It makes sense, waking up insecure, alone in a bed after hearing a story like that. You didn’t come up with an answer sitting on the toilet for twenty minutes, and you don’t really think you’ll get one unless you ask. Why does it feel so fucking mortifying to even consider asking him a question like that? Hey, so why did I wake up alone after you fucked the life out of me? Good morning, was I fucking snoring or something?

You should probably get out of his bed instead of staring at his ceiling, contemplating which direction you went wrong. You can hear the floorboards squeaking beneath the carpet as you cross his bedroom on sore legs, finding pieces of your outfit scattered across his otherwise clean floor. Picking up scattered bones from the night before might be more mortifying than asking why he left.

You roll everything in a ball and throw it beside his door, deciding to rummage through his drawers instead. Fuck him, he left you. Fuck him, you’re stealing his fucking clothes. You grab a pair of boxers from the top drawer, then an expensive looking tee from the drawer below it, overpriced cotton swallowing your upper half when you get it over your head. You hope it’s as expensive as it looks. 

You shove your feet in your boots, grab your ball of clothes and decide to head downstairs. Part of you hopes no one’s awake and that you can sneak out the door without anyone knowing you spent the night, but of course, nothing in your fucking life works out the way you want it to. The smell hits you first, then voices, then you’re creeping down the stairs like maybe you could avoid them all somehow. Maybe none of them will see you. When you hear Yunjin’s voice, then Yunho’s smooth cadence following, you know you’re not getting away with shit. 

“Good morning, sunshine!” you hear before you can even see him. You make a face before he can see you, lips tight, eyes screwed shut, you swear he has a fucking tracker on you. An ability to seek you out no matter when, no matter where. 

You slap a smile on your face when they all come into view, giving the kitchen a little wave. Yunjin and San are beside the stove, Yunho leaning over the island, Mingi at a barstool. Jongho sits beside him, and your heart skips a fucking beat when you notice Wooyoung beside Jongho. He’s shirtless– no, he’s only in boxers, leaning over the counter like that’s normal. He didn’t even want to come back to his room to put clothes on? 

The stairs creak behind you. You turn, and Seonghwa’s starting down the steps half-clothed, another half-clothed Hongjoong behind him. Cool. Everyone’s fucking down here. You give them a tight-lipped grin before walking down the rest of the stairs, mumbling, “Good morning.” 

“Do you two ever leave?” Hongjoong asks through a yawn, noticing Yunjin at the stove. There's amusement in his tone, and it’s the only reason your spine doesn’t go taut at the question. “I swear you’re just a part of the frat now. Should we make you pay your dues?” 

Jongho snorts, “Frat girlfriends.” 

Your brows furrow as you beeline to Yunho, who already has his arm open for you to disappear under. You hold your ball of clothes over the counter as you consider. You’ve had sex with two of them, kissed four of them, you’re not a frat girlfriend, but what the fuck are you? A frat fucker? A frat kisser?

San and Yunjin are whispering by the stove, your eyes narrow trying to read their lips. You can’t make out anything. 

“We haven’t had girls lingering around the frat since last year,” Mingi’s leaning on his elbow over the counter, watching Hongjoong and Seonghwa take stools at the counter. “Woo, do you remember that one girl who kept bouncing between all of us, trying to piss you off? I think she was always here, like, twenty-four-seven.” 

He looks tired, like he only got a wink of sleep. Maybe he left his own bed to go back downstairs and fuck someone else. “Yeah,” he muses, his voice airy with the memory. “You all still fucked her, so that’s what you get. Lingering.” 

He’s joking around like you aren’t turning into a ball of fire under Yunho’s arm. You guess you don’t have any reason to be upset, you know who he is, you know what he does, and you knew it way before he brought you to his bedroom. He told you his care stops when he ties up the condom, you guess you should have left afterward. But he stayed, he talked to you, he laughed with you. He told you a fucking story.

“You okay?” Yunho whispers in your ear, and you swear he must have some way to track your emotions, too. You don’t look at him, you don’t answer, but you lean into him more, and he holds his arm tighter around you. You don’t know if you can even tell him about this, if he’d want to hear it.

“Are we going tonight?” San asks everyone, looking over his shoulder, his body facing the stove. You meet Yunjin’s eye, and all she does is raise an eyebrow, a little smile playing on her lips, her arms crossed over her chest. You don’t smile back. 

Seonghwa groans from across the counter, “We just woke up and you’re already thinking about tonight?”

San giggles, flipping shit in a pan. You don’t even care what it is. You want to go home. You hear him telling Yunjin, “We met at Jungwon’s frat, isn’t that kinda romantic? Should we kiss under the front door or something?”

“Like the mistletoe thing during Christmas time?” Yunjin’s confused, you don’t have to see her eyebrows to know that they’re furrowed. “It’s September.”

San smacks his teeth, “I was trying to be romantic.”

“Romance in frat houses isn’t something that exists, babe.”

You fear she’s correct. Lifting your gaze from the countertop, you can feel Wooyoung looking at you. You look at Yunho instead, “Can you take me home?”

His blonde-ish brows tie together, “You don’t want breakfast?”

“No,” you answer, too quickly. “I’ll buy you breakfast. Please?” 

“I’ll eat when I come back,” he’s shaking his head as he says it. “Lemme go get my keys.”

You feel naked without his arm around you, but at least you already have your boots on. Your eyes find the countertop, your ball of clothes in your hands, phone buried somewhere inside it. His eyes are still on you, watching, analyzing. For a split second, your gaze lifts. It’s long enough to see his face scrunched in confusion, something else mixed with it, you didn’t look long enough to put your finger on it. 

