“My parents are gone,” she murmurs, shutting the door behind her with a soft thud, “they insisted on helping us finish setting up, but I think we got it, right?”

You glance at the mini fridge and frown. “Yeah, most of the heavy stuff is already where it should be.”

“And we’re nearly done deep cleaning,” she picks up a pair of plastic gloves. “I’ll finish up the restroom if you can put our curtains up?”

You hum in agreement, moving to balance yourself on your desk chair as you set up the curtains. The white lace adds very little to the privacy provided by the thick blinds already covering the window, but they bring a cute flair to the space. 

“Oh, wait,” you hear from the bathroom as you get down from the wobbly chair, “there’s a party tonight! Some guy in the lobby handed me an ugly flyer. He said it’s like a welcome party for… fresh meat?”

“Fresh meat? Gross, it’s probably a bunch of frat guys hunting.”

“True,” Sana concedes, “Plus my hair’s kinda greasy from all the moving.”

You pinch the neck of your t-shirt and bring it up to your nose. “And I think we smell like bleach.”

Sana peeks her head out from the bathroom, “Movie night instead?”

You match the smile on her face and nod excitedly, “No rom-coms though.”

“Booooo.”

The decor slowly comes together as the two of you work side by side, rearranging furniture and adding personal touches to each side of the room. 

It’s nearly one in the morning as you finish up, photobooth pictures and sentimental trinkets hanging on each side of the room. Small, but cozy. Easy to picture yourself coming back to after a long lecture or an all-nighter at the library. Not quite home, but not too far from it either. 

“Cute,” Sana smiles, hands on her hips as she takes the view in. “What’s next?”

“Showering,” you glance back at your private restroom, “Wanna go first?”

“Actually,” she starts, and you can tell you’re going to hate what’s about to come out of her mouth. “We should introduce ourselves to our neighbors, don’t you think?”

“No.”

She furrows her brows like you just told her the sky is green. You shake your head vehemently. She pouts. You take a step away.

“C’mon. C’mon. What if we need help one day?”

“Help doing what?” 

She pauses, looking around before pointing to the big overhead light, “Maybe we’ll need to change a light bulb. Or kill a cockroach.”

“We can call maintenance.”

“What about the cockroach?”

You scrunch your nose in distaste, imagining the creepy bug crawling around the already suffocating space. “We just… won’t get cockroaches.”

“In the oldest building on campus?”

“Sana. We’re sweaty, and people don’t just go door to door and introduce themselves.”

“Sure they do,” she decides, circling her hand around your wrist, “If not, we’ll be the firsts. C’mon, we’re here to make friends.”

You follow her with a smile you can’t suppress, “We’re here to get our degrees.”

She giggles, pulling you out into the hallway. “Wouldn’t hurt to have fun while we do.”

So you follow her down the hallway, starting with your RA’s door and going down each side of the hall. Some girls excitedly exchange social media handles with empty promises to get dinner together; others give you a tour of their room. There aren’t many guys on the floor, which you feel thankful for. Not until you reach your next-door neighbors, who are still blasting music.

“Hi, we’re right next door, the very end of the hall,” Sana says with a small grin as a man opens the door. He smiles politely, taking his headphones off to greet you back.

“Nice to meet you,” the tall man offers, glancing between the two of you. “I’m Soobin. You’re our neighbors then?”

You nod, trying not to react as Sana sends you a subtle glance. He’s handsome. Tall and on the leaner side, kind eyes and a friendly smile. You hate that pretty faces have such an effect on you. “Uh, yeah. Neighbors.”

“And we wanted to exchange info just in case of emergencies or anything like that,” Sana continues in your stead.

“Oh, sure, that’s cool,” the man takes Sana’s phone, and you can’t help but notice how his slender hands cover the entire device. He types quickly, pausing before offering the phone back. “Actually, let me give you my roomie’s number too. Just in case.”

Sana agrees with a quick nod, sending you another look over her shoulder as Soobin types. She raises a brow. You shake your head. She pouts.

“Thank you, Soobin. You can text us anytime,” Sana offers with a kind smile. 

“Yeah, for sure. Nice to meet you two,” he returns the smile, still holding the door open with a foot wedged between it and the frame. He winces when the speaker behind him vibrates with a beat drop, “I’ll, um… I know the music’s loud. I’ll get him to turn it down, I promise.” 

And as he promised, the music is finally silenced the second you get into the shower. Sana insisted that you go first as a reward for socializing against your will, and you didn’t argue when you could feel the beginning of a headache.

You wash your face, thinking back to Soobin. He’s handsome. Shy and polite in a way that’s uncomfortably similar to the man you’re trying to forget. 

It’s like you see Yeosang everywhere. His favorite snack in every vending machine on campus. A kind stranger apologizing to a chair they ran into. A man with a birthmark dangerously close to his eye.

It’s only been a month since you last spoke to him in the entryway of your home. You didn’t tell anyone you broke up for the first week. You needed time to prepare for the onslaught of questions. What went wrong? Who initiated the breakup? Why do you still open his message thread after a long day?

You don’t know the answers. All you know is you’re haunted by a feeling that you can’t wash off with your scented soap, no matter how much you scrub. 

That same feeling forces you to wonder how he’s doing. You know he moved out of his house before you. His university is six hours away, a drive that’s far enough to ensure that your paths won’t ever cross. You can’t decide whether that’s good or not. 

You let the sound of the water hitting your skin overshadow the noise in your head. 

Fall semester is faster-paced than you expected. A month in, and you’re already turning in major assignments. A test in Statistics 301, a presentation for Management of Information Systems, and a paper for Fundamentals of Accounting.

You spend most of your time in a private room in the library, writing on the dented whiteboard and chewing on your pen as you read over your drafts. It’s stressful, but you have the luxury of enjoying what you’re studying, and that’s more than most people can say. So you suck it up and work, keeping temptations at bay.

You barely see Sana anymore; with her morning classes and tendency to make friends with just about everyone, she’s not in the dorm most of the time that you are.

Of course, you miss her company, but what you most miss is her shamelessness. Because although it does get you into unwanted conversations with strangers, it could easily get you out of the torture you’re in right now.

You sigh, glaring at the white wall right behind you. You’re in bed, counting the deep breaths you’re taking, but you’ve lost count three times now because an obnoxiously loud song is bleeding through the thin drywall.

It’s admittedly a good song. Definitely could go on your playlist for days you need a pick-me-up, with loud bass and striking lyrics. But it’s not the best thing to relax to the night before an important test.

You knock on the wall, but it seems the neighbor either doesn’t hear you or doesn’t care because the sound continues. 

You groan, unplugging your phone with more force than necessary.

you | hey, great song but could u pls turn it down you | i need to sleep early tn

soobin | hi ^^ soobin | sorry, but i’m not in the dorm rn

soobin | i already got a complaint from our RA so i texted my roomie but he didn’t answer TT

you | oh  you | i could go over and let him know 

soobin | that would be great soobin | tell him we can’t afford an actual noise complaint pls

you | lol okok will do

soobin | thank u!!! i’m sorry on his behalf, sleep well

You like the message and frown as you toss your phone on the bed. Sana would have no issue walking over and asking your neighbor to turn everything off. She’d have an easy time convincing him with her sparkly eyes. She could convince you that she’s actually a princess from a faraway land. That would be easy enough to believe.

But you don’t have the patience Sana has, and you certainly don’t intend to ask kindly when a stranger has been ruining your night for the past two hours.

So you put your slippers on and do your best to seem put together with your pajamas on.

You knock once. Tap your foot in an attempt to seem irritated. Twice, and now your foot is tapping on its own. Three times, and now your knocks are more like open-palmed slams.

The door swings open as you’re about to finish the third knock, and you nearly hit the man in the face. He flinches hard, taking a step back as he holds the door open.

“What the— are you good?” he asks, brows furrowed in what seems like concern and an inkling of fear. 

Chilling doesn’t even begin to describe the view in front of you. A man a little over six feet, broader than his roommate, with a face more striking than the music you’re about to complain about. It throws you off guard, but you stand your ground. That statistics test isn’t gonna take itself.

You scoff, “Are you good? It’s like eleven, and your speakers are blasting.”

His concern morphs into confusion, “You can hear my music?”

Your jaw drops in slight disbelief, “The whole fucking building can.”

The man laughs under his breath, mostly straight teeth on display as he turns to look behind him. “Fuck, sorry, I had no clue. Genuinely.”

“You had no clue?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I mean, yeah, but I assumed only the next door neighbors could hear me. They’re pretty loud, so I figured it wouldn’t bother them.”

You look at him with open annoyance. He stares back, blinking like he’s still confused. His full lips thin into an awaiting line.

“We aren’t loud.”

“Oh, you’re in 9024? Sana’s roommate?” he points at you and then drops his hand, “My bad. But you are loud, a little.”

