your bag.

yeah. sunghoon remembered you now.

—

the screen fades in from black.

the lighting is softer. a handheld camera, maybe, from the way the frame sways just slightly. a girl sits across from the camera, legs crossed, hands resting in her lap. you wear a soft cream cardigan, hair tucked behind one ear. 

a faint shuffle. “so… jake?”

you blink, a light hesitation. “jake…?” you repeat the name. or the question.

“he’s sunghoon’s bestfriend.” you smile, and laugh—the kind people give when they’re confused and not sure what’s funny. “yeah. i know him, of course! he’s always around, since… high school. but apparently we went to the same primary too,” you nod, recalling. “we were classmates but we weren’t close close.”

you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, posture straightening. you’re not sure where the question is going, but it doesn’t seem like the crew is going to change it anytime soon. “jake has always been so nice. he’s a really fun person to be around with. so comfortable to talk to.” you continue, smiling.

your eyes flick to the crew, hoping they’ll cut to the next question—but the silence stretches. you clear your throat softly.

“jake… jake’s always been by hoonie’s side. the two of them are like a package deal.” you laugh, genuinely this time. “he’s sunghoon’s bestfriend, since forever. so i always felt like i had to try a little harder when he’s around. not in a bad way—! just, ‘okay, this is my boyfriend’s bestfriend. don’t mess this up.’” you chuckle, puffing your cheeks as blush creeps over. 

“i mean, you want the people they love to like you too, right?”

a beat.

then, behind the camera, the crew asks—”do you think jake likes you?”

your head jerks slightly, and you furrow, like you misheard.

“...sorry?”

“do you think sim jaeyun likes you?” 

you blink, the question catches you off guard. the smile on your face falters just slightly, like someone opened a window and let a chill in.

“i… i hope so?” you let out a dry chuckle, breathier now. “i mean—i hope so! he’s sunghoon’s bestfriend.” you shift in your seat, something awkward curling in your posture now, like again—you’re not sure what the question means.

“i’d like to think he likes me,” you clarify, nodding. the implication is warm and safe. “as a person. as… as his bestfriend’s fiance.” 

cut.

—

the afternoon sun hit a little too hard for a school day. it’s the beginning of summer, after all. 

p.e was held at the old outdoor courts, and because two classes were being merged today, things were messier than usual. the teachers barely cared—just gave them the freedom to do anything, as long as they didn’t leave the court. most students split into uneven groups—some did something, and some did nothing at all. 

tennis balls and shuttlecocks rolled everywhere. 

sunghoon sat on the sideline, back against the fence, his water bottle sweating beside him. jake was lounging next to him, his legs stretched out as he chewed his gum. 

across the court, a few girls from sunghoon’s class were passing a racket around, laughing loudly. you—were there too. hair tied up in a low ponytail, sleeved rolled, movements messy and quick. you swung and missed. your friends laughed. then all tried again.

it was hard not to notice—not when jake was staring. not in that creepy, open-mouthed way with saliva drooling, no. he was staring in that long, silent, watching way that sunghoon learned to recognise. jake wasn’t blinking much. his gaze was locked like he was watching something reel out in slow motion.

then sunghoon noticed it—your shirt hiked a little when you went for a serve—just a sliver of skin, just an inch above your waistband. the sun kissed it like it was trying to get a look too.

“stop staring,” sunghoon muttered, glancing at jake from the corner of his eyes. jake didn’t flinch, he didn’t even react. “wasn’t.”

—which was ironic, since chungdam high uniform literally included a skirt that exposed the female students' knees down to their ankles. yet, jake’s staring at something so little and small of your waist.

“you were.”

“whatever. she’s so cute.” jake leaned back, arms behind his head now, cushioning. his gaze stared up at the sky. “gotten so cute since the last time i saw her.” he continued.

sunghoon just hummed in response, not agreeing nor disagreeing. just acknowledging.

the sound of sneakers squeaking against the pavement. you’d just missed the ball again, but grinned with your hands on your hips, pretending to argue with your friend about it being unfair. you looked warm and flushed.

“do you think she remembers me?” jake suddenly said. 

sunghoon let the question hang. 

a tennis ball rolled near them, and he kicked it lazily back onto the court.

“don’t know,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck from where the sun hit. “if you guys talked before, then probably. yeah.” 

jake paused. “well that didn’t help.” 

you were hard to miss—but not because you tried to stand out. maybe it was because of the way you always looked so at ease, walking in the middle of a pack of girls at twelve years old. the kind of girls boys didn’t talk to because you never really allowed them to. 

sunghoon figured that’s probably why jake never did. 

“maybe i should talk to her. say hi, or something…” jake sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. sunghoon didn’t look at him, instead, he plucked the little grass poking out from the edge of the court. “go for it, then,” 

“just don’t be weird about it.” he added after a beat. sunghoon could imagine jake saying something dumb—too loud or too confident or too insecure. flashing that same smile he used on literally everyone. he could already vision it: jake stopping you in your tracks to say hi, you blinking slowly, unsure of what to say back, and glance at your friends for help.

sunghoon might not be known as a good person like jake is, but he’s not a bad friend. 

“maybe wait until she’s not surrounded,” sunghoon mumbled, flicking a strand of grass. “you’ll scare her off.” he didn’t say it unkindly. just plainly—like it was fact. jake squinted up at the sun, groaning as the little pebbles poked at his back. “i won’t scare her. i’ll make her like me back.”

sunghoon just shrugged, didn’t bother answering. whatever makes jake happy—whatever floats his boat. 

you probably would. 

like jake back. 

— 

sunghoon blamed the universe for putting both you and him in the same university—and jake away. he didn’t mean it in a mean way. it was more like… a bad alignment. like one of those stupid cosmic jokes where everything’s just slightly off, but enough to make you wonder if someone up there had it out for you.

you weren’t supposed to be here. you were supposed to go back japan. everyone knew. everyone said so.

sunghoon almost, almost didn’t recognise you at first. the first last time sunghoon saw you was when everyone was twelve, then eighteen, then now twenty three. five-year intervals, like you were some ghost the calendar coughed up every half-decade just to mess with his head.

you looked good. grown pretty in the way people do when life has taken them somewhere far and dropped them back off, just a little changed. your hair’s gotten longer, but you still have that baby face. when he first spotted you, like a magnet, people surrounded and handed you pieces of everything.

he tried avoiding you.

but there you were, sitting across from sunghoon at the welcoming party. you were clutching a plate of skewers and you’ve only managed to get even prettier. a few seniors had gathered the new intakes by one of the rich kids’ lawn, red and white fairy lights looping overhead, papercups scattered by the folding tables. someone was passing around watermelon, and a lot were surrounding the grill. mingling—trying to win over seniors for their own future advantages. 

“park sunghoon?” 

he looked up, feigning surprise like he hadn’t already clocked you the second he walked in. you were hard to miss.

you were always hard to miss.

“sunghoon, right?” you said again, tilting your head and sunghoon could see the gears functioning in your little head. he blinked, pausing mid-sip from his papercup. fuck…

“...hey,” he said finally, tone neutral and light. your shoulders dropped, visibly relieved. “oh thank god. i was really scared i got the wrong person for a second.” you smiled. sunghoon let out a breath of a chuckle, just the smallest exhale through his nose. “nah.”

you scooted closer to the table, hands clutching the edge of your bench. “do you… remember me?”

sunghoon looked at you. really looked this time. he took in the way your hair framed your face differently now. five years really changed someone’s features, huh, he thought. you lost the baby fat in your cheeks, the one that puff up whenever you smiled.

you eyes were the same, though. still full of curiosity. you sounded the same too, more grown, but still soft around the edges.

beneath it all—how could he forget you? when his own bestfriend’s world revolved around you. 

you, who jake watched from a distance with a quiet devotion that sunghoon came to learn how to hold the secret in his hands. you, who jake never approached but always talked about on every occasion. you, who jake liked the way kids liked impossible things: constellations, miracles, the idea of requited love.

you, who jake loves so very much. 

and probably still do.

you, who sunghoon knew the story by heart.

sunghoon’s tongue felt dry. he crumpled the rim of his cup slightly more, but you didn’t notice. 

so yeah—”yeah,” he said, finally. “i remember you.”

turns out, you were supposed to fly to japan but your grandmother got sick so you ended up deferring. then reapplying. then staying. and for almost the whole night, the two of you ended up talking about things sunghoon couldn’t recall even if he’d like to. about life after high school, about this person, and that person. sunghoon nodded here and there, but the truth was—he didn’t really get what you were trying to say. not entirely. he knew how to pretend, though.

you didn’t bring up jake—not like you had to. for the whole senior year, jake didn’t approach you at all. despite him saying numerous, billions, quadrillions, countless times that he definitely would. and you’d one-hundred-one percent will fall in love with him. all bark no bite, sunghoon wanted to say then.

sunghoon remembered how jake would say your name like a prayer and carry your presence like a bruise. remembered how he’d skip his own curriculum just to catch a glimpse of you doing yours. 

did you even remember jake, at all? sunghoon was sure you’d at least know his bestfriend’s existence, but that was all about it. maybe by name, maybe by face—a blurry boy from childhood who was the captain of the soccer team? the boy with fluffy black hair and confused face?

he could’ve brought him up—just a simple, “you know your primary school’s classmate, jake?” maybe that would’ve jogged something loose. maybe you’d tilt your head, squint a little, and say, “oh… that name sounds familiar.”

and from there, maybe sunghoon could’ve eased jake into the conversation. could’ve helped reconnect a thread that once tried to form (one-sided). maybe even give jake the chance he never, always scared, to take. 

but sunghoon didn’t.

—

the camera flickers back on. jake is in the frame.

he’s seated with one leg bouncing as he leans slightly toward the camera. the lighting is lower now, duskier. the shadows fall longer on his handsome face, though it doesn’t dim the softness in his eyes. 

someone off-camera clears their throat. 

“tell us about sunghoon.”

jake laughs through his nose, nodding. “mmm. sunghoon,” tongue poking his cheek before he answers. “he’s like a brother to me.” he leans back, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair.

“we’ve known each other since forever. forever, forever. he’s the first person i met when i moved to korea from australia, and sunghoon… he’s that one person who just stays, no matter how much time passes. no matter how many things change,” his smile lifts, faint but fond. “sunghoon means a lot to me.”

a pause.

“we don’t have to talk all the time. being around sunghoon is already enough. with him, there’s this ease—maybe because we’re opposite of one another, so we make a pretty good pair.” 

the camera cut to jake fidgeting the hem of his shirt. 

“he’s been through a lot,” jake says, softer now. “but he never shows it. which is why—i think—a lot of people thinks sunghoon’s cold and intimidating. that dude’s just reserved, he carries everything in silence, but he…” 

a beat. jake swallows the lump in his throat. “he’s one of the kindest person i know.”

another pause. longer this time. the clock ticks in the background.

“what about his fiance?” 

jake’s eyes flick up, surprised. “what do you mean?”

“what do you think of her?”

jake blinks. his smile stays, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time.

“she’s…” he trails, then nods. “she’s wonderful.” he shifts in his seat, like something in him tightens. “she’s always been great,” he continues. “another kind person i know aside sunghoon. she’s warm, and she tends to talk a lot when she’s nervous.” he laughs, almost to himself.

“being around her makes me feel like i’m a teen again.” he laughs and slips out like an afterthought. he doesn’t look at the camera, his eyes drift slightly to the side, like he’s seeing something only he can see—like he’s remembering something no one else, besides himself, and maybe his bestfriend, ever witnessed. 

“sometimes i catch myself wanting to tell her things i can’t tell sunghoon,” he shrugs, a little helpless, a little guilty, so bold. “and that’s saying something.” his knee starts bouncing again, but slower now. the camera zooms in just a little. enough to see the shift in his expression, the slight crease in his brow. 

“... they make sense together,” he smiles, raking his hair through his fingers. “sunghoon’s good for her. she’s good for him,” 

his smile returns, faint, but this time a little more fixed. like it’s being held in place. “i’m happy for them.” he says again.

beat.

then: 

“do you like her?”

it’s the same question, asked in the same tone. neutral. non-threatening. 

jake stills. he lifts his head slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying to figure out if it’s a joke. “what?” 

“do you like her, jake?”

the bounce in his leg stops as the silence stretches. his eyes flick toward the crew, then past the camera, then back down. jake smiles again—this one’s thinner, faint, tired. “yeah, of course i do,” he says finally. 

“she’s sunghoon’s fiance.” 

cut.

—

there were a lot of moments where jake wanted to tell you that he liked you way before sunghoon ever did. if he even liked you at all. it’s unfair.

because what jake felt for you… it had a name. he just couldn’t say it out loud. he just didn’t get to be the one who told you, because sunghoon said it first. and yeah sure—it’s partially his fault as well for not taking the chance earlier, but he was only scared teen with an uncertain future ahead. 

he had a draft email titled “don’t send this” to you for goodness sake—a reminder to himself of everything he never said, and maybe never would. he wrote it during his finals week when he needed to blame someone for his lack of time managerial skills. jake started typing because he couldn’t bring himself to study—not with the thought of you tucked under sunghoon’s arm after the study session that jake skipped on purpose.

the draft started as a joke. a what-if. but turned into something else entirely.

you probably don’t know and will never do. but i’ve liked you since we were 9. you spilled yogurt on my worksheet and apologised and tried to wipe it off but it only tore the paper apart. i was angry but then you smiled and i guess that ruined everything for me.

this probably sounds so fucking dumb. you’re sunghoon’s girlfriend. you’re my bestfriend’s girlfriend and i’m not saying he doesn’t. but there’s no way he likes you.

at least, there’s no way he likes you more than i do. there’s no way sunghoon likes you, whom i’ve been in love with since fifteen years ago. he only knows you work part-time during senior year because i told him. he only knows you keep band-aids in your wallet because i found your wallet when you lost it. he doesn’t notice that you stop talking when the rain starts getting too loud. i cry when we graduated and you had to leave cheongdam.

the things that sunghoon knew, they all came from me.

jake didn’t continue writing or finishing the email. he never finished the sentence, never hit send, just let it sit there. collecting dust and cowardice. sitting in his drafts folder like a wound he picked at every few months—just to feel. just to make sure it’s still there, even if it hurts.

once, he hovered over the send button, tipsy on cheap liquor and the way your name looked in his inbox. he could’ve—jake could’ve ended it all. ended your relationship with sunghoon when you knew that your boyfriend ‘stole’ you, his own bestfriend’s first love. you were always the type to choose moral over anything.

he could’ve told you the truth and changed everything. but instead—he shut the laptop, took another swig, and passed out with your name still burning in his chest. because even in his worst, messiest, moment, jake was good at being a bestfriend.

even if sunghoon isn’t. 

even if sunghoon looked him in the eye after months of not seeing each other and said, “i think i like her,” and jake laughed like it was funny, like the universe hadn’t just slammed a door in his face. even if sunghoon knew—the first and last to know—and still asked, “you don’t mind, right?” while sipping on his drink.

and of course jake said no, of course he didn’t mind. what kind of bestfriend would he be if he said yes? 