You turn to Yunjin, “I’ll see you after class.”

Her head tilts, “You’re going?” You nod. “You okay?” You nod again. Her eyes narrow, then they slide to Wooyoung before landing back on you. Her voice is pitched like she knows you’re lying, “Alright.”

You don’t say goodbye to anyone else. You walk toward the front door and you can fucking feel him looking at you as you walk away, even if it means he had to turn his whole body to do so. You can’t face him, knowing that he was perfectly himself last night, this morning, and you’re just not strong enough to endure it. Maybe you never were.

Yunho meets you out by his car, you’re only standing there for a minute or two before he follows. “What happened?” he asks as soon as you’re in earshot, walking up to you at his passenger side door. “Something happened.”

“Nothing happened,” you shake your head, clutching your ball of clothes tighter. “I have class, I have to go home.”

“What did he do to you?” Yunho asks, his voice a little firmer now, there’s a shred of fear in it. You don’t know how he knows anything, but you don’t even question it at this point. “I know he slept in my bed–”

You cut him off, “He slept in your bed?” 

Out of all fucking people, Yunho’s bed? What the fuck does that mean? Why didn’t he just sleep on the fucking floor or something? It doesn’t make any sense.

Yunho nods, “Yeah.” He says it like that’s a normal thing that happens. You refuse to ask him what else he knows. “Are you okay, though? Did he do anything?”

“No– oh my god, no,” you say in a rush of syllables. You can’t tell him anything other than that, it doesn’t feel right to tell a guy you’re sleeping with about another guy that you slept with. “I’m just… I don’t know. He didn’t do anything, but I feel like this isn’t a story for your ears.”

Yunho nods, eternally understanding. “Okay,” he says in a soft voice. “But if he did and you just don’t want to tell me, I’m someone you can tell.”

You give him a small smile, and it feels genuine. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, and for some reason you don’t feel like you deserve it. As he walks around the front of his car, he sings, “I don’t mind listening, if you want to tell me.”

You’re shaking your head as he unlocks the doors, throwing your ball of clothes to the floor as you settle in his passenger seat. He’s too fucking nice for his own good. “I’m serious, I don’t think the story is for your ears. I think– I don’t know, I think I have to work through it on my own.”

He turns his key in the ignition, his car roaring to life. Music pours through the speakers, loud before he turns it down, speaking over it entirely, “Yunjin will be home eventually, you can tell her.” He brakes halfway down the driveway, turning to you, “You will tell her, right?”

You give him a silly smile, “Of course I’m gonna tell her.”

He smacks his teeth, pulling out of the driveway. “Now I have FOMO.”

A tiny laugh escapes you, “You’ll be fine.” Then you sit in silence for a beat before you turn your head again, remembering, “Did you spend the night with Mingi?”

Yunho’s lips tighten in a smile. “Yes. But don’t ask, because it’s not a story for your ears.”

That gets a bigger laugh out of you, and you reach over to steal his hand, tangling your fingers with his. You wish it felt more comforting than it does. You sigh, “At least you understand Mingi, there’s no second-guessing with him.”

“You don’t understand me?” His brows lift, taking his eyes off the road to glance at you. “Or is this about–”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, something unwelcome curling in your gut again. “You don’t confuse me, but everyone else does.”

One person does, but of course Yunho knows that already. “What you see is what you get with him,” Yunho answers, purposely short. “He doesn’t beat around the bush, sunshine. He fucks, that’s all he wants, that’s all he’s ever wanted.”

“I know,” you answer, tone flat. You look out the window. “I know that.”

Yunho squeezes your hand, exhaling. His words come out quieter, like he doesn’t know if he should say it, “I thought he was different with you, too, if it’s any consolation.”

Too. Is that really what you think? That he’s different with you? Does Yunho even know about the vermouth? He sure as hell doesn’t know how Wooyoung looked at you last night, how he kissed you, how he kept his body pressed to yours like he couldn’t bear being separated from you. You experienced it, you lived it– yet Yunho came to the conclusion before you. 

You turn to look at him again, and you don’t like the sour feeling building steadily in your gut, like everything you ingested last night might come right back up. Your mouth fills with saliva, stomach flipping like the alcohol in your stomach is fucking curdling or something. You reach for the door handle, panic in your tone, “Pull over.”

You threw up again after getting home and seeing the hickey on your neck. You think your anxiety might be sitting on some kind of pressure point to trigger nausea. There’s no way no one else at the frat saw it, you don’t know how no one said anything about it, you don’t think enough makeup in the fucking world will cover it. 

You tried, though, after a long, hot shower. After putting Wooyoung’s shirt back on. At least you have on your own pair of shorts in class, flip flops on your feet, probably looking as shitty as you feel. Hungover, emotionally beaten, you have no fucking idea what your professor is talking about, it’s background noise to you fucking around on your laptop, adding songs to your Spotify playlist instead of taking notes. 

You can’t stop replaying the day before. He bought you fucking vermouth, chilled glasses in the refrigerator for you, stocked up on olives. He played a drinking game, when the fuck has he ever played drinking games? You didn’t hear Virgin once yesterday. Part of you misses the nickname. 

At least you have time in between classes to run to the cafe where San thankfully isn’t working. The iced vanilla latte isn’t as good, but you’ll take it over having to act like you aren’t picking the day before apart piece by piece. You’re caffeinated enough to pay attention to the first half of your second class, something about AP Style, it’s a bunch of bullshit that you genuinely don’t give a fuck about right now.