“No, we aren’t,” you argue back, looking away from his face because it’s really starting to piss you off. Big and handsome, but dense. What a waste. Your eyes land on his hand gripping the door’s handle. Strong and littered with thick silver rings. You gulp, eyes flicking back up to him, “We’re considerate.”

He uses his free hand to scratch the underside of his jaw, heat climbing up his face, “Uh… listen, all power to you, but I’ve heard you two go at it like four times this past week.”

“Excuse me?”

“Like… you and Sana,” he explains a little quieter, “which— again, all power to you. I’m an ally, y’know? Or, well, I’m a little more than that, but—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

He gulps, throat bobbing with the force of it, “You and Sana aren’t a thing? I heard, uh… two girls, y’know…”

“No? No, what? She’s my roommate, I don’t know what you’re talking about. How do you even know her name?”

“Oh,” he nods in understanding, “She introduced herself in the elevator on move-in day. I guess she’s having fun without you. Listen, I’m sorry about the music. But if you could get her to quiet down, that would be great too.”

“I didn’t even know she was bringing anyone back to the dorm,” you trail off, sharing a brief moment of eye contact with the man. “Wow. Okay, yeah, sorry.”

He brushes you off with a wave, “Nah, all good. I’ll put my headphones on.”

“Okay, thanks…” You pause, waiting to get his name.

“Mingi,” he puts his free hand out for you to shake, and you take it with a firm grip.

His hand swallows yours as you gift him your name, but his hold is surprisingly gentle.

“Cool,” he replies, “Nice to meet you. I think I already have your number.”

“Oh, Soobin gave it to you?”

“Yeah, but I kinda forgot about it,” he reaches for his phone in his pocket, sliding it out to look for your contact. He flips the screen towards you, “This is you, right?”

You glance at your name and the rest of the empty contact, “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Great. Then, instead of banging on your door, I’ll text you if I need anything.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “The banging was necessary.”

He steps back with his hand still on the handle, lips stretched into a smile that’s unfairly pretty. “Okay, okay. Lesson learned. Good night.”

Sana wasn’t the least bit embarrassed when you brought up the noise complaint you received. She smiled apologetically, or at least attempted to, and promised to keep her new fling quiet. You didn’t even know she was seeing someone. 

But that’s just the way things always are with Sana. She takes every chance she gets to… get into people’s skirts, apparently.

It doesn’t bother you in the least. Her extreme ability to socialize is the exact reason every party you’ve ever been to has been easy and free to get into. 

That’s true even now, as you stand off to the side at a frat party on a rooftop. The wind is cold, but that doesn’t stop anyone from wearing their tiniest outfits. There are cans littered on the floor, a stray shoe that people keep tripping over but won’t move, and the music is decent enough for a party full of freshmen.

You’re holding a key in your hand, absentmindedly twirling it around as Sana walks towards you with a drink in her hand. 

“See? Super easy,” she says as she holds up her can, the colorful seltzer looking especially good after going so long without drinking.

You glance down at the small silver key in your hand, a frown tugging at your lips as you put it out for her to take, “Can you do it for me? Please?”

A small laugh drops from her lips as she shakes her head, “No, that’s like the whole reason I brought you, silly girl.”

You groan, glaring at your friend before closing your first securely around the key. The whole point of the party was to force people to socialize— each person was handed a key or a padlock as they entered, and then challenged to find the person with the corresponding piece. Once you found your match, you could bring the unlocked padlock up to the makeshift bar to get drinks. It was dumb and childish, but that’s how every frat party went. 

You look around to see most people mingling or already drinking, which means the purpose of the game has actually been fulfilled regardless of how annoying you think it is. 

So you stick your tongue out at Sana before taking a few strides to meet the first man you see. He’s in a small group, most of the people with him singing along to whatever pop song is playing as he looks around the rooftop. 

“Excuse me, are you still looking for a key?”

He turns slightly at the sound of your voice, a smile climbing onto his lips automatically. “No, I’m not,” he lifts his left hand, in which he’s holding a can of beer, “but I wish I was.”

Your brows furrow in slight confusion, “Why? Are the drinks not any good?”

He turns to face you fully, “Not chilled enough. But I mean that I wish I was so I would have an excuse to talk to you.”

You struggle not to cringe. A part of you has grown to hate being flirted with. Perhaps you got so used to turning people down for two years that you conditioned yourself. Maybe that part of you didn’t hate it at all, and you were just pushing down that craving for something serious. Something tender and slow and real. 

But this is your reality now. Desperate one-liners, classmates asking for your number under the guise of studying, direct messages from mutuals you’ve never met in real life. Nothing would ever move past the first “good morning” message.

Now, you can’t shake your head and point at Yeosang on the other side of the rooftop to get this man off you. 

So you give him no response, taking a few steps back as you squeeze the key in your hand. 

When you scan the area, most of the crowd already has drinks in their hands. The few girls you go up to have keys, and the men’s padlocks never match. You frown, signaling to Sana that you’re headed towards the bar. She doesn’t see it, too distracted by a blonde girl giving her a convincing smile. 

You step over littered red solo cups, scattered trash, and what you’re hoping is spilled beer to make it to the bar. It isn’t hard to squeeze through the crowd there, most people are just idling by as you step forward.

The bartender is hot. Tall and lean, bleached silver hair parted in the middle. His pouty lips pull in amusement at something the girl beside him says. He takes a heavy bag of ice from her and rips it open, pouring it into the cooler of whatever poisonous concoction he’s coming up with. 

You lean against the counter as you slide to the front, already planning what you’re gonna say to convince the man that you’re above tonight’s game rules.

He looks up from the cooler and meets your eyes, opening his mouth to speak over the music, until his gaze moves behind you.

His entire face lights up like a neon sign, and he reaches over and past you to put his hand out. “Yo! You made it? I thought you had a quiz to study for?”

A man’s voice from right behind you replies, and he’s so close you can feel his warmth through your shirt. “Nah, the prof moved it last minute, so I’m free.”

Their hands meet in a small movement, smooth and practiced, “That’s what I like to hear, baby. What’re we having?”

It’s your turn in the line. Whatever happened to chivalry?

“Uh, I was here first,” you say over the music as you turn to look behind you, eyes studying the broad chest that greets you. Your gaze moves up. 

Mingi.

Surprise settles over his face before he laughs, “Oh, shit, Sana’s girl?”

You frown. He smiles wider and gestures to the bar in front of you with a lift of his chin.

You take a deep breath before addressing the man behind the bar, “Do you have any beer?”

He shares a glance with Mingi before shrugging, “‘We stocked up just for you.”

The girl beside him speaks up, “They’re more like room temp though, if that’s okay. Or you wanna try some punch?”

You look at the bright orange cooler. Even the color seems like it’s warning you that the drink it holds could put you into a coma. You wave your hand in dismissal, “I’m okay, actually. I’ll take the beer.”

“Okay,” she agrees, bending down to grab the cans, sparkly skirt riding up the backs of her thighs. You pretend not to notice the bartender immediately lock onto the view. She comes back up, fixes her hair, and puts out three options of beer for you to choose from. But then she hesitates, “Wait, sorry, almost forgot. Did you already get marked off for the game?”

Mingi speaks up from behind you, “That’s still going on?”

“It’s a themed party, we have rules,” she replies, smiling when you and Mingi both groan in distaste.

Mingi looks at his friend with desperation, “Yeonjun. C’mon.”

The man shrugs, “Rules are rules. You’re just unlucky she remembered. I kinda forgot.”

You glance back at your neighbor, he sends the girl a half-hearted glare before looking back at you. “You have a key?”

You put out your palm, showing off the small silver key, “Yup.”

Mingi opens his own fist to drop his small padlock next to your key. You hold his padlock and try your key, and to your surprise, it slides in. But once you try to turn it, it gets stuck. You try a few times before handing it over to Mingi.

His hands look comically large around the small metal object, and he tries his hardest to unlock it. “What the fuck?”

“Maybe they’re not the right match?” Yeonjun suggests, and Mingi shakes his head.

You cut in, “I really need a drink. Mingi, hurry.”

“I’m trying,” he furrows his brows, “You’re always so mean.”

“What do you mean, ‘always’? This is our second conversation.”

“And you were mean both times, so yeah, always.”

You scoff, ripping the padlock from Mingi’s hands with ease and holding it towards Yeonjun, “Can you try, please? I think he might just be weak.”

“Sure can, beautiful,” he takes the lock with slender fingers, sliding the key out and back in before turning. He twists it once, then twice, but it snaps in his hands. 

