❧𝐛𝐚𝐞☙

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

Jake's fork scraped against the plate, a grating sound that made Jay wince. It had been sitting there for the better part of three minutes, trapped between Jake's fingers and the congealing remains of his pasta. His hand was still. His eyes were open, but barely.

"Dude." Nothing. Jay kicked him under the table.

Jake jerked upright, blinking hard. The fork clattered onto the plate. "What?"

"You were asleep." Jay leaned forward, arms crossing over his chest. 

"I wasn't!" Jake rubbed his face with both hands, pressing his palms into his eyes hard enough that Jay could see the pressure whiten his knuckles. When he dropped them, his eyes were red-rimmed and unfocused. "I'm awake."

"You were holding a fork and drooling," Jay said. There was something almost gentle underneath the bluntness, the kind of concern that came out sideways because saying it straight felt too vulnerable.

"I wasn't drooling."

"You were definitely drooling." Sunghoon hadn't looked up from his phone. He was scrolling through something, thumb moving in lazy circles, but Jake knew he was paying attention. Sunghoon always paid attention, even when he pretended not to.

Jake looked down at his plate like he was trying to remember how it had gotten there. His pasta was half-eaten, pushed around more than consumed. The garlic bread sat untouched, cooling into something dense and unappetizing. He'd ordered it specifically because Jay told him to eat something with actual calories in it, and now it was just taking up space, another small failure in a series of them. The café around them hummed with the low murmur of conversation, the hiss of the espresso machine, the scrape of chairs against tile. It smelled like burnt coffee and something sweet that had been sitting under the heat lamp too long. The afternoon light slanted through the windows in pale, exhausted streaks, and Jake felt every bit as wrung out as the day looked.

Jay was still staring at him. "When's the last time you slept?"

"Last night."

"For how long?"

Jake didn't answer right away. He picked up his water glass instead, drank from it slowly, buying time. The ice had melted into pale slivers, and the water tasted faintly metallic. He could feel both of them watching him, waiting, and the weight of their attention made his shoulders want to curl inward.

"Jake."

"I don't know. A few hours."

"A few hours." Jay repeated it like he was testing the words, seeing if they sounded any less absurd the second time. He looked at Sunghoon, who finally glanced up from his phone, expression unreadable but pointed. "That's what we're calling it now?"

"It's fine," Jake said, and even he didn't believe it.

"You're falling asleep into your lunch. That's not fine." Jay's voice had gone quieter, which was somehow worse than if he'd yelled. Yelling, Jake could brush off. This careful, deliberate concern was harder to ignore.

Jake set the glass down too carefully, concentrating on not spilling it. His hands weren't shaking, but they weren't steady either. "I'm just tired."

"Yeah, no shit."

Sunghoon pocketed his phone, which was when Jake knew this had escalated past casual worry into something heavier. Sunghoon only put his phone away entirely when things were serious, when he needed both hands free or both eyes focused. He didn't say anything yet, just watched Jake with that patient, unblinking attention that made people confess things they hadn't meant to. It was the same look he'd had two years ago when Jake had finally admitted the night terrors had started, the same look he'd had last semester when Jake showed up at his door at three in the morning because he couldn't be alone in his apartment anymore.

Jake looked away first.  "You're both looking at me like I'm about to keel over."

"You literally just fell asleep holding a fork," Jay said. "We're a little worried."

"I'm fine." The words came out automatic, reflexive, the same thing he'd been saying for weeks now. Months, maybe. He'd lost track.

"You're not fine. You look like shit." Jay said it bluntly. 

Jake's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Thanks."

"I'm serious." Jay leaned forward, elbows on the table, and his sandwich sat forgotten beside him, half-wrapped and leaking sauce onto the paper. "When's the last time you actually slept through the night?"

Jake looked toward the window, where a couple of students were walking past with their backpacks slung over one shoulder, laughing about something he couldn't hear. The world outside looked normal. He wondered what that felt like.

"I don't know," he said finally, because the truth was he genuinely couldn't remember. The nights had started blurring together sometime around midterms, a smear of dark hours and fragmented sleep and waking up with his heart trying to punch through his ribs.

"Weeks?" Sunghoon asked.

"Maybe." Jake picked up his fork again, stabbed a piece of pasta, and put it in his mouth without tasting it. Chewed. Swallowed. The motion was mechanical, something to fill the silence with other than the answer they wanted.

Then Jay sighed, the kind of exhale that said he'd made a decision. "We can stay over tonight."

"No." The word came out faster than Jake meant it to, sharp enough that the girl at the table next to them glanced over.

"You're not fine, and you know it. We can just crash on your couch. You don't even have to talk to us. We'll bring food, we'll stay out of your way, we'll just be there."

"I said no." Jake's grip on his fork tightened, knuckles going white. He could feel the panic starting to creep up the back of his throat, that familiar tightness that came whenever someone got too close to the truth of how bad it had gotten. They'd stayed over before, back when the night terrors first started, back when he still thought they might go away on their own. They'd seen him wake up gasping, seen him cry without knowing why, seen him stumble out of his bedroom at four in the morning looking like he'd been through a war. But that was years ago, and he'd gotten better at hiding it since then, better at managing it alone. Or he thought he had. Recently, though—

The sharpness in his own voice surprised him, and the table went quiet. Jay sat back, jaw tight, that muscle jumping near his ear the way it did when he was biting back something he wanted to say.

"We've done this before," Jay said, softer now, and there was something almost pleading in it. "It's not a big deal."

"It is to me," Jake said. His voice came out quieter than he meant, almost lost under the ambient noise of the café. 

"Why?"

Jake didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat had gone tight, and swallowing felt like work. He could tell them that the night terrors had changed, that they weren't just bad anymore but unbearable, that he'd started dreading sleep the way some people dreaded plane crashes or terminal diagnoses. He could tell them that last week he'd woken up on his bedroom floor with no memory of how he got there, that two nights ago he'd woken up screaming so loud his neighbor had knocked on the door to make sure he was okay. He could tell them he was afraid that if they stayed over and saw how bad it really was, they'd look at him differently, like he was broken in a way that couldn't be fixed.

Sunghoon spoke before Jay could push further. "We've seen each other at our lowest. You know that, right? I mean it. Jay cried for two hours when his dog died sophomore year. I had food poisoning so bad I couldn't get off the bathroom floor. You held my hair back while I puked into your toilet. None of us are keeping score."

Jay nodded, picking up the thread. "We're not going to judge you for having a bad night. Or a bad week. Or however long this has been going on. We've been there before, remember? You've let us stay over when it got bad. This isn't new."

"It's different now," Jake said, the words coming out before he could stop them.

"Different how?"

Jake set the fork down. His hands disappeared under the table, into his lap, where they could curl into fists without anyone seeing. "I don't want you there when it happens."

Jay frowned, leaning forward slightly. "When what happens?"

"The—" Jake stopped. His jaw clenched hard enough that it ached. "You know."

"The night terrors," Sunghoon said, not a question, just a statement of fact.

Jake flinched. He nodded once, a sharp, reluctant jerk of his head, and hated how small it made him feel.

