Ateez? More Like A Tease…

You don’t expect it to be him.

Not here. Not like this.

Not in the middle of something as ordinary as a grocery store, where fluorescent lights hum softly overhead and someone nearby is arguing about which brand of instant noodles tastes better.

It’s stupid, really—how something life-altering happens in a place that smells faintly like detergent and overripe fruit.

You’re reaching for a carton of milk when you hear it.

A laugh.

Bright. Warm.

Familiar in a way that doesn’t make sense at first, because it doesn’t belong to your present—it belongs to something softer, something older, something you’ve spent years trying not to touch too much in case it breaks.

Your hand freezes midair.

No. It can’t be.

But your heart—

Your heart already knows.

You turn.

And there he is.

Jeong Yunho.

He hasn’t changed in the ways that matter.

He’s taller—maybe—he’s always been very tall. Broader shoulders. A little more defined, a little more grown into himself. 

But the essence of him is exactly the same. 

He stands like he always used to, relaxed and open, like the world has never given him a reason to close off. His smile stretches wide, all teeth and warmth and something unbearably kind.

A giant puppy.

That’s what everyone used to call him.

That’s what you used to think every time he looked at you like you were the best thing he’d ever seen.

And right now—

He’s looking at someone else like that.

You don’t realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest starts to ache.

He’s standing by the snacks aisle, laughing at something his friend said, head tipping back slightly. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and it’s so him that it almost feels cruel.

Because nothing about him suggests that anything was ever lost.

Nothing about him suggests that he ever left you behind.

Your grip tightens around the milk carton.

You could leave. You should leave right now.

You could turn around right now, walk to the checkout, go home, pretend this never happened. Pretend that the boy you spent years loving isn’t standing ten steps away from you, alive and real and within reach for the first time in so long.

You should leave.

Instead—

You walk toward him.

It’s instinct. It’s muscle memory.

It’s the same pull that used to guide you through crowded hallways just to end up next to him without thinking.

Step. Step. Step.

Each one feels heavier than the last, like you’re walking straight into something you won’t survive.

He notices you before you’re ready.

Of course he does.

Yunho has always been like that—aware in the gentlest way, like he pays attention without making it obvious.

His laughter tapers off as you approach, his attention shifting.

And then—

He looks at you.

Really looks at you.

And your heart—

It stops.

Because for one fragile, stupid, desperate second, you think he knows.

You think something will flicker across his face—recognition, surprise, something that says oh, it’s you.

Something that says you weren’t the only one who remembered.

But instead—

His smile widens.

Friendly. Easy.

Completely unguarded.

“Hey,” he says.

The word lands softly.

Casually.

Like he says it to strangers all the time.

Like you are one.

You swallow.

Your throat feels too tight, like your body already understands something your mind is still trying to deny.

“Hi,” you reply.

Your voice sounds smaller than you expect.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you—not in recognition, but in curiosity.

You can see it happening.

That gentle, thoughtful expression he always had when he was trying to place someone.

Except—

He doesn’t.

He just smiles again.

Polite. Waiting.

Waiting for you to explain why you’re standing in front of him.

Your chest tightens.

“It’s me,” you say, and there’s a laugh in your voice that you don’t mean. “From high school?”

There’s a pause.

A beat.

And then—

He blinks.

Once. Twice.

And then he laughs.

Light. Bright.

Completely at ease.

“Oh—wait,” he says, grinning, like you’ve just told a joke. “You’re kidding, right?”

Something inside you cracks.

You don’t laugh.

But he does.

Because to him, this is funny.

“You almost got me,” Yunho continues, shaking his head, still smiling. “I was about to say I don’t remember, and that would’ve been really embarrassing.”

Your fingers curl slightly at your sides.

“I’m not joking,” you say.

It comes out quieter this time.

Softer.

But it doesn’t matter.

He’s still smiling.

Still amused. Still under the impression that this is some kind of playful bit.

“Wait, seriously?” he asks, eyes lighting up—not with recognition, but with curiosity. “Okay, okay—give me a hint.”

A hint.

Like you’re a game. Like you’re something he needs to solve.

Your heart starts to pound, uneven and wrong.

“We sat together,” you say. “English class. You used to—” your voice falters for half a second before you force it steady, “—you used to steal my pens because you said mine wrote better.”

He laughs again.

God.

“No way,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “That sounds like something I’d do, not gonna lie.”

Your chest aches.

“It is something you did.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, still smiling, like he’s entertained. “Wait—did we, like, talk a lot? Or—”

“We were best friends.”

The words slip out before you can stop them.

They land between you.

Heavy. Real.

And for the first time—

His smile falters.

Just a little.

Not because he remembers.

But because the tone of your voice doesn’t match the joke he thinks this is.

“…Oh,” he says.

There’s a pause.

You can see it now—the shift.

Confusion. Uncertainty.

And then—

Something softer. Something apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” Yunho says, the smile returning, but smaller this time. “I—uh—I have a really bad memory with this kind of stuff.”

Bad memory.

You almost laugh. Except you don’t.

Because this isn’t small.

This isn’t some stuff.

This is—

Everything.

“You really don’t remember?” you ask.

And there’s something in your voice now.

Something you can’t hide.

Because this was never supposed to happen like this.

He hesitates.

And then he shakes his head.

Slowly. 

Like he’s trying not to hurt you.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again.

And just like that—

It’s gone.

Every late-night conversation. Every shared secret.

Every moment where he looked at you like you were his favorite person in the world.

Gone. Erased so cleanly it’s like it never existed.

You nod.

Because what else can you do?

“It’s okay,” you say.

It isn’t. It isn’t even close to okay.

But Yunho smiles again.

Soft. Relieved.

Because to him, this is just an awkward interaction that’s almost over.

“That’s so embarrassing,” he laughs lightly. “I feel like I should remember you.”

You stare at him.

You should.

“I guess I wasn’t that memorable,” you say.

You mean it as a joke. You try to make it sound like one.

But it lands wrong.

You can tell immediately.

His expression shifts again—guilt this time.

“No, no—it’s not like that,” he says quickly. “I’m just really bad with—”

“It’s fine.”

You cut him off.

Because if he says one more thing—

You might break right here in the middle of aisle seven.

There’s a pause.

“Well,” he says, smiling again, softer this time, “we can just start over, right?”

Start over.

Like it’s that simple.

Like you didn’t spend nights wondering if he ever missed you the way you missed him. Like you didn’t carry him with you long after he forgot to stay.

You nod anyway.

“Yeah,” you say.

“Yeah, we can.”

Because it’s easier than telling him the truth.

Easier than saying—

I don’t want to start over. I wanted you to remember.

He brightens immediately.

“I’m Yunho, by the way,” he says, holding out his hand.

Like you don’t already know. Like you haven’t known for years.

You look at it.

At him.

At the boy who used to hold your hand without thinking—

And now has to introduce himself.

You take it anyway. Tell him your name. Watch him repeat it like it’s brand new.

His hand is warm.

It always was.

You remember that much—how he used to grab your wrist without thinking, tugging you along hallways, across streets, through crowds like the world would part for him as long as you were following.

Now his hand is just—

A stranger’s.

“Nice to meet you,” Yunho says, smiling.

Nice to meet you.

The words settle somewhere deep and sharp, like they don’t quite belong in a world where you already know the way his handwriting looks, the way he hums when he’s bored, the way he used to say your name like it was something soft and important.

You nod.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You too.”

It’s a lie.

You’ve already met him. You’ve already known him.

You’ve already loved him.

He lets go of your hand too quickly.

Like there’s no reason to hold on.

And maybe there isn’t.

To him.

“So—wait,” Yunho says, tilting his head again, that familiar curiosity flickering in his eyes. “If we were best friends… how come I don’t remember you at all?”

The question is so innocent. So genuine.

It makes it worse.

You let out a small breath, something that almost resembles a laugh.

“I don’t know,” you answer.

But that’s not true.

You know exactly how.

You just don’t know how to say it without sounding like you’re accusing him of something he doesn’t even realize he did.

Because forgetting isn’t a crime.

It’s just—

Cruel.

Unintentionally. Effortlessly cruel.

He scratches the back of his neck, sheepish.

“That’s so bad,” he says, half-laughing. “I swear I’m not usually like this.”

You almost say, you are.

Because this version of him—the one standing in front of you, easygoing and warm and completely unburdened—

This is who he became after he left.

This is the version of Yunho that doesn’t carry you anymore.

But you don’t say it.

Instead, you shrug.

“It’s fine.”

He studies your face for a second longer than before.

Like he’s trying to read something there. Like he’s starting to realize this isn’t just a funny coincidence.

But then he smiles again.

Because that’s what Yunho does.

He fills silence with warmth.

“So,” he says, clapping his hands lightly together, “since I clearly messed up big time… let me make it up to you.”

Your brows knit slightly.

“…What?”

“Let’s be friends again,” he says easily.

Again.

The word hits differently this time.

Because he says it like it’s simple.

Like friendships are things you can pause and resume without consequence.

“Yunho—” you start.

But he cuts in, bright and earnest.

“Seriously! I mean, we were best friends, right? That has to count for something.”

It does.

Just not in the way he thinks.

Your chest tightens.

“It counted,” you say softly.

His smile doesn’t fade.

Because he doesn’t hear what you mean.

“Then it still counts now,” he insists, like it’s obvious. “We can just pick up where we left off.”

Pick up where we left off.

You almost laugh.

But it doesn’t come out right. Because where you left off—

Was you watching him walk away with a promise he didn’t keep.

Was you staring at your phone, waiting for messages that slowly stopped coming.

Was you realizing that you were holding onto something he had already let go of.

There is no “picking up.”

There’s only starting from nothing.

You look at him.

At the way his eyes shine with sincerity. At the way he genuinely believes this is something kind.

And maybe it is.

Just not for you.

“…You make it sound really easy,” you say.

He grins.

“It is easy.”

Of course it is.

For him.

“Come on,” Yunho continues, nudging your shoulder lightly like he’s known you forever. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to be friends with me again.”

Your breath catches.

Because the truth is—

You do.

God, you do.

You would take anything he offers.

Even if it’s smaller. Even if it’s different.

Even if it hurts.

But—

“I don’t know if I can,” you admit.

The words surprise both of you.

He blinks.

“Why not?”

Because I never stopped.

Because you forgot, and I didn’t. Because I don’t know how to pretend this is new when it feels like something unfinished.

But all you say is—

“It’s just… weird.”

He tilts his head.

“Because I forgot?”

You nod.

He frowns slightly, like he’s trying to understand.

“…I mean, yeah, that sucks,” he says gently. “And I’m really sorry. But it doesn’t have to be a big deal, right? Like—we can make new memories.”

New memories.

The phrase sits heavy in your chest.

Because you don’t want new ones.

You want the old ones back. You want him to look at you and know.

You want him to remember the way he used to save you a seat without asking.

The way he used to text you first.

The way he once said—

“If I ever move away, I’m still going to annoy you every day. You’re stuck with me.”

You remember it so clearly.

The classroom.

The late afternoon sunlight.

The way he smiled when he said it, like it was a promise.

You swallow.

“Yeah,” you say faintly. “New memories.”

He brightens again, relieved that you didn’t shut him down completely.

“Exactly!” he says. “See? It’s not so bad.”

Not so bad.

To lose nothing. To stand here and feel no absence. To look at someone who used to mean everything and feel… nothing at all.

Your fingers curl slightly.

“Hey,” Yunho says suddenly.

You look up.

He’s watching you closely now.

Closer than before.

“You’re not, like… actually upset, right?”

There’s concern in his voice. Real concern.

The kind he always had.

And that’s the worst part.

He’s still him.

Still kind. Still warm. Still the boy who cared too much.

Just not about you anymore.

You force a smile.

“No,” you say.

It comes out too quickly.

Too smooth.

He doesn’t believe you.

You can tell.

“…You are,” he says softly.

You shake your head.

“I’m not.”

A beat.

And then he laughs again.

Light. Careful this time.

“Okay, wait—this feels like I’m being pranked or something,” Yunho says, glancing around briefly like he expects cameras to pop out. “Are you sure we knew each other that well?”

The words hit harder than anything else so far.

Because he’s still not fully convinced.

Still thinks this might be exaggerated. Still think you might be joking.

Your chest tightens sharply.

“I wouldn’t lie about that,” you say.

Your voice is quieter now.

But there’s something in it.

Something that makes him stop. Really stop.

His smile fades.

Just a little.

“…Oh.”

Silence stretches between you.

Thicker this time.

He shifts his weight.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly. “I just—”

“I know.”

You don’t let him finish.

Because if he apologizes again—

It’ll only make this more real.

You glance down at the basket in your hand, suddenly aware of how long you’ve been standing here.

Of how out of place this entire moment feels.

“I should go,” you say.

His head lifts immediately.

“Oh—already?”

There’s something in his voice.

Something that almost sounds like disappointment.

It twists something fragile inside you.

“Yeah,” you say. “I was just grabbing a few things.”

He hesitates.

Like he wants to say something else. Like he’s not quite ready to let this end.

And for a second—

A dangerous, stupid second—

You wonder if maybe, somehow, something in him does feel familiar.

If maybe there’s a thread, thin and invisible, that still connects you.

But then he smiles again.

Soft. Casual.

“Can I at least get your number?” Yunho asks. “If we’re starting over, I mean.”

Starting over.

You look at him.

At the boy who once had your number memorized.

Who used to text you goodnight without fail. Who once stayed up until 3 a.m. just to keep you company.

And now—

He’s asking for it like it’s brand new.

Like you’ve never existed in his phone before.

Your heart aches.

But your hands move anyway.

You take his phone. Type your number in.

Hand it back.

“Text me so I have yours,” you say.

He grins.

“Got it.”

Your fingers brush for a second.

It lingers longer than it should.

At least—for you.

For him, it’s nothing.

“Okay,” he says, stepping back slightly. “I’ll text you.”

You nod.

“Okay.”

You turn.

Because if you stay any longer—

You might say something you can’t take back.

You walk away.

Step. Step. Step.

It feels just like earlier.

Heavy. Slow.

Like you’re leaving something behind.

But this time—

It’s different.

Because now you know.

He didn’t just forget the small things.

He forgot you. Completely.

Behind you, his voice calls out—

“Hey!”

You stop.

Just for a second.

You turn back.

He’s smiling.

“Don’t disappear this time, okay?” Yunho says, half-laughing. “Since we just found each other again.”

Your heart shatters quietly.

Because you didn’t disappear.

He did.

You nod anyway.

“Yeah,” you say.

“I won’t.”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

He texts you before you even make it home.

Of course he does.

Your phone buzzes in your hand as you’re crossing the street, the notification lighting up your screen like something small and harmless—like it isn’t about to undo you in ways you didn’t prepare for.

Yunho:

hey!! it’s yunho from the grocery store 😄

You stop walking.

Because the message—

It’s so normal.

So easy. So new.

It’s Yunho from the grocery store.

Not Yunho from high school. Not Yunho who used to walk you home.

Not Yunho who once knew your favorite song, your worst fears, the way you take your coffee without asking.

Just—

A boy you met today.

Your chest tightens, something slow and aching spreading through it.

You type back anyway.

You:

i know

Three dots appear almost immediately.

Disappear. Reappear.

Yunho:

okay good 😭 i was worried you’d save me as “milk aisle guy” or something

You stare at the screen.

And despite everything—

A small, broken smile pulls at your lips.

Because that’s him. That’s so him.

The way he jokes. The way he tries to keep things light. The way he makes everything feel okay, even when it’s not.

You remember how he used to do this back then, too.

Whenever things got too quiet.

Too real.

He’d laugh. Say something stupid.

Make you forget, even if just for a moment.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard.

You:

i should

His reply comes instantly.

Yunho:

wow okay 😔 i see how it is

You exhale softly.

It almost feels normal.

Like nothing has changed. Like you didn’t just stand in front of him and realize you never existed in his memory.

But then—

That thought creeps back in.

And everything shifts again.

You put your phone down when you get home.

You tell yourself you won’t check it. You tell yourself you need space.

You tell yourself this is dangerous.

You last three minutes.

And when you pick it up again, there are already more messages.

Yunho:

soooo

since we’re “best friends” apparently (still can’t believe i forgot that btw, i feel terrible)

tell me something about you

Your stomach twists.

Something about you.

Where do you even start?

Do you tell him—

That he already knows everything? That there’s nothing new to give because he’s already had all of it once?

Your thumbs move slowly.

You:

i like quiet places

and i don’t really like crowded environments 

The reply comes quickly.

Yunho:

really?? i’m like the opposite LOL

but that’s okay, i can drag you out sometimes 😄

You close your eyes for a second.

Because he already did that.

He used to grab your wrist, pull you into chaos you never would’ve chosen yourself. Loud festivals, crowded cafeterias, last-minute plans that always ended with you laughing despite yourself.

You didn’t need to be “dragged.”

Not when it was him.

Yunho:

what else?

What else.

Everything else. Too much else.

You swallow.

You:

i like staying in

There’s a pause this time.

Longer.

Like he’s actually thinking.

Then—

Yunho:

that’s kinda cute actually

Cute.

The word hits differently now.

Back then, he used to say it under his breath, softer, like it meant something more than just a passing comment.

Now it’s just—

Casual.

You press your lips together.

The conversation continues.

Easily. Effortlessly.

Like you’re actually getting to know each other.

And that’s the worst part.

Because for him—

You are.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

Days pass.

And Yunho becomes a constant.

He texts you in the morning. Sends you random updates throughout the day.

Complains about small things, shares stupid jokes, tells you about people you’ve never met.

It’s so him. So familiar it hurts.

Except now, every interaction feels slightly off.

Like a song playing in the wrong key.

Because he treats you like something new.

“Wait, you like that?”

“No way, I didn’t expect that from you.”

“That’s so interesting, I’m learning so much about you.”

Learning.

Learning things he already knew.

For you, every message is layered.

There’s what he’s saying now—

And what he used to say then.

Sometimes, you find yourself staring at your phone, remembering.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

12 years ago

“You hate horror movies, right?” Yunho said, grinning.

“You literally screamed at a trailer.”

“I didn’t scream,” you argued.

“You did,” he laughed. “It was cute.”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

Yunho:

we should watch a horror movie sometime LOL

You stare at the message.

Your fingers hesitate.

You:

i don’t like horror

Three dots.

Yunho:

really?? i wouldn’t have guessed

Something inside you twists.

Of course you wouldn’t have.

You forgot.

It builds slowly.

The ache. The exhaustion.

The quiet, constant grief of being known once—

And not at all now.

You try to keep up. You really do.

You respond.

You laugh when he jokes.

You let him “discover” things about you like they’re new.

But it starts to wear on you.

Because every time he says—

“I didn’t know that about you.”

You hear—

“I never knew you at all.”

And that’s not true.

He did.

He just—

Doesn’t anymore.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

It happens a week later.

You’re sitting on your bed, your room dim except for the soft glow of your phone screen.

Yunho had been texting you nonstop all evening.

Voice messages. Pictures.

A video of him laughing about something you don’t fully understand.

And then—

This.

Yunho:

you know what’s funny?

You hesitate before replying.

You:

what

There’s a short pause.

Then—

Yunho:

i feel like i’ve known you for a long time already

even though we just met

Your breath catches.

Your chest tightens so suddenly it almost hurts.

Because—

You have known him for a long time.

You’ve known him in ways he can’t even remember anymore.

And now he’s saying this like it’s some new, surprising feeling. Like it’s something that just started.

You stare at the message.

Your vision blurs slightly.

Your fingers hover over the screen.

And then—

Before you can stop yourself—

You type.

You:

we did know each other

you just forgot

Send.

The moment it goes through—

You regret it.

Because this—

This is the line you’ve been trying not to cross.