The four of you look at each other in shock before Yeonjun laughs. Mingi frowns and turns to look directly at his friend. The man hesitates, biting his lip before reluctantly nodding in defeat. He brushes his lips against the pretty girl’s ear, saying something you don’t quite catch, and she agrees with an excited nod that moves her tight curls. “Okay, take your beers. I’ll stamp your hands to mark you off for the game.”

“That counted?” Mingi asks, and you nudge his ribs with your elbow to shut him up. He instinctively arches away from you, a huff of air brushing your ear as he complains.

“Thank you,” you put your hand out for her to stamp, and then take the beer can with a smile. The girl winks at you before passing a beer to Mingi with a straight face.

Mingi takes it with a victorious grin, dapping Yeonjun up one more time before following you through the crowd. “Weak?”

You meet his eyes as he catches up to your side, popping open your can. “Huh?”

“You called me weak earlier.”

“Am I supposed to take it back now?”

His brows pinch, sharp eyes following your every movement as he continues walking with you, “No, I guess not. I’m not very strong.”

“I could see that,” you smile without thinking, taking a sip of your drink.

He mirrors you, “Okay, I technically got you a drink, so I would appreciate you being a little nicer to me.”

“Excuse me?”

His grin drops at the tone of your voice, “No, I mean— I think Jun let us slide because he owes me a drink from last time I saw him. Not that you owe me anything.”

You watch him struggle to keep eye contact, ultimately settling to look down at his can. It makes your blood feel hot beneath your skin.

“We’re even now. This makes up for you keeping me up with your annoying music,” you shrug, stopping to stand by the railing.

A smile returns to his lips immediately, “Does it? I felt really bad, y’know. But I didn’t notice any noises coming from your side these past few weeks.”

“I asked Sana to not bring people over so often. Or so loudly.”

He leans his back against the railing, watching you lean forward, “I appreciate that. So does Soobin.”

You nod and take a big gulp of beer. You try to ignore the taste in hopes that it’ll feel like nothing soon enough.

Behind Mingi, you see a couple of drunk girls dancing a little too close to the railing, a group of friends passing around a digital camera to take pictures of each other, and couples off making out in the corners. The last view makes you roll your eyes. 

As if you hadn’t done the same thing at countless parties. 

But you don’t let the ache settle. You don’t have time to digest anything but the alcohol in your hands, so you turn back to the man beside you.

You can see Mingi’s whole outfit now that he’s not glued to your back. He’s eccentric, unafraid to wear something that might be deemed too much. You deduce that just based on his dark oversized clothing, the almost obscene amount of jewelry he’s wearing, and the dark shades pushing his black hair back. You think he thinks he’s cool. You might think so too.

“How come he isn’t here tonight?”

Mingi looks up, still leaning his long arms back on the railing, “Who?”

“Soobin.”

He tilts his head, “I dunno. We were supposed to come together. I think he went to go see his girl.”

You can’t help the downward tug of your lips. All handsome men were either taken, assholes, or gay. Sometimes all three. “He has a girlfriend?”

Mingi nods, “Yeah. Is that disappointing?”

“Kinda.”

“He used to sleep with a body pillow of some random anime character.”

The random admission pulls a laugh from you, “What? Why are you telling me that?”

“To help you not be so disappointed,” he replies, and he’s close enough that you can see the way one of his front teeth is slightly crooked. It’s cute. 

“I’m not like… in love with your roommate or anything.”

“Because you’re in love with yours?”

You nearly snap your neck with how fast you turn to glare at him, “Shut up, I told you the girl making all that noise isn’t me.”

Mingi’s eyes crinkle with a laugh. It’s breathless, and you wish you could hear it a little bit clearer over the music. 

“I believe you.”

He lifts his free hand to point out Sana just a few meters away, still talking to the same blonde girl you saw with her earlier. But they’re much closer now, noses nearly touching with each word they speak. 

“I’m gonna need another drink,” you shut your eyes and chug the remnants of your beer.

“Let’s go then.”

You watch him tip his can all the way back to finish his drink in one go, and he’s moving back to the center of the rooftop before you can reply. 

A cold gust of wind hits your side and it spurs you on, your heeled feet immediately chasing after his steps. 

You didn’t count how many more beers you shared with Mingi. You stopped after the fourth emptied drink, when the cans in your hands became more like microphones for a round of karaoke only the two of you seemed to be a part of.

But they’re enough that you’re both giggling as you hop into a car together, trying your best to seem sober as the driver pulls off. 

His shades are on you now, sliding down the bridge of your nose as he takes a picture of you. The driver clicks his tongue in distaste at the quick flash of light from Mingi’s phone, and the latter mumbles a quick apology.

You attempt to take the device from him, embarrassed at the surely unflattering picture, but he hides it behind his back. “Hold on, I just need a contact picture for you.”

“You took it from so high up, it’s probably fucking ugly,” you complain, still reaching around him to grab the phone. 

He snorts, “It’s just for me to look at. Take one of me for my contact.”

You blink slowly before agreeing, taking out your phone to get the worst angle of him possible. He poses with his teeth bared, and then his brows furrowed, and then his tongue out. You try different angles. But even from below, he’s pretty. It makes you scoff in frustration.

“Fuck you, this is no fun,” you stumble out of the car into the cold night, your phone still in your hand. He takes hold of your forearm, guiding you to the front of your dormitory.

His grip steadies you, and you make it all the way to the elevator successfully, without waking up the RA sleeping at the front desk.

Mingi pulls you up so you’re standing straight and not leaning your weight onto him, and you press the button to the ninth floor.

“I take it back now,” you hold onto his arm, chest glued to him.

He’s looking straight at the doors, not bothering to turn, “Take what back?”

The elevator dings with every floor you pass, “You’re not that weak. You could probably manhandle me.”

He turns to look at you, forcing his eyes to remain on your face and not your cleavage pushing into his jacket’s sleeve, “Thanks?”

Metal doors finally open as you reach the ninth floor, and Mingi keeps a hand on your arm as you step out. You smile when he begins to follow you down the hall, “You’re coming with me? Do you want to manhandle me?”

The tall man chokes on a laugh, “No. No, you’re out of it. I’m your neighbor, remember? We’re walking in the same direction.”

Your heels click softly against the tiled floor and you sigh in drunken disappointment. He stumbles over a trash bag someone left right outside their door, feet stomping against the floor before he catches himself.

You cover your mouth to stifle the loud laugh that spills out, “Mingi, people are sleeping.”

His face morphs from embarrassment to amusement when he hears you, and he follows you closer, “Sorry. I think that last beer got to me.”

Once you’re in front of your neighboring doors, he takes out his keys and unlocks his door with shaky hands. You reach into your shoulder bag and search through it blindly to do the same.

Lip gloss, wallet, school ID, and a pack of gum. You freeze. Your hand feels around the bag again. A small pack of tissues, phone, and a compact mirror.

“Mingi,” your voice is barely over a whisper, “I don’t have my keys. Sana and I were planning to come back together so we only took hers.”

His brows raise in surprise, taking your bag to search for you. He pushes a few things around before sighing in defeat, “Did you tell her you were leaving?”

“No?”

His head snaps up to look at you, deep voice pitched into a whispered yell, “What? She’s gonna freak out.”

“She has my location,” you take your phone when he hands it to you, sweaty hands fumbling to unlock it and check your notifications.

Ten texts and three missed calls, all from Sana. Your stomach sinks.

“She’s gonna think some creep brought you back here.”

You eye him suspiciously, “Well…”

“Me? I’m trying to help you since you don’t know the first thing about safety.”

Your reply to his comment is a pointed glare that he backs away from. Your fingers feel slow as you type a text to your roommate to let her know you’re okay, just locked out. 

“Seriously,” he continues with a tilt of his head, not stepping into his dorm room, “You don’t take your own keys and then you don’t let your friends know where you are?”

“Okay, I get it, I fucked up. She says she’ll be here in thirty,” you take your bag back from him and sling it over your shoulder, “Thanks for the ride home.”

He watches you sink to the floor and hesitates before closing the door behind him to do the same.

You whip your head to the side. “What are you doing?”

He shrugs, long legs spreading out as he leans his head back, “Waiting for Sana with you.”

You want to laugh at the ridiculous notion. But he’s already closing his eyes, ready to spend the next thirty minutes on the dirty tile with you. 

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“It’s not like we’re friends.”

The statement settles in the air for longer than you intended, and you hear him exhale deeply before speaking. 

“I want that too.”

“To be friends?”

He’s already looking at you when you turn to get an answer. He nods decisively.

“I think so.”

You cross your legs beneath you, “You think or you know?”

Mingi pauses, watching the way the skirt of your dress rides up your legs. He leans forward enough to shrug his jacket off and drape it over the exposed skin.

“There’s a spirit org throwing in two weeks. It’s their mid-mester celebration. It’s supposed to be a great time.”

“Which org?”