“how—? why, though?” jake asked, swallowing the lump in his throat as he had to force his leg to stop bouncing anxiously under the table. “i mean… out of everyone?” he let out a dry chuckle, gripping the edge of his drink, cold sweat clinging to the glass. 

“you… you never cared about her back then.” 

sunghoon shrugged, eyes on the amber swirl in his cup. “she’s easy to talk to. we have a lot in common, actually,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “i never really noticed it before. but i get it now.”

jake furrowed his brows. “get what?” 

sunghoon finally looked at him, and there was something unreadable in his expression. wistful, maybe. or selfish. or both. “what you felt,” he said. “back then. when you said you liked her.”

the words landed like a slap across jake’s face—too casual, too late. 

momentarily, how dare he, jake thought. how fucking dare he. 

after all these years—after holding his silence like a vow, after standing at sunghoon’s side through every dumb fight and every rant about his parents—sunghoon said this now? like it’s a moment they can both laugh about?

“what you felt”—like sunghoon understood. as if he understood unrequited feelings for fifteen long years. jake had loved you when he was still learning what love even was. he loved you when your friends surprised you with a flour attack for your birthday—and loved you the same when you dressed up as a disney princess for halloween. he loved you when you didn’t love him back. 

and still, he kept loving you.

and sunghoon…

sunghoon was the one person he trusted with that love. the one person he let. he told him in a late-night haze before their high school finals that he was thinking of confessing to you on the last day of school.

he’d never do that to park sunghoon.

but here they were. 

and sunghoon dared to say he understood. as if ‘stealing’ the only thing jake ever wanted was some rite of passage. 

jake let out a quiet laugh, all breath and no humour. “yeah?” he said, eyes fixed on the ashtray between them. “you understand now?” sunghoon didn’t answer right away. he just nodded, the end of his lips curled into a smile. “i never get why you liked her so much. and then one day i just… did.”

“life’s so weird,” he chuckled, swirling the melting ice in his glass.

jake hummed, noncommittal. he reached for his drink, but didn’t take a sip. sunghoon had a choice, and you were one of it—and he blamed life for the things he decided.

“she’s exactly like you said. so funny even when she’s not trying to be. i get it now.”

“you were the first person i told,” jake said softly. he wasn’t sure where he was going with it, but it’s the only thing that felt right. “back then.” sunghoon’s gaze flicked to him, he didn’t say anything. “do you remember your reaction? you just said oh, and then you kept on telling me to just talk to her.” 

sunghoon’s lips pressed into a thin line. he leaned back, eyes drifting somewhere past jake’s shoulder like he didn’t want to be in the memory. what’s past is past, right? 

“you should’ve,” sunghoon finally replied. he ran his hand through his hair, taking a sip of his drink. when he sets it down, he locked his eyes on jake, blinking. “you don’t mind though, right?” 

the question settled like fog between them—dense and inescapable. 

jake looked at him. this boy—the same boy he’d grown up with, shared bedrooms with and bathed together, exchanged secrets with—the first boy jake told when he had his first wet dream, the same boy jake shared his older brother’s porn magazines with. the same boy who knew everything about jake. including how much she meant to him. 

he forced a smile, the kind that curved his mouth but never reached his eyes. “yeah,” jake said, voice too light for the weight in his chest. “of course not.”

because what else was he supposed to say?

and both answers would affect their friendship, anyway. it was just the matter of whether it was a good, or a bad outcome.

but both were bad for jake. 

if he said yes, he’d be the selfish one—the jealous bestfriend who couldn’t be happy for someone else’s happiness. the one who couldn’t let go. it wasn’t as if by saying yes, you would come to like him anyway.

if he said no, he’d lose you anyway. and he already did. 

sunghoon didn’t mean to hurt him—jake knew that. jake hoped so. but that didn’t make it any less cruel. sometimes, the worst kind of pain wasn’t from people who hated you. it was from the ones who loved you, and still chose themselves. 

“she’s not mine anyway,” jake joked, half to sunghoon, half to himself. he watched the amber liquid slosh against the sides like it might spill out what he couldn’t. 

“goodluck sunghoon.” 

—

“did you know jake liked her?”

sunghoon doesn’t respond right away. his mouth parts like he might—but then he shuts it, jaw flexing slightly as he looks down at his hands. fingers threaded now, thumbs pressing together. 

“yeah,” he says, finally. almost comes out as a whisper. “i did.”

the pause that follows is thick, almost uncomfortable. apparent in the way the crew members look at each other. even the equipment knows now to make a sound. sunghoon lets out a slow exhale, tilting his head to glance at something off-screen. his voice is shockingly steadier when he continues. 

“i know he liked her ever since we were nine. but then she moved, so i thought the feeling was done and over with,” sunghoon said, nodding to himself like he was fact-checking his words. “then she came back just during our senior year, and jake was back to square one.” 

he exhales through his nose, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the edge of his lips. it disappears as quickly as it formed. “i didn’t think it was a big deal at first because i thought he’ll get over it. y’know, people change.” he shifts in the stool, thumb rubbing a faint circle into his palm. “but she didn’t feel like just anybody to him. and i should’ve remembered that.”

a beat.

“she’s someone to me now, too.” 

sunghoon doesn’t blink right away. his gaze hangs in the space just past the camera, like he’s not really looking at anything—more like he’s remembering. “she’s…” he starts, then exhales a soft laugh, like he caught himself saying too much, but isn’t going to stop. “you know when someone makes you feel like the best version of yourself without trying?”

his thumb continues to worry his ring finger.

“it’s not even the obvious things… not the way she looks or how she dresses. it’s…” he pauses, then shrugs lightly, his voice softening. “the way she’s so focused on you when you’re talking. yn can light up a whole room with her presence alone. she makes you feel like you’re the only person who truly matters.”

sunghoon exhales slowly, his shoulders dropping. he rubs the back of his neck, heat rises up to his ears, painting them red. his gaze still hasn’t met the camera—it hovers somewhere to the side, distant. “when someone like her exists—how do you not fall?”

he lets the silence stretch out. then, like the thought only just occurred to him, sunghoon adds,

“i mean,” he says, darting his tongue to wet his lips. “i probably would’ve liked her even if she was my older brother’s ex, or something,” a half-smile tugs at his lips. “that’s just the kind of person yn is.”

cut.

—

the room was quiet except for the hum of the wind whistling through the sheer curtains and your breathing—slow, warm against sunghoon’s chest. your leg hooked loosely over his, cheek resting on his bicep, lashes still damp where they kissed the swell of your cheek.

so peaceful. lovely and trusting.

sunghoon just stared at the ceiling, eyes tracing the faint shadows cast from outside. he could feel the weight of your arm around his stomach. your scent lingered, the mixture of his bedroom, your shampoo, skin, sweat, and sex.

he swallowed.

yeah—the two of you did it. sunghoon made love to his bestfriend’s dream girl. he became the reason for your pleasured tears and meek moans. sunghoon was your first, as much as you were his. 

jake must’ve at least once—dreamt about this. to be the one on top of you. to be the one who held you close and tight and heard the way you whispered his name, breathless, like it was holy. sunghoon knew how jake talked about taking you out if the two of you happened—the flowers he’ll buy, the separate bank account he’ll have just to take you out on lavish dates.

you didn’t even like luxury things. sunghoon knew that much.

the thought didn’t disgust him, but it didn’t sit quite right either.

you were soft, beautiful, asleep on his chest like you’ve always belonged there. the taste that you weren’t just jake’s—sunghoon’s bestfriend’s—girl anymore, but sunghoon’s, stayed bitter on his tongue. he turned his head slightly, just enough to see your hair fanned out across his pillow. it was easy to forget everything when you were looking at him like that.

but here in the quiet. in the dark, you’re asleep. so everything came back.

sunghoon liked you. he really did, genuinely, truthfully. but there was an annoying voice in the back of his mind that wouldn’t shut up. 

would he still have wanted you if jake didn’t? 

would he still have kissed you if you hadn’t once belonged to the fantasy of someone else?

he hated those questions. hated that not even him could answer that.

why was he doing all this? 

his arm curled around your bare waist without thinking, pulling you against his chest as he rested his chin atop of your head. your breath was steady, warm against his skin.

sunghoon was just about to shut his eyes when a quiet part of him whispered—that it wasn’t just about you. 

maybe it was also about jake.

sunghoon swallowed thickly, jaw clenching. maybe that was it—maybe all this time, he just wanted to prove that he could get the thing jake never could. like a game—a challenge. because in order to deserve something, you had to work for it, right?

and no one worked harder for you than jake. 

so sunghoon wanted to beat that. he wanted to beat the boy who watched from a distance for years but never made a move. wanted to beat that ache in jake’s throat everytime your name came up, the way his voice got so soft when talking about you like he was holding fragile in his mouth.

but sunghoon didn’t hate jake. he never did. he swore on his mother about that. they grew up side by side, shared secrets, rides home, birthdays, roadtrips, and vacations. everything. jake knew about sunghoon’s family's bad relationship, and sunghoon even knew about jake’s father's infidelity, for god’s sake. they knew each other better than anyone else. he knew the way jake carried affection, but still went after the one thing jake could never reach for. 

sunghoon just needed to know he could.

he closed his eyes, tried to breathe without waking you up. he snuggled and pulled you closer, planting your face in his chest as he inhaled the scent of your hair. “i would’ve liked you even if you were his,” he whispered, almost bitterly. 

“maybe i liked you because you were his.”

—

“congratulations on your wedding!” 

the camera zooms and pans across each guest—a college friend flashing a peace sign, your uncle dabbing sweat off his forehead, sunghoon’s little cousin waving at the lens, your two friends deciding on what pose to make—and then, jake.

he stands beside sunghoon as the best man, hand in his pocket, smile steady but soft. familiar. 

the camera captures him glancing to the side—to you.

you’re adjusting your bouquet, tilting your head to fix a curl that escaped your updo. that strand falls gently across your cheek, catching the golden light like thread spun from sunlight. it reminded jake of the first time he saw you again after five years. your lips are painted soft, your lashes long, and there’s that bride glow to you—and it’s not just from the highlighter dusted across your cheekbones. 

you look so beautiful. radiant in a way that doesn’t ask to be seen, but still steals the breath of anyone who dares to look.

sunghoon pulls you close to him, arm winding easily around his wife’s waist like second nature. you lean to his side, bouquet nestled between you. the soft rustle of your dress barely audible beneath the clicks of camera shutters. he grins—leaning his head slightly to match yours. 

somewhere during the afterparty, when the music has softened and most of the guests are busy picking at the dessert table or swaying lazily on the dancefloor, sunghoon finds jake outside.

the air is cooler, quieter. just two bestfriends under the garden lights, their ties loosened and their drinks half-finished.

“...hey,” sunghoon starts, approaching jake from behind. jake looks over, the corners of his mouth lifting politely. 

“congrats, man,” he says again, like he hasn’t already said it twice that day.

sunghoon smiles and lets out a breath, eyes fix on the rim of his glass. “thanks. i just…” he hesitates before meeting jake’s gaze. that’s just how sunghoon is—confrontational to others, but not to himself. “i wanted to say thank you. for… y’know, being here. for everything.”

jake gives a small nod, sipping his drink. “of course. i wouldn’t skip this big day for anything.”

a pause stretch between them. 

“i mean it,” he adds, more serious now. “yn is everything to me. i love her, jake, genuinely. so—” he shook his head, lips twisting into a dry smile. “thank you for liking her first for me.”

jake says nothing. the words land heavy, heavier than the music and laughter behind them. they press into his ribs like an old bruise—one he knows never healed, anyway. sunghoon looks at him like he doesn’t know what to expect. a forgiveness, or an understanding that neither jake owes. 

he just… blinks. because if jake says what he’s really thinking—that sunghoon’s a shitty friend and an asshole then it would ruin everything. the friendship was already fragile enough. 

so he swallows it all down like always has. what good would it do now?

you looked happy. radiant. you probably want to settle down by thirty. he’s happy for you, as much as he hates to say it. and sunghoon… well, he got everything he wanted, didn’t he? 

“you’re lucky,” he says, voice low but steady. jake claps a hand on sunghoon’s shoulder—too firm to be gentle, too soft to be angry—he gives it a light squeeze.

”don’t fuck it up. i’m still here, y’know?” then he turns and walks off, leaving sunghoon behind, mouth parted—almost confused. 

as if that wasn’t what he did. 

stealing you away.

the first time he was exposed to the idea was when he was a young teenager alone in his room. he was playing an online game when he accidentally clicked a shady advertisement that brought him to another website—a hentai website. 

curious, adolescent, and horny, sunghoon clicked on a particular video that stood out to him. it was about a shapeshifter who fucked his lover, then got overstimulated and shifted into a big, heavy bear before biting off the head of the woman. that scene stuck and buried itself deep in the crevices of sunghoon’s mind.

how powerful, sunghoon thought; to love someone to the point of aggression.

from then, he began to believe that love is meant to be devoured and devouring. even the bible itself is full of consumption when it says—the holiest act of devotion is the ritual of eating the christ’s flesh, to drink his blood—because to love God is to consume him. 

love is consumption, and faith is flesh, and it is all intertwined. 

the boy also knew that in ancient greece, lovers would bite each other until they bled, which quickly became the proof of passion marked by bruised skin and torn lips. the king and queen of gods—rhea and cronus—were no strangers to hunger either. cronus swallowed his own 5 children whole as soon as rhea delivered them in fear that his newborns would one day overthrow him. there was also zeus, who swallowed metis for his own benefit—but sunghoon liked to think it was so that she could never leave him.

love was never gentle, and it was apparent in folklore too. sunghoon didn’t understand it back then why the witch fattened children before the feast, the vampire draining his lover dry, the wolf licking his sharp, fangy teeth before sinking it deep into the plush flesh of little red. 

but that was years ago, he was a child back then, he screamed and cried when his little sister bit his finger. sunghoon understood it now—love was to take. love was to consume. love was to destroy.

while they were not romantic by any means, there’s a similarity, a fine line barely blurred between cannibalism and wanting to have someone be as close to you as possible, physically. both are driven by an insatiable need, an urge—although once devoured, what else is left? even then, it’s still not close enough.