You keep seeing his face from this morning, confusion written all over it. He deserves it. He deserves to be ignored after leaving you. Even fucking Yunho thought he was… different with you, whatever that means. You know exactly what it means. 

You think you kissed him for an hour straight. He made you cum three times. Three. And for the first two, he didn’t even touch your clit. Is he like that with everyone? Does he really care that much about making his partner feel good? Are you really just like every other woman he’s ever fucked? Does he kiss everyone else like he kissed you last night? Your bodies pressed together, his hand around your throat… Trust me… It’s such fucking bullshit you almost snap your plastic pen in half.

You need a lobotomy. You need something that will fuck with your short-term memory, you need to destroy your frontal lobe entirely. You need to forget it ever happened. You can’t fucking believe that you let yourself wonder for even a second that you might be different. That he might have actually wanted you for more than your fucking body. 

You shiver in the plastic chair, it feels too cold on your bare thighs. You wanted him for his body, too, you can’t blame him for that. You wanted to fuck him. You got what you asked for. But the more time passes, the more you dissect the entire fucking night, you think you got more than you bargained for. Then he left. 

By the time you get to your third class, you’ve bitten your pen cap into something unsalvageable, you don’t even try to focus on the topic. You stare at your dark laptop screen, thinking about everything that came after.

The laughter hurts the most, you think. Him telling you a story. Were you not supposed to lay down in his bed? Were you supposed to get dressed and leave? Why did he let you stay? You suppose he wasn’t going to say ‘get the fuck out’, but he never told you to stay, either. He kept talking. He laughed. He told you a story. He let you fall asleep in his bed. Has anyone he’s slept with ever fallen asleep in his bed before? Maybe you’re not the first woman he’s escaped. He probably has to escape them all the time.

He kissed you after he fucked you, and it wasn’t a peck, a simple action of pressing his lips to yours. He looked at you like he wanted to, like he wanted you. The same way he’d been looking at you all night. 

No. Absolutely fucking not. 

He could have told you to fucking leave. He didn’t have to kiss you after. He didn’t have to fucking look at you like that. He didn’t have to buy vermouth, he didn’t have to put in effort to fix your day, he didn’t have to laugh with you or tell you a story or let you sleep in his fucking bed. You’ve experienced Wooyoung’s casual before, in the basement of Jungwon’s frat. You’ve experienced the detached cockiness, the careless Wooyoung who had a girl right next door. Last night was nothing like that. 

You’re glad you stole his fucking shirt, you should have robbed him for more. Leaving you in the middle of the night is fucked up, and you’re not fucking crazy. He did treat you differently, he looked at you differently. Last night wasn’t casual. 

Yet he still fucking left. You need to kill him with your bare hands. 

You’re consumed by your own rage on your walk home, so hot the cool September breeze steams before it touches your skin. Yunjin can feel it, or maybe she hears it when you get home, slamming the front door behind you. She runs out of her room, fear and confusion written on her face, San right behind her, looking more scared than she does. 

Yunjin’s voice is uneasy, confused, “Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” you answer simply, throwing your bag on the couch. “I’m fine.”

You turn toward the kitchen, missing how Yunjin and San slowly turn to look at each other, sharing a confused look. At least you can still feel hunger in your ball of rage, sorting through the fridge, trying to find something edible. You snap when you can’t find shit, “Do we have anything to eat in this fucking apartment?”

Yunjin approaches the counter slowly, leaving San in her bedroom. “Do you want me to make something?”

“I can do it,” you snap. Then you look at her, reading the concern in the bent lines of her face. “I’m not mad at you.”

“I know,” she nods once, still careful. “Can I ask who you’re mad at?”

“No,” you answer, short. You open the cabinet with force, sorting through everything inside, settling on a box of mac and cheese. “I’m fine, Jen, you don’t have to babysit me.”

“I’m kinda scared you’re gonna light the place on fire,” she says, humor lining her tone. You don’t even fucking smile, you can’t bring yourself to. You fill a pot with water instead of answering. She rounds the counter, taking the pot from you, putting it on the stove, turning it on. “I’ll do it.”

“I can do it–”

“I’ll do it,” she says, stern. When she looks at you, there’s no room for argument in her eyes. “You can go sit on the couch and calm the fuck down.”

“I can’t calm down,” you immediately argue. “If I sit down, I’ll think, and I’ve been thinking all fucking day. I need to do something with my hands.”

“Well, the water has to boil,” she says, shrugging as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Should we stare at the fucking pot together?” Her brows raise. “Talk to me or go sit in time-out.”

“I’m fine,” you snap. “I don’t need to talk.”

She laughs, but it’s hollow. She looks comfortable, hair tied up, pajamas on her body like she and San were laying in bed, about to take a nap. “You need to fucking talk.”

“I don’t need to do fucking anything!” you yell. “I need to eat and take a nap and reset before we go to Jungwon’s.”

Her brows raise even higher. “You want to go to Jungwon’s?”

“Is everyone going to Jungwon’s?”

“Yes–”

“Then yes, I’m fucking going,” you answer with an irritated laugh, like the answer is obvious. “I’m going and I’m having a good time and nothing is getting in the way of that.”

Her arms uncross, stretching out on either side of her, “What the fuck happened?”

Your jaw clenches. “I’ll tell you when I’m less pissed.”

“Tell me now,” she argues.

“I can’t tell you with him in the other room,” you say, dangerously loud. “Can you find some time for me? Pencil me into your schedule when he isn’t around?”

Her face blows out, shocked, confused, hurt, angry. Her laughter is coated in disbelief, “I’ll give you a pass because obviously something happened, but you’re not angry at me right now, so don’t take it out on me.”