He shrugs, accidentally knocking his elbow against the door, “Random, I dunno. But I’ve been before, and they’re fun.”

“Are you inviting me?” 

His eyes catch on his glasses resting just below the bridge of your nose, “Yeah. Soobin and I are going. You and Sana can tag along.”

“Soobin’s girlfriend too, then?”

Mingi’s brows pinch in confusion and then he inhales, “Oh, right. Uh, yeah, maybe.”

“Sounds good,” you fix the warm jacket on your lap, already planning your outfit. Something just as tiny as what you’re wearing now, with the hopes that he’ll let you take his jacket when you ask.

He picks at his baggy jeans, snapping off a loose thread before speaking, “You wanna come in and wait in my room? Soobin’s not here.”

Your lips pull to the side as you think, taking a look at the wooden door behind him.

Mingi continues, “No pressure. We can stay here, I just wanted to offer.”

“Okay,” you huff, securing your purse over your shoulder as you scramble to your feet. He straightens, helping you up before pushing the door open.

“Ignore the mess,” he mumbles as you walk in first, “and text Sana that you’re here.”

You nod in agreement, sending a quick message before dropping your belongings on his desk and sitting up on it without asking. He picks up a few socks and bottles, tossing them into different bins as you look around.

It’s disorganized. Scattered books and papers on the desks, unmade beds, and clothes strewn across different surfaces. It smells like cologne and takeout, a weird combination that reminds you of where you are. 

He flicks the bright overhead light on, apologizing when you complain and opting to turn a lamp on instead. 

Mingi sits beside you on his desk’s chair, his legs spread, hands behind his head as he leans back to stretch his back. He groans and you pretend the sound doesn’t go straight to your guts.

sana | so you’re staying the night next door? or do you need me to rescue you?

You glance at the notifications on your screen.

you | neither, he’s just waiting with me

sana | bummer  sana | he’s cute, i saw you talking

you | maybe i’m tipsy but i kinda need him

sana | ;)

Your phone shuts off with a click and you place it face down on Mingi’s desk. 

“So… the bartender earlier was your friend?”

He turns, nodding slowly, “Yeah, Yeonjun. He’s Soobin’s friend. They’re pretty close, so I know the guy.”

“Yeonjun,” you echo, testing the waters, “Is he taken too?”

Mingi narrows his eyes, “Soobin’s taken, so you go after Yeonjun?”

“You miss every shot you don’t take.”

That punches a laugh out of his chest, one you can actually hear this time. It’s boyish, slightly out of breath. Something you wouldn’t expect out of a face like his.

“Wow, you’re something.”

“What does that mean?” 

He shrugs, “I don’t know. But I like it.”

Your arm is still hot where his hands guided you earlier, and you look at his flushed neck and hope it’s not just the alcohol. He meets your eyes for a second too long, and he pushes away from the desk to stand up. He stops when you mumble his name.

“Hm?”

“I really want you to kiss me.”

He opens his mouth, closes it. His own reaction seems to surprise him because he tries to speak again, but the only sound that escapes him is a “huh?”

“Kiss me. I wanted you to, in the car. And then the elevator. But you keep backing up.”

His chest trembles with an inhale, “You’re sure? Like really sure?”

You nod, legs kicking from where they hang over his desk, “I am if you are.”

He nods so quickly you’re afraid he’ll get dizzy, “Fuck, yes.”

The smile he causes makes your cheeks hurt, and you raise your brows in surprise when he shoves the desk chair out of his way to stand between your legs.

He gets close enough for your breaths to mingle in the matter of seconds, but he stops right there, hovering by your face.

You feel him hesitate and take the initiative instead, taking a fistful of his shirt to pull him into you. He obeys easily, taking one last step to close the distance between you.

His lips are exactly what you expected, plump and slightly chapped, still tasting like cheap liquor.

He shivers when your hands move up his torso, making his shirt ride up enough to expose his skin to the air. You continue your travel up his chest, to his shoulders, around his neck. He keeps his hands on your sides, unwilling to explore. 

Your teeth nip at his bottom lip, and that seems to wake him up because his large hands squeeze your flesh with little restraint. He tries to take another step, to get closer to you, but the edge of the table bumps against the tops of his thighs and he exhales in frustration. He uses his hold on you to pull you closer, and your legs spread further to accommodate him.

It’s been months since you’ve kissed someone— months since you’ve felt a man moan into your mouth and try his best to keep his hands in one place. The feeling is intoxicating, feeling so wanted and so in control of someone else’s body. 

Mingi doesn’t feel like Yeosang. His hands are bigger, they’re less delicate than the latter’s. He doesn’t touch you like he knows you. He hasn’t discovered the spot between your neck and your shoulder that makes your skin rise with goosebumps. But he makes up for his lack of knowledge in sheer want— in desperation and need that Yeosang never dared to show.

You inhale sharply when he pulls back for air, eyes blown out with desire.

“You still okay?” his voice wavers slightly, roughened around the edges.

“Yes,” your voice is barely a whisper, eyes examining his features with increasing anticipation. 

Mingi nods like he’s trying to reassure you, but it ends up looking more like he’s hyping himself up.

His thumb slides against the sliver of skin revealed by your shirt, “How about this?”

He pauses before leaning forward, the tip of his nose brushing the underside of your jaw as his lips make contact with your skin. The kisses start slow and experimental, barely-there grazes of nervous affection. When you shudder, pushing him closer, he gains enough confidence to trail a little lower.

One of his hands comes up slowly, index finger curling beneath your chin to tilt your head back. Your chest is heaving with heavy breaths, one arm propped on the desk beneath you while the other holds onto his upper arm. 

He licks right over your pulse point, the hand on your chin moving down to rest on the base of your neck. The weight of it makes you release a soft ‘yes’, and he groans, pressing more of his front against you.

The door shakes with two knocks.

Mingi immediately releases you, straightening up like he's been caught doing something illegal. You jolt, hopping off his desk and arranging your clothes.

He clears his throat, running a hand through his black hair before stepping over to open the door.

“Hey, Sana, come in,” he says, moving aside as the shorter girl peeks past the doorframe.

“That’s alright, I’ll just wait out here,” she replies with a bright smile, waving at you as you grab your purse. 

You take a deep breath before walking to the entryway. You stop right beside Sana, looking up to Mingi, “Thanks for letting me stay. Text me?”

“For sure,” he smiles as he steals a glance at your lips, “I’ll text you. Good night.”

Sana looks between you, nodding at Mingi before he shuts the door and leaves you both in the hallway. 

“What was that?” Sana searches your face with a giggle, doing her best to keep her voice down despite the alcohol running through her system.

You shush her, “Open the door, I’ll tell you inside.”

She does so with shaky hands, fumbling the lock before practically pulling you in.

You tell her about the tension between the two of you, the way he desperately kissed you back, how the weight of him felt heavenly against you.

“I cockblocked you?” Sana covers her face with both her hands, “Fuck, sorry. I thought you were joking about needing him.”

“I wasn't gonna fuck him,” you shake your head, removing your heels and throwing them to the side. “It didn't feel right.”

“Really? Y’know, you’ve been kinda weird about your love life recently.”

She trails off, eyes widening like she forgot she was speaking out loud.

“How?”

“Um, y’know, ever since you broke up with Yeosang, you’ve just been like… kinda avoiding meeting new people.”

Your brows furrow, “It’s only been a few months, Sana. I was with him for two years.”

Her pink lips push out. “It was a high school relationship.”

“High school was like… practically yesterday. It still hurts, Sana. I don't wanna rush into anything.”

A moment of uncomfortable silence envelops you as she ties her hair. 

“I mean… we’re in college now. You can mess around, y’know? Not every kiss or hook-up has to mean something.”

“Maybe not to you.”

“What does that mean?”

She turns to look at you, hair pushed back by a headband with bunny ears protruding from it. Half of her face is glistening with remnants of the makeup remover she’s using. It makes it hard to take her annoyance seriously.

You shrug, “You’re apparently just bringing anyone back to the dorm.”

“Are you shaming me?”

The hurt in her voice withers your resolve.

“No— no, that’s not what I mean. Sorry, it’s just… Yeosang’s the only person I’ve ever slept with, so I don’t know what to do. And I wish I had your ability to go after what I want without thinking twice. I’m a little jealous, actually. But I didn't mean to get defensive.”

She takes a deep breath, “Earlier, you said he didn't feel right. But I don't think that’s it.”

“You’re gonna tell me how I feel?”

She narrows her eyes, index finger pointed straight at your mouth, “Let me finish. I think Mingi felt different. But different isn’t wrong. It’s just new.”

You unzip your skirt, “I guess… if I got the chance, I’d kiss him again.”

“Not just because you're drunk?”

The jab lightens the mood and you put your dirty clothes in the hamper, “No. I thought he was cute the first time I talked to him. Annoying, but nice to look at.”