——

sunghoon had seen your stuff before he saw you. 

his neighbour moved out a few months ago from a job offer in another state, and for 4 months, the room was left vacant. not that he was complaining—it was better for him that way. he could play his instruments, games, have friends over, and blast music as loud as he wished to without having someone pounding on his door, telling him to shut the fuck up. for four months, he was in heaven.

but heaven on earth doesn't last forever.

and this was better than any heaven could offer.

he wasn’t curious in any way so neither him, nor you, ever introduced yourselves to one another. there was no housewarming party from you, and sunghoon didn’t bother showing up with fruitcakes.

but slowly, he started noticing. not in a friendly or neighbourly way of exchanging polite nods of acknowledgement or holding the elevator door open—hell, he didn’t even bump into you or cross paths.

no, sunghoon noticed you in the way a shadow notices the body it follows. 

it started with the small things. the cardboard boxes stacked in front of your door from your move a couple days ago (that were still there, even after weeks), labeled in rushed neat handwriting, a packed delivery food hung on your doorknob, the perfume scent of white flower lingered in the air when he exited his door for morning classes. 

you, to sunghoon, were just a collection and fragments of objects and moments.

then, he started noticing more than just things.

sunghoon started listening too. 

the wall that separated the two rooms was thinner than anybody would like to have. so thin he could hear the sneeze you held back, your conversations with your parents, the refrigerator noise when you didn’t fully close it, your dryer signalling the end. so thin he could hear your humming to your favourite song while you were showering, the blurred and incoherent dialogues from late–night sitcoms you’d left turned on the whole night. 

so thin he prayed you wouldn’t hear the things he did in the dark. 

soon, sunghoon found out that you attended the same university as he did—your name printed among the rosters as his. fate hadn’t been kind to him often, but now it seemed and felt like it was cradling him. 

he took forensic science, while you took education. it fits you, sunghoon thought—you were soft-spoken in the hallways when you thanked the other neighbour for leftovers, or when he had overheard you scolding your little brother for something, and sunghoon couldn’t tell if you were mad, or disappointed. 

you’d make a great mother.

the first time sunghoon properly saw you, he was alone on the complex’s rooftop. a cigarette smoldered between his lips, the night sky cracked open above him. you weren’t occupied in his mind nor was he searching for you, yet there you were. 

like a sacrament being offered—body and blood disguised in soft skin and breath.

walking along the entrance with your cardigan clutched tight around your frame, tote bag hanging loose off your shoulder. your steps were small, unhurried, the rhythm that told him you probably thought you were safe since you were already in the area. the cold breeze caught in your hair and pulled strands across your cheek.

sunghoon’s chest cinched tight. you’re adorable, he hummed. taking another drag of his cigarette. no, adorable is an understatement. there was something soft about the way you move, the innocence swimming in your eyes, the little push of your lip against your cheek. 

how unfair, he exhaled slowly. feeling the smoke escaping his lungs. someone like you existed in the same world as him. 

he watched—you were so far below despite living right next his door. sunghoon watched as your figure slipped into the building and out of sight, and he realised he was holding his breath—lungs aching not from the smoke, but from something more, something’s missing.

the ember at the tip of his cigarette had burned out completely, leaving only the taste of ash in his mouth.

the taste… so familiar—so close to what he felt when he came to the hentai he watched when he was younger. 

——

you were like a disease—and sunghoon the host. it began with a single spore in his lungs that went unseen but felt–able, then multiplied with each breath until he was drowning, and all sunghoon could feel was raw ache.

you curled into his veins until every beat of his heart pumped you deeper and deeper. his body became a chamber of contagion, gnawed hollow by desire.

 “—hoon, sunghoon!” 

his head jerked up, thoughts breaking like glass. jake was staring at him across the cafeteria table, brows slightly furrowed. sunghoon blinked and brought his latte to his lips, snapping out of it. “you spaced out again, man. what’s gotten into you?”

sunghoon licked his lips, wetting it before shaking his head. “nothing,” he murmured, setting his cup down. “what were you saying?” 

jake studied him for a moment longer, then shrugged it off. “the communication department is holding a festival this weekend for every major. there’ll be food stalls and booths and we’re all going to support sunoo. figured you might want to tag along.”

sunghoon pursed his lips, stirring the liquid in his cup with the flimsy wooden stirrer. yeah—he had no plans for the weekend except bedrotting and completing the endless tedium of reports. his professors were merciless with deadlines and memorising blood samples and decomposition stages—but he figured he could make time for some fun.

“sure,” he gave a small, practiced nod. jake smiled, already leaning back in his chair to ramble about his days. sunghoon let the words wash over him, feigning interest with the occasional hum. his mind was elsewhere but here.

sunghoon wondered what you could be doing right now. it’s lunchtime. do you have lunch in the cafeteria? crossed legs and stirring your juice and laughing with your friends? he tried to picture what you’d order. you didn’t seem like someone who’d for anything greasy—maybe something light. like a sandwich, or pasta.

what kind of meat do you like? sunghoon wondered, eyes drifting toward the untouched food on his own plate. what do girls as pretty as you even eat?

beef, maybe—rich and dark, the kind that melts apart in your mouth if cooked just right… tender, but tough if overcooked. sunghoon hated that the most. maybe chicken, simple and clean and hard to mess up. he could picture you chewing slowly, suppressing a smile. pork, though—he thought of the sweetness of it, the glaze, the stickiness that would cling to your fingers. but pork carries pathogens and parasites that are hard to kill despite being cooked. 

you wouldn’t like that. 

again, sunghoon imagined you savouring it—taking small bites politely, licking the sauce from your thumb—unconscious, devastating. you never realised that someone out there would’ve given anything to taste you.

“—jesus, hoon,” jake waved a hand in front of sunghoon, knocking reality into him. he blinked, swallowing the saliva he didn’t realise was pooling in the back of his throat. he straightened up, looking at jake. “yeah?”

“what time are you free this saturday?” 

——

“i’ll just takeaway a salad, thank you.” 

you’re a vegetarian ever since you could remember. you didn’t eat meat by choice, lived untouched by blood and bone and filth. your meals were soft in colour, greens, steamed broccoli, grains, nuts. 

you preferred knowing nothing died for your sake—food that never screamed, never struggled, never bled. you ate gently, every bite was an act of mercy. 

“just that?” wonyoung asked, thanking the cashier as she tapped her card on the terminal. you nodded, taking the bag from the waitress. “yeah, this is enough,” you hummed, smiling. “i really can’t afford eating too much and puking later.” 

your friend nodded, linking her arm around your wrist as the two of you made your way out. “is sunoo already there? has he texted you yet?” she asked, peeking slightly from your shoulder as you fished your phone out. 

“mm, hold on,” you murmured, thumb swiping across the screen. “he’s already there,” you said, glancing up at her. “he said he’d told jiwoo that we’ll be a little late.” 

wonyoung grinned. “thank god. i don’t want her to nag in our ears later.” 

“no one dares to nag at you, wony!”

the air was already beginning to be filled with chatter and sizzles from the food stalls lined up beneath unlit string lights. the scent of oil and spice hung heavy. you, wonyoung, and sunoo sat crowded around a small metal table, your takeaway salad box nearly empty, spork resting on the rims of your bowl. 

“god, this was so good,” wonyoung sighed, leaning back in her chair. “now i have some energy to serve for the next seven hours.” 

sunoo laughed, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “thanks for the meal, wony. i didn’t have time to drop by to get breakfast.” 

wonyoung waved a dismissive hand. “it’s fine, don’t mention it! we prefer not rushing anyway.”

before you could respond, a voice cut through the din. 

“kim sunoo!” 

the three of you looked up. jake was grinning, waving as he made his way over with heeseung and sunghoon trailing behind him. 

“oh, you guys are here so early!” sunoo perked up, waving them over. “yeah,” heeseung said, still standing beside jake. “we figured we’d check out the other booths before the crowd gets worse.” jake nodded, “yeah, then we’ll come back for you again during lunch.”

then, jake leaned forward slightly, eyeing your table. “man, this looks good. you got food without us, sunoo?”

“you were late,” sunoo teased, nudging his forearm playfully. “anyway, this is wonyoung, and—” he turned toward you with an easy smile. “—this is yn. my friends from the education department.” 

wonyoung gave a polite wave, and you just smiled, murmuring a quick hello. 

sunoo then gestured to the three boys. “and these are my high school friends—jake, heeseung, sunghoon.” 

you looked up at the name, eyes briefly meeting sunghoon’s but staying the longest as he was the last one to be introduced. there was a flicker of recognition—or something close to it—but you brushed it off just quickly. 

“nice to meet you,” you said softly.

sunghoon’s lips quirked into a polite half–smile. “yeah,” he murmured, voice low enough that it nearly disappeared under the hum of the crowd—meant only for you. “you too.” 

like a blooming flower in rot, something unfurling where it shouldn’t. that quiet sickness—nourished by the ghost of your gaze—spread slow beneath his ribs.

he saw the crumpled paper bag from the restaurant, half–buried in the trash beside the booth. his friends were already walking ahead. “go on, i’ll catch up,” sunghoon called, forcing a small smile.

they didn’t think much of it.

when they turned the corner, sunghoon stood before the bin, his shadow looming across the metal. his fingers brushed against the paper. it still held the faint scent of greens. opening it, the container inside was empty except for smudges of sauces.

sunghoon stared for a moment too long. then, as though he couldn’t control his body, he peeled open the plastic container—and slipped the spork you’d used into his pocket.

pulse thudding in his throat—something sweet and rotten bloomed quietly in his chest. 

——

sunghoon didn’t talk to you for the rest of the festival—not like there was a reason to in the first place. you were with your friends, and he was with his’. while you were doing your task in your little food stall both, he lingered somewhere in the periphery, eyes observing you handling the food.

it’s alright, he reassured himself. the two of you are neighbours. for any time sunghoon decides that he wants to talk to you, he can just knock on your door. simple. easy.

the day ended like any other.

that night, sunghoon set the spork on his desk. unwashed. the faint smell of vinaigrette still clung to it, sweet and sour. was that the flavour you liked? sunghoon thought you’d prefer something more umami. 

he placed it neatly beside his keyboard, the plastic catching the lamplight.

it’s weird. it definitely was. no sane person would rummage through the bin and take a used item. especially one that had entered someone’s mouth. that’s disgusting—unsanitary, even. 

sunghoon knew that. he wasn’t stupid.

but there was something about it—the evidence that you had touched something he could hold. disgusting, he thought. then again, he didn’t put it back. 

in fact… he wanted to do it again. 

“later?” you talked over the phone, the device pressed between your ear and your shoulder as you washed the dishes. you glanced at the clock on the wall, chewing the inside of your cheek. “no, i can’t… sorry. i promised jin–sol i’ll come over tonight to study.”

the plates made a slight clinking noise when you placed them on the dish rack, wiping your hands dry. “maybe tomorrow? it’s been almost two weeks since the festival and the data team still hasn’t sent their analysis anyway.” 

“yeah, tomorrow i’ll come over. sorry, toni.”

this was it—you weren’t going to be home for a few hours. sunghoon heard it all from his room as he pressed his ear against the wall, eavesdropping. his pulse quickened when he heard the sound of your footsteps, the jingle of your keys, then the soft click of the door closing—each detail carved into his nerves.

fuck, he’s really going to do it. 

sunghoon sat still for a moment before slowly creeping out of his apartment, peeking from the hallway balcony to make sure your silhouette had disappeared from turning the corner. the air outside felt heavier somehow—maybe because of what he was going to do.

he stood in front of your door. sunghoon knew where you kept your emergency key—buried beneath the wilted soil of one of the flower pots, tucked away like a secret. his fingers brushed against the damp earth, searching, soil stuck beneath his fingernails, and sunghoon only stooped when the cold metal finally kissed his skin. 

the lock clicked open with a soft sound—almost too easy, he thought. sunghoon didn’t wait a second lingering there as he immediately slipped inside, not wanting to get caught by the other tenants. 

your apartment was clean, smelled faintly of your detergent and something floral. a pair of cat slippers sat neatly by the entrance, an umbrella leaned against the wall. everything had its place and purpose. 

he trailed his fingers along the edge of your counter. there was a mug in the sink, lipstick–stained on the rim, the water inside was just tap. your living room was small, a folded blanket on the couch, book facedown, faint indentation on the cushion where you sat.

sunghoon then took a slow step toward your bedroom door. this was the closest he had ever been to you in terms of intimacy. he’d seen you before, of course—at the festival—but this was quiet, private. 

this was you with the things you left behind. 

his breath caught as he turned the knob, the faint creak of hinge slicing through. the scent inside was different—warmer, more personal, it smelled like your honey shampoo, your vanilla lotion, your mist. yeah, all of those belonged on your skin, didn’t they? 

sunghoon’s gaze darted across the room: your bed, slightly rumpled, cardigan draped over the chair; a bottle on the nightstand. 

but it wasn’t your bedroom that he was interested in—the fridge hummed softly. that’s what he wanted to know. what you ate. what kept you alive.