Shame blooms before she finishes speaking. “I’m sorry,” you blurt out, regret heating your cheeks. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“Go sit on the couch and fucking breathe,” she points to the living room. “I don’t know what the fuck happened, but you need to reel it in.”

Guilt and shame settle on top of your anger, pressing down on your chest, your shoulders. You walk over to the couch with your head down, feeling fucking stupid. Yes, you’re pissed, but not at Yunjin. Not at San. You want to talk to her, but you can’t with him in the other room, the chance of it getting back to Wooyoung is too high. 

You tuck your knees up to your chest, arms wrapping around your shins. You don’t even turn the TV on. You feel ridiculous, but you can’t shut it off, you can’t stop yourself from sinking to the bottom of your pit of rage. You think about the batting cages, the diner, when he gave you a ride home from work and stayed. You think about every conversation, every moment between you and Jung Wooyoung that you chalked up to friendship. 

When the fuck have we ever been friends?

He said the goddamn words, he meant them. At least you think he did. He seemed like he did. Maybe it was sometime in the last month, maybe it was sometime last night, but at some point you forgot his number one rule. He doesn’t entertain anything more than sex. Anything more than casual. 

You feel stupid. He is the reason, the pinnacle of why you changed so fucking much about your life, why you broke every rule you made for yourself.

But he broke his rules, too.

Maybe it’s your fault for mistaking a blurred line for a broken rule. You like living without your rules, without your walls, you like trusting your own fucking instincts. You’ve never felt more alive than when Jihyo pulled you into that closet, when Wooyoung tugged you upstairs by your wrist. 

Even if he pushed you toward breaking them, even if he’s the reason why, they were still your choices. If you woke up tomorrow and had redo the past month all over again, you wouldn’t fucking change anything. You still would have fucked Yunho, Jihyo, Wooyoung, you would do it all over again without an ounce of regret. You don’t fucking regret last night. 

Yunjin walks over with three bowls of mac and cheese, turns on the TV as San walks out of her bedroom, and with you in the middle, the three of you eat in silence. An episode passes, two, one of you breaking the quiet with a snort at something funny on the screen, little comments here and there about the show. You don’t know when you fell asleep, but when you wake up, the apartment is dark. 

The dishes are gone, clean and in the dishwasher. You turn the lights on, Yunjin's bedroom is empty, your phone tells you it’s after nine. You curse under your breath, checking your texts, there’s a few from Yunho, two from Yunjin that you click on. 

jen: pregaming at sannies  jen: wanted to let u sleep off ur attitude before jungwons

You smile at the screen, despite it all. You’ll make it up to her eventually. As you walk into your bedroom, you type out a response. 

you: be there in an hour

She responds almost immediately. 

jen: hurry jen: it’s me and a bunch of guys and im losing my fucking mind

You type something back about that being her choice before throwing your phone on your bed. You look in the mirror, fingers grazing the purple on your neck in the reflection, preparing yourself to waste half your concealer bottle. You look down at Wooyoung’s shirt, and it feels good to rip it over your head by the hem and let it fall into the pile of clothes in the corner. 

You wear a little grin as you stare at your closet, chest feeling a little lighter. You want to have a good time tonight, and you want to look fucking good, too. 

Yunjin’s here alone. 

She walks inside the house like she lives here, like she always fucking does, and she should because San barely acknowledges that she shows up. A quick peck to her lips and a drink handed to her like by his side is where she’s supposed to be. No one else asks where her other half is, so Wooyoung doesn’t, either. 

He catches Yunho checking his phone like he just had the same exact thought, but Yunho doesn’t type anything, just checks his lock screen and slips it back in his pocket. Wooyoung sips his drink, whiskey and something, he didn’t ask, nor does he care. Tonight he wants to catch a buzz and fuck, that’s it. Having two things on his itinerary doesn’t seem too far-fetched. 

“She hasn’t posted yet,” Mingi answers San, already bringing his beer up to his lips. “She just posted that one about body count, which was less than a week ago. She only posts once a week, right?”

San pouts, “Yeah, but I miss her fun episodes. That one wasn’t even fun, it was like, borderline political.”

Wooyoung and Yunjin retort at the same time, “Political?”

“Like, societal issues,” San explains, cheeks going pink. “Not a fun episode about a sexcapade.”

God, Wooyoung hasn’t listened to Unscripted in so fucking long. His hate-listening became more hatred than listening, and it didn’t feel good for his mental health, so he stopped listening altogether. It doesn’t stop anyone else from talking to him about it, though. 

“Can we go?” Wooyoung asks. “Or can we switch the subject?”

“People are probably just getting there,” Jongho says from across the counter. “If we go now, it won’t be packed yet.”

Wooyoung shrugs, antsy. “I don’t care.”

“You’ll be in that basement within five minutes and then you’ll be begging one of us to take you home,” Hongjoong adds, standing beside Jongho. “If we go a little later, you’ll have more options. It’ll take you longer to choose.”

Wooyoung’s brows raise. Is he that predictable? “So you’re waiting to leave based on how long it’ll take me to fuck someone?”

Seonghwa grins from beside Joong. “Last night it took you the longest it’s ever taken in the history of ever.”

Wooyoung’s chest twists. He sips his drink, and lets the subject change. He catches Yunjin pulling out her phone from the corner of his eye, typing something on her screen. Then she smiles at her phone, and types another response. Wooyoung shoots the rest of his drink back. 

He pours another, straight whiskey instead of mixing it, he decides he’ll stop drinking when he gets to Jungwon’s. He’ll catch his buzz here and then prove his friends right by going down to the basement within five minutes, since he’s so predictable. He’ll be the most predictable motherfucker in the world, then maybe his friends won’t have anything to say tomorrow. 