“So kiss him again. And don't wait for a chance to come around, create one.”

You watch her use another wipe to clean her face in the dim light of her light-up mirror. “Really?”

“Really. Don’t wait for him to text you. Kiss him, fuck him, dump him, kiss someone else.”

Sana shrugs, you tug your shirt off, “Is that how you treat the girls you bring here?”

“Of course not. Women deserve respect. I’m a one-girl kinda girl.”

A chuckle tumbles from your chest, “But I should date as many men as I want?”

“Exactly, you get it now. That’s what every girl should be doing. It’s not like guys our age care.”

So when Mingi texts you the next morning, somewhere between apologizing to you and asking you out, you knock on his door as a yes.

Dating Mingi is easy. Spontaneous late-night drives when neither of you can sleep, fast food between classes, ice cream as a reward for getting through midterms.

Make-out sessions at his dorm when Soobin pulls all-nighters at the library. But never further than that.

Your relationship bleeds into the spring semester, something exclusive that you don't exactly name until he admits that he can't stand that you introduce him as your friend. 

So in early March, you’re lying on his bed, one hand threading through his hair as he rests his head on your chest. He’s scrolling on his phone, breathing softly.

“Yeo— babe,” you correct yourself quickly, nearly slapping your hand over your mouth.

“Hm?”

You almost sigh in relief when you realize he didn't catch it. “Are we going anywhere tonight?”

Mingi puts his phone down, moving so that his chin is hovering over your sternum, “No?”

“But I did my hair today,” you insist, frowning when he shakes his head. 

“Mm, and you look hot. But I feel like staying in tonight.”

You sigh, head dropping onto the pillow with extra force, “We rarely go on an actual date. All we do is scroll on our phones and kiss.”

“Sounds like heaven to me.”

Your frown deepens.

He drops his head so that the side of his face is resting on your chest once more, “Okay, I get it. Let’s go to that fancy restaurant on Eighth Street that everyone is talking about.”

“For real?”

“‘Course, baby. Anything for my girl.”

Your stomach flutters and you straighten up, “I’m gonna go next door and change. Come get me when you’re ready?”

“Mhm,” he pecks your lips, “wanna match?”

You push him away, “No. Just wear something nice. No tank tops.”

He grins. “We’ll see.”

It’s not long before you’re sitting across from Mingi in a high-rise building, upscale atmosphere complete with candles in the middle of your table. The tablecloth is pristine, and every waiter makes it seem like being attractive is a requirement to work at the establishment. 

The menu is short and devoid of any price tags, the only indication being how fancy the name of each dish sounded. You order quickly, but the food takes quite some time to get to your table.

When it finally arrives, you can't decide which of the two looks more delectable: Mingi in a baby blue button-down or the meal the waiter just placed in front of you. 

The food is as delicious as it looks, buttery and just the right amount of salty. Dessert is even better, shared between the two of you with giggles in between. 

Your boyfriend pays the tab like always, albeit a bit reluctantly, but he doesn't complain when you thank him with a kiss on his cheek.

You can't help but expect something more than a kiss when you walk back into his dorm. The date had gone perfectly, and you could feel the way Mingi kept staring at you when he thought you weren't looking. In four months of officially dating, you had expected to be put through the mattress.

But every time things started getting heated, something would come up. So you strike now, right after he locks the door behind him, and you kiss him with determination.

He kisses you back immediately, steadying himself with two hands on your waist. You trace the seam of his bottom lip with your tongue and he gives in easily, brows scrunching with arousal.

Your fingers mess with the small buttons on his shirt, slowly undoing them as he walks you back towards his bed. His shirt falls open and you take the opportunity to map out the ridges of his abdomen. 

He moans into your mouth when your nails scratch lightly around his pecs, and you reward the sound with one of your own.

Mingi shudders, completely pliant as you sit on the edge of his bed and pull him down with you by the nape of his neck. The frame creaks quietly underneath you as he bends at the waist to keep his mouth on yours, one knee coming up to rest between your legs.

He chases your lips as you pull away to settle on his comforter, and he opens his eyes to admire the view below him. He bites his lips, adjusting his pants as the strap of your dress slides off your shoulder. 

Mingi feels like everything is happening in slow motion. He can see every millimeter of your legs that your dress is exposing as it rides up, and he can feel how each one of your breaths shakes your entire body. He hasn’t seen you this turned on, not since the night he first kissed you. The thought goes straight to his chest and he gulps to try to extinguish the heat it causes. 

“Baby,” he murmurs, sliding his palms on the sides of your thighs, “you okay? You’re trembling a little.”

“I want you,” you admire the way his frame looks even bigger from this angle. “So bad.”

He gulps. Audibly. His throat bobs with the force of it, and the view only turns you on even more.

It’s so obvious that he has little to no experience. If you’re to guess, you’d bet the furthest he’s ever gone with someone is a make-out session. His shirt isn't even all the way off, he’s letting it hang on his shoulders, and he hasn't even tried undressing you. 

You guide his hands from your thighs to the already falling straps of your dress. He meets your eyes like he needs more confirmation that he has your permission, and you nod, letting him bring the front of your dress down enough to reveal the lace underneath. 

His eyes nearly bulge out of his head, and you swear you hear him curse when his hands move from your shoulders to rest over your chest.  

You lie to him. You're not sure why, but the words come out of your mouth as if you'd practiced them in the mirror.

“I’m a virgin too," you state, interrupting the nervous journey of his eyes all over your torso. His gaze snaps up.

He nods repeatedly, trying and failing to calm himself down as you prop yourself up on your elbows. "Really? Good. I mean, I wouldn't care if you weren't. But it makes me a little bit less nervous. Kinda. Wait, how did you know?”

His exposed chest flushes redder the more he speaks, and you distract him by tugging his shirt all the way off. That’s enough to keep him from rambling. 

Guilt gnaws at your gut as he smiles down at you. To be fair, you’re clean, so it's not like you're lying about your health. And, since when were bodies before college even counted as bodies? Not that Yeosang was just a body. 

"Are you nervous too?" he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts, "We don't have to do anything. I’d love to, I think that's obvious, but if this is too much..."

He begins to shift away from you and your legs wrap around his waist in a panic,

"No. I mean, yes, I'm nervous but I still want to."

"How badly?" he asks, regaining some confidence. His eyes regard you with a hunger he can't hide, too eager for someone pretending to be in control.

"Don’t put on that act."

"What act?"

"That... dominant daddy shit you're trying to do," you reply with a grin, "It’s not working."

The tension in his shoulders eases, “I was trying to lighten the mood.”

"You watch too much porn, just let this happen naturally," you inhale in anticipation as he leans closer.

Mingi shakes his head, his hips fitting snugly between your legs, "I don't watch porn."

"A man in college who doesn't watch porn? Please."

"I don't need to," he insists, eyes fluttering when your back arches just enough to close the distance between your chests. “Especially not now."

“What’s that mean?”

He places short kisses on your lips, “Promise you won't laugh?”

“No promises.”

He smiles against your lips, voice slightly muffled, “I just use your pictures. Or voice messages.”

Your heart burns at the admission, “What?”

He kisses you again, buying himself some time to explain, “I save all the ones you send me.”

“I’ve never sent you anything crazy.”

“I know, that's why I asked you not to laugh,” he says, climbing over you. 

“So what? You jerk off to outfit pictures?”

“The selfies you send when you’re getting ready to go out. But mostly your voice.”

“Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Yeah?” he kisses down the column of your neck, “I felt guilty, asking you to send me voice messages about your day just so I could come.”

“Mingi, stop talking,” you complain even though his voice is soaking you through your underwear. 

He licks a stripe up your neck, slowly figuring out what makes your heartbeat flutter, “Have you done anything like that? With me?”

You think back to all the sleepy voice memos he’d sent you and how you’d used them to get off when you were feeling especially desperate. His deep voice that made you feel like it was ringing inside you, even now. You close your eyes, pleasure shooting through your body as some of his weight settles on you. “I’ve used your voice messages.”

He pulls back, sitting on his knees with your legs spread over them, “Let me see it.”

“What?”

His eyes meet yours with an intensity you've never seen from him before. It makes your stomach flip, “I wanna see how you touch yourself.”

Your entire body feels like it's on fire at the request, but you can't find it in yourself to deny either of you the pleasure.

Mingi helps you, sliding the skirt of your dress all the way up to your hips. He sees the wet patch on your panties and groans, hands spreading your legs wider over his own. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked.”

You press your lips together, trying not to make any sound to embarrass yourself further.

He continues, thumb tracing the frilly edge of your underwear, “These are so cute, I can basically see through them.”

You try to close your legs out of instinct, “Mingi.”

His eyes snap up to yours, “You still okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just getting impatient.”