“let’s see…” sunghoo crouched, fingers curling around the handle as he pulled the door open. cold air washed over him, sharp and clean, and inside—neat rows of containers, fruits sealed in public, half–finished salad bowls. your world was colourless. green and yellows, nothing red,

nothing raw. 

your fridge had not a single meat to it.

his gaze lingered on a jar of olives and pickles, a small tub of hummus and greek yogurt. these food that don’t bleed when bitten into. sunghoon tilted his head. “you eat clean, huh,” he muttered, studying the paper bag of wrapped sweet potatoes. 

he imagined you eating it—your tongue brushing over vegetables, your teeth never knowing what it's like ripping apart fleshes. then, sunghoon wondered what you would look like tasting something heavier, darker. filling your mouth with warmth and iron—because there was no way greens would taste good hot. 

sunghoon turned away from the fridge, shutting it as his eyes drifted to the small bin beside the counter. heart pacing quick and uneven as his fingers dipped into the pile. “god…” every sound in the apartment seemed to grow louder as he rummaged through the trash bin.

pushing aside fruit peels, paper towels, plastic wrappers—sunghoon’s hand came in contact with a plastic cup. a paper straw. faintly bent, slightly wet, the tip stained a soft shade of pink. your lipstick.

the proof that your mouth had been there made his stomach twist. lifting it to his nose, sunghoon inhaled the tip of the straw—very faintly sweet of your matcha, artificial lipstick scent but you, nonetheless. 

what the fuck am i doing…? the thought occurred to him as he tucked the straw into his pocket, flattening the limp paper straw.  sunghoon moved through your apartment like a shadow without its owner. 

the next door he opened was the bathroom—small for two, tiled, faintly damp and still wet. the mirror was fogged at the corners, toothpaste crusted by the sink. your toothbrush rested in a cup, pale bristles worn from daily use.

sunghoon’s throat felt dry as he stood before the mirror, looking everywhere but his reaction. he was ashamed, humiliated, disgusted—but fuck, he couldn’t help it. his fingers curled around the small handle, staring at it—the soft drag of bristles against your gums, pressed into your tongue—how it must’ve tasted like peach mint and saliva and you. 

slowly, sunghoon brought his head up—his reflection looked wrong and calm—eyes hollowed with want as he brought the brush to his lips. the bristles grazed his teeth. it was an absurd imitation of closeness, he knew, yet something in him swelled with a trembling sort of pleasure.

is this how you taste like? part of you? the sound of bristles dragging faintly against his teeth filled the silence. sunghoon pressed it harder, dragging them across his enamel until the flavour bloomed into something he swore tasted like you and him at once. 

saliva pooled, thick and warm, he swallowed alongside the leftover dried paste. 

his tongue found the bristles next—slow—searching the places your tongue had pressed, the grooves where you spit had dried. each stroke only aroused his curiousity—is this the curve of your gum? is this the soft underside of your lip?

the toothbrush was making a map on sunghoon’s tongue. a low sound escaped him—half groan, half moan—when he tasted the faint iron of his own blood mixing with the mint from brushing too hard. the bristles were soaked now, darkened with the pink of his gums but still he dragged them back and forth, back and forth. 

look at you, his reflection stared back at him. look at what you’re doing. sunghoon watched his mouth open, watched the toothbrush disappear between his lips like a lover’s finger. his thighs pressed together against the sudden ache, fuck, this was giving him a hard–on.

when he pulled the brush free, strings of saliva stretched and snapped. sunghoon rinsed the brush under the tap, watching the swirl down the drain like a secret. then he placed it back in its holder, bristles up, exactly where you’d left it.

sunghoon by no means is religious—but in christianity, as what he was taught when he attended a christian kindergarten and sunday churches, saints’ relics were kept, and sometimes ingested. holy fragments of the divine sealed in boxes for believers to kneel before. 

a way to keep faith close, to let holiness rot beautifully in glass.

he supposed he was a devout now if you were a religion.

in the ritual of his own making—the straw, a single sock, a strand of hair snagged in a hair tie he’d found in the bedroom, a discarded band–aid carefully in tissue. small things you would never notice missing anyway.

next time, he’ll be bolder.

——

“kim sunoo!” jake’s voice cut through the chatter of the restaurant, loud enough to turn a few heads. he waved from across the table, grinning. sunoo smiled, waving back. “i brought wonyoung and yn too. figured it’d be nice.” 

“that’s alright, the more the merrier anyway.” heeseung smiled, greeting the two of you. you and wonyoung sat opposite of sunoo, quietly placing your respective orders. the table got lively quickly with jake’s cheerful demeanor, and heeseung’s outgoing personality. sunghoon though, sitting at the far end, hadn’t said much, just the occasional nod and hum. 

but you supposed you too, content with listening to their stories. to anyone else, sunghoon looked indifferent, disinterested. but every now and then, his eyes flickered toward you. he watched the way you gathered your hair in one hand (was it because he took your hairband?) to sip your soup, the way you laughed and leaned to everything wonyoung said. 

everything you did was small and nothing remarkable, yet it caught him like static. 

watching you now was strange. weird, even. sunghoon had been inside your house more than once after that night. had touched your things, had used your toothbrush and lotion, laid on your bed, pressed his palm against the hollow your body left on the sheets.

and yet, the real thing was here. so oblivious to the things that were happening to you—your apartment while you were gone. so oblivious that he was your neighbour eavesdropping to your everyday life through the thin wall. so unaware that your nail clipper and earpick had been used, shoes had been sniffed, spoons had been licked. 

yeah. as long as you had zero idea about it, sunghoon should be alright. 

he might be disgusting, but you’re a plain idiot.

“i’m so sorry i can’t send you back tonight, yn,” wonyoung frowned, glancing at her phone. “my sister needs me to pick her up from the station.” 

you waved her off with a small laugh. “it’s fine, wony. i don’t live far.” 

“still. text me when you get home, okay?” wonyoung pressed, already half turned toward her parked car. “mmhm,” you nodded, giving her a quick hug before stepping into the night. 

you didn’t notice him at first. sunghoon walked a few paces behind. everyone left almost at the same time—pretending to check his phone, pretending he didn’t see you in front or the fact that he knew you guys were neighbours. 

it wasn’t until you turned a corner that you caught the faint echo of footsteps matching yours. you slowed down, so did he. your fingers curled around your strap tighter, when you glanced back, you saw him—tall, eyes downcast. 

sunghoon looked up then, caught your gaze—your steps faltered—and for a brief, awkward moment, the silence stretched. 

“...uh,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “sunghoon, right?”

sunghoon’s lips twitched into the faintest smile, almost polite. “yeah,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “hey.”

you nodded quickly, slightly relieved that at least it wasn’t some creep or pervert or rapist. that it was a mutual… friend? someone your bestfriend knew. “do you live around here?” you asked softly, coming to a stop.

sunghoon took a few steps closer, it didn't bother you. “yeah,” he replied, gesturing with his hand toward the building across the street. “i live in that one.” 

you followed his gesture, letting your gaze travel to the familiar shape of the apartment. that’s where you lived too! “what, really?” a small laugh escaped your lips. “that’s… i live there too.” 

he raised his eyebrows, lips parting slightly. “you serious?” he chuckled, feigning confusion. “that’s a crazy coincidence. what room?” he added. sunghoon looked like he was genuinely curious in your eyes. 

“33A, and you?” 

you watched as his eyes widened just a fraction. “...32A,” he said, voice low, a shy laugh escaped him. “right next door, huh?” you blinked, a little startled by the coincidence. “yeah… oh wow—we’re literally neighbours…”

he nodded slowly, as if letting the reality settle. “that’s… uh, crazy,” he murmured, brushing another hand over the back of his neck. there was a pause, a strange tension in the air. you smiled nervously, finding yourself walking alongside sunghoon.

“how come i never noticed you?” you broke the silence, looking up at him. sunghoon glanced down at you. your eyelashes are really pretty, aren’t they? long, curved, brushing against your cheeks… your mascara sure is lucky, pressed so close to the wet shine of your eyes, kissing the thin skin every time you blink, drinking in the salt of your tears and running down your cheeks when it’s wet.

“...not sure,” sunghoon finally replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. he broke his gaze, looking forward. “i’m not home often, so…” he murmured in reply, shrugging. “how come i never noticed you?” 

lies after lies.

you smiled, now it was your turn to shrug. “i’m not always home either,” you replied, tilting your head just enough for the streetlight to catch the gloss on your lower lip. “and i just moved so maybe that’s why.” 

sunghoon couldn’t focus on what you were saying, his gaze snagged at the plump, shiny, imprint of your teeth where you’d bitten down earlier when you probably thought you were being followed. oh yn, the danger is closer than you thought it is. 

that lip gloss, was it the one he saw on your vanity? the one he wanted to take, but it’d probably be too obvious, he thought.  cherry, maybe. or vanilla, if lip gloss had scents. 

sunghoon wanted to lean in, wanted to drag his tongue across that shine and taste the wax and heat and your lips. he wanted to kiss you until the gloss smeared across his mouth, until the flavour was indistinguishable from the salt of his skin. he wanted to bite down your lower lip, to hear the small startled moan you’d make when his teeth met flesh.

but of course, he didn’t. he looked away before you noticed. 

“sunoo will be so surprised if he knew we were neighbours.” you giggled, a smile etched across your face. “then he’ll come over more often, just so he can hang out.” you continued, running your hand through your hair.

sunghoon just managed a soft yeah, swallowing the urge. his tongue pressed to the side of his cheek. if i take it now, you’ll know. if i take it now, you’ll run, the thought hissed. 

by the time you knew it, the two of you were in the elevator heading up to the third floor.

“oh we’re here,” you said, stopping in front of your door. the old hallway light flickered once, then twice before steadied. you turned the key and the door sighed open. did you know sunghoon know where you kept your extra key? 

sunghoon unlocked his door too, waiting for you to step inside first. “that didn’t feel like a long walk.” he chuckled, smiling. you smiled, leaning against the frame. “well,” you hummed, eyelashes fluttering prettily. “night, neighbour.”

he nodded, throat dry. “night.”

you hesitated then lifted your hand in a small wave. the door shut with a soft thud, then the lock slid home.

sunghoon stayed in the hallway, staring at the 33A number until it felt like they blurred. just three steps from his own door. his key scraped the lock, inside, the dark greeted him. 

tomorrow, he decided. tomorrow he’d borrow sugar. tomorrow he’d stand closer. and soon, he’d taste the gloss for real. the obsession settled in his chest, it was still something he couldn’t quite name, but it had teeth now, still small but growing.

only hunger had a name, and it wanted you. 

——

ever since that night, things had… shifted. subtly at first.

like magic, you and sunghoon started running into each other more often—sometimes at the garbage disposable downstairs, sometimes at the lobby mailbox, sometimes the two of you left your rooms at the same time. he’d always smile, small and reserved while you were always embarrassed to be caught at the same time.

it became a quiet routine. you’d wave when you saw him through the balcony smoking, he’d greet you in the morning, and before long, it felt strange not to see him around after… practically never seeing him at all since the past few months. 

you supposed it’s true—that once you become aware of someone, you can never stop. 

“hngh, fuck, fuck, fuck,”

sunghoon’s forehead rested against the thin wall that separated your apartment from his’, big hand clamped around his bigger cock as he jerked himself off. he was on his knees, legs splayed just enough for balance. 

“i’m making dinner, right now,” you said, phone pressed between your shoulder and your ear. on the other line that only you heard, wonyoung asked what you were doing. it’s a friday night, and everyone was apparently too busy for a hangout. 

“gym? you’re going to the gym right now?”

he let out a soft, inaudible groan under his breath silently as he pressed the palm of his hand against the hardening cock, pumping his cock back and forth with his eyes shut tightly. if he tried hard enough, he could imagine you splayed underneath him, legs spreaded—showing that pretty, meaty pussy that was all his to devour. 

gym—hah, fuck, sunghoon thought. you didn’t need that. you didn’t need to lift or sweat or burn away the softness that made sunghoon so captivated to you. you were already perfect—so tender in all the right places, so soft it made his jaw ache and teeth sensitive just thinking about it.

it’d be so nice to bite you, flesh between his teeth as he grinded and dug his canines inside… 

his cock throbs in his hand at the mere thought, the length of it bobbed and seemingly increased. the head of it was red and flushed, oozing out beads of precum that trailed over his hand. 

“ngh, f—fuck, yn, keep talking,” he moaned softly, chest heaving, the sound barely audible against the quiet hum of his room. his breath was uneven, quick. every inhale trembled, every exhale came out in a low, broken sigh.

his cock was so achingly painful. 

“he’s still bothering you? using a new number?”

his hips twitched as he began thrusting his cock in his fist like cunt, his wet cum making it easier for sunghoon to glide his cock back and forth, his other hand braced against the wall, palm pressed firm. something needed to keep him grounded as his body trembled, his forehead rested close to his wrist.

in short, hot bursts of breath, spine arched with each staggered breath as he fucked his fist. squelching noise filled the room from where his skin met the base of his cock. he wanted to sink into the thought of you, chew through the distance until there was nothing left between your body and his need.

“men are shit, anyway… did you report him to the professor?”

sunghoon increased his pace in stroking his cock, his thumb rolling around the tip of his flushed head, suppressing from cumming—he did not want to cum just yet. sunghoon was so hungry. the kind of imagination sunghoon had was not like the other guys when they jerked off to the girl they liked. 

he didn’t just want to make love to you, he wanted to consume you. he wanted to more than just lick your pussy, he wanted to eat it. press his teeth on the flesh, tug on your little clit. sunghoon didn’t want to just fondle your tits, he wanted to squeeze those boobs until the flesh spilled between his fingers.

it was more than lust—it was appetite. 

“oh, i cooked extra—should i send some to sunghoon? did you know he’s my ne—”

sunghoon groaned softly, painfully suppressing his moan in his stomach as he tipped his head back. “oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, ‘m cummin yn, ‘m cummin for you,” his entire body tensed, his huge cock jumped in his hand as he came, cum spurting all over his wall. he panted, shoulders dropped as the semen trailed down slowly like waterdrop.

that concluded it. sunghoon didn’t just want you—it was clear now. 

he wanted to live inside your skin and be your birth and death and your beginning and end and your undoing and betterment. he wanted to eat you whole, to tear flesh by flesh, chew your skin between his teeth, grind your strands of hair, bite off your fingers and toes, and to suck off your tender meat off your bone like marrow.

sunghoon’s eyes widened, and he spiraled, eyes spinning, head gyrating. he needed to ingest you, to metabolise you in him. 

you too—yeah. you can have sunghoon’s heart, if you can stomach it.

sunghoon looked down on his cum covered hand, strings of semen dripping down his digits and onto the floor. he’s ashamed and humiliated at himself, but there was nothing he wanted to do to fix it. 

“—hoon? sunghoon?” 

his head snapped towards the door, eyes wide and panicked, heart hammering, he scrambled, jerking his pants up and fumbling with the waistband, hands shaking as he tied the ribbon. the sound of the faucet splashing echoed through the small kitchen as he hurriedly washed his hands, water running over his skin and washing away his sins.

sunghoon opened the door before you could knock for the second time, leaning against the frame. “hey, sorry,” he tried controlling his breath, chest rose. “i was… in the bathroom.” 

you smiled, shaking your head dismissively. “it’s okay, i should’ve texted. i made too much food. thought you might be hungry.”

yeah. his eyes flicked to the container in your hands—japchae. but with mushrooms and tofu instead of meat. he swallowed, forcing a casual nod. “ah… yeah, i haven’t had dinner yet anyway,” he said, stepping aside lightly.

“if you haven’t either, do you wanna eat together?” 

you blinked, slightly taken aback at the offer. the thought of eating together, especially one that’s invited, almost made your stomach flutter. after a brief pause, you nodded shyly. “mmhm… sure.”

he gave a faint smile. letting you slip past him, sunghoon shut the door close, taking the container from you to place it on the dining table. 

you sat across sunghoon, unpacking the japchae. “so…” you began, reaching for the chopsticks. “just what were you up to, today?” sunghoon lifted a small bundle of noodles to his mouth, looking at you from his bangs. 

today? today i cum to you. 

