mioren

✎ ENHYPEN

✎ others coming soon..

imagine jay as a toxic ex. someone you can't forget no matter how much ever you try. someone who you were dating for four years.

four years down the drain. just like that.

four years of what you thought was a sweet relationship. four goddamn years of stupid, meaningless flowers, gifts, love nothings whispered in your ear after he finished ruining you.

every single night. oh, and you swore it wasn't just lust. and maybe it wasn't. but honestly, you're questioning it.

four years that jay threw down for her.

you might not remember how it all started but you sure as hell remember how it ended. you'd gone to a club with your friends, even being as stupid as to inform jay of doing so, like some good, in-love girlfriend.

which you were, at that time.

fortunately, he didn't even bother to see your message. unfortunately for him, that is.

after all, he was too busying pushing his tongue down some other girl's throat which you became the audience to when you found him in the same club you were at.

safe to say, it ended dramatically. but the silence after said ending was even worse.

you'd see those two at campus all the fucking time, your blood boiling at the sight. you convinced yourself you were over it. deep down, you knew.

but now, you've finally somewhat gotten over him.

..is what you'd like to say. if it wasn't for the fact you were standing face-to-face with him. jay. again.

"what the fuck, are you doing here?" you spat as you opened your front door to see him standing outside. oh, for fuck's sake.

maybe you should've acted a little more maturely, calm. shown him you didn't care about him anymore. but emotions got the better of you.

you watch as he sighs, his eyes roaming right over you. "i need my stuff back. it's with you."

oh great. you completely forgot about that.

you roll your eyes as you move to the side, letting him enter your apartment.

"you've redecorated." jay says casually, looking around.

"right." you reply flatly, turning away. "your stuff." you say, sharp, as if reminding him why he's here.

and fuck. maybe you're reminding yourself, too. especially as your eyes roam down him. he's wearing that stupid dress shirt. sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

the same one you remember unbuttoning oh, so vividly.

he always had this annoyingly perfect way of dressing. well, it wasn't annoying but it sure as hell is now.

you watch as he walks to your room, knowing where it is like the back of his hands. of course he does.

"stuff's in the closet. grab it and go." you lean against the wall and let him know, evident boredom in your tone.

"not even gonna ask how i am?" jay replies in mock offense, the smirk on his lips evident from his tone.

"nah, 'don't care." you scoff, your eyes on him.

it's a lie. you know it. and by the looks of it, he does too.

"mm, i think you do." jay turns around, his eyes dropping low once again as he traces up your body, memorising you.

you scoff at his action. "what? don't flatter yourself. get your goddamn shit and leave."

jay shakes his head, leaning closer to you. "you're still using that lemon scent, hm? i remember you told me it helped you sleep."

you swallow, his words making you back up against the wall.

jay continues, "are you dating anyone?" he asks as his mouth hovers dangerously close to your ears.

you weren't but how was he going to know?

"yeah," you smile as you brace your hand against the wall, nearing his arms. "i actually am."

his reaction is instant. his jaw tightens. his eyes drop, slow and deliberate, like he’s imagining things he shouldn’t be. the reaction sending a wave of pleasure through you to see him annoyed about your reply.

"yeah? does he even know where to touch you?"

you swallow again, trying your best not to tear the eye contact. "why? are you thinking about it? thinking about how you can't anymore." you reply, placing emphasis on 'you'. two can play at this game.

"maybe i am. maybe i'm thinking about how you used to cry out my name. especially when i used to take you over this," he pauses before slowly pushing you towards a desk behind you, "desk right here."

fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck!

"you don't know shit. fuck off, jongseong."

he laughs. "god, love the way my name rolls of your tongue 'baby." you dig your fingers into the edge of the desk, his eyes shooting straight down to you core, your eyes unintentionally roaming over his neck. "i do know that you're holding your breath right now."

you exhale at his words, realising you were, in fact, holding your breath.

"why don't you fuck off and run right back to her?" you reply, the last words laced with venom.

you both knew who you meant.

"i messed up." jay says, the three words finally out of his mouth.

"'messed up so bad, baby." you let out a gasp as his hands slowly trail down to your thighs, his fingers ghosting over your skin.

"give me one more chance. give us one more chance. please- messed up so fucking bad." he continues on, his tone more breathy this time as he kisses your ear.

"jay- fuck- leave-" you can barely speak as you feel his fingers inch up to where you needed him. even if you'd never admit it.

"say it like you mean it and maybe i will. if you've truly gotten over me, i'm sure you can." he says, his hands now tracing over the waistband of your underwear.

you should. you should push him away and tell him like you mean it. you shouldn't repeat your mistakes.

"or, we can just be honest." he adds on, his voice like velvet against your skin. "just like your body is being."

"i'm not saying shit."

"your body is, though. isn't it more fun if we just admit it instead of dancing around the truth, baby?"

"jay- please- there's nothing to admit-" you say, but it's hard to live up to your words as you grip his shirt, unintentionally, or maybe intentionally, pulling him closer.

you can't go back to him. you can't, but you want to.

"keep saying my name like that and i'll have you admit every single word to me by the time i'm done."

end note: yo wtf.

let me know in the comments if you'd like to be added to any taglists !

It starts like every other day. Or, well, maybe you could say every other day started like this.

You'd wake up to your alarm, the deafening noise from your roommates room from whatever movie she had chosen that night to watch with her boyfriend finally having died down.

Well, you should be thankful it wasn't some other noise.

You'd told your roommate multiple times to keep it low or just go somewhere else but god help you if she ever listened to you. She'd repeat a string of sorry's before repeating the same shit every night.

Hell, you'd have left by now if this was just any apartment. Problem was, it was a university-assigned dorm. Leaving means you'd have to find another apartment for atleast 3 weeks until you got a new dorm assigned to you. Almost like a punishment for leaving your dorm.

Consequence of choice in a university, you suppose.

Groaning from exhaustion, you get out of your bed and head to your bathroom, going through your daily routine. Shower, brush, change, make some coffee.

And every morning, the text would come at the same time.

"hey, im outside."

Sometimes, the first half of the text would change depending on whatever he was feeling that morning. But the second half stayed pretty much the same everyday.

You grab your bag and leave your cup in the kitchen before walking out your dorm.

And there he was.

Jake Sim.

And, well, his annoyingly handsome face that you have been pining over for practically half your life. Well, not just his face.

Honestly? You wish it was just his face that had you like this. But, of course, it wasn't.

"Hey Jake, how's your morning going?" You reply as you walk beside him, lazily scrolling through your notifications.

This was also apart of your daily routine. You both would meet in the morning and walk together to whatever classes you had. A motivation to get to classes, Jake said.

It also, unfortunately, was the time when Jake's rants about his current crush or situationship would start.

And also the time you’d feel your heart breaking, piece by piece. But then again, you’re so miserable that you’d listen to him anyways, everyday just to see that stupid smile on his face.

And, hell, you’ll even be happy for him. But you’ll break down inside later.

"Oh god, don't ask." He groaned in frustration, lightly throwing his head back and running his hands through his perfect and fluffy hair.

And also simultaneously flexing the veins in his neck.

Oh god, you're so fucked.

Well, frankly speaking, you have been fucked for a while. Jake Sim's got you fucked up for a while now.

He just hasn't fucked you himsel-

"Earth to y/n! You're so zoned out, what's up?" Jake asks, raising his eyebrows at you.

"Uh, no- I'm fine. Just morning exhaustion. You know my roommate, ‘couldn't sleep." You shake your head, making up some excuse and dwelling over the fact you were actively thirsting over him just a few seconds ago. "God, just leave that dorm already. I'm telling you, you can stay in my room until you get a new one assigned."

Yeah Jake, that sounds like a great fucking idea! If it wasn't the fact I will probably go insane and end up in a straitjacket by the time I get a new dorm.

You roll your eyes and shoo the idea away.

See, it’s not like you haven’t tried to get over him. You have. A lot.

It just doesn’t work.

You’ve gone on dates and in fact, they’ve gone pretty well. The only problem?

You compare every single thing they do to Jake. And if not that? You’d be thinking about him some other way.

‘Jake would’ve ordered that.’

‘Jake would’ve done it differently.’

‘Jake would have made some corny joke about this.’

‘Jake would love this song.’

‘Jake would’ve been better in any and every aspect.’

You can’t go on a second date you’d be comparing them to Jake throughout it again. That nothing really would compare.

And, you don’t really do one-night stands.

So, instead, you’re just stuck in an endless loop of pining over him and trying to get over him (and failing, miserably).

"And, your class is here." Jake finishes, grinning as he points at the class in front of you.

"How do you know what class I have first, hm? I don't remember telling you so." You say, as you rummage through your bag to find your timetable for this week. Honestly, you didn't remember yourself.

"You did show me the timetable in the beginning of the week, remember?" Jake says leaning against the wall, watching you intently.

"Yeah, well, that was at the beginning of the week. How the hell do you still remember-"

"I memorised your timetable." He interrupts you, as if what he said was as casual as informing you of the weather.

"You- what-"

Jake blinks at you, brows knitting together like he doesn’t understand why you’re reacting this way. Like he didn’t just casually drop something that makes your chest ache.

"What?" he asks, lips twitching into a half-smile. "It’s not that weird."

You stare at him, mouth opening and closing once, twice, like you’re searching for the right words and coming up empty. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag instead.

"You memorised my timetable," you repeat slowly, just to make sure you heard him right.

"Yeah," he shrugs, pushing himself off the wall. "So I know when I can see you."

Oh.

That shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t mean anything. Best friends do things for each other all the time. Walk each other to class, remember schedules, show up when they can. It’s normal. It’s harmless.

So why does it feel like something sharp twists in your chest?

Jake tilts his head, watching your expression change. He always notices. That’s the worst part, he always notices you.

"You okay?" he asks softly.

You nod too quickly. "Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine."

You’re not. Not even close.

How did you never notice this? Probably because you'd mention your class before he did so he never did. Whereas today, you were way too zoned out.

A part of you feels stupidly warm, stupidly seen. Like someone reached into your chest and gently wrapped their hand around your heart, steadying it. The other part of you feels like screaming, because why would he do that if you’re just his friend?

You look down at your timetable, even though you don’t need it anymore.

"So you memorised all of it?" you ask, forcing a laugh. "Every class?"

"Mm," he hums. "Mondays and Wednesdays you normally start with literature. Tuesdays you’ve got that boring stats class you hate. Thursdays there's always a different class. Fridays you’re free after noon."

He says it so easily. Like it’s nothing. Like it didn’t take time, effort, intention.

Like he didn’t have to care.

Your throat tightens.

"You’re creepy," you say, attempting to joke, but your voice comes out quieter than you want.

Jake grins. "You love me."

And you do. God, you do. That’s the problem.

You sling your bag over your shoulder, turning toward the classroom before he can see too much on your face. You can’t let him. You can’t let him see how every little thing he does digs deeper, how you’re stuck in this endless loop, falling for him, telling yourself to stop, promising you’ll get over him soon.

And then he does something like this.

Jake trails after you to the classroom door, hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie like he belongs there, like he always does. He glances at the sign above the door, then back at you, lips curling into that familiar grin.

"You love this class," he says lightly, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I can tell. It’s written all over your face."

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you reach for the handle. "Oh, fuck off, Jake. I don’t even wanna be here."

The words come out sharper than you mean them to, still weighed down by everything he said earlier. His voice, his memory. The way he admitted it so casually, like it meant nothing.

Jake lifts an eyebrow, amused rather than offended. "Language," he teases. Then, softer, "You’ve got a test next week. You can’t skip."

You pause.

Of course he knows that too.

"You my academic advisor now?" you mutter, not looking at him.

He shrugs. "Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t ruin your GPA."

You glance up at him, and he’s watching you the same way he always does. Easy. Familiar. Too close.

"Okay nerd," you roll your eyes before continuing, "I'll survive."

"Mmh," he hums, unconvinced. "You say that every time."

Silence settles between you. Not awkward. Just heavy.

Jake shifts closer, leaning down slightly so his voice drops. "Tell you what. Go to class," he says. "I’ll get you that drink you wanted to try."

Your heart stutters.

"You don’t have to do that," you say automatically.

"I know," he replies without missing a beat. "I want to. It's not like you have your boyfriend to do it for you."

"Seriously!? Are you calling me bitchless? And I can do it myself."

"Woah, now that's a harsh way to put it." Jake raises his hands in faux defence, laughing. "I'm kidding, kidding. I just want to."

That’s how he does it. Always saying things like that. Always giving you just enough to cling to, never enough to name.

You swallow, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. "You don’t have anything better to do?"

He smiles, warm and effortless. "Not really."

You nod, because if you say anything else, you might say something you can’t take back.

"Now go, go! Don't be late," he adds, tapping the door lightly with his knuckles. "I’ll quiz you later."

You manage a smile. "Yeah. Sure."

The door swings shut behind you, the noise of the classroom rushing in all at once. You take a seat near the back, trying to focus as the lecturer starts speaking, but your thoughts stay outside.

With him.

Waiting like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And you wonder, for the hundredth time, how you’re supposed to get over someone who treats you like you’re something worth memorizing.

Yeah, now you really understand now why the whole university is head over heels for this stupid guy.

And just like he promised, he was there.

Leaning against the wall exactly where you left him, one foot propped up, phone in his hand, the drink in his other hand.

He looks up the second he hears the door open.

"Told you," he says, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "You survived."

Your heart does that stupid thing again.

"Yeah," you reply, forcing a small smile as you adjust your bag on your shoulder. "Barely."

He falls into step beside you easily, matching your pace without thinking. You’ve walked like this so many times it feels automatic.

"How bad was it?" he asks.

"Painful," you say. "As usual."

"You’ll be fine," he replies. "You always are."

You glance at him. He says it with so much certainty it almost feels like faith.

"You really didn't have to get it," you say quietly.

He shrugs. "I said I would."

You walk in silence for a few steps, taking occasional sips of the drink before Jake checks his phone. The screen lights up briefly, and you don’t mean to look, but you do.

A girl’s name.

He locks his phone a second later.

Something tightens in your chest.

"Everything okay?" you ask, keeping your tone light.

"Yeah," he says. "Just-" He hesitates, then exhales. "Just someone texting."

"Oh."

You don’t ask who. You don’t need to.

You reach the end of the hallway, slowing to a stop. Jake does too, glancing around like he’s waiting for you to decide where to go next.

"You like her, right?"

The words slip out before you can stop them.

Jake blinks. Actually blinks. Like you’ve caught him off guard.

"What?"

"The girl," you clarify, suddenly very aware of how loud the hallway feels. "You like her."

He looks away, jaw tightening slightly as he thinks. For a moment, he looks almost uncomfortable, like he’s trying to pick the right answer.

"Yeah," he says finally. Then, quieter, "I guess."

It’s not confident. It’s not sure.

But it’s enough.

"I see. I mean- she's good. She's good. You both would be great together." you say again, nodding like that explains everything. Nodding as if your heart didn't break at his answer.

Jake watches your face carefully, like he’s searching for something he can’t quite name. There’s a strange weight in his chest he doesn’t understand, a flicker of disappointment that comes out of nowhere, sharp and unwelcome.

Because the truth is, he wanted you to say something else

But this should be good for him. Maybe finally he can-

"You okay?" you ask.

"Yeah," he gives a slight smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

You smile as you nod.

He hesitates, like he wants to say more. Like something’s stuck in his throat.

"I was gonna grab a snack," he says instead. "You want one?"

There it is. The way he always fills the silence with familiarity.

"Sure," you reply.

"Same order?" he asks.

Your chest aches. "Yeah."

As he walks ahead of you, pulling his card out of his wallet, Jake can’t shake the feeling that he answered your question wrong.

Not because it wasn’t true.

But because it didn’t feel like the whole truth.

And you follow him anyway, knowing you just confirmed what you were afraid of all along.

He might care about you.

But not in the way that matters.

You can’t sleep.

Your roommate isn’t even home tonight. The room is quiet, the lights are off, your phone face-down on the desk. You should be asleep by now, stretched out comfortably, enjoying the rare silence.

Instead, you’re staring at the ceiling.

Your mind keeps circling back to that conversation, no matter how hard you try to push it away.

You asked him if he liked her.

And he said yes.

You roll onto your side with a frustrated groan, burying your face into the pillow like it might swallow the thought whole. It doesn’t. It never does.

You've always thought about it. A million times. What it'd be like if you just told him the truth?

But then the fear of ruining your friendship with him dawned on you. Above it all, he was everything in a friend you could ask for. You couldn't imagine losing it.

But now, it feels inevitable. It feels wrong, guilty, to be around him, still hopelessly in love with him when he's dating someone else.

It's unfair to him, her and honestly, to you too.

You knew this was coming. You always did. Jake was never going to stay unattached forever, never going to exist in that in-between space where he was technically available but emotionally untouchable.

Still, there was a comfort in it.

As selfish as it makes you feel, it was easier when he wasn’t serious about anyone.

You liked him quietly then, without guilt. Without feeling like you were doing something wrong.

Now it feels different.

Now it feels like you should be happy.

You’ve been there for every almost-relationship, every disappointment, every late-night rant. He’s been there for you, too, through stress and breakdowns and moments you never thought you’d get through on your own.

You tell yourself this is how it’s supposed to be. That wanting him to be happy means wanting this for him.

You will be happy for him.

Right?

The thought sits heavy in your chest.

Because happiness shouldn’t feel like this. Like something tightening around your ribs, like something you have to brace yourself for. You already know what it’ll be like, seeing him with her. Watching the way he smiles, the way he leans in, the way his attention shifts somewhere you can’t follow.

On one side, you tell yourself it’s fine. That as long as he’s happy, you will be too.

On the other side, you know the truth.

He’ll belong to someone else. Someone who gets to make him happy in ways you can't.

And suddenly, it hits you.

He won’t just be unavailable.

He won’t be yours to want anymore.

You turn onto your side, staring at the blank wall. It feels stupid to be this affected by something you never had. Jake was never yours. He didn’t promise you anything. He didn’t do anything wrong.

He’s your friend. Above everything else, he’s your friend.

So why does the idea of staying feel worse than leaving?

You tell yourself it would be selfish to distance yourself just because he’s seeing someone. That real friends don’t disappear when things change. That you should be able to adjust, to swallow it down and act normal.

But the truth is quieter than that.

You can’t get over him while you’re still this close. And you can’t want him the way you do if he’s with someone else.

That’s not fair to him. That's not fair to his partner. And it’s not fair to you.

You imagine seeing her name pop up on his phone. Hearing him talk about her like he talks to you. Being there when he figures out what he feels, just not being the one he feels it for.

Your chest tightens. You were able to hide it, compress it till now. But now, you're not so sure.

You don’t want to resent him. You don't want him to resent you.

You don’t want to turn into someone bitter, or jealous, or quietly hurt every time he smiles at his phone.

So maybe distance isn’t cruelty.

Your phone buzzes an hour later.

Jake’s name lights up your screen.

"Hey," you say softly.

"Hey," he replies, voice loose, uneven. "You busy?"

Your stomach drops. "Jake… are you drunk?"

He laughs quietly. "A little. I’m not driving. Promise."

"Where are you?"

"Campus ground."

You find him ten minutes later, slouched against a tree, hoodie half-zipped, hair a mess. He looks up when you knock, eyes softening instantly.

Distance yourself from him, you said.

Well, at least for now, it's right out the window.

"There you are," he murmurs.

You slide down next to him. The air smells like alcohol and familiarity.

"You okay? You aren't much of a drinker." you ask.

"Yeah," he says. Then, after a beat, "How's your knee? You scraped it yesterday."

Your heart sinks.

"Oh," you manage. "Yeah, it's fine." you pause, "Did you message her?" quickly changing the topic.

Maybe it was vain attempt to remind yourself. Anchor yourself to reality.

He rubs his face with his hands. "I was gonna ask her out. Properly."

"I thought you were already seeing her."

"I’m not," he says quickly. Too quickly. "It’s not like that."

You stare at the dashboard, pushing away the gnawing feeling before speaking. "So… do it."

He turns toward you. "You think I should?"

"If you like her," you say carefully. "Then.. yeah."

No, not really.

If you could get money for willingly causing pain to your sanity with your own hands and being an idiot, you would be the next Elon Musk.

Once again, that look was back on Jake's face. "Of course, you'd say that."

You raise your eyebrows at him.

Jake exhales, frustrated. "I probably won’t."

You glance at him. "Why not?"

He laughs under his breath, shaking his head. "Because I can’t."

"Can’t what?"

"Can’t do it," he says, voice slurring slightly now. "I’ve tried. Like, actually tried."

Your chest tightens. "Tried what?"

He gestures vaguely between the two of you. "Move on."

Silence.

"Jake, you're really drunk." you whisper, shaking your head.

"I swear I keep telling myself this time it’ll work," he still continues, words spilling out.

Your breath catches.

"But it never does," he mutters. "Not when you’re still here. Not when I look for you, all the time."

Your heart drops straight into your stomach.

What does that even mean?

Your stomach twists at the implication behind his words. Your heart raced as your mind told you to be rational. Obviously, he's just blabbering, right?

Too late, your mind was already running in circles. You felt drunk without a single drop of alcohol in your body.

You sigh, trying to slowly get him up. "Jake, go back to your dorm. You are way too drunk."

You barely slept that night, thinking about what Jake meant.

Jake called you again, in the morning. Asking you if he said anything stupid last night.

Of course. He doesn't remember.

Stupidly enough, you had a small hope in your heart. But of course, it was immediately washed away.

He was just spitting nonsense. Still doesn't change the empty feeling it gives you now.

You laughed it off, saying he fell asleep immediately.

Then, you made an excuse that you couldn't meet him in the morning today.

And just like that, the excuse became a daily thing. Slowly, it replaced the best part of your routine, the daily text from him. Instead, it was a text from you. A text that gave him an excuse on why you couldn't come.

Your routine changed.

It was harder to avoid him on campus. But, you tried. It was better for your sanity anyways.

You'd get to class earlier so you wouldn't see him in hallways. You'd leave earlier, avoid the gym, library and field.

Anywhere he could be.

You'd be lying if you said Jake didn't try to reach out. Multiple times. He came to you, looked for you, but you pushed him away.

It felt hollow, but you pushed away that feeling too.

You'd also be lying if you didn't miss seeing him every morning, his laugh, his stupid dad-like behaviour.

Even the feelings that didn't exist but existed in between you. Even his daily rants.

It was tradition.

Every year, without fail, one of the campus hotshots would throw an end-of-semester party. Loud, overcrowded, talked about for weeks before and weeks after. It was never official, never advertised properly, but everyone knew. You either went, or you heard about it from someone who did.

This year was no different.

If anything, it was more.

Final year. Final semester. One month left before graduation.

Which meant the party wasn’t just a party anymore. It was a marker. A before-and-after. The last time everyone would be in the same place without jobs, distance, and real life waiting on the other side.

You figure this one would be bigger than usual. More people. More alcohol. Everyone clinging to the last excuse to act like nothing is ending.

Final chance.

The thought sits uncomfortably in your chest.

It was supposed to be you chance to say it. To tell Jake the truth you’ve been swallowing for years.

Not that you actually plan to.

You snort softly to yourself, staring at the ceiling. If you haven’t said it by now, you’re not going to magically find the courage at a party. Especially not now. Especially not when he's- well.

That conversation replays in your head again, uninvited.

So no. This isn’t some grand romantic turning point for you. Not really.

Sure, shoot me, you thought, but you still believed in romance. But this wasn't it.

If anything, the party feels like a distraction. Something loud enough to drown out your thoughts for a few hours.

You’ve always loved these parties. The music, the chaos, the way nothing feels too serious for one night. You tell yourself this one will be the same.

The house is already loud when you arrive.

The place looks bigger than you remember, or maybe it’s just fuller. People packed shoulder to shoulder, voices and bodies layered on top of each other, all of them pretending this isn’t a goodbye.

You pause at the front gate longer than necessary.

This is stupid, you think. It’s just a party.

You step inside anyway.

The air smells like cheap alcohol and perfume and something burnt you can’t identify. Someone bumps into you immediately, muttering an apology they don’t wait for you to accept. You drift further in, scanning faces without meaning to.

You’re not looking for Jake.

You tell yourself that. You almost believe it.

You find him anyway.

He’s near the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a drink in his hand, surrounded by people you half-recognize. He sort of looks out of it, but still giving soft smiles to Sunghoon, whose next to him.

There’s a girl next to him.

Not hanging off him. Not touching him. Just close enough to matter.

Your stomach sinks, slow and unpleasant.

You turn away before you can register too much. You grab a drink you don’t really want and chug it down in one go.

You immediately regret doing so. You don't even drink. And the alcohol tastes terrible. Oh god, you feel sick alreaady. Why would you do that?

The room feels hotter by the second. Everywhere you go, people are talking about the same things.