The shift from pretending—

To remind you.

The typing bubble appears.

Disappears.

Appears again.

And then—

Yunho:

hey…

are you still upset about that?

Your stomach drops.

It’s not what you meant.

But that’s how he takes it.

You sit up slightly, heart racing.

You:

it’s not about being upset

There’s a longer pause this time.

Long enough that your chest starts to feel tight again.

Then—

Yunho:

then what is it?

What is it?

Everything. It’s everything.

It’s the way he laughs like this is light when it’s heavy for you.

It’s the way he talks about “starting over” like there wasn’t something real before.

It’s the way he doesn’t realize that every message, every joke, every small interaction is sitting on top of something much deeper that only you can see.

Your hands tremble slightly.

And this time—

You don’t stop yourself.

You:

it’s just weird, yunho

you talk to me like i’m new

like i didn’t matter before

The message sends.

Your heart pounds.

Too fast. Too loud.

The typing bubble appears instantly.

Then disappears.

Then—

Nothing.

One minute.

Two. Five.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.

And suddenly—

You regret everything.

Because maybe you shouldn’t have said that.

Maybe it wasn’t fair.

Maybe—

Your phone buzzes.

You inhale sharply and look down.

Yunho:

that’s not what i meant

Relief flickers.

Briefly.

But then—

Another message comes through.

Yunho:

i just don’t remember, okay?

i can’t pretend i do

The words hit harder than anything else so far.

Because he’s right.

He can’t pretend.

And you—

You’ve been doing exactly that.

Pretending this is okay. Pretending this doesn’t hurt.

Pretending you can handle being someone new to him.

Your chest tightens.

Your fingers move slowly.

You:

i’m not asking you to pretend

A pause.

Then—

Yunho:

then what do you want me to do?

You stare at the screen.

At the question.

At the boy who once knew exactly what you needed without asking, now looking at you like you’re impossible to understand.

And that’s when it hits you.

The realization.

Slow. Heavy.

Unavoidable.

He can’t give you what you want.

Because what you want doesn’t exist anymore.

Your vision blurs. Your throat tightens.

And finally—

You type the truth.

You:

i wanted you to remember me

Send.

This time—

The silence that follows feels final.

The message sits there.

Read. Seen.

But unanswered.

You don’t move.

You don’t even breathe properly—just shallow inhales that never quite fill your lungs, like your body is waiting for something it’s not sure will come.

One minute.

Two. Five. Ten.

Your phone stays silent.

And somehow, that hurts more than anything he’s said so far.

Because at least before, he was trying.

Trying to joke. Trying to fix it.

Trying to make this something light.

But now—

There’s nothing.

And the absence feels… deliberate.

You drop your phone onto your bed and press your hands over your face, dragging them down slowly like you can physically wipe the feeling away.

This is why you didn’t want to say anything. This is why you tried to keep it easy.

Because the truth—

The truth is too heavy for something that only exists on one side.

Your chest aches, deep and quiet, like something caving in slowly rather than breaking all at once.

You don’t cry.

Not yet.

You just lie there, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything like you always do.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

10 years ago

“Don’t disappear, okay?” Yunho said, leaning back in his chair, balancing it on two legs like your teacher told him not to.

“I won’t,” you replied.

“You better not,” he grinned. “I’d be so bored without you.”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

You let out a shaky breath.

“I didn’t disappear,” you whisper to no one.

Your phone buzzes.

You freeze.

For a second, you don’t reach for it.

Because you already know—

Whatever he says next—

It won’t be what you want. It can’t be.

But still—

You pick it up.

Yunho:

hey

Just that.

Your heart sinks.

Not your name. Not anything soft.

Just a hey.

You swallow.

Your fingers hover before you type.

You:

hey

The reply comes slower this time.

Measured. Careful.

Yunho:

i didn’t know it was that serious

There’s no malice in it.

No cruelty. Just honesty.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because he’s not trying to hurt you.

He just—

Doesn’t understand.

Your chest tightens.

You:

it was

Three dots appear.

Disappear.

Then—

Yunho:

i mean… we were in high school

that’s a long time ago

The words feel like a quiet dismissal.

Like something that mattered to you was just… temporary to him.

Just a phase.

Something small. Something forgettable.

Your throat burns.

You:

it wasn’t small to me

The reply takes longer this time.

When it comes—

It’s different.

Yunho:

i’m not saying it was

i just don’t remember it like you do

There it is again.

That wall. That gap between you.

You with your memories, vivid and alive and aching.

And him with nothing.

Your grip tightens around your phone.

You:

you don’t remember it at all

A pause.

Then—

Yunho:

no

It’s simple. Final.

And it lands like something heavy dropping straight through your chest.

You close your eyes.

Breathe in. Out.

Try to steady yourself.

But the words keep coming.

Yunho:

and i feel bad about that, okay?

i do

but i don’t know what you want from me

Your fingers tremble slightly.

Because you don’t know either.

Not anymore.

You thought you did. You thought if he just remembered—

Everything would fall back into place.

But now you see it.

Even if he tried, he can’t go back to being that person.

Because that version of him doesn’t exist anymore.

And neither does the version of you who stood beside him.

Your chest tightens painfully.

You:

i don’t know either

There’s a long pause.

Then—

Yunho:

i like talking to you

i really do

but it feels like i’m disappointing you just by being me

The message makes your breath hitch.

Because that’s not what you wanted.

You never wanted him to feel like that.

You stare at the words, your vision blurring again.

You:

you’re not

Another pause.

Then—

Yunho:

it feels like it

Your heart aches.

Deep. Sharp.

Because he’s right.

Not because he’s doing anything wrong—

But because the version of him standing here now will always fall short of the version you remember.

And that’s not fair.

Not to him. Not to you.

You sit up slowly, your back against the wall, phone still clutched in your hand like it’s the only thing anchoring you.

And for the first time—

You let yourself say it.

The thing you’ve been avoiding.

You:

i think i’m the problem

The reply is immediate.

Yunho:

don’t say that

Your lips press together.

But you keep going. Because you have to.

You:

no

listen

you’re trying

and i keep expecting something you can’t give me

There’s no response.

Not right away.

So you continue.

You:

you’re treating me like someone new

and i keep comparing you to someone you don’t even remember being

Your chest tightens with every word.

But you don’t stop.

You:

and it’s not fair to you

The silence stretches.

And for a second—

You wonder if he’s gone again.

But then—

Yunho:

it’s not fair to you either

That’s when it breaks.

Like something finally giving way after holding too much for too long.

Your vision blurs completely now. Your throat tightens, and this time—

You can’t hold it back.

Because he’s right.

It’s not fair.

None of this is.

Not the way you remember everything. Not the way he remembers nothing.

Not the way you’re both standing in the same place—

But living in completely different versions of the past.

Your fingers shake as you type.

You:

i think i need to stop

The typing bubble appears instantly.

Yunho:

stop what?

You inhale shakily.

This is it. The part that hurts the most.

Because this time—

You’re the one leaving.

You:

talking to you like this

pretending it doesn’t hurt

The reply comes fast.

Too fast.

Yunho:

wait

Your heart stutters.

Yunho:

we don’t have to stop

we can figure it out

Figure it out.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Because you already know—

There’s nothing to figure out. There’s no solution to this.

No middle ground. No version of this where neither of you gets hurt.

You:

how?

The question sits there.

And for the first time—

He doesn’t have an answer.

The typing bubble appears.

Disappears.

Appears again.

And then nothing.

Because he doesn’t know either. Because there isn’t a way.

Tears slip down your cheeks quietly, one after another.

You wipe them away, but they keep coming.

Your chest feels tight.

Heavy.

Like something is pressing down on it, refusing to let go.

And finally—

You type the last thing you’ll say.

You:

you’re still the same yunho

just not mine anymore

Send.

The message goes through.

Delivered. Seen.

You don’t wait for a reply this time.

You can’t.

Because if you do—

You might stay. And staying would only make this worse.

Your finger hovers over his contact.

Just for a second.

Because this—

This is the last connection you have to him.

The only version of him that still exists in your present.

But it’s not the one you want.

It never will be.

So you close your eyes—

And let it go.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

You see him again.

A week later.

Of course you do. Because the world is small like that.

Cruel like that.

You’re walking past a café when you hear it again.

That laugh.

Bright. Warm. Familiar.

You don’t stop this time.

You don’t turn. You don’t look.

Because you already know what you’ll see.

Yunho, smiling.

Living.

And you—

Remembering enough for the both of you.

You keep walking.

Step. Step. Step.

It feels lighter this time.

Not because it doesn’t hurt—

But because you finally understand something you didn’t before.

Some people only exist in certain versions of your life.

And trying to bring them into the present—

Doesn’t always work.

Sometimes, they’re only meant to live in your memories.

Even if you still live in them.

Your chest aches.

Soft. Steady.

But you don’t stop.

Because for the first time, you’re not waiting for him to remember.

You’re choosing to move forward.

Even if it means carrying him with you.

Alone.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

© lcvejjoong, 2026

part 2

‘This is finally it…’

You smiled with a peaceful smile as you stared down at the ruins of the city before you. The very city that had taken everything from you and tramped all over your broken and battered body. The one that you had called home for many, many years, only for them to turn their backs on you at the slightest show of falsehood.

It was also the city where you had believed that you had met the love of your life, but just like everyone else, he wasn’t who you had believed him to be. No. He was the very person who turned you in to the enemies.

He was the reason you had become who you are now.

Now, as you watched the destruction that you had caused, you finally felt a sense of relief that you weren’t the only one suffering anymore, and those who had wronged you finally got what they deserved. You almost felt sorry for them… almost.

“Y/n, why are you doing this?” You heard his voice moments before you felt his presence behind you, and your hands balled into fists around your mask. Turning slowly, you took in Yunho’s beaten form, blood dripping from his busted lip and eyebrow.

“Why?” You scoffed, anger boiling in your veins once more, the longer you looked at the man that you once loved. “Maybe you should be asking yourself that question, Yunho, you were the one who turned me in afterall.”

“That wasn’t my fa—”

“Wasn’t your fault?” You cut, not even wanting to listen to him finish that sentence, “wasn’t it you who helped the cops collect enough evidence on me? Wasn’t it you who just watched as they dragged me out of the house? WASN’T IT YOU THAT SAID IT WAS FOR MY OWN GOOD?” Tears started to spill from your eyes as you stared at Yunho, hands trembling at your sides.

“Y/n—”

“Do you know what they did to me in there, Yunho?” Your voice dropped an octave as you glared at the dark-haired male, “I was poked and prodded like a damn lab rat! They treated me as if I were some otherworldly being and not a fucking human being.” All of the rage and hurt that you’ve felt for the past year was starting to bubble over. “Is that for my own good, Yunho?”

“They said they could help you, that they could make everything better.” Yunho’s voice quivered in disbelief as he took a step towards you, “That’s why I let them take you, if I had known they were going to treat you like that, I wouldn’t have—”

“What’s done is done, Yunho, and now?” You let out a huff, wiping the tears with a smile before raising your arm to point at the burning city around you: “Everyone is getting what they deserve.”

Yunho’s eyes went wide in shock, not believing that you, the same girl he had loved since high school, who would always share her lunch with him whenever he forgot his, that same girl who, despite all the hardships she went through, always wore a smile, the same girl that he had promised to marry to her mother on her deathbed. That wasn’t the girl who stood before him, no, you had become someone completely different.

But no matter how different you had become, Yunho knew that he needed to put a stop to all of this. So he took a hesitant step towards you, not missing the warning that gleamed in your eyes when you noticed.

“There are innocent people down there, y/n,”

“Innocent? Don’t make me laugh, no one in this godforsaken city is innocent anymore.” You laughed coolly, eyes narrowed into slits, “it was these people who have always looked down on me for being different, these are the people who never gave me the light of day even though I tried my damnedest to please them, so how can you stand there and tell me they’re innocent?!” You shouted, tears starting to blur your vision once more, a throbbing pain pulsing through your chest, “but you wanna know something funny?”

Yunho watched cautiously as your body stilled, eyes relaxing as an empty expression settled onto your face, but he could clearly see the hurt in your eyes, “I miss the old me. I miss who I was before I had to endure all of that bullshit—none of which I believe I deserved an ounce of by the way.”

Yunho felt a stabbing pain in his chest, right where his heart is, as your hand reached up to grab your shirt that lay over your chest. He never thought he would see you in this kind of state, so broken and defeated. It was starting to set in on him that maybe he really was the reason you were doing all of this.

“You never deserved all of the harsh things those people did to you. I have always told you that y/n.” Yunho spoke softly, taking another step towards you.

The laugh that left your lips was nothing short of bitter, “and I was a fool to believe that you actually cared.” Yunho felt like he had just been hit with a ton of bricks, “the one person that I thought would stick by me through everything was the very person who betrayed me.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did, I told you countless times what they would do to me if they ever took me, yet you let them do it so easily.” A manic laugh started to erupt from your lips as you walked closer to him, “and now I have nothing left to lose, so what can you do to me now, Yunho?”

Your head tilted in an eerie way as you took step after step towards him, but he never moved or stopped you. Seeing you as you were now, he realized what he had done was wrong, and if he could go back, he would have kept his word and kept you safe, as you said before.

‘What’s done is done.’

And just as the cool metal of your blade sank into his abdomen, he could only grab you and hold you in his arms, praying that if he ever got a second chance in life, he would be able to make up for all the wrongs he had done to you.

“Consider this as payback,” You hissed before ripping the blade from his body, watching as he dropped down to his knees, hands covering the rapidly bleeding wound, “let that be a reminder of your betrayal. Goodbye Yunho.”

Before Yunho could even utter a word from his blood-soaked lips, you moved to the edge of the building. He watched with horror-filled eyes as you placed a foot over the edge.

“NO!” With a sudden rush of adrenaline, he bolted to the edge just as you let yourself fall, but he luckily made it in time to grab your wrist. “Hold on, I’ll pull you up.” He grunted as he tried to pull you up despite the pain that shot throughout his abdomen.

“Let go, Yunho.” Your voice was flat, void of any emotion as you looked up at him. However, Yunho just shook his head; tears that had been sitting idly on his waterline broke through and spilled down his blood-stained and bruised face.

“No, I won’t. I’m gonna pull you up, and we can talk about this, please.” He pleaded as he continued to try to pull you up, but the blood that soaked his palm made it difficult. “I can’t lose you y/n, please.”

A sad smile lifted at the corner of your lips as you looked up at him, giving him a small flicker of hope, “You already have Yunho,” and just like that, the flicker was harshly burnt out when you used your other hand to pry him off, the slick surface of your skin making it easier.

“NOOO!” He cried out as he helplessly watched your body plummet to the ground, tears rolling down his face.

Then it felt as if the whole world stopped, the ringing in his ears almost becoming too much. He squeezed his eyes shut, not thinking he could bear the pain of watching you hit the ground.

“Yunho…”

It was faint, but he was sure that he had heard your voice calling for him, but as he turned to look, you were nowhere to be found. Surely he was just going crazy, right?

“Yunho!”

There it was again… and again… and again…

Squeezing his eyes shut once more, he covered his ears with his hands, hoping to drown out that haunting sound of your voice.

“Yunho!” He then felt his body jolt, causing his eyes to fly open; however, instead of lying on the top of a building, he was sitting on his couch. “Finally, I’ve been calling for you for the past five minutes. Did you not sleep well last night?”

Yunho felt his heart sink to the furthest pit of his stomach as he looked over, finding you standing not even five feet away from him. Completely fine.

Before he could even rationalize what he was doing, he pulled you down into a hug, ignoring the small squeak of protest that left your lips, followed by the laugh that he loved. Holding you close, he looked over at the calendar that hung on the wall, seeing that it was months before you had been taken.

Had he been taken back in time? Or was that all some sick and twisted nightmare?

Whichever it was, he vowed to never let it come to fruition.

© 𝐬𝐭𝐱𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 | 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚, 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚, 𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠

After receiving such lavish gifts which included shopping tours, yacht rides and an impressive visit to his personal vineyards, the CEO’s last gift to you was an opera performance you could’ve only imagined to experience in your dreams. 

“It’s called La Traviata”, your polished and tuxedo-clad date spoke into the shell of your ear, just as you arrived at your destination earlier that night.

He had guided you up the white marble steps of the entrance, offering his arm to you as he stood tall and unfairly handsome against the crowd. Many other similarly dressed men filled the space. A whole sea of them stood with their wives— for some, their mistresses— flaunting expensive clothing and freshly botoxed faces. 

In similar timing, an uncomfortable thought momentarily entered your mind: 

Were you too, just another shadier and even more disposable reflection of these upper class elites?

You glanced over to stare at Yunho, lingering on the idea of how ridiculous it may appear to someone who knew you were a former Hollywood Boulevard stripper attending a high-society opera performance with her billionaire date. 

However, the flash of anxiety disappears and reshapes itself as soon as you feel the intimidating stares and hear the hushed whispers. Gossip swirls around the crowd of esteemed guests who wondered about who you were— the lady in red accompanying their most well-known and eligible bachelor.

Yunho’s voice saves you from your worries once again.

“I think you’ll like tonight's performance,” he admits, softly calling to your name. He looks down, holding eye contact with you and only you, disregarding any other individual that distracts him from admiring your beauty under this antique chandelier tonight. 

You’re reminded again of how easy you become lost with Yunho.

Lost in his world, even if it didn’t always accept you.

All it takes is a sweet look and you seem to fall right for his stupidly charming manners and protective presence. You smiled back nervously, the rubies embedded in the diamond necklace displayed on your collar bones, rising upwards as you inhaled to swallow back your nerves. 

“There’s a lot of people here.” you muttered the obvious, biting your rouge coloured lips as you looked a little intimidated. 

Yunho chuckles and holds onto your hand tight, leading you effortlessly. 

“Let’s go find our seats then.”

The talk dies down as you arrive on the upper floors, a private balcony reserved with comfortable seats and complimentary opera glasses too. 

You quickly turn to Yunho.

“You hate heights though,” you pointed out, brows furrowing. 

The businessman chuckles, taking a seat and crossing his legs as you stand to admire the balcony. 

“But they’re the best ones.”  

When the curtains rise a few minutes later, revealing the opening act alongside booming orchestral music, your heart nearly jumps out of your chest.

It’s easy to become so immersed from the beginning, eyes glued to the stage for the next two hours as you sat the longest Yunho thinks he’s ever seen you go without fidgeting. 

It felt too soon for the night to transition into what was now the final scene— the trembling voice of the baritone’s final words to his dying lover, as she succumbs to her tragic death in his arms. 

Your heart pounds at the sight, the stage becoming blurry as the music grows stronger for the finale. 

And all at once, the curtains close and the opera ends.  

You clap the loudest out of everyone sitting near your area once it’s over, and Yunho is pleased nonetheless to see your vivid reaction to the performance. 

Carefully, his hand slides over to hold your own. 

“I believe you enjoyed it then?” he teases, taking out a handkerchief and offering it to you as you sniffle on the way to the elevator. An unforgettable ache settles in your chest from the beautiful tragedy, quickly nodding back with no other words to say except how beautiful it was as tears filled your eyes. 

Your first introduction to the world of opera ended that evening with an arm latched onto Yunho’s, following the crowd out into the street of waiting cars and limousines. 

“What was your favorite part?” Yunho asks, the corners of his mouth already raised as he wants to hear more of your thoughts, anticipating an enthusiastic response. 

“God, it has to be the moment from the garden,” you gushed, your cheeks aching from smiling too much. “There’s no other scene that was more romantic!”

He wrapped his coat around you as you spoke on and on about the singing and the storyline, ensuring you weren’t cold as a night breeze swept past. 

“Thank you, Yunho,” you turn to him and say once you finish, reaching the tips of your heels as you try to peck him on the cheek. He leans down to meet you halfway.