“nothing much,” he shrugged. the flavours were simple and clean. “just completed some reports and… yeah, that’s pretty much all.” he glanced as you ate, trying not to stare, yet stealing glimpses when you weren’t looking. “what about you?”

you hummed, chewing and swallowing. the munched noodles bobbed from beneath your throat. “also nothing interesting,” you chuckled, pressing your lips together. “except i just learned how to make japchae so… you’re like the first one to try.” 

sunghoon let out a soft, amused hum, the corner of his lips twitching. “so i’m your test subject?”

“mm, yeah, i guess you could say that,” you replied, smirking. the tension that had hung in the room since he’d opened the door eased just a little. sunghoon tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity. 

“it’s really good. but… you don’t eat meat, yn?” 

you shook your head, fingers pausing. “no, ever since i can remember. i just… can’t.” your tone softened, almost apologetic, though not ashamed. “i can’t handle the blood, the… killing. knowing they suffer for me, for my own hunger—i can’t eat something that’s been hurt. it makes me feel… guilty.”

sunghoon’s gaze flickered down to his plate. of course, he thought, you were gentle, careful, soft in all the ways he wanted to consume. and yet, here you were, refusing the very thing that sunghoon might have wanted to offer—the rawness, the bite, the blood.

he forced a small nod, swallowing the strange curl of disappointment and fascination that pooled in his stomach. you didn’t want to eat living beings, yet here sunghoon was. “i… see,” he murmured, looking up at you with an understanding smile. “you’re just kind like that, yn.”

you giggled, shaking your head. “nooo, please, i’m not,” you took a sip of your drink. “besides, i didn’t grow up in seoul but in the countryside, so seeing my chickens and sheep being… a meal kinda gave me the ick.” you continued casually.

“ah,” sunghoon nodded slowly, watching the way your lips curved between words, the faint gleam of moisture on your lower lip after you took another sip. “that makes sense.” 

you laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair. “yeah, i mean… i used to name them, so it felt wrong when they ended up on the table the next day.”

he smiled faintly, wrong when they ended up on the table. 

you went on, oblivious to the way his gaze lingered. your attention was on your dinner, anyway. “so i just stopped eating meat. it’s easier and better that way. people claim they love animals, but how could they—” you paused, twirling a few noodles around your chopsticks. 

“—love something and still hurt it?”

you looked down, shrugging, expression softening. “i don’t know. maybe i’m too sentimental.”

sunghoon’s gaze sharpened on you. he had long paused from eating. one hand flexed and twitched against his knee, jaw tightened. the words distorted and sweetened in his head. how could they not? he thought. how could love exist without wanting to consume and make it a part of you?

if you really love someone, don’t you want to be with them all the time?

he watched as you lifted the mushroom to your lips, eyes half–lidded as you chewed, and something inside him twisted into something more than hunger. 

you didn’t get it. you could never understand the depth of what he felt for you—love, to you was soft, gentle, harmless—all sunshine and rainbows and everything good in life. but to sunghoon, it was the bite and the swallow.

the meal dwindled to silence and you dabbed at your lips with a tissue, sunghoon watched as you set it aside. when you stood to put your cups in his sink as he insisted, sunghoon slid the crumpled tissue into his pocket. 

the boy thanked you for the dinner, sent you back next door, and wished you goodnight. 

when the latch clicked shut behind him, sunghoon looked down at the tissues folded neatly in his palm—his little souvenirs from the evening. 

——

slowly, the friendship between the two of you began to bloom—almost without you noticing. it wasn’t sudden, just small things that fit together like puzzle pieces.

sunghoon was attentive. not in the loud, overbearing way most boys tried to be, but he was gentle, calm. he remembered tiny passing details you thought no one really heard, or cared. in fact, he knew things you were pretty sure you never told anyone.

and he listened. really listened. when you spoke, sunghoon’s gaze stayed fixed on you, his replies thoughtful and quiet, almost like he was careful with what he was saying which was something you appreciated. 

sometimes, when you caught him staring, you’d laugh and ask what he was thinking about—but he’d just smile, shake his head, and say, “nothing.” 

it felt easy with him, somehow. like right now.

“you’re spacing out again.”

sunghoon blinked, his pupils refocusing as your voice broke through his daze. he shook his head slightly, caught off guard by the teasing in your tone. 

“sorry—” he murmured, a small sheepish smile tugging at his lips. his voice was soft. “just… thinking.”

you tilted your head, a playful glint in your eyes. “about what?”

his fingers tapped lightly against the table, as if buying time. you, he thought. always you. only you. but instead he just chuckled under his breath. “how you just have a basket of fruits, but never offered me some.”

your eyes widened a fraction, before a grin etched across your face. “really—?” you chuckled, brows knitting in slight confusion. “i didn’t know you wanted some. you should’ve said so.”

sunghoon shrugged, lips quirking. “didn’t want to impose.”

you smiled, shaking your head as you got up towards the kitchen. picking up a peach, you placed it on the cutting board. “please, you’re practically a regular guest at this point.” the knife scraped softly against the board as you sliced.

sunghoon watched as the blade was just a fraction away from the tips of your fingers—close enough to nick the skin. he wished bones were that easy to slice through. wished he could part the metacarpals with the same clean whisper the knife made through peach flesh. 

“see?” you broke his train of thought, holding up a neat smile. “there’s no need to shy about it.”

but then—slip. 

the blade caught the pad of your finger, a quick sting blooming before the bead of red followed. “ah—” you gasped and hissed quietly, instinctively pulling your hand back.

sunghoon got up from the carpet, his expression shifting in an instant. “you’re bleeding,” he said. you just awkwardly chucked it off, bringing your finger to your lips. “yeah, it’s fine. just a little cut.”

your lips closed around the cut, tongue curling to lap the blood in one slow swipe. sunghoon’s pulse stuttered. the wet shine of your mouth, the faint smear of red left behind, the soft suction as you drew the taste of yourself in. 

mine, he absentmindedly thought, raw and sudden. i could take that finger, keep it warm between my teeth until the marrow cooled.

“ugh,” you mumbled, pulling it free with a soft pop. a final crimson bead welled up. you turned to the sink, cold water hissing over the wound. sunghoon just stayed by you, sighing. “that won’t do,” he stepped closer, “where do you keep your band aid?”

you pointed at a drawer. sunghoon reached for the small box, fumbling a strip free. “let me…” he trailed, gently taking your hand in his, turning it palm–up so the cut faced the light. the blood had slowed to a lazy seep, a single drop sliding down the curve of your finger.

sunghoon pressed the pad to the wound, smoothing the edges with his thumb. the gauze drank the red instantly. “there,” he said, voice low. “better?” he didn’t let go.

you shyly nodded, not bothered pulling it away. 

“mmhm,” you looked up to him from underneath your lashes. “better.”

with sunghoon, the world felt like it was moving slower and quieter. when he laughed, he did it with his whole body—leaning forward slightly, covering the bottom half of his pretty face with the back of his hand, eyes crinkling faintly. 

and in the best way possible—maybe because of the calmness he carried, it made you sleepy. not one that came out of exhaustion, but safely. 

like right now.

your eyes fluttered shut, still sitting on the floor with your back against the couch, the hum of his voice and the tv slowly fading. sunghoon glanced at you, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. 

you looked peaceful, head tilted slightly, hair brushing against your cheek. carefully, sunghoon crawled towards you and crouched, slipping one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back.

your body fits nicely in his hold. would you melt if he hugged you?

you stirred a little when he lifted you, murmuring something incoherent that sunghoon hushed you under his breath. he carried you to the bed with slow steps as he didn’t want to wake you up if he wasn’t gentle enough.

“...there,” he muttered softly, laying you down and tucking the blanket up to your shoulders. sunghoon stood there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of your chest. the faint scent of your shampoo clung to his sleeve. 

then, quietly, his gaze drifted to your hand—the one with the cut from earlier. reaching for it, his fingers ghosted over yours, before peeling the edge loose.

the band aid came off easily, leaving your skin bare. he folded the used sticker, blood–side in, and slipped it into his pocket. 

you looked so peaceful amidst the chaos in sunghoon’s mind. if only you knew a fragment about what he was thinking about you, you would be horrified to death. you would hate him. loathe him.

without realising, sunghoon leaned over you, getting a closer look at your features and your tiny details. your lashes cast shadows, your lips slightly parted, breathing. he hovered, breath ghosting the corner of your lips.

one kiss. just one, you’ll never know. 

his hand found your jaw, thumb setting in the hollow beneath your ear. 

the kiss was barely contact, lips to lips, yes, but a little dry and quick. warmth flooded his mouth, letting the lower one graze the same of yours, tasting faintly the peach you had. the kiss was feather–light, but his teeth ached more.

just a nip, it purred. just enough to feel… 

sunghoon traced the shape of your mouth with his own, mapping the bow, the dip, the plush at the center. he pecked, imagining how your lower lip would brush purple before bleeding if he’d bite it down.

the thought alone flooded his mouth with saliva that slipped in yours. 

your breath hitched, and he froze. tongue moved behind your teeth, sunghoon didn’t pull back. instead, he pressed harder, dragging his mouth over yours. his hands slid from your cheeks down to the sides of your neck where he he cradled the fragile columns of muscle and tendon, thumbs settling beneath your jaw. 

sunghoon could feel the flutter of your pulse against his fingertips, like a morse code saying: alive, alive, alive.

lips parted, a soft exhale escaped your lips as he drank it in, the tip of his tongue dragging across your teeth where he felt every ridge, every little mamelon. this is the map, he thought. this is the place i’ll open first. 

when sunghoon finally pulled away, your lips were slightly swollen, glistening with saliva. a single thread of it stretched between you, snapped, and clung to his lower lip. sunghoon licked it clean. 

“hah…” he breathed, your head lolled to the side, exposing the full column of your neck. sunghoon started, thinking of the painting where wolves bit the sheep as the little white animal had its eyes closed peacefully. 

you were the little white.

sunghoon leaned in, pressed his open mouth to that spot—no teeth, just heat from his breath—and felt the thrum of your life against his lips.

then he let go. 

when he finally turned to leave, sunghoon fiddled with the band aid in his pocket, thumb brushing over the faint trace of your skin into the adhesive. later that night, sitting on the edge of his bed in the dim light of his room—

sunghoon sucked the band aid into his mouth, tongue tracing the taste of your sweet, metallic blood on the dressing—his eyes fluttered shut and rolled behind the thin skin, savouring it like a secret snack.

——

“so… you and sunghoon?” 

you blinked, looking up from the laptop screen. “what?” you raised an eyebrow, darting your eyes back to the screen. “what about us…?”

sunoo raised his brows, a teasing lilt in his tone. “you guys go home together and come together and eat together and have inside jokes together and—”

you let out a soft, awkward chuckle, waving your hand dismissively. “oh, that’s just because we live in the same building. it’s… convenient.” 

“convenient,” he repeated, smiling knowingly, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “riiiight. and the same lunch boxes?”

your mouth fell open slightly. “what—how do you even notice those things?”

your friend shrugged, scoffing playfully. “hah—you should see his face when you talk to other guys too.” you rolled your eyes, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your neck. “he’s just… protective, i guess. he’s nice.”

sunoo leaned back in his chair, smirking. “yeah, he is. but y’know—guys don’t just look at their friend, especially one that’s supposed to be just neighbours like they like them.”

your eyes widened, unsure whether to laugh or deny it. “w—what? no, it’s not like that,” you stammered, the corners of your lips twitching. “we’re just… friends, really.”

sunoo gave a small hum, not quite convinced. “mm. if you say so,” his tone was light, teasing. “just… be sure with what you feel. as both you and sunghoon’s friend, i can tell you—sunghoon’s a lot of things, but he’s not the one to play around.”

“so if you don’t like him, just tell him. he’ll understand. he can be intimidating sometimes, but he’s not cruel.”

you bit the inside of his cheek, gaze falling to your hands. the words stuck somewhere in your throat—because the truth was, you did like sunghoon. probably more than you should. 

“so you think i should just tell him?”

sunoo looked up from his screen, tilting his head. “do you like him?”

you nodded, lips pressing into a thin line. “yeah,” you admitted softly, almost embarrassed by the way your chest fluttered around it. “i do… he’s just so easy to be around. not like i planned it or anything.”

his expression softened, the teasing in his eyes faded into an understanding. “aw, then tell him,” he said simply with a shrug. “it’s probably mutual, anyway. i can feel it.”

you laughed under your breath, tapping your fingertips against your laptop’s palm rest area. “right… i don’t want to keep wondering if he feels the same either,” you sighed, shoulders dropping. “i just don’t wanna make things weird between us if it goes south,” 

“he’s… important to me.”

sunoo leaned back, nodding. “if it’s real, it won’t get weird. and even if it does, sunghoon will make sure it isn’t.”

you didn’t know why—but that gave you the little boost you needed to let sunghoon know how you felt that night.

“—sorry, that was probably so sudden,” you said quickly, words tumbling out before you could stop them, “i just—ugh, this is embarrassing.” you fingers twisted the edge of your sleeve, and you looked everywhere but at him. “you don’t have to say anything. i just didn’t want to keep it in anymore, and i’m sorry if this makes things weird—”

“wait, wait wait wait,” 

sunghoon’s eyes widened in disbelief, his lips parted slightly. “wait,” he said again, letting out a breath of chuckle. “you’re serious?” 

you nodded, cheeks warm. “yeah,” you managed, trying to laugh, though it came out shaky. “i know it’s stupid, i just—”

“it’s not stupid.”

sunghoon leaned closer, the corners of his mouth twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to smile or not. his heart felt like it was beating everywhere—in his throat, his hands, his skull. “yn,” he said, swallowing the hunger in his throat.

“i feel the same way.” 

you blinked, caught off guard by his answer—and the way his voice trembled ever so slightly. “you… what?” you asked, half laughing in disbelief. 

sunghoon’s lips parted, his chest rising. “...yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “for a while now, actually.”

your heart felt like it might burst out of your ribs. “why?” you asked suddenly without thinking, still dazed, a nervous grin tugging at your lips. “why do you like me?”

he huffed a soft laugh, his eyes darting away as if the question embarrassed him. “that’s—you first.”

you groaned. “what? nooo, you can’t just deflect like that.”

sunghoon shrugged, smiling faintly. “i asked second. besides, i probably like you first than you do me.”