Jake's on the other side of the room.

He doesn't know why he feels so down. Or, maybe he does. Maybe he just doesn't want to acknowledge it.

The alcohol in front of him smells all the more nauseating. He probably wouldn't have come if it wasn't for Sunghoon.

And, whether he'd admit it or not, the chance of seeing you.

You've been avoiding him since that night that he just can't remember, no matter how many times he's tried to rack his brain for it.

It's eating him from inside. What happened? What did he do?

The music was loud, too loud, and the lights made everything dizzy and spinning. You swayed slightly, phone in hand, trying to steady yourself, but the room felt like it was tilting around you.

That's when Jake saw you.

His happiness is short-lived though, when he sees him.

The guy weaving through the crowd toward you. Tall, dark-haired, someone Jake recognizes immediately. Same psych class. Sits two rows down. Laughs too loud during discussions.

Jake straightens without realizing it.

He watches as the guy says something to you, leaning in close so you can hear him over the music. You tilt your head, brows furrowing slightly, then laugh, soft, polite. The kind of laugh you use when you’re being nice. The laugh he has memorised in his mind, much like that timetable.

Jake’s grip tightens around his cup.

It’s stupid. He knows that. You’re allowed to talk to other people. You’re allowed to laugh with them, stand close to them, let them take up your space. And he has no right to feel anything about it.

So why does something sour twist in his chest anyway?

He knows the answer, but he can't admit it.

It feels sharp. Unwanted. Like something he shouldn’t be feeling at all.

The guy leans in again. Says something else. You hesitate this time before responding, fingers tightening around your phone.

The more, seemingly mature side of him is telling him to just turn away and continue on with whatever he was doing.

The incredibly immature, petty side of him is telling him to walk to you.

Well, he's always been petty.

Jake moves before he fully thinks it through.

He crosses the room quickly, dodging bodies, ignoring the way someone calls his name from behind. When he reaches you, he slots himself easily into your space, close enough that the guy has to step back slightly.

"There you are," Jake says, voice casual, like this was planned. Like he wasn’t watching from across the room. "I’ve been looking for you."

You look up, surprised.

Oh god. You'd been avoiding him for so long.

Sure, deep down, you wanted to see him.

But you weren't prepared for this.

You both used to always come together to these parties. Everytime your heart used to skip when you saw him wear those stupid leather jackets he loved. A cliche, really.

And seeing it now, at the party directly instead of before it, your heart races.

"Oh," you say. "Hey."

Jake glances at the guy. "What’s up?"

"Uh," the guy hesitates, clearly thrown. "Nothing. We were just talking."

Jake nods, polite but distant. "Cool. I think Y/N right now, is pretty drunk. Mind if I steal her?" He gives a small pause, barely a second even, "Of course you don't." He smirks.

"Hey, I'm not dru-"

Okay, maybe on second thought, you could use this opportunity to get away. Sitting here is making you dizzy due to the cup you downed.

Bad idea.

You stumbled, and he caught you by the arm. "Easy," he muttered, running a hand down your back.

"I'm not even drunk, why'd you say that?"

"I know, but now I'm really rethinking that." Jake says, raising his eyebrows as he lead you through the crowd. He didn't grab you by the wrist or anything. He was just softly leading you through the crowd with his hand on your back.

And you didn't say no. You never really could say no to him.

Eventually, you both were outside in the yard, the cold air calming your dizziness a bit.

But not for long, before you started feeling a suffocation reach you again after realising you were standing with him.

"I'm going back insid-"

"Why are you avoiding me?"

The question stops you cold.

Ah, the million dollar question. You should've expected it.

Jake’s voice isn’t accusing. It’s not sharp. If anything, it sounds restrained, like he’s been holding it in for a long time and finally lost patience with himself.

You turn to face him slowly. The yard is dim, lit only by the spill of yellow light from the house and the occasional flicker of movement through the windows. Music still thumps faintly in the background, but it feels far away now.

"I’m not," you say, automatically.

Jake exhales through his nose, a quiet laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. "You are."

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. You don’t trust what might come out if you try.

"You making constant excuses isn't avoiding me?" he continues. "You’ve been dodging me all week. You didn’t even come in with me."

"That doesn’t mean anything," you say.

"It does when it’s you," he replies.

The words land heavier than he seems to expect. His expression shifts when he notices, confusion flickering across his face.

You look away first.

I just needed space," you say. "That’s all."

"From me?"

You hesitate. That’s answer enough.

Jake runs a hand through his hair, frustration creeping in at the edges, his suspicious slowly confirming. "Did I do something?"

"No," you say quickly. Too quickly. "This isn’t about you."

He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. "That’s not true."

You were controlling yourself till now, not wanting to say anything.

But maybe it was that cup you downed, getting to you. You break.

"Okay then, you want to know what you did, Jake?!"

The words come out sharper than you mean them to, cutting through the cold air between you.

Jake stills.

You can tell he wasn’t expecting that. His shoulders tense, eyes widening just a fraction before he schools his expression into something more careful.

"Yeah," he says slowly. "I do."

You laugh once, breathless. Bitter. "You exist."

His brow furrows. "What?"

"You exist like this," you continue, voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "Like you don’t realize what you do to people. To me."

Jake opens his mouth, then closes it again. He looks genuinely lost now. "I don’t understand."

"Of course you don’t." You shake your head, pacing a step away, then back. You don’t trust yourself to stay still. "You get to be everywhere. You remember my schedule, you drag me out of rooms when you think I’ve had too much to drink, you look for me in crowds like it’s fucking second nature-"

"I’m your friend," he cuts in, a little defensively.

The word hits harder than you expect.

You stop pacing.

"Right," you say quietly. "That’s exactly it."

Jake frowns. "What’s that supposed to mean? Why are you speaking in riddles, it's driving me insane!" He frustratingly runs his hands through is hair, furrowing his eyebrows.

"It means you don’t get to do all of that," you say, voice cracking now, "and then act surprised when it messes with me. You say crazy shit when you're drunk and then forget all about it, expecting me to do so too!"

He stares at you, stunned. "So, it is about that night. Couldn't you have told me, Y/N? When I asked you?" He says your name so softly, a stutter in it but frustration seeping through his tone.

"I know," you interrupt. "That’s the worst part. You don’t mean anything by it."

The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable.

Jake runs a hand down his face. "So what, you’re mad at me for… caring?"

You let out a shaky breath. "No. I’m mad at myself for letting it mean more."

His eyes flicker.

"What do you mean, more?"

You hesitate. Just for a second. Long enough for him to lean in slightly, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t catch your words immediately, they’ll disappear.

You shake your head instead.

"It doesn’t matter," you say. "It’s stupid."

"It clearly matters," he replies. "You don’t blow up like this over nothing."

You shook your head, suddenly overwhelmed. "See! You… you do this every time! You… you make me think… think you actually see me, like you… like you-"

You look at him then. Really look at him. The same boy you’ve loved quietly for years. The same boy who told you, not that long ago, that he liked someone else.

"You do this shit that really makes me think. Are we really just friends? And the answer is always, yeah. We are just fucking friends and it’s driving me insane."

"I can’t keep doing this," you say softly.

Jake lets out a sigh of exasperation. "You're making this worse than it should be. What could I have said that night that's causing you to blow up like this?"

You pause, looking at him, hurt evident in your eyes.

Jake immediately regrets everything he just said. His eyes practically dropping.

"You're right! I am the one making it worse than it should be because I'm fucking in love with you and I can't deal with this! Jesus, I'm done, okay?!"

The words spill out before you can stop them.

The second they’re out in the open, the world seems to freeze.

Jake doesn’t move.

Doesn’t blink.

For a moment, you think maybe the music swallowed it. Maybe the night did you a favor and erased it before it could land.

But then, it really settles. What you'd just done.

Then his face changes.

Shock, first. Real, unfiltered. Like you’ve just knocked the air straight out of his lungs.

He starts, then stops. Swallows.

Your chest burns. You hate how exposed you feel, how small.

"Well, cat's out the bag. I love you," you say again, quieter now. "I have for a long time. And I tried, God, I really tried, to get over it, to pretend it didn’t mean anything. But it does."

Well, you've already spilt it, might as well finish it all. Maybe you'll feel better.

"I always will love you. And the worst part? I still can't move away from you. You could hurt me but I'd still be there for you. Making some excuse."

"I don't think I'll ever get over you, Jake Sim." You pause.

"But, I have to, don't I? You just make it really fucking hard."

You watch as he stands, speechless.

Of course, he doesn't have anything to say. Were you expecting anything?

"Right, I'm sorry, Jake."

"Wait," he says quickly, emotions in a disarray.

"You don’t have to explain," you cut in. Your voice wobbles despite yourself. "I know. You like her."

That stops him.

"What?" he asks.

"You told me," you continue, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. "That night. You said yes. So," You shrug, helpless. "That was it for me. Fuck- in fact, I shouldn't have done this, forget this happened."

Jake stiffens. "That’s not fair."

It's not easy either.

"Take care of yourself, Jake," you say.

Then you turn and walk away before he can see just how much it’s costing you.

Behind you, Jake stays rooted in place, the realization hitting him far too late.

Whatever he’s been afraid to name between you might already be slipping through his fingers. He couldn't bring himself to do it but you did.

And now, it feels all too late.

Jake had already got a feel of how it feels to not have you around the week before the party. But now, when it seems so final, it’s even more quiet.

It’s not dramatic at first. It’s stupid, small things.

He reaches for his phone between classes without thinking, thumb hovering over your name before he remembers- oh. Right. You asked for space. He locks the screen instead, jaw tightening, pretending it doesn’t bother him as much as it does.

He still memorizes timetables out of habit. Only now, there’s nowhere to go with the information.

You don’t sit in your usual seat anymore. Or maybe you do, but not near him. He notices the empty chair beside him before he notices the lecture has started. He hates himself for it.

At the party, he told himself you were overreacting.

Now, in the aftermath, the words replay differently.

"I’m fucking in love with you."

He hears the way your voice broke. The way you didn’t ask him to say it back, just admitted it like a loss you’d already accepted.

And suddenly, he understands.

You weren’t angry. You were tired.

Jake leans back against his dorm wall one night, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment he thought he was being careful.

Asking you for advice about other girls. Leaning on you when he was lonely.

Touching your back, your arm, your shoulder, close enough to mean something, distant enough to deny it.

He thought it was harmless, even though deep down his own heart always sped up.

Because it was you.

He swallows hard.

You didn’t walk away because you didn’t love him. You walked away because you loved him too much to keep hurting yourself.

That realization hits harder than any fight ever could.

You walked away because he was too much of a coward to admit he felt the same too because he didn’t want to lose you.

Jake instead looked for you in everyone else, not even realising it and hoping it would all just die down.

He didn’t even know how you felt. And he hates himself for it now.

He almost texts you.

‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

Deletes it.

‘I miss you.’

Deletes it.

‘I fucked up.’

That one stays typed for a long time before he deletes it too.

Because for the first time, Jake understands something he should’ve understood earlier.

If he reaches out now, it won’t be because it’s fair to you. It’ll be because it hurts him.

And that’s not love.

So he waits.

And it’s agony.

Every laugh that isn’t yours feels wrong. Every party feels dull. Every night ends with him staring at his phone, wondering if distance is what finally makes him lose you, his cowardice or what proves how much he never should’ve risked you in the first place.

He never meant to make you feel like he was merely leading you on. But intention doesn’t undo damage.

And if loving you means letting you go, even temporarily, then that’s the consequence he’ll sit with.

At least until he sees you again, without meaning to.

Even if it kills him.

You get good at not looking for him.

It’s not easy. Your body still does it on instinct. Your eyes still flick toward familiar doorways, still half-expect to find him leaning there, hands in his pockets, waiting like he always used to.

But he isn’t.

So you learn how to sit somewhere else. Walk home alone. Fill your time with noise, friends, assignments, playlists you don’t associate with him.

It works. Kind of.

What you don’t expect is how much space loving him had been taking up. Without it, everything feels too open. Too quiet.

You catch yourself reaching for your phone at night, wanting to tell him something stupid and insignificant. A joke. A thought. The way the sky looked on your walk back.

You don’t. You remind yourself why you stopped.

Jake starts counting days without meaning to. Not to graduation but to the last time you both spoke.

You stop showing up in his life the way you used to. No casual touches. No automatic smiles meant just for him. No texts asking if he made it home safe or what he was doing.

He tells himself this is what you asked for. He just didn’t realize how much he’d built his routine around you until it was gone.

And alike, you did too.

Sometimes he thinks he sees you across campus. His heart jumps every time, only to sink when he realizes it’s not you, or when it is and you don’t look back.

He doesn’t blame you.

People keep asking if you’re excited.

Graduation.

You smile and nod and say the right things, because you are excited. You worked hard for this. You earned it.

But there’s a hollow space where something else used to be.

You don’t talk about Jake. You definitely don't talk about the fact you both won't be able to see eachother everyday anymore. That you both were on a note like this.

Deep down, sometimes you wish you just shut up that night of the party. But another part of you is thankful. At least you won't be able to say that you regret not saying anything.

Talking about him feels worse now. Like trying to rip off a bandage on a wound that isn't even healed yet.

You still remember the sound of his laugh. The way he’d look at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

Jake stops pretending.

He stops telling himself he was being considerate. Stops hiding behind "I didn’t want to ruin what we had."

If that was being considerate, he wishes he was selfish instead.

Because what you had is already gone.

And he’s the reason.

But, then again, he's always been stubborn. He can't let this happen. At least not the way it is happening.

He can't make a mistake as big as losing you.

He almost reaches out when he hears graduation rehearsal announcements echoing through the halls.

Almost.

Then he remembers your face that night. So he stays quiet. Even though every instinct in him screams to fix it. He'll wait, not yet.

Just like that, graduation day arrives too fast.

The morning feels strange, like time itself is holding its breath. Campus looks different when you wake up knowing you’ll leave it behind by nightfall. Banners hang where flyers used to be. People wear gowns over outfits they agonized over for weeks. Parents crowd walkways that once belonged only to students.

You tug at the sleeves of your gown, smoothing them down even though they’re already neat. Your heart is racing, for many reasons.

You tell yourself you’re fine. You tell yourself today is about you.

Then you see him.

Jake stands across the lawn, black gown draped loosely over his shoulders, hair pushed back in a way that makes your chest ache with familiarity. He’s laughing at something someone says, but it fades the second his eyes lift.

They find yours instantly. Neither of you look away.

It’s been weeks. Weeks of silence, space, restraint. And yet, the recognition is immediate, electric. His expression softens, something vulnerable flickering across his face.

Names are called. Applause rises and falls in waves. You walk across the stage, accepting your diploma with a smile because this matters. You did this.

Somewhere in the crowd, you know Jake is clapping for you.

You don’t look for him.

Jake watches you the entire time.

When your name is called, his chest tightens so sharply he has to remind himself to breathe.

He smiles when he thinks about all those times you wanted to skip class but he made you go, the hours he spent tutoring you and lecturing. Those hours never felt like a chore to him though. To him, it was a core part of his life.

The way you'd call him a nerd after every lecture but begrudgingly thank him when you'd get a good grade. The way you helped him learn how to parallel park, embarrassingly enough. That time he completely forgot about an important assignment and you'd stayed up and helped him, despite having a test in the morning.

You both were there for each other always, and it felt right that you both were there for graduation too.

But, despite being there, the distance between you both felt cold and long.

When his own name is called, he barely registers it. His mind is already racing ahead, toward the moment after, toward the thing he’s promised himself he’ll finally do.

Caps fly into the air. People scream, cry, laugh. Cameras flash. Parents hug too tightly. Friends cling to each other like they’re afraid letting go will make this real.

You’re caught up in it all. embraced, congratulated, spun around by people you love.

And yet, you wish there was someone else you could do this with.

Him. You'd always thought about it. How graduation would feel. With him.

Jake stands a few steps away, hesitant. Like he’s afraid stepping closer will undo something fragile.

Your heart stutters.

You excuse yourself quietly, slipping away from the crowd before you can talk yourself out of it. You walk toward the edge of campus, toward the familiar path lined with trees just beginning to bloom.

You don’t know if he’ll follow.

You hope he does.

He does.

"Hey," Jake says behind you.

The sound of his voice, careful, soft, nearly breaks you. You turn. For a moment, neither of you speak.

"You did it." he says finally, smiling softly.

You huff out a breath. "I guess I did survive, huh?"

"I’m really proud of you," he adds. "I always have been."

Something in your chest loosens at that. "Thank you." you pause, before adding, "Congrats to you too." Silence settles again, not uncomfortable, but heavy with everything unsaid.

Jake takes a breath, steadying himself, looking down. "I didn’t want today to pass without talking to you."

You nod. Just as Jake opens his mouth to say something-

Someone grabs your arm and tells you there’s a reservation downtown. Group dinner before everyone scatters for good.

You see the way Jake falters, smiling and nodding as the person motions to him as well, telling him how he'll see him there.

Another friend of yours comes and rushes you, grabbing you away.

Guess Jake's going to have to wait a bit more, huh?

It’s warm inside, dimly lit, all soft music and clinking glasses. The perfect place for a celebration like this.

Jake looks up from his seat at the long table.

You hesitate before you sit. Not next to him, but close enough.

Conversation flows around you, stories, inside jokes, plans for the future. You laugh at your friends words, and talk here and there.

But you feel him. Every time he shifts in his chair and every time his knee brushes yours under the table and pulls away too quickly.

Every time his gaze lingers a second too long before looking away. Neither of you mention the fight. Neither of you mention anything, really. It only hangs between you like unfinished business.

You laugh at something someone else says, and it hits Jake, this might be one of the last times he ever hears that sound up close.

He can’t let it end like this. And definitely not without him owning up to it all, and telling his truth. He'll try again, he'll try for as long as he needs to.

"Hey," he murmurs when there’s a lull, leaning closer. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Your heart skips.

"Yeah," you say. You follow him out, past the bathrooms, through a side door that leads to a quiet patio. The city hums softly beyond the railing.

"I didn’t mean for today to go by without saying anything," Jake starts. "I just… didn’t know if I was allowed to anymore."

You fold your arms, steadying yourself. "You are."

He nods. Swallows. "I’ve been trying to give you the space you asked for."

"And?"

"And it’s been hell," he admits quietly. "But, annoyingly enough, I needed it too." You look at him.

"I thought losing you would make things clearer," he continues. "And it did. Just not in the way I expected."

Your chest tightens.

"When I realized how I felt about you," he says slowly, "I panicked. I know it’s cliche. Cowardly, even. But you were the one constant in my life. I valued what we had so much that I convinced myself risking it would be worse than living with the feeling."

He swallows hard.

"I told myself it couldn’t be love. That maybe it was just familiarity. Comfort. That maybe if I tried—really tried—to move on, I’d wake up one day and realize I’d been wrong."

Your fingers curl into your sleeves.

"I thought telling you I loved you without being completely sure would be selfish. That it would mess things up." His voice wavers slightly now. "So I said nothing."

He lets out a shaky breath.

"And instead, I messed things up anyway."

You don’t interrupt.

"It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that every person I gave a chance to, I was comparing them to you. I kept looking for you in them without even meaning to." He shakes his head. "And when I couldn’t find you, I pulled away."

A pause.

"I hated myself for that," he adds quietly. "Because it wasn’t fair to anyone." he pauses, his voice barely audible and quiet at the last part, "especially to you."

He looks up at you then, eyes glassy but steady.

"I don’t want to find you in anyone else," he says. "I don’t want anyone like you."

His voice drops. "I just want you."

The words hang between you, fragile and terrifying. Jake steps a little closer, not touching you yet.

"And I was so scared to accept that," he continues. "Scared that wanting you meant risking everything."

He takes a breath, shoulders rising and falling. "But not telling you, letting you hurt alone, was the worst thing I could’ve done."

His gaze doesn’t waver now.

"I love you."

Your breath catches.

"I love you," he repeats, softer, like the words finally fit his mouth. "And I’m so, so fucking sorry it took me this long to say it properly."

He shakes his head slightly, regret written all over his face. "I’m sorry for every mixed signal. Every time I leaned on you without giving you certainty. Every time I made you feel like you were asking for too much when all you wanted was honesty."

"You didn’t imagine it," he says. "You didn’t ask for something unreasonable. I just wasn’t brave enough to meet you where you were."

His voice breaks on the last part.

"And I don’t expect you to forgive me just because I finally figured it out." He pauses. "But I needed you to know the truth. Fully. Clearly."

Silence stretches.

Then, quietly, he adds:

"If you still want me… I’m here. Not halfway. Not scared. All in." He laughs softly, as if mocking himself.

You didn't mean to, but you let out a light giggle.

Jake freezes.

He blinks at you, brows knitting together in visible confusion, like he’s bracing for the ground to fall out from under him. The kicked-puppy look returns full force.

"I never thought I’d hear something that heartfelt from Jake Sim," you tease lightly, voice warm rather than cruel.

"A-are you seriously teasing me right now?" he sputters, mock offense flashing across his face. He scoffs, shaking his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. "After all that?"

You shrug, trying, and failing, to hide your own smile. "What? I had to lighten the mood somehow. You were getting dangerously sincere. And I can't just forgive you without acting a little stubborn. That's way too easy for you." But you knew deep down, Jake was your weakness. You can only act stubborn for so long. And he wasn't so different either.

He exhales a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "God. I just poured my heart out and you’re laughing at me."

"I’m not laughing at you," you say quickly, softer now.

You continue, wanting to tell him everything too. "You really hurt me,"

"I know."

"And I shouldn't want to go back to how things were. But I do, and I never did stop waiting."

His eyes shine.

"I don’t want to do this wrong again," he says.

"Then don’t," you reply. "Choose me. Out loud."

He does.

"I’ve spent the last few weeks realizing how badly I fucked up," Jake says quietly.

You stare at him, heart pounding.

"But this time," he says, voice steady, "I’m not asking you to stay in something half-formed. I’m not asking you to wait, or hope, or hurt quietly."

"And if you tell me you’ve moved on," he continues, "I’ll respect that. Truly. But I couldn’t let today pass without finally telling you the truth, clearly, soberly, and without running from it."

Jake exhales shakily, words spilling out faster now, like if he stops talking he’ll lose his nerve. Like even if you told him you want this he still feels remorseful.

"I should’ve said it sooner," he admits. "I should’ve fought harder. I should have never made you feel like that."

He shakes his head, jaw tight.

"I replay that night over and over, wondering how I could be so stupid. How I could hear the hurt in your voice and still not stop myself. I thought I was protecting us, but I was really just protecting myself. I was really just being a coward."

Your chest aches.

"And I get it if you don’t trust me right away," he rushes on. "In fact, you shouldn't. I get it if you need time, or if you want to take this slow, you shouldn't forgive me at all-"

"Jake," you murmur.

"I just-" he swallows. "I don’t want to be the reason you doubt your feelings ever again. I don’t want to be the almost or maybe in your story. I want to be-"

You don’t let him finish.

You step forward and kiss him.

It’s not rushed or desperate. It’s soft, sure, intentional, like a decision finally being made. His words cut off with a quiet sound of surprise before his body catches up, hand coming up instinctively to your waist as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on.

For a second, he doesn’t move at all. Then he kisses you back.

Careful. Like he’s been wanting this for years and is terrified of doing it wrong.

And it's true. He has been.

He smiles against your lips, the sound of his laugh reverberating through your body.

When you pull back, just barely, his forehead rests against yours, breath uneven.

"…You could’ve let me keep apologizing," he mutters weakly.

"And let you go off like an idiot?" You laugh, "I forgive you. And..

I really fucking love you too, Jake Sim."

You really do. It’s strange how quickly everything changes. Few days ago, you were bracing yourself for loss. Now he’s standing in front of you, honest and undone, and you realize you were never foolish for hoping.

You lean back against the railing without realizing it, and he follows, closing the space between you naturally, like this is where he’s always meant to be.

Jake softly grabs your chin, lifting it before kissing you again, more desperate this time. It’s deeper, needier, like all the restraint he’s been forcing on himself finally snaps. His thumb presses lightly under your jaw, steadying you, grounding himself just as much as you.

The kiss isn’t rushed, but it’s hungry. Like he’s been replaying this moment in his head for far too long and now that it’s real, he doesn’t know where to put all of it. His lips move against yours with quiet urgency, a soft sound leaving him when you kiss him back just as hard.

When he finally pulls away, he stays close. Forehead resting against yours. Breath uneven.

"…God," he mutters, voice low, almost embarrassed. "I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

You laugh softly, still dizzy, still warm. "Yeah?"

He nods, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth like it’s taking real effort not to kiss you again. "Yeah."

You grin. "Then you should’ve done it, nerd. Took you long enough."