"We've dealt with those before too," Jay said. There was something almost desperate in the reassurance, like if he just said the right thing, Jake would let them help.

"Not like this." Jake's voice was flat, drained of inflection.

"What do you mean, not like this?" Jay asked, and he sounded genuinely confused, like he couldn't fathom what could be worse than what they'd already seen.

Jake shook his head slowly. "It's worse. It's been worse.” He stopped again, exhaled hard through his nose, the breath shaking slightly on the way out. "I don't want you to see it." 

Jay wanted to push. Jake could feel it, the way you could feel a storm building on the horizon. But instead, Jay just exhaled slowly and said, "Okay."

Jake's head snapped up. "What?"

"Okay. We'll drop it." Jay picked up his sandwich, unwrapped it the rest of the way with deliberate, careful movements.

Jake blinked, caught off guard. They never dropped it. Jay especially never dropped it. "Really?"

"Yeah." Jay took a bite, chewed, swallowed, all while maintaining eye contact. "But you're still texting us when you get home."

"Fine," Jake muttered, because arguing would take more energy than he had, and besides, he could always just... not text them. They'd be annoyed, maybe, but they wouldn't actually show up. Probably.

"Good," Jay said, and some of the tension bled out of his shoulders. He took another bite of his sandwich, and the conversation shifted, drifted toward safer territory. Sunghoon mentioned an assignment he was procrastinating on, something about a group project where half the group wasn't pulling their weight. Jay started complaining about a show he'd been watching, talking too fast the way he always did when he got excited about something, gesturing with his half-eaten sandwich in a way that made the guy at the next table lean slightly away.

Jake contributed when prompted, but his answers were short, distracted. His eyes kept losing focus, drifting toward the window or the middle distance, pulled somewhere else entirely. The exhaustion sat behind his eyes like a physical weight, dragging at him, making his thoughts feel slow and thick. He picked at his pasta without eating it, moved the garlic bread from one side of his plate to the other, drank his water in small, measured sips. The conversation washed over him like white noise, familiar and distant at the same time.

By the time Jay flagged down their server and paid the check, Jake looked worse than when they'd arrived. The brief nap, if you could even call it that, hadn't helped. If anything, it had made him look more wrung out, like his body had tasted rest and resented being denied it. His eyes were heavier now, lids drooping despite his best efforts to keep them open. His face had that grayish tint that came from too many sleepless nights strung together, the kind of exhaustion that went bone-deep.

Outside, the late afternoon air was cool, almost cold, carrying the first real bite of autumn. Jake shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and hunched his shoulders against the wind, which cut through the fabric like it wasn't there. The sun was already starting to sink, casting long shadows across the pavement, and Jake felt a familiar dread settle in his stomach. Another few hours until he'd have to decide whether to sleep or keep himself awake, whether to face what waited for him in his dreams or suffer through another night of forced consciousness.

He didn't say goodbye, just nodded once in their general direction and started walking in the direction of his apartment, his stride a little uneven, his gait slower than usual. He could feel their eyes on his back, the weight of their concern following him down the block, but he didn't turn around.

────୨ৎ────

The file lands in your assignment queue at 11:47 PM, which is typical. They always send the hard cases at night, like the timing will soften the blow.

You open it. Male, early twenties, severe night terrors since adolescence, chronic insomnia, three previous guardians rotated off due to lack of progress. Of course. You scroll down. History of sleep avoidance, documented panic attacks during REM cycles, persistent nightmares characterized by looping scenarios and high-intensity fear response. The notes from the previous guardians are clinical, but you can read between the lines.

You close the file and stare at the ceiling of the archive room.

Jungwon is sitting across from you, already reading through his own assignment with that focused, unbothered expression he always has. He's been a guardian longer than you have, but somehow he still manages to look peaceful about it, like this work hasn't worn him down to raw nerves and resentment yet. You don't know how he does it. 

"What did you get?" you ask, even though you already know the answer won't make you feel better.

He glances up, blinking like he's surfacing from deep water. "Eight-year-old. Scared his teeth are falling out. The adult ones are coming in, and he keeps dreaming they all come loose at once."

You stare at him. "That's it?"

"Well, there's some anxiety around the dentist, and his parents recently divorced, so there's probably some underlying fear of instability manifesting as—"

"And mine," you interrupt, because if you let him finish that sentence you're going to scream, "is a twenty-something with severe night terrors, chronic insomnia, and a history of three failed guardian rotations."

"That does sound difficult," he says, and he means it, which somehow makes it worse.

"Difficult." You laugh, sharp and humorless. "That's one word for it."

"What would you prefer?"

"Impossible. A waste of my time." You open the file again, skim the details you've already read twice. The previous guardians left notes. Dreamer exhibits extreme resistance to standard interventions. Nightmares intensify with direct contact. Recommend specialized assignment, which is code for we couldn't handle this, so we're passing it to someone who can.

That someone is always you.

"Have you asked for reassignment?" Jungwon asks, and his voice is careful, gentle, like he's trying not to spook you.

"To what?" You don't look at him. You're still reading, even though you've memorized every word by now. "Another hard case? They'll just give me something equally bad. Or worse."

"You could request a break."

"When's the last time you saw anyone get a break?" You close the file again, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands hard enough that spots bloom behind your eyelids. "I'll manage."

"I know you will," Jungwon says, and he sounds so certain, so completely convinced of your competence, that you want to tell him to stop. 

You just nod, pick up the file, and stand. The archive room shifts around you, responding to your intention to leave, the walls thinning and curving until there's a doorway where there wasn't one before.

"Good luck," Jungwon says behind you.

You don't respond. Luck has nothing to do with it.

The dreamer's name is Jake. You learn this from the file, along with a dozen other details that paint a picture of someone who has been suffering for years and will likely continue suffering for years more. The night terrors started when he was sixteen, seventeen, somewhere in that range. 

You've handled cases like this before. The protocol is straightforward: observe, stabilize, regulate the dream cycles, minimize harm. Do not intervene beyond what is necessary. Do not get involved. Do not stay longer than three months unless there are extenuating circumstances.

The first night, you don't do anything. You just observe.

Jake falls asleep at 2:17 AM, which tells you everything you need to know about his sleep schedule. He's been awake for hours, fighting it, and his body finally gave out. The dreams start almost immediately, bypassing the usual descent into deeper sleep. His subconscious is a mess, fragmented and volatile. 

You stand at the edge of it and catalog what you see. The dream has no coherent setting, just a series of overlapping spaces that bleed into each other without logic or transition. A hallway that becomes a staircase that becomes a room with no doors. The lighting is wrong, too harsh and too dim at the same time, casting shadows that don't match the objects creating them. Everything feels precarious, like it's barely holding together.

And then the nightmare starts.

You've seen worse, but not by much. It's a classic looping scenario, the kind that traps a dreamer in repetition until they wake from sheer exhaustion or panic. He's looking for something, searching through the nonsensical architecture of his own mind, and every time he gets close, the dream resets. The walls shift. The doors disappear.

The nightmare cycles three more times before his body forces him awake. He sits up in bed gasping, and you can feel the echo of his panic even though you're not fully inside the dream anymore. His heart rate is erratic. His hands are shaking. He reaches for the lamp on his bedside table and turns it on, flooding the room with light. He just sits there, breathing hard, waiting for his body to believe that he's safe.