“I’ll never forget tonight.” 

Your smile causes Yunho to exhale shakily, trying to calm his beating heart and come up with a proper reply back, before something catches your attention from the corner of your eye.

You do a double take to realize a brightly lit hotdog stand was running just across the street. He follows your line of vision.

“Let’s go,” you grinned, tugging on the sleeves of his suit without sparing him another glance. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Yunho chuckles, judging the dingy street food stand as his brows knit together in a rare display of stubbornness. 

“Yes, but not for that.” 

You almost scoff in his face. “Oh c’mon, Yunho,” you say, interlocking your hands together and insistently dragging him towards the mouth-watering smell.

“You said you were hungry!” 

He had no defense against you. 

When you reach the hotdog stand, the billionaire stands stiff beside you, hands tucked into his pockets in clear hesitation at the questionable sanitary conditions.

“Sweetheart,” he bends down, muttering into your ear whilst pointing towards the unchanged grill.

“That is not safe, nor fine dining.”

Rolling your eyes, Yunho watches helplessly as you step towards the vendor whilst fishing out a few bills from his own wallet in the pocket of the coat draped over you. 

“Two hotdogs with a bit of everything on them, please,” you asked the man, glancing back to the billionaire with an excited smile. 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little weiner, Yunho.”

He frowns, having kept his arms crossed since he entered the vicinity of the cart. 

“I’m not scared,” he replies calmly. “I just don’t see why anyone would willingly consume something made… from here” he pauses, interpreting the picture of a giddy animated sausage on cart sign.

The vendor being a much older man, shuts your sweet date up with one good stare. 

Two hotdogs in hand, you thank the owner sweetly and bring Yunho off to the side so you can eat. If he was skeptical at first, hopefully he’d be more convinced by the smell of caramelized onions and smoked sausage wafting through your noses as you handed him one. 

He looks at the greasy foil.

“I can have my staff make you something on the jet. Something with actual nutritional—”

But you’ve already beaten him to it, taking your first bite of sausage and bun and drowning out his words as you smiled in bliss. 

“Oh god,” you groaned dramatically, eyes shut as you consumed the satisfying food. 

Yunho watches you carefully with reluctant amusement, one hand still buried in his pockets that has yet to unwrap the silver foiled hotdog. 

Seeing how happy you were makes him reconsider. 

All jokes aside, what was he waiting for? If the taste was that special to you, he wanted to experience it as well. 

Yunho takes his hand out from his pocket and unwraps the foil, bending down to take a big, solid bite encasing sausage, condiments, and toppings. 

It was quiet for a moment, both of you chewing slowly before your date reluctantly smiles with full cheeks, nodding his head.

“It’s good…” 

You grin proudly, swiping a pickled jalapeno slice off of his hotdog.

“Not so bad, right?”

And just like that, you and Yunho shared a casual yet comfortable dinner before heading back onto the private jet. Two hot dog combos and many shared conversations later, fast food wrappers laid scattered across the glass table. A bottle of champagne and fresh white peaches present for dessert. 

“So,” you grinned proudly, shuffling your bare feet closer on the seat as your heels laid discarded somewhere. 

“I just introduced you to your first hotdog, then?”

The bowtie of Yunho’s black tuxedo is long gone, draped carelessly over the armrest, as the older man leans back into the leather seat. The dim cabin lights cast a soft golden hue across his jawline as he gestures to the mess on the table. 

“I’ve had them before,” he corrects, like it’s a fact of deep importance that he’s not that bred in upper class luxury. 

You suspected the opposite.

“Well the ones you had probably weren’t even real,” you argued with a roll of your eyes, imagining hor d'oeuvre cocktail sausages or something else ridiculous. 

“If a ‘real’ hotdog comes from a dingy little stand on the corner of a street, then sure,” he says with a bite of amusement. “I'll let you educate me then.” 

You hold down a smile. “See! You’re learning!”

Yunho shakes his head, revealing a full smile which tells you he’ll let you have this one. 

Who knew this would be so natural with someone like him. That despite the expensive tours and shopping sprees, what fulfilled you the most these past few days was sitting here, barefoot, eating three-dollar hot dogs, discussing life and the events of your separate pasts. 

It’s true that the world you're flying above right now belongs to people like Yunho. People with money, wealth, and unlimited freedom. But right now, up here in these clouds, it feels like this tiny corner of the sky belongs to you too.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” he asks while sitting across from you, eyebrows raising as he takes another swig of champagne. 

Your head rests against the fabric of the leather seat, eyelids shutting closed as you ponder. 

“It'll be my last day,” you mumbled carefully, the clarity of your words catching you off guard the second they leave your mouth. 

Yunho stills for a moment. 

“That can’t be.” the billionaire murmurs back, holding his gaze on the rim of his wine glass. It doesn’t settle with him well either. 

The cabin goes quiet all of a sudden. Empty, yet filled with realization neither of you wants to name. It was all according to your agreement.

Four days.

Eight thousand dollars.

That was the deal. 

To think you’d place so much weight on a job that was always meant to be short-lived. It was hard to believe time had gone by so quickly.

Very soon, this fairytale lifestyle you’d been living with would disappear with a simple goodbye, and you and Yunho would return to your respective places in the world. Him, conducting meetings, flying in private jets, and bargaining billions over company titles, while you remained as a waitress, barely making enough to afford milk that was past its expiration date.

The chain of events set into motion the night that armed gunman tried to rob the convenience store, had led you somewhere you’d never imagined possible. Meeting Yunho, spending time with him—having him care for you so effortlessly and spoiling you with money, but also more warmth and tenderness than you knew what to do with— felt unreal. 

You’ve spent your whole life yearning for someone like Yunho. But it's hard to consider whether someone like Yunho could ever need or be satisfied with someone like you.

Imperfections and all.

“I feel as though I still know so little about you,” he says, breaking your inner monologue as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. 

“Tell me, what was your past like? I’m curious to know what you were like in your early twenties” he grinned, amused at the thought of an even more bold and unafraid image of yourself.

You find yourself looking away.

Young, dumb, and dancing naked for money. That’s what you were doing in your early twenties. 

“...I used to dance.” you responded with a tinge of hesitation, swallowing lingering discomfort down your throat that always followed when you brought up your past. 

It wasn’t entirely a lie. You just left out the part that you danced to entertain people waving wads of cash that would keep you from resorting to worse situations awaiting you on the streets.

For you, and for countless girls like Miko you’d met during those nights at the club, it had all been about survival. You weren’t completely ashamed of your previous job, and that’s because it was more than just how others saw it and because you knew that it isn’t something anybody can do. 

Sure, at first you thought the experience was manageable. Fun even. Though that was probably because you were young and uninformed. But with no real backup plan and no proper college degree, dancing was a way to get by. Convincing yourself the sore muscles, unfair treatment, and wandering hands were simply things you had to endure. As though your entire existence was for anyone’s taking, disposable and easily forgotten. 

After obtaining your current job, you realized how important it was to make choices that didn’t force you to go back to that life. 

“A dancer?” Yunho repeats. “I never knew you danced,” he smiled warmly. 

“I work as a waitress now” you replied back, unknowingly picking at the nail of your thumb in habit. “It’s not much, but it’s better than what I was doing before”

It was at this moment you found yourself standing on the edge of something you didn’t know how to step into, words staying stuck behind your teeth. Telling Yunho about your past felt less like honesty and more like setting yourself up to be judged—like another lap dance you weren’t sure you had the guts to finish.

Yunho doesn’t rush you. He never does.

Instead, he studies you in that observative way of his. Like he already knows everything you can’t bring yourself to say. He exhales softly, standing from his seat to shift closer beside you, pulling a soft, folded blanket from somewhere.

Without asking, he drapes it around your shoulders, tucking it in as though he’s trying to keep you from slipping too far into your own thoughts. Then, you feel his hand come up to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch careful enough that it felt almost like permission.

“You know, people like to create stories out of what they can see.” His gaze drops for a moment, deciding how much of himself he can give you in return.

“In my case, it’s a bit ironic. Everyone sees the heir. The family name. The brand that can become just another financial asset…”

You stare back into his eyes, listening carefully. 

“People think they understand the shape of my life just because they can name it.” Yunho states laced with a heavy tone.

“But what most people don’t see… is that I was adopted. And a lot of what I’ve been called—what I’m expected to be—was decided long before I even understood what any of it meant.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, unadorned and leaving you in a bit of shock. You think back to the conversation with the Chairwoman, the night Yunho had that business dinner. 

“No one can learn much when they're surrounded with shadows, darling. But in truth, that’s all that Yunho has had up until now.”

“Business makes it worse,” he continues quietly. “Because it’s never really about truth. It’s about perception. About what people choose to believe is true. And sometimes that perception gets twisted—by ambition, by greed, and…” his words die off, knuckles clenching around the fabric of his pants as if he’s recalling a distasteful memory.

“... by people you thought would know better. Even family.”

There’s a brief pause, something heavier flickering behind his expression. You already know what he means by your conversation with Madame Choi.

She hinted towards something about Yunho's past, the strained relationship he had with his relatives clawing for the title of heir.

In an act of support, you reach and grab his shaking hand, taking it away from digging itself in him and interlocking fingers with his own. 

It was your way of telling him you were here. That you were listening. 

“I’ve always had people close to me try to take pieces of my life like it was just… up for claiming,” he says, more factually than bitter. “And I learned early that no one is really what they look like from the outside. Not completely.”

Panic settles in as you worry he's caught on.

Instead, his eyes return to you now softer, shifting the weight away.

“I’m not telling you this because I’m perfect. I’m telling you because I’m not. No one is.”

A small breath leaves him, like he’s releasing something he’s held for too long. Yunho leans closer, careful with what comes next.

“Y’know, I think everyone is deserving of a bit of grace. To be given another chance. Even that stupid boy, Choi San, who won’t let me buy his grandparents company” he jokes flatly, gaze flickering over your face when you let out a small chuckle. 

He thinks he could crack a million more bad jokes if it means he’ll hear that sound again. 

Yunho pulls you much closer, his nose almost hitting your own as he refuses to let your strict self-judgment distort the image you carried of yourself.

“So if you feel out of place, like you’re an imposter in this world, let me tell you I’ve been doing the same all my life. I feel as though I’m living a lie every single fucking day” he mutters, the two of you sharing breaths now from the close proximity. 

Your breathing changes, feeling the warmth of his body close to your own. 

The billionaire’s voice softens, keeping it steady. 

“As someone who lies to live, and works among people who lie just as easily, I’ve learned to value authenticity. It’s not about what others think." he states.

"People will always see what they want to see anyway.”

Suddenly, his eyes flicker down to your soft lips, parting with a distinct type of desire. But he doesn’t kiss them just yet. 

“And what I see is a very bright…”

First, a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

“Very beautiful…”

A kiss to your nose.

And he stops in front of your lips before whispering softly. The truth he's starting to believe in more than his painstaking business deal.

“...very special woman.”

Silence fills the space between you, the sounds of the plane engine whirring as you look into the eyes of the man sitting in front of you.

Yunho releases a small breath when you lean forward to collide your lips with him, connecting your mouths in yearning and full vulnerability. The air in his lungs is knocked out, hungrily reaching and grabbing at each other just to feel the sensation of your lips connecting in undwindling passion. 

A squeeze and grope follow here and there with each other's bodies, tongues swirling with utter obsession.

Yunho immediately reciprocates your bold move by pulling your body closer to his, fighting a straining feeling that builds in the confines of his pants. It doesn’t feel like it’s enough for Yunho, so his two strong arms grip around your waist, pulling your lips apart momentarily in a surprised, breathy moan, as you’re now maneuvered to straddle thick, strong thighs. 

“I meant everything I said,” he whispers breathily, a large hand coming to stroke the back of your head softly as the other grazes your face so you look at him properly. 

“You are special."

An overwhelming sense of gratitude floods your emotions. You didn’t notice it at first, but fresh tears have escaped your eyes, coating your eyelashes as you look back at Yunho.

The older one brings a thumb to cascade over your wet cheeks. 

“C’mon now, don’t cry sweetheart” he grins softly, feeling the need to protect yet also tease the sight of you becoming all teary eyed and begging for his touch.

He presses a quick kiss back to your lips once more, pulling back to whisper tantalizingly into your year.

“You haven't even taken my cock yet.” 

That’s when you realize tears weren’t just dripping down your cheeks, but now also down your legs.

Yunho was determined to show just how hungry he was for you. Just how much he wanted to love you, to fuck you, to taste and share only the good things in life with the women he just met four days ago in a dingy convenience store on Hollywood Boulevard.

That night must've really changed both your lives.

Whimpers escape your throat as you attempt to taste Yunho’s devotion. Your knees struggle to support your body weight, keeping you hovering over his crotch with carefulness not to sit down on the aching mound just yet, though you’re curious of the sensation it'll bring.

Yunho lets his hands settle around your waist, grip firm as he releases tension you were holding on to, pulling apart to finally give you both some breath.

“C’mon sweetheart. You can sit on it.”

He was starving for a taste of you. 

“Yunho.”

Your breath hitches as his hands wander, pushing your thighs to relax and spread even more so your wet core settles over the gigantic mound of fabric hiding his leaking, hard cock. 

“Fuck,” he stutters, his breath tickling your neck and he inhaled your scent deeply. He was unstoppable, he just had to feel you. 

“I want you,” he mutters, coming out muffled against bare skin. “Want you so bad.” 

You were no different. Pawing at the buttons of his crisp white shirt that was becoming wrinkled with every passing second you gripped and released the material, finding something to hold on to as your hips rocked back and forth slowly, nudging your leaking bud against imposing layers. 

“Ah- Yunho-” you gasped, feeling him kiss the crook of your neck, his mouth growing wider and more insatiable as he trails further down, drool forming near the corners of his mouth. 

Never of you had been this needy before.

“You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you sweetheart?” he groans, letting a large hand smack the flesh of your ass covered by your dress. A whine rolls off your tongue, echoing in the quiet passenger cabin as you nod fervently, disoriented sounds leaving you while clutching onto his shoulders to keep your soaking cunt attached to his pants. 

Yunho brings a hand to slide over your shivering bare thighs, exposed to the cool air because of the small leg slit you had on the side of your dress. With every touch, the slit stretches wider in your position, making you weak to the billionaire’s greed. 

He grits his teeth, staring at your breathless expression when he shoves your lace panties to the side and lets the long digits of his index, middle and ring finger slide against the slick of your cunt. 

“Jesus, you’re fucking soaked.” he grunts, throwing his head back as his digits do all the work in opening you up for him. Then all at once, he dives all three in, stretching you out perfectly like no had ever done before.

You scream, overwhelmed by how full you already feel with his two thick fingers. 

“Oh p-pleaseee- fuck! s’too much Yunho!” you pant like a whore, making him stretch his fingers even wider to feel you suck him in so lewdly. 

“Slow down—” 

“Do you feel how deep I am, sweetheart?” he cuts you off, his hips jutting up so he too can achieve some sort of relief. You notice, a hand reaching down, traveling through the tight web of limbs help him by laying your palm over his hardness. Just a simple touch and—

“Hands off.” Yunho quickly orders, bringing your hand away as he holds onto your wrist tightly. 

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” he scolds, his business tone coming out as he orders you to only take his fingers, planning to save his cock for the one thing he wants most:

Your swollen, puffy cunt.

It’s incredibly unfair, how helpless you feel as his right hand pummels his digits faster into your hole, the sound of filthy squelching noises filling the room as he doesn’t even mind your cries of ecstasy.

“How many d’you think I’ve got inside you, hm?” he toys with you, getting off on your shaking body and quivering nub like the perverted CEO he was. You can’t even answer from the moans you’re releasing.

And here you thought Yunho was going to fuck you gently after all that talking. 

“Fucking tight,” a breath escapes his lips without even knowing.

You squirmed, eyes squeezing shut.

It seems as though there’s been a huge misunderstanding on the type of man Yunho was.

The businessman won’t waste time treating you like the queen you were— showering you with gifts, bags, clothes, and jewelry that can make you start to think he wants to put a ring on you and have you carry his babies. 

Which, with the way you’re taking him right now— quivering and crying out his name in broken little whimpers, even as his wrist starts to ache from how long he's been bullying his fingers in and out— he’s starting to genuinely consider it.

But you’ve been expertly deceived.

Yunho isn’t a gentleman. He’s one sick, obsessed bastard that longs to touch, finger, and fuck your gummy walls to a state of complete ecstasy.

“I… I really can’t hold on much longer—”

He loves that. Loves that you’re broken down to a mess of slick and sweat like this. He latches his mouth back onto yours as he feels you clench harder with every passing minute around his digits. 

“Gonna cum for me? My sweet, sweet girl is gonna cum?- hah fuck-” he coos, holding back and focusing on making you spill first.

He was almost there. He just needed to make you cum first and prep you real good so you could take him raw. 

“Yes Yes fuck- ngh Yes, Yunho–” you sobbed, too overstimulated to say anything else. Yunho releases the wrist he’s been holding onto since before, letting his hand come up to swipe some spit from his mouth before he shoves his wet fingers into the open cleavage of your dress, thumbing your sensitive tits with his drool.

Oh god, now he’s really done it.

“Cum for me, sweetheart.” he grunts in one final thrust.

That’s what sends you over the edge completely, shoving your cries and open mouth moans into the fabric of Yunho’s dress shirt, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as your body convulses from the intense orgasm. Soft praises reach the shell of your ear.

“Look at you..” He coos proudly, kissing you gently on your cheek.

“Took my fingers like a fucking champ.”

You wince at the sudden emptiness as he pulls out, despite him trying to slide his fingers slowly for your sake. 

You lean back to watch the man with tired eyes, feeling a shiver run down your spine as Yunho maintains full eye contact while bringing his tongue out to lick at your slick. Closing his eyes and groaning pathetically at how sweet you tasted.

“Fucking pervert,” you exhaled, ignoring the deep laughs proudly leaving the CEO’s sweaty chest under his unbuttoned dress shirt.

It’s not long before the rest of the buttons are opened, revealing his toned chest as the top of your dress gets shoved down to spill out your soft tits for Yunho to latch on to. 

“Yunho!” you reply in shock, not realizing how fast he was going to dive into them. “Slow down!”

“But I’m in love with your tits.” he confesses though it comes out muffled. As if justifying his hunger.

You’re still straddling Yunho’s thighs, though now, you’re in an awkward stage of being partially naked, partially clothed, with only the essential barriers out of the way for you to take his cock properly now. 

He unbuckles his pants to free his member, letting the long, girthy tip slap you against your abdomen as your dress has become ruined with the way it’s scrunched so high to reveal your ass completely. 

Yunho takes a hold of his shaft and pumps himself a couple times. You watch him as he does so, a spark shared between you two just as he taps his tip against your puffy folds. He’s ridiculously proud of the way he’s prepped you so well for him. 

“Ready?” he stills, taking a moment to hold back from the obsession to really make sure you wanted this. Wanted him. 

You nod, grinning softly. 

Long forgotten is the conversation you were going to have with him about your past. Now replaced with a bodily confession that was more important to you and him right now. 

You figure you’ll tell him later…

“Just take me, Yunho,” you pleaded softly.

He smiles, kissing you again as he finally swats his cock in between the leaky opening.

All at once, you feel his incredible girth that you were waiting for this whole time, stretching you out, and throwing your head back as far as it would go.

You nod, eyes clasped shut at the delicious feeling you craved. No one could fuck you this good again. 

“F-Fuuck, gorgeous…” 

Yunho keeps his strokes against your pulsating walls slowly but so precisely it drives you to the brink of insanity. And yet, he can’t seem to stop watching you in awe the entire time. The way you let out soft screams when he hits so deep, right in the perfect spot. The way your hair is let loose, messy and free while your back arches so sinfully yet beautifully. 