He only has to chug the last few ounces by the time the group is ready to pile into Yeosang’s SUV, another game of Tetris Wooyoung is too buzzed to complain about. He’s on Yunho’s lap sideways, his legs stretched over Hongjoong and Jongho, San on the other side with Yunjin on his lap, her legs stretched toward him. Mingi’s in the trunk, but he doesn’t care, he sits with his elbows propped up over the seats just to feel included in the conversation. 

Inside is hot, packed, there’s music blaring, typical party shit. Everything feels fucking routine. He loosens his jacket over his shoulders, runs a hand through his hair as his frat disperses, Wooyoung heads straight for the kitchen. For some reason he expects women on the counters, but then he quickly remembers that it was you up there last time, and Yunjin who’s somewhere behind him, he thinks. You were all up there, dancing to distract you from your breakup. It feels like months since then. 

He doesn’t say hi to anyone as he searches for a bottle of whiskey, ignores every stare or wink in his direction. He’ll take any scotch, bourbon, he doesn’t care what the fuck he’s drinking, as long as it gets him buzzed. He’s already buzzed. He doesn’t feel buzzed enough. 

“Hey,” he hears behind him. He turns just enough to see her face, tanned, beautiful, skin like glass. “You’re Jung Wooyoung, right?”

He gives her a flirty little half-smile as he opens the Maker’s lid. “Guilty.”

“Thought so,” she walks around him, leaning against the counter as he fills the cup too heavily. “I’ve heard about you.”

His brows raise as he raises his cup, “Yeah?”

He takes a sip as she smiles, head tilting, arms crossing just enough to push up her cleavage. “All good things, I promise.”

He pushes the sting through his lips in an exhale before answering, “There’s only good things about me to say, baby.” Her smile grows, eyes flaring excitement like he’s everything she’s dreamed of. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t give a fuck. He goes to turn, lifting his drink toward her in a farewell, “Find me later.”

He catches the tail end of her smile falling before he turns around fully, taking a long sip of his drink while he walks out into the crowd. He turns down a hallway and it’s winding, taking him deeper into the frat than he’s ever been before. Bass gets quieter before other music takes its place, smoke consuming the air the deeper he gets. He finds a side room with two chairs adjacent to a room that consists of a pool table and a few high-top chairs; he chooses the pool table room, but only because there’s women in it. He didn’t come here to play pool. 

He spots Jungwon who looks visibly excited when he catches Wooyoung walking inside. He ushers a woman off his lap, promising her he’d be back in a second, Wooyoung reads his lips as he crosses the room with a knowing smirk. Jungwon clasps his hand in Wooyoung’s, “My man.”

Wooyoung grins. “What’s up?”

“I was hoping you’d come,” Jungwon brings his beer up to his lips. “You bring your other boys, too?”

Wooyoung nods, “Around here somewhere.”

Jungwon catches him looking behind, one woman in particular, playing pool. Curly hair, dark clothes, tattoos covering her skin. Jungwon’s smirk grows, “Jai. Solid fuck.”

Wooyoung laughs a little. “Telling from experience?”

Jungwon gives him a look that says come on. He leans in, his voice quieter, “She’s a squirter.”

Wooyoung laughs harder at that, nodding, “Good to know.”

“Not interested?” Jungwon asks, confused, head tilting. “You?”

“I didn’t say that,” Wooyoung answers smoothly, sipping his whiskey. “Still scouting my options.”

“No one said you have to commit to one,” Jungwon teases, walking backward, most likely back to the girl who was on his lap. “The night is young, brother.”

Wooyoung lifts his drink in agreement. He looks at the curly-haired woman again, the ripped denim snug on her thighs, her low-cut top. He turns on his heel, then almost trips over it before walking down the hallway. He blinks himself back into focus, lowering his drink down to his side. 

He finds Hongjoong, Seonghwa and San all standing together, just off the entrance to the hallway. Wooyoung raises his brows when he gets close enough for San to see, “Where’s Jen-Jen?”

“Jen-Jen?” San retorts, brows pulled together. “She went to pee.”

Wooyoung takes a tiny sip of his drink as Hongjoong and Seonghwa look at each other. He raises a brow when they look back at him, then both his brows pop as Seonghwa asks, “Still up here, huh?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, “Here we fucking go again.”

Hongjoong giggles, leaning into Seonghwa, “Do you have so many options that you can’t decide?”

Wooyoung holds up two fingers. “Two options. I’m tryna find out if they can be friends, and if they can, I’ll take ‘em both downstairs.”

Seonghwa grimaces. “How do you even come up with this shit?”

Wooyoung bares his teeth in a nasty grin, “I don’t come up with anything, shit just works out for me that way.” San stares at him in half-confusion, half-disgust. Wooyoung shrugs, “What? Before Jen, you were just like me.”

“Stop calling her Jen,” San narrows his eyes. “I’ve opened up my third eye.”

“Your third eye?” Hongjoong says through a laugh, his orange brows in his hairline. “You found a girl you like and now you’ve turned into that virgin?” Wooyoung’s neck snaps to Hongjoong. Joong looks around, curious, “Where is she, anyway? Wherever we are, she’s never far.”

“Do you not like her or something?” Wooyoung asks, the question so fucking instinctive he doesn’t recognize his own voice.

Hongjoong looks confused. “I never said that.”

His cheeks feel hot. He shakes his head, “Nevermind.” There’s a weird air between them now, or maybe Wooyoung just imagines it. He takes a long swig of his drink as Seonghwa says something to Hongjoong, and then the pair walks away.