He's not going to fall asleep again. You can tell from the way he's already reaching for his phone, the way he's pushing the blankets off like the bed is contaminated. He'll stay awake until morning, running on fumes and adrenaline, and tomorrow night will be the same.

You pull back, disconnecting from his dream space, and return to the archive room, where Jungwon is probably already asleep and dreaming pleasant, uncomplicated dreams about children who are afraid of dentists.

────୨ৎ────

You try again the next night.

Jake's dreamscape is there, technically, but it's barely holding form. You've seen this before in dreamers with severe insomnia, the way their subconscious becomes hostile territory when they've been awake too long. The space rejects you before you can even fully enter, pushing back like a hand against your chest. The edges are serrated, sharp with exhaustion and anxiety, and the few images that do surface are fragmented beyond recognition. A door handle. The corner of a ceiling. Someone's voice, distorted and layered over itself until it's just noise.

He's not asleep. Not really. His body might be horizontal, his eyes might be closed, but his mind is still running, still fighting, caught in that terrible in-between state where rest is impossible and waking is unbearable.

You pull back. There's nothing you can do here. The protocol is clear: you can't stabilize a dreamer who isn't dreaming.

The second night is worse.

You enter the edges of his dreamscape and immediately feel the wrongness of it. The space is collapsing in on itself, folding and refolding like paper in a fist. His subconscious is eating itself, turning inward with nowhere else to go.

You try to anchor yourself somewhere stable enough to work, but the dreamscape lurches and spits you out. The rejection is almost physical, a shove that sends you back to the archive room with your equilibrium spinning.

Jungwon glances up from his own work. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," you say, even though you're not. Your hands are trembling slightly, residual feedback from the ejection. It doesn't usually hit you this hard, but Jake's dreamscape is particularly volatile. Two nights of forced wakefulness have turned his subconscious into a minefield.

The third night, you don't even bother trying to enter. You can feel the dreamscape from a distance, and you know it's pointless. He's still awake, still fighting, still running himself into the ground. The file didn't mention this level of avoidance, but maybe the previous guardians never pushed hard enough to see it. Maybe they rotated off before it got to this point.

You're in the archive room, not really reading through Jake's file so much as staring at it, when the dreamscape snaps into sudden, sharp existence.

It's not gradual, the way sleep usually is. One moment there's nothing, and the next moment the dreamscape is there, fully formed and pulling at you with desperate urgency.

He's crashed.

You enter without thinking, without the usual careful approach, because the dreamscape is already destabilizing and if you don't act now it's going to collapse into a full night terror before he's even fully unconscious.

The space is dark. You can feel Jake's presence somewhere in it, his consciousness flickering like a candle in a wind tunnel. He's not aware, not really. His mind is too exhausted to form coherent thoughts, too wrung out to do anything but freefall into the void his body has forced him into.

The darkness ripples. You can feel the nightmare building underneath it, gathering mass and momentum, fed by days of accumulated fear and exhaustion. It's going to be bad. This is the kind of night terror that leaves psychological scars, the kind that traumatizes a dreamer badly enough that they'll avoid sleep for weeks afterward, which will only make the next crash worse, which will make the next nightmare worse, spiraling down and down until something breaks permanently.

You step forward into the darkness and begin to work.

The nightmare doesn't want to be dismantled. It fights you, surging up like a wave, trying to solidify before you can break it apart. You can feel its shape, all teeth and drowning and the terrible certainty that something is coming and there's nowhere to run. It's pulling from Jake's worst fears, from years of accumulated dread, and it has momentum on its side.

But you're faster. You've done this before, too many times to count, and your hands know the movements before your mind has fully processed them. You reach into the fabric of the dream and pull, unraveling the nightmare thread by thread. You soften the darkness, diluting it with gray, with the suggestion of light. You take the weight out of the air, the pressure that makes it feel like drowning. You find the thing that's chasing him, the shapeless terror that his mind has conjured, and you erase it.

It's not easy. The nightmare keeps trying to rebuild itself, keeps reaching for the worst possibilities, but you're patient and precise. Eventually it gives up. The dreamscape settles into something calm. 

Jake's consciousness is still flickering, barely aware, but you can feel the moment his body registers the shift. His mind, finally, mercifully, stops fighting.

You stand in the dreamscape and watch as it begins to shape itself into something gentler. A room, plain and unremarkable. Four walls, a window, soft light that doesn't come from any particular source. He'll sleep through the night, maybe longer, considering how badly he needed this.

Jake enters the dreamscape slowly, like someone wading into water they don't trust.

He looks around, his movements careful and deliberate despite the dream logic that should make everything feel fluid and easy. His shoulders are tense. His hands are loose at his sides, but there's a readiness to them, like he's prepared to fight or run at the first sign of wrongness. He's looking for the trap. 

Of course he is. His subconscious doesn't believe in peace anymore. It's just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He takes a step forward, and the dream holds. The floor doesn't dissolve. The walls don't shift. 

"This isn't real," he says, and his voice is rough, scraped raw from exhaustion. He's not talking to anyone, just stating a fact, trying to orient himself in a space that feels wrong because it feels too right.

You stay silent. You're not supposed to interact with dreamers directly unless absolutely necessary, and you've already broken enough protocol tonight just by intervening this much. Talking to him would cross another line, one you're not ready to cross yet.

He walks to the window and looks out at the nothing beyond it. His reflection is faint in the glass, and you can see the toll the last few days have taken. Even in a dream, he looks exhausted. 

"What are you?" he asks the reflection, or the room, or maybe himself. His hand comes up to touch the glass, fingers spreading against the surface. "You're different."

He turns away from the window and walks to the center of the room. He sits down on the floor, cross-legged, like he's claiming the space. His eyes are moving constantly, tracking things you haven't placed, looking for patterns that aren't there.

"I know you're not going to last," he says, and there's something almost conversational about it, like he's talking to the dream itself. "Nothing does. So you might as well just get it over with."

He's waiting for the nightmare to start. He doesn't believe this is real, doesn't believe it will hold, and some part of you feels something uncomfortably close to pity.

Not sympathy. You're not supposed to feel sympathy for dreamers. That's how guardians get compromised, how they start making decisions based on emotion instead of protocol. But pity is different. Pity is just the clinical recognition that someone is suffering and that the suffering is, objectively, unfortunate.

You can feel pity without it meaning anything.

He sits there for a long time, waiting for something terrible to happen. The dreamscape holds because you're holding it, maintaining the stability with the same steady pressure you'd use to keep a wound from bleeding. It's work, more work than it should be, because his subconscious keeps trying to assert itself, keeps reaching for the familiar patterns of fear and panic.

Eventually, slowly, his shoulders start to lower. The tension doesn't leave entirely, but it eases, just enough that you can tell his body is overriding his mind's insistence that this is dangerous. He's so tired.

His eyes start to close. He fights it for a moment, head jerking back up, but his body has made the decision for him. He tips sideways, slow and ungraceful, until he's lying on the floor of the dream with one arm pillowed under his head.

"Fuck," he mumbles, and his eyes close fully. "Fine."