“fair,” you rolled your eyes playfully, looking down at your bowl of rice. “honestly… you’re just so easy to be around. i’m comfortable, and you’re—kind… and quiet, in the best way possible…”

his eyes softened as he watched you, propping his chin on the heel of his palm. “that’s all?”

“what do you mean that’s all!” you laughed, throwing him a look.

“i don’t know,” sunghoon said, grinning now, shrugging as he pulled his chair closer. “just thought you’d say something about how good–looking i am too.”

you let out a small snort, resting your cheek on your palm on the table. “fine. you’re handsome too. but that’s just a bonus.”

he laughed, his eyes crinkle like crescent moon. “your turn,” you said, nudging your chin playfully. “why do you like me?”

sunghoon tilted his head, considering. “aside from the obvious—how pretty you are,” he began, voice light but eyes sincere. “i think it’s just who you are. you’re… soft about life, but not weak. you care about the small things, so caring, considerate, lovely,” 

he laughed a little under his breath, tilting his head slightly like he’s in awe. “when i’m with you, it’s… quiet in my head, but i also just can’t stop thinking about you.” 

you blinked at him, caught between smiling and forgetting how to breathe. “that’s…” you trailed off, searching for words. “probably one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.”

sunghoon’s lips curled, shy but sure. “then i’ll keep saying them, if it means you’ll keep looking at me like that,”

“but before i do all that… can i be your boyfriend, yn?”

——

one would think that sunghoon would settle after this—after getting what he’d wanted which was you. after being allowed closer, after becoming yours in a way he used to only fantasise and dream about. 

one would think he’d calm down. be normal. relax now that he didn’t have to secretly snoop into your apartment or eavesdrop to your conversations just to know how your day was going. now, you were the one who told him everything—gave him your spare key, let him borrow your stuff and even let him put his toothbrush in your bathroom just incase. 

but the truth was—dating you only made it worse for him.

because before, he had to imagine which could only go so far.

but now he got to see. 

now you waited for him on your couch in tiny tank tops without overthinking if sunghoon thought you were seducing him, now you tied your hair up in front of him and exposed the slope of your neck without a second thought. now you sit between his legs on the floor while you fold laundry—his jaw clenched because your back, the curve of your spine was all his to view. 

when before you hid your softness around him—now you trusted him with it.

and sunghoon didn’t know how to handle that.

being allowed to love you didn’t soothe the obsession. it only fed it, watered it, growing it into something even bigger, heavier, and hungrier. the closer you got, the more it was clear to him: sunghoon needed you inside him. not in that way—but you needed to be beneath the layers of his skin, threaded through the muscle, fused to the marrow of his bones. 

sunghoon loved you, but not in the gentle way you wanted. 

“o—oh god, hoonie, your mouth,” you gasped, arching your back against his mattress as your grip tightened around his locks. sunghoon’s dick twitched at your moanings, his hand travelled up to cup your soft tits in his large palms, the flesh spilling from between his fingers. 

sunghoon kissed and nibbled the outline of your panties and your inner thighs, his sharp canines tugging at your skin and leaving teeth marks on it. his thumbs grazed and flicked your perky nipples. he’s such a tease—purposely avoiding the wet patch on your panties just centimetres from his lips. 

your pussy twitched and pulsed, and if it wasn’t for sunghoon’s arms pinning your folded thighs down, they would've started trembling from how needy you were getting. “baby please, don’t tease me,” you whined, breath hitching in your lungs.

your boyfriend smirked and nuzzled his face into the warmth of your inner thigh, darting his tongue out to finally give your clothed entrance kitten licks. god, you tasted so sweet, so wet for him, so desperate. 

and just finally, he plated a kiss on your cunt. you whimpered, hips jerking up slightly. sunghoon pinched your nipples like a warning to stay low—your fingers curling around his locks. “calm down, baby, let me enjoy this,” he murmured against your pussy, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. 

sunghoon gave your kitty a few more kisses before hooking his finger beneath the waistband, sliding it down and bunched loosely beneath your knees, caught around both legs. you shivered at the cold air hitting your slicky cunt, sunghoon’s warm breath against it not helping at all either. 

“whoa,” he took a long, nice inhale of your natural scent, saliva pooling in the back of his throat. fuck—not only did you look good, but you smelt good too. sunghoon wondered how you tasted like—though he’d rather take his time with you, savouring every inch instead of rushing a single bite.

“my honey’s so gorgeous,” his breath was heavy as he licked his lips, salivating with the way your hole twitched, walls clamping around nothing. “all this for me.” 

you squirmed, heat rushing to your cheeks as sunghoon took his time enjoying the view—all self–conscious and horny. your hips trembled as they tried to shut, but sunghoon’s wrist anchored it down as he played with your nipples. “don’t… don’t look at it like that…”

disregarding you, sunghoon leaned and darted his tongue to lick at your needy cunt, all wet and dripping. he licked long strips between the lips before the shorter ones, the tip of his tongue tickling and flicking your little pea of nerves. 

you gasped softly, lips parted, tipping your head back against the mattress. “hngh! sunghoon—!” you squirmed, toes curling in the air as sunghoon began french–kissing your cunt, molding and moving his lips against the labia like it’s your lips. the tip of his nose kept brushing against your sensitive clit. 

shit felt so, so, so good. both for you and for him. sunghoon’s long, skilled tongue and mouth that made out with your cunt, his soft palms that tugged, pinched, and flicked your pretty perky nipples, his occasional soft moans, grunts, groans, and breath hitting your naked pussy.

and of course, for sunghoon—this was heaven. the ravenous kind of paradise. no wonder why adam and eve did what they did to the apple—when something looks that forbidden, that soft, that sweet, that appetising, how could anyone resist sinking their teeth in?

your pussy was so meaty, so fleshy. it felt like eating and biting into a really, really juice steak with juices dripping out. shit, sunghoon could devour this cunt all day and night long. with your sweet, honey dripping moanings and whimperings too. 

nibbling here and there, sunghoon ran his tongue up and down, back and forth, lapping, slurping your folds before attaching himself to your clit where he sucked and tugged it. your moans grew louder, and you could only pray to god that your neighbours were out. 

“oh god, just like that, hoonie, just like that,” you cried out, bucking your hips with your limited movement against sunghoon’s handsome face. he grunted, the vibration from his voice sending shivers through you. “so needy,” he chuckled, plunging his tongue into your throbbing hole, nose pressed against your clit as he practically shoved his face into his meal.

running your hand through his hair, you tangled them again, giving it a tug forward. your boyfriend picked up his pace, thrusting his tongue in and out of you like it’s his cock, curling the muscle to press on that soft, gummy spot in your cunt. 

you tensed up, shivering, legs trembling in the air as your breath hitched. “hngh—! hoonie! there, there, there, oh god, there, baby,” you pleaded, writing beneath his grip on your boobs. his lips never stopped working either—it slurped and sucked your cunt noisily, tongue exploring the domain of your cunt. 

trembling, you began suppressing your moans by biting the back of your hand, tears welling in your eyes as the pressure began to build up—overstimulation washing over you. “uh—fffu, hnghh…” you whimpered, incoherent words spilling from your lips. 

sunghoon didn’t care that he practically couldn’t breathe properly from being suffocated by your sweet pussy—he loved the feeling, more than anything he’s ever felt before. 23 years of being alive, and nothing could ever top this high. 

“fuck, mhh,” he muffled in your cunt, your walls spasming around his tongue. you gyrated against sunghoon’s mouth, rubbing your wet pussy on his face—making a mess. he thrusts and curved his tongue along your walls, dragging the tip of his tongue as his loops made sloppy wet sounds. your walls contracted and pulsated. 

“hoonie—!” you cried out, back arching, legs tensed in the air. you’re so close to cumming it’s crazy—your whole body quivered, tingling, quaking, toes curling, hand tightened around his hair while the other biting down on your skin hard. 

feeling you getting close, sunghoon grazed his teeth on your pussy, making your stomach pulsate at the sensation. your breath stuttered—shallow and uneven and heavy and short—each exhale catching on the rise of the heat building in your belly.

sunghoon slid one hand from your tit down to your abdomen where he pressed his palm flat on the flesh, pressuring into the soft give of your stomach. your stomach fluttered under his palm, a tight, hot pull low in your belly made your breath stumble. everything felt too close, too overstimulating, too much. “n—not there, ‘m gonna cum, hoonie, i’m gonna cum—!” 

throwing your head back, a silent cry left your throat. you clamped down on your bottom lip to keep any noise from leaving your mouth—quickly reminding yourself that you don’t live by yourself. “mhh!” an intense wave rushed through your entire body, arching your back in pleasure—you release both your creamy orgasm and squirt on your boyfriend’s face. 

your thighs trembled as sunghoon pressed your abdomen harder, forcing all liquids to come out of your body. sunghoon continued fucking your cunt with his tongue, slurping, sucking, gulping down straight down his throat. 

his adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped down. 

“hnghh, mhh—! sunghoon!” you whimpered, crying out. your legs threatened to squeeze around his head, hips bucking against his face as you chased your high. his nose brushed between your folds.

everything dripped down his face to his chin, sunghoon pinched the fat on your stomach to ground himself as he lapped his tongue flat on your pussy. you tasted so, so, so fucking good—sweeter than any fruit he’d ever bitten into, sweeter than any dessert he’d tasted. your liquid kept sliding down his throat like it never ended as he drank it all—he swore his eyes went crossed. 

like a starving animal getting a mouthful yet still not satisfied, sunghoon did something no creature of instinct ever could—he hungered past your body, craving the soul beneath the skin. 

sunghoon bit down—clamping his canines and row of perfect teeth into the meaty flesh of your cunt. it bit down sharply, the way one would bite down their steak, hard enough for the skin to split with a wet squelching noise. he held the bite, jaw locked, feeling the pulse beneath the meat throb against his tongue.

alive, alive, alive.

sunghoon pulled back an inch where the wound yawned open before him—the muscle dark and wet, a ribbon of blood spilled free, thick and crimson metallic, tracing the curve of his lower loop before dripping in a slow, deliberate line down his chin. your blood clung to the sharp line of his jaw, then fell in a perfect scarlet bead onto the sheet between your thighs.

oh this was it—sunghoon savoured it, tilting his head up so the blood would slide along the hollow of his throat, pooling at the notch of his collarbone. the taste coated his tongue: iron and salt and sweetness, with your chunk of flesh in his mouth, where he bit, chewed, grinded it against his molars like a really, really chewy meat. 

the first mouthful was revelation: warm, velvet muscle parting under his teeth. sunghoon leaned to drag his tongue over the open wound, slower time time, savouring the layers of your flesh beneath your skin. 

sunghoon pressed his face into the wound, nose buried in the open wound, and inhaled. this scent—sex, blood, and you—he wanted to bathe in if it was possible. sunghoon wanted to open you up, crawl inside like a reversed baby coming out of their mother’s womb—he wanted to live there and live under your skin. 

another lick, a gush of blood escaped and spread on his tongue, clinging to his teeth like syrup. sunghoon sucked gently while he munched down on your flesh, breaking nerves and venules apart with a grind of molars. your muscle fibre tore like silk. 

ah, so this is what you taste like.

he bit again, teeth scraping your skin where your inner thigh met. the skin here was thinner; it parted like how you would tear a paper—a new river of blood spilled free, tracing the corners of his mouth, hollowing his collarbone. 

he didn’t immediately swallow, letting the flesh sit on his tongue warmly. 

he would never be hungry again, he would never be empt—

“sunghoon—?” 

you panted, your eyes glistening with tears, wide and glassy, pupils blown from the aftershock of your climax. your thighs trembled, the sheets beneath you were soaked—not with blood, but with the slick of your release. 

your fingers were still clawed at his hair, trying to pull him up, but he stayed buried between your legs, mouth still latched to the soft inner fold of your thighs where the skin was flushed crimson.

not from the bite marks where he’d bitten, but from the bruising suction of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, and the relentless drag of his tongue.

the fantasy had bled so deep into reality that when sunghoon finally lifted his head, his lips were swollen and wet, shining with your juices, his saliva. a thin string of saliva and arousal stretched from his mouth to the tender spot he’d been devouring, snapping only when he blinked, like waking from a fever dream. 

“it… it hurts,” you whispered, voice cracked and trembling. “can you… come here… please?”

sunghoon’s breath hitched and he couldn’t even mutter an apology as much as he wanted to. he crawled up your body on shaky arms, and when he hovered over your face, you saw it—that feral glint flickering in his eyes, the way his tongue kept darting out, licking his lips.

you cupped his jaw with trembling fingers. a tear slipped down your cheek. this was the first time he looked like someone else. “you okay?” you breathed.

your boyfriend leaned in, pressed his forehead to yours, and said the truth with the softest smile.

“never better.”

——

you can be on a diet for only so long before you get really, really hungry again.

if you never confessed to sunghoon (months ago), you’d never know that he was so… clingy. he got that cute, shy–boyish way about him, sure—but he also couldn't just stop touching you. always tugging you closer by the hem of your shirt, always slipping his fingers between yours even when you were just walking to take the trash out, always resting his chin on your shoulder.

sunghoon’s favourite thing to do was pressing his fingers against your pulse. 

sometimes on your wrist to check if you were real and alive. sometimes under your jaw where the sudden movement made your breath catch. sometimes against the inside of your thigh when he thought you wouldn’t notice, waiting for that jump under his fingertips.

sunghoon swore your pulse gave him morse code that told him you’re—alive, alive, alive.

he liked knowing you were alive under his hands.

he liked knowing you were still alive because of him.

sometimes it creeped you out, but lately…. it’s been a lot.

you can hold your breath for a while, but eventually your lungs will start begging for air.

“sunghoon,” you said, mumbling against his bare chest as he held you in his arms. your boyfriend replied with a soft hum, fingers playing with the lock of your hair. “...i think we need a break,” you said—quiet, careful, distracted. 

sunghoon blinked. a little crease forming between his brows. he pulled back, immediately propping himself up on his elbow so he could see your face better.

“what… break?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper like he was afraid he’d misheard you. 

you swallowed, looking away. “just some space… just—just a little. we’re not breaking up, i just need some—”

“space? from me?” he even points to himself. wishing there was someone else you’re talking about. “but… why? did i do something?” 

you opened your mouth, but the words tangled on your tongue. you could feel his eyes on you—almost frantic. you didn’t want to tell sunghoon he’d been clingy, too much. you didn’t want your boyfriend to change himself… but then again, you didn’t feel good about lying.