He smiles in relief, “I’m waiting on you.”

“To do what?”

He replies like it's obvious, “To touch yourself. I don't know what to do. I want you to teach me. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Just making sure,” he reassures you with a kiss to your lips, “Go ahead, baby. Whenever you’re ready.”

You gulp down a wave of nerves as your hand snakes past your hips to pull your lace panties to the side. You silently thank your intuition for pushing you to pick your cutest pair right before going out to dinner. You hear Mingi take a long breath, but you don't dare look up.

The air feels too cold against your heated skin, and you clench under his focused gaze.

He tips his head back and you follow the movement with your eyes, keeping one finger hooked around the middle of your panties.

“Sorry, fuck, hold on,” he mutters, hips moving involuntarily as he readjusts your legs over his own. “You’re so pretty and so fucking wet. I’m dizzy.”

The praise quickens your already accelerated heartbeat, “For you.”

He looks down at you, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, “Don’t say that. Fuck, why would you say that?”

You gain a little bit of confidence as you remember you have the upper hand in experience, regardless if he's aware of it or not. “It’s true. I’ve been thinking about this for months, Mingi.”

He watches intently, jaw still slack, as two of your fingers spread your arousal over yourself. You draw out the motions, eyes trained on the harsh rise of his chest and the jumping muscle of his jaw.

Mingi squeezes his eyes shut for a second but then opens them like he missed something monumental by trying to calm himself down. “Months?”

“Months,” you confirm, circling your clit just the way you like. You take a deep breath to stifle a whimper, stomach clenching at the familiar feeling, “Doing this, imagining it was you instead. Thinking your fingers would feel better.”

He moans, the hands that are keeping you spread biting into your flesh, “You’re so sexy. I wanna help you. Please let me help you, baby, please.”

“Do it.”

His hand quickly moves from the inside of your thigh to replace yours over your clit. He tries his best to replicate the movements he was observing seconds ago, his eyes continuously moving from gauging your reaction back down to your core.

His fingers are a little too light, circles too slow to get you anywhere. So you hold his wrist, “A little harder, you won't hurt me, I promise.”

Mingi nods, adjusting the pressure until he hears you choke on a groan and your fingers loosen around his wrist. He smiles at the achievement, increasing his speed as he watches your breaths pick up.

“Like this?” he asks, taking your shameless moan as an affirmative answer. ”Yeah?”

He uses his hold on your left leg to pull you closer, head turning to the side to place a kiss on the inside of your knee. 

“Min— fuck, please,” you writhe, body moving on its own to fuck up into his hand. He’s panting, hips grinding into open space as he watches you suppress all the noises he so desperately wants to hear.

“Holy shit, you’re shaking,” his chest rumbles with a disbelieving laugh, sparks of pleasure shooting down his spine at the thought that he’s doing this to you. That you’re sweating, moaning his name, and trying to get more of him even though your limbs are shaky. He feels in control of everything but himself. It’s like a wet dream he can't dictate— his body shudders when he sees your flesh straining against the lace of your bra— and he can only watch as you clench around nothing. 

And he understands. He finally understands why his upstairs neighbors fuck like bunnies and why your roommate brings a new girl over every week.

Because the view in front of him is addictive, his hand feels like it might cramp but he doesn't care, and he wants more than just to touch. He wants you to tell him what you need, and he wants to listen. He hasn't blasted music from his speakers for months, not since you came over to yell at him for it. But he would listen to you on loop on the highest volume, without a care in the world. Or scratch that, he would care, and he’d never want anyone else to hear this. How obscenely your pussy is squelching or the gasps of his name or the muffled moans. He thinks he’d rather keep it to himself forever, on the highest volume in his head.

Mingi doesn't let up, fingers working at the same pace, making embarrassing noises with every tight circle he draws. He’s watching you closely now, you can feel it. You can feel the shift in his energy, you can see how he went from thinking he might make you come to knowing he will. 

“Don't stop,” you manage to get out, back arching involuntarily, “Mingi, I'm so close.”

“Fuck, hold on, baby,” he interrupts, voice rough with unbridled lust, “I wanna taste you. I want you to come on my face. Please?”

The plea tips you right over the edge, and you fight your own body to stay down on the bed. He groans with you, working you through your orgasm at the exact pace that got you there in the first place.

Mingi’s in complete awe as your head tips forward and then back, a moan of his name mumbled into your hand. He feels his own nerves light up and betray him, but he doesn't stop the rhythmic circles on your clit.

You take a deep breath through your mouth at the sting between your legs, and you push his hand away, “Too much.”

“Sorry, fuck, sorry, baby,” he says, pulling away immediately to let it rest on your hip instead. “You good?”

You nod, humming when he folds over you and presses his lips to yours. You reach between you to readjust your panties, to give you some semblance of dignity, “A little out of breath.”

His eyes move down to the lace still covering your chest, the fabric of your dress bunched just below your bra, “Yeah, I see that.”

“Are you good, Min?”

“Uh,” he smiles widely, looking off to the side. “Yeah. But I might’ve ruined my pants.”

“Seriously?”

He closes his eyes tightly, “Yeah. Sorry, it’s never happened before, I swear. It’s just… watching you turned me on a lot more than I thought it would.”

You shake your head, “Don't be sorry. That’s really hot.”

Mingi blinks in confusion, “It is?”

“Duh. Imagine it the other way around.”

He takes a few seconds before nodding, “That would… really turn me on.”

You laugh under your breath as he looks up at the ceiling, “You're actually thinking about it?” 

“You told me to.”

“Are you just listening to orders tonight?”

His breath hitches, “Yes?”

Your arms loop around his neck and you bring him down for a lazy kiss. He reciprocates with a hum, hips grinding against yours.

You pull him off your lips by his hair, “You wanna keep going?”

His expression drops, “I don't have any protection.”

“I can just…” you trail off, guiding him down for another kiss to get his body to relax. His knees press into the mattress just below your ass, your legs still spread around his hips. You lay all the way back down, swallowing a groan from him as he cages you in with his forearms. 

This kiss is slower, needier and you can feel the difference in his confidence. He had made you come. Hard. Much harder than you expected, at least. You can still feel your arousal dripping out of you, core clenching every time he unknowingly whines against your lips. 

“Flip over,” you command softly as you pull away, giving him a second to process before he moves onto his back. “Sit up against the headboard.”

You follow him, straddling his lap with your legs draping on either side of him. He frowns when you slide back to seat yourself further down on his thighs, one of his hands reaching for your hip to keep you close. “Baby, what’re you doing?”

You lean forward, lips just barely grazing his as you speak, “Don’t you want me to return the favor?”

He swallows, eyes blinking rapidly, “If— if you want to.”

“I want you to do the same thing I did.”

“What?”

“Show me.”

He huffs, nodding before he tries to seal his lips against yours, but you pull away before he can. That throws him off for a moment but he recovers, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans with stable hands. You smile when he shoves them down, fingers reaching for his boxers next. You don't even have time to process the wet stain on the front or the outline of him before he’s already freed himself, half-hard and leaking. 

He’s big. Definitely bigger than you're used to, pretty and long. You almost want your mouth on it, just to feel the difference. Almost. But that would give you away, so you shake the thought from your head.

Mingi’s abs clench under your stare, dick jumping slightly when you look back up at him. You lean over and kiss him, humming when his hand slides up to your back, just over the exposed clasp of your bra.

“Take it off me, Min,” you don't wait for an answer, trailing kisses down the sharp line of his jaw.

He tries his best, focusing on the clasp and not your tongue sliding against his skin. But he fumbles one too many times, so you reach back and help him. The lace slides off easily, and he helps you loop your arms out before tossing the garment to the side. 

“Fuck,” he grumbles, hands reaching to feel the soft flesh, but you push both his arms down. They land palm down beside him on the mattress. “I can't touch?”

You shake your head, “Not yet.”

His breathing picks up, and he gulps, one hand moving to grip himself. He uses the pad of his thumb to spread his pre-cum all over his tip, a small gasp escaping him from the sensitivity.

You watch with bated breath, the slow tugs he gives himself as his eyes remain glued to your chest. 

“Talk to me,” you push some hair out of his face, “what do you usually imagine?”

Mingi bites his bottom lip, eyebrows scrunching together with effort, “You. Looking up at me— or down at me like you are now. Touching me however you want. Using me. Riding my face, shit, I’ve dreamed of that.”

Expressive. Another thing you aren't used to in intimate moments. Your ex would never allow himself to let go too much. Always too worried about the next movement or returning favors. At some point, your sexual exchanges felt practiced. Not exactly transactional, but predictable. Surface level and routine, regardless of how pleasurable they’d been.

So the string of grunts Mingi can’t contain when he tightens his grip feels special. New and melodic and reckless.