The dreamscape shifts around him, responding to his surrender. The room softens further, the floor beneath him becoming something closer to a bed, though you're careful to keep it subtle enough that he won't notice the change and wake himself up with suspicion. The light dims, just enough to signal that it's safe to sleep.

You stay at the edge of the dreamscape and watch his breathing even out, watch the frantic energy finally drain out of him. His face smooths, losing some of that hunted look. 

────୨ৎ────

The next night, there's nothing.

You reach for Jake's dreamscape at the usual time and find the same hostile, fragmented static from before. He's awake again, or something close to it, his mind grinding itself down to nothing while his body screams for rest he refuses to give it.

You pull back and wait. When you check again an hour later, there’s still nothing. Two hours after that, the dreamscape is even worse, jagged and bleeding at the edges like a wound that won't close.

He's doing this on purpose.

The realization settles over you with a particular kind of frustration you've felt before, with other difficult cases, other dreamers who self-sabotage in ways that make your job impossible. He finally got a night of real sleep, the first in days, and instead of taking it as relief, he's treating it like a threat.

Of course he'd interpret one peaceful night as an anomaly instead of a turning point. Of course he'd go right back to running himself into the ground rather than risk hoping for something better.

You close your connection to his dreamscape and return to the archive room, where Jungwon is humming quietly to himself while he works. He's probably weaving together a dream about playground equipment or favorite stuffed animals, something gentle and easy that will make his eight-year-old dreamer smile in his sleep.

You don't say anything. There's nothing to say. Jake isn't sleeping, which means you can't work, which means you're just sitting here waiting for him to crash again.

The day passes. You check on Jake periodically, more out of routine than hope. His dreamscape remains inaccessible, a churning mess of exhaustion and anxiety that won't coalesce into anything workable. You can feel him deteriorating from a distance, the way his consciousness is starting to fray at the edges from lack of proper rest.

Jungwon finishes his shift and leaves with a quiet goodnight. You stay. There's no point in leaving when you're just going to have to come back and check again in a few hours.

By the second day, Jake's dreamscape has degraded to something almost unrecognizable. You've never seen a dreamer push themselves this hard for this long. A month of near-constant wakefulness, broken only by that one night you forced stability on him, and now he's right back to it. His subconscious is fragmenting in real time, splintering into pieces that don't fit together anymore.

If he keeps this up, he's going to cause permanent damage. 

It's mid-afternoon, earlier than you'd normally check, but something pulls your attention toward his dreamscape. It's still there, still barely functional, but there's a change in the quality of it. You reach for it carefully, ready to be rejected again, but this time the dreamscape doesn't push back. 

Jake's consciousness is flickering in and out, caught in that terrible half-asleep state where the body has started shutting down but the mind is still trying to fight it. You can feel him slipping, his awareness dimming and flaring and dimming again as he loses the battle against his own exhaustion.

He's not in bed. The dreamscape tells you that much. He's somewhere else, somewhere his body decided it couldn't stay upright anymore. A couch, maybe. Somewhere he sat down for just a moment and couldn't get back up.

The dreamscape is starting to form, pulling itself together out of the wreckage of his consciousness, but it's unstable. He's too wound up to dream peacefully. This is going to go bad fast if you don't intervene.

You don't hesitate this time. Protocol be damned. You find the center of it, the place where the nightmare is trying to anchor itself, and you sever the connection. The darkness writhes, tries to rebuild around a different fear, but you're already there, already cutting it off. You work quickly, methodically, the way you've learned to after years of doing this, finding each thread of terror before it can weave itself into something solid. The nightmare collapses under your hands, dissolving back into the shapeless anxiety it came from, and you smooth even that away until there's nothing left but empty space.

The dreamscape shudders and settles into something neutral. Jake's consciousness is barely present, a flicker of awareness that doesn't even register where he is or what's happening. He's too far gone for that, too exhausted to be anything other than a passenger in his own mind.

Good. That makes this easier.

You shape the dreamscape carefully, gently, building something that won't trigger his suspicion when he surfaces enough to notice. A bed this time, simple and unremarkable. Soft light. No windows, no doors, nothing that suggests an exit or a trap. 

His consciousness settles into it like a stone dropping into water, sinking down and down until there's nothing left but the slow, even rhythm of actual sleep. 

Hours pass. The dreamscape holds. Jake sleeps.

The dreamscape remains stable without much effort on your part now. You've done the hard work already, dismantled the nightmare before it could take root, shaped the space into something that won't trigger his hypervigilance. Now it's just maintenance, small adjustments when the edges start to fray, gentle corrections when his anxiety tries to bubble up. Easy work. The kind you could do in your sleep, if guardians slept.

You should leave. He's stable enough that another guardian could monitor him, or you could just let the dreamscape run its course and check back in a few hours. You've already spent more time on this than you should have, more energy than a single intervention warrants.

But there's something almost peaceful about watching him rest. Not peaceful for you, exactly. You're not sentimental enough to pretend this is enjoyable. There's a satisfaction in it, the same satisfaction you'd get from solving a difficult problem or finishing a task that everyone else said was impossible. He's sleeping. After days of watching him tear himself apart and feeling his dreamscape reject you over and over, he's finally resting.

It won't last. You know that. One good sleep doesn't undo weeks of damage, doesn't fix whatever is broken in him that makes the nightmares so severe in the first place. Tomorrow night he'll probably go right back to avoiding sleep, and you'll be back to square one.

But for now, for these few hours, you've done your job. You've given him what he needed, even if he doesn't know you exist.

That should be enough.

You're starting to pull back, preparing to disconnect and return to the archive room, when something shifts.

Someone is waking him up.

You feel it before it happens, the way the dreamscape starts to destabilize in response to stimuli from the waking world. Sound, first. A voice, muffled and distant but insistent. Then touch. A hand on his shoulder, shaking gently.

The dreamscape flickers. Jake's consciousness rises toward wakefulness like a bubble rising through water, slow and inevitable.

No. Not yet. He's barely been asleep for three hours, maybe four. His body needs more than that. He needs more than that.

You try to hold the dreamscape together, to keep him under for just a little longer, but you can't fight the physical world. Someone is actively trying to wake him, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. The dreamscape is already dissolving around the edges, losing coherence as his awareness surfaces.

The voice comes again, clearer now. "Jake. Hey. Wake up."

Sunghoon. You don't know how you know that, but you do. Maybe it's something in the tone, something Jake's subconscious recognizes even as it's being dragged back to consciousness. 

"Come on, man. Library's closing. We have to go."

The dreamscape fractures. Jake's consciousness pulls away from sleep like a riptide in reverse, and you're left standing in the ruins of the peaceful space you built for him, watching it collapse into nothing as he wakes.

You disconnect fully and return to the archive room. All that careful intervention, all those hours of monitoring and maintaining and making sure he got the rest he so desperately needed. And for what? Three hours, maybe four. Barely enough to take the edge off his exhaustion, nowhere near enough to actually help.

You pull up his file and add another note. Dreamer achieved stable sleep for approximately 3-4 hours before external interruption. Will continue monitoring. The words are clipped, professional, but you can feel the irritation bleeding through them anyway.