He lets out a short laugh and rolls his eyes, but the smile that follows is helpless, fond. "Oh, shut up," he says, bumping his forehead into yours gently. "You have no idea how badly I overthought this."

"Mmm, I think I do," you tease.

"God," he murmurs, voice low, smug in a way that makes your stomach flip, “how many times I imagined doing that.”

"Oh?" you manage.

He chuckles softly. "Yeah. And I was way nicer in my head."

Your heart slams against your ribs. "Mm, then I like this version better." You smirk.

He looks at you for a second longer, expression softening again, then clears his throat like he’s trying to regain some composure.

"Hey," he says, thumb brushing your cheek. "Mind if I steal you from here?"

You glance back toward the restaurant through the glass doors, muffled chatter and clinking glasses barely audible. Then back at him.

"I know you don’t like this place anyway," he adds, lips quirking. “You always complain the music’s too loud and the lighting’s weird.”

You blink. "…Of course you know that."

He shrugs, pretending it’s nothing. "I pay attention."

Your heart does that stupid thing again. You lace your fingers with his. "Yeah. Steal me."

His smile this time is quiet, satisfied, as he leads you away like he’s been waiting to do it all night.

Jake’s car is parked a little farther down the street, tucked under a dim streetlight. The moment you reach it, the air shifts, quieter, heavier.

He opens the passenger door for you, hand steady on the handle, all polite like he hasn’t been kissing you senseless five minutes ago.

You step closer instead of getting in.

Before he can say anything, you grab the front of his shirt and tug him down, kissing him again, slow at first, then deeper, teeth grazing his bottom lip just to feel him react.

He does.

A low sound slips out of him before he can stop it, one hand bracing on the doorframe, the other instinctively coming to your waist.

"Jesus," he murmurs against your mouth.

You pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are dark, focused, unmistakably wrecked.

You do sit, eventually, back hitting the passenger seat as he crowds you in again, kiss deepening, slower now, like he’s savouring it.

Your fingers tug at him instinctively, pulling him closer. "Jake-"

He pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead dropping to yours. His lips brush your mouth once more before he stops himself.

"No," he murmurs.

You blink at him, "What do you mean, no?"

He smirks, actually smirks, straightening up just enough to look down at you properly. One hand gently pries yours from his shirt, threading your fingers together instead.

"Not yet," he says calmly, like he’s got all the time in the world. "You gotta wait."

You scoff, shifting in your seat. "Are you serious right now?"

He leans in again, slow, deliberate, stopping just short of kissing you. Close enough that you can feel his breath.

"Very," he says softly. “I waited years. You can survive ten more minutes."

You glare at him. "I did too! And, you’re enjoying this."

His grin turns unapologetic. "A little."

You tug at his hand again, half-hearted, playful but frustrated. "God, you're so annoying."

He laughs quietly, finally closing the door before walking around the car, leaving you there, flustered, heart racing.

"That I am!" He calls out, grinning.

He gets out first, rounds the hood, and opens your door for you like a gentleman, which would be funny, if his eyes weren’t dark and intent, like he’s holding himself back on purpose.

You step out, barely steadying yourself before his hand is on your waist.

The door isn’t even closed yet when he kisses you. Hard.

Your back hits the side of the car, cool metal against your skin as his body slots in close, like he knows exactly where you fit. His mouth is warm and demanding, all pent-up frustration and relief pouring into the kiss. One hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing just under your lip as if he’s reminding you who’s in control right now.

You gasp softly into the kiss, fingers sliding up his chest, grabbing at his shirt again.

He lets out a soft sound, almost like a whimper, kissing you deeper but not stopping.

Instead, he nudges the car door shut with his leg behind you without breaking the kiss, the sound of it clicking closed echoing in the empty lot.

His knee slots between yours, not rushing, just there enough to make your breath hitch. He kisses you slower now, deeper, like he’s taking his time on purpose, savoring the way you melt into him.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breath uneven.

"You have no idea," he murmurs, voice rough, smugness creeping back in, "how hard it was not to do that for so long."

You swallow. "You’re doing a terrible job holding back now."

He smirks, brushing his nose against yours. "Yeah," he admits quietly. "Seems like you love it though."

His hand tightens at your waist as he leans in again.

The door closes behind you with a soft click.

It’s quiet inside his room, the lights dim. The kind of quiet that makes everything louder. Your breathing, the sound of his jacket slipping off his shoulders, the way his eyes don’t leave you for a second.

Jake doesn’t touch you right away.

That’s what gets you.

He watches you instead, slow and deliberate, like he’s still convincing himself this is real. His jaw tightens just slightly, hunger flickering across his face now that he’s not pretending anymore.

"You okay?" he asks softly.

You nod, your heart warm at his question. "Yeah."

His hand comes to your waist then, firm, grounding. He pulls you closer until there’s no space left to misinterpret. You can feel exactly how much he wants you, restrained only by the fact that he wants you to be sure.

"You tell me if you want me to stop," he murmurs near your ear. "But I don’t plan on going slow unless you ask."

You don’t. Of course, you don't. God knows how many times you've thought about this.

Jake kisses you again, deeper this time, heat replacing hesitation. His hands slide up your back, fingers splaying like he’s memorizing the shape of you. When you gasp into his mouth, he groans softly, like the sound is punched out of him.

"Fuck," he breathes. "That sound- don’t do that unless you want me to lose it."

You smile against his lips. "Maybe I do."

That’s all it takes.

"You're sure about this ri-" "I swear to god Jake, if you ask me again, I'll slap you."

Jake laughs, grinning at you as his eyes practically shine. "Got it, maam."

He backs you toward a wall, until your legs are hit by the cold sensation of the wall.

"God, 'been dying to do this." he says quietly.

"And, whose fault is that, nerd?" You reply, teasingly.

Jake groans. "Are you still gonna call me that?"

"What? Thought you'd be into that." You smirk, laughing at his pout.

He raises his eyebrows, before smiling. The sudden look in his eyes makes your stomach flip.

"What? Still scared to do anything?" You manage, wanting to tease him just a bit more.

His hand slides down your thigh, slow, intentional.

"Oh, I'm not scared. I’m holding back because I want you begging first."

Your breath stutters.

Jake smirks, clearly pleased. "There it is."

Jakes hands slowly drag down your shirt, unbuttoning it as his other hand rests around your waist, his mouth ghosting around your ears.

His mouth follows his hands, kisses pressed into your collarbone, down your chest, lower, until you’re squirming beneath him.

"Jake," you whisper.

He looks up. "Yeah?"

"Please, 'need this."

Something breaks loose in his expression.

"Good," he mutters. "I was hoping you’d say that."

Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging just slightly. He groans, low and helpless.

His hands don’t wander randomly, they move like he knows exactly what he’s doing and wants you to feel every second of it.

"You’re so responsive," he murmurs, clearly enjoying the way your body reacts to him. "Been like this all along, huh?"

He doesn’t wait for an answer as he unbuttons your bottoms, dragging them down along with your undergarment.

Jake drops his head again, closer this time, his breath warm against your thigh, one hand braced against the wall while the other slides your thighs onto his shoulder.

You feel him smile against you.

"Fuck," he whispers, voice rough now. "I could stay right here forever."

Your knees feel weak. He notices.

"Hm? What? You getting weak already?" he smirks, cockiness evident in his tone.

You gasp as you feel his fingers probe at your entrance, dragging them up and down.

"Fuck- Jake-" That does it.

He uses two of his fingers in a scissor-like motion, spreading you open in front of him as he gathers your slick. "Look at you, dripping wet all over my fingers."

Pulling away his fingers, he looks up to make eye contact with you before slipping his fingers inside his mouth, tasting your slick causing you to let out a sound of surprise. "Taste as good as I imagined."

Before you can even mull over his words about how he imagined this, you gasp as you feel his mouth on your clit. "Jake! Hah- don't stop-"

"Mm," he murmurs, sound muffled. "I wasn’t planning on it."

You tug on his hair as he continues to fuck you with his tongue, making you arch your back against the wall, already feeling your climax near.

Jake senses this as he pushes two of his fingers inside, causing you to cry out his name at the sensation and tug his hair, making him whine against you.

You gasp, before finally releasing with a moan of his name, your legs spasming due to the sensation.

Jake doesn't stop, instead speeding up. "J-jake, fuck! Slow down, 'can't- hah-"

He finally pulls away, licking his lips and looking up at you, his eyes shining. You watch as he gets up, kissing you again, the taste of your own release mixing with your saliva.

Too deep in the sensation, you don't even realise his fingers inching closer to your already swollen sex, causing you to gasp against his lips at the sudden sensation.

When his fingers slide between your folds, slow and precise, your breath stutters.

"Say my name," he murmurs, voice low against your lips.

"Jake-"

He rubs your clit with just the right pressure, making your hips jerk.

"Again."

"Jake-!"

Louder. You’re panting now, clutching his shirt as his fingers circle and tease, never giving you enough.

Your back arches. "Jake, quit teasing me-"

He grins against your lips.

His fingers slide inside you, slow but deep, curling against the spot that makes your vision blur. Your moan is sharp and helpless, your body lifting toward his hand due to the overstimulation.

"That’s it," he whispers. "Let me hear you."

He keeps thrusting his fingers, deliberate and controlled, while his other hand pins your hip down firmly when you try to move.

You whimper, nearly sobbing at how good it feels. At how good he makes you feel.

"Jake, shit- please-!"

"Please what?" His voice is dangerously calm. "Use your words."

"Fuck- god, Jake, please fuck me."

For a moment he goes completely still.

Then he pulls his fingers out and kisses you hard enough to steal your breath. His other hand grabs your thigh, dragging you off the wall and to the bed, placing you down.

He hovers over you, steadying himself with one hand, the other one unbuttoning his shirt hurriedly.

His eyes burn into yours.

You reach out and help him remove his belt, kissing his neck while doing so, causing him to let out a whine at your action.

He pushes you down again, unbuckling your bra, throwing it god knows where before leaning down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and using his hand to knead the other.

You throw your head back, gripping the pillow which smelled just like Jake, intoxicating you.

He pulls away, causing you to whine at the loss of contact but not for long when he pulls you closer to him, motioning for you to wrap your thighs around him.

He finally pushes inside you, causing you to wince at the sudden stretch.

"Fuck-, you're so fucking tight." Jake groans, gripping your hips as he leans down to kiss your neck. "Tell me if it's too much."

Before you can answer, you cry out his name as he pulls out completely to slam into you again, knocking the air out of your longs.

You tighten your legs around him, gasping with each of his thrusts.

"Fuck, you know how many times I've jerked off to the thought of you- hah- like this, under me?" You hear him groan as he admits, sinking his teeth into the skin around your collarbone.

"Y-Yeah, do I compare to what you imagined?" You say, as you dig your nails into his back.

"Way better." He mumbles, his mind blanking. "Way, fucking better."

"Fuck- I’m not going to last," he admits with a breathless laugh. "Seems like you aren't too. So fucking tight and wet around me. You thought about this too, baby?"

You nod mindlessly, clenching around him at his words, your mind way too gone and cock drunk.

He smirks at this.

"Hah-! Jake, I'm going to-" You don't finish as he speeds up. "Mm, go ahead baby. Come all over your bestfriend's cock."

And you do, god, you do. You gasp at his filthy words, arching as you reach your climax.

The bed creaks, the room filling with the sound of skin on skin, breath on breath. He doesn't stop as his takes one of your nipples in his mouth again.

He groans as you tighten around him even more as you release. His hand slides between you, thumb finding exactly what makes you gasp. He watches your face closely, dark eyes tracking every reaction.

"S'too much- Jake-"

"You can take it, c'mon."

You come undone once again with his name on your lips, and the sound of it pushes him over the edge too. He buries his face into your neck, grip tightening as he follows you, breath shuddering.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Then Jake shifts, careful even now, pulling you into his chest. His heartbeat is wild under your cheek. A sudden switch from the filth he was spitting just moments ago.

"You still okay?" he asks, softer now.

You nod, smiling, breath heavy. "More than okay. Well, that's subjective."

He laughs at your words as he plants a kiss to your forehead.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," he says, no teasing, no joking. Just truth.

"Hm, you're not so bad yourself, Jake."

He giggles, the sound making your heart race. It always did, now more than ever.

"Oh yeah, I never got to ask you. How'd that test go last week?"

"Seriously, Jake?!"

end note: WOOO im not too proud of this but hey its something. i wanted to make it before i forgot the plot. ahhaha like i said trust me im still working on dream abt me i just needed a break and i had immense writers block with it. anyways, this was good. feedback is appreciated! only constructive criticism, hateful comments will be deleted. don't like? don't read.

taglist: @luvksnn

the hallway buzzed with the late-afternoon chaos of students shoving books into lockers, chatter spilling from every corner. you leaned against the cool metal of the lockers, arms crossed, watching the girl in front of you stammer through her excuse.

"i didn’t copy your assignment," she said, clutching her notebook tighter, eyes darting between you and the floor.

you raised an eyebrow, voice dripping with disdain. "really? then why does yours look like mine but like.. dumber?" a few people nearby chuckled, not brave enough to join in but not kind enough to intervene either.

the girl’s face flushed, and she muttered something under her breath before scurrying away, notebook pressed to her chest like a shield.

you smirked, pushing off the locker and yawning, ready to walk away-

until you caught sight of hana at the end of the hall.

she was leaning against the opposite wall, books hugged lazily to her chest, watching everything with that sharp, knowing gaze of hers. when your eyes met, she tilted her head and smiled- not in sympathy for the girl who just fled, but at you.

"you’re kind of mean, you know that?" she said when you got close enough, her voice teasing, light.

"damn, i didn't know hana! thanks!" you muttered, your tone laced with sarcasm, brushing past her.

but hana fell into step beside you, her tone playful but carrying an edge. "the way she almost cried... you should’ve seen her face. it was kind of hilarious."

you stopped, frowning. "what?"

she shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. "don’t look at me like that. i’m just saying- people act so fragile, but sometimes they make it too easy. and you..." she smiled wider, almost approving, "you fall for it. you know exactly where to hit them. look at them all feeling bad for her."

something about the way she said it unsettled you. most people called you cruel behind your back. hana? she sounded almost impressed.

"whatever," you muttered, suddenly annoyed with her, not having the energy to talk back. but as you walked away, you could feel her smile burning between your shoulder blades- like she wasn’t horrified by what you did, but entertained. maybe even... envying the girl.

after last bell, when the school had mostly emptied, you found her waiting by the front steps. she was perched on the railing, one leg swinging lazily, her tie loosened, hair falling into her face.

"you walk home this way, right?" she asked, like it wasn’t obvious.

you narrowed your eyes. "why do you care?"

hana shrugged. "i don’t. i just didn’t feel like walking alone."

you didn’t answer, but when you started walking, hoping she would just fuck off, she hopped off the railing and followed anyway. the silence between you stretched for a while, filled only by the crunch of gravel and the distant sound of cars.

why the fuck are you walking with her?

"you know," she said finally, glancing sideways at you, "people think you’re scary."

"good. don't remember asking for an opinion from you, though." you said, your tone laced with venom and almost disgust towards hana. god, you hate this bitch.

she laughed, a sound that startled you because it wasn’t cruel or mocking. just light, almost warm. "yeah. i figured you’d say that."

you frowned. "what, you gonna lecture me on ethics, goody two-shoe? because if you are-"

"no." she cut you off quickly. "i get it."

you slowed, staring at her. "..get what?"

"that sometimes it’s better to be the one people are afraid of than the one they walk all over," hana said softly, her eyes distant, like she was remembering something she’d never admit out loud. "i think i'm similar in that way."

for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. no one had ever put it like that before. no one had ever made it sound… sickly reasonable. but then you quickly realised that it's hana.

"do not compare yourself to me. we are not similar." you spat, annoyed with her statement. how could she compare herself to me?

yet, all she did was smile in return. a certain sadness behind her eyes you didn't want to decipher.

and a certain something else she didn't want you to decipher.

your breath came out sharp, uneven, each inhale scraping against your throat like it hurt. the wind felt like it was pushing on your back, the warmth of it, combined with sunghoon's body warmth, grounding you in the most terrifying way. sunghoon’s grip was still on your arm, tight, almost bruising, as if the second he let go you’d somehow end up falling.

for a moment, neither of you moved. just the sound of the wind rushing past, the city noise muffled and distant. you could feel his heartbeat through the space between you, fast and unsteady, nothing like the calm exterior he always carried.

his voice finally broke the silence, low and cracked. "i didn't realise-"

you blinked at him, the words catching in your throat. you wanted to cry, stupidly enough. but all that came out was silence. deafening silence.

guess i thought when i left it would all stop,

sunghoon’s eyes darted across your face, wide and frantic in a way you’d never seen. his jaw clenched as if holding himself together. "fuck-" he stopped, his hand tightening on you, then loosening like he realized how hard he was holding.

his voice faltered. he looked down at the ground below, the dizzying drop only inches from your heels, and swore under his breath again.

you swallowed, throat dry. you had nothing to defend yourself with. no strength to tell him you hadn’t meant to lose your balance, or that maybe a part of you had wanted the ground to open and take you so this would all end. and that a part of you also felt the fear akin to the fear a child would feel looking down from a balcony for the first time. but instead, your lips trembled around all those words you didn’t say.

sunghoon dragged his gaze back to you, and for once it wasn’t anger you saw in him. it was fear. real, bone-deep fear.

he shook his head, his voice raw. "i wasn't trying to-"

"weren’t trying to what?.." you finally forced out, your voice hoarse. you trailed off, chest caving. "actually, would it have made you feel better if i did fall? you probably wanted that."

the words landed between you like glass shattering. his face twisted, horror bleeding into his features as if you’d taken the thought right out of his chest and spoken it aloud.

"hah, who am i kidding?" you let out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, wasn’t quite a sob. "you don’t want me to die. that’s too sweet of an end for someone like me, isn’t it?"

it would all stop.

sunghoon’s grip trembled where it held you, the muscles in his jaw jumping. "stop," he said, but it came out weak, almost pleading.

"why?" you spat. "this is what you’ve been waiting for, right? for me to crumble? to confess to something i didn’t do? to disappear so you can keep believing hana was everything you thought she was?" you didn't know where your newfound confidence came from but you felt like you were crashing.

his eyes flashed, but not with anger. it was something rawer, something splintered. he dragged a hand through his hair, still holding you with the other. "don’t twist it like that," he said, but the conviction in his voice was crumbling, almost like he didn't even believe or mean his own words. "i just wanted answers."

did i fall, out of line,

you finally felt the waterfall pour, your voice trembling as you spoke. "i know that sunghoon. i fucking know. that's the worst part! i can't even try to scream at you as much as i want to because i know how much you fucking care for your sister! i've seen it! do you understand how guilty i feel when you tell me anything?!"

you felt his shirt getting soaked.

when i called you?

"but i really didn't do it." you let out a broken sob, your voice barely audible as you finished, turning your head down as you cried.

he felt empty as he heard your voice shake, utterly lost.

"i don’t understand anything y/n..." he admitted, his voice breaking around the edges too. "i don’t even know who hana was anymore. and i don’t know what i'm doing."

when i told you, “i’m fine”,

the confession hung between you, fragile and heavy. for the first time, when you looked up, you saw his shoulders drop, saw his knuckles ease just a fraction only to tense up again.

you don't know what you're doing. you don't know why you feel so stupid right now.

it emi saw you right now, she would ask you if you lied again about what exists in between you and goddamn park sunghoon.

you were lied to.

the air was suffocating, heavy with everything neither of you dared to admit. you realized then that he hadn’t let go of you. not when he first grabbed you, not even now. his knuckles were white, veins straining under his skin, as if letting go meant losing more than he could stand.

how could i think that all that i gave you was enough?

he still hadn't let go.

"you can let me go now, you know that right?" you muttered, not sure how to feel about the current position as the haze of the moment faded away and the realization set.

sunghoon’s eyes widened. only then did he seem to notice how tightly he’d been holding you. his hands dropped instantly, too fast, almost knocking you over in the process.

you steadied yourself with a scoff, brushing at your clothes like they held more dust than they actually did. your cheek burned where the wind had grazed it, or maybe where his fingers had pressed. either way, you hated that he’d left a mark.

"you should register to work in a play," you said flatly, wiping at your cheek as if scrubbing away the evidence of the moment. "that performance just now? very convincing."

his brows furrowed, taken aback. "what?"

"all that horror in your eyes," you continued, your tone sharp, mocking. "the trembling voice, the dramatic pull-away. i mean, if you wanted me to believe you care, it almost worked."

sunghoon’s mouth opened, then shut. for a beat, he just stared at you. "you think i was acting?" he asked finally, his voice low, like the words offended him more than he expected.

you forced a laugh, though it cracked in the middle. "weren’t you?"

his jaw tightened, and he stepped away, not enough to distance himself from the conversation but enough to make the air between you heavy, like he too had the realisation set in about what happened moments ago. "you were seconds from falling," he said, each word deliberate, almost bitten out. "do you think i could fake that?"

"oh, i mean, considering who you are related to, i'm sure you could."

for a second, silence. then his tone shifted, rough around the edges. "if you really believe that, then maybe you don’t know anything."

you turned your head sharply at that, meeting his eyes. his expression wasn’t the cold mask he usually wore, but something messier, rawer, like he’d slipped and couldn’t pick it back up fast enough. it almost made your chest ache. almost.

so you scoffed again, even though your throat was tight. "good," you said. "because i don’t want to."

‘cause everytime i get too close i just go mess it up.

you didn’t even remember the drive back. one second you were shoving open the heavy rooftop door, your pulse pounding in your ears, and the next you were standing at your front door with your keys clutched so hard in your fist they left little indents in your palm.

inside, the silence was brutal. no voices, no footsteps, no accusations. just the faint hum of the fridge and the sound of your own uneven breathing. of course, no one was home.

sometimes, it felt wrong to call this place a home. on most, if not all days, it felt more like a hotel you came to rest at and waited until you could get out again.

you dropped your bag onto the floor and collapsed onto the edge of your bed, still in your jacket, still with your shoes on. you couldn’t even be bothered to move. your mind was replaying the rooftop over and over, like some cruel tape on loop.

his eyes. that look when he realized how close you were to the edge. the way his hands had gripped you like letting go would mean blood on his own.

and then… the way you accused him of faking it.

no, you weren't accusing him. you were simply stating the truth. are you really expected to believe that sunghoon, whose wanted you dead for all these days and still does, got so scared with the idea of you falling because of him? how fucking pathetic.

"what the fuck," you whispered to yourself, burying your face into your hands. "what the actual fuck."

you weren’t supposed to feel this way. you weren’t supposed to let his fear touch you, weren’t supposed to notice the rawness in his voice, the crack in his mask. but you had. and now it was lodged in your chest like a thorn you couldn’t pull out.

why hadn’t you told him about the text? why hadn’t you given him the proof that would’ve cleared your name, or at least shaken his blind faith in hana? you’d had so many chances. maybe it would’ve saved you from nights like this, where you sat alone and felt like your own ribs were cages pressing in.

these were all the questions that lingered in your head on the rooftop. and honestly, you still don't know.

deep down, you wanted him to keep hating you.

deep down, you know you are fault somewhere.

you groaned and flopped backward onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling until the white paint blurred. "no. no, no. stop." your voice was small, but the walls carried it back to you anyway.

your chest ached with confusion. was he your enemy? just your enemy's brother? your partner? the boy who wanted you to pay? or, the boy who, for one terrifying, split second, looked like he wanted to save you more than anything?

you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes until little sparks burst behind your lids. none of it made sense. none of it fit together.

no, he's just the irritating, confusing, frustrating, selfish park sunghoon that is the bane of your existence right now.

the same one who has made your life a living hell.

but were you making a statement or were you making yourself believe it?

you didn't know.

all you knew was that something had shifted. something irreversible. and whether you wanted it or not, you couldn’t go back to pretending he was just the brother of the girl who you ruined and in turn, ruined you.

but it was so, so, so much easier to say than do it. every day you tried to get yourself together, something else crashed down on you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

you knew you needed to get your shit together. you had to get your goddamn life together.

your textbooks sat untouched on your desk, the corners curling from neglect. deadlines loomed like vultures. you were barely keeping up with your studies, and if this continued, your grades, the one thing that had always been spotless, untouchable, would begin to slip.