“i just…” you tried again, an uneasy gut forming in your stomach. “hoonie, you’ve just been all over me lately. i just need to breathe a little.”

sunghoon’s shoulder stiffened. his fingers, which had been resting lightly on your waist, curled in resistance from grabbing you and holding you in place. “all over you?” he echoed, disbelief laced in his tone. “i am all over you. i love you, isn’t that what i’m supposed to do?”

his eyes searched your face like he was trying to find the part where you were joking. space shouldn’t be a word that applies to him. when you didn’t respond, sunghoon let out a weak laugh. “baby, i don’t… understand,” he admitted, voice softening. 

“how can you need space from me? we’re finally together, we finally get each other.” sunghoon sat up straighter, leaning against the frame. “i’ve waited for us for so long. why would you want distance now? what do you mean i’m all over you?”

“if i’m being too much, you can just… tell me. i’ll fix it. i’ll be better. i’ll do anything. just don’t—” his voice caught, barely. “don’t pull away.”

you felt the weight of his desperation settle thickly. his need wasn’t loud or violent; it was quiet, pleading, woven into every tiny movement he made. his thumb brushed over your shoulder like he was trying to reassure himself you were still there.

he didn’t need to fix himself. he didn’t need to apologise or shrink or adjust anything just to accommodate you. you weren’t asking him to be smaller or softer or different. but god, the way he looked at you made the guilt bloom sharp and sour in your throat. 

“hoonie…” you murmured, sitting upright. “you don’t get it…” you tug on your bottom lip, finding the right words to tell him. “i need time to get my head straight. i don’t want these thoughts—that you’re being too much to take a toll on me.”

his expression twitched, not with anger, but confusion. “then i just stop being too much, then.” he shrugged like it was that simple. was as easy as flipping a switch. you frowned, feeling almost disrespected. “sunghoon,” you murmured—but he leaned forward.

“i can tone it down,” he insisted. “i won’t hold you as much, won’t cling, won’t—” his voice cracked for just a fraction. “won’t touch you, if that freaks you out.”

“no,” you exhaled, heat rising in your chest. “you’re hearing what you want to fix. not what i’m saying.”

“how is that wrong? i’m trying. what am i supposed to do?”

just like that—? “you’re ignoring how i feel,” you shot back, fingers curling the blanket. “i’m telling you i need space, and the first thing you say is that you’ll change for me. i’m not trying to ask you to be a different person.”

his jaw tensed, frowning deeper. ”well—what am i supposed to say? okay, go ahead, leave me alone? that’s insane.”

you blinked, stunned. “so my feelings are insane now?”

“that’s not what i said.”

“but that’s how it sounds.” you countered, heart pounding against your chest. “you make it feel like what i need doesn’t matter unless it lines up with what you want.”

sunghoon’s eyes widened. “that’s not fair. i always think about you.”

“exactly!” you said, voice cracking. “you think about me so much you don’t leave any space for me to think about myself.” 

his lips parted, breath catcing—because he hadn’t expected that from you. he didn’t expect you to raise your voice, or be so angry about what he think he did right. 

you dragged a hand through your hair, visibly frustrated. “it makes me feel disrespected when you say things like that. like my boundaries don’t matter.”

sunghoon shook his head quickly. “what—? no, that’s not tru—”

“then listen,” you said firmly, removing the covers off your body. “i’m asking for a break. not a breakup. i need it, and you need to respect that.” getting off his bed, you take your items—phone, bracelets, and glasses—from his bedside table. 

your boyfriend swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “i don’t know how to do this,” he murmured, voice breaking. “i don’t know how to be away from you.”

the front door slammed shut, the sound ricocheting through the apartment. 

you had actually walked away from him.

——

“you did what you gotta do,” wonyoung said, tossing you a towel as she settled beside you on the couch. her apartment was the embodiment of her, all soft and warm. 

you sighed, groaning as you stretched your limbs above your head. “i know, i know… i just—”

the guilt swelled up in your chest, thick and heavy. “i feel awful, wony. he looked so… wrecked. it felt like i kicked a puppy.”

she chuckled softly, shaking her head. “yeah, a very clingy, tall, big puppy who doesn’t understand boundaries.” she leaned her head back, eyes narrowing slightly. “it’s been weeks, he’ll come around.”

you frowned, leaning your head back as well on the backrest. “he didn’t take it well,” you murmured, staring at the ceiling. “i’ve never seen him look like that. wonder what he feels now…”

your friend let out a slow exhale. “yeah, but you needed the break. i mean… you know i’m not his biggest fan.”

you hugged the towel around your shoulders. “i know that. he’s not bad—”

“i didn’t say he’s bad,” she cut in gently. “i’m just glad you decided to draw some line. he’s so intense and possessive sometimes. you’ve been stressed for weeks before this. that’s not normal.”

you sunk deeper into the couch. yeah—it wasn’t just you who noticed how sunghoon changed after getting together with you. wonyoung, sunoo—his friends did too. 

wonyoung noticed it first. she’d give you little looks when she saw the marks on your skin that you failed to cover up. not hickeys—those are still considerably normal. bite marks. actual teeth marks. sunoo’s brows knitted so tightly you thought they’d fuse together when sunghoon had gotten up to follow you to the bathroom. even heeseung—who you would assume wouldn’t care so much once said with an awkward laugh, “he’s… really into you, huh?”

you had brushed every comment away then. it was just young, new, eager, overwhelming love. but now, sitting on wonyoung’s couch with guilt sitting like a stone in your chest, you wonder why you didn’t acknowledge it sooner. 

he wasn’t just clingy.

he was spiraling, and you’d gotten caught in the center of it. 

——

have you ever had something so good you couldn’t stop thinking about it after?

you were like one of those rare delicacies one would stumble upon once in their life, the kind that ruins everything else—because after having it once, nothing else compares. nothing else satisfies. 

sunghoon stuffed himself full with all kinds of sweets, spice to numb his tongue, salt that gave him migraines—jerk himself off that he swore he’d nothing left inside, grind against his bolster, fucked his fist, folded his pillow into two and fucked the hole it made—to your voice, your clips, your face, your stuff that he stole—cum on your shoe outside your door, on the cookie you baked that’s been in his fridge longer than it should. 

he’s still hungry. 

the more distance you put between you and him, the more violently he remembered. like hunger after a long journey, teeth aching for something familiar again. you weren’t just someone he loved, you were the first thing that made him understand obsession. 

you were the person who made sunghoon the way he was. you were the person who made sunghoon realised he might be a—

cannibal. 

it speaks to the carnal human desire to be touched and remain impossibly close to another person.

“hoonie?” 

sunghoon shuddered at your soft voice. you’re still alive—his lips trembled as tears welled in his eyes. “yn,” he swallowed. “i—i missed you,” he choked, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt. “i really can’t… i really, really, can’t do this anymore.” 

“i feel so sick without you. i can’t eat, i can’t do sleep, i can’t do anyt—”

his voice dissolved into a harsh exhale, his chest rising and falling with the frantic rhythm of someone who’s trying not to break down. 

something about him made you open the door wider, taking his hand in yours. “hoonie…” your other hand rose to cup his cheek, always so gentle. you knew it must’ve hurt him, but you didn’t know it was to this extent—he looked so… devastated. 

sunghoon looked like his world crumbled apart. 

“come inside.” you murmured, gently tugging him in. your boyfriend stumbled inside, eyes glassy and wild. as the door clicked shut behind him, he felt it settle into his bones—he would never be able to let you go.

you should never feed the hunger that was supposed to just starve and rot.

“‘missed you so much,” 

“i missed you so fucking much,” sunghoon nipped the shell of your ear, lifting your hips up to tug you closer, drawing your bodies together. you let out a soft yelp, wrapping your arms around his heck. “mh—!”

your boyfriend darted his tongue out to lick the curve of your ear, tracing the delicate shell—the triangular fossa, down to your concha and just flicking the inside—you squirmed, tilting your head away but sunghoon caught it, squishing your cheeks to keep your head still. 

“it tickles—!” you gasped, the laugh breaking into a breathy moan as his sharp teeth grazed the love, not biting, just holding. his tongue followed the path again, wetter and slower this time, mapping the ridge and hollow. 

this cartilage, this pulse—mine to keep. 

sunghoon’s warm breath entered your ear as he kept grinding his cock between your clothed pussy lips. the two of you were so dying to fuck—but sunghoon wanted to foreplay first. “stay still baby,” he rasped, sucking the antitragus—the pointed cartilage bump on your outer ear. 

his mouth travelled down to nip at the soft hollow just beneath your ear, that fragile cradle where your pulse beat visibly if sunghoon squinted his eyes. his teeth closed gently, the skin dimpled, then released with a soft, wet pop; he chased the spot with his tongue, flicking the tip around it, lapping at the warmth as he darkened the mark.

yeah—this too, his pulse.

sunghoon nudged your panties aside with the head of his cock, rubbing the mushroom head between your labia, rubbing it up and down your pussy lips. he dipped his head just enough to stretch your cunt before pulling it out, smearing your juices all over your cunt.

you whimpered in frustration as your breath hitched, “hoonie, please—please fuck me right now baby,” your back arched in desperation—needy for his cock that you’ve longed for for weeks. “need your cock inside me, please,” you pleaded desperately.

not sure if it was your fervent begging, or sunghoon’s meal time that grumbled, but he obliged. sunghoon slid his cock inside, stretching your pussy with the best kind of burn sensation. he buried his face into the crook of your neck as he groaned, the warmth of your cunt engulfed his throbbing cock. 

“fuck, you’re s’tight,” he murmured, tugging on your skin with his canine. you moaned out, tightening your grip around his neck as the discomfort emerged. “h—hngh! wait, wait,” you gasped, mind fumbling to focus on his cock or his lips. “you’re so big, fuck,”

slowly, sunghoon began to pull his hips back, then thrusted forward as gentle as he could. the pain subsided as he continued to move, and it started to feel good—like how it’d been feeling at this while. 

you missed your boyfriend so much. 

sunghoon raised his head from your neck, the other hand that’s not propping himself beside your head played with your tender tit, fondling, squeezing, squishing the flesh. “you feel so amazing.” he murmured, leaning to kiss you again. kissing might be his favourite thing to do, afterall—

a kiss is the beginning of consumption.

sunghoon moved at a pace where it’s pleasurable for the two of you, his hips pressed to your pelvis. he’s breathing deep, hurried breaths, sweat began forming at his temple. “s’deep hoonie, hngh,” you grasped his shoulders, clawing your nails into him. 

“yeah?” a guttural moan escaped him, head thrown back in a second as he picked up his pace, intensifying his rhythm. “i’m about to give you more pretty girl,” the corner of his lips twitched into a smirk, leaning to feast on your neck once again. 

his favourite altar. sunghoon imagined the give of it—how the thin layer would split like wet parchment, how the blood would flood his tongue, how the flavour would be richer than anywhere else—he kissed harder at the thought.

and so did his cock. the head slammed and knocked against your cervix, quicker and more insistent—the bed beneath shook under the combined weight. “hngh, fuck, yn, i—” he winched at how tight your pussy clamped him down. 

your muscles clenched and released, the remnant of his cock shoved inside, balls deep and slapping against the curve of your ass. “hoonie, hoonie, t’deep, too deep—” you arched your back, turning your head to nibble your bedsheet beneath. 

sunghoon dismissed your pleadings, dragging his teeth along the tendon again, counting heartbeads like rosary beads with the tip of his tongue. every throb of his cock: your vein, this life. his hips stuttered as he buried his cock deeper. 

do it, the hunger hissed. do it now. 

do it sunghoon. do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it 

do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it do it 

he did it.

sunghoon’s jaw snapped shut like a trap.

his sharp teeth and canines punched through your skin with a crack, the carotid parted under his canines like an overripe peach, a soft hiss of surrender broke apart as the artery split and the blood surged and squired all over.

the copper iron taste hit his tongue in a scalding flood, sweeter and alive, and real with the frantic drum of your pulse—before your screams did. 

“ahh—!” your body jerked beneath him in a single, shocked spasm, and the motion only drove his teeth deeper until his upper molars kissed the bottom ones. a sudden, scalding gush flooding the hollow of your neck, spilling down your collarbone in thick waves. you felt it leaving you and straight being sucked into his mouth into greedy, rhythmic pulls—

much like the rhythm of his hips rocking against yours.

your vision tunneled, the ceiling blurred. “sunghoon! sunghoon—!” you cried out, body thrashing, fingers clawing at his shoulders, nails dragging his skin red and drawing blood, but your limbs were already going heavy, agonisingly slow.

this isn’t real, your mind screamed. 

“fuck, mmh, fuck,” sunghoon moaned as he lapped his tongue over the open wound, sticking the muscle inside where it wriggled around your flesh. he collected drops of your blood like communion.

his cock grew at the taste—he couldn’t even move anymore, just kept it buried warm and comfy around your warmth, throbbing and pulsing each time a gush of your blood entered his stomach.

your boyfriend pulled back slowly, like a man surfacing from deep water. 

his face was ruined. horrific. 

blood coated in his mouth in a glossy, obscene mask—dripping from his chin in slow ropes that splattered onto your chest, trailing down the side of your tits and landed on your collarbone. it streaked his cheeks in wild, smeared acts, clung to his lashes in clumps, painted his sharp jaw in dripping crimson. 

“yn…” his lips were swollen, split at the corner from the force of the bite. when he smiled, his teeth gleamed red. “you taste fucking amazing.”

his eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the brown, reflecting the lamplight like a… like a madman. a low, guttural laugh rumbled in his chest as he dragged his tongue through the blood. 

you were raggedly, shallowy breathing—still alive. 

your hand fluttered weakly to your neck where your fingers brushed the wet, pulsing ruin that left a hole of the bite. white–hot pain exploded behind your eyes. “sunghoon—” your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “what… why did you—”

your pussy twitched, unintentionally clamped around him. sunghoon winched, tilting his head before leaning in. his forehead pressed to yours as he brought his hand to squish your cheeks, smearing crimson across your skin like paint. 

“shhh,” he murmured, “you’re okay.” 

sunghoon kissed you, his balls smacked against the curve of your ass with powerful thrusts, the tip of his cock delved so deep you swore it went past your womb. “hngh—!” you whimpered, his mouth crashed over yours. the taste exploded across your tongue and went straight to your brain.

so dizzying you felt the room spinning. all of it you, all of it his. his lips were swollen, warm, sticky, thick from the mess of your neck, and when he pressed harder, slipping his tongue inside—the wound on your throat throbbed in pain.

your hands weakly tried to push him off—digging your nails into his flesh, but it was nothing compared to the impact he had on you. it’s so painful, it’s crazy—

sunghoon’s teeth caught the corner of your mouth where he bit down again, sharp and sudden, the soft flesh of your lower lip splitting under the pressure. your eyes widened in horror as fresh bead of blood welled up down your chin.