────୨ৎ────

You shouldn't do this.

The thought occurs to you as you're already reaching back into Jake's consciousness, toward the memories that sit just below the surface. 

You're looking for Sunghoon and Jay specifically,  the two names that keep appearing in Jake's dreams, always associated with a complicated tangle of trust and shame and guilt.

It takes almost no effort to find what you're looking for. The memories are right there, worn smooth from repeated examination, the way Jake turns them over in his mind when he can't sleep. You pull one forward and let it unspool.

Jake's apartment. Nighttime. The layout is slightly wrong, the way memories always are, details filled in incorrectly or left vague because they weren't important at the time. The emotional content is clear. Jake is sitting on his bed, exhausted and afraid. Sunghoon on the floor with his back against the wall, controller in hand, playing something on muted volume. Jay sprawled in the desk chair, scrolling through his phone but glancing up every few minutes to check on Jake.

"You should try to sleep," Jay says, and there's worry underneath the casualness.

"I'm fine," Jake says, automatic.

"You're not fine. You look like death."

"Thanks."

They go back and forth like this for a while, the same circular argument you've heard variations of in Jake's other memories. Jay pushing, Jake deflecting, Sunghoon watching quietly and occasionally interjecting with something that cuts through the tension. Eventually Jake lies down, and Jay and Sunghoon stay, and the memory ends with Jake staring at the ceiling while his friends pretend to be absorbed in their respective distractions.

You pull another memory. Similar scene, different night. This time it's worse. Jake wakes up mid-nightmare, and Sunghoon is there immediately, hand on his shoulder, voice low and steady. "You're awake. You're okay. It was just a dream." Jay appears in the doorway, hesitant, unsure what to do. Jake is shaking, can't seem to catch his breath, and Sunghoon just stays there, grounding presence, until the panic passes.

Another memory. Jay bringing him food because Jake keeps forgetting to eat. "You need to take care of yourself, man." Said with frustration, with helplessness, because Jay is the kind of person who needs to fix things and this is something he can't fix.

Another. Sunghoon staying up with him through an entire night, not saying much, just being there. 

You watch memory after memory unspool, and a picture forms. Two people who care deeply, who have tried everything they can think of, who have watched their friend suffer for years and never figured out how to make it stop. They've done research, suggested doctors, offered medication, stayed over countless times. They've seen him at his worst and never left.

And none of it has worked.

They can't touch the dreams themselves. They can't reach into his subconscious and dismantle the nightmares before they form. They can't do what you do.

You're pulling back from the memories, vaguely annoyed at yourself for the detour, when you feel Jake's consciousness starting to sink again, pulled down by exhaustion that three hours of sleep did nothing to satisfy.

He's falling asleep.

You shouldn't enter yet. He's still too close to wakefulness, still aware enough that the dreamscape will be unstable and potentially dangerous. Standard protocol is to wait until he's fully under, until his consciousness has settled into proper REM sleep.

But you're already moving, already reaching for the dreamscape as it starts to form, because if you wait he might fight it, might pull himself back to wakefulness out of habit or fear, and you're not letting that happen.

The dreamscape materializes around you, half-formed and flickering. You can feel the waking world bleeding through, sounds and sensations that shouldn't be present in a dream. Voices. Movement.

You push deeper into the forming dreamscape and the shapes resolve into something more concrete. Jake's bedroom. The details are sharper than they should be, more accurate, because he's still aware enough to be pulling from recent memory rather than letting his subconscious improvise.

He's in bed. Or his dream-self is in bed, which amounts to the same thing. There are two other figures in the room.

Sunghoon and Jay.

They're trying to help him sleep. You can see it in the way the dream has shaped them, turned them into gentle, supportive presences. Sunghoon is adjusting the blanket, making sure it's covering him properly. Jay is messing with something on the desk, probably the white noise machine that you can hear humming in the background.

"Better?" Sunghoon asks, and his voice is soft, careful.

Jake makes a noncommittal sound. He's tense, you can see it in the line of his shoulders, the way his hands are fisted in the blanket. His eyes are closed but he's not relaxed. 

"Try to sleep," Jay says from across the room. "We'll be right here."

"I know," Jake says, and there's guilt in his voice, thick and obvious. Guilt that they have to do this, that they're spending their night watching over him instead of doing literally anything else.

They mean well. You can see that clearly. The dream has rendered them with affection, with trust. These are people Jake loves, people he feels safe with.

But they're not helping.

Sunghoon sits down on the floor next to the bed, settling in like he's planning to stay there all night. Jay turns off the overhead light, leaves the desk lamp on. They're making him physically comfortable. All the external factors are right. 

None of it matters, because the problem isn't external.

You can feel Jake's anxiety from here, radiating through the dreamscape like heat. He's afraid to fall asleep. Having Sunghoon and Jay there helps in the waking world, gives him people to ground him when he wakes up screaming, but it does nothing to prevent the nightmares from happening in the first place.

The dreamscape flickers, unstable because Jake is still too aware, still caught between sleeping and waking. You've already broken protocol twice with him. What's one more time?

You reach into the dreamscape and start making adjustments. Small ones, subtle enough that he won't consciously register them. You dim the anxiety first, not erasing it but muting it, turning down the volume on the fear response that's keeping him wired. The tension in his shoulders eases slightly. 

Then you adjust the dream-versions of Sunghoon and Jay. They're already helpful, already supportive, but you sharpen that, make their presence feel more solid, more grounding. The white noise machine is too loud. You soften it. The lamp is too bright. You dim it further. The blanket is the wrong weight. You adjust the dream-logic until it feels exactly right, heavy enough to be comforting without being restrictive.

Jake's breathing starts to even out.

You work carefully, precisely, making change after change so small that Jake's conscious mind doesn't flag any of them as wrong. This is the kind of intervention that takes skill, that requires you to understand not just what the dreamer needs but how to give it to them without triggering their defenses.

This is what you're good at. This is what the elders keep you around for.

The dreamscape stabilizes. Jake's consciousness finally, finally lets go, sinking down into proper sleep. The dream-versions of Sunghoon and Jay fade into the background, becoming less distinct as Jake's awareness of the waking world dims. They'll disappear entirely in a few minutes, replaced by whatever his subconscious decides to populate the dream with.

You'll make sure it's nothing that hurts him.

────୨ৎ────

Three weeks in, and Jake is sleeping almost normally.

You’re not a miracle worker, and his subconscious is still a minefield of anxiety and trauma that will take months to fully stabilize, if it ever does. But he’s sleeping through most nights now, going to bed at reasonable hours instead of fighting consciousness until his body gives out. The night terrors still happen, but you’ve learned to catch them early, to dismantle them before they can take root and traumatize him badly enough to send him back into avoidance.

You’ve also started giving him actual dreams instead of just neutral space, just small scenes that feel normal enough to be forgettable. The kind of dreams regular people have, the kind that don’t mean anything and don’t leave any residue when you wake up.

Tonight he’s eating ice cream.

It’s a simple dream, almost aggressively mundane. He’s sitting on a bench in a park you’ve constructed from generic elements, with trees, grass, and a path winding into the distance. The ice cream is vanilla, melting slightly in the sun that you’ve calibrated to be warm but not uncomfortable.