‘cause i heard that you’re, happier,

and that terrified you.

the one thing you’d worked for all your life. the one thing you knew for certain, the one thing you could point to and say, "this is me. this is what i’m good at." you'd spent years clawing your way to the top of a ladder no one else had even handed you. and now, because of hana, one story you couldn’t stop being tangled in, it was all falling apart.

you pressed your palms to your eyes again, hard, until you saw spots of light. you couldn’t let this happen. you couldn’t.

you needed to remind yourself.

you needed to remind yourself that your life didn’t end the day you were declared a murderer. that your name wasn’t just a headline. that you weren’t just a scapegoat.

but the problem was that you didn’t really believe it. part of you still felt the echo of that word in your chest, murderer, and wondered if everyone else was right. if maybe you really were just… bad. you don't deserve to redo anything.

if maybe everything that had happened to hana was the punishment you’d been waiting for all along.

hana came in the form of a punishment for you. after all, she wasn't the only.

hope that you’re sleeping well knowing i’m not.

you rolled onto your side, curling in on yourself, staring at the glow of your phone on the nightstand. sunghoon's name was still at the top of your messages. he hadn't texted since the rooftop. neither had you.

outside, the city was humming. inside, your room was a grave. you lay there, staring at the screen until it dimmed, until your reflection stared back at you in the dark glass.

i’m doing too much.

you didn’t have the energy or the courage to drag yourself to university the next day. your body felt heavy, your chest heavier. all you could do was limp back into bed, sinking into the mattress until the ceiling above blurred into nothing.

the sunlight shifted across your room as the hours passed, but you barely moved. your phone buzzed more than once with reminders, emails, messages you couldn’t bring yourself to open. the world went on, and you stayed frozen.

emi called you later, her voice buzzing through the phone like a lifeline. she wanted you to come over.

you didn’t tell her anything about the rooftop. what could you even say? "hey, i almost fell. or maybe i almost jumped. i don’t even know anymore"? you couldn’t. you didn’t want to see that look of worry in her eyes. not yet. not when you weren’t ready to confront it yourself.

so you just went.

emi didn’t push, thank god. she never did. she let you sit in her room, the both of you curled up with mugs of tea that had gone lukewarm, talking about things that didn’t matter. her classmates, some boy who’d been staring too much in lecture, the latest gossip about professors. nothing important. and for a brief, fleeting moment, it felt okay. it felt so normal.

you were laughing at something stupid she said when the doorbell rang out. emi sighed, muttering something about her neighbor and padded off to check it.

and like clockwork, as though the silence had been waiting for its cue, your phone lit up on the table.

a notification.

you reached for it absentmindedly, thumb brushing the screen.

and froze.

it was heeseung.

heeseung actually messaged you.

your eyes widened, your heart stuttering in your chest. you hadn’t expected him to actually message you so soon. hell, you even thought he just took your number as a formality.

but there it was. his name. and the stupid hat emoji he’d added next to it when he typed his contact in for you.

the corners of your lips curled up, despite yourself.

"hey, you doing okay?"

three words. simple. casual. but it was enough to throw you off balance.

you stared at the screen, unsure what to feel. confusion? amusement? suspicion? he was sunghoon’s friend, after all. how do you even talk to him properly?

your fingers hovered over the keyboard. you typed out a quick reply, deleted it. typed again. deleted again.

did sunghoon tell him something? what if he's fishing for information? unless this was all just another way to watch you crumble.

your stomach twisted.

and yet, another part of you whispered that maybe he genuinely just messaged you to talk to you.

you hated how badly you wanted to believe that.

emi’s voice called faintly from the other room, but you barely heard her. all your attention was on your phone, on that single message glowing against the black of your screen, daring you to respond.

whatever, you didn't know why you were thinking so hard about this.

"yeah. i’m fine. why?" you replied.

you stared at it for a second before pressing send, leaning back as you waited for his response.

you didn't expect it but you both talked for a while. a proper conversation. you even enjoyed it. heeseung was a naturally charming person. the type of person who knew how to keep a conversation flowing smoothly.

sunghoon sat with the others, his back pressed into the leather booth as laughter and conversation swirled around him. he wasn’t really listening. his drink sat untouched in front of him, condensation pooling at the base, dripping down the glass in lazy trails.

did i fall, out of line,

heeseung was talking about something. a professor, maybe? or the game they’d watched last night. and jake was nodding along, chiming in with his own jokes. even jay had come by, his presence a quiet comfort.

but sunghoon’s mind was elsewhere. it always was, these days.

at these times, hana would tell him he was being dramatic. she would scold him and tell him to focus. that he was being a spoilsport.

when i called you.

yet, the words wouldn’t stop echoing.

"actually, would it have made you feel better if i did fall? you probably wanted that."

"sunghoon?" jay's voice broke through, hesitant but firm enough to cut through the fog.

sunghoon blinked, realizing all three of them were looking at him now.

"you spaced out," jake said, leaning forward on his elbows. "you good?"

heeseung tilted his head, studying him more carefully. "you’ve been off all night."

sunghoon opened his mouth, closed it again. what was he supposed to say?

when i told you, “i’m fine”,

"i’m fine," he muttered instead, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue.

heeseung didn’t look convinced. his gaze lingered, sharp but not unkind, like he was waiting for sunghoon to crack on his own. jake tried to lighten the mood, cracking a dumb joke about sunghoon finally losing his legendary poker face, but the sound of his laughter faded fast when sunghoon didn’t bite.

silence stretched, heavy, before sunghoon finally grabbed his glass, taking a sip just to have something to do with his hands.

but even as the conversation around him picked up again, he knew they could see it. the way his shoulders stayed tense, the way his eyes never really focused.

and deep down, he hated how obvious it was.

you were lied to.

the guys hung out for a while longer, their voices filling the dimly lit café. jake and jay had gotten into one of their usual debates, something about music while heeseung occasionally cut in with dry commentary that made jungwon, who had joined the guys earlier, laugh under his breath.

sunghoon sat among them, but his body might as well have been there without him. his hands fiddled with the condensation on his glass, eyes unfocused, catching flashes of movement outside the window instead of the faces in front of him.

eventually, heeseung checked his phone, eyebrows lifting when he saw the time. "shit. it’s already this late?"

jake groaned, leaning back in his chair. "no way, we’ve been here for hours."

"yeah, and some of us actually have class tomorrow," jungwon muttered, shooting them all a look.

heeseung stretched, his voice final as he stood. "alright, let’s call it. everyone head home before jay decides to start a second debate about the meaning of life."

jay gasped in mock offense, but before he could retaliate, sunghoon was already on his feet. his departure was abrupt, planting concern in the guys' heads as his chair scraped against the floor. he muttered a quick goodbye and made his way to the door.

he pushed it open, the bell above the frame giving a small ring as the cool night air rushed in.

jay sighed, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair, motioning to the others that he would talk to him. "hold on, man." he jogged up to him, the door shutting behind them with a soft click. "what’s really going on? you’ve been zoning out all night. and you’re walking home? didn't bring your car?" jay’s voice carried after him, laced with confusion and even more questions.

sunghoon didn’t stop. "...just felt like getting some fresh air today." the words were mumbled, barely an explanation, but it was all he gave.

jay leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. "right, and i’m albert einstein’s brother."

sunghoon tilted his head, jaw tight.

jay gave him a look, the kind that said don’t bullshit me.

for a moment, sunghoon’s shoulders twitched like he’d retreat again, but then he exhaled, a cloud of white in the cool night. "i don’t trust myself when i’m in my head like this. i thought walking might clear it."

jay blinked, the raw honesty catching him off guard. "i'll drop you home. last thing you need is wandering around with your brain chewing itself up."

sunghoon almost refused. almost. but the weight pressing against his chest made him nod instead, mindlessly following jay toward the car.

the ride was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the silence. the city lights blurred past, neon bleeding into the windshield. jay tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at sunghoon every so often.

"you’re not gonna tell me what’s really eating you alive, huh?" jay finally said, half a tease, half serious.

what was sunghoon even going to tell him? yeah, i almost pushed someone off a rooftop yesterday. or maybe i didn’t. maybe i just wanted answers so badly i forgot she was a person and not a puzzle to solve.

or should he tell him about how he feels like he's personally handing out a death sentence to his sister by not chasing this justice he can't find?

or, worst of all,

the ugly truth that he could be the cause for ruining someone's life?

how could i think that all that i gave you was enough?

sunghoon’s gaze stayed fixed on the passing streets. "you know how that one time you told me about how holding a grudge is like… keeping poison in your pocket."

jay glanced at him, surprised he’d even remembered. "yeah. what about it?"

sunghoon’s throat bobbed. "i think i’ve been carrying around an entire bottle."

jay didn’t answer right away. the weight in his voice, the sharp edge under every word. it wasn’t something jay could brush off with a joke this time.

"then maybe it’s time to put it down," he said softly, eyes on the road. "before it spills over and ruins you too."

sunghoon let out a bitter laugh, one that barely sounded like him. "you make it sound simple. i can't just put it down."

jay’s grip on the wheel tightened. "it’s not. but it’s not that you can’t put it down. you just don’t want to put it down."

sunghoon stayed quiet, his jaw clenching as the city passed by in hazy streaks of neon. he didn’t trust his voice, not right now. not when every word jay said sounded too close to the truth.

jay sighed, leaning back into his seat, his eyes still fixed on the road. "you know what makes it obvious that you and hana are siblings? it’s not your last name. it’s the fact that you both terribly suck at communication and confrontation."

sunghoon blinked, startled, turning his head slightly toward him.

"especially with your parents," jay added, more softly this time, as though he didn’t want to push too hard but couldn’t stop himself either.

the words stung more than sunghoon expected. his lips parted, but no sound came out.

because wasn’t that true? the way hana had bottled everything up, twisted it into silence and manipulation until it cracked. and the way he’d bottled his grief into blame, into venom, into you. neither of them had ever been able to just say it. not to their parents, not to each other, not to anyone.

they just seemingly found you.

he looked back out the window, but his own reflection in the glass stared back at him, accusing.

jay drummed his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, like he was choosing his words carefully. "you think i didn’t notice, hoon? the way you look at her whenever she’s around."

sunghoon stiffened instantly. "who?"

jay shot him a flat look, not even bothering to clarify. "don’t act dumb. her. the girl you’ve been pretending is the root of all evil. the one you insist you hate."

his throat tightened. "i don’t-"

"you do. and i know this is about her and everything surrounding this." jay’s tone wasn’t cruel, just matter-of-fact, like he was stating the time of day. "and that’s what’s eating you alive. not just hana. not just the case. but the fact that you don’t know if you’re right about any of it. and if you’re wrong, then what the hell have you been doing all this time?"

sunghoon’s breath caught in his chest. his nails dug into his palms.

don’t say it. don’t put it into words. because if you put it into words, it’s real.

if it was any other time, sunghoon would make a snarky remark about how jay should be a psychiatrist with how well he reads people.

perhaps that's why they've both stuck together for so long too. they read eachother like a book. and right now? it was frustrating sunghoon.

jay’s voice softened again. "you’re scared, hoon. not of her. not even of what happened. you’re scared of yourself. you're even more scared of facing your parents. of facing what that means."

the car filled with the low hum of the engine and the faint buzz of the tires on the pavement. sunghoon’s eyes burned, but he blinked hard, forcing it back.

because jay was right. and it terrified him.

he wanted to snap, to defend himself, to say that no, he wasn’t scared. that he was right, that you were guilty, that he wasn’t wasting his life chasing after shadows. but the words tangled in his chest like barbed wire.

because every time he saw you, something in him cracked.

your voice on the rooftop, breaking but steady. your hands gripping the railing like it was the only thing tethering you to earth. the look on your face when you’d accused him of wanting you to fall.

his stomach churned.

jay glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "i’m not telling you what to believe. i’m just saying… maybe stop asking yourself if she’s guilty. and start asking yourself why you need her to be."

the silence after that was deafening.

sunghoon leaned back into his seat, pressing his lips together so hard it hurt. the words echoed in his head, over and over, tearing through all the defenses he’d built.

why do i need her to be guilty?

he didn’t have an answer. and that terrified him.

when jay finally pulled up in front of sunghoon’s house, neither of them moved for a moment. the engine idled softly.

sunghoon’s hand hovered over the door handle, but he didn’t open it. his chest felt like a war zone, every beat of his heart another reminder of how close everything was to collapsing.

"thanks for the ride," he muttered finally, his voice barely audible.

jay just nodded, his grip on the wheel tightening like he was weighing the next words. "look… you’ve been there for me more times than i can count. when my parents died, when i thought i’d lost everything after that guitar competition." jay let out a quiet laugh, almost bitter. "you’re the one who reminded me what mattered. what was right. you kept me standing when i couldn’t do it myself."

his eyes flicked toward sunghoon for just a second before returning to the road. "i’m not saying this to lecture you. i just want to be there for you too. whatever this is, whatever’s eating at you, you don’t have to go through it alone."

sunghoon froze. his hand trembled on the handle.

and without another word, he pushed the door open, stepping out into the night air.

‘cause everytime i get too close i just go mess it up.

sunghoon stepped into the house and shut the door behind him, the soft click echoing through the hallway. it was too quiet. no tv humming in the living room, no clatter of dishes from the kitchen, no low voices bleeding out from his parents’ room. just stillness.

he slipped off his shoes and stood there for a moment, staring at the darkened hallway like it might give him an answer. this house was never loud, but tonight it felt hollow. like all the air had been drained out of it.

his fingers brushed the edge of the console table, grounding himself. and that was when it came back, uninvited, a memory he hadn’t thought about in years.

he was younger, early fifteen. hana had locked herself in the bathroom for over an hour, music blasting from behind the door. mom was pacing outside, knocking harder and harder. sunghoon had been sitting on the stairs, knees pressed together, trying to pretend he wasn’t listening.

then the door opened. he could still see it. mom’s face draining of color as she caught sight of hana’s wrist. small red lines, half-healed, half-fresh. hana’s eyes had been dry though, almost defiant, like she was daring their mom to say something.

"what the hell is this, hana?" their mom’s voice had cracked. hana hadn’t answered. she’d just stared at the floor and tugged her sleeve back down.

sunghoon had wanted to move, to do something, but he’d stayed frozen on the stairs. all he remembered was his mother’s jaw tightening, the sharp smell of antiseptic later, and hana’s quiet, uneven breathing behind her bedroom door.

he cried that night, weirdly enough. he wished his mother would comfort him, tell him everything will be okay.

but he was dumb for expecting that from his parents.

he blinked now, dragging a hand across his face. the image stuck there, overlaid on the empty hallway like a double exposure.

back then, he’d told himself it was a phase. he’d told himself she’d get better, that someone else would step in, that his silence wasn’t hurting anything.

but tonight, standing in the dark, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

he groaned, pushing himself inside his room, slowly falling down against the door of his room.

you’d think rage would be clean. simple. a flame you could just keep feeding until it burned out. but this was sludge. sticky, sour, clinging to his ribs.

i can’t do this. i can’t let myself do this.

his fingers dug into his knees as he stared at the blur of streetlights outside through his window. every flicker felt like a heartbeat, every heartbeat felt like a hammer.

if she’s innocent… if she’s even halfway innocent…

he swallowed hard. his throat burned.

then what the hell have i been doing?

why did he crash out at you like that on the rooftop? you don't have an obligation to tell him about the ugly truths of his family that he himself has hid and locked away in a deep part of his heart he doesn't want to touch.

you didn't deserve that, did you?

every time he’d cornered you, every time he’d spat out accusations, every night he’d sat up digging through files and text messages and testimonies. all of it had been under the belief that hana was a victim and you were the villain. the story was simple. he’d needed it to be simple.

because if it wasn’t…

his stomach knotted.

the thought came like a knife, slow and twisting. he squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t leave. but...

no. no. she’s not innocent. she can’t be.

he told himself that, again and again, but each time it landed weaker, more brittle. he was barely convincing himself.

because the image of you on the rooftop wouldn’t leave his head. the way your hands had trembled, not with guilt but with something else. the way you’d looked at him, not like a liar caught but like someone drowning, someone bracing.

he'd almost pushed you off just like he eventually pushed hana off the edge the more he refused to acknowledge the rotting his parents harboured.

i'm the one who truly killed hana.

the more he stayed silent. the more he did nothing.

he rubbed his palms over his face, nails scraping skin.

if she’s not guilty… then i’ve been cruel for nothing. then i’ve been tearing at her, tearing at myself, for what? to protect a version of hana that might not even be real?

the thought left him cold.

god, i’m horrible.

his fingers curled into fists.

no. i’m not just horrible. i’m-

a coward.

the word whispered up from somewhere deep, a place he didn’t want to touch.

a coward who couldn’t face the idea that his sister wasn’t who he thought she was. a coward who needed someone else to hate so he wouldn’t hate himself. so he wouldn't have to face the truth his parents never tried to hide.

his chest felt like it was caving in.

he stared at his reflection in the dark window. just a vague outline of his face. eyes too tired. jaw too tight.

if she’s innocent, then what am i?

jay’s words came back clinging him to like a second skin.

why do i need her to be guilty?

and just like that, once again, he didn’t have an answer.

you sat on the bleachers, knees pulled up to your chest, phone resting loosely in your hand. your phone felt heavier than usual in your hands, almost like it knew what you were about to do.

the screen glowed faintly in the late afternoon light. the chat was still there, the one you hadn’t touched in two months, hovering in your mind like a ghost you didn’t want to exorcise.

and along with it, a message that had been deleted still sitting in your messages.

you'd seen its contents before he deleted it.

"i'm sorry."

two words. that's all it said. it barely even stayed in your chat for 5 seconds before getting deleted. but you saw it.

you saw it the split moment before sunghoon deleted it. and now those words linger in your head endlessly. you don't even know what you feel about them.

you glance at the little indicator under his chat.

this user deleted a message 6 months ago.

six months. it had been almost half a year since that day on the rooftop. six months that felt like six years. you didn't know why you were hovering over his profile like this in your messages.

his profile picture was a simple picture of him sitting on the couch, a puppy in his hands. he looked soft, calm.

it was taken by hana.

heeseung had told you that randomly when you two were sitting together. it was something small but it stuck with you.

and it stings you badly when you see the picture.

you groan, turning your phone off and placing it beside you. you buried your head into your legs, feeling annoyed at yourself.

hell, you didn't even have the courage to act dumb and ask him what he deleted.

you wondered. you wondered a lot if things could have been different. what would you have done? what could you have done?

the emptiness on that screen had felt louder than any words could have. half a year had passed and nothing had changed. you hadn’t reached out, he hadn’t reached out… and still, the deleted message lingered between you like a reminder of everything you both had to say. but didn't say.

you also wondered if he even remembered typing it, or if it was just another thing he’d deleted and moved on from, while you were still stuck hovering over it like an idiot.

you were avoiding him and he probably was too. it got so bad that you, like an utter idiot, dropped out of the class you shared with him too. emi scolded you so much and yet you were numb to it all.

you also ended up telling emi everything. the whole truth. it made you feel a lot more at ease and her reaction was so comforting.

you were supposed to be at a class right now but honestly? you felt like you were seconds away from breaking down. heeseung reassured you and told you to go take a break, that he would get the notes for you and help you out later. thank god for him, you think.

it was quite unexpected but you got quite close to heeseung. he knew there was something unresolved between you and sunghoon but he never pushed. that's what you appreciated about him so much.

at first, you felt it'd be weird. he's sunghoon's close friend. it felt like such a huge clash. but heeseung never brought it up. he was always so respectful about it. things led to another and you both somehow became quite close.

you picked up your phone again, opening some random social media app in hopes of distracting yourself.

you were scrolling through your socials, absentmindedly flicking past posts from people you barely remembered, when something stopped you mid-swipe. an event, to be exact, on your homepage stopped you. your stomach tightened like someone had pressed a fist against it when you looked at the name and contents.

it was the name of your high school. the place where you spent both the best and worst years of life. and also the reason you're currently spending some of the worst months of your life.

your thumb hovered over the screen, frozen, because even seeing the name of the high school brought everything back.

memories flooded in, sharp and uninvited. the lockers that slammed shut, the long corridors where whispers seemed louder than your own heartbeat, the cafeteria tables where people laughed at things. things you weren’t proud of. and then the memories of yourself, harsher, crueler, younger, you remembered the jokes you’d thrown, the people you’d pushed aside or humiliated, all without thinking. or maybe with too much thought. the thought made your chest ache.

and attached with it was a title that made your heart drop. a reunion. a high school reunion.

why can't the world swallow you already?

the name brought so much despair with it for you and it hadn't even been that long since you left. fuck.

you scrolled down to the event details, unable to stop. it was happening in a fancy hall two towns over, weirdly enough, and the invitations had gone out a few days ago. pictures of the planning committee smiled from the page, happy, nostalgic. some faces you recognized instantly, others were strangers. but all of them carried the weight of memories you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

you opened your mail app, finding the invite at the very top of your emails.

"first annual reunion - reconnect with your batchmates!"

it was a simple formal invite with your name along with a mention of awards you had to collect.

part of you wanted to close the app and pretend it didn’t exist. part of you wanted to get some sort of closure you knew didn't exist. what would you even get? just a reminder of more painful memories.

but even then, a part of you still wanted to go, unsure of what you'd find. old friends? you were curious how their lives were going. teachers?

..it's not like any of them liked you.

you clicked on the guest list out of a mix of curiosity and dread. the names hit you harder than expected. people you’d ignored, people you’d laughed at behind their backs, people who still made your stomach twist with regret. a small voice in your head whispered. they’re still going to see you as that person. they haven’t forgotten. and maybe they never will.

yet another part of you, stubborn and curious, couldn’t help imagining the alternative. maybe someone would remember the change in you. maybe they’d see the remorse, the effort, the fact you're trying.

fuck, isn't that a sweet dream? you said to yourself, chewing the inside of your cheek, pondering over the thought.

your eyes scanned the list, skipping over familiar names until they froze on one. a name you could probably write in your sleep with how it’s haunted you.

park sunghoon.

you’d known he’d be there. of course he would, he was a student too. but seeing it typed out in black and white, on a guest list that felt more like a trial docket than an invitation, knocked the air out of you.

you closed your phone screen, the glow fading into the afternoon in a way, but the name didn’t leave you. it followed you into the silence of the air around you, heavy and suffocating, like a shadow you’d never be able to outrun.

you'd skipped over the fact that he, too, would be at this reunion, he was a student there afterall. about the fact you both went to the same high school. which was insane, considering all this wouldn't have happen if you both weren't in that same godforsaken high school so how did you just gloss over it?

his name could be more than enough to convince you to back out, not wanting to see him.

which would be dumb, considering you both go to the same university.

but if you did end up running into him there, what would be the point of all the avoiding you've been doing for so long? you have been, after all, avoiding him like the plague. emi's words, not yours.

and worst case scenario, you don't want a scene to happen at the reunion.

as you were glancing through the post, you felt like scoffing when you saw the little text at the bottom.

plus ones are allowed! parents included!

your throat tightened. parents included.

your parents didn’t even come to your graduation. no one from your family did, actually. you told them about it, multiple times, even circled the date on the family calendar, even left a message in the group chat you all barely used.

yet, in the end, no one showed up. you’d stood outside the auditorium afterward, cap in hand, smile brittle and paper-thin while everyone else crowded into their families’ arms.

you didn’t even have the energy to scream or ask why anymore.

am i not your daughter?

you blinked the thought away, but it still burned at the edges of your mind, branding itself across every silence.

so it was almost laughable to see the line on the post now. they didn’t show up for the milestone moments of your life, no way they’d bother with a reunion.

if not a parent, you assumed the text was probably referring to partners. maybe even children. your chest felt hollow at the idea.

you let out a soft sigh, scrolling back up as the weird sense of emptiness pooled deeper.

the house smelled faintly of something warm and spiced, the kind of smell that meant your mom had actually bothered to cook for you. only because someone else was coming over. not for you, not for your dad, not for anyone. no. never for family. only for guests. only for keeping up appearances.

you slipped your shoes off by the door, shoulders heavy from the day, and immediately heard the low hum of laughter and polite conversation in the living room.

family friends. you didn’t even ask who anymore. it never mattered.

still, you forced a smile as you walked past, bowing politely toward the couple sitting on the couch. "good evening," you said softly, your voice measured, practiced.

they returned the smile warmly, too warmly, like they hadn’t heard every story whispered about you behind closed doors. but that was the thing with adults. they always pretended.

you didn’t linger. didn’t sit. didn’t join. there was no place for you in the little circle of chatter and tea. so you turned, heading for the stairs, already pulling your phone from your pocket just to give your hands something to do.

but then you heard it.