Your body felt holy. A temple for him to worship.

And he's purring in your ear, telling you how good you are to him, how well you're taking his fingers and how beautiful you look taking them

The squelching sound from before comes back, even louder this time as it accompanies each skilful pump of Yunho’s cock instead of his fingers. 

As you’re babbling upon his sheer length, Yunho clasps onto one side of your hips. Using the rest of the energy and strength he has in him, he helps you bounce on his dick, riding your godforsaken high through the shaking of your thighs. 

You squeeze around him, making him curse wildly. It’s enough to also whimper from the stinging feeling that comes back each time. 

“Please—”

You tense, feeling a familiar feeling creeping up on you.

“Please what?” He held firm even as you glared weak little daggers down at his face, looking up with his shirt open and a burning desire behind wild eyes. 

“Yunho I’m not kidding, I’m g-gonna–”

He’s too distracted, too lost in the intoxicating sight of his cock drilling through your hole, having not taken his eyes from where you were connected. He already knows what you mean. How close you were to finishing. So he changes his pace, rutting relentlessly, hips snapping harder as he chases the view of your tits shaking in his face, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck—yes.”

“Gonna cum?” He asks with baited breath. “Gonna let loose for me, my love?

You just whine, crying and bouncing and nodding and nodding because that was all you were capable of doing right then and there.

In a complete mess of sweaty limbs and hot, flushing cum, you both reach your pinacles. The pace turns slower, enough for you to hug Yunho closer and whisper words of chastisement for how rough he was with you. When Yunho calmly kisses you and asks if it was too much though, you can’t help but shake your head and sink your pussy deeper, showing him that you still loved every second of it. 

Just as he’s about to grab a tissue from nearby and clean you up, a soft bleep of the intercom echoes a slightly discomforted voice, stilling only Yunho’s body who has enough consciousness to register the current situation. You're too far gone, using a small remaining amount of energy to grip onto the fabric of his shirt for dear life.

“Um—Mr. Jeong,” the pilot’s voice crackles awkwardly through the speaker, followed by a brief pause that feels far too long to be professional. 

“We’ll be arriving at the hotel in about ten minutes, so I, uh…” another cough. “I ask that you please observe the seatbelt sign and fasten your seatbelts as we prepare for landing.”

A beat passes, raising your head to look drowsily up at Yunho when you hear a much quieter, comment from the pilot: 

“And—um. My apologies for the interruption.”

A small smile creeps upon your tired face, relief washing over you as Yunho holds you close and reassures you.

“Don’t move. I’ll take care of you.”

The promise sounds as soft as he’s ever been. He leans forward and grabs a glass of water for you to take a quick sip from, followed by a cloth to clean your slick.

“I’ll give you everything, all the money I have,” Yunho mutters in a state of hypnosis, eyes glistening as he looks down at you lying against his chest so peacefully.

You wonder if your ears deceive you when you hear a quiet plea that borders on begging.

“Just stay with me longer…” 

The last thing you remember is warmth.

And releasing a soft “Okay”.

When you come back to your senses, you find yourself stirring awake in a large, familiar bed, a vast cold area of mattress greeting you from beside. The empty sheets of cotton and silk surround you with a bare feeling of comfort as you squint at the clock on the bedside table. 

Four am. And Yunho was nowhere in sight. 

Your bare body shivers as you sit up and the covers fall down, exposing you to the empty room. Your head spins a little, probably from all the drinks you had earlier in the plane.

The plane.

Suddenly, it comes rushing back, the events that happened on the jet. Yunho’s confession — his way of telling you that you didn’t need to feel ashamed of yourself to him. The way you were going to tell him about your past and the reasons that led you to this point. 

And then the sex.

Your core almost tingles at the memory with Yunho. Fucking you so good you passed out unconscious. 

Sighing as you rubbed your temples, you reach for the nearest piece of fabric that could warm you up— his navy robe that sits on a chair nearby. 

The soft material weighs you down, it's sleeves clearly too big for you but not minding much as you step over the soft, carpeted hotel floor. When you shuffle out of the room and down the steps to the first floor, the wide city view through the windows captures endless buildings glowing against the night, showing a city that never seemed to need sleep at all.

Quite similar to someone you trying to find. 

As if on cue, your body does a little jump back in surprise when you turn and catch Yunho leaning against the marble countertop of the open kitchen, bare chested as a pair of blue gingham pajama pants hung low on his waist. 

“Jesus!” you muttered, squinting when you saw the tall man turn with what appeared to be a tub of half-eaten vanilla ice cream. The metal spoon was warm in his hands from grasping it for so long. 

“Did I wake you?” Yunho replies calmly, paying you no mind.

“I’m sorry,” he coos, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. 

You sigh, gently paddling over cold tiles as your hands reach and grasp the ice cream like it was yours. You inspect the container, brows quirking.

Yunho lets you do as you please, as if everything belonged to you. 

You sigh as the chilling taste of creamy rich vanilla hits your mouth, using his spoon to dig a shallow crevice in the melted dessert and feed on it. 

“You didn’t wake me…” you pointed out, feeling the man dip his head into the crook of your neck and leave kisses all along the area. You shivered from his cold lips.

“What are you doing up so late?” You asked, enjoying your ice cream whilst Yunho enjoyed you, inhaling your soft scent once more.

“You seemed so peaceful, I didn’t wanna disturb you” he mumbled. You smile quietly to yourself, realizing how this big, intimidating CEO of a powerful business corporation could easily mimic a lost puppy just by being in your presence.

“Yeah right. You probably just wanted this whole tub for yourself.” you muttered, feeling his lips turn upwards against your skin. 

Yunho raises his head to face you properly, caressing your face as he focuses on your features. You swallow carefully as you ask the next question.

“What happened after we landed?” 

His face is illuminated by moonlight. Yunho’s lips slowly grinned at the memory. “I cleaned you up, buckled you in, and we landed on the rooftop of the hotel where I brought you to my room to rest” he stated, bringing his right thumb to brush away the corner of your mouth as ice cream was left smeared. He brings it to his mouth, sucking the sweetness without breaking eye contact.

“Was I too much?” He can’t help but ask with caution, leveling with you as he gazes deep into your eyes. A look of concern flashes over his face. 

You shook your head, amused by his protectiveness. He brings his arms to connect around your waist, hugging you closer to inspect the hickies littered all over your neck. He almost gets hard again from the sight and hearing your answer at the same time.

“Nope. I liked it” you assured him, whispering seductively to his ear.

You break into laughter as Yunho playfully tickles the sides of your body in response. 

To be fair, your hickies weren’t that bad compared to his shoulder and back muscles left with various bites and scratches. Lingering evidence of hanging onto Yunho as he fucked you so well.

“Of course you did.” he sneers at you proudly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips as you swallow a bite of cream. 

You both taste incredibly sweet, and you fear it’s not just from the sugar. 

“Yunho..” you began as you pulled away, watching his eyes narrow in on your lips as he leaned forward in greed of another kiss. You stopped him as you put the ice cream container down the counter and rested your hands against his bare chest.

“Did you mean what you said on the plane?”

His eyes soften. 

“Of course I did. I think you’re a very spec—”

“—Not just about me. But about wanting me to stay… longer?” you drawled out carefully, looking up at him for an explanation.

Yunho pauses for a moment.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” you confess, breaking a wonderful illusion with realistic questions you knew you couldn’t just ignore.

Yunho furrows his brows.

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” he says, scanning your expression. 

When you look down, refusing to meet his eyes, Yunho gently hoists you up to sit on the counter, coming closer to look at you as his hands lean against the kitchen countertop and cage you in. 

“Talk to me, sweetheart” he pleads, his tone gentle and calm.

You inhale once and exhale quietly, waiting with baited breath to think of how you wanted to say this. 

You slosh the spoon around in the tub of melted ice cream beside you, searching for a distraction.

“I really don’t think I belong here,” you uttered softly, reality hitting you. 

Your thoughts are elsewhere—back to the history of judgement and outcasting you’ve experienced from so many people when they found out you were formerly a stripper.

How easily affection can be conditional.

Like the moment they all learned the truth, you stopped becoming human and started becoming temporary. Disposable. Something to indulge in quietly, then look down on openly.

Your own family, friends back home, even previous partners as well.

The worst thing about it was that they’re right. In their eyes, how could you not be easily discarded?

You believe Yunho would eventually think the same as well.

Cause at the end of the day, all you were was an escort that was paid for the sum of four days, just to provide him with company and sex that was hidden in various contract terms, that could never actually amount to more than what was agreed upon. 

He stills, as if he can listen to what you were thinking.

“But I think you’re exactly where you should be,” he says with such certainty. 

Your heart clenches from looking up and seeing Yunho continuously shower you with this endless affection you didn’t deserve. 

In habit, you begin to deny him first for your own sake. Refusing to get your hopes up as you tried to pull the billionaire from the outrageous idea. 

“I’m not,” you swallowed back, shaking your head. “I-I’m really not because if you realized what I’ve done, Yunho, you’d feel disgusted like any other-”

“Why should it matter where either of us are from or what we’ve done?” he protests, not holding back. 

“We’re together now, aren’t we?”

You exhale uncomfortably from his words. Probably because you know he’s being so sincere with you like he's always been, even when you haven’t done the same with him. 

Yunho takes the ice cream carton from out of your hand, placing it gently on the counter and slotting his body in between your spread thighs. You gasp, flinching when the cold marble comes in contact with your skin.

“I’ll prove it to you.”

It's not long before Yunho is eating you out, bare ass against his kitchen counter, grabbing onto cold marble for support as his jaw opens and closes with feverish tasting.

The conversation can’t slip away like this again!… you plead, brain fogging as Yunho presses compliments against the skin of your thighs.

“Don't bring yourself down, love.”

He pulls back, smooth, strong chest rising and falling as he captures the image of you spread out for him, moonlight catching on your wet, shiny bud as he gathers something in his mouth.

You jump when a forceful contact hits your sensitive mound.

Yunho just spit a dollop of saliva onto your pussy, watching with baited breath and pure obsession as it drips down your slit and into the deeper crevice. He shudders when your hole instinctively sucks it in.

Fucking. Hell.

“Yunho...” you muttered with a firmer voice, trying not to let your temptations distract you from what you’ve been meaning to tell him. 

If he has to hear the truth, it needs to come from out of your own mouth.

A faint ringing noise echoes from across the marble counter, a corded telephone echoing as a call comes through.

You look up, neck straining as you question the ringing so early in the morning.

“S’fine. Probably just front desk” he hushes, closing his eyes as he laps up your juices, his arms bulging as he grips your thighs open to prevent them from closing.

“Shouldn’t you answer it still?” you squirmed, moaning as Yunho shook his head, causing his sharp nose to brush against your nub too.

“Nope.” he mumbles, utterly lost in between your legs. It just doesn't sit right with you still.

“YUNHO” you breathed out loudly, finding the strength to push him back and grasp his wet chin, staring back at pussy-drunk eyes. 

“I think you should answer it” you huff firmly, growing weak when he sighs and pecks you on the mouth, sharing the taste of slick.

With a groan, his long upper body reaches for the phone, picking it up as he presses one last chaste kiss to your lips, sliding his hand on your spread thighs to grope you in the ass.

You slap him hard, yelping as he smirks evilly and brings the receiver to his ear.

“Jeong Yunho speaking”, eyes never leaving your own as he continues to kiss your legs. 

You shuffle, biting your lips at the ticklish feeling, unaware of the storm waiting on the other end of the line.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

It was his lawyer, Patrick. And he sure didn’t sound as happy Yunho was at the moment.

“Busy” he hums, continuing to tickle you with his obnoxious kisses. 

You scold him, softening when he intertwines his hand with your own.

“I can tell.” His lawyer’s voice comes out flat, hiding a grim, menacing tone. Papers shuffle aggressively through the speaker. 

“Tell me something, Yunho—was this weekend supposed to secure the Marinex corporation, or was it supposed to become a vacation?”

Patrick has finally earned his attention because Yunho’s expression immediately cools. 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Patrick says bluntly. “You skip one of the most important acquisition meetings this quarter, leave the Choi family sitting there questioning whether you’re capable of rebuilding their company, and suddenly nobody can get a hold of you.”

Your smile leaves as you watch his expression fade, clutching Yunho’s robe closer to your body.

The CEO straightens slightly, forgetting his playful demeanor and replacing it with his business side he had coexisted with for all of his adult life. 

“I’ve talked to their grandson,” he argues. “The contract wasn’t finalized because of hesitation on Mr. Choi’s part, not because of me. I clearly pushed the agenda that we could rebuild his family's company and remake it into something triple the price he was offering–”

“No, Yunho” Patrick cuts him off coldly. “His grandmother made him hesitate because they think you’ve become distracted.”

A tense silence follows. 

“And we both know why.”

Yunho’s jaw tightens.

“It’s because of that girl, isn’t it?” Patrick mocks condescendingly into the phone. 

His eyes flick toward you instinctively. You stare back, a lump forming in your throat.

“Patrick,” he warns quietly, jaw clenching. But his lawyer continues.

“Well guess what? While you were off playing with your playboy bunny in Beverly Hills, the Choi family did their own digging.”

Yunho’s grip on the phone stiffens. 

“And I think you’re going to want to see what they found.” With a sigh, Patrick leans into his office chair and lights a cigarette while speaking into the phone.

“I sent a package to your suite and had them leave it on your kitchen counter.”

His eyes dart toward the thick brown file that’s gone unnoticed, sitting by itself on the edge across from you both. 

Your eyes slowly followed, grasping Yunho’s arm carefully as an ominous feeling fell upon the room. 

“Yunho, what is it?”

He leans forward and turns the cover.

The moment he opens the file, the air leaves the room. Photographs stare back at him instantly.

You beneath neon lights. Onstage. Lines of white powder served on your chest. Contorted into a vision of pure sex for hungry clients to see. 

Patrick puffs out a cloud of smoke as his voice lowers. 

“She’s a stripper, Yunho. You paid eight grand to let some washed up, crack-whore stripper spend the weekend with you.” Patrick snickers, venom laced in his voice. 

It all comes crashing down in an instant.

Because no matter how warm Yunho had made you feel, the truth of who you were finally followed you here too.

And suddenly, you feel so entirely exposed. Even while wearing a robe with his initials on it.

The carton of sticky vanilla ice cream somehow becomes spilled upon the marble countertops, leaving one giant mess.

At least this one could be solved. Your’s was a bit more complicated to say.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Yunho states quietly, calling out your name. 

It’s frightening how calm he is. Not a single expression of disgust, resentment or anger building upon his face despite knowing how badly he must want to throw those awful photos in your direction.

Yunho would never. He’s too good for that. 

His question cuts deeper than it should. Typically, you would have retaliated with a bit more emotion. Confess with tears and beg for forgiveness as you explained your reasons. 

Instead, your laugh comes out hollow. This was the end of your contract either way. 

“Would you have looked at me the same if I did?”

His brows pull together immediately. “That’s not what I asked—”

“You didn’t know,” you interrupt, stepping back from him. “That’s the only reason any of this worked.”

Yunho exhales sharply, rubbing a hand across his jaw as the remaining pressure from the call still hangs over him like smoke. 

Patrick's quiet threat was more than just targeted to you. His words also held importance to that fact that if Yunho wanted to secure his highly expensive grand scheme of business relations he’s been building upon since his parent’s death — particularly by avoiding a news scandal with a former stripper— he would have to pull himself together and take care of his image with Marinex corporation first, as they had the upper hand in this case. And that meant surrendering to the Choi's.

“You liked me because you thought I could help you play it safe.” you fought back. "To relieve your needs and make you feel better."

“This isn’t about that.”

You look at him in disbelief. “Then what is it about?”

“The Marinex deal has completely fallen apart,” he says, frustration finally slipping into his tone. “Patrick’s losing his mind, the board’s probably already heard about this, someone has been investigating you, and now that bastard San is probably reveling in the fact that he’s gotten the best piece of dirt on me to give the press if I don’t—”

“So I'm the dirt.” you realize.

Yunho’s expression shifts slightly. The room falls silent again.

He sighs, rubbing his face as he retracts his words. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Yes, it is,” you mutter. “You’re just trying not to say it directly. Just admit it Yunho. I fucked it all up. Your business deal, your family image–”

“Fuck the image!” he barks as he steps towards you abruptly. “If anything, I want to know exactly why you hid this from me.” His eyes widening as he grasps your wrist.

“Clearly you’ve debated telling me even before I asked about your past, meanwhile I told you my own fucked up story with complete truth” he breathes heavily.

“When you told me you ‘danced’ —jesus christ— I thought it meant at parties or events!” Yunho states in disbelief.

“Well that’s not exactly a lie, Yunho.” you spit back, tears forming in your eyes. 

“I did dance. I just did it in heavy ass stripper heels and not pointe shoes.” you snapped, standing straight as you walked closer to his face. It’s dangerous how much he’s letting you run your mouth at him. 

“Why? Does that turn you off?” you challenged. “Do I make you disgusted? As if you’ve I’m used goods?” you plaster on a fake smirk as painful tears release from your eyes.

The vein on the side of Yunho’s neck bulges as he clenches his jaw, hands coming to rest on his hips as warns you in a tone you’ve never heard him use before. 

“Stop that. You can be a real piece of work when you’re angry, you know that?” he snaps, voice sharp enough to cut through the glass window of the city skyline. Slivers of gold and orange dance around the nightly blue as dawn begins to break, signaling the day has only just begun.

Yunho’s chest rises as he stares at you, confliction flashing across his face before frustration wins again.

“You think this is about me being disgusted?” Yunho breaks bitterly, dragging a hand through his hair. “You really think that’s the part I care about?”

“Well what else could it fucking be?” you fire back immediately.

“It’s the fact that you never trusted me enough to tell me the truth!”

The room falls silent with thick tension. You even have to look away for a moment, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. 

When you begin to understand how Yunho feels, a wave of indignation washes it back.

“Do you think it was easy for me?” You grit as you turn your head back. “The times I felt like I had to be someone else just to be in the room with you?” you raised your voice, fresh hot tears streaming down your face. 

The CEO blinks softly, guilt filling his chest. 

You shake your head, walking away from the conversation and towards the bedroom to retrieve your things. You’ve had enough of Beverly Hills and stupid high society.

But Yunho still follows, hot on your trail. 

“No. I never wanted you to change. I wanted you. And if I ever made you feel that way…” he begins, clenching his fists as he owns up to his mistake.

“I’m sorry.” he apologized, wanting you to look at him. But you couldn’t handle his apology, nor the painful fact that it came so easily for him. That unlike any other partners you’ve previously had, Yunho was the first to chase you after hearing you were a stripper, providing the bare minimum and more. 

With embarrassment, anger, and your dignity on the line, you rush to grab your items, looking for the worn out bag you arrived here with and ignoring the boxes of luxury clothes and shoes Yunho gifted you this weekend.

“Listen to me” he states, frantically calling for your name to set the record straight, 

“I’m not angry because you’re a stripper. I’m disappointed because you lied.” he emphasizes, using a tone of voice that makes you want to barf from how grown-up it is. 

Perhaps it was also because secretly, deep down in your heart, you know that what Yunho is saying is far more productive than the childish show you’re putting on right now, hiding and running away with embarrassment of getting caught. 

“You looked me in the eye and told me you were a dancer.” he states, pointing a finger at you as he lays down the facts. “You built a version of yourself just to keep me from seeing the real you.”

“Well, of fucking course!” you snap, voice cracking despite yourself. “Because this is what always happens! News flash, Yunho, this is LA. People lie here all the time. They sell whatever version of themselves they need just to claw their way higher up the chain.”

Your gaze hardens as you step closer to tell him.