San leans in closer, taking the spot at Wooyoung’s side. “What was– you’re back!”

Wooyoung turns, catching Yunjin bouncing back toward them wearing a grin. “There’s a fucking line– she’s here!”

Wooyoung has fucking whiplash from turning his head, watching as Yunjin bounces right past him and San, toward the front door. Time seems to fucking slow, he barely feels the color drain from his face as you come into view. It’s a three-sixty from when he saw you this morning, in his Chrome fucking tee, a pair of his boxers almost hidden beneath it, boots on your legs. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen you so exposed. 

Kitten heels show off your legs, a long, delicious stretch of skin up to the shortest skirt he’s ever seen, like if you bent over the slightest degree your entire ass would be on display. A tight, black top on your upper half, showing off your shoulders, your collar bones, your hair tied back. There’s a line of skin between your top and your skirt, the silhouette of your outfit rendering the clothes useless, every shape and curve of your body exposed. The same body he saw last night, every goddamn fucking detail.

His eyes catch on the purple right beneath your jaw. Covered, he guesses, but underneath the layer of makeup he can see the bruise he left. He can’t remember the last time he gave someone a fucking hickey. His dick jumps in his jeans, stomach flipping. His mouth fills with saliva as you greet Yunjin with a bright smile, he watches as you wave at San, but he feels cold as you keep walking. Straight past him. You don’t even fucking glance in his direction, like you purposely skipped right over him. 

What the fuck? Did he fucking miss something?

He hears “Oh” from his side, and his neck whips to it. San’s brows are raised, amusement playing in the little grin he wears, dimples showing. Wooyoung’s eyes thin out as San laughs a little, “You’re in fucking trouble.”

Wooyoung’s face morphs into confusion, “Why the fuck would I be in trouble?”

San shakes his head, lips tight as his palm clasps over Wooyoung’s shoulder. “Good luck, buddy.” 

He leaves, following behind Yunjin before Wooyoung has a chance to respond. Why the fuck would he be in trouble? His stomach is in his boots. What the fuck did he do other than make you cum three fucking times last night? God, he wishes the confusion was enough to get his dick to calm down, but his eyes follow you, the way your ass sways in that fucking skirt as you walk away from him. Fuck. 

He chugs the rest of his whiskey down. Where did that first girl go? He regrets not catching her name. Trouble? What the fuck did he do?

He’s shaking his head as he splits from where he stands, walking toward the kitchen. He’ll have one more drink, just to wash this uneasy fucking feeling away. Unfortunately that’s where the other three are headed, he can see San’s head of black hair from a fucking mile away. 

“Trouble,” he retorts mindlessly under his breath as he walks into the kitchen. He catches a tall head of blonde hair, Yunho looking at you like you’re a piece of fucking meat he’d do anything to devour. Wooyoung wonders if Yunho knows he was devouring you last night. 

He pours another drink, keeping his back to everyone. Over the music, the layer of conversation hanging over the kitchen, he hears Yunho say something, you and Yunjin laughing in response. His top lip lifts, staring at the amber liquid in his cup. He takes a long swig of it, and he knows he should stop, he’s reaching his own limit to where he can’t fuck. He might already be past it. For some reason, he doesn’t care. 

Licking his top row of teeth, sucking down air in a sharp breath, he turns around. You’re smiling, holding a can of fucking beer, touching Yunho’s arm as he says something that can’t be as funny or entertaining as you seem to think it is. Mingi calls Yunho’s name, San drags Yunjin toward the dance floor, and Wooyoung doesn’t miss a beat to move his feet as you’re left standing in front of the refrigerator alone.

“Hey,” he hears himself, but the words seem far. Fuck, he’s fucked up, and you look so fucking pretty. Your makeup is done, hair styled, but your eyes are missing that same fucking sparkle they always have when they’re pointed on him. He hates that he can tell. 

You sip your beer, eyeing him over the can, “Hi.” 

“Beer?” Wooyoung asks after glancing at the label. “You aren’t a beer kind of girl.” 

“Maybe I’ve changed,” you say with a shrug, holding the can with both hands at the center of your abdomen. His heartbeat picks up in his chest reading your blank expression, like you don’t give a fuck whether he lives or dies. 

It’s instinct only that makes him ask, “Are you mad at me or something?” 

Your brows raise, eyes flaring intrigue. Then your lips pick up on one side as you ask, “Should I be?”

Wooyoung didn’t think it was possible for his stomach to drop any further. What the fuck kind of answer is that? He sputters over his response, head twitching in an attempt to shake it, “I– what– no? I don’t think so?” 

Your smile grows, but it’s devious, like that was the wrong fucking answer. What was the right answer? What the fuck did he do? He feels fucking weird, like he’s standing in the kitchen naked or something, but he’s the only person who doesn’t know it. This is weird. He feels weird. 

“Okay,” you say simply, tone sweet like candy. His eyes search every detail of your face, like maybe he’ll find a better answer in the lines of your smiling cheeks. “We’re straight, then.” 

“That’s it?” Wooyoung retorts, baffled. His lips part again, but you’re already turning, kitten heels moving one in front of the other. His eyes are glued to your ass as you walk away, the flexing muscles of your thighs, your calves, he’s so confused but now he’s horny and he’s fucking drunk and he doesn’t understand what the fuck just happened. 

He stands there for another second before his body can catch up to his mind, and with another fucking swig of whiskey, he makes for the crowd. He doesn’t care. But he can’t say he’s ever been in this situation before– fucking a woman and her wanting nothing to do with him the next day. That's how it should be. That’s how it always should fucking be. 