"it’s been so hard for her," the woman sighed, her voice a notch louder than intended. "she’s only fourteen, and the kids in her class are merciless. every day she comes home with another story… being teased, excluded. and her sister. she’s been so stressed and worried about her. can you imagine? trying to take care of your sibling while keeping up with school…"

a sympathetic murmur from your mom, something that sounded so fake to you. but maybe you were thinking that because you never heard any emotion from her for you. your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a cup being placed back on its saucer.

but the reason you froze mid-step, one hand gripping the railing, were the words.

bullied. merciless. stressed older sibling.

for a moment you weren’t standing in your hallway anymore. you were back in those suffocating corridors of middle school, the air sharp with the scent of disinfectant and chalk, the buzz of whispers following you like bees. except, back then, you weren’t the one being whispered about.

you were the one whispering. the one laughing too loud. the one pointing at someone else so no one would point at you. so people could fear you. pay attention to you.

your stomach twisted.

you’d told yourself you were just a kid. you didn’t know better. it was just stupid teasing, things everyone did. except, that wasn’t the truth, was it? not when you could still see the look on that girl’s face when you shoved her books from her arms. not when you called her hard work dumb. not when you remembered the silence at lunch tables where someone sat alone because you’d made sure of it.

you swallowed hard, blinking, forcing yourself to breathe through the sudden burn in your chest.

because standing there on the stairs, hearing that mother’s voice tremble with worry, you realized something that made your skin crawl.

you hadn’t just been cruel. you’d been the reason someone else might’ve gone home crying the way that girl did. you’d been someone’s monster, and you hadn’t thought about it in years.

you'd been the reason someone's mother worried sick, scared for her child.

your hand tightened around the railing until your knuckles whitened.

maybe that was why, when people called you names now, murderer, liar, monster, you couldn’t fully fight it. maybe deep down, some part of you agreed with them. because hadn’t you always been this way? hadn’t you always destroyed without thinking about the cost? just to get the attention you desired from your parents? to get noticed?

telling yourself that somehow, that justified you being so cruel?

you blinked hard, pulling yourself up the rest of the stairs before anyone could notice the way your throat was closing.

your room door clicked shut behind you, and you leaned against it, sliding down until you were sitting on the floor.

you hated how easily the past always caught you like this. how it could unravel you with just a stranger’s story.

because the truth was, you couldn’t stop wondering if those kids you’d hurt back then still remembered your face the way you remembered theirs.

and worse, you couldn’t stop wondering if they still hated you.

you'd eventually decided you weren't going to go. you weren't someone who backed down from situations like this but you just couldn't do it. not this time.

but yunchae was relentless.

"it’s just one evening," she’d said for the fifth time, tugging on your sleeve while you both sat in some random cafe. "you can’t just ghost your entire class forever. i know it feels hard but you have to get over it someday."

you’d rolled your eyes. plenty. but when she showed up outside your apartment on the day itself, dressed up and carrying an extra jacket "just in case you back out," you couldn’t say no.

you wish you did though.

so now, here you were.

the venue was the auditorium two towns away from the high school, the same one that had hosted all the end-of-year ceremonies and cultural fests. your high school had partial ownership over the auditorium cum stadium and thus they made it the place where all the big events took place.

it was always so fun. not even the event, but the travel journey. since it was two towns over, there was always a small high school roadtrip where everyone would gather together, suitcases in hand and head to it. it was always the best part.

it just didn't give you that same excitement anymore when you were heading there.

the moment you stepped in, a wave of nostalgia hit you hard. the faint smell of floor polish, the stage lights still buzzing faintly, chatter bouncing off the high walls.

clusters of people were already gathered, some squealing as they reunited, others standing around in stiff circles, clearly regretting their decision to come just like you would be soon, probably.

you kept close to yunchae, your hand gripping her hand which was holding you tightly.

"you have to relax, y/n." she whispered, nodding toward a group of your old classmates laughing near the refreshment table. "you always loved these gatherings."

"i know, i just.. feel nervous." you replied, giving a polite smile to a person who waved at you. yunchae gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, motioning to you that everything will be fine.

you know she only wanted you to come here because you can't hide in a hole from your past forever. it just.. felt like too fresh of a wound now, more than ever.

names floated around the room. people you recognized, people you’d rather forget. you nodded politely again when someone waved, exchanged stiff smiles, and tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in your stomach.

and then your eyes landed on the list taped to the check-in desk. everyone’s names scribbled neatly in black ink, crossed out one by one as they arrived.

your gaze lingered on one. sunghoon's name had not been crossed out yet.

weirdly enough, the relief you thought you'd feel didn't come. you just felt more.. empty.

it'd make sense if he didn't come. hell, you hoped he wouldn't come.

then why did you feel so.. weird?

you pulled your eyes away quickly and shook your head, swallowing hard. yunchae didn’t notice. she was chatting with someone from her major.

you felt caught between the past you’d tried to bury and the present you were still trying to figure out.

okay, get it together y/n. you can't keep clinging to yunchae right now. you're here already, might as well try your best to make most of it.

but that's easier said than done, isn't it?

it wasn’t obvious. no gaping mouths or dramatic whispers. but you felt it. the flicker of eyes darting to you, the too-quick shift of attention when you met their gaze. you told yourself it was just paranoia, but deep down you knew better.

you heard one of your friends, from you old friend group, call out to you. it had been a while but seeing them made you feel a bit better.

but the memories you spent with them were bitter.

"of course i did," you lied smoothly when she expressed happiness in you coming, hugging her. "wouldn’t miss this for the world."

the truth was you’d give anything to be back in bed right now.

still, the conversation flowed easily enough. she updated you on her internship, complained about her professor, and laughed at a story you barely remembered being part of. for a few fleeting moments, it felt normal. like you were just catching up with old friends.

but then you caught the way another classmate, jiwon, brushed past you without so much as a glance, her laughter dropping into silence the second she noticed you. her friend leaned in close, whispering something, and they both looked back at you.

your stomach dropped. you felt your head droop.

throughout the evening, it happened again and again. a polite smile here, a stiff nod there, but more often than not, avoidance. some people didn’t even bother hiding the way their eyes raked over you, heavy with judgment.

and the worst part? some of them had every reason to.

not everyone you hurt had been strangers. some had been in this very room. classmates you used to mock, peers you rolled your eyes at when they stuttered in presentations, girls whose insecurities you sharpened your words against just because you could. just because they noticed you.

you remembered each one now, their faces flickering in the crowd. they weren’t all glaring at you tonight, but the memory of their humiliation clung to you like a second skin.

they remembered you, just like you remembered them. you wanted to talk to them. to tell them how fucking sorry you are. but, would that make it worse?

you tried to talk to them anyway, but they ignored you. rightfully so.

but then there were some people, who didn't remember you. they talked to you normally when introducing themselves to people around you.

it gave you a sense of normalcy that made you warm. you felt better but it was fleeting.

you were halfway to the drink table when someone called your name. you turned, bracing yourself for another jab, another tight-lipped smile.

but instead, your stomach dropped.

"hey," she said, almost tentative, like she wasn’t sure if she should even be talking to you.

you swallowed, trying to place her face against the one from years ago. the girl who you’d seen cornered against a professor’s desk, crying.

it had happened in your early high school days. she was a quiet girl, the kind of person you’d usually ignore or, if you were in the mood, tease until her face went red. you'd never seen her until that morning.

when you saw her that morning, she was cornered by a professor, and from the look on her face, she was seconds from crying.

normally, you would've gone past her. you wouldn't call yourself a very sympathetic person, you never were. hell, you would've even smirked from the sidelines.

but yet, that day, for some weird reason. you stayed.

it was probably because you were in a good mood. you were so, so happy.

your dad, for some odd reason, wished you good morning. it was dumb. it's such a small interaction but you were beaming the whole morning. from someone who could go months without talking to their own child, this was equal to being handed the world. a rare proof that maybe he did see you as his daughter.

they were your world, even if you hated them. so, you felt so happy. and when you saw that girl in trouble? you actually fucking helped her.

"i didn’t cheat!" minji’s voice had cracked as the professor waved the exam paper in front of her. "please, you have to believe me, i didn’t-"

but the professor wasn’t listening. the accusation had already been written in their eyes. a black mark on her record here meant goodbye to scholarships, goodbye to everything she’d worked for.

so before you even thought it through, you walked straight up.

"it was me."

the professor blinked, thrown off. "..excuse me?"

you held your ground. "i was the one who gave her the notes. don't punish her." it was dumb, why were you taking the blame? you weren't getting anything out of this. you didn't even know her.

her eyes widened, shaking her head frantically, mouthing what are you doing? but you ignored her.

the professor stared between you both, suspicion sharp. "is that so?"

"yeah," you said, forcing your voice steady. "dock me. leave her out of it."

you obviously didn't need to do that. it was stupid, really. but it was better for you to take the blame. your grades were top-notch so you had a sort of advantage. the professors would go easy on you and you wouldn't get as bad of a mark then what she would have. still, you would get a remark.

but you didn't even care that day.

it worked. you got the punishment. it stung, sure, but it wasn’t life-ruining.

the girl followed you out of the building later, her hands clutching the straps of her bag like lifelines.

"why?" she asked, breathless, confused. "why would you-?"

you shrugged, unable to explain.

you didn’t hate anyone, not really. sometimes you just wanted people to look at you, even if it was out of fear. but today… today, you didn't care.

"forget about it," you muttered, and walked away before she could ask anything else.

you were still smiling when you got home. smiling even as your parents ignored you again, as though the morning hadn’t happened.

the warmth of those two words, "good morning," clung to you until it didn’t anymore.

and the next day, when silence filled the house again, you went right back to clawing for attention in the only way you knew how, by tearing others down.

because to you, immaturely, being a bully was better than being invisible.

you snap out of the trance you'd gotten into when the girl called out your name again. "..oh sorry. what were you saying?"

it was stupid, really.

"you probably don’t remember," she began, fiddling with the strap of her purse, "but… you helped me once. i never got to thank you."

your chest tightened. "..i'm not sure i remember." you did remember but you settled on just acting dumb, a weird feeling in your chest.

"that day with professor shuu. i never forgot it. if you hadn’t stepped in, i would’ve lost my scholarship. i wouldn’t have been able to finish school. honestly, i think my whole life would’ve been different. i don't know why you'd do something like that but thank you." she said softly.

you blinked, your throat suddenly dry. "i had good grades, i knew the professor would go easy on me and it wasn't your fault either. i didn't do anything insane. so, um.. don't worry about it." you coughed, annoyed at your own awkwardness.

her gaze softened. "but you still got a black mark on your record, didn't you?" she paused before continuing, "i know people… say things about you. and maybe some of them are true. but i just need you to know, i'm thankful."

she gave you one last look, a mixture of gratitude and something almost like pity, before she walked away to rejoin her group. you wanted to tell her that you hadn’t done it for her. not entirely. that you’d been drunk on the smallest scrap of affection from home. but you couldn't.

and you suppose she didn’t need to know that. maybe you didn’t either.

you groaned, sighing as you downed a shot glass, your throat burning from the taste. what the hell?

you had already lost count of how many polite smiles you’d forced onto your face. some genuine, some not so genuine. the reunion was louder than you expected.

you’d spoken to a few people, some of whom you’d once called friends. it was strange how quickly they slipped into small talk, how easily they danced around the elephant in the room, your name, your reputation, the trials that followed you like shadows. you caught the stares too, sharper than the champagne fizz, little whispers behind manicured hands.

sure, they weren't all talking about you, you knew that. but it was easier said than believed for you.

"isn't she-" "yeah, that's her."

the hushed voice broke through the noise. you stiffened, eyes flicking to a pair of girls near the refreshment table. you didn’t need to hear the rest to know they were talking about you.

their gazes burned holes in your back.

you brushed it off with the same smile you’d worn all night, but your stomach was churning. still, there were some people that made your heart light up a bit still, old memories slipping in.

now you stood by the tall windows of the hall, staring out at the outside field you hadn’t walked through since graduation. familiar pathways stretched under the dim lights.

you should’ve left. slipped out before anyone else noticed you’d gone quiet. but something rooted you to the spot.

you forced yourself to take another sip of your drink, steadying your hand.

and then, a ripple went through the crowd.

it wasn’t anything dramatic. just the subtle shift of heads turning, bodies leaning, voices lowering. but you felt it immediately. the air changed, heavy and charged, and you knew before you even followed their line of sight.

and then your eyes caught him.

sunghoon.

he stepped into the room like he belonged there, tall and sharp in a dark jacket that fit him too fucking well, expression unreadable.

and just like that, the air you’d been clinging to left your lungs.

your grip on the glass faltered, the ice clinking as it nearly slipped from your hand.

it felt like he was framed by the low lights and muted chatter. the kind of stillness that came before a storm. he wasn’t laughing with his group, not even smiling. his gaze was sharp, scanning like it was searching for something or someone. until it landed on you.

six months.

you hadn’t seen him in six months.

six months since that night, since his words cut through you and left you raw. six months, you’d avoided this exact possibility. six months of trials, of whispers, of trying to breathe in a life that no longer fit. six months since that rooftop, since his hands had gripped your arms so tightly you thought you’d bruise, since he pulled you back from the edge.

and now he was here.

you didn't know if his expression faltered when he spotted you. you couldn't know because of how quickly you whipped your head away from him.

you didn't want to know.

your chest tightened, heat flooding under your skin.

the noise of the reunion faded. the chatter around you dulled, fading into a low hum. the room could’ve been empty for all you noticed. they all melted into the background. all that existed in that moment was the sharp, unrelenting gaze of the boy who once swore you’d ruined everything.

it was just you, him, and six months of silence stretching between your gazes like a taut rope ready to snap.

all these days you spent imagining how it would be if you both saw each other again. and now, you didn't know what to do.

sunghoon sat slouched on the leather couch, long legs sprawled out, idly scrolling through his phone while the low hum of conversation circled around him. jay was there, perched on the armrest like it was his own seat. in a way, it was.

the other two, seojin and minho, guys they were close with from high school, were animatedly going on about the reunion.

"you’re coming, right?" seojin asked suddenly, snapping sunghoon out of his half-trance.

"no." he didn’t even look up, just scrolled to the next notification.

jay sighed, already expecting this. "sunghoon, seriously?"

"what’s the point?" sunghoon cut him off. "it’s just a bunch of people who peaked at seventeen, drinking cheap wine and pretending they haven't forgotten all about each other in the year. and it's only been a year since we've seen them."

minho laughed, nudging seojin. "he says that like he didn’t peak at seventeen too."

sunghoon shot him a glare, but it lacked bite. "i'm still hot."

minho said, sarcasm in his tone shooting at the fact he was still single. "riiight, and that's why you have a girlfriend, hm?"

"technically, it's almost been two years. anyways, come on," seojin pressed, leaning forward. "don't you want to find out what everyone's doing?"

"no." sunghoon’s answer was flat, immediate.

jay tilted his head, watching him carefully. "you don’t want to go, or you don’t want to see someone there?"

the question landed heavier than jay probably intended. the air shifted for a moment, and sunghoon’s thumb stilled against the phone screen.

he scoffed after a beat, masking the pause. "don’t start."

jay shrugged, unfazed. "i’m just saying, maybe avoiding it doesn’t fix anything. maybe it just… keeps you stuck."

sunghoon leaned back, eyes flicking to the ceiling. "i’m not stuck. you, of all people, should know i don't have good memories with that place."

but even as he said it, he felt the bitter taste of the lie. six months and the memories still gnawed at him. hana. her smile, her shadow, her death. the reality he couldn't face. reader’s face the night on the rooftop. the confrontation that left his hands shaking long after he pulled her back for a reason he couldn't figure out.

his own actions.

he wasn’t stuck. he was buried.

"look," minho chimed in, breaking the silence. "we all understand you're in grief. we all care for you deeply, man. we miss how you were before but we understand it's hard. but this isn't the way to deal with it."

seojin added, "we’re all going. it won’t kill you to show up for a couple hours. if it sucks, you can leave. no one’s chaining you there." finishing before mumbling jokinhly about how he wouldn't even try to convince an ex as much as he was trying to convince sunghoon.

jay clapped him on the shoulder. "and maybe it’ll do you some good to see familiar faces. breathe a little. you can’t keep living in your head forever. i told you this before."

sunghoon’s jaw tightened. he wanted to argue, to shut it down the way he always did. but the room pressed in, their eyes on him, their insistence too firm to wriggle out of without looking like a killjoy. and he knew, deep down, they were right.

"fine," he muttered, slipping his phone into his pocket. "but don’t expect me to stay long."

jay smirked knowingly. "we’ll see about that."

sunghoon rolled his eyes, but the truth was already gnawing at him.

because deep down, he knew exactly why he didn’t want to go.

and exactly who he didn’t want to see. or was not wanting to see you a lie he was feeding himself?

sunghoon hadn’t been anywhere near anything related to his high school. not since.. everything.

the auditorium looked the same, but the weight in his chest was different. heavier. his shoes dragged against the pavement as if every step closer to the reunion was some kind of betrayal. to the anger he clung to, to the memory of hana.

"you’ll be fine," jay’s voice rang in his head, from earlier. he almost scoffed aloud. what did fine even mean anymore?

when the building came into view, lit with soft yellow glow spilling out the windows, his throat tightened. music thudded faintly from inside, laughter spilling onto the steps where a few people smoked, chatting. familiar faces. too familiar.

he shoved his hands in his pockets, tried to make his shoulders less stiff. but he could feel their stares already. the shift of recognition, the whispered that’s hana’s brother.

the air inside was thick. perfume, cologne, sweat, nostalgia. clusters of people hugged, squealed, clinked glasses. he spotted seojin already at a table, waving him over, but sunghoon hesitated at the threshold.

because every corner of the room held ghosts. every laugh sounded like an echo of a time he couldn’t go back to.

he thought about turning around. about letting the door close behind him and walking away before anyone else noticed. but yet, like his eyes had a mind of their own, they roamed, scanning for someone before he could even think about it.

then, finally, through the crowd, he caught sight of a familiar silhouette. head lowered slightly, hair catching the light in a way that made his chest cave in.

you.

sunghoon froze.

yet, as soon as you both made eye contact, you looked away.

six months hadn’t dulled the jolt of seeing you. it was the same electric clash of something he refused to name. he couldn’t tell if it made him want to move forward or run.

because when his eyes landed on you, the slope of your shoulders, the way you fingers tapped on the cup in your hand, the half-smile you forced when someone greeted you, his stomach twisted. not entirely.

it was worse than that.

for a terrifying second, he realized he’d memorized those small things about you. the way you shifted your weight when you felt watched. the way your gaze flickered, never resting too long on anyone, but sharp when it needed to be. he noticed all of it, too quickly, too easily, like someone who’d been watching far longer than they should have.

and he hated himself for it.

he told himself he came tonight because jay had pushed him into it. because he knew that jay was right, he need to face it. to stop isolating himself. but standing there, staring at you through the crowd, his pulse hammering, he knew the truth why he didn't want to come was rotting under his excuses.

he wasn't afriad of getting out. he was afraid of you.

afraid of how the sight of you made his chest ache in a way grief never had.

so he dug his nails into his palms, grounding himself, repeating the same line over and over: don’t look. don’t want this. don’t you dare.

and yet, he couldn’t look away.

so he just stood there, stuck in place, pulse hammering, the reunion suddenly feeling like a mistake carved into stone.

yunchae had a grip like steel when she found you again, her arm slinging through yours as though she was afraid you’d vanish the moment she let go.

"god, i’ve been circling this hall for fifteen minutes," she said, cheeks flushed from weaving through the crowd. "half the people here look like they’ve aged ten years, i swear."

you laughed under your breath, grateful for the normalcy she brought. laughter was ricocheting off the walls, music thrumming low from the speakers, and eyes, always eyes, some familiar and too sharp, others curious, lingering.

before you could respond, someone slid into the space beside you.

"yunchae?"

you turned at the sound. seojin. tall, easy smile, someone who used to sit a few desks away in your second year. you don't remember him that well but you have seen him.

"seojin! oh my god," yunchae beamed, tugging him into a hug. "where did you disappear to? i thought you ditched already or didn't even show up."

they slipped into conversation quickly, catching up with the kind of familiarity that reminded you how different everyone’s paths had become. you hovered for a second, then stepped back, wanting to leave them to it.

but just as you were walking away, seojin glanced at you. "hey. you’re y/n, right? we… didn’t talk much, but i remember you."

the words startled you more than they should have. you opened your mouth, not sure if you wanted to answer or retreat, when a new voice cut through. "uh.. yeah."

"seojin! man, you ditched us."

three figures emerged from the crowd. jay first, grinning, followed by minho, and then sunghoon. your stomach tightened instinctively at the sight of him. well, that's fucking great. you wanted to avoid him and here he comes.

jay clapped seojin’s shoulder, then noticed who was standing there. his gaze flickered between you, yunchae, and seojin before a lopsided smile formed.

"oh. small world."

"uh," yunchae said, glancing between you and the group. "yeah… small world."

you could feel sunghoon’s eyes on you, heavy, unreadable. it wasn’t the first time you’d been under his gaze. you’d grown used to the weight of it but here, in this setting, with old classmates laughing all around, it cut differently. the kind of look that pinned you in place, reminded you of everything hanging between you. the accusations, the rooftop, the silence since.

"you go to the same uni as jay and sunghoon, right?" minho asked, more out of politeness than genuine curiosity. "i think jay mentioned it once."

you internally groaned, not wanting to talk about it. why did jay even mention it?

jay nodded slowly, confirming. "yeah. we had that seminar, that's when we talked." his voice was neutral, but there was something careful in the way he said it, like he hadn’t forgotten.

you swallowed, forcing a smile. "right. that."

the group lingered, conversation starting and stuttering, but you couldn’t ignore how sunghoon hadn’t said a word. he stood slightly behind, posture taut, like he was both part of the circle and entirely apart from it.

you were avoiding him and so was he. how great.

the group chuckled lightly, the sound carrying, even softening some of the stares from nearby tables. and for a second, it almost felt normal, like any other conversation you could have been dragged into.

you risked a glance at him, only to find his eyes fixed on the ground, almost like he was.. drooping?

huh.

your chest tightened, and you turned away quickly, pretending to busy yourself with smoothing your sleeve. why the fuck were you even looking at him?

seojin leaned against the edge of the table, grin easy. "we should grab a drink later, all of us. catch up properly."

yunchae beamed. "yeah, definitely."

but you caught it. the slight shift in sunghoon’s jaw, the way his gaze flickered at seojin’s casual use of "all of us."

like the idea of you belonging in that "all" didn’t sit right with you.

you blinked at him, the words settling oddly in your chest. a drink? with him? with them?

your lips pressed together before you finally said, steady but cool, "i don’t really see why. it’s not like we were close back in high school. our groups were… very different. we barely spoke, seojin. i don’t understand why you’re suggesting it now."

the words weren’t cruel, just honest. but they drew a small silence anyway, yunchae glancing nervously between you and him.

you weren't trying to be rude. that wasn't your intention at all. but the way he suggested it, so casually, made you feel a bit annoyed. you were overthinking it but were you really wrong to do so?

wrong to assume he was saying it just to get some rise out of you?they all know what happened, no doubt. so it just put you off in a weird way.

seojin’s smile faltered for a second before he forced a laugh. "fair enough. just thought-" he shrugged, "maybe it’d be fun."

"fun for you, maybe," you murmured, more to yourself than him, though the stiffness in your shoulders gave you away.

you could feel it. the shift in the air, sunghoon’s eyes on you again, unreadable, heavier this time.

you didn’t look back at him this time.

yunchae, always the peacemaker, let out a small laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "well, i mean… it’s a reunion. people talk to people they normally wouldn’t, right? that’s kind of the point." she glanced at you, subtle but pleading, as though asking you to just give seojin something.

you exhaled slowly through your nose, the corners of your mouth curving just slightly so it didn’t seem like you were snapping. "maybe. i just… don’t feel the need to pretend we were ever close when we weren’t. that’s all."

jay, ever the one to notice tension before it got too heavy, leaned back against the table, crossing his arms casually. "i get it," he said, his voice calm, leveled. "forced nostalgia’s overrated. if you didn’t vibe then, no reason to force it now." his gaze flicked to you briefly, reassuring, like he was telling you he understood where you were coming from.

you almost felt thankful at his understanding. keyword: almost.

the tension eased, just a little bit.

seojin only nodded, looking a little embarrassed but trying to mask it with another half-smile. "yeah, yeah. you’re right. my bad."

the group fell into a hush, the music and chatter from the reunion filling in the silence.

against your own will, you looked up, your eyes making contact with sunghoon. he was standing behind jay, his hands in his pocket, his jaw tightening.

you both quickly looked away, causing minho to shoot a look at the both of you.

"anyway," jay finally said, his tone light again as he continued the conversation again.

and just like that, the group seemed to relax again. everyone talked for a bit but you decided against it, just softly smiling and listening to the conversation.

minho made a comment about one of their old professors still dressing like it was the 80s. a short laugh escaping you at the memory.

the memory was fond, you kind of liked that professor!

but, you quickly pressed your lips together, like you could shove it back inside before anyone noticed.

but sunghoon noticed.

his head jerked the slightest bit in your direction, eyes narrowing for just a second as if he wasn’t sure he’d actually heard it. the sound of your laugh. light, unguarded, the kind of sound that felt like he shouldn't be hearing it. it lodged itself in his chest before he could shove it away.

something bitter twisted in him.

because why did it feel… good? why did it make the corner of his own mouth twitch before he caught himself?

he shifted uncomfortably, fingers tightening around the glass in front of him. don’t be stupid, he scolded himself, dragging his gaze back to the table. what the hell is he doing?

and yet, the laugh replayed in his head. quiet, but real, it wouldn’t stop echoing there.

so instead, he did what he always did. furrowed his brows, made his expression unreadable, and told himself it was nothing.

just noise.

just you.

and still, his heart betrayed him by beating a little too fast.