“And I’ve seen you do the exact same thing.”

Yunho stiffens, towering over you as he watches you suddenly shove off the suffocating robe to change into your panties and underwear laying on the ground beside him. Not caring if you have to change in front of him mid-argument. 

If anything, the arguments just come hurdling back even stronger this time. 

“Well what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He presses, voice rising.

“Oh come on, Yunho. You think the corporate men of America are any different than what I did? That dancing naked is any different than the bullshit you put on everyday while pretending you’re doing something noble and important? You screw people over for their money! You’re a capitalist dickface that attacks smaller businesses!” 

“If you even understood a fraction of the things I’m responsible for — the companies that depend on my management of their shares, the people that work for me—“

“ —And I would know because I was one of them.”

A look of hurt flashes across his face. 

“You meant more than that.” He responds quietly.

You bite down on your lip, scoffing. 

“If I meant more than that then why are you angry at yourself then? Why are you holding back on the blame you want to put on me for ruining your deal and for scandalizing your entrepreneur image?” You’ve reached a tipping point. A point where you find yourself spiraling with anger and resentment at both Yunho and yourself. 

“Just admit it, Yunho. I’m disgraceful. I’m the one who’s embarrassing. A liar for trying to survive in a world that was always meant for people like you.” 

His voice is strict, calling for your name to slow down and listen to his words but you don’t.

Your bra strap snaps against your skin as you adjust it aggressively, looking around before snatching a random slip-on dress from the pile of clothing to wear as you collect your bag and leave the room in a hurry.

Shouts of your name echo again.

Yunho rushes behind, taking far fewer strides than yourself to keep up with the pace. 

“I get that you think there's a difference between someone like me and you. That there are different titles we are associated with in society.” he says as you roll your eyes.

“But that’s not what I saw during the time we spent together. I always tried to treat you equally.” he points out. 

“I told you things. Things I’ve never told anyone else. You made me feel like I could trust you. But then I find out you’ve been keeping this part of you locked up like it’s something ugly. Like you’re something ugly—“

“Because I am, Yunho! What is the point? That I took my clothes off for money before I ever let you touch me? That I didn’t fit the fantasy?” 

He runs his hands through his hair, trying to reason with you through gritted teeth. “I’m telling you I don’t fucking care about a fantasy! I care about you. Your safety, and the fact that you looked me in the eye and didn’t trust me with the truth. That I’m just one more guy you had to perform for.”

You exhale with a shaky breath. How could you tell him right here that that was the problem. He’s turned into someone with far more value than the guys of your past. It was too much to imagine how he’d react to that piece of news in this situation as well.

Shaking your head as you walk away overwhelmed from the conversation, a hand suddenly reaches out and grabs you with a solid grip. Yunho pulls you to look at his face properly, practically seething as frustration wears his serious expression down. 

“When someone older speaks to you, you listen, do you understand?” he mutters quietly, holding firm but not hurting you. 

You look up stunned. Your throat tightens, tears threatening to spill as you immediately throw his hands off of you.

“You don’t get to act as betrayed as you are right now. You have no idea what people become the second they hear what I was.”

Yunho’s expression hardens, but not in anger this time.

“And you decided I’d become one of them before even giving me the chance not to.”

You can see the conflict in his face now—the exhaustion, the pressure, the disbelief at everything unraveling all at once. But instead of comforting you, the hesitation only confirms your fears.

Your chest tightens painfully. Sighing as the hot, molten anger melts to reveal the cold truth you always come back to after surviving in this world and by forgetting your fairytale books.

“You paid for four days, Yunho.” you force a sore voice out. 

“That was all this was ever supposed to be.”

His eyes slightly widen in alarm when you throw the towel into the ring. 

“Don’t say it like that. Don't do what I think–”

“But that's exactly it, Yunho. I’m not gonna do anything.” you say, straightening the strap of your bag on your shoulder as you turn. You reach for the door handle despite his calls of your name. 

“We’re not done with this conversation!” he swears, eyes glistening as he holds back tears in panic. But you ignore it all.

“You know the worst part?” you begin, voice breaking as you finally tell him through quiet sobs. 

“I really did want to tell you. A hundred times, I really did. And I’m sorry Yunho, but every time I looked at you… I panicked.” 

“Why?” Yunho immediately asks as he walks further, tears falling as the stupid facades you’ve both put up with now crumble. “Fear of money? Of being disposed of?” He answers, guilt shooting through his heart at the flawed way he’d been living. The companies he's broken down. The people he’s cornered for their titles and shares. 

Money meant nothing to him anymore. Not if you were threatening to leave.

But it wasn’t any of those things.

“It’s because you started to make me think I wasn’t disposable.” you responded back, staring at the man in front of you. Your expression softens. 

“I don’t know how to be someone who gets chosen, Yunho, because being chosen doesn’t last forever. You could spend the rest of this month with me and still find that you grow tired of me, and things would fall apart just as easily as this contract was formed.” you predicted through bitter tears.

Then why don't you let me choose you forever? Yunho asks himself. 

In reality, he should’ve said it out loud to you, but he too was clouded with fear. Fear of moving too fast. Of being too sudden and scaring you with a hasty decision that didn't read the room or considered you.

Your body moves first, inching closer to the door.

He calls your name firmly, trying to stop you. For a second, you almost do. But looking back to see Yunho standing with his hands by his side — revealing momentary hesitation, as if contemplating what move he should make next — that tiny moment of hesitation makes your heart sink completely. 

So you walk past him, rushing a goodbye and leaving the penthouse in silence as Yunho remains the only one standing.

Alone. Back to how it was before you entered his life.

LA was one of the stranger places to call home. 

It wasn’t always welcoming, but it wasn’t completely foreign either. Years of survival had changed the bright-eyed, determined young woman you were when you first arrived, to slowly adapt to the fast-paced life that brought more disappointments than fairytale stories. 

Perhaps that’s why you felt the need to cut your story so short. For a city filled with people chasing dreams so desperately, it was important to know when things have gotten out of hand. 

Back in your run down flat shared with your roommate Miko, you realize how long four days can feel when you've been away.

Her cheerful greeting dies down when she sees blotchy eyes and your front lip quivering as you barely make it through the front entrance, holding only your run down bag in hand, pockets empty of any type of money or compensation.

You left the gifts back at the penthouse. You couldn’t bring yourself to take anything that would remind you of what happened.

“Oh, honey…” your roommate hesitates, carefully coming to catch you as you collapse onto your knees when the door closes. The stream of tears follows quickly.

“I left him...” you mumbled softly in choked cries.

Your best friend reassures your heartbreaking sobs by patting your back in slow beats, shushing you despite your eyes continuing to water and seep into the old t-shirt she woke up in. 

“It’s okay, honey” she softly mutters, not having to ask too many questions to know why you were in such a state. She takes a quick inhale and sighs, trying her best to convince you. 

“Everything will be okay.”

But you couldn’t find the courage to imagine it would be. How could it? When you feel as though you’ve made a sacrifice for Yunho — to better his life and free him of your messy past — that puts your own affection and liking for him on the line. 

“But you don't get it, I left him, Miko” you hiccuped, eyes puffy as you pulled back to emphasize the word to her face. “I was the one that couldn’t stay after seeing him react to my past. If only you saw the look on his face, fuck- h-how shocked he looked and how tired I felt of feeling like I was in the wrong to have stepped into his life and–”

“Hey, shhhh. It’s okay.” Miko tries her best to calm you down, carefully helping you up from the floor and guiding you toward the couch with peeling leather cushions. She wraps a blanket around you, the one you both stole from a laundromat months ago because neither of you could afford heating.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” she asks with a pointed look.

You shake your head immediately, watching as she doesn’t change her expression. Then you nod, breaking slowly once again.

“He looked at me like…” Your throat tightens.

“Like he wanted me to stay.”

“Then why didn’t you?” your roommate asks utterly bewildered, brows pulling together slightly.  “I thought everything was going amazing?”

“His lawyer told him about me being a stripper. He beat me to it. And once the conversation started, I realized how much of his life could change because of the picture I painted for him. Of someone who definitely didn’t belong in his world,” you recalled painfully. 

Miko pulls back. 

“But did you stop to think how much your life changed after meeting him? The positive things that came out from the both of you being in this relationship?” 

"There was no relationship. It was just business." you say sounding like you were trying to convince yourself more.

You raise your head to look at her crossed arms. Your roommate's image defensive as she sighs with a shake to her head.

“Listen carefully babe. What I’m trying to say is that careers are able to be rebuilt. Money ultimately comes and goes. But that connection? The one you told me over the phone that you shared with him? The way you said he looks at you? Now that doesn’t just come from nowhere.” 

She helps you recognize that regardless of what happened towards the end, the past four days with Yunho had to have meant more than just business to the both of you. Especially with the way Kumiko thinks Yunho was trying to hold on to you based on your retelling.

“He still hesitated.” You dismissed her. “It was only for a second, but I-I knew what that look could mean–” 

Your roommate sighs in response, rubbing her temples at your somewhat hasty and stupid actions.

Your cries of frustration come out miserable. “Okay whatever! I know how it sounds like because normal people hesitate all the time, right? But with him, Miko…” You wipe harshly at your face, reminding yourself that Yunho hardly ever hesitates.

"He probably felt the exact way I predicted he would feel towards me. Regret. I just couldn’t stand it staying there and waiting for his say on anything else. If I was actually 100% worth choosing or not.”

Miko’s judgement softens as she raises her brows.

“Well damn.”

A breath escapes you, leaning back against the seat as you shut your eyes in fatigue. 

Miko eventually reaches over to tuck your hair behind your ear, the same way she used to after exhausting late-night shifts when the two of you would stumble home with aching feet. Her voice is smooth. “For someone terrifying enough to make grown men cry, he sure made you cry a lot too.”

“It feels exhausting...” you responded, biting the inside of your mouth.

“But…” She emphasizes, glancing toward the apartment window that reveals early morning sunlight to peeking through.

“Isn’t that what love is?” she tells you, making you open your eyes to look at her properly.

“You loved him. I can tell because it's written all over your face and explained through the way you acted.”

The ache in your chest sharpens instantly.

Loved. Past tense.

You don’t want to correct her. You find it would be easier to just shut out the part of yourself that repeats perhaps you still do love Yunho.

The rest of the morning is taken to lay around at home, swallowing down all your emotions and thoughts of regret by rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, hoping to find some sort of leftover alcohol to help. Kumiko warns you about daytime drinking, but she decides to leave you in peace as she heads off to her day job.

“Listen, I know you’re wallowing in your pain right now, and I completely support it, but I left Hime with the skinny convenience store kid for him to watch when I was gone.” she confesses, putting in her left earring as she shows up in her waitress outfit. 

You stop rummaging through the pantry and look up in her direction at the mention of the scrawny black cat. 

“Will you do me one favour and pick her up? The kid's probably done with his night shift about now.” she comments hesitantly, looking at her watch.

Through the pile of food items, you barely manage to shove a weak thumbs up in her direction, saying nothing more as you can’t find the energy to do so.

All you can do is sigh, standing up properly to grab a t-shirt from your room to change into. Kumiko rushes over and hugs you from behind as you walk, trying to cheer you up in her usual, clingy fashion.

“Thank you, I literally love you and promise to bring leftovers for you on the way back.” she says, knowing that it was a usual routine of yours that always made you feel a bit better. Yet still, her expression falters when she sees you're unable to give a full smile.

“Give it time, honey” she pats your back, wishing you rest.

"Give him some time too."

She hands over the keys and wipes a few stray tears from your puffy eyes when you mumble back unconvinced.

“I highly doubt it.”

The fluorescent lights flicker overhead as you wander through half-empty aisles in the dingy convenience store on Hollywood Boulevard, exhaustion still sitting heavy in your chest from the breakup hours earlier. 

It’s unusual to find yourself here so early. Usually you’re visiting during midnight hours, when you’ve finished your night shifts.

Just outside, the city of LA has barely awakened. Police sirens echo somewhere in the distance while the sky hangs in that pretty orange-blue color with a smell of burnt coffee and cheap cigarettes lingering in the air.

It’s funny, you think as you grab the cheapest can of beer out of the back fridges. Out of all the places you could’ve gone to after leaving Yunho, you ended up here— back where you first met him.

Your fingers curl around the metal can, the lukewarm aluminum far from cold enough for your liking as it brushes against your skin. Exhaustion drags through your limbs while you sluggishly make your way to the checkout counter, placing the single drink onto the table with a quiet clink.

“It’s not even noon, y'know," Timothy comments dryly, the teen boy yawning as he still helps you checkout. After pressing a few buttons on the cashier, he peers outside the window, looking out for the next employee to swap with him.

“Surprised you didn’t grab the half-priced milk this morning,” he comments, absentmindedly brushing through the dark fur of Hime as she sits atop the glass checkout counter, peacefully enjoying her final few minutes with him before his shift ends.

"Your cat practically hangs near the milk section every time she's here."

You shut your eyes, cursing quietly under your breath as a frustrated groan leaves you. With your chest still heavy from everything that happened this weekend, you realize you haven’t been paying attention to anything around you at all. Not even to the fact that you have to feed your cat, and not even when the bell hanging on the doors chimes, signaling another person has come in. 

“One second,” you mumble with your back to the part-timer, walking towards the half-priced refrigerated goods section to grab the carton you always purchased.

The fridge doors hum softly as you pull one open, leaning down as lukewarm air brushes against your flushed face instead of the cool chill you were waiting for.

“Seriously, you guys need to fix the thermostat in here or someth—”

The words die instantly in your throat the moment you straighten back up.

Because the moment you lift your gaze, a head of messy jet-black hair and a Burberry coat come into view near the register.

Your breath catches instantly.

Yunho’s hair is disheveled, strands falling messily over his forehead like he’d been dragging frustrated hands through it all morning. Dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes as exhaustion is written plainly across his face while his coat hangs off him carelessly.

The state of his eyes catch your attention the most. Red-rimmed and restless. Desperate in a way that makes your stomach turn.

You doubt you look much better yourself.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. The buzzing sounds of the fridge and freezer sections feel so deafening. But if anything, this hurts more than yelling ever could. To stand here in complete silence with someone who once knew almost nothing about you and now knows too much.

When your name leaves his mouth, you swallow hard, instinctively taking a step back until the refrigerator door presses cold against your spine.

“What are you doing here?” you ask in disbelief, though the question sounds far more accusatory than angry.

Yunho exhales heavily through his nose. “I caught your roommate before she left your apartment.” he responded, eyes never leaving yours for even a second. 

“She said I'd be able to find you here.”

You shut your eyes briefly, silently cursing your friend for being too honest for her own good.

Before he can answer, you hurry toward the checkout counter, desperately needing something else to focus on besides the look in his eyes. Your fingers fumble for a crumpled ten dollar bill before abruptly dropping the carton of milk onto the counter hard enough to make poor Hime jump at the vibration beneath her paws.

“Keep the change,” you mutter quickly, shoving the bill into Timothy’s hand before reaching over to gather Hime against your chest and collecting your purchases.

The feline lets out a small confused meow, Yunho stepping closer.

“Please, let me say something” he calls your name softly, shortening the distance and immediately making you set the drinks back down with a sharp clink. 

The cat watches in silence as she’s put down back onto the counter as well. 

“What is there even more to say, Yunho?” you retort back. “I’ve said everything I needed to and left your life so you could fix this mess I made and forget this even happened.” you break, reaching a tipping point when you remember the sacrifice you made to move on.

But for him to come back so quickly, to go out of his way to find you back here in this area of town makes it so much harder. 

“But I haven’t told you everything I wanted to say,” he argues firmly, brows furrowing as he walks closer. 

“I fired Patrick and canceled the Marinex deal,” he reveals.

When you ask him in utter disbelief why he did such a thing, his response only comes back even stronger with disposition.

“Because last night I held you in my arms while you told me you’d stay, and then this morning you disappeared like I imagined the entire thing up,” he recalls, his voice breaking at the edges now, disbelief bleeding into more raw, unguarded emotions.

“I realized I needed to get rid of the people that were in my way. The things that were preventing me from what I really wanted," he explained.

"Which is you.”

Your throat physically burns. “Well,” You bite back, clenching your fists. “Don’t you know people say things they don’t mean when they’re drunk and fucked until unconsciousness?”

The young cashier standing only a few feet away, blinks between the two of you awkwardly. Yunho doesn’t even spare him a glance, nor does he react to your attempt at deflection. Your sharpness and effort to maintain a distance is just absorbed quietly with unflinching patience.

“You're not allowed to erase us like that,” Yunho demands, steady despite everything he wants to say. “Because I remember exactly how you looked at me when you said it.”

Very slowly, Timothy sinks back behind the counter, giving you some space.

Your jaw tightens instantly, sighing loudly.

“Yunho, you can’t just—”

“No.” he repeats, firmer this time. “I’m not doing that again. I’m not leaving just because you’re scared. I spent the last few hours thinking about everything you said to me. Reanalyzing the past four days we spent together in this fucked up proposal I offered you where I exchanged your comfort and presence for money. And I realized what you said about LA was true. People sell pieces of themselves every single day just to survive. They lie. They cheat. They pretend to be things they’re not. I probably do it best. But you? All you did was survive without becoming cruel. You did what you had to do when nobody else was there to save you. And even after everything, I can't believe you can't even realize that you’re still kind. Still smart. Still brave in a way I don’t think you even understand.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a strained breath that sounds like pure awe laced with disbelief. "You do realize you threw yourself in front of an armed gunman for two other people, right?” he asks incredulously as he refers back to the first night you met.

Your mouth goes dry. Stunned silence makes you unable to retort back with any response this time. 

“So I’m telling you this for the last time because you deserve to know.” he says firmly.

“I don’t care that you used to strip. I don’t care who touched you before me or what job you have or what anybody else thinks they can call you. I don’t care who you had to become to survive before me. I care about who you are when nobody asks anything from you. The person you are now. I care that somewhere along the way, it somehow got into your pretty little head that surviving something difficult could make you any harder to love.”

Tears finally spill down your face. No one has ever looked at the ugliest parts of your life and treated them like wounds instead of evidence.

Yunho notices your expression crumble and immediately wraps his arms around you.

You never knew how meeting this man would’ve changed you. In front of him, you wanted to be the absolute best version of yourself. To please him in return for the gentle love he offered to you so easily and humbly. But now you understand it was because there was no extent to his affection for you. For someone you couldn’t imagine a future together if he found your secret past, he’s proved wrong by coming back for you. To tell you properly face to face that he still wanted you. 

As he daringly encases your body within his arms, Yunho embraces you in a firm yet gentle manner.

“How could I not be scared when I didn’t know how to believe you?” you admitted, muffled against his strong chest as hand cradles the back of your head. His heart breaks at how easily you turn your pain inward and how quickly you become your own sharpest critic.

“Will you believe me if I tell you that I love you?”

It leaves him so simply this time. No hesitation present. It’s not needed when it’s his pure, unfiltered truth.

You pull back shakily, looking up at him.

“Y-You can’t just love someone after four days!” you shake your head, though your heart races from reciprocation.

Yunho scoffs faintly, looking down at you as you stumble over your words.

“We had a contract, a deal that—” 

“I love you not despite your past and not because I pity you, but because I just do.”

For many years, he’d drowned life under business calls, endless contracts, and nights spent in boardrooms instead of surrounded by warmth. The idea of love was so distant in the CEO’s mind. But with you, it was as though a whole new life was restarted. 

His eyes glisten as rays of morning sunshine poke through the dirty glass windows.

A soft exhale escapes you through your tears, the words finally cutting through all your resistance that he’s chosen you. That he’s already chosen you long before you were brave enough to accept it.

Yunho brings his lips down to share a slow, grounding kiss. Not like he’s giving you the chance to pull away, because the second your hands grab the front of his jacket closer, you melt completely.