His dream-self seems content with this. He takes another bite, watches a bird hop across the path in front of him, tilts his face toward the sun. There’s no tension in his shoulders, no hypervigilance in the way he scans his surroundings. 

You’ve been maintaining dreams with small, peaceful moments like this for over a week now. Jake having coffee with Jay and Sunghoon at their usual café. Jake walking through campus between classes. Jake reading in his apartment with rain pattering against the window. Nothing exciting, nothing memorable, just the texture of a normal life rendered in dream-logic.

Last night you gave him something a little more dynamic. He was at the café with his friends, and Sunghoon knocked over his coffee. Jay laughed so hard he choked on his sandwich, and Jake just sat there grinning while Sunghoon tried to mop up the mess with a handful of napkins that kept disintegrating. It was light, silly, the kind of thing that happens in regular dreams. The kind of thing that would make someone wake up and think huh, weird, before forgetting about it entirely.

You’ve been careful to include small anxieties too, the normal kind that don’t spiral into terror. Dreams where he’s late to class, or can’t find his keys, or accidentally wore mismatched shoes. Yesterday he dreamed he overslept and missed an exam, woke up in a panic, checked his phone, and realized it was Saturday. The fear was real but proportional, manageable, the kind of stress that didn’t require your intervention.

It’s important that the dreams don’t seem too good. Dreamers notice when everything is too pleasant, when nothing ever goes wrong. Their subconscious rebels against it and tries to assert the anxiety that’s being suppressed. You learned that early in your training. The best dreams are the ones that feel real, complete with minor frustrations and small embarrassments and moments of awkwardness.

Tonight’s ice cream dream is going well. You’re monitoring it with half your attention, which is all it requires at this point, when something shifts.

Jake stops eating.

You focus fully on the dreamscape, scanning for problems. Did something slip through? A nightmare trying to assert itself, a spike of anxiety you missed?

Jake is looking directly at you. His dream-self has turned on the bench, ice cream forgotten in his hand, and he’s staring at the exact spot where you’re standing at the edge of the dreamscape.

Your presence isn’t visible. It shouldn’t be visible. You’re not part of the dream, you’re separate from it, existing in a space adjacent to his consciousness but not inside it. Dreamers can’t perceive you unless you choose to manifest, and you have never, not once, chosen to do that with him.

But he’s looking right at you.

You don’t move. You’re not even sure you could. The dreamscape continues around him, the sun still shining, the bird still hopping along the path, but Jake is completely still, ice cream starting to drip down his hand, eyes fixed on a point in space that should be empty.

Maybe it’s coincidence. Maybe he’s just looking in that general direction, staring at nothing the way people sometimes do in dreams.

“Hello?” he says.

The word drops into the dreamscape like a stone into still water. You feel the ripples of it, the way his consciousness sharpens slightly, awareness increasing in a way that’s dangerous for someone who’s supposed to be dreaming.

Jake’s eyes narrow slightly. He’s still looking at the same spot, and his expression has shifted from curious to something more intent.

“I know you’re there,” he says, and his voice is quieter now, more certain. “I can feel it.”

No. No, he can’t. That’s not how this works. Dreamers don’t feel guardians. They don’t perceive the maintenance happening around them. You’re as invisible to them as the mechanics of their own heartbeat.

Except he’s still staring at you, and the dreamscape is starting to shift in response to his focus, the edges sharpening as his awareness increases. He’s getting too lucid. If he keeps this up, he’s going to wake himself up, or worse, he’s going to destabilize the dream enough that the nightmares can slip back in.

You need to do something to redirect his attention.

You reach into the dreamscape and manifest a dog. It’s medium-sized, friendly-looking, the kind that people smile at automatically. It trots up to Jake’s bench, tail wagging, and pushes its nose against his free hand.

Jake doesn’t react.

“You’ve been here before,” he continues. “Every time I sleep now, you’re here. Aren’t you?”

The ice cream slips from his hand and falls to the ground. He doesn’t notice. The dog sniffs at it and then looks up at you, like it’s waiting for instructions, because of course it is. You created it, it’s just an extension of your will.

You pull the dog back, dissolve it before Jake can notice that it’s not behaving like a real dog would. The dreamscape flickers. His awareness is spiking, consciousness rising toward wakefulness, and you’re losing your grip on the stability you’ve worked so hard to maintain.

You need to leave. Now.

You disconnect, pulling back so fast it’s almost violent, severing the connection and returning to the archive room with your equilibrium spinning. Your hands are shaking slightly, residual feedback from the abrupt exit, and there’s a cold feeling in your chest that you don’t want to name.

He saw you.

No. He didn’t. He couldn’t have. Dreamers can’t perceive guardians. It’s impossible.

You pull up his file with hands that are still unsteady, scrolling through the notes from previous guardians, looking for any mention of awareness.

There’s nothing about lucid dreaming.

You wait longer than usual before entering Jake’s dreamscape the next night. You enter more cautiously than you have in weeks. The dreamscape is already formed when you arrive, which is normal. Jake’s subconscious has gotten better at constructing stable environments on its own, now that it’s not constantly bracing for nightmares.

He’s in the café this time, the one he frequents with Jay and Sunghoon. You settle at the edge of the dreamscape and watch. Everything seems normal. His awareness is at the usual level for this stage of sleep, present enough to engage with the dream, but not so present that he’s analyzing it. He takes a sip of coffee. 

You start to relax. Last night was nothing. He happened to look in your direction at the same time he was surfacing toward lucidity, and his mind tried to make sense of the vague awareness by addressing it directly. It doesn’t mean he actually saw you.

Then Jake’s gaze slides toward your position, and your chest goes cold.

He’s looking at you again.

His eyes are clearer than they should be. This is lucidity, or something close to it, and it’s spreading through the dreamscape like ice across water. You can feel it in the way the details sharpen, the way the café becomes more solid. The dream is stabilizing around his awareness instead of existing independently of it.

This is bad. This is very bad.

Lucid dreamers are difficult to work with under the best circumstances. They fight intervention, try to control the dream themselves, destabilize carefully constructed environments. If Jake takes control of the dream right now, if he pushes too hard, the whole thing could collapse into the kind of nightmare you’ve spent weeks protecting him from.

“You’re here again,” Jake says, and his voice is quiet but certain. He sets his coffee down, leans forward slightly. “I thought maybe I imagined it last night."

You pull back immediately, preparing to sever the connection, but the dreamscape resists. It’s too stable now, too anchored by his lucidity. Disconnecting abruptly could shock him awake, could trigger exactly the kind of panic response you’ve been trying to avoid.

His awareness is sharpening further. The café around him is gaining details you didn’t place. His subconscious is filling in the gaps, making this more real, and the more real it becomes, the harder it is for you to manipulate.

“I know you can hear me,” he says, still looking at you, and there’s something in his voice that makes your throat tight. “I don’t know what you are, but you’ve been helping me, haven’t you? The dreams are different now because of you.

You reach into the dreamscape and manifest a figure behind Jake. Sunghoon. You pull the image from Jake’s memories, render him as accurately as possible, and place him in the chair across from Jake like he’s been there the whole time.