Praise rolls off your tongue like instinct, words you’ve thought but never said before because you knew they’d be met with little response Your smaller hand takes over for him, wrapping around his length in one slow stroke, “You sound so pretty, let me help you, Min.”

“Thank you,” he sucks in a breath when you start moving your hand up and down in a torturous rhythm, “Fuck, how—? You’re so good at this. Let me touch you.”

You twist your fist on the upstroke, earning a breathy moan from him so loud it makes your insides burn. You repeat the motion, smiling when a dribble of precum trails down his tip, “No, you’re making a mess.”

“I can’t help it. I’ve never… we’ve never done this,” his head tips back and hits the wooden bed frame, throat bobbing with impatience. “How are you so fucking good at that?”

You distract him with a messy kiss, hand picking up speed on his dick as his chest presses against yours.

“Oh, fuck,” he breaks away from the kiss, a loud groan falling off his swollen lips, “fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me come.”

You hum in affirmation, keeping one hand around him while the other covers his mouth, “Mingi, you're being loud.”

He whines something unintelligible against your palm, eyes rolling back when you purposefully focus your strokes on his sensitive tip.

He meets your hand with weak thrusts, big palms now cupping the undersides of your breasts and squeezing like he needs to ground himself. He’s decided he’s done enough waiting and he wants to take. You let him, not reminding him to put his hands down because the action is so impatient, so needy, so him. And you feel not just wanted but needed, for once. 

The feeling of soft skin against his hands only pushes him closer to the edge, and he moans loudly into your palm when you react to him taking your nipples between his thumbs and his pointer fingers. 

You push your chest out instinctively, hips unintentionally grinding against him and that does it for him. He only lasts two more strokes before he's panting into your hand and shooting ropes of cum all over your dress and his abdomen.

The heel of your palm gently pushes against his face as you attempt to muffle his noises, and you slow down your pace to work him through his high. His eyes are screwed shut, brows furrowed, and he’s bucking his hips with enough force to make you jump slightly in his lap.

When he starts moving away from you, you let him go and lean forward for a kiss. His lips are barely responsive against yours, but he moves to cup your face and keep you there.

“Thank you,” he whispers, voice raw and eyes glazed over. 

You shake your head, or at least attempt to, “You don’t have to keep thanking me next time.”

“Next time?” Mingi’s expression immediately changes, flipping into a smile so bright it could blind you. “Next time, I wanna learn how to eat you out.”

You laugh under your breath at his undying enthusiasm, your palm splaying out on his chest to push him back playfully. 

“First, you have to learn about aftercare. Go get something to clean us up with.”

“On it.”

Class was horrible. 

The accounting quiz you took had an average of 35, and that professor absolutely refuses to curve grades by more than 5 points. You can only hope you’re the outlier who scored an impressive 80.

But you know you’re not, because this is the one quiz you didn't study for, and, coincidentally, were also late for. Both firsts for your spring semester. Great.

Not only that, but rain had absolutely poured on your way back to your dorm. So now your hair, clothes, and bag are soaking wet. And you nearly slipped getting into an elevator full of important-looking people in crisp suits. 

The ride up to the ninth floor is torturous enough, and then you receive a text from Mingi as soon as you step into your confined space. You let it sit. He can wait half an hour while you shower.

You change into warm clothes after a lengthy shower, picking up your phone to answer Mingi. 

min | can we talk? as soon as u get to ur dorm 

You blink. Those were the three words you absolutely could not be hearing right now.

you | sure, come over, sana’s still in class

He types for an awfully long time. Minutes stretch by, and you stay laser focused on the screen, foot tapping nervously.

min | i was just wondering if maybe you could pay me back for dinner at eighth? i know i offered to pay but i need that fifty

What?

you | a month later? and we never split checks you | u said splitting was for losers

min | i don’t wanna be questioned rn pls

you | i can’t tell if you’re playing

The bubble on your screen taunts you as he types.

min | is it really that big of a deal? i always pay. i’m only asking you to split this once. you insisted on going out that night, not me

you | u chose the fucking restaurant you | i would’ve been fine w anything you | god forbid i wanna go out w u instead of staying at ur dorm all day

min | it’s not about that min | i just wanted to take u there to impress u and so u could show off a little 

you | knowing u didn’t have the money? you | that’s why u ordered the plain salad? you | mingi that’s so irresponsible 

min | sorry. i really don’t wanna do this right now. i wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t necessary 

you | ykw i just transferred it you | u literally blew money on pokémon cards last week i rlly don’t wanna hear about necessity 

min | i’ll make it up to u tn

you | no, i need time to think

min | seriously? over this?

you | it’s not about the money you | you’re just so immature it’s genuinely pissing me off 

min | how?

you | take the fucking 50 and give me space

min | this sounds like something you’ve been thinking for a while

you | maybe it is

min | can we have a level headed conversation?

you | did u not read the parts where i said give me time and space 

min | okay. yeah, talk to u tmr then

You toss your phone to the side, huffing in disbelief. Your day seriously could not get any worse.

Sana storms through the door as you’re murmuring to yourself.

She tosses her bag on the ground and immediately starts looking through her drawers. “I need to be blackout drunk like now.”

“Bad day?” 

“Horrible day. Who told me international relations was an easy major?”

“Nothing’s easy at this stupid school.”

Sana raises a brow, throwing a glance your way, “Oh no. Bad day?”

“Worst day so far. Why did— y’know what? I don’t even wanna talk about him right now. Or my accounting professor. Two men ruined my day.”

“Uh-oh. Mingi?”

“Sana, I said I don't wanna talk about him.”

“Right. Sorry. You won't have to, where we’re going.”

“We?”

She smiles, pointing at your dresser, “Pick your cutest shorts and trust me.”

You take your time getting ready. After being fucked over not once, not twice, but over three times, you cannot afford getting turned away at the door because the bouncer thinks you don’t look good enough to go in. 

Luckily, he doesn’t turn you away. You and Sana have an easy time getting into the house party, all the way to the kitchen where you’re sure the drinks will be. 

It looks like some kind of themed party, with big circles huddled around tables and a shit ton of decorations that look like they’ve been through a dozen ragers. 

You scan the area, some familiar faces you’ve seen before on nights out with Sana. You think you see Soobin off in a corner somewhere, but you blink and you lose him. 

None of them matter as soon as you get two shots in, faces blurring into the background as you hang onto Sana’s arm.

“Sana,” you mumble against her ear, giggling when she turns and you realize just how close her face is, “Why’re there so many people?”

Your roomie smiles as you hand her the shot you get her, “Thank you, sweet girl. It’s some kinda like… state-wide event. The student associations at other schools are here. Our uni hosts most years.”

Your lips form a small ‘o’ as she explains, and you look around more intently this time. You see different male students wearing merchandise and colors from other schools, mingling with each other.

It’s not like you actually care who’s hosting, as long as they can wipe Accounting and Mingi from your mind, you’ll consider it a successful night. 

You don't resist when Sana pulls you into the makeshift dance floor. You stick close, practically grinding up against her with how many people are crowding you. 

For about an hour, you feel incredible. The shots have lowered your inhibitions just enough to make you a little giggly, but not so much that you can't keep up with the music. 

But there’s something wrong.

You’re not sure if your paranoia is tequila-induced, or if there really is someone staring holes into your back. Every time you look up and search for them, you’re met with nothing. You actually make eye contact with Soobin through the crowd just once, and he raises his cup in your direction. You think you might’ve winked at him. 

You don't think you've ever winked at someone from across the room before, but the person you are after a few shots isn't fully you. 

Or at least, that's your excuse for when you rip away from the crowd, leaving behind a confused Sana as you stomp your way to the stairwell.

You see the figure move out of sight, up the stairs, and you follow. Your shoes click as you slither through groups of people, until you finally make it to the second floor. The door to the bathroom opens and closes. Your gut tells you to follow.

Your hand lands on the brass knob just in time to turn it without being met with resistance. You push the door back and walk into the bathroom, and you don't know if you're grateful or not that your intuition was correct.

Because the person on the other side, the one breathing heavy as they study your face, is Yeosang.

You meet his eyes with confusion, “What are you doing here?”

“Hi,” he practically squeaks out, deep voice recovering only when he clears his throat, “I’m part of the org at my school. It’s a… a joint event. I’m here for the weekend.”

You tilt your head, studying him like you’re seeing him with a new set of eyes, “Oh.”

He nods, “How’s, uh… school? The social life here?”

You shrug, leaning back against the door and locking it when you hear footsteps approach. “Fine. Different from what I expected. I’ve met weird people.”

“Yeah. Yeah, same. But more people from high school are at my uni. So… it’s like high school but with freedom.” 