The mild can of beer and weird-tasting milk slips forgotten on the checkout table behind you as hands rest steady around your waist, pulling you against him like he’s terrified to lose you again. Hime meows softly, licking her fur as if entirely unimpressed by the emotional collapse happening nearby.

Outside, sirens still scream somewhere far down the street.

Inside the tiny convenience store, under flickering fluorescent lights, a horrified expression clouds Timothy’s face behind the aisle of potato chip bags.

It doesn’t matter. Because when the two of you finally pull back, tears still caught in your lashes, you say something quieter and far more important than any billion-dollar deal signed by a man like him.

Yunho always had money. He just never had someone who could give him something even more valuable. 

“I love you too.”

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄:

“Have you got everything?”

You nod, nervously sucking in a deep breath as you gripped the straps of your tote bag. The newly purchased textbooks felt heavy in your grasp, their covers glistening with newness. But that didn’t intimidate you as much as you thought it would. 

It served as a firm reminder of why you were here and why you wanted to do this. 

“Notebooks, pens, pencils?” Yunho lists, brows furrowing as the billionaire himself gets nervous for your first day of university. “Did my chef make you your lunch like you wanted her to?”

You nod, feeling so loved and well prepared thanks to your fiance’s care. “Mhm.”

He nods, letting out a deep sigh as he pulls you in and presses a gentle kiss on your forehead, reminding himself that you were. 

“Don’t be too nervous making friends, everyone is going to love you. If anyone says anything to hurt you, you have my legal teams number plus a list of all the top lawyers within the county-”

“Yunho,” you gently called out. 

The corners of your mouth lift as you reassured him by interlacing his fingers within yours. 

“I’ll be fine.” you smiled, nervous but still nonetheless excited to go back to university and finish your studies like you always wanted to. The new support system around you brought the courage to pursue a higher degree than just a highschool diploma. 

Yunho watches his fiance standing in front of him, an excited smile on her cheeks as bright eyes look up at him. He has half the heart to just ditch the office and spend the whole day with you on campus, not wanting to spend a single second apart. But seeing as other students independently walk pass on their way to class, he simply caresses your face.

“I’ll be waiting for you when you finish, alright?” he promises softly. “I want to hear everything about your first day.”

You nod and grin.

“Have a good day at the office.”

“Have a good day at school.” 

And with one last kiss, full of warmth that lingers long after it ends, you finally slip from his arms and take your first steps onto the fresh green campus grounds. It may be nerve-wracking, but it’s not frightening.

Because even as you move forward on your own, you know someone who loves you is still there behind you.

Rooting you on. 

"I just-" he sighs. "Hongjoong asked if I wanted to help on the album and I said yes but it's just not coming out right. I'm no good at this."

Your face curls up as you giggle. "Yunho, are you kidding? You're, like, super fucking talented when it comes to making music! You literally wrote a song for me every valentines day and every birthday I had since we first started dating. Why are you so…down? What's with the sudden self-doubt?"

"I've just--been real stressed." He sighs. "I had a shit ton of promotions and a shit ton of practice and work to do and then having to work on the album I-"

"Then tell Hongjoong you won't be able to? You know he won't be mad. You guys have been friends for ages." You rub his shoulders gently, feeling the tension knotting his muscles. You smile warmly and push his glasses up his nose. "You're doing too much."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. But I want to keep working on it. I wanna participate. I wanna help Hongjoong. Everything has just been stressing me out and we haven't done anything with each other in ages-"

"What do you mean? I hangout in the studio with you literally every time you come in here." You furrow your eyebrows and then pause realizing what he means. "Oh..~"

Yunho nods his head. "Yeah, but it's not the same. I've been so busy, I feel like I've lost touch with everyone, especially with you." He turns to face you, placing the guitar aside. "And I don't wanna disappoint him. I know he's counting on me."

"Well do you want me to help…?" You tilt your head and place your hand on his thigh. "Help with the tension?" You say with a cheeky smile.

Yunho laughs, the first genuine one in hours. "I'd love that," he says, leaning back into the chair and closing his eyes. "But I actually meant with the music."

"So you don't want head?"

He pauses. "Well, both, actually." He opens one eye and peers at you with a half-smile. "I mean, I'm not opposed to it."

You smile and get on your knees, scooting closer and grabbing the hem of his sweatpants. "Just work on the music. I'll do what I need to do." You start to massage his legs, feeling the tightness in his muscles slowly release under your skilled touch. Yunho sighs deeply, leaning his head back.

You bite your lip, pushing his sweatpants down and running your fingers over the bulge showing in his boxers. "Let's get these off," you murmur, your voice low and teasing. He lifts his hips slightly to help you, his breath catching in his throat. You never got over his size, and the way his body responds to your touch still sends shivers down your spine. As you pull his boxers down, his erection springs free, and you wrap your hand around it, giving it a gentle squeeze. Yunho groans, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours, full of heat and need.

With a wink, you lean in, placing soft kisses along his inner thigh, making him squirm. The studio's dim lighting casts a warm glow on his skin, highlighting the goosebumps that rise from your touch. The faint smell of sweat and the lingering scent of guitar strings mingle with his unique scent, creating a heady cocktail of desire. You trace the veins on his cock with your tongue, feeling him twitch in your grip. You look up at him, his eyes now wide with anticipation, and you take him fully in your mouth, sucking and teasing with the perfect amount of pressure. His hips buck, but he quickly stifles the sound, not wanting to disturb the quiet of the night.

"So pretty…" he mumbles, watching as you work your magic. The words are barely a whisper, but the intensity behind them sends a thrill through you. You've always loved this power, the ability to make him feel this way, to make him forget about the stresses of the world outside these walls.

You move your mouth up and down, finding the rhythm that makes his toes curl and his hands tighten in your hair. His eyes are glued to the sight of you, kneeling before him, your lips wrapped around him. The taste of him is familiar, but it never gets old, never fails to make your stomach flip with excitement.

He grabs your hair, guiding your movements, and you feel a shiver run through him. The quietness of the studio is only broken by the occasional sound of someone passing by outside, the distant sound of cars on the street, and the muffled thump of music coming from the other side of the building. It's a stark contrast to the symphony of your heart beating in your ears and the wet sounds of your mouth on his skin.

"You're so pretty, baby," Yunho whispers, his voice strained with pleasure as he watches you, his eyes hooded with lust. You look up, meeting his gaze, and the connection between you is palpable, a silent promise that no matter what happens, you'll always be there to take the edge off.

You moan around his cock, the vibration sending shivers down his spine. He's getting closer, you can feel it in the way his thighs tense and his breathing quickens. You pick up the pace, eager to give him the release he so desperately needs. The tip of your nose nuzzles against his pelvis as you deep-throat him, your throat tightening around his length.

"F-Fuck-!" he chuckles and leans forward, his hand gripping the chair's armrest tightly as he watches you in rapt attention. "Just like that, baby… just like that…" His voice is a hoarse whisper, his eyes glazed with lust as you continue your relentless ministrations. The way you take him in, the passion in your eyes as you suck him off, it's like nothing he's ever felt before.

You flutter your eyelashes as you look up at him, your eyes watering slightly from the effort, but the look of pure ecstasy on Yunho's face spurs you on. You feel the heat building in your own core, the friction of your own arousal against your thighs as you continue to suck and lick, bringing him closer to the edge. His grip on your hair tightens, and you know he's about to come.

His eyes are tightly shut, his head thrown back, and his breaths come in sharp gasps. You feel the muscles in his thighs tighten even further, and you know that he's on the brink. With one final, deep suck, you feel him pulse in your mouth, and he lets out a strangled moan as he releases. You swallow eagerly, savoring the taste of him, feeling his body relax as the tension drains from his muscles.

You only slow for a moment, now wrapping your other hand around his cock and stroking it as you swallow the last of his cum. You sit back on your heels, smiling up at him, your mouth glistening. Yunho's chest heaves as he looks down at you, his eyes still clouded with pleasure. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice raw and needy.

You smile, leaning back down and kitten licking his tip once again, gently sucking on his tip. He literally jolts at the sensation, his body still reeling from the intense orgasm. "Holy fuck, I just came-"

You chuckle in response, pushing his cock further in your mouth, enjoying the way he squirms. "You can always come more," you murmur, your voice muffled by his flesh. You love teasing him, pushing his limits, making him feel good. It's a power dynamic you both thrive on, one that has grown over the years of your relationship. You swirl your tongue around his sensitive tip before popping it out again. "Can I get one more?"

"I…" he sighs, his body still trembling slightly. "I'm not sure I can handle another one right now." He opens his eyes and looks at you, his smile lazy and content. "But, if you want…"

"You've handled it before." You purr, stroking him gently, watching the pleasure play out on his face as you bring him back to full hardness. The challenge in your tone is clear, and it ignites a competitive spark in Yunho's eyes. He nods, a silent agreement to let you continue your sweet torment.

With renewed enthusiasm, you swirl your tongue around his shaft, feeling his cock twitch in response. Each touch, each lick is met with a soft gasp or moan, his hands tangling in your hair as he guides your movements. The studio's ambiance adds a layer of intimacy to the moment, the muffled sounds of the world outside seemingly fading away as you focus solely on bringing him pleasure.

The overstimulation of his senses is almost too much for Yunho to handle. He watches you, mesmerized by the way your eyes light up with mischief and desire, your mouth a perfect "O" around his cock, your tongue flicking and teasing with the finesse of a pro. The way you manipulate him is like an art form, a symphony of pleasure that he's all too willing to succumb to. He leans back into the chair, his legs spreading wider to give you more access, his body arching off the seat slightly as you deep-throat him again.

He opens his mouth as if he was going to say something, but no words come out. Instead, he releases a low groan as you continue to suck him off, your movements deliberate and practiced. The sound echoes faintly in the studio, sending a thrill through you. You've always loved making him feel this good, reducing him to a puddle of need and desire.

His groans even started turning into whimpers and it was the sweetest sound in the world to your ears. You could feel your own arousal building, your pussy throbbing and wet, begging for attention. But you knew you had to focus on him right now. You sucked harder, your cheeks hollowing as you took him deep, feeling the warmth of his cock in your mouth, the pulse of his blood beating against your tongue. You could tell he was close again, his body tensing and his breaths coming in short gasps.

"Fuck-" he whines, gripping the arm rests so tightly his knuckles turn white. "Oh my fucking god,"

You laugh around his cock, feeling the vibrations from his voice resonate through your mouth and into him. The sound spurs you on, your movements becoming more urgent. You can feel your own orgasm building as you watch him lose control. You've always had this effect on each other, pushing each other's boundaries, finding new ways to make the other feel alive.

"Fuckfuckfuck," his glasses even started to fall off his face. You giggle, reaching up with one hand to gently push them back up, not breaking the rhythm of your mouth. His eyes are now fully open, watching you with a mix of amazement and lust. "You're gonna make me come again," he whispers, his voice strained and desperate.

You nod, your eyes sparkling with mischief. You're enjoying this, the power you hold over him, the way he's at your mercy. You increase the pace, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth, stroking and sucking with a fervor that leaves him trembling. The studio's air feels thick with desire, the scent of sex and sweat mingling with the faint aroma of music equipment.

"Fuck, Y/N," he gasps. "Fuckfuckfuck, I-I'm-" He can't even form the words as his hips thrust upward, meeting your mouth's eager suction. His orgasm crashes over him, and you feel the warmth of his cum fill your mouth once again. You swallow with a satisfied smile, feeling the muscles in your jaw relax as you release him with a final kiss to the tip.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” you finally say. Your voice comes out steadier than you expected, a calm that doesn’t match the storm inside.

Wooyoung blinks, processing your words through the alcohol fog. “Sorry, we were out at the bar. The project…” He waves his hand vaguely. “It went really well. Everyone was—”

“Celebrating,” you finish for him. Your eyes drift to the table behind you, the two plates still set with the meal you spent three hours preparing. The anniversary cake you ordered sits untouched in its box, the words “One Year” now barely visible through the condensation that’s gathered on the lid.

It hits you then, with a clarity that makes your stomach drop. He doesn’t remember.

“Look, I know I’m sorry that I’m late again,” Wooyoung says, finally noticing your expression. “Things got crazy at the office. You know babe, the promotion, it’s—”

“Do you know what day it is?” you ask quietly.

He frowns, clearly trying to think through his drunken haze. “Uhh Tuesday?”

The silence that follows is deafening. You watch the realization slowly dawn on his face, the way his eyes widen slightly, the way his mouth opens then closes without sound.

“Shit,” he whispers. “Oh fuck…”

“You forgot our anniversary.” It’s not a question.

“I didn’t—”Wooyoung runs a hand through his hair, his movements still uncoordinated. “The project deadline was today. We’ve been working toward this for weeks, you know that. And then everyone wanted to go out, and I couldn’t just—”

“Couldn’t just text me? Couldn’t just call to say you’d be late?” Your voice rises slightly, despite your efforts to keep it steady. “I sat here for hours, Wooyoung. I thought something happened to you. I called your friends, hell I even called your office phone.”

“I’m fine,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice now, defensive. “I’m right here. Everything’s fine.”

“Everything is not fine.” You stand up, needing the distance between you. “You’ve been working non-stop for weeks. You come home exhausted, barely speaking to me, and now you can’t even remember our anniversary?”

Wooyoung sighs, the sound heavy with exhaustion and frustration. “I’m doing this for us, you know that—”

“Stop,” you cut him off. “Stop saying that. I’m not asking you to quit your job, Wooyoung. I’m asking you to be present. To remember that I exist when you’re not at work.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment you see the man you fell in love with—the one who used to notice when you changed your hair, who used to call just to hear your voice. But then his expression hardens again.

“You don’t understand the pressure I’m under,” he says, his voice tight. “This isn’t just about me. It’s about our future.”

“Our future?” You let out a humourless laugh. “What fucking future? I barely see you anymore. When was the last time we had an actual conversation that wasn’t about how tired you are?”

“I’m trying to build something for us.”

“No, you’re building something for yourself and calling it ‘us’ to make yourself feel better.” The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and honest in a way that makes your chest ache. “I feel like you only love me when it’s convenient for you. When you have the time and energy.”

Wooyoung’s face darkens. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” You step closer, needing him to see, to understand. “When was the last time you asked how I was doing? When was the last time you noticed anything about my life that wasn’t directly related to yours?”

“I’m under a lot of stress right now, baby.”

“We’re all under stress, Wooyoung. That’s not an excuse to disappear on your girlfriend.”

The room falls silent. Wooyoung’s shoulders are tense, his jaw clenched. You can see the exhaustion etched into every line of his face, the dark circles under his eyes that have been there for weeks. Part of you wants to reach out, to comfort him, but the hurt is too fresh, too deep.

“I’m doing my best,” he says finally, his voice quieter now. “I’m trying to balance everything.”

“Your best isn’t good enough.” The words hang in the air between you, sharp and painful. “Not when your best means I spend our anniversary wondering if you’re lying dead in a ditch somewhere because you couldn’t be bothered to send a text.”

Wooyoung flinches. “That’s not—”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” Your voice breaks. “To sit here, watching the clock, imagining all the worst possible scenarios because the man I love can’t remember I exist?”

“I do remember you exist,” he says, and there’s frustration in his voice now. “I think about you all the time. I’m doing all of this for you.”

“For me?” You laugh, the sound hollow. “This isn’t for me, Wooyoung. I never asked for any of this. I asked for you. Not this stressed-out stranger who comes home at midnight and falls asleep on the couch.”

He’s silent for a long moment, and you can see him struggling, the alcohol and exhaustion making it hard for him to find the right words. When he finally speaks, his voice is strained.

“Maybe this is the real me,” he says. “Maybe this is who I am now and you just don’t like what you see.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. You take a step back, your breath catching in your throat. You shake your head, denying the words that came out of his mouth.

“That’s not true,” you whisper.

“Isn’t it?” Wooyoung’s voice rises, matching your earlier statement, fuelled by frustration and alcohol. “Because it seems like nothing I do is ever good enough for you. I’m either working too much or not making enough money or not paying enough attention—”

“I’ve never said that.”

“You don’t have to say it. I can see it in your face every time I come home late. Every time I’m too tired to talk.” He runs his hand through his hair again, the gesture agitated. “Maybe you should just find someone who can give you what you want, since apparently I can’t.”

The silence that follows is absolute. You stare at him, unable to believe the words that just came out of his mouth. Wooyoung looks just as shocked as you feel, his eyes widening as he realizes what he’s said.

“Wait… shit no that’s not what I meant…” he starts, but you cut him off.

“You want me to leave?” Your voice is barely audible.

“No, I didn’t mean…“ Wooyoung takes a step toward you, but you back away. “I’m sorry, I’m drunk and exhausted and I didn’t—”

“You meant it,” you say. There’s no anger in your voice now, just a deep, bone-weary sadness. “Maybe not all of it, but part of it.”

He doesn’t deny it. The silence stretches between you, filled with everything that’s been left unsaid for weeks.

“I need to be alone,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hang between you, a barrier neither of you has the strength to cross. “I can’t do this right now.”

Wooyoung opens his mouth to respond, but you’re already moving, already turning away from the wreckage of your anniversary night. You don’t look back as you walk down the hallway to your bedroom—the bedroom that was supposed to be shared, not a place of retreat. The door clicks shut behind you with a finality that makes your chest ache.

In the darkness of your room, you press your back against the door and slide down until you’re sitting on the floor. Your shoulders shake with silent sobs you refuse to let him hear. The anniversary card you’d written him earlier sits on your nightstand, the words inside now feeling hollow and foolish.

Time passes. You don’t know how long you sit there, but eventually, you stand on trembling legs and change into your sleep clothes. The bed feels too big, too empty. You lie on your side, staring at the empty space where Wooyoung should be, and wait for sleep that doesn’t come. An hour passes. Maybe two. Your anger has cooled to a dull ache in your chest, but sleep still eludes you. Finally, you slip out of bed, needing water, needing to move.

The living room is dark except for the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. And there he is—Wooyoung, slumped on the couch, still in his work clothes, one arm thrown over his eyes. Even in the dim light, you can see the tear tracks on his face, the dark stain on the cushion beneath his cheek.

Your heart constricts. Despite everything—despite the anger, despite the hurt—you still love him. You still care.

You move silently to the kitchen, filling a glass with water and grabbing the bottle of aspirin from the cabinet. Your movements are careful, deliberate, as you place them on the coffee table beside him. You don’t wake him. You don’t say a word.

Instead, you stand there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Even in sleep, his face is troubled, his brow furrowed. You want to smooth the lines away, to tell him everything will be okay. But you can’t. Not yet.

So you do the only thing you can. You take care of him, silently, the way you’ve always done. Because even when he forgets, even when he’s lost in his own world of stress and ambition, you remember. You remember the man you fell in love with, the one who’s still in there somewhere, buried under exhaustion and pressure.

You pull the throw blanket from the back of the couch and drape it carefully over him. Your fingers brush against his hair, just once, so lightly he doesn’t stir. Then you turn and walk away, back to the bedroom that feels emptier than it should. You climb into bed alone, the space beside you cold and untouched. You wonder if this is how relationships begin to break—not through lack of love, but through all the ways people fail to hold onto each other when life becomes too heavy. Sleep comes eventually, but it’s fitful, troubled by dreams of a future that feels increasingly uncertain.

══════════════════ Wooyoung wakes slowly to the dull throb of a splitting headache and a sharp ache running down his neck. The couch digs painfully into his back, one arm numb from the awkward angle he’d fallen asleep in. For a few disoriented seconds, he just stares at the ceiling, blinking against the pale morning light filtering through the apartment. Then last night hits him all at once. The argument. Your tears. The look on your face when he realized what day it was.