"i'm going to go get some air, it's crowded in here." you started, pushing a smile, though it barely reached your eyes. you excused yourself from the circle, heart hammering as you slipped away into the crowd.

your heels clicking against the polished floor. you let out a breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding.

although there was chatter everywhere, you appreciated just being away from a conversation you had to participate in. you leaned against a wall, pressing your back against the wall and opening your phone and going through some random messages.

a few minutes passed before you exhaled, pressing the side button to turn your phone off. still, the longer you stood there, the more it settled in. maybe it was time to just go. nothing good was going to come out of dragging this night any longer. and personally, you felt like you handled the night well. you suppose, it wasn't that bad..

the thought itched at the back of your mind until you gave in, pulling yourself away from the wall and searching for a familiar face, weaving back through the crowd until you spotted yunchae at a table.

it didn’t take long to find her. yunchae was easy to spot, her laughter carrying over the music as she chatted with a group near the drinks table.

she was laughing at something someone had just said. when her eyes flicked up and caught yours, her smile softened. she excused herself and hurried over.

"where’d you disappear to?" she asked, linking her arm with yours.

"like i said, just needed some air," you replied, giving her a small smile. then, before you could stop yourself, you added, "'chae, i think i’m gonna head out."

"already? it's not even that late." yunchae pouted, but it was soft, not accusatory. she could see the exhaustion written all over your face.

you nodded, glancing around. "yeah. i told you, i wouldn't stay long. plus, i think i've had enough socializing for the day."

"you should stay though, it's early." you added.

"but we came together. if you want to go, i'm more than willing to com-" she reminded gently, brows knitting but you softly interrupted her, telling her that it's fine.

you hummed, then glanced toward the exit. "but listen, take my car. i’ll grab it tomorrow."

yunchae blinked. "what? no, we came together, we’ll leave together."

"yunchae," you said gently, digging your keys out of your bag and pressing them into her hand before she could argue more. "it’s not that late right now, i’ll get a cab. it’ll be fine. but when you leave, it’ll be late and i’d rather you get home safe in my car than wander around waiting for a ride."

she frowned, clearly conflicted. "but you’ll be alone."

"it’s fine, i’d rather you drive home safe instead of waiting around for a cab at god knows what hour." you assured her, smiling. "worst case, i’ll text you if i feel weird about it." you tried to lighten your tone, nudging her shoulder. "don’t worry. i’m not gonna get kidnapped on the way home."

yunchae replied, titling her head. "i don’t like the idea of you cabbing alone."

"yunchae," you said softly, your lips twitching into a faint smile. "i'd sooner jump off a building than let some creep put his hands on me. trust me. and you know, i used to take self defence classes." you finish with a wink, smirking.

that earned a laugh out of her, which was exactly what you wanted. she sighed, finally nodding. "fine. but if anything feels off, you call me. don’t just text."

"deal," you promised, squeezing her hand. "and yunchae? have fun tonight. don’t worry about me. i’ll pick up the car tomorrow."

you gave her arm a squeeze before turning and making your way toward the exit.

you slipped through the crowd and out into the night air, the cooler night air wrapping around you like a scarf.

you pulled your phone out, opening the cab app, thumb hovering over the screen as you scanned for the nearest ride. but, before you could finish the booking, a voice cut through the quiet.

"leaving already?"

the voice made you flinch. you turned to see a tall guy leaning against the railing, a face you vaguely remembered from your old campus days. his smile was too casual to be genuine.

"yeah," you muttered, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "early morning tomorrow." a simple reply, not really inviting conversation.

he tilted his head, studying you in a way that made your skin prickle. "figured you wouldn’t last long. surprised you even showed up at all, honestly."

you frowned. "what the hell's that supposed to mean?"

his chuckle was low, almost mocking. "i mean, come on, it's obvious what i mean, isn't it? anyways, what university are you in?" he asked, before pausing and adding. "the one from your scholarship?"

your stomach dropped at the mention of the scholarship.

he took a slow step forward, hands in his pockets. "man, you know? hana wanted it more than anything. worked her ass off for it. and yet, poof! it goes to you. the one person who didn’t even want it. crazy coincidence, right?"

you froze, your fingers curling tightly around your phone.

"but no, i’m sure it was all fair," he went on, voice dripping sarcasm. "no strings pulled. no use of influence. totally your merit."

you swallowed hard, the sting of guilt slicing sharper than his words. because he wasn’t wrong. you had been the one to throw the tantrum, to spit out the bitter words you couldn’t take back. you hadn’t wanted the scholarship. you’d only wanted hana not to have it. and somehow, the universe twisted it into exactly that.

and you hated yourself for it. you were petty.

"believe whatever you want," you forced out, voice shaking but still audible. "i was just as capable of getting it. i didn't steal it." but your words lacked strength. like you knew how blatant your lie was.

he laughed, humorless. "sure, but you sure didn’t give it back, did you?"

your chest caved, shame colliding inside you. because what could you even say? that you’d considered it? that you’d laid awake all night when you found out how mad her parents were? laid awake for nights imagining hana’s face when her parents scolded her, when the disappointment bled into her voice and it made you sick to realize you’d been the cause?

that you tried not to think about it because you knew you were a terrible, shitty person for it. there was no excuse, really.

your throat tightened. "you don’t know anything," you whispered, but the words lacked bite.

because the truth was… he did. maybe not the details, maybe not the twisted, childish spite that had lit the match. but he knew enough. and you had to live with the rest.

your jaw clenched. you turned your face away, willing the cab app to load faster, praying for headlights to appear at the curb and just end this.

the guy’s smirk widened at your tone, his words cutting deeper because silence made it look like confession.

"hm." he hummed, almost gleeful at your reaction. "figures, you sound so unsure. guilty people usually d-"

"that’s enough."

the voice was sharp, low, and it came from behind you. you whipped your head around, startled, only to find sunghoon standing there, his stare almost colder than the night air.

the guy blinked, clearly not expecting interruption. "seriously, i was just-"

"didn't ask." sunghoon cut in flatly. "what does it matter to you what happened years ago?"

the other boy’s bravado faltered, but he tried to play it off with a scoff. "i'm literally on your side man, i'm defending your sister. and it’s not like i’m wrong-"

sunghoon stepped forward, just enough for the guy to shift back slightly. "i don't remember asking you to be my judge. my sister's business is none of your business. so shut up and go back inside."

the silence that followed was heavy, stretching taut between the three of you. the guy’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes darting between you and sunghoon. finally, with a muttered curse under his breath, he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stalked off, his footsteps fading into the distance.

your chest rose and fell too fast, like you’d been holding your breath the entire time. the relief that washed over you was quickly drowned by something else. confusion, unease, the sharp awareness of sunghoon standing there, having heard enough of the exchange to piece things together.

you finally managed to speak, your voice low. "you didn’t have to do that."

sunghoon’s eyes flicked to you, unreadable. "didn’t look like you were going to stop him."

your throat tightened. "because it’s true," you admitted before you could stop yourself. "everything he said-"

"stop." his tone was firm, cutting you off, and it startled you enough to shut your mouth. "you don’t owe him an explanation."

his words stung because they felt protective, but you knew they weren't. at least, not really. the way he said it. it wasn’t about defending you, it felt like it was about hating the idea of someone else stepping into his role. like only he was allowed to throw stones at you. what a gentleman.

you let out a shaky laugh, hollow and bitter. "so what, you get to tear me apart, but nobody else does? you confuse me, sunghoon."

you felt like rolling your eyes, how fucking hypocritical of him.

sunghoon didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

for a fleeting moment, you wished you could ask him. why did you step in? why did you care enough to chase the guy off, but not enough to actually believe me?

but the words stayed trapped in your throat, unspoken, as you reached for your phone again.

sunghoon himself didn't know why he did that. it's like his mouth moved before he could stop himself. lately, he couldn't decipher any of what he was doing. it was like his own brain was locked behind some key he didn't have.

you unlocked your phone again, the bright screen lighting up your face as you tried to act normal, thumbs hovering over the cab app. maybe if you just ignored him, maybe if you kept your head down, this strange moment would dissolve on its own.

sunghoon confused you so, goddamn, much. why did he piss you off so much, break you and then do bullshit like this? it felt like mental torture. it weirdly reminded you of the rooftop again.

"shouldn't you go back in?"

his voice cut through the silence, steady but edged with something that made his voice almost shake. you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look up.

"i’m booking a cab," you answered simply, the words clipped, like explaining the obvious.

sunghoon’s brows knit together. "cab? didn't you come with yunchae?"

"i did," you nodded, glancing back at the venue’s entrance as if the cab might appear any second. "but she’s still inside. i told her to take my car home. it’ll be late by the time she leaves, so it’s safer that way."

he stared at you, unreadable. "and it’s safe for you now?"

you gave a half-hearted shrug, your lips twitching with something between irony and exhaustion. "safer than when the place empties out at 2 am. it’s fine. you don’t have to be worried about me."

he didn’t answer right away. instead, his gaze lingered, like he was trying to puzzle something out that he didn’t even want the answer to. "i didn’t think you’d leave so fast."

you let out a short laugh, one that didn’t sound like amusement at all. "what, you mean slipping out the back after someone reminds me of all the shit i’ve done? trust me, i’ve gotten good at it."

the sharpness in your tone seemed to catch him off guard. he opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out.

you sighed, lowering your gaze back to your phone. "look, thanks for earlier. but you don’t have to-" you waved vaguely between the two of you "-do this."

"do what?"

"this," you repeated, meeting his eyes again. "defend me when you don’t even believe me. it doesn’t make sense."

his jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. guilt? conflict? you couldn’t tell. probably not guilt.

"i’ll drive you."

you blinked. "what?"

"i’ll drive you home," he repeated, his tone even, almost clipped, like it wasn’t even up for debate.

you laughed under your breath, a little bitter. "you know, you really don’t have to play knight in shining armor. really, it’s fine. i already booked a cab-"

he reached in his pockets, taking out a pair of keys. you caught the faintest flicker in his expression, something raw, conflicted. "cancel it."

your grip on your phone tightened. "why?"

he said, voice low, "i’m leaving too. it’s much better than going with some stranger."

your chest tightened in a way you didn’t want to admit. you hated how much easier it was to give in than to argue. and in a way, he was right.

so you lowered your phone, thumb hovering over the cancel button, before muttering, "fine. but only because seem so worried for me." you say, sarcasm in your last sentence.

he didn’t answer. just let out a quiet exhale, like he’d been holding it in the whole time before raising his eyebrows, rolling his eyes.

the two of you start walking toward the parking lot in silence, the muffled music from inside fading behind you.

his car was sleek and dark, parked neatly under one of the flickering streetlamps. he unlocked it with a soft click.

just as your hand touched the car door handle, he said quietly, almost too quietly, "you know, you don’t make it easy to believe you."

i keep thinking maybe if you let me back in.

you froze.

you were still in the shock of what he’d said, referencing to your earlier statement that you didn’t even notice him moving ahead to open the passenger door for you.

"..seriously?" you muttered, arching a brow at him. "you don’t have to-"

"just get in." his tone was quiet, but it left no room for protest.

so you did. the seat was cold against your skin, the faint scent of leather and his cologne hitting you immediately. clean, soft and so undeniably him.

it made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

he slid into the driver’s seat, shutting the door with a muted thud. the enclosed space was suddenly too small, too heavy with silence.

he started the engine, the hum filling the air.

you fiddled with your seatbelt, clicking it into place. "you know, you don’t have to act like you’re saving my life. i would’ve been fine."

sunghoon glanced at you, his profile sharp in the dim light. "okay."

your lips parted, but you had nothing to say back. ‘okay’ !? what does that even mean? is he always this dry and awkward? or maybe you were too busy noticing the more.. annoying traits of his personality you never realised he was so awkward.

the car pulled out of the lot smoothly, headlights cutting through the dark streets. you tried focusing on the scenery outside, the familiar roads passing by, but your awareness kept snapping back to him. his hand on the wheel, the way his jaw flexed when he concentrated, the small habit he had of tapping his thumb against the gear shift.

at one point, he reached across you, so suddenly, to adjust the vent on your side. the movement brought him close, so close you could see the tiny mole under his eye, smell the faint warmth of his cologne stronger now.

your breath hitched.

he seemed to notice, because when he leaned back, a ghost of a smirk tugged at his mouth.

"didn’t mean to make you nervous." he said, his tone almost teasing.

"of you? never," you lied, though your voice betrayed you with the slightest waver.

we can make it better, breaking every habit.

his smirk deepened, just for a second.

when he leaned over to adjust the vent, he hadn’t expected to get that close. hadn’t expected his gaze to flicker downward.

but as he was about to to move back, it did.

your dress dipped just slightly, the neckline lower than it had any right to be, and for a split second his brain blanked.

fuck. what the fuck.

he inhaled sharply, quickly looking away and pulling back faster than he meant to, his hand tightening around the wheel until the leather creaked. what the fuck’s wrong with him?

you hadn’t noticed, or maybe you had. you shifted, straightened, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your skirt like you were suddenly aware too.

sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek, eyes fixed hard on the road. he couldn’t let himself look again. he couldn’t let himself think.

because he shouldn’t be noticing. not you.

and yet, his pulse was pounding in his ears, his chest tight with something he couldn’t name.

she’s just sitting there, he scolded himself. just sitting there. why the fuck was he acting like this?

he gritted his teeth, jaw locking.

pull myself together, you could watch it happen.

it would be so easy to reach across, to brush his hand against yours resting in your lap, to lean closer under the excuse of whispering something in the quiet car.

but if he did, then what?

if he admitted what his body already knew, then he’d have to face what it meant. that he wasn’t just angry at you, wasn’t just tangled in resentment.

he was a coward. but, he knew that.

fuck. he’s just going insane, right? the alcohol from earlier, for sure.

yet, his grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles whitened.

let it happen.

you weren’t doing so well yourself either. your eyes kept drifting to him, the way his eyes were focused on the road.

as he drove, his hand tightened on the steering wheel when another car cut across his lane. you caught the veins in his forearm, the sharp lines of tension in his wrist. and god help you, but it made your stomach flip in a way you hated to admit.

why was this suddenly so.. intimate? ugh, seriously y/n? this bastard makes your heart flutter a bit and looks a bit too good in that goddamn shirt and you start blue-screening?!

get it together!

you forced yourself to look out the window, internally wanting to punch yourself as you glared at god knows what.

yet, in the reflection of the glass, you swore you saw him glance at you.

let it happen.

and even then, none of your had brought up that night yet.

there was a charge in the air. the unspoken dare of what would happen if either of you spoke up.

sunghoon tore his eyes back to the road, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

the silence stretched again, thick with something unspoken.

the first warning came as a single drop of rain smacking against the windshield. then another. then the sky split open.

the rain poured so suddenly and heavily it felt like buckets being thrown over the car. the wipers swished back and forth in a losing battle, squeaking against the glass.

"shit," sunghoon muttered under his breath, leaning forward slightly as if it would help him see through the sheet of water.

you gripped your phone tighter "is it okay? can you even see the road?"

"barely." his voice was flat, controlled, but you saw the muscle ticking in his jaw as the headlights illuminated a bright orange barricade ahead.

blocked.

he slowed to a crawl, flicking his turn signal, irritation heavy in the sharp exhale that left him. "of course. perfect."

"what is it?" you asked, leaning forward to see.

"the road to your place, it’s closed off. flooding." he tapped the steering wheel with two fingers, considering. "we’d have to circle all the way around. there’s a lot of traffic around."

"then… just do it," you said quickly, even though your voice betrayed your unease. the thought of being in this car, with him, for longer than necessary made your pulse stutter.

his eyes flicked toward you for a fraction of a second before returning to the road. he started, tone deceptively casual, "it might be faster if we wait it out. my place is a turn from here. closer. we can wait until the rain lets up, then i’ll drop you home."

the word my place sent a strange chill crawling up your spine. you sat straighter, shaking your head. "no. i’ll just wait it out in the car.”

"in this?" he gestured out the windshield, where the rain hammered so hard it sounded like gunfire against the roof. "uh, are you sure? you’d rather sit here, with no signal, no heat, hoping it clears, than be inside with a roof over your head?-"

"yes," you snapped back, too quickly, and immediately regretted how defensive it sounded.

his mouth tugged at the corner, almost like he was amused. "have you always been this stubborn?"

"and you’re insane if you think i’m stepping foot in your house," you muttered, crossing your arms.

the car slowed at a red light, the downpour reflecting neon glows against his skin. he finally turned his head, eyes meeting yours. steady. unwavering as he sighed. "i understand you don’t want to come in but i’d also rather not have someone freeze towards death in my car right outside my house. you can sit on the couch, i’ll stay out of your way. when the rain’s done, you leave. simple."

you hesitated, your chest tightening. it should have been simple. but it wasn’t. not with him. not with the weight of everything unsaid pressing down between you.

still, practicality nagged at you. your house was far. really far. and it was freezing. you’d forgotten just how much until you looked at the map earlier. sunghoon lived practically across the city from you. and yet here he was, offering to drive you home, what, another forty minutes? more?

why?

why go so far out of his way for someone he claimed to hate?

your resolve cracked just slightly at the thought.

"if not, be my gues-" "fine," you said finally, voice low. "but only because i don’t want pneumonia."

the light turned green, and he drove on without a word.

it pissed you off so much. his stupid unsent message, and now all this. did he think doing all this would somehow make you warm up to him and confess? like some sort of psychological method? like everything’s okay now because both of you refuse to address the elephant in between you too!?

and you hated that yet, a part of you wondered, hoped even, that maybe,

it wasn’t just about the rain.

end note: damn this was long. sigh i wanna try to end and close this fic as soon as possible so i can do other things but i dont wanna rush itttt. i hope this was good <3

taglist: @arcvillie @mochi13 @chocminteu @outroherrr @gyurilla @supershy3 @woibeb @saraabbas @nithxhoon @dajeong-cats @rairaiblog @beebopisjustwatching @rikidaze @renlikecookies @graythecoffeebean @ginjey19 @semi-wife @valesunae @desistay @wonnina @vixensss @blynxissm @jhjjssn-7

permanent - @luvksnn

(sorry if i missed anyone, please Imk if i missed u) mdni, feedback and reblogs, comments and likes appreciated. hate comments will be deleted. please let me know either in the comments or inbox if you want to be added to the taglist <33

you're stretched out on jake's bed, tossing one of his pillows at him while he's fixing his hair in the mirror.

"you take longer than i do," you tease, voice dripping with smugness.

he shoots you a glance in the mirror, lips falling into that boyish soft grin that always made your heart flutter. "and you love watching."

you grin, daring him. "maybe i'm just bored. and you're not even paying attention to meeee." you finish, exaggerating the last line with an overly-whiny tone to rile him up.

he sighs, tilting his head at you and pouting as you reach over and grab the comb in his hair. "baby…"

"what? i don't think your hair looks good, let me help." you smile smugly, seeing his pout as an indication of your win, holding it out of reach when he tries to grab it back.

he turns around, leaning against the dresser, arms crossed. "funny. i don't remember asking for your commentary." a complete switch from the pout a few seconds ago.

"you never do," you shrug, "but you don't stop me either."

for a moment, he just stares at you, the faintest tilt of his head.

then, instead of getting annoyed, he just leans back, hands behind his head, watching you. "you think you’re cute, don’t you baby?"

you grin wider. "i know i am."

for a while he just lets you, indulging your brattiness, his soft laugh making you want to push him even more.

so you climb off the bed, stand at the edge and say, "you don’t deserve the comb back unless you say please."

that gets his attention. his eyes flick up, the corners of his mouth twitching. "is that so?"

you nod, smug. "yup."

he adjusts his hips, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "and if i don’t?"

"then you’ll just have to stand there," you say, tossing your hair like you’ve won.

he smiles at you, warm, unbothered. "you know what i love about you?"

"that i’m cute?"

then he walks over slowly, pushing you back on the bed, moving onto the mattress until he's kneeling between your legs. his hands rest on your thighs, warm and deceptively gentle.

"you're right, you are cute." he says softly, smiling down at you. "that's why i don't stop you. you're so cute when you think you've got me wrapped around your finger."

you smirk. "i do."

his smile doesn't fade — if anything, it gets sweeter, almost tender. he brushes a strand of hair out of your face.

"you really believe that, huh?"

you nod, bold. "mm, yeah. you let me get away with everything."

he chuckles under his breath, then leans down, lips brushing your ear. "that's not because i can't stop you, baby. it's because i like watching you dig your own grave."

"i like watching you think i'm getting riled up. that i'm not enjoying this."

jake will let you think you're riling him up. that you're the one in control with the way he pouts and acts annoyed.

his lips drag down your neck, slowly planting them in the nape of your neck, not quite kissing you but still brushing against your skin.

"but baby, i fucking love this."

but the reality, could not be further from that. he lives for your bratty attitude. and even more, loves putting you in your place just after.

before you can retort, his hand is slipping inside your shorts, two fingers pressing inside you without warning. you gasp, back arching, but his free hand pins your hip down.

he groans into your neck in response to your whimper, adjusting himself.

"what's wrong?" his voice is light, teasing. "you were so mouthy a second ago."

you try to bite back a whimper as he curls his fingers, relentless.

"tell me again how i let you get away with everything, hm?" he says sweetly, mock-innocent.

before you can respond, you’re being spun around and shoved onto the mattress, his weight pinning you down.

"jake-!"

his fingers are back inside you before you can catch your breath, curling so harshly you’re gasping into the sheets.

"no, no," he coos mockingly, tugging your shorts down in one smooth motion. "you wanted to play, remember? brat gets what she asks for."

you whimper, backing up against him.

"please?" he echoes your earlier tone, smirking. "you wanted me to say please, right? how about you start begging instead?"

"n-no," you pant, nails digging into the blanket.

he just laughs, pushing his fingers into you harder, faster, until you’re crying out despite yourself.

"see?" his voice is all sugar, taunting. "you act tough, but it only takes a few minutes before you’re dripping all over my hand."

when you finally break and whimper out a "please," his eyes darken, his breath hitching.

"f-fuck, there you go. such a pretty brat for me."

and fuck, jake always knew how to use his mouth, he'd just never shut up. and honestly? you didn't want him to. "good girl," he purrs again, his sweetness now a weapon. "you'll learn. congratulations baby, you've got all my attention now."

you turn your head into the pillow, muffling a moan. "ngh-"

"ah, don't hide," he murmurs, pulling his fingers out only to shove them back in harder, his smile never wavering. "i wanna hear how cocky my pretty brat sounds when you're falling apart."

when you still refuse, he tuts softly, pulling back just enough to line himself up instead. his lips brush your cheek, voice sugar-sweet.

"open your mouth, or i'll make sure you can't walk tomorrow."

and knowing jake, he was probably going to do that anyway.

because jake will always let you think you've got him wrapped around your fingers when in reality, he loves nothing more then winding you up until you break.

end note: definitely became much longer then i intended but oh well.

tags ! @luvksnn

he’d just come back from a game.

his jersey was still sticking to his back, sweat drying uncomfortably under the collar. his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, the sound of his cleats clacking lightly against the tile floor as he stepped into the house.

"you’re late."

sunghoon said nothing. just dropped his bag near the stairs.

his father didn’t look up from his seat in the dining room. just those two words, cold and sharp like a blade slicing into a warm moment.

sunghoon stood still. "we had extra drills after the match."

his mother glanced at the clock, then at him. "you didn’t think to call?"

"i didn’t have time." his voice was quieter than before.

"no, of course not. because basketball is your whole life now, right?" she scoffed. "god forbid you put that same effort into your grades."

he clenched his jaw. "i’m passing everything."

"passing," his father repeated, voice low. "what a miracle. my son, the great underachiever."

sunghoon looked at the wall, his shoulders practically drooping. he didn’t want to argue. not tonight. not after the win. not when coach had actually said he played well.

but it never mattered here, did it?

his father turned another page of the newspaper. "what’s the point of winning some stupid game if you’re going to end up just like your uncle? working part-time and drinking away what’s left of your pride?"

his chest tightened. "this isn’t a waste of time."

"we don’t pay school fees so you can run around chasing a ball," his mother called from the dining room, not even looking up this time. "do you know what the neighbors say? their kids are applying for internships. you? still playing dress-up with your little friends."

he clenched his teeth. "i didn’t ask for your money."