“this is it,” he moaned, rasping as he sucked it cleaned, tongue curling around the flappy skin where he tore a piece off, munching on it. so… chewy, so porky… “‘this is t’taste,” his tongue traced the path of the tear he’d shed. 

even whimpering felt weird—your mouth opened a little wider at every attempt that you realised shutting up might just be better. tears escaped your eyes, mixed with the blood smeared on your face. salty and irony, salty and irony—it’s painful.

everything’s painful. your neck’s throbbing and hissing, your mouth felt weird and swollen, the corner of your lip stinging where his teeth had split it open, you’re so horrified and aghast your pussy squeezed his growing cock. 

a broken sob tore from your chest. tears spilled hot and fast, cutting clean tracks. your hands shook as they flew to your neck, putting pressure on the wound where you tried to stop the bleeding and the pain surging. 

“it hurts—” you choked, body heaving and jerking and shivering. “it hurts s’much,” another sob, louder, wetter—you hoped the neighbours were here this time, shoving and forcing themselves inside your apartment and save you. your body curled in on itself, shoulders shaking, painful breath hitching in sharp, panicked gasps. 

sunghoon’s eyes twitched, his spine straightened, looking down on you wrecked. split mouth, blood–slick chin. your sobs grew louder as your chest heaved in pain, exhaustion dragging you under. your fingers even inserted themselves into the wound because blood just won’t stop spilling.

“just a little,” your boyfriend dug his nails into the soft part between your ribs, burying his nails until the skin split with a wet ripping sound. “it won’t hurt,” the flesh parted like warm butter, a line of blood welling up. he pressed deeper, the heat of peritoneal cavity just beneath,

his fingers curled, hooked, and pulled.

your skin tore like a peeling fruit. warm viscera spilled into his palm. the small intestine glistened, pearlescent and alive and warm, steaming. sunghoon’s salvating—he swallowed the lump in his throat as he lifted it to his mouth like a newborn. 

sinking his teeth into the delicate wall of your intestine, the taste was obscene—the faint sweetness of bile, the tang of blood, the earthy warmth of your core that had never seen light. that part that held your breath, food, and life. 

sunghoon chewed slowly, reverently, blood dripping along his chest and stomach and abs and abdomen, down to your cunt—where his dick disappeared inside your tight hole. the tissue burst between his molars, the fluid flooding his tongue in sweet rush.

he bit it like steak pieces, swallowing. 

cannibalism is the most stomach-churning version of possession.

“won’t hurt you,” your boyfriend murmured, pupils blown wide. he leaned to press his blood slick mouth, giving your wound open kisses. his tongue delved into the wound of your stomach, lapping at the slick walls, the coiled organs,

everything that had once been you—

“inside me now,” he whispered, burying his face between your torn ribs. “forever.”

the hunger had been appeased.

there was no desperation claiming at his ribcage now. no frantic ache in his chest. no restless, twitching need to hold you closer until he couldn’t breathe. consuming you—talking all of you into him—he had become calm. 

anchored.

peaceful, even. 

your body laid open beneath him like a split, overripe, ruined peach. 

your eyes were wide and lifeless, soulless as death claimed you—matte pupils fixed on the ceiling. the wound in your abdomen yawned wide, intestines spilled out like how a cotton would when the plushie is torn, pooling across your tummy and bedsheet. 

sunghoon pressed a trembling hand to his chest, right over the heart.

beat–beat.

beat–beat.

that rhythm—your rhythm, now his as well. 

that long, dragging craving that had haunted him worse than devils and ghouls, the rabid need that made him shake—all of it had dissolved into this fullness. that blissful numbness. 

if hunger was a torment, then this was salvation.

he had eaten you whole.

in his imagination.

“hoonie…?” you whimpered softly, squirming beneath him as you put your hands on his chest to create some distance. sunghoon blinked himself to reality—pupils going back to normal size, lips parting open with saliva pooling at the back of his throat.

he looked down on you, your eyes glassy, cheeks puffed and flushed, eyelashes wet with tears clumps—he’d long cum inside of you, cock still buried like he wasn’t letting any of his lovemilk oozing out. 

you came as well—orgasm drowned and rushed you like a waterfall, squirting and wetting your mattress. your chest heaved for air, panting, chest rising 

sunghoon’s eyes darted towards your neck—the skin flushed rose, full of his lovebites and marks but nothing wounded. no blood, no bite… he swallowed hard, throat clicking. then his eyes darted towards your lips, no tear, no split. just your perfect, lovely lips—glistening with shared saliva from kissing.

then under your chest. still intact, still sewn together, rising and falling in soft, exhausted waves.

he exhaled slowly—the sound trembling in the quiet.

you were still alive. you were untouched in all the ways his mind had ravaged you just moments before. “hah—” he chuckled dryly, running his clean hand through his face where wiped down his sweats. 

in the back of his throat, he could still taste your flesh between his teeth.

you reached out to brush his strands sticking onto his skin. how lonely your boyfriend must’ve felt throughout the break period—how could you ever do that to him?

swallowing the guilt in your throat, you sucked the inside of your cheek, thumb caressing the apple of sunghoon’s flushed cheek. a low, rumbling sound vibrated in your tummy.

“i’m hungry…”

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed as you rushed towards them, helping Jake carry Heeseung to the couch. “What happened?! Where have you been? I've been calling you for hours!” The words flew out your mouth a mile a minute and you couldn’t stop them.

Heeseung groaned with pain from all the cuts and wounds he had. “Werewolves…” he trailed off hoarsely as you lifted off his shirt to inspect the damage.

“He got attacked on the way home,” Jake said, and you could tell the guilt was eating him alive. There wasn’t a scratch on him. “I literally only left him alone for a minute—one minute, and I came back outside to see wolves on top of him.”

You raced to the kitchen and put some paper towels under the water at the sink. “It's okay, Jake. It wasn’t your fault,” you reassured. You walked back to the two of them and handed Jake the now wet paper towels. “All that matters is that you’re both alive.”

“Not technically,” Heeseung joked before going into a fit of coughs. You and Jake glared at him.

You pulled up the sleeve of your shirt and held it up to Heeseung’s lips. “Drink,” you said firmly. It was the only way to ensure his wounds healed. Jake began wiping the blood off of him.

Heeseung pushed your arm away a little, shaking his head. “I-I can’t—”

“Drink,” you and Jake demanded at the same time and you pressed your arm against Heeseung’s mouth further. Cautiously, Heeseung grabbed your arm with his hands, darting you a hesitant look. You watched as his fangs elongated and caught the light before sinking down into your skin.

You winced as your eyes traveled down to his bloodied torso. One by one, the wounds started to close and heal and Heeseung’s eyes got more red. You started to feel a little lightheaded and stumbled towards Heeseung, nearly falling over. He immediately let go of your arm and steadied you. “I’ll get more towels,” Jake murmured.

“Don't scare me like that again,” you spoke softly, sitting down next to Heeseung on the couch.

He smiled at you, mouth covered in blood, “I'm sorry, I don't plan on getting attacked by werewolves again.” You playfully nudged him, the two of you laughing.

◌ ◞ JAY

You always thought there was something a little weird about your boyfriend. How you could really only see him when the last ray of sunlight dropped below the horizon. How sometimes his eyes would look more of a garnet color than brown. Or, how cold he always was—and even sometimes how his teeth seemed sharper than the average person’s.

He would alwayshave an excuse for all of it. He's a night owl, he spends his whole day working so he can only see you at night, the light is playing a trick on your eyes, he’s always been this cold, or his teeth are just more pointier than the average. But still, something didn’t sit right with you.

You remembered the night you were cooking dinner together and the blade you were cutting vegetables with just so happened to accidentally slice a bit of your finger. “Oh!” you gasped, pulling your finger close to you as droplets of blood formed at the cut. You turned towards Jay and noticed his weird behavior, assuming that it was worry. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious!” you reassured.

Jay quickly excused himself to the bathroom and didn’t come out until your wound was all cleaned and wrapped up.

It was little things such as that that had pointed you in the direction of something else—something… supernatural. You had to test your theory, so you decided to plan a little vacation for the two of you and begged for weeks for Jay to say yes, and he finally relented.

He seemed a little moody and there were bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept a wink since you started begging him to join you. And now that you were looking, his eyes were definitely a garnet color. You pulled him in for a kiss and subtly pushed your tongue past his lips. Sharpness.

You only had one more test to do to truly confirm your suspicions.

A loud, and slightly painful, gasp ripped from your throat as blood poured down your arm. Jay rushed in the kitchen, fast as lightning, and his eyes widened at the scene. You looked at him with furrowed brows, trying to keep the smirk off your face at the way his eyes grew a more darker and saturated red.

Without even thinking, and before you could even blink, Jay's mouth was on your arm. Your blood covered his mouth and dripped down his chin as he lapped all of it up. Your eyes widened and you finally let the smile form on your face. “I knew it!” you said, victorious.

Jay’s eyes darted up to yours and you watched them slowly lighten to more of a scarlet. He removed his lips from your arm, the wound somehow sealed, and knitted his brows together. “How did you find out?”

“Well, besides the obvious?” you joked while motioning to all of the blood. “You didn’t hide it that well.”

“So this was all part of your plan?” Jay asked. You nodded smugly. Jay hummed, lifting your arm towards his mouth again. “I see,” he said before sinking his teeth back into your skin.

◌ ◞ JAKE

You were so irresistible to Jake—so alluring. He just couldn’t get enough of you.

Your lips moved in sync and he couldn’t help but try to pull you as close as he could just to get more. Your bodies moved in tandem as you straddled him on the couch. Feeling a little lightheaded, you hummed a little and pushed away from him and Jake remembered that you still, in fact, needed to breathe. He removed his hand from the back of your head, pupils blown wide and no doubt the dark red he was accustomed to having every time he was in your presence.

Inhaling deeply, you whimpered slightly as Jake's lips attached to your neck, right where the thumping of your heart could be felt and the best source of your blood ran through. You knew that Jake was always careful—especially with you—but no matter how many times you told him that it was okay to take a little bite, he wouldn’t.

“It’s bad enough already being near you,” he always says. “I can barely control myself as it is.”

Now it seemed as if Jake was fighting his primal urges hard. You felt the slight prick of his fangs against your skin as his kisses on your neck turned to slight nips. He pushed your chest into his and you could feel him inhale deeply, trying to steady himself.

“It’s okay,” you muttered lowly, still catching your breath.

Jake pulled back and you saw his scarlet eyes, seemingly darker than they were moments before. He shook his head slightly, his eyes squeezing shut. You nodded more and guided his head back to your neck. “It is,” you reassured.

Inhaling, you prepared yourself for the sharp pain that you expected his fangs piercing into your skin would have. When they did, you let out a small gasp. Jake held you tightly, lapping at the blood pouring from your neck. You felt his tongue lick every drop, leaving none to spare.

Before he could get too carried away, Jake pulled back, his mouth and chin dripping with your blood. “See,” you smiled. “I told you it would be okay.”

“No,” Jake murmured, licking his lips. “Because now that I've had a taste of you, I'm never gonna be able to get enough.”

◌ ◞ SUNGHOON

You were awoken by the presence of something standing over you, making fear creep deep into your beating heart. You reached over to the other side of the bed and when you felt the emptiness, you cracked your eyes open, confused. Very slowly, you turned towards where you felt the presence near the side of the bed.

Above you, with wide eyes so red they were borderline black, stood your trembling boyfriend as he stared down at you. Your brows drew together as you blinked a couple times. He looked so pale and almost sickly. The hollows of his cheeks were more prominent and when he licked his dry lips you saw the white of his fangs. Immediately, you could tell that he hasn’t been feeding like he said he was. “Sunghoon?” you meekly asked, eyes widening at the state of him.

You reached out to touch his hand and in a flash he was flying across the room, back pressed hard against the wall of your shared bedroom. You sighed quietly, “Why didn’t you tell me you haven’t been feeding?” Sunghoon remained silent as he tried to not let his primal nature overcome him and devour you. You sighed again.

Pushing the covers off of you, you scoot towards the end of the bed as Sunghoon tries to push himself farther into the wall. You pull down the sleeve of your nightgown off your shoulder and fully expose your neck to him. “Here… drink,” you say softly.

His scarlet eyes are more visible as the moonlight shines onto him. There's slight veins under his eyes that appear at your request and his mouth opens, tongue dancing across his long and sharp fangs. Ultimately, Sunghoon turns his head and shakes it a little, his gaze finally tearing away from you.

You lean closer to him. “Drink,” you demand more firmly and his eyes snap to yours. “It’s okay,” you add, “You won’t hurt me, I know it.”

Relenting, Sunghoon takes hesitant steps towards you, his eyes hyper-focused on your neck and the delicious blood pumping through your veins. Sunghoon cups your face gently with his cold hand and his eyes dart to yours. You give him a slight nod of reassurance. Sunghoon then buries his face into the crook of your neck, the tip of his nose rubbing along the skin there and sending a chill down your spine.

Sunghoon pressed a chaste kiss to your neck before you felt his fangs bite into you. A small wince leaves your parted lips and your eyes flutter closed. Sunghoon has never fed from you before, but you think you could get use to the feeling as pure bliss overwhelms your senses. You start to feel your body go numb as he laps at the blood trailing down your neck. Sunghoon holds you tightly to his chest as he makes sure he gets every last drop he possibly can.

When he’s finished, you feel limp and your eyes are barely open. Sunghoon lays you back onto the bed and kisses at your neck again before surfacing from your neck to assess the damage. His mouth is messy and red with your blood, the liquid dripping down his neck as he licks his lips. “Better?” you ask him woozily, your eyes closing fully as sleep tries to whisk you away.

“Better,” Sunghoon replies, and you feel his arms hook under your back and legs before you’re falling into a deep sleep.

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏   ͏  ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏  ͏ ͏͏REBLOGS ◜◡◝ ASKS APPRECIATED!

✉️ ⦂ something short and sweet for the kids idk (￣ω￣;) i was gonna rework it a little and add smut, but i didn’t have any time… maybe i’ll do a part two for this where they turn her to a vampire or something if you guys really want it. i love vampires hehe!!~~ ^^

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ @innocygnet @ikeukiss @yvampyr @prkhaven @jaylaxies @ghstzzn @fangel @tyunningism @xylatox @whosserina @jellymochii @minaateez @riribelle @lvrs-street2mmorrow @sumsumtingz @baddestire @yingelics @everythingvirgoes @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @yooonjnng @solonenova @angelhyuka @hoonkishoe

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