His hands are hiding behind his back, features morphed into something like embarrassment. The bathroom light flickers overhead and you can feel the tension in the room. You take a deep breath. It’s different to see him up close after months of separation. You don't remember the last time you didn't see him for more than two weeks at a time. 

The man you had been comparing your boyfriend to, standing right in front of you, and you realize the comparison game you’ve been feeding into is pointless. 

Mingi is everything you wanted Yeosang to be for so long. Spontaneous, vulnerable, unapologetic. It’s something you instantly noticed, something fundamentally different between the two of them. 

But what Yeosang has is something Mingi can never make up for. Yeosang has years. Experience. Knowledge of you that you would be afraid of anyone having. He has firsts. 

Tonight, in Mingi’s position, he would know that you aren’t upset about the money. He’d know that you don’t actually want space. He would know that look in your eyes right now.

“Are you dating anyone?” you ask because there’s no pretending with him. He knows you would've asked at some point, and you know the answer.

“No. I don't think it would be fair.”

“To you? Or to the other person?”

Yeosang looks away from you, to the mirror hanging up beside him, and then back. “Both.”

He doesn't ask the question back. He doesn't want to know, and he wants to pretend he doesn't care. He takes your step forward as an answer.

“I miss you,” your confession is practically whispered, breathy and wobbly. 

The rest happens in a blur. It’s a dance you’ve been through several times, and you don't count the steps anymore. You don't have to lead him, he tugs your shorts down and bends you over in front of the mirror. One arm wraps around your front to keep you steady as he pistons into you with a force you can’t believe you’d ever gotten used to.

You hold onto his arm, watching him in the mirror as he moves. The liquor in your system makes your skin feel hotter than normal, like what’s pumping through your veins isn’t blood but liquid fire. It burns so much brighter when he moves his arm up so that the inside of his elbow is resting against your neck.

The loose chokehold pulls a strangled moan from you, and you lean into it, letting more of your weight drop into him. 

You ignore the wandering question of who could have possibly taught him that. It only makes your head spin faster.

He’s groaning in your ear, mumbling confessions that make no sense. Or that you don't want to make sense of. 

Should you be pretending it’s Mingi? Does that make this better? You don't think you care.

You’re holding onto his arm, then the edge of the sink, and then the wall as your legs buckle with the sheer amount of pleasure wrapping around you.

You don’t know who orgasms first. But you beat him to yanking your clothes back on, and you grab the doorknob before he can.

You promise you’ll text him before the weekend is over. He doesn't so much as say bye, because he doesn't think it’ll be necessary.

When you make your way down the stairs, you search for Sana like a lost dog frantically looking for its owner. Legs shaky, trying not to pant, head whipping around at any noise that sounds even remotely like your name.

You cannot stay any longer. At the party, or wherever you are in your head.

Whatever you’d once said about not caring, you take it back now.

Mingi’s in your dorm room, lips pouty as he kneels right in front of your bed. You’re sitting on the edge of your mattress, legs swinging, and you might throw up.

You’ve never cheated on anyone. You’ve never had the chance to, and you would probably silently judge someone who did.

But your actions from last night can't be fully blamed on the tequila, as much as you want them to be. The remnants of the drink in your system make you nauseous. Or maybe it's the reminders of Yeosang spread through your body. The soreness and the weight in your chest.

“Baby,” Mingi starts, voice rough, “‘m really sorry about yesterday. I could barely sleep last night since you were upset with me.”

You think about the fifty dollars. About the arguments over never going out to nice places. Or how petty Mingi could be when he was jealous. About the prioritization of his friends or his hobbies that drove you crazy. 

You can't find it in yourself to stay mad at him. But you pretend. Because maybe if he's not distracted by appeasing your anger, he’ll notice the smell of cologne that's not his.

“And it was really childish of me to ask for that money back when I offered to treat you. I just… it was urgent, I needed to send money to my family, and I felt embarrassed asking anyone else to lend me some. I thought I’d pay you back double once I got paid. But not explaining myself made me seem like more of an asshole. I’m sorry.”

“You could've just said that, Mingi.”

He winces, leaning the side of his face on your knee, “I know. I don't know why I got defensive. I had a bad day but that's not an excuse. I always wanna be open with you, y’know?”

You purse your lips, nodding along. 

He hates your silence. But he's not going to force you to accept his apology. So he pivots, “Did you go somewhere last night? I heard the door open and close pretty late.”

You sit up a little straighter, “Uh, yeah. Sana invited me to this… event.”

“Event?”

You nod, “Yeah, some kinda student org hosted— I don't even know. I just tagged along.”

“M’kay. Did you have fun?”

You shrug, “It was alright.”

“Did you drink?”

“Sorry, can you smell it?” You meet his eyes, threading a hand through his hair.

He hums, eyes studying your face, “Yeah. And you seem a little out of it.”

There’s a second of silence before Mingi stands abruptly, looking much taller from where you’re sitting. He puts his hands in his hoodie’s large front pocket. He looks around the room for a few seconds before speaking again, “Who was the guy?”

Your stomach drops to your ass.

“What?”

Your boyfriend exhales slowly, looking down at his sweatpants, the small patch that he accidentally splashed with bleach.

“The guy you were with. You smell like another man.”

You start panicking but you do your best to school your expression, “I don't know. I mean, it was super crowded. Like, the crowd was pressing me up against Sana at some point. Tons of people went, I even saw Soobin.”

He listens to your rambling without interrupting, “I know. Soobin saw you too.”

The way he’s looking down at you scares you. Sure, Mingi would probably lose a street fight pretty badly. And sometimes he did struggle to pop a beer bottle open. But he’s intimidatingly big, and you can tell he’s getting progressively more agitated.

So you stand as well, crossing your hands over your chest as you face him. 

He doesn't let you get another word in before he steps forward, “Who was he?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You don’t? So, Soobin didn't see you go upstairs after some random guy?”

You frown but don't deny it. You can still get out of this, come up with some justifiable story that's hard to disprove. It’s on the tip of your tongue, but it climbs back down when Mingi grabs your arm and guides you towards your bathroom. He turns the light on and pushes you forward with some force. 

He starts speaking before you can process anything, “I fucking defended you. I told Soobin he was crazy, that you probably had to use the restroom. I came over here to apologize because I was sick enough at the thought of you being upset with me. And when I get here, you can barely look at me. You smell, and I still try to justify it in my head. Maybe it was crowded. Maybe some guy got too close.”

“It was crowded, Mingi—”

He scoffs, “Don’t. Just fucking tell me the truth, I don't want to hear whatever story—”

“I can explain.”

“You can?” he asks, turning you towards the mirror hanging behind you, pulling the collar of your shirt down. “Go ahead, then.”

You inhale so much air that your lungs sting. 

A pattern of purple splotches down the right side of your neck. They’re barely visible, but they’re there. And they look nothing like burns.

He’s looking at you through the mirror, jaw set in a way that makes you want to actually throw up.

“Mingi.”

“No, I kept—” he interrupts himself with a noise that's somewhere between a laugh and a grunt, “justifying you. When you’d almost call me something else or ask me if I remembered a date you definitely didn't go on with me. I thought… she just got out of a two-year relationship. It must be hard to forget someone you probably know better than yourself. So I’d correct you without making a big deal. I was willing to compete against a fucking ghost. And then this. Soobin told me. I should've known. I should've come in asking for answers, but you had me kneeling in front of you, asking for forgiveness, and you said nothing. One argument? That’s all it took? You needed time and space to go fuck someone else?”

“Mingi, it was— I was tipsy. I didn't mean to, I didn't know he’d be there.”

His eyes widen before they narrow again, and he turns you around to face him, “No fucking way. It was your ex?”

You exhale a noise you're not sure is fully human, panic seeping into every single one of your organs.

“You cheated on me with your ex?” he shakes his head, taking a step back to look at you, “You thought you could fuck him and come back to your rebound?”

“You’re not a rebound, Mingi—”

“No, that’s exactly what I am. This,” he gestures between the two of you, “isn't even your fault. I fucked up. I was fucked as soon as I let things slide. Were you never gonna tell me? Or were you gonna keep pretending?”

You shy away from him, chest heaving with the effort not to cry. 

His expression softens for a fraction of a second but he shakes his head, “I don't want to know. I hope you figure that shit out. I’ve obviously got things I need to figure out. We’re done.”

“Okay.”

Mingi takes one last look at you before walking out.

But that's not the last you see of him. He’s in the elevator, he walks out of it to take the stairs when you step in. He’s in the library, walking straight past you even when there’s only one empty seat next to you. He’s blasting music on late nights, ignoring Sana’s texts to turn it down.

You don't contact him, even when he sends you fifty dollars back. You don't contact Yeosang either. 

You just need a break from everything. From group projects and men and boring parties. So you wait rather impatiently for summer, for the sun to kiss your skin the way no one else will. 

At least, not for a while.