With a quiet groan, he pushes himself upright, rubbing a hand over his face. That’s when he notices the blanket draped carefully over him. The glass of water sitting on the coffee table beside two aspirin. His chest tightens. You took care of him anyway. Even after everything.

Wooyoung stares at the medicine for a long moment before letting out a weak, humourless laugh under his breath. “Fuck,” he mutters hoarsely, guilt crawling up his throat. 

He swallows the aspirin dry before forcing himself to stand, exhaustion still heavy in his limbs. The apartment is quiet as he makes his way toward the bedroom, each step slower than the last, like he’s afraid of what he’ll find on the other side of the door. He eases it open carefully. You’re asleep, curled toward his side of the bed even though it stayed empty all night. In the soft morning light, he notices the tear tracks dried against your cheeks immediately, and something inside him caves in at the sight. His own eyes still burn from last night, raw and swollen in a way he knows mirrors yours. For a moment, he just stands there in silence, looking at you. At the woman who still tucked a blanket around him after he forgot about your anniversary. After he hurt you. Wooyoung closes his eyes briefly, jaw tightening.

He closes the door to your shared bedroom and makes his way to the kitchen. He quietly reaches for his phone and silences the alarm for work before typing out a lengthy message to his boss with determined fingers. Nothing at work feels more important than this anymore.

He had to fix this.

══════════════════

Your eyes open to the empty space beside you, the pillow still perfectly fluffed, untouched. Of course he’s already gone. The realization settles in your chest like a stone. You lie there for a moment, the events of last night crashing back with brutal clarity. The forgotten anniversary. The heartbreak that ensued. The fight. The words that can’t be unsaid. You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, forcing the tears to remain at bay.

Then you hear it—the soft clink of dishes from the kitchen.

Your heart stutters. You freeze, listening. There it is again—the unmistakable sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. The one that should be empty right now. Panic rises in your throat. He’s still here. Wooyoung is still here, and you have no idea what to say to him after everything that happened. After everything you both said.

You sit up slowly, your body heavy with emotional exhaustion. The floor is cold beneath your feet as you pad toward the bedroom door. Your hand hesitates on the doorknob. What will you see when you open it? Will he be packing his things? Will he be waiting to tell you it’s over?

The door creaks as you pull it open. The hallway seems longer than usual as you make your way toward the kitchen. With each step, your anxiety grows, a tight knot in your chest that makes it hard to breathe.

And then you see him.

Wooyoung stands at the counter, his back to you. He’s still wearing the same clothes from last night, rumpled and wrinkled. His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles. He moves slowly, methodically, as if each action requires immense concentration.

“Aren’t you going to work?” The words slip out before you can stop them, your voice hoarse from crying.

Wooyoung turns, and the sight of him makes your breath catch. His eyes are bloodshot, his face pale. He looks like he hasn’t slept at all, like he’s been carrying the weight of your argument with him through the long night.

“I told them I wasn’t coming in today or for the rest of the week,” he says simply.

The words hang in the air between you. You stare at him, trying to process what this means. Wooyoung never calls in. He’s the type who goes to work with a fever of 102, who works through weekends and holidays without complaint.

“What? Why?” you ask, the question barely audible.

Wooyoung sets down the cup he’s been holding. His knuckles turned white as he gripped onto the glass tighter. “I already lost enough time with you yesterday. I’m not about to just leave you here alone, again.”

The simplicity of his words hits you like a physical blow. You lean against the doorframe, suddenly weak. The kitchen table is set—two plates, two mugs, the breakfast you used to make together on weekend mornings. The silence that follows is thick with everything left unsaid. You watch as he turns back to the counter, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. There’s a vulnerability in his posture you haven’t seen in months—the confident, ambitious man you’ve been watching slip away replaced by someone unsure, someone hurting.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, still facing away from you. “For everything I said last night. For making you feel like you don’t matter to me.” He turns to face you, and the raw emotion in his eyes makes your chest ache. “You matter more than anything, and I’ve been acting like you don’t.” You want to go to him, to bridge the distance between you, but your feet feel rooted to the spot. “And the rest?” you ask. “What you said about me finding someone else?”

Wooyoung’s face crumples. “I didn’t mean any of that stupid shit. I was an idiot and said the most hurtful thing I could think of because I was angry at myself, not at you. What I said to you was inexcusable.” He runs a hand through his hair, the gesture agitated. “I was so terrified of failing you that I ended up failing you anyway.”

The truth of his words settles over you. You step into the kitchen, moving toward him slowly, giving him the chance to retreat if he wants to. He doesn’t. “I don’t want someone else,” you say quietly. “I want you. Not the version of you that’s so caught up in work he forgets we exist. That I exist.”

Wooyoung’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve been so focused on building a future for us that I forgot to be present in our now.” He takes a step toward you. “I’m so sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me right away or ever but—God, I fucked up so bad.”

You look at the breakfast he’s prepared—eggs perfectly set, toast golden, the smell of coffee already doing something to the tension in your shoulders. He’s always been a better cook than you. You’d forgotten that, somehow, in the wreckage of last night.

“Come here,” you say softly.

He crosses the kitchen in three quick strides, and then his arms are around you, holding you so tightly it’s almost painful. You can feel him trembling, feel the way his heart hammers against your cheek. Your face tucks just under his chin, and you feel the warm wetness of tears landing soft in your hair.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words muffled against your hair. “I love you so much, and I’m so sorry I made you doubt that.” You hold him just as tightly, your own tears spilling over. “I love you too,” you mumble against his chest. “Don’t shut me out like that again, You know I’m always here for you.”

Wooyoung pulls back, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His thumbs brush away your tears with a gentleness that makes your heart ache. “I know,” he says. “I’ll do better for you. For us. Today, tomorrow, and however long as it takes.”

He leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. “Can I show you something?” You nod. “I got you something,” he says. “I remembered that I had a whole elaborate plan to give this to you.” He exhales, something between a laugh and a sob. “Then I got the promotion news and I just—I let that take over everything. Your gift has been sitting in my bag for two weeks while I was out celebrating myself.” He shakes his head. “I made our anniversary about me. I’m such an idiot.” “Yeah, the biggest idiot of all time.” He lets out a small chuckle, a hint of guilt and sadness follow the hollow laugh. A flicker of something hopeful crosses his exhausted face. “Can I still give it to you?” You look up at him. “Of course.”

Wooyoung’s face lights up with a small, tentative smile. He takes your hand and leads you to the living room. You both sink into the couch where he spent the night, your shoulders touching. His work bag sits on the floor beside it. He reaches down and pulls out a small velvet box.

Your breath catches.

“It’s not what you think,” he says quickly, seeing your expression. “Not yet, anyway.” He opens the box to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, with a small charm hanging from it—a tiny compass.

“It’s so you always find your way back to me,” he explains, his voice soft. “Even when I’m being a complete dumbass.” You look from the bracelet to his face, seeing the hope and fear mingled in his eyes. This is what you fell in love with—not the ambitious, driven man who works too much, but this man who’s vulnerable enough to admit when he’s wrong, who’s brave enough to try to fix what he’s broken.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, holding out your wrist.

As Wooyoung fastens the bracelet with trembling fingers, you realize that healing won’t happen overnight. There will be more conversations, more difficult moments as you both learn to balance his career with your relationship. But as his hand finds yours, the bracelet cool against your skin, you know you’re willing to try.

Because some things are worth fighting for. Some people are worth the struggle. And this man—flawed and imperfect but trying, always trying—is one of them.

“I should have called,” he says finally, his voice quiet in the morning stillness. “I should have texted. I kept thinking about it, but then someone would pull me into another conversation, and I’d get distracted, and then...” He trails off, shaking his head. “That’s no excuse.”

“No, it’s not,” you agree, but there’s no anger in your voice now. Just bone-deep weariness.

Wooyoung’s shoulders slump. He looks smaller somehow, diminished by his own guilt. “I’ve been so focused on proving myself at work that I forgot to be present here. With you.” His eyes find yours, red-rimmed and sincere. “I’m drowning, and instead of asking for help, I’ve been pulling you under with me.”

Your chest tightens at his words. You’ve been so wrapped up in your own hurt that you haven’t fully considered his perspective. “Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling?” you ask softly.

He lets out a shaky breath. “Because I was supposed to be the strong one. The one who had it all figured out.” His voice cracks. “I didn’t want you to see how overwhelmed I was. How scared I am that I won’t be enough.”

The admission hangs in the air between you. You reach for his hand, your fingers hesitantly brushing against his. He turns his palm up, letting you take it.

“I’m sorry too,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “For being so accusatory last night. For making you doubt that your best wasn’t enough. And for dismissing the fact that you work so immensely hard to provide for us.”

Wooyoung looks up, surprise evident in his eyes.

“I was angry,” you continue, “but I was also terrified. Every time you came home late without calling, I imagined the worst. And then I’d feel so stupid when you finally texted, like I was being dramatic or clingy.”

“You’re not,” he says firmly. “You were right to be worried. I’ve been a completely inconsiderate asshole.”

You squeeze his hand. “And I said things I didn’t mean. About you not loving me.” The words are hard to say, hard to admit. “I know that’s not true. I just... I missed you. I missed us.”

A tear slips down Wooyoung’s cheek. “I’ve missed us too,” he admits. “I’ve been so caught up in work that I forgot how to be a person. How to be your person.”

You shift closer to him on the couch, the gap between you narrowing. Your free hand reaches up to brush away his tear, your touch tentative, questioning. He leans into it, his eyes closing briefly.

“I’m going to do better,” he promises. “I’ve already talked to my boss about setting better boundaries. About leaving work at a reasonable hour, about not checking emails at home.” He opens his eyes, looking at you with such intensity it makes your breath catch. “You deserve more than the scraps of time and attention I’ve been giving you.”

“What if you can’t?” you ask, voicing the fear that’s been haunting you. “What if work pulls you back in?”

Wooyoung’s expression turns determined. “Then I’ll walk away. Find something else. Because nothing is worth losing you over.” He brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Nothing.”

Your vision blurs with fresh tears. “I don’t want you to give up your career for me.”

“I’m not,” he assures you. “I’m choosing our relationship. Choosing you. The career is just a job. I can be replaced at any given moment but you? You’re my whole life. You’re irreplaceable.”

The words wash over you, healing some of the hurt that’s been festering. You move closer still, until your knees are touching, until you can feel the warmth of him beside you.

“I love you,” you say simply. “Even when you’re being an idiot and forgetting our anniversary.”

A watery laugh escapes him. “I love you too. I’m your idiot, though.”

Your hand finds its way to his face, cupping his cheek. His stubble is rough against your palm, grounding you in this moment. He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your palm, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice raw with emotion.

You nod, unable to form words around the lump in your throat.

Wooyoung leans forward slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want to. You don’t. When his lips meet yours, it’s like coming home after a long journey. There’s relief in the touch, and longing, and a deep, abiding affection that transcends the hurt of the past weeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your lips. “I’m so sorry.”

His kisses move to your cheek, to the corner of your eye where tears still linger. “I’ll do better,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

You tilt your head, giving him access to your neck, where he presses soft, apologetic kisses. “I know you will,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in his hair. 

Wooyoung pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t deserve you,” he says. “But I’m going to spend every day trying to be worthy of you.”

You shake your head. “You already are. You just got lost for a while.”

He pulls you into his arms, holding you against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear. His hand strokes your hair, gentle and soothing.

“I was so scared,” you admit, the words muffled against his shirt. “That we were falling apart, and I didn’t know how to stop it.”

His arms tighten around you. “We’re not falling apart,” he promises. “We’re just... learning how to be together in a new way. With new challenges.”

You look up at him, seeing the determination in his eyes. “Together,” you repeat. “That’s the important part.”

Wooyoung nods, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Together. Always.”

The breakfast he made sits forgotten on the table, growing cold. But you don’t mind. There will be other breakfasts, other mornings. Right now, all that matters is this—the two of you, holding onto each other, finding your way back to what matters most.

“I think,” Wooyoung says after a while, his voice soft with sleepiness and emotion, “that since i took a few days off we could spend more time together. Just us. No work, no distractions.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You? Taking time off? Who are you and what have you done with my workaholic boyfriend?”

He laughs, the sound warming you from the inside out. “I’ve been replaced by someone with better priorities.” His expression turns serious. “I mean it, though. We need this. I need this. To remember that I have a lot of making up to do.”

The idea is tempting. “And how would you do that, hm?”

“I could think of one way right now,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, intimate timbre that sends a shiver down your spine.

Before you can respond, Wooyoung stands and scoops you into his arms, his movements surprisingly fluid despite his exhaustion. You gasp, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you toward your bedroom—your shared bedroom that’s been missing his presence for far too long.

“Wooyoung,” you breathe, your heart racing as he pushes the door open with his foot. “Put me down! I could’ve walked to the bedroom too, idiot.”

“Sorry princess. I couldn't help myself,” he says, his eyes dark with desire as he lays you gently on the bed.

He climbs onto the bed beside you, his weight making the mattress dip. For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression a mixture of reverence and hunger that makes your breath catch.

“Missed you,” he whispers, his hand coming up to trace the line of your jaw. “So much.”

You reach for him, pulling him down into a kiss that’s deeper than before, more urgent. His lips move against yours with a desperation that speaks volumes about the distance that’s grown between you. You can taste the salt of dried tears on his skin, feel the slight tremble in his hands as they slide down to your waist.

You fist your hands in the crisp fabric of his shirt. The buttons press sharp and insistent against your chest, and you tug at them, desperate, fumbling until the first one gives. He groans, shifting so he can help, pulling away just enough to make quick work of the rest. The shirt falls open, exposing him to the morning light, the edges of his collarbone flushed and vulnerable.

Your breath hitches—you’d forgotten, somehow, how beautiful he is like this. His body is lean but not slight, muscle hugging bone and sinew in all the right places. You drag your hand along the inside of his forearm, tracing the thick black lines of the rose inked from his wrist to the curve before his elbow. You glide over the leaves and thorns, half-expecting the tattoo to prickle beneath your touch. He shudders, eyes hooded, drinking in the sight of you devouring him.

You slide your palm up, across his biceps, his shoulder—mapping every inch, reacquainting yourself with the geography of him. His chest heaves, the faint dusting of hair there rising as you scrape your nails down to his abs. You can’t help but smile a little at how his stomach tenses, how he jerks when you reach the sensitive dip above his hips. He grabs your hand, bringing it to his mouth, kissing each knuckle in apology and in thanks. He’s trembling with wanting, with relief, and you want to swallow it whole.

You pull him closer, reaching up to slide the shirt off his shoulders. It pools at his elbows, then falls away, leaving him naked from the waist up. He presses you into the mattress, his lips everywhere at once—your jaw, your neck, the hollow at your collarbone. His hands are greedy, slipping under your shirt, seeking skin, worshipping you as if you’re the only thing in the world that makes sense.

Wooyoung’s fingers curl into the soft cotton of your sleep shirt as though he’s gathering every ounce of courage in his body to peel away not only the fabric but the distance he’s put between you. The morning light filters through gauzy curtains, illuminating the swirl of dust motes in the air and casting a gentle glow over your skin. He pauses, breath catching as he drinks you in—every freckle on your shoulder, every rise and fall of your chest—before tugging the shirt up and over your head in one smooth, practiced motion. The cool air of the room grazes your bare skin, sending a shiver through you as the light catches the gentle pebbling of your nipples and the subtle flex of your stomach muscles.

He chases away the chill, warm palms gliding up your sides, fingertips tracing the lines of your ribs, thumbs circling the soft shadows beneath your breasts as if to reassure himself that you are real—solid and here. “W-Wooyoung,” you breathe out, barely more than a tremor in the air, but it hits him like a bullet: his gaze snaps up, blown wide and hungry, jaw tensing so hard you can see the cords in his neck stand out. “Hmm?” He sounds dazed, already gone for you. He searches your face for a clue, a hint of what you want, even as his hands keep moving—roaming your waist, palming the flare of your hips, stroking reverent up and down your spine. You shudder, skin prickling everywhere he touches. Then, with a slow, deliberate shift, you arch your back and hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear—your last layer—and drag them down, inch by inch, teasing yourself as much as him. You kick them off, letting them flutter to the floor, and stretch out on your stomach, arms reaching above your head, pressing your cheek into the pillow. You tilt your hips up, highlighting the bare swell of your ass, lush and expectant, every inch of you primed for him. The effect is instantaneous. He groans, low and feral in the back of his throat, his cock straining visibly against the thin grey of his sweats.

“What are you doing, baby?” he chokes, voice ragged, eyes glued to the sight of you so shamelessly presenting for him. 

You glance back lazily over your shoulder, lips parted, smile hazy and filthy. “Lay on top of me.” Your voice drips with need, teasing, coaxing, as your ass shifts again, the jiggle intentional, sinful.

His adam's apple bobs, eyes glued to the way you’re presenting yourself to him, pussy glistening and waiting. He sits frozen for a second, maybe trying to get his breath back, maybe just marvelling at how good you look, spread out and waiting.

“Bet."

Then he’s on you, crawling up the bed with a focused intent that sends another thrill through you. “Up,” he murmurs, tapping your hip. You lift obediently and he slides a pillow beneath you, angling your hips up off the mattress before he kneels behind you, pushes your thighs apart with strong hands, trapping your legs beneath his as he blankets your body. His heat, heavy and suffocating in the best way, seeps into your skin. Your cheek sinks into the sheets; you can smell your own slick in the air, feel the pulse of anticipation between your thighs. He leans in, lips skimming up your spine, worshipping every vertebrae, every goosebump and dimple, before he settles his weight against your back, pinning you down and making you feel tiny beneath him. You can’t help it: you reach back, grab at the waistband of his slacks, desperate to feel more of him. Your fingers brush the rigid outline of his cock and he shudders, hips jerking, the tip already wetting a dark stain into the fabric. He lets you tug down his pants, lifting his hips just enough to help you get them over his ass, down his thighs, clumsy and urgent. As soon as they’re off, he kicks them away, a brief chill racing up your legs before he covers you again, hotter and needier than before. You’re both trembling—maybe from nerves, maybe from how badly you need each other. 

“Please,” he moans, the word nearly a whimper, as you wrap your hand around the bulge beneath his boxers, feeling him throb in your grip. He’s so hard it almost hurts, and when you pull the waistband down and finally set him free, he gasps, forehead dropping onto your shoulder. His cock springs out, thick and flushed, the head angry red and already leaking.

“Jesus,” you hear yourself say, voice thick with awe. “Someone’s a little eager.” He laughs, shaky, like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t.

“You have no fucking idea.”

His hand traces your thigh, kneading your flesh, fingers digging in with just enough pressure to bruise. You feel how much he needs you in every trembling touch. He cups your ass, squeezing and spreading, and then lets his hand drift lower, fingers ghosting along your slit. You’re soaked—embarrassingly so—and he groans when he feels it, slicking his fingers through you, teasing your entrance with featherlight touches. Your hips buck back, desperate for more, but he holds you firmly in place, taking his time, savoring the way you writhe under him.

“Are you gonna make me beg?” you pant, rutting against his hand.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, voice thick and broken. “I want to hear you say you need me.”

“You already know I do.” 