"what did you just say?" his father's tone went razor-sharp.

sunghoon’s chest tightened. he forced himself to look down. "nothing."

"that’s right, because you don’t get to talk back here." his father stood up, moving closer. "you think you're above us now? think a few trophies make you worth something?"

his hands curled into fists at his sides. the gold medal still hung in his duffel bag, forgotten.

"maybe if you spent half the time studying that you waste with those worthless classmates, you’d actually make something of yourself."

he wanted to scream. they weren’t worthless. he was trying. he was trying. no one ever saw that. no one ever said 'you did your best today'. it was always—

"show these trophies to your future. tell that to your resume when no real college wants you."

his mother cut in, sharper. "you’re never here. you don’t study. you come home late. if you fail midterms, you’ll be out of that team so fast—"

"i won’t fail," he said through gritted teeth.

"right, let's see how true you are about that, sunghoon."

he wanted to yell. to throw something. to ask why every single sentence they spoke to him felt like a judgment. why even his best was never enough. why they only ever seemed to notice when he messed up.

but he didn’t.

he just stood there.

his father finally looked up. "you think you’re grown? you think you're some kind of star?"

sunghoon didn’t answer.

"then act like it. stop embarrassing yourself with this useless hobby and start acting like a son worth being proud of. god, at least hana cares about her grades."

silence.

long, suffocating silence.

sunghoon’s throat burned. his hands curled into fists at his sides. but he didn’t let it show. not the hurt. not the rage. not the way his eyes stung for a second before he blinked it all away.

"i’m going to shower," he said quietly.

and he walked upstairs without waiting for a reply.

he stood under the freezing water for a long time that night, staring at the tiles until the sting of his skin felt more familiar than the sting in his chest.

"god, at least hana cares about her grades." they said.

he wanted to scream. he wanted to say that hana lied too.

that she hid things. that she wasn’t some perfect shadow they painted on every wall.

but what would that do?

they’d just say he was bitter. they’d ask who put these ideas in his head. blame it on some person and eradicate them.

and he didn’t want to answer that.

because deep down, he knew where the rot started. but pointing to them felt like betrayal. felt like something irreversible.

and it was easier — so much easier — to think it came from somewhere else.

from someone else.

he really was always like this.

you really weren't as numb to it all as you made yourself seem. or made yourself believe.

because here you were, sitting at your desk, doing the project that got dumped on you and sunghoon last time when you both got reprimanded for being late to class and arguing.

the one you had pettily agreed to do yourself when he rolled his eyes and made it seem like it was the biggest torture in the world to work with you.

you could have easily backed out too. you didn’t owe him shit. no one would’ve blamed you if you’d thrown your hands up and told him to suffer the consequences on his own.

but of course, you were doing it. making good on your stupid little promise.

why? you had no idea.

maybe it was because of everything that had happened recently with him. not that you were exactly getting to know him. not that he was suddenly decent to you. but...

wait. were you going soft for him?

no fucking way.

he was still the reason your life had been hell for the past few months. still the boy who always managed to find ways to knock you down a peg in front of everyone. still the one person who knew exactly where to dig until it hurt.

well… other than you yourself, of course. you’d always been good at making your own life miserable.

you groaned, letting your head fall forward against your notebook, pen slipping from your hand. the scratchy pages crinkled beneath your forehead.

"this is pathetic," you muttered into the paper, voice muffled.

but you didn’t stop.

instead, you pushed yourself upright, stretched your aching fingers, and went back to typing. bullet points, citations, formatting—all the things sunghoon would probably never even thank you for.

you tried convincing yourself you were only doing it out of pride. because you refused to let him think you’d been bluffing. because you hated the idea of him laughing to himself, calling you unreliable.

but there was a tiny, ugly voice in the back of your head that whispered maybe you wanted to prove something else too.

that you weren’t as selfish as he thought. that you weren’t the villain he’d painted you as.

you shut the thought down immediately, slamming the laptop screen half-closed like that could erase it.

and even then, more then proving it to someone else, it always felt like you were proving it to that deep part of yourself more than anything.

still, the words stuck to you like glue.

the next morning, you found yourself standing outside the professor’s office with the finished project tucked into a flimsy folder. your fingers tapped impatiently against the spine of it as you waited for her to finish her phone call inside.

you didn’t even know why your stomach felt like it was eating itself alive. it wasn’t like this project was worth your life. it wasn’t like you hadn’t done a hundred others before.

but maybe it was because this one had his name scribbled neatly next to yours on the title page.

you didn’t let yourself think about it too much. instead, when the professor waved you in, you slid the folder onto his desk, muttered something polite, and started turning back toward the hallway.

and of course, because the universe hated you, there he was.

sunghoon, leaning against the wall opposite the office like he had all the time in the world. hands in his pockets, posture careless, expression unreadable.

his eyes flicked from you to the folder on the desk behind you.

the color of my heart is black,

"was that… our project?" his voice came out low, almost flat.

you shifted the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. "yeah. what about it."

there was a beat of silence.

"you actually did it?"

"don’t sound so surprised," you shot back, heat rising to your face. "what, did you think i was bluffing when i said i’d handle it?"

sunghoon tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to figure you out. "i thought you'd back out too. i was going to mention the project the next time we met."

"yeah, well, maybe i wanted to prove a point," you muttered, brushing past him, but he pushed off the wall and fell into step beside you.

"what point?"

it burns completely, just like that.

you exhaled sharply, eyes fixed on the tiled floor. "that i don’t need you to do your share to keep a promise. that i’m not unreliable. that i…" you cut yourself off before you could say more, biting down on the words.

he didn’t answer immediately. just walked alongside you, quiet except for the soft scuff of his sneakers against the floor.

finally, he said, "you didn’t have to."

"don't worry, i know." you responded, your voice laced with sarcasm.

"so why did you?"

whenever i get the chance, i break glass,

you stopped, turning to face him. his expression wasn’t smug, wasn’t mocking—it was careful. curious in a way that made your chest ache.

"why do you care?" you asked, voice sharper than you meant it to be.

he held your gaze, and for once, there wasn’t any hostility there. just something heavier, quieter.

"because i can never really decipher you." he said finally, almost under his breath.

the words landed like a punch.

your throat tightened, and for a second, you couldn’t think of anything to say. you wanted to scoff, to tell him he was full of shit. but the way his voice dipped on the last word, the way his shoulders seemed to fold in just a little—

it didn’t sound like a lie.

you swallowed, tearing your eyes away first. "you don't need to decipher me. i didn’t do it for you."

then look at my bleeding hands, why am i like this? why?

sunghoon’s mouth twitched, like he almost smiled but thought better of it. "sure. anyways, i have something new i want to discuss with you."

you rolled your eyes, but the silence between you wasn’t as sharp as it usually was. instead, it pressed in closer, warmer. almost careful. it scared you more than his insults ever had, because at least those you knew how to fight back against. this? this felt like it was pulling you somewhere you weren’t sure you wanted to go.

"what is it?" you asked, pretending to sound bored, your attention fixed on walking straight ahead. it was easier to stare at the pavement than his face, even if you should have probably gotten used to it already after meeting so many times.

he took a moment, like he was choosing his words carefully. "i was thinking the other day, about how we could try to get to know more about what happened during those days leading up to hana's suicide." his voice was softer than usual, almost uncertain. "i had a thought. we should try contacting hana's friends."

the word friends made your stomach twist. hana’s circle. the same girls who you'd only talked to barely, the ones who watched as she snapped at you in front of them, as she made sure every room tilted her way. the ones who too, were convinced you were a villain for them.

you exhaled slowly. "that’s not going to be easy."

"i know," he admitted, and that honesty was so unlike him that it made you almost side-eye him, just briefly. his gaze was forward, focused, but his jaw was tight, like even admitting that cost him something.

"hana’s friends don’t like me, obviously." you said. "they didn’t even bother pretending. if they see me trying to reach out now, they’ll think i’m… desperate. or trying to clear my name." even though, in a way, you are.

sunghoon’s head tilted a little, and his eyes flicked toward you in that sharp, searching way he had. "do you care what they think?"

the question lodged itself in your throat. of course you cared. you cared too much about what everyone thought, and it was ruining you. but you couldn’t give him that satisfaction. but also, it's not like you specifically gave a fuck what they thought of you. so,

"no," you said flatly.

his mouth pressed into a line, like he thought or knew you were lying but didn’t want to push it. "then it shouldn’t matter. besides…" he paused, something flickering across his expression, "i might have a way to get in contact with at least one of them. i don't know about the others."

that caught you off guard. "what do you mean?"

sunghoon slowed his steps, like he was sifting through an old memory he hadn’t planned on digging up. "there was this one time, before everything. hana dragged me along to some cafe she liked to go to. i remember her telling me it was because she wanted to meet her friend who worked part-time there. she also said the food was good there which is wh-" he stopped himself, and you knew he just put a boundary there.

like he didn't want to give any more information. any information that would make him seem informal to you.

anything that would make him feel more human to you.

your heart thudded, heavy and uneven. "and you think she’ll talk to us?"

"if she’s still working there, maybe," he said. "i don’t know. but it’s a start. better than nothing. and it's much better than trying to go back to our high school to get in contact with them."

you hated that he was right. you hated that he was right that this was just a mere formal partnership you both had. nothing more, nothing less. you hated the most that he always made sure you never forgot.

whatever, that's all you want anyway too.

even more, that he was holding onto pieces of hana’s life you could never even fathom.

geez.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. the air between you wasn’t sharp, wasn’t cold—it was something else entirely. the thought of sitting across from hana’s friend, of her eyes flickering with recognition when she saw you, filled you with dread. but at the same time, there was a strange current between you and sunghoon. the same that would linger every time you both met up for this weird arrangement.

"fine," you said finally, forcing steadiness into your voice. "then we’ll go to that cafe."

you didn’t expect the small relief that flickered in his eyes when you agreed. you decided to ignore it.

the cafe wasn’t far, but the walk there felt longer than it was supposed to. maybe because every step dragged the weight of what you were about to do. or maybe because sunghoon walked beside you, quiet, hands in his pockets like he had nothing to lose, while you felt like you were about to unravel.

maybe because the way it felt like sunghoon was trying to synchronize his steps with yours.

the golden of the sun reflected on the streets, the sound of students pouring out universities and buildings, workers rushing to god knows where and couples in the corner serving as background noise for it all.

you tried not to think about it too much. how it might feel when you come face to face with hana's friend. of what you'd learn and what he would learn.

how he would react.

the cafe looked the same as every other cafe in the city, but sunghoon’s eyes flickered the second it came into view. you caught the twitch in his jaw, the faint shift in his shoulders—like he remembered more than he wanted to admit. like just being there set something off in him.

"this is it," he muttered.

you nodded, walking forward and opening the door, wanting to get the whole thing over with as soon as possible.

inside, the space was warm, filled with low chatter and the smell of coffee grounds. it should have been comforting, but all it did was make your chest tighten. you followed sunghoon’s lead, slipping into a small table near the back, away from the windows.

your eyes scanned the bar, the servers weaving between tables, the girl at the register. but none of their faces matched anything you remembered from hana’s circle. not that you knew them well, but still—you’d know if it was one of them.

sunghoon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "she’s not here."

you raised an eyebrow. "and how do you know? maybe you just forgot what she looks like."

he shot you a look, sharp and annoyed, but there was something underneath it, like you’d hit closer than you meant to. "i didn’t forget."

the air between you grew heavier. you busied yourself by tracing the rim of your cup of coffee that you both had ordered, pretending you weren’t bothered by how easily he could shut you down.

"..okay.. then.., maybe she quit. or maybe her shift didn't start yet."

the minutes stretched, the two of you caught in a silence that wasn’t entirely empty. you didn’t want to be here, but leaving felt worse. like failure. like giving hana another win even in death.

a group of students at the counter laughed loudly, drawing your attention. one of them—a girl with dyed blonde streaks in her hair—glanced your way, then nudged her friend, a guy with brunette hair. the two of them whispered, their eyes darting back to you again.

your stomach dropped.

you knew that look. the one that burned across classrooms, across hallways. the one that painted you into a corner every single time.

"they’re staring," you muttered under your breath, scoffing, trying to sound unaffected, but your grip on the cup tightened.

sunghoon’s gaze flicked toward them, sharp, cutting. the kind of look that could slice through glass. the laughter at the counter faltered almost immediately. the blonde girl’s face paled, and she quickly turned back toward her drink, whispering even quieter now.

you blinked at him, surprised. "the hell? what was that?"

"what?" he interrupted, like he hadn’t just practically silenced an entire table with a glance.

you shook your head, looking down. "..nothing." you didn't ask him to.. scare them like some parent but you suppose you were thankful for it.

he didn't do it for you, of course. he probably was annoyed by it too.

but your chest felt weirdly… light. lighter than it should have.

the silence stretched again, and then you both overheard it.

"yeah, isn’t that the girl who used to hang around hana?" the blonde whispered, not quiet enough this time. "i think she’s the one rina hated."

your blood froze.

rina.

the name clicked instantly. hana’s closest friend. the one you’d always seen by her side. the one yunchae had mentioned that day. the one she said that she would try to get in contact with.

before you could react, sunghoon pushed back his chair just slightly, his posture going rigid. "we’re leaving."

"wait-"

"now," he said, his tone low, firm, not up for debate. his hand brushed your sleeve, barely there but enough to guide you toward the door.

you followed, heart hammering, trying to steady your breaths as the cool air outside hit you.

you walked for a bit in silence, until finally you said, "rina."

sunghoon glanced at you.

"that was her name," you continued. "hana’s closest friend. i remember now, my friend mentioned her once, a while ago. i think… i can get her number."

his eyes stayed on you, unreadable, almost like he was uninterested and completely distracted despite it being the reason you both had come here. "good. that’s something."

you nodded, hugging your arms to yourself. the cafe faded behind you, but the heat of the moment lingered—his stare that had silenced them somehow, the way he’d guided you out before you could even process it.

it wasn't for you. he didn't drag you out to take you away. he was just uncomfortable. he wasn't protecting you, or anything, you remind yourself.

but maybe you didn’t want to admit it, but a part of you didn’t hate it either.

what the hell is even happening?

your room was darker than usual when you finally got back. the curtains were pulled half-shut, letting in just enough of the streetlight glow to paint soft streaks across your desk. you didn’t even bother turning the lights on—just tossed your bag on the floor and collapsed onto the edge of your bed, phone heavy in your hand.

you quickly unlocked your phone, trying to find yunchae's number. you didn't have to search it up though, as it was already there in your recents due to talking to her that day. it's not like you called many people nowadays.

your thumb hovered over her contact before pressing call.

the dial tone stretched on longer than you wanted, and you almost hung up before her voice finally spilled through, soft and a little breathless. "hello? y/n?"

you blinked at the ceiling. "hey. yeah, it’s me."

there was a pause, just long enough for you to wonder if you’d made a mistake in calling her at this time. then, "i was just about to call you to talk."

you could almost picture her—hair pulled back, sitting cross-legged somewhere with her laptop still open, biting her lip because she always did when she was half-distracted.

you swallowed. "yeah. i mean, whatever it is, can we talk about it later? i want something really quick right now. are you busy?"

"okay, i'm not," yunchae said slowly, careful now. "shoot."

you rolled onto your side, staring at the faint outline of your bookshelf. "you said you would try to get rina, hana's friend's number right? did you manage to get it?"

you hear a bit of rustling from yunchae's side before hearing a book close, or something similar. "i was going to talk to you about that! i finally got it. had to do a lot of digging but turns out i was in some group project with her a while back so her number was in the chat group we had made."

you clenched your phone tighter. the name alone brought back flashes of school corridors, the way hana’s friends had orbiting eyes—always watching, always ready to believe the worst about you. "thank god. could you give it to me? i want to talk to her.

"y/n?" yunchae asked, her tone laced with confusion but also scepticism. "i thought you were kind of against talking with her?"

you shut your eyes, chest tightening. "yeah."

another pause, this one heavier. "are you sure that’s a good idea?" she asked softly. "i'm willing to talk to her instead, after all we decided-" yunchae went off, but you knew what she was going to say.

"i know," you cut in, sharper than you meant to. your throat burned with the effort to keep your voice steady. "i know, okay? i just need to try. please. this is my mess and i should resolve it. i realize i shouldn't involve you in this yunchae. i'm sorry but i want you to stay out of this."

the line was quiet again, and you could hear faint clicking in the background, like yunchae was opening something on her laptop. "you’re serious about this?"

"yeah." your voice dropped, low and certain. "i am."

you could hear her exhale. "fine. give me a second."

you waited, staring at the dim outline of your window, the hum of the city faint through the glass. part of you wanted her to come back and say she actually lost it, that she couldn’t find it again—that maybe you’d been spared from opening another door you weren’t ready for. but another part of you, the part that was tired of questions and half-truths, wanted it so badly your chest ached.

a few minutes later, yunchae’s voice returned. "okay… i found it."

your heart kicked, uneven. "can you send it to me?"

she hesitated. "yeah. but, y/n… just—be careful, okay? i don’t want you getting hurt again."

the warning sat heavy in your chest. you forced yourself to smile, even if she couldn’t see it. "i’ll be fine. thanks, chae. really."

"don’t thank me yet," she muttered, but her tone was softer. "i’ll text it to you now."

"okay. and chae? thanks for the help. even if i gave up on the thing we agreed to, you were lots of help."

you heard a hum on the side after which you said goodbye.

the line went quiet. you lay there, staring at your phone screen as the notification came in, rina’s number glowing back at you like a dare.

you didn’t save it yet. you hesitated, your finger only hovering over the message.

instead, you placed your phone face-down on the bed beside you, closed your eyes, and let the weight of it all settle in your chest like lead.

you hear the sound of a notification ring out from your phone, interrupting your thoughts.

you contemplate on picking it up but decide against it and just lay back, letting your eyes close, sleep taking over you.

you'd never regretted not checking a message this much ever. not as much as you were right now.

it had completely gone over your head that you had a very important seminar to attend today with emi. and you, had completely forgotten.

you'd only remembered when you woke up 30 minutes past the time you should have woken up and checked your messages, your soul leaving your body.

oh, emi's going to kill you.

at least you're never going to ignore messages again. no matter how tired you are.

you groan, getting ready as quickly as possible, using emi's screams from the call, directed at you, as background music.

you do manage to make it to the seminar hall before it started but..

not on time enough to get seats.

everyone had come in big groups which meant there were either no seats left, separated seats or only one seat left. it’s one of those interdepartmental guest lectures — mandatory attendance, full participation, "interactive activity to encourage collaboration." all things you hate.

and it wasn't like sitting separately was a choice you both could make when you both knew barely anything about this class and needed each other's help. great.

"this. this is why you check messages. oh my god, i told you to hurry up! we won't get seats now because of you!" emi groaned, hissing as you both rushed through the seminar hall, breathless.

"okay, okay. im sorry! i know i made a mistake, you've made sure i knew it since morning." you sigh, looking around for a seat.

and like clockwork, you both look in the same direction.

two seats empty! yes! thank god, you survive another day safe from emi.

you both sigh in relief, walking over to the row with the two empty seats.

unfortunately, the relief is quite short-lived when you notice exactly who the people sitting in that row are.

seven of them. seven familiar faces, all clustered like a dark cloud you never asked for.

jay. jake. heeseung. ni-ki. jungwon. sunoo. sunghoon.

isn't life great?

how the hell did all 7 of them get seats together? and coincidently have 2 seats left?

and why the fuck are they all in the same seminar?

and, of course, two empty seats. like fate had plans for you. the worst plans, apparently.

you'd already been awkward with them since the dinner and that class, you were not going to deal with this again. and even if you didn't give a fuck about the others, sunghoon was still there.

and here you thought you'd gotten more used to him.

"no," you say instantly, ready to turn back.

"yes," emi says, grabbing your wrist. "we’re out of time. move."

you protest. she drags. and before you know it, you’re shuffling down the row, doing that awkward sideways walk to avoid stepping on bags and feet, your coffee sloshing precariously in your hand.

"hey," jake says, scooting his legs in to let you pass.

"hi," you mumble, taking a seat next to him. thankfully, the last two seats were far from sunghoon.

sunghoon doesn’t look at you. he shifts barely an inch, but it’s enough.

you sit. emi next to you.

this is fine. this is survivable. you’re just here to listen to someone talk for two hours. you don’t even have to speak.

right?

wrong.

"now that we’ve finished with the lecture," the professor says with an infuriatingly cheerful smile, "today’s next part of the session is a little different. we’re doing peer collaboration — in your current rows. each row will function as a discussion unit, and your project proposal is due at the end of the session."

you blink.

then blink again. twice. thrice.

emi slowly turns toward you.

"i hate myself," she whispers.

"me too," you whisper back as suddenly emi's words about how they weren't these people weren't the type of crowd you'd want to hangout with fade in from the first day you'd encountered sunghoon.

jay’s the first to recover. "guess this is happening."

"what’s the topic?" sunoo asks, already flipping open his notebook like he’s ready to lead a fortune 500 company.

"case analysis," the professor explains. "each group picks a real-world case — ethical, legal, sociopolitical, anything you want — and presents a two-minute proposal on how you’d study it or respond to it."

"we should do the political scandal from last year," jake suggests.

"which one?" riki asks. "there were like five."

"what about media responsibility and social backlash?" jungwon says, already writing. "there’s that influencer case that ties into law, psych, and comms."

"honestly that’s not a bad one," heesung says thoughtfully.

emi raises her hand like she’s on a game show. "i’m just here for attendance so.. i'm fine with anything."

you nod along.

and then, for the first time since you sat down, sunghoon speaks.

"the political scandal from earlier this year seems like a good start." he suggests, tone steady and clinical.

you freeze, him talking suddenly catching you off guard.

so does emi, her eyes slowly dragging over to you.

"wasn’t that too dark?" jake asks. "didn’t it cause a lot of ruckus in media due to all the heated discussion about parenting ethics?"

"that’s what makes it real," sunghoon replies.

he still doesn’t look at you.

jay eyes him for a moment. "…you thinking personal experience?"

sunghoon glances at jay, before turning away, shrugging his shoulders.

you blink in confusion, what did jay mean by personal experience?

and just like that, the group starts working. you all decide it would be much easier to work together outside in the field which is where you all go and the group gets to work.

well, most of the group.

you stay quiet. listening. observing. chewing the inside of your cheek when they mention things that seem important. things you mentally note down.

sunghoon tries his best to focus on the project, avoiding you. it's dumb, really, that he's avoiding you. you both had been spending a lot of time together this week due to the case yet here he is, avoiding you like he needs to.

or, at least trying to. trying to not keep wandering his eyes over to you.

what the fuck is he doing? he groans, weirded out by his behavior. you aren't his friend or anything else for him to be expecting you to look over at him. he still despises you.

"what do you think?" jay asks suddenly, turning to you.

your head snaps up. "what?"

"you’re a good writer, you used to participate in a lot of writing events in high school," he says, and it doesn’t sound like sarcasm. "what would you add?"

you almost forgot jay, too, went to your old high school. it almost feels wrong since you'd gotten used to everyone from there treating you with such distaste. and here he was, talking to you normally, asking for your opinion even.

well, you shouldn't get too happy. he still did comment on you being bad company in high school that day in class behind you.

even then, he remembered you had a liking for writing. you didn't know if you should smile or just be grateful. or both.

you hesitate. then you answer. short, direct. clinical, like sunghoon except you offer a slight smile, not wanting to seem.. cold. "if you want to study ethical ambiguity, you need to compare public perception to private truth. start with how each person involved was viewed before anything even happened."

"you’re terrifying," sunoo says under his breath.

heeseung raises his eyebrows, almost amused. "public perception to private truth? so you're suggesting that we compare all the media's responses as well as all the members involved?"

you nod. "yeah, i suppose."

heeseung grins, nodding at you. "that's smart."

you grin back, leaning in your seat, pride filling you.

you feel someone's eyes on you but, you don't bother trying to find out whose.

you just didn't know it was sunghoon's.

..who himself could not decipher why he felt like glaring.

the session ends late. too late. your head aches. your throat feels dry. and the moment the professor calls for submission, you grab your things and stand up fast.

"wait for me," emi says. "i have to grab my charger, but i’ll walk you back."

you nod and wait awkwardly near the exit. everyone else is packing up too, trickling out in pairs and groups. emi disappears into the side room.

and somehow, again, you’re left in the room.

with him.

you hear his footsteps before you turn.

"i’ll walk you," sunghoon says quietly.

you blink. "what?"

"it’s dark out."

"i'm fine." you're supposed to believe he cares if you walk out late? pft. you both aren't friends.

"still."

but fuck, your heart’s already doing that thing again. the one you pretend doesn’t exist.

"…emi said she’d-"

"i told her i would," he says, glancing at the hallway.