“Jake?” Sunghoon says, because you need him to say something to redirect Jake’s attention before this gets any worse.

Jake doesn’t turn around.

“I’m not crazy,” he says, still looking at your position. “I know something is—”

“Jake,” Sunghoon says again, louder this time, and you push urgency into his voice, making it impossible to ignore.

Jake’s head turns, finally, breaking eye contact with the space where you’re standing. He blinks at Sunghoon like he’s surprised to see him there. He looks around the café, then back at Sunghoon. “Have you been here the whole time?”

“Yeah?” Sunghoon says, and you’re controlling him directly now, puppeting him through the conversation because you need this to work. “You good? You zoned out for a second there.”

Jake stares at him. You can see the confusion working across his face, the dream-logic trying to assert itself against his lucidity. He was talking to someone. Something. But Sunghoon is here now, has apparently been here, and dreams don’t always make sense. Maybe he was talking to Sunghoon the whole time. Maybe his mind invented the presence he thought he felt.

“I’m fine,” Jake says slowly. “Just tired, I guess.”

“You want to get out of here?” Sunghoon asks, because you need to move the dream somewhere else, somewhere that doesn’t have Jake staring at the spot where you’re standing.

“Yeah. Sure.”

They stand up, and you guide the dream into transition, shifting the café into a sidewalk, the sidewalk into campus, giving Jake’s mind something to follow so he stops trying to analyze what just happened. Sunghoon walks beside him, asking about classes, about an assignment due next week, normal conversation that sounds like something they’d actually talk about because you’re pulling it directly from Jake’s memories of similar conversations.

Jake responds, but he’s distracted. His eyes keep moving, scanning the dream like he’s looking for something.

You stay as far back as you can, maintaining the dream from a distance, keeping Sunghoon’s presence solid and distracting. The lucidity is fading slowly, his awareness dimming back to normal dream-consciousness. He’s accepting the dream again instead of questioning it.

But every few minutes, his gaze drifts toward empty spaces. 

────୨ৎ────

You enter Jake's dreamscape at the usual time, prepared to avoid anything that might trigger his awareness again.

The nightmare is already waiting. It’s fully constructed, massive and hungry. This isn't the usual gradual onset of a night terror that you can catch and dismantle before it takes hold. This is something that materialized the moment he fell asleep, something his subconscious has been building in the background while you've been giving him peaceful dreams.

The dreamscape is dark and cavernous, all wrong angles and oppressive weight. Jake is somewhere in the center of it. You can feel his terror from here, sharp and overwhelming. The nightmare has him caught in something, you can't see what yet, but it's bad. 

You don't hesitate. You throw yourself into the dreamscape and start trying to dismantle it, reaching for the threads of fear and yanking them apart. The nightmare fights back harder than anything you've encountered with him before. It's dense, layered, pulling from years of accumulated terror. Every time you break one piece apart, two more surge up to take its place.

The darkness ripples and reforms into a hallway that stretches endlessly in both directions. Jake is running. 

You reach for the thing that's chasing him, try to erase it, but your hands pass through it like smoke. It's too deeply rooted in his fear, too fundamental to the nightmare's structure. You try a different approach and lighten the darkness, shortening the hallway to give him an exit. The dreamscape resists. It's pulling from Jake's consciousness, feeding on his terror, and he's giving it so much fuel that you can barely make a dent.

The hallway splinters into multiple paths, each one worse than the last. The nightmare is fracturing, multiplying, becoming too many things for you to fight at once.

You're losing.

The realization hits you with a force that makes you stumble. You've never lost to a nightmare before. You've always been able to dismantle them, always been fast enough and skilled enough to break them apart before they could do real damage. But this one is too big, too entrenched, and Jake's fear is making it stronger with every passing second.

You try again, pulling at the fabric of the dream with everything you have. The hallway shortens slightly. The thing chasing him slows. You can feel his consciousness fragmenting, trying to escape by waking but unable to because the terror has him locked in place.

You need to do something drastic.

You reach for the core of the nightmare, the central fear that's powering everything else, and you wrench it sideways. The dreamscape shudders violently. Jake's terror spikes, but you don't stop. You tear at the nightmare's foundation until it starts to collapse.

The hallway dissolves. The thing chasing him dissipates into smoke. The darkness fragments into gray, into light, into nothing.

The dreamscape goes completely still.

You're shaking. You can feel it in your chest, residual feedback from how hard you just had to fight. That shouldn't have been that difficult. You're good at this. You've handled worse cases, more severe night terrors. Something about Jake's nightmare was different, like it had been gathering mass for weeks while you kept him safe.

Jake's consciousness is still there, flickering in the wreckage of the dream. You can feel his terror still overwhelming even though the nightmare is gone. He's not calming down the way he should, not settling back into peaceful sleep now that the threat is gone.

You should leave now, while the dreamscape is still unstable and formless, before he can latch onto anything. You're too shaken, too wrung out from the fight, and you hesitate for just a moment too long.

"Please," Jake says, and his voice cracks through the empty dreamscape like thunder. "Please don't leave."

He can't see you. You haven't manifested. You're just a presence, just the vague sense of something other that his consciousness has learned to associate with safety.

You can feel it, the way his consciousness is groping through the formless dreamscape, searching desperately for the thing that's been protecting him. 

"I know you're there," he says, and he sounds so young, so afraid. "I can feel you. Please, I just—I need—"

His consciousness finds you.

It's desperate, clinging, the way a drowning person grabs onto anything that might keep them afloat. His awareness wraps around your presence with crushing intensity, pulling you closer, refusing to let go. You can feel the shape of his terror, the depths of how afraid he just was, how afraid he still is. And underneath that, the bone-deep relief at finding you, at knowing he's not alone.

He's associated you with safety, as if the only thing that's protected him from the worst parts of his own mind. Now he's holding on like you're the only thing keeping him from drowning.

You try to pull back, to extract yourself from his grip, but his consciousness tightens further. He doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't understand the mechanics of the dreamscape or how guardians exist within it. He just knows that you're here and you're safe and he can't let you go.

The pressure increases. You can feel it compressing around you, forcing you into a shape you don't want to take. If he keeps this up, if he doesn't let go, he's going to pull you fully into the dreamscape. He's going to force you to manifest.

You need to break free. You wrench against his grip, trying to sever the connection, but his fear is too strong. His need is too strong. He's holding on with everything he has. You're not strong enough to fight both him and the residual nightmare and your own exhaustion all at once.

The dreamscape solidifies around you.

It's excruciating, like being turned inside out, pulled from the abstract into the concrete. The dreamscape renders you in three dimensions, gives you weight and substance and presence.

You manifest.

The gray nothingness of the post-nightmare dreamscape sharpens into something more defined. A room, plain and empty, with soft light coming from nowhere. In the center of it, Jake is on his knees, looking directly at you.

His eyes are wide, red-rimmed and wet. He's breathing hard, body shaking. He looks destroyed.

"You're real," he says, and his voice breaks on the last word.

Before you can move, before you can even think about disconnecting, Jake lunges forward and grabs you.