“Say it anyway.” His tongue flicks your earlobe, his words vibrating in your chest. “I need you, Wooyoung. Please.” The words tumble out, more desperate than you mean them to, but you don’t care. You want him—need him—so bad it’s physically painful. He lines himself up at your entrance, the heat of his cock a brand against your skin. But he doesn’t push in—not yet. He grinds the tip against your folds, smearing his precum through your wetness, teasing you with shallow thrusts that never quite give you what you want. You sob into the pillow, body arching, entirely at his mercy. “God, look at you,” he whispers. “You’re so perfect. Fuck, I don’t deserve you.” “Yes you do.” The words are a gasp, but you mean them. Even after everything, you want to give him this. You want to give him everything. He’s shaking, whole body vibrating with the effort of holding back, not just rutting into you like an animal. “Is this okay?” he asks, voice so weighted with emotion it almost makes you cry. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.” “I want you,” you say, “I always want you. I want you right now, more than anything.” He lets out a choked breath, as if you’ve released him from a terrible spell. “Fuck, yes.” He buries his face in the curve of your neck, breath hot and ragged. You feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance, stretching you slowly, inch by inch as he slides in. The stretch is sweet, burning, perfect. You moan, the sound loud and raw, echoing off the walls of your shared bedroom. He fills you up, deeper than you remember, and it feels like coming home after a long, cold exile. You clench around him, savouring the drag, the friction, the pulse of his heartbeat through the thickness of his cock. He starts to move, slow at first, drawing out each withdrawal and thrust so you feel every centimetre, every ridge and vein. His hands on your waist are trembling, sometimes gripping too hard and then letting go, as if he’s afraid to hurt you, afraid to let go of this moment. You arch your back, pushing yourself up into him, greedy for more. “Harder,” you urge. “Fuck me harder."

He whimpers, hips stuttering, and then sets a punishing pace, hips snapping forward to drive into you with every ounce of pent up longing he’s been carrying. The mattress creaks, the headboard smacks the wall. He’s so big, so deep, so desperate, and you love it.

“Don’t… fuck– say that shit,” he whines, his voice cracking. “Y’feel so good, so fucking tight.”

You arch back, meeting his thrusts, loving the way he loses control. His need for you is unfiltered, all-consuming, and you drink it like oxygen. He sets a rhythm, fast and merciless, hips slamming into you so hard it feels like a punishment, but you crave it, need it, want him to fuck you so hard you forget the argument and only memorise the feeling of him inside you. The slapping sound of skin on skin is obscene, even over the creaking of the bed and your shared moans, but you don’t care, don’t care if the whole apartment building hears you. Wooyoung is not gentle, not now; he’s desperate, driven by weeks of withheld affection, of loneliness and longing. He covers you, bites your shoulder, fucks you like it’s the last time, every thrust a plea for forgiveness and a pledge of eternity.

He leans more of his weight into you, his hand snaking around to your front, fingers seeking your clit. The first touch is electric—you jerk, stars bursting behind your eyes. He circles your clit with the pad of his finger, fast and hard, no finesse, just pure need to make you cum.

In a cruel twist of fate, his hips slow suddenly—the rhythm of his hips bullying yours breaking. You whimper at the loss, your body clenching around him, so desperate for more. But he pulls out completely, leaving you empty, aching.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice rough with need.

You crane your neck back over your shoulder, cheek still pressed into the sheets, and find him watching you with that dark intensity that makes your breath catch. His cock glistens with your combined wetness, the head swollen and flushed as he drags it slowly up and down your entrance, the angle making you feel every torturous inch of the tease—just enough pressure to feel but not enough to satisfy.

“Please,” you gasp, hips tipping higher. His lips curl into a wicked smile from somewhere above and behind you. “Not yet.” He circles your clit with his slick tip before sliding back down. Your thighs tremble against the pillow he placed under your hips. “Spit,” he commands, reaching his palm around to your mouth.

You obey without hesitation, gathering saliva that he uses to coat himself again, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room. He returns to his maddening teasing, the new slickness making his cock glide effortlessly against your swollen flesh.

“Good fucking girl,” he groans, the words punched out between ragged breaths. “Look at you—taking everything I give you.” You’re beyond words now, reduced to desperate sounds as he continues his exquisite torture. When you can’t stand it anymore, you reach behind your body, guiding him back to where you need him most. He lets you, but only for a moment. With a growl that vibrates through your chest, he pushes your hand away and positions himself again, his eyes locked on to the way your body is so responsive to his. Then he leans down, lips pressing soft and slow into your shoulder, and you feel his breath warm against the curve of your neck “Princess” he whispers, voice cracking open at the edges, his cock still dragging slowly and torturous against your entrance. “You can forgive me right? Shit…You can forgive your Wooyo right?” “Yes,” you gasp, hips rolling back into him helplessly. “Yes, yess—fuck, I f-forgive you… Wooyoung, I need you so bad, please!" Something breaks in his expression—all restraint shattering. He thrusts forward in one powerful motion, burying himself to the hilt with a sound that borders on a sob, hands clutching your hips—his grip bruising but full of desperate love. “God, you feel so good,” he croaks. “I missed this. I missed you. I missed you so fucking much.”

The force of it knocks the wind out of you, the fullness so shocking you can only moan, the sound muffled by the pillow but loud enough for him to hear—maybe for the neighbours to hear too. He doesn’t care. Neither do you. The words degenerate into a string of curses and pleas, all dignity and composure long abandoned. You’re reduced to this: the shudder of your hips, the filthy slickness on your thighs, the way you beg for him with every inch of your body.

He’s lost to it now, rutting into you with a violence born of weeks—months—of wanting, of regret, of all the shit he’s made you both suffer through in his absence. Every motion is a contradiction, a punishment and an apology, as he fucks you harder than he ever has, hips snapping so fast you barely have time to catch your breath between thrusts. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, yanking you back onto him, fisting in your hair, ghosting along your ribs and then down to your clit. His fingers rub you with the same desperate rhythm as his cock, no finesse, just pure, animal drive to make you cum first, to make you remember what you are together.

He doesn’t say a word at first, just grunts and breathes your name into your hair like a prayer. But when you look back at him, head turned over your shoulder, you see his face twisted in something rawer than lust. Love. His eyes are wet. He thrusts in, deeper, grinding the head of his cock against the spot inside you that makes your vision white out at the edges.

“God, I missed you,” he whines, the words hitching on the upstroke. “I missed you, princess, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry—” He laces his apology into every movement, every thrust, trying to convince you with the force of his body how much he means it. “No one else can have you, fuck, never anyone else, not ever, you hear me?” His hips stutter, losing rhythm, and you know he’s close, so close, but he won’t let himself finish until you do.

He snakes his hand around your throat, the gentlest squeeze, just enough to remind you who’s in control. The pressure is perfect; you arch into it, into him, hips rocking back greedily to milk every inch of his cock. He bends over you, mouth against your ear, breath hot and frantic: “Cum for me, princess. Wanna feel you cum all over me.” And you do, splintering apart around him, pleasure ripping through you so hard it borders on pain. You scream, you swear, you claw at the sheets, and he fucks you through it, pace relentless, never slowing, never breaking.

He’s shaking above you, groaning your name, his hand still tangled in your hair as he thrusts a few more desperate times and then comes, deep inside you, with a guttural wail. The heat of his release is almost shocking, the way he fills you leaving no doubt that he’s yours, utterly and absolutely. He stays pressed to you, sweat-slicked and trembling, for long, silent seconds, his cock twitching with aftershocks, his breath turning softer, steadier. You can feel his heart thumping against your back, the wild rhythm slowly synchronizing with yours.

He never lets you go, not even as he softens inside you. He just wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck. You can’t move, can barely breathe, but the only thing you want is to stay like this forever—his weight, his warmth, his love, every bit of him pressed into you until you forget where you end and he begins. He’s the apology and the forgiveness, the punishment and the reward, and you take every last bit of him, all over again, until neither of you has anything left to give.

You’re both gasping, boneless, ruined, but it’s the best kind of ruined—like you’ve been put back together again, better than you were before. He kisses your neck, soft now, lazy, like he can’t help himself, and when he finally pulls out, both of you whimper at the loss.

You shift, rolling onto your side, facing him. His face is damp—sweat, tears, who even knows—but his eyes are clear and bright as he looks at you. He traces your jaw with a shaking finger. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes, voice hoarse, “and I’m never letting you go, you got that?”

You laugh, delirious, and pull him close, your lips finding his in a kiss that’s slow and deep, the kind that says I forgive you, I want you, I’ll never be done with you. He sighs into it, like he’s waited a lifetime for this, like he’s never tasted anything sweeter.

And then his hand is between your legs again, gentle now, and you realize he’s not done with you yet. Not even close.

But you weren’t done with him either. “Wait,” you mumble against his lips, pulling back just enough to see his eyes. “Let me watch you.”

Wooyoung’s brow furrows, a question forming in his gaze. You slide your hand down his chest, over the damp skin, until your fingers wrap around his still-sensitive cock. He hisses, body tensing at your touch.

“Wanna see you touch yourself,” you clarify, your voice dropping to a husky whisper.

Understanding dawns across his face, followed by a slow, wicked smile that makes your stomach flip. “Yeah?” he asks, already shifting position. “You want to watch me jerk off, baby? Naughty girl.”

You nod, your own hand moving between your legs as you settle back against the pillows. Wooyoung sits up, kneeling between your spread thighs, his eyes never leaving yours as he wraps his hand around his length. He’s already hardening again, his cock responding eagerly to your gaze. You watch, transfixed, as his fingers begin to move, a slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip that makes his breath catch.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head falling back slightly. “Play with yourself too, princess.”

You’re touching yourself now, circling your clit with teasing pressure, your other hand squeezing your breast. The sight of him pleasuring himself while watching you is intoxicating—his muscles flexing, his lips parted, his eyes dark with desire.

“Show me…shit," you urge, your voice barely audible. “Show me what you think about when I’m not around to suck you dry.”

He moans, his pace quickening. “I’m always thinking about you, ” he admits, his voice rough. “About your pretty mouth, your perfect tits, the way you feel when I’m inside you.” His hand moves faster now, his breathing growing ragged. “I think about making you cum—fuck, l-love thinking about watching you fall apart because of me.”

Your fingers move faster, matching his rhythm, the sight of him pleasuring himself pushing you closer to the edge. The room fills with the wet sounds of your mutual pleasure, your soft gasps mingling with his deeper groans.

“I’m c–close,” you pant, your hips rising off the bed. “Baby, I’m so fucking close.”

“Me too,” he gasps, his hand moving furiously over his cock. “God, the way you’re touching yourself—fuck, I can’t—"

“So fucking good… haah—” you whimper. “Cum with me.”

His eyes lock with yours, and you see the same desperation, the same need reflected back at you. Your fingers move faster, your thumb circling your clit with just the right pressure as you watch his hand fly over his length, his body tense with impending release.

“Wooyoung,” you cry out as the first wave hits you, your body arching off the bed.

“Oh god, yes you’re so hot fuuuck,” he groans, his release spurting hot across your stomach as he watches you come undone.

You’re both panting, chests heaving as sweat trickles down your bodies and Wooyoung’s cum glistens wet and hot across your stomach—but even as you come down, the air between you only grows thicker. His eyes linger on your face, hungry and soft all at once, and you know before he says a word that he isn’t finished with you yet. He swipes his thumb through his mess, smearing it across your skin, and then lifts his hand to your lips. “Open,” he murmurs, voice already roughening around the edges, and you open obediently, tongue laving over his skin, savouring the salt and the faint sweetness of him.

He watches you, transfixed, and then the hunger snaps back into focus. With a sudden, fluid motion, he grabs you by the hips and guides you onto your back, landing you with a gasp and a bounce that sends aftershocks through your spent body. For a second you just lie there, limp and loose-limbed, but Wooyoung is on you before you have time to recover—his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and desperate, greedy possession. He devours you, biting your lower lip so hard you nearly yelp, but then he’s soothing the sting with a velvet-soft lick, fingers already roaming, cupping your jaw, winding into your hair, squeezing the back of your neck until you’re gasping into his mouth.

“Last one baby,” he rasps, voice vibrating right against your teeth. “Need to breed your pretty pussy one last time.” He’s already sliding down your body, trailing open-mouthed kisses over every inch of skin—your throat, your collarbones, the peak of your tits. He bites down gently on your nipple, then flicks it with his tongue, the sensation sharp and electric and so fucking precise. He lavishes both breasts with attention, sucking bruises in places only he will see, then lets his tongue trace a hot, wet path down your torso.

He stops at your belly, swiping a finger through the sticky mess on your skin. “Look at you,” he says, voice thick with pride and awe, and you feel your cheeks flame even as you spread your legs wider for him. He dips his head, lapping at where his cum has pooled in your navel, and you shiver at the lewdness of it, the way he worships every part of you. When his mouth finally moves lower, you’re already shaking with anticipation, your core clenching tight, desperate for more even though you should be wrung out.

He dives between your thighs, licks a stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit, and you nearly come off the bed from the shock of it. He laughs, low and dark, and buries his face in your cunt, eating you like a man starved. His tongue is everywhere. Circling your clit, plunging inside you, mixing slick and spit and the faint metallic taste of his own release. You fist your hands in his hair, grinding your hips against his mouth, shameless in the way you beg, “More, more... please, fuck, don’t stop—” and he doesn’t.

He works you with ruthless precision, two fingers thrusting deep while his tongue flicks rapid-fire at your clit. You feel the pressure build, so much faster than before, your legs trembling, your thighs clamping tight around his head. He holds you open, arms braced under your knees, keeping you spread and helpless as he brings you right to the brink and then eases off, just enough to drive you insane. He does it again, and again, pulling you apart, making you plead for it.

“Woo—” you whimper, your voice thin and shaky. “Please, please—”

He lifts his head, lips glistening, and you see the wild satisfaction in his eyes. “You’re so fucking pretty when you beg,” he says, and the praise sends another rush of heat through your veins.

“Please,” you say again, and this time he relents, sucking your clit into his mouth and moaning around it. The vibration hits you like a lightning strike and you come hard, arching your back, crying out his name so loud you know it will echo in your ears for days. He keeps going, licking you through it, not stopping until you’re sobbing with oversensitivity and shoving at his head to make it end.

He crawls up your body, cock already hard again as he rubs it against your thigh, your stomach, the sticky aftermath on your skin. He lines himself up at your entrance, and you’re so wet, so open for him, that he slides in with barely any resistance. The stretch still hurts—just a little—and he winces with you, kissing your cheek, your ear, whispering, “Shh, you can take it. You’re so good for me.”

You rake your nails down his back, desperate to pull him deeper, and he obliges, ramming into you with a force that makes the whole bed frame rattle. This time, he doesn’t pace himself—he fucks you with abandon, every thrust a fierce apology, a vow, a plea for forgiveness. “Pretty cunt was made for me, wasn't it baby?" he growls, the words muffled against your skin, and you believe him, every time.

He shifts your legs, bends you almost in half putting you into a mean mating press, and the new angle has him thrusting right against your g-spot. You claw helplessly at his arms, nails digging crescent moons into his biceps, and he just grins, sweat beading at his hairline, loving every second of your unravelling.

"'M not going to last... I'm g'na cum holy fuck Wooyoung," you moan out, feeling yourself edging closer to your own climax.

You feel him getting close—his rhythm falters, his hips jerk, his breath comes in ragged gasps. He slides a hand between your bodies, thumb circling your clit, determined to take you with him. “Oh fuck—Cum f’me princess, make me proud.” And you do, the orgasm ripping through you so violently that black spots dance at the edge of your vision. You scream, you sob, you babble his name like a prayer, and he follows, spilling inside you with a strangled cry. He shoves in deep, holds you there, and then collapses, pinning you to the mattress with the full weight of his body.

You lie like that for a long, breathless moment, your bodies trembling and tangled, sweat sticking you together, his cock still throbbing inside you as he pants in your ear. For a second you think he’s fallen asleep, but then he props himself up on one elbow and looks down at you, eyes shining, lips parted as if he might start crying all over again.

He rolls you onto your side, still joined, and wraps an arm around your waist, spooning you so tight you can barely move. You reach back and stroke his hair, feeling the way his whole body melts into your touch—the tension draining from his muscles, the way his breath evens out. The world feels impossibly far away, like it’s just the two of you floating in a bed-shaped universe, nothing but heartbeats and skin and the mess you’ve made of each other.

The room falls quiet, your breathing gradually slowing in tandem. Wooyoung’s arm tightens around you, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the nape of your neck. “Don’t move,” he whispers, his voice hoarse from use. “I’ll be right back.”

He pulls out gently, and you whimper at the loss, feeling suddenly empty. But he’s already sliding from the bed, his naked body glistening with sweat as he pads to the bathroom. You hear water running, and then he returns with a warm washcloth in his hand.

“Let's get you cleaned up yeah?” he says, his eyes soft as he kneels beside you.

His touch is reverent as he cleans between your thighs, wiping away the evidence of your passion with gentle, circular motions. The warm cloth feels heavenly against your sensitive skin, and you sigh, your body relaxing into his care.

“Better?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, too blissed-out to form words. He disappears again, returning with a glass of water that he holds to your lips. You drink greedily, not realizing how parched you were until the cool liquid slides down your throat.

“More?” he asks, and you shake your head.

Wooyoung sets the glass aside and moves to his dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer. He rummages through it for a moment before pulling out a faded blue t-shirt that you recognize immediately. It’s one of his oldest, the fabric soft from countless washes, the university logo barely visible anymore.

“Arms up,” he murmurs, and you comply, letting him slip the oversized shirt over your head. It falls to mid-thigh, enveloping you in his scent—that familiar mix of his cologne and something uniquely him that makes your chest ache with tenderness. He adjusts the collar, his fingers lingering at your neck, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Perfect,” he whispers, his eyes warm as they take you in.

You watch as he pulls on a pair of boxers and a simple white t-shirt, his movements languid, unhurried. There’s something intimate about watching him dress—the way his muscles flex beneath his skin, the casual grace of his movements. He catches you looking and says nothing, just gives you a small, tired smile before he climbs back into bed, pulling you against him. His fingers begin to trace lazy patterns on your arm, up and down, the touch so light it makes you shiver.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your hair. “I hope you know that I adore you so much.”

You turn in his arms to face him, finding his eyes in the dim light of the bedroom. There’s something raw and vulnerable in his gaze that makes your heart ache.

“I know,” you say, reaching up to brush his hair from his forehead. “I love you too.”

He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “I’m going to do better. I promise.”

“I believe you, I know you will,” you whisper, and you do.

He pulls you closer, your bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining. The bracelet he gave you catches the light, the tiny compass charm glinting. He brings your wrist up to his lips and places a kiss on the charm, a silent reminder for you that’ll he’ll always be your north. No matter where you are, he’ll always be there for you.

“I’ve got you,” he coos, his voice dropping to that impossibly soft register he only uses in these moments. “I’m here, I'm not going anywhere.”

You hum in acknowledgment, too far gone for words. He softly chuckles at your sleepiness. His hand resumes its journey down your spine, each vertebra a landmark he maps with infinite patience. Another yawn overtakes you, your eyes watering at the corners. Wooyoung brushes away the tears with his thumb, his touch reverent.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispers. “My whole heart.”

A melody begins to form beneath his breath—something soft and wordless that you recognize from nights when sleep wouldn’t come, when anxiety gripped your throat. His chest vibrates with the sound, a lullaby composed of nothing but his love for you. Your consciousness begins to drift, the edges of your thoughts blurring like watercolours on wet paper. The scent of him—clean sweat and that cologne he’s worn since the day you met—wraps around you like a second blanket.

“I love you,” he whispers, his lips brushing your temple. “Happy anniversary, my love. I promise to make every one from now on better than the last.”

The words follow you down into darkness, a tether to the world you’re leaving behind. The future for the both of you still holds challenges—his career won’t become less demanding overnight, and you’ll both need to work to maintain the balance you’re rebuilding. But as Wooyoung’s arms tighten around you, as you feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, you know you’ll face those challenges together. Because love isn’t about never making mistakes. It’s about having the courage to admit when you’re wrong, and the strength to keep trying, even when it’s hard. And as the morning light spills across the tangled sheets and your intertwined bodies, you know that’s exactly what you have—not a perfect love, but a real one.