The music is too loud, even if it sounds kinda muffled in his ears. He can feel it in his warm chest, like a knife twisting with every beat of bass. His body feels loose but something inside him is wound tight, like the alcohol is battling his instincts and it’s still up for debate who the fuck is going to win. 

He hates this. He hates it enough that he skirts out of the crowd, searching for the hallway that led him to the smoky room where everything felt quieter. His feet feel heavy, and his boots keep scuffing against the hardwood, but the same curly-haired, tattooed woman is still leaning over the pool table, and it eases a fraction of the tension in his body. 

She notices him as he walks past the table, and keeps her eye on him as he slumps in one of the high-top chairs; he wishes it was a more graceful movement. He doesn’t have the coordination for his body to move the way he wants it to right now, apparently he doesn’t have the bandwidth for his mind to work how he wants it to, either. 

She leans up off the pool table, her hand wrapped around the cue holding it straight up beside her, she leans her ass into the side of the table, instead. She doesn’t take her eyes off Wooyoung. 

He settles into something practiced, an easy slouch of his shoulders, knees parted as his heels slide off the bar on the bottom of the chair. Fuck. He fixes them, swallowing down the saliva in his mouth that he didn’t realize had even gathered. 

She pushes off the table, using a slow stride, swaying her hips as she walks toward him. He lets his eyes drag up her body, her tattoos blending into a swirl of ink on her skin. She approaches him with a little smirk, curls bouncing with each step, “Did you come back for a round?” 

“Nah,” he smiles, head shaking a little. “Seems I left something behind.” 

“Yeah?” Her head tilts, a smile playing on her lips, showing off her unnervingly white teeth. “What’s that?” 

He makes a show of dragging his eyes down her body again, tongue poking out of the corner of his lips, the movement so deliberate that her smile grows. “I’m Jai,” she says, eyes sparkling. “And you are?” 

“Wooyoung,” he responds with a little nod. “Are you good at pool?” 

“I’ve been in here all night, winning over and over,” she looks back at the table as she says it, shoulders pushing back, cleavage in his line of sight. His dick jumps. She looks back at him with a smirk, “So I’d say yeah, probably.” 

There's something cocky on his tongue, but the words are stolen from him as he catches the sight of you over her shoulder. His smile falls, demeanor gone as you follow in behind Jungwon, a flirty little smile on your lips. Your head turns, gazing over the room, and there’s not even a glimpse of recognition in your eyes when you spot Wooyoung in the corner. It’s like you don’t even know who he fucking is. 

Her fingers lay over his forearm, and for a second he forgot she was there. “Wooyoung?” 

His head snaps back to the curly-haired beauty, reality crashing back into him. “My bad,” he laughs a little, he hopes she can’t tell that it’s forced. “Are you gonna stay here all night?”

“Maybe,” she leans in a little closer, the pool cue landing just beside his thigh, and he wishes it was thicker so it could act like a wall. He can still see you talking to Jungwon out of the corner of his eye. “Depends if there’s something better to do.”

“There’s something better to do,” he says it like he means it, parting his knees a little further, and she takes the open invitation by slipping right between them. She’s pretty, long lashes, a flush to her skin, lips a kissable shade of red. He wonders what she tastes like. He hopes it’s better than the whiskey he’s drinking. 

It doesn’t surprise him that it doesn’t take much more, he’s fucked women after less words, sometimes he doesn’t have to try at all. Her hand finds his chest, slides up to his neck before she presses her lips to kiss in a soft kiss, one he deepens immediately. He drops his cup to the table beside him before laying one hand on her waist, pulling her closer as her tongue meets his, he lets his brain shut off, muscle memory taking over. 

Until he hears you laugh. He stiffens for just a second, but her hand finds his hair, giving it a little tug as her chest presses against his. What the fuck is so funny? There’s no way you’re laughing at him, right? Damn, he gets a rhetorical fucking question and Jungwon gets your real laugh? Fuck. Fuck– who gives a fuck?

She pants into his mouth, “You’re a good kisser.” 

I know. He pulls away a fraction just to let his eyes open for a second, and there’s a weird relief when he sees your back turned toward him. “Yeah?” 

“Wanna know what else you’re good at,” she whispers before pressing her lips to his again. And for a minute, he lets himself ease into it, lets the taste of her burn a hole into him. He needs this. 

When she pulls away again, he can’t stop his head from turning. He looks over and Jungwon’s staring at him, tongue poking out between his bared teeth with his brows raised as if he’s saying nice, knew you’d like her. But then your hand reaches up to his cheek and pulls his lips back down to yours and Wooyoung’s jaw drops at the realization you were just kissing him. 

Fuck. Fuck. His stomach flips, alcohol leaden in his stomach. Fuck. He kisses Jai again, and she rolls herself into him, one leg lifting to press against his thigh like she might crawl into his fucking lap. Fuck. Did you see him kissing her? Of course you’d go back to Jungwon. Or did Jungwon find you first?

Fuck, it doesn’t matter. You wanted him the last time you were here, of course you’d want him again. Why didn’t he think of that before? Jai tightens her hands in his hair, and he realizes he’s been on auto-pilot. 

“We should go,” she whispers. “Wanna fuck you.” 

He dips down below her jaw just so she can’t see that his eyes are open. “Soon,” he says mindlessly against her neck, looking, watching. Jungwon’s hands are on your ass, he can see the fucking crease where it meets your thighs. He wonders if you can feel what he’s seeing, if you can, you must not care. That’s not you. 

Can he even fucking say that anymore?