"oh."

you hesitate.

then you nod.

the walk is quiet at first. cold wind against your sleeves, the campus lights casting long shadows across the empty path.

you kick a loose pebble on the ground. it skitters ahead of you.

"thought you'd drop out of this like you did in our project." you say finally.

"what?"

"the seminar. i thought you'd drop out of the seminar project."

"i didn’t," he says. "i agreed to work on the topic."

"which is basically the same thing."

a pause.

"you say that as if we aren't already working together on something else." he says, suddenly. so quiet it could’ve been the wind.

"well, yeah but that's... that's different. you have no choice but to tolerate me. and vice versa." you say, your steps steady as you look only at your shoes.

"i don't hate you.. as a person, i mean."

you stop walking.

"what?"

"i said," he repeats, slower, more solid this time, "i don’t hate you as a person."

you look at him, really look at him.

his hands are shoved deep into his pockets. his eyes are focused on the sidewalk. his voice isn’t angry. it isn’t distant. it’s just… tired.

"okay," you say. because you don’t know what else to say.

wait, why the fuck did you say 'okay'? oh god. that's like.. the last response you should give to that.

"but you hate me for what i did. and for what you think i did." you say, your voice shaking slightly.

"i don't think it's possible not to hate someone who kind of bullied your sister. it's kind of in destiny, isn't it?" you pause, "especially when you believe i even made her commit suicide. so don't worry, you don't have to lie for the sake of hana." you say, dryly chuckling, your tone laced with sarcasm and something else sunghoon couldn't decipher. he never really could decipher you. ever.

your smile shines like gold,

sunghoon's chest tightens. it's in destiny, you said.

"so, i know you will always hate me, no matter what. anyone would hate me."

you paused, before continuing. "so don't feed me any lies. we just aren't the type of people who are going to be close."

but your words feel so cold.

and even though you were saying all this to him, it felt like you were convincing yourself more than anything. reminding yourself, even.

giving yourself a check of reality.

"..alright." sunghoon replied, dryly.

you feel your shoulders slump even more, did you really expect him to say you were wrong? of course you were right.

and that’s the worst part. because for a second, you want him to tell you you're wrong.

he looks at you finally.

the more time passes, the more you resemble me,

you walk the rest of the way without speaking.

sunghoon knew you were right, in a way. he didn't trust you, he wasn't forgiving of you and he wasn't even sure how innocent you were.

sometimes, i feel like karma is chasing me.

but, as you walked away, all he wanted to do was to telling you how wrong you were.

that deep down, the hate was slipping from his grip, no matter how hard he tried to hold onto it.

the night was too still. too quiet.

in your room, the air sat heavy, pressing against your lungs like smoke that wouldn’t clear. your curtains swayed with the faintest breeze sneaking in through a crack in the window, the kind that whispered more than it moved. you lay on the floor instead of your bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, replaying the conversation after the seminar like it was projected above you.

"i don’t hate you as a person." he’d said it, voice steady. and when you said he was wrong, he didn't correct you.

everyone forces a smile,

your own words clawed back at you now, harsher than when they left your mouth. destiny. you’d used the word like it was final, like some carved-in-stone prophecy. maybe it was. maybe no matter how much you smiled or how much you tried to breathe normally around him, there would always be this invisible wall, born of history and sharpened by guilt.

your phone buzzed once on the floor next to you, some pointless notification, but you didn’t move. all you could see was hana’s face in your mind’s eye, and the way sunghoon’s jaw had clenched when you said those words.

somewhere across the city, sunghoon sat hunched at his desk, a glass of water untouched by his hand. his room was swallowed by shadows, only the weak yellow glow of the desk lamp spilling across the papers scattered in front of him. he wasn’t reading them. he wasn’t moving.

his ears still rang with your voice. "anyone would hate me."

hiding the truth, pretending they're happy.

hate. the word gnawed at him. he didn’t want it—not from you, not from himself—but it lived in the spaces between his ribs anyway. and still, everyday he would wake up and embrace it like it's the only thing he knows.

every time he closed his eyes, he saw hana laughing, then saw hana crying, and somewhere in the blur of both, he saw you. always you.

he pressed his fingers against his temples, eyes squeezed shut. why would she say that like it was nothing? why would she sound like she believed it more than i do?

the water in the glass rippled faintly when he finally pushed back from the desk. he walked to the window, pulled it open, and leaned out just enough for the night air to hit his face. the streetlamps outside cast their pale orange glow over the empty sidewalks, a city asleep, but it still felt like someone was watching him. like a pair of eyes were trained on him from miles away.

your eyes, maybe.

within the word "love",

back in your room, you sat up finally, pulled your knees to your chest. you hugged them tightly, chin digging into bone, as though you could hold yourself together if you made yourself small enough. the clock ticked faintly on the wall. each second echoed louder than the last.

and even then, the guilt inside you would echo louder than it all. the echo of ruining it all. the echo of something you could never have.

the thought evaporated into the air, vanishing before they could be proven wrong.

a hidden lie is buried, as if it would last forever.

sunghoon felt lost, like the city lights blurred in his eyes, unable to truly form themselves into something coherent. something he could understand and face.

and in that split second of parallel silence, two different rooms—two different hearts—beat against the same ache.

the next few days go by in a blur of classes, assignments, and trying to figure out how to bring up the fact you got rina's number to sunghoon.

it shouldn't be hard. it isn’t like you haven’t texted him before. you both have, plenty of times, but only about leads, possible theories, or where to meet up next. nothing outside the neat little lines of "the case."

so in theory, this should be easy. just another update.

but it doesn’t feel easy. it feels like the equivalent of sitting down for a final exam you barely studied for. your chest tightens every time you think about hitting send.

all because of the way things ended last time. that heated, awkward silence clinging to you after the conversation.

you should’ve known better. you should’ve known talking to sunghoon about anything outside the case would only make things worse.

ugh. you groan into your hands, the sound muffled as your head drops down onto the library desk.

when you finally peel your cheek off the cool surface of the desk and shove your books back into your bag, the campus is quieter than usual. most people have left for the day. the air outside is dusky, carrying the faint smell of autumn leaves and the faint hum of traffic.

you’re halfway across the quad when a familiar voice calls out, warm and casual,

"hey, stranger."

you glance up to see heeseung leaning against one of the brick pillars near the entrance, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his smile easy—like he’d been waiting, but won’t admit it.

"didn’t think i’d catch you here this late," he adds, pushing off the wall to stroll toward you.

"didn’t think anyone would," you say, adjusting the strap of your bag.

someday, at the end of the world,

he grins, boyish and a little smug. "you make it sound like you're invisible."

"hm, kind wish i was." you raise your eyebrows, grinning.

he laughs at that, low and genuine, his eyes crinkling. "ouch. and here i was gonna say you brightened my evening."

you roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. you knew, even from your small interactions, that heeseung kind of has that effect—turning even the simplest words into something that sticks with you. "oh, you sure did."

you were technically joking, but the statement still had a bit of truth to it.

he falls into step beside you without asking, hands swinging loosely at his sides. "so, library this late? what’s the verdict, cramming last minute or trying to steal the top rank?"

"maybe both."

"ah, dangerous combo," he says with mock seriousness. "goodluck, i would not want to be you. thank god, i'm exam free for the rest of the month."

left all alone, i might still long for you, yeah.

you groan, glaring at him playfully. "oh, fuck off. thanks for the reminder on how miserable my university life is."

"you're welcome." heeseung responds, being met with a scoff from you. "you're ridiculous."

"ridiculously charming, yes." he corrects smoothly, flashing you a grin before softening it into something gentler. "seriously, though. don’t overwork yourself too much."

the way he says it, casual but sincere, makes your chest tug unexpectedly.

"when i first met you, i thought you were an introvert," you say, lazily leaning back against the wall, your voice carrying that casual lilt like you’re not trying too hard. the memory slips into your tone as you refer back to that day—you, catching sight of him with sunghoon, mistaking his quietness for shyness.

heeseung tilts his head, the corners of his mouth tugging up. "well, in a way, i am," he admits, nodding like he’s letting you in on a secret.

you let out a short laugh, eyebrows arching as you glance at him. "this is what you call introvert?" the question hangs in the air, teasing, almost daring him to explain himself.

he leans a little closer, that boyish grin flashing as if he’s been waiting for the setup. "well," he says smoothly, "i’m much more talkative around someone as pretty as you."

the words should sound rehearsed, maybe even cheesy, but the way heeseung delivers them—light, effortless, with a glimmer of sincerity tucked behind the teasing—makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to admit.

you scoff, trying to mask it, but your lips twitch. "so what, you’re saying you save all your words for me?"

heeseung smirks, leaning back against the wall beside you now, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushes yours. "guess you make it worth talking."

you tilt your head, narrowing your eyes at him, pretending to scrutinize. "hm. i dunno, sounds like a line you use often."

"oops, you caught me." he laughs, shaking his head.

you crack out a smile at his honesty, humming thoughtfully, letting the silence stretch for a second, then quip, "unlucky me, then. here i thought i was getting the exclusive package. hopefully i'll get it next time?" you finish, winking mockingly.

the way you say it—half mocking, half amused—earns another laugh from him, softer this time. "see? you’re quick. i like that."

you walk together until you reach the edge of campus, where your paths should split. but instead of leaving, heeseung lingers, rocking back on his heels as he looks at you.

"hey," he says suddenly, tilting his head. "mind if i get your number?"

the question takes you off guard. "my number?"

"yeah," he says, like it’s obvious, like it’s nothing big. "you know. in case i ever need help deciphering life’s mysteries. or if i think of a really good joke i don’t want going to waste."

his grin is lopsided, playful, but his eyes are steady on you, warm.

someday, at the end of sorrow,

you nod, taking out your phone and holding it out to him, a soft grin on your face too.

heeseung takes it carefully, his fingers brushing yours just enough to make you hyperaware. he types quickly, then hands it back, and when you glance down, you see a new contact: heeseung with a hat emoji accompanied with it.

you look up at him with raised brows. "the emoji?"

"essential," he replies easily, like he’d already thought about it. "otherwise you’ll forget how cool i am."

you snort. "right. because that’s what would make me remember."

his grin widens, like he’s won something anyway. "don’t worry. i’ll prove it over text. i’m even funnier with emojis."

he steps back slowly, walking backward a few paces before lifting a hand in a lazy wave. "see you around."

when you first met him, you'd never thought you'd talk to him more then anything beyond sunghoon. but honestly, you're glad you did. he's cool, you suppose. you were glad you both had gotten over the whole awkwardness too, especially of overhearing him calling you hot.

tamed by it, i might end up regretting everything.

and as you finally turn and head off in the opposite direction, you realize you’re smiling, the weight on your chest just a little lighter than before.

you’re quite tired by the time you get home. it isn’t like today was particularly draining, just classes, the walk back, a few errands—but it still was a lot compared to most other days.

you toss your bag onto the corner of your bed, not bothering to unpack, and collapse face-first into the mattress for a few seconds. muffled into the sheets, you groan, then roll over, pulling your phone out of your pocket.

the bright screen stings your eyes in the dim light of your room. you blink through it, scrolling aimlessly for a moment before hovering over your contacts.

there, just a few names down, is heeseung. his number saved fresh from earlier that day, his name sitting there like it's telling you something. you don’t even know why your thumb lingers on it. it’s not like you have anything to say to him. but the memory of his smile, his voice, the way he leaned in just a little too close—all of it replays louder than you’d like.

you tilt your head, locking your phone for a second as if that could erase the thought. "get a grip," you mutter under your breath, flipping onto your back.

but the truth is, that’s not the text you should be worrying about. it's not even the text you care about right now.

sunghoon.

the name itself knots something in your stomach. this shouldn’t be difficult. it’s just a text about the case. about rina. about progress. nothing more. you two had already exchanged numbers for this exact reason, and yet, somehow, it feels like you’re standing at the edge of a cliff every time you think about pressing send.

you unlock your phone again, thumb scrolling until his name appears. sunghoon. plain, sharp, exactly like him. no emoji next to his name.

for a moment you just stare at the chat history. short messages, mostly times and addresses, clipped words, all business. not a single trace of warmth in the chat bubbles. all strictly hana. you sigh, open the keyboard, type, erase, type again.

finally, you let your fingers still and force yourself to breathe.

"hey. i got rina’s number."

you stare at it. too blunt? maybe add something else.

"hey. i got rina’s number. thought you’d want to know."

wait, no! why do you even care if it's blunt?

still, your thumb hovers over the send button like it weighs ten pounds. you can almost hear his dry, unreadable tone in your head, imagine the sharpness in his reply. what if he doesn’t care? what if he thinks you’re making it a bigger deal than it is?

but before you can second-guess again, you exhale and press send.

the message sits there, two little grey ticks staring back at you, mocking your anticipation. you set the phone down beside you and stare at the ceiling, heart beating faster than it should for something so small.

the seconds stretch into minutes. each buzz of a car outside, each creak of the building makes you flinch, like it could be your phone vibrating with his reply.

finally, it does.

your hand shoots out instantly, snatching it up before you can talk yourself out of it.

his name lights up the screen.

"when did you get it?"

the reply is short, but at least it’s not cold. your shoulders ease a little as you type back.

"just earlier. i asked my friend yunchae to get it for me. she passed it to me today."

the dots appear, disappear, reappear.

"we should plan when to call her. better to do it together."

you bite your lip, reading it twice. it’s practical. sharp. but something about that "together" feels heavier than it should. is that really necessary?

you type back before you can think too hard.

"yeah. just tell me when and where."

you hover for a second, tempted to add something—sounds good or thanks or even just an emoji—but you stop yourself. better to keep it neutral.

better to keep it simple and formal.

in the end, you both decided to meet up after eating lunch at the cafeteria and then head to the university rooftop. sure, the rooftop was an odd choice but it was the only semi-secluded area in the university.

the cafeteria is buzzing with chatter, trays clattering, the low hum of students spilling in after lectures. you spot him before he sees you, sunghoon, already sitting at the far end near the window, hood pulled over his head even though you can recognize him anywhere. he doesn’t wave you over, of course. that’s not his style.

you didn't really feel like eating lunch today so you decided to just have some chocolate and wait it out until sunghoon came.

for a while, it’s just the noise of students eating, making conversation. the occasional scrape of utensils, the chatter from the other tables filling in the space around you.. and weirdly enough, it isn’t unbearable.

your eyes drift to the window beside him. outside, the sky is shifting into early evening, streaks of gold and gray fading slowly. you don’t know why, but it feels like foreshadowing.

the two of you head to the rooftop, neither of you saying much, the tension from that conversation still hanging in the air. trays stacked, steps echoing as you both head up the narrow stairwell, the air growing cooler as you push open the heavy door to the rooftop.

the view hits you instantly—the sprawl of the campus, the faint buzz of the city beyond, the wind tugging at your hair. sunghoon steps ahead, pulling his phone out of his pocket, his jaw tight.

"you want to do it, or should i?" he asks, glancing over at you.

"you should," you pause, "she’ll probably take it more seriously if it’s you." and finish before looking out towards the campus, your eyes filled with a sense of unease.

his fingers hover over your chat history, scrolling to the number you’d given him earlier, and pressing call.

the ringtone drags on, each buzz pushing your pulse a little higher. you hated confrontation.

beside you, sunghoon sits rigid, eyes fixed on the floor, the phone pressed tight to his ear. finally, the line clicks.

"hello?"

sunghoon swallows, his voice steadier than he feels. "is this rina?"

there’s a beat of silence, then a wary reply. "…who’s asking?"

"park sunghoon," he says, glancing briefly at you before adding, "hana’s brother."

another pause. the faintest sound of breath catching, then a softer voice: "oh. i’m… i’m so sorry for what happened to her—"

"i need to ask you something," he cuts in, careful but firm, ignoring the condolence. "about hana."

you watch the way his shoulders tense, his grip tightening around the phone as the girl on the other end falters.

"you’re asking me?" rina says quietly, almost incredulous. "sunghoon, i don’t think i’m the right person to talk to you about her. i don’t think i ever really understood hana. i thought i did, but…" her voice trails off. "i’m sorry."

his brows knit together, frustration slipping into his tone. "weren’t you her friend? shouldn’t you be the best person for me to ask?"

there's a small, brittle laugh, like she doesn't quite believe the word herself. "friend. maybe once. but honestly… i think i had more questions about hana than answers. she was… hard to read. i'd feel bad for her, for everything she went through, and then she'd say things that made me wonder if she even wanted anything to change."

sunghoon’s jaw tightens. "what do you mean?"

rina exhales slowly, her voice dropping into something almost secretive. "sometimes she'd sound so… certain. like she liked the way things were. or like… she wanted it that way. it confused me. scared me, even." another pause, her tone flickering with regret. "i probably shouldn't be saying this."

"no," sunghoon presses, sharper now, urgency leaking through his composure. "please. anything you know, anything that ever felt off—tell me."

the line goes quiet for a moment. then rina’s voice returns, quieter, hesitant. "we stopped talking for most of the summer. but at the end of it, she called me. we spoke for a while, nothing unusual. and when i asked her about that girl…"

you freeze, breath caught in your throat.

"…all she said was that she sent her a message that night."

the world tilts. your chest tightens as you risk a glance at sunghoon—his expression doesn’t shift, but his eyes flicker, confusion threading into suspicion.

"..anything else?" he asks, voice low, almost strangled.

rina sighs, defeated. "i don't think i can tell you anything else, sunghoon. like i said, i started wondering if i ever knew her at all. sometimes it felt like she was… unraveling. spiraling, even. and it isn't my place to comment on something like that. she deserves better." a pause, then a small, broken murmur. "i'm sorry. truly."

before he can respond, the line clicks dead.

he lowers the phone slowly, staring at the dark screen as if he can will it back on. silence hangs heavy in the air, pressing into your skin.

the rooftop felt colder now, though the air hadn’t changed. maybe it was just the way sunghoon’s silence stretched after the call ended, long and cutting, like he was forcing himself not to explode. then, finally, he turns.

his gaze finds yours—sharp, burning, devastating in its clarity.

"you knew."

the words aren’t a statement. they’re an accusation.

your lips part, but nothing comes out at first. the wind whips between you, cold and biting.

your stomach twisted. "i did."

"and you kept it to yourself." his tone was flat, clipped, but the weight behind it was heavy.

you crossed your arms, more to steady yourself than anything else. "it isn't my duty to tell you anything. especially about hana."

he scoffed, shaking his head. "so you get to pick and choose what i hear? what i don’t?"

"don’t twist this," you snapped, heat rising in your voice despite yourself. "i didn’t owe you anything, sunghoon. not then, not now. the only reason i’m even here— the only reason i agreed to work with you— is to clear my name. not to babysit your grief."

that struck something. his eyes narrowed, sharp and cold, though underneath you could see it — the flicker of hurt he would never admit to.

he stepped closer. "so what else is there? what else have you been sitting on, waiting for the right time to throw at me?"

you held your ground, though the railing pressed hard into your back now. "believe me, if i wanted to use what i know against you, i would’ve done it the day you called me a murderer."

his jaw tightened, anger flashing again. "then why does it feel like you’re still holding something back?"

"because you don’t trust me," you shot back, voice low, steady. "and maybe you never will. but don’t pretend i owe you every ugly truth i’ve picked up along the way just because you finally realized your sister wasn’t who you thought she was. it's not my place. don't act like you weren't the person who was unwilling to listen to me in the beginning."

the words landed heavy between you, heavier than you intended, but they were true. you spoke again, "and i will not be the one you blame when the perfect image you built of your sister comes crumbling down."

his breath came sharp through his nose, and without realizing it, he’d closed the space between you. the railing dug into your lower back, and suddenly you were far too aware of the drop just inches behind you.

you shifted your weight, but his movement mirrored yours, cornering you. his gaze locked on yours, hard and demanding, not out of entitlement but desperation.

"then tell me this," he said, his voice lower now, almost shaking. "are you hiding because you don’t care, or because you’re scared of what i’ll do when i know everything?"

your hands curled tight around the railing, knuckles white. "you think too highly of yourself if you believe i’m scared of you or even care about you."

but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

"if you really are as you say, why didn’t you tell me about the text and disprove your involvement?"

and just like that, your heart plummets.

he’s right. he’s painfully, devastatingly right.

why didn’t you tell him?

fade away (fade away), fade away (fade away),

you could have. you could have opened your mouth in that moment, let the truth pour out, shoved the proof into his hands until he had no choice but to see you clearly. but you didn’t. you stayed quiet. you let the silence build, you let his doubt harden, you let yourself become exactly what he thinks you are.

and now the question twists itself inside you: did you not say it because you didn’t care enough to fight? or because—deep down—you too believed you were guilty? believed that maybe you really were part of the reason, that maybe you didn’t deserve to be seen as innocent, that maybe the weight pressing on your chest is something you earned.

fade away (fade away), fade away (fade away),

your throat tightens. your lungs burn. it’s not just guilt anymore—it’s the suspicion that somewhere inside you, a darker part whispered that this was easier. easier than clawing for belief you were never going to get. easier than proving yourself to someone who already decided you were guilty.

the silence stretches, and you realize your hands are trembling.

did you fail to defend yourself… because you were afraid he wouldn’t believe you anyway? or because some small, fractured part of you thinks you don’t deserve to be believed at all?

fade away (fade away), fade away (fade away),

the thought makes you sick.

and maybe you couldn’t even find the strength to let hana’s image collapse in front of him.

because if you had told him about the text, if you had laid it all bare, it wouldn’t have only freed you—it would have destroyed her. and some part of you, twisted and broken as it is, couldn’t do it. even after everything she did. even after the scars she left on you that no one ever saw.

fade away (fade away),

you were always like that. you hated confrontation.

even with yourself.

a part of you still pitied her. hated her, yes. resented her, endlessly. but pitied her too.

just like how you pitied yourself sometimes. you'd wonder sometimes. did you envy her or did you see a twisted, different version of you in her?

fade away (fade away),

you want to scream the truth now, to claw your way out of the cage you locked yourself in. but your voice stays trapped in your throat, strangled by fear and that gnawing question that won’t leave you alone:

if you really cared—if you really wanted to be free— why didn’t you say anything?

you shook your head, your hands gripping the cold metal railing to ground yourself. shit, shit, shit, what is wrong with you? "sunghoon, stop—"

your body jolted, breath catching in your throat as panic shot through you.

your throat burned, your vision blurred. you pressed harder against the railing, needing its chill to anchor you, to keep you from collapsing under his words. but the harder he pushed, the more you felt yourself unraveling too.

"why?" he demanded, voice cracking, almost breaking. "you could’ve cleared your name, you could’ve—"

"because i couldn’t!" you snapped, the sound tearing from you raw, unpracticed. your chest heaved as silence rushed in after. his face stilled, shock flickering across his features, but your own panic only rose higher, choking you. "i couldn’t… i just.. fucking couldn't."

his lips parted. nothing came out.

the words hung between you like poison, like glass shattered on concrete. your hands slipped slightly against the railing, slick with sweat, and suddenly his gaze dropped—not to your face, not to your shaking shoulders, but to where you were standing.

and that’s when it hit him.

how close. too close.

the wind tugging at your hair. the dizzying distance down. the way your heels teetered on the edge, your body leaning back just slightly, unsteady with the storm inside your head.

his stomach dropped, terror flooding every inch of him.

"y/n-" his voice broke, desperate, and before you could move, his hands shot forward, gripping your arms, yanking you back with a force that almost sent both of you tumbling.

you crashed into his chest, breath punched out of you, and for the first time since he started demanding answers, there was no accusation in his eyes—only horror.

only regret.

he looked at you like he was staring at a ghost, like he’d nearly lost you without even realizing it. like he'd actually cared, at that moment.

like all those weeks of moving between the edges of partners and enemies came crashing down to this.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. his grip on your wrist was firm, almost too tight, but the look in his eyes wasn’t anger anymore. it was something rawer, something that unsettled you in a completely different way.

both of you turned, slowly, together. and when your eyes fell on the drop just inches from where you stood—

your stomach hollowed out, and his grip only tightened.

if he hadn’t pulled you back, if he hadn’t looked down when he did—

you would’ve been gone.

and he would've been the one to push you.

end note: this chapter was filled with just a lot of sunghoon and reader shit and angst sigh nd petition again for sunghoon and his family this time to get therapy

taglist: @arcvillie @mochi13 @chocminteu @outroherrr @gyurilla @supershy3 @woibeb @saraabbas @nithxhoon @dajeong-cats @rairaiblog @beebopisjustwatching @rikidaze @renlikecookies @graythecoffeebean @ginjey19 @semi-wife @valesunae @desistay @wonnina

(sorry if i missed anyone, please lmk if i missed u) mdni, feedback and reblogs, comments and likes appreciated. hate comments will be deleted. please let me know either in the comments or inbox if you want to be added to the taglist <33