“Wooyoung,” Jai says softly, somewhere between a gasp and a whisper of pleasure. He can’t tell if it’s because of his lips half moving on her neck or if it’s because she wants more. He doesn’t answer, but only because Jungwon pulls away, mumbles something that makes you nod furiously. 

There's no way. There’s no fucking way. 

He watches as you grab Jungwon’s hand, following behind him with a little bounce in your step like you’re happy as hell to be leaving the fucking room. There’s no way you’re going downstairs. There’s no way you’re fucking him. 

At the threshold of the door, you look back. Wooyoung’s lips part fully from the girl’s neck as a tiny, snarky fucking smile curves your lips when you catch his gaze. Then you leave. 

Jai pulls away, brows furrowed. “I’m confused.” 

He has to get downstairs. He shakes his head, tucking a curl behind her ear, “Why confused?” 

“I’ve heard about you,” she says plainly. “Are we going downstairs or not?” 

Wooyoung’s returning smile might be the first genuine one of the night. “Fuck yes, let’s go.”

He keeps his eyes trained on the ink swirling on the backs of her thighs as she drags him through the main floor of the house. He refuses to think, he focuses on pushing one foot in front of the other, how her dainty fingers feel around his wrist. He wants to feel, he doesn’t want to think, he doesn’t want to do anything else but fuck. His dick is growing steadily against the constraints of denim as he walks down the steps, through the hazy, smoke-filled room. He wants to look at the couch just to make sure you’re not on it, but he even refuses that. 

It’s mechanical, robotic, pressing his lips to hers behind the first open door she saw. He doesn’t even check to see if it’s closed. His palms feel far, but as they slope the curves of her chest, of her ass, her legs, pinning her to the mattress is anything but instinctual. He groans low, fumbling with his shirt, his zipper, she helps him where his fingers get sloppy. Control returns when he’s buried in her cunt, fingers, cock, the pleasure is so heavy he forgets why he doesn’t have drunk sex for the entire four or forty minutes it takes to make her cum.

He’s thanking her afterward, when she’s putting her clothes back on, he isn’t really sure why. She thanks him in return, he still isn’t sure why. Good sex is the standard, and drunk or sober, he wouldn’t deliver anything less. Weight creeps back in after she leaves, and Wooyoung’s surprised by it, like he forgot it was there prior to getting his nut off. He wonders if you’re still down here. If you ever came down here at all. 

And that thought is enough to get his clothes back on in record time, he doesn’t look back at the room once before leaving it, straining his ears just in case Jungwon’s pulling sounds out of you that he’d recognize. He doesn’t hear anything in the hallway, he doesn’t see you on the couch. He doesn’t find you downstairs at all, but he’s still fucking looking when he returns to the main floor, heart picking up in speed like there’s a finish line he isn’t going to meet. 

“Wooyoung,” he hears at his side, and his head whips just to see Yunho looking concerned. “Bro, your shirt is on backwards and it’s tucked halfway up your back.”

Wooyoung blinks at him, and Yunho tucks his beer can between his thighs to help him get his fucking shirt off. Wooyoung curses under his breath, the sticky air of the room barely even touching him, he’s fucked. The buzz of the party has died, he came, and now he’s stuck like this, drunk and fucking discombobulated. 

“I need to get the fuck out of here,” Wooyoung says in a hurried breath, fixing the elastic band of his briefs before Yunho hands him back his shirt. “I need to go home.”

“We’ll get you home,” Yunho says, confusion and comfort lining his tone. “Are you good?”

“I’m fine,” Wooyoung huffs, getting his shirt over his head. He pulls it down to meet his hips as you come up behind Yunho, and Wooyoung’s stomach flips like he might vomit all over Yunho’s shoes when you peek your head around the side of his arm. 

You give him a one over, and he watches the recognition form in your eyes. The understanding. Then your lips curve in a grin, and you laugh. It’s short, small, a huff of disbelieving air, but for some reason it feels fucking humiliating. Like you expected this. Wooyoung doesn’t know why he doesn’t fucking want you to expect it, why he feels like he’s been caught red-handed. His cheeks burn. His ears burn. He drank too much. He might throw up. 

He turns around and walks. He hopes it’s toward the front door, nothing in his body is working right. He expects relief when the cool, nighttime air hits his skin, but all it does is force the alcohol sitting heavy in his stomach upward. He trips over his feet on the last step of the porch, throwing himself sideways, landing on his knees before painting the lawn with whiskey and stomach acid. 

“Holy shit,” he hears from behind him, and Wooyoung can barely register Yunho’s voice. “How much did you fucking drink?” There’s legs on either side of his shoulders, hands pulling his hair away from his face. “I grabbed Yeosang’s keys, get it the fuck out. I’m taking you home.”

Wooyoung doesn’t recognize his own voice, “Is she with you?”

“No,” Yunho answers immediately. “She’s inside.”

Wooyoung retches again. He can hear voices, the bass from inside smaller now, muffled. His fingers curl in the grass as he groans, “This is humiliating.”

“No it’s not.” Wooyoung swears he can hear Yunho shaking his head. “Remember that time I threw up at SVT? On the kitchen floor? I was supposed to fuck Joshua that night, but he got grossed out and left the kitchen.”

Wooyoung laughs, but he can taste the bile on his tongue. He needs to get out of here. He starts to lean backward, and Yunho steps back above him, helping him up slowly. His stomach flips. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive the drive home. 

“You’re good,” Yunho reassures him, holding him by his fucking armpit, nodding. “You’re good, come on.”

Sitting in the passenger seat of Yeosang’s SUV, Wooyoung prays he doesn’t remember any of this tomorrow.