His arms wrap around you with desperate strength, his face pressing into your shoulder, and he's holding on like you're the only solid thing in the universe. You can feel him shaking against you, the raggedness of his breathing, and the way his hands are fisted in the fabric of whatever your manifestation is wearing.

"Please don't leave," he says into your shoulder, the words muffled and broken. "Please, I can't—I can't do that again, I can't—"

"Jake,” Your voice sounds strange to your own ears, foreign. You haven't spoken aloud in years. Guardians don't talk. There's never been a reason to.

"I know you're the one who's been helping me," he says, and he's talking fast now, words tumbling over each other. "I know it's you. The dreams, they're different now, they're better, and tonight when that thing was chasing me I could feel you fighting it." His grip tightens. "Please don't go. Whatever you are, wherever you came from, please just stay."

This is wrong. This is so fundamentally wrong that you don't even know where to begin cataloging the violations. Dreamers aren't supposed to see you. They're not supposed to know you exist. And they are absolutely, under no circumstances, supposed to be able to touch you.

The nightmare is gone but the fear hasn't faded. He's terrified that you're going to disappear, that he's going to be alone again with nothing between him and the worst parts of his own mind.

"You need to let go," you say, and you try to make your voice firm, authoritative, but it comes out too gentle.

"No." His arms tighten. "No, please, I'll do whatever you want, I'll stop trying to find you, just don't leave yet. Not yet.” His breath hitches. "I'm still so scared."

He's clinging to the only thing that makes him feel safe.

You.

He's clinging to you.

Some terrible, treacherous part of you doesn't want to let go.

"Please," he whispers. "Just a little longer. Just until I'm not so afraid."

Your arms come up slowly, carefully, and you hold him back.

"Okay," you hear yourself say. "Okay. Just for a little while."

Jake's breath shudders out of him, relief and residual fear tangled together. His grip on you doesn't loosen, but the desperation in it eases slightly.

You stand there and let him hold on, and you tell yourself this is just damage control. It doesn't mean anything.

You're already very good at lying to yourself.

────୨ৎ────

Jake's hands are shaking.

It's subtle, barely noticeable, but the coffee in his cup is rippling slightly, tiny waves lapping at the sides. He's staring at it, watching the surface tremble, and he doesn't realize Jay is saying something until a hand reaches across the table and plucks the cup from his grip.

"Hey!"

"You were about to spill it all over yourself," Jay says, setting the coffee down on the far side of the table, well out of Jake's reach. "When's the last time you slept?"

Jake blinks. "Last night."

"For how long?"

"I don't know. A few hours."

Jay and Sunghoon exchange a look. Jake catches it, that wordless communication they've perfected over years of friendship, and he knows what they're thinking. He was doing better. He was sleeping normally, going to bed at reasonable hours, waking up looking less like a reanimated corpse. And now he's back to this, jittery and distracted in a way that makes him miss entire chunks of conversation.

"What happened?" Sunghoon asks. His voice is even, careful, the way it always is when he's worried but trying not to show it.

Jake doesn't know how to answer that. What is he supposed to say? That he had the worst nightmare in weeks, maybe months? That would explain the exhaustion, the relapse into caffeine dependency, but it wouldn't explain the other thing he can't stop thinking about.

"I had a bad night," he says, which is true but insufficient.

"Night terror?" Jay asks.

"Yeah."

Jay hesitates. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." Jake reaches for his coffee automatically, forgetting Jay moved it. His hand closes on empty air. He pulls it back, shoves both hands under the table so they can't see the tremor. "It's fine. I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Jay says flatly. "You look like you're about to vibrate out of your skin."

"I just need more sleep."

"So sleep."

"I will."

"Tonight?"

Jake doesn't answer. He's looking out the window now, at the quad where students are sprawled on the grass between classes, talking and laughing and living normal lives where sleep is just something you do, not something you have to brace yourself for. The sunlight is too bright. Everything is too bright. He didn't sleep enough to process light properly, and his eyes keep losing focus.

"Jake." Sunghoon's voice cuts through the fog. "What's going on?"

Maybe it's the exhaustion, or maybe it's the fact that he's been carrying this alone for too long, but Jake hears himself say, "I met someone."

Both of them go still. Jay's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "You... met someone?"

"Yeah."

"Like, a person? A real person?"

"Yes, Jay, a real person." Jake's mouth twitches, almost a smile. "What other kind is there?"

"I don't know, you've been acting so weird I wasn't sure." Jay leans forward, and there's something eager in his expression now, excited. "Okay. Tell us about her."

"How do you know it's a her?"

"Is it?"

"Yeah."

"Called it," Jay says to Sunghoon, who rolls his eyes. "Okay, so. Who is she? How'd you meet?"

Jake opens his mouth. The explanation that made sense in his head at three in the morning sounds insane now, in the middle of the day, sitting in the café with his friends looking at him expectantly. "She... helped me. With the nightmares."

"What, like a therapist?" Sunghoon asks.

"No. Not a therapist."

"Then what?"

Jake's fingers are tapping against his thigh under the table, restless, anxious. "I don't know exactly. She’s just been there when I sleep. She makes it better."

Jay and Sunghoon exchange another look, this one more concerned than before.

"Makes it better how?" Jay asks slowly.

"The dreams. They're different when she's there. Peaceful. The nightmares can't touch me when she's around." Jake knows he's not explaining this right, knows it sounds wrong, but he doesn't know how else to say it. "Last night, when I had that terror, she fought it off. I could feel her doing it. And then after, when I was still scared, she stayed."

"Okay," Jay says, drawing the word out. "So... she's in your class or something? And you've been hanging out?"

Jake runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?"

"She's..." How does he explain this? How does he put into words something that doesn't make sense even to him? "She's the reason I've been sleeping better. These past few weeks, when everything was good, that was her. She's been helping me."

"That's great," Jay says, and he sounds genuinely pleased, like this is normal, like Jake is describing a regular person who exists in the regular world. "You should ask her out."

"What?"

"Ask her out. If she's been helping you this much, if you're this into her, just go for it."

"I can't—it's not—" Jake's hands are back on the table now, fingers drumming arhythmically against the wood. "You don't understand."

"So help us understand," Sunghoon says. "What are we missing?"

Everything. They're missing everything. Jake looks at both of them, at their patient, concerned faces, and tries to find words that won't make them think he's lost his mind. "She's my savior."

The word lands heavy and strange. Jay blinks. "Your what?"

"She saved me from the nightmares." Jake's voice is getting more intense, more urgent, and he can hear it but he can't stop it. "You don't understand what it was like, every night, just waiting for it to get bad, knowing it was going to get bad, and then she fixed it. She made it stop. I can sleep now because of her."

"Okay," Jay says carefully. "That's... that's good, Jake. I'm glad you found someone who helps."

"She's not just someone." The words are coming faster now, tripping over each other. "She's the girl of my dreams. Literally.”

"Wait." Sunghoon holds up a hand. "Literally?"

Jake realizes his mistake too late. "I just mean—"

"You said literally." Sunghoon's eyes have sharpened, focused. "The girl of your dreams. You mean she's in your dreams."

"That's not—I didn't mean—"

"Jake." Jay's voice has lost its encouraging tone. Now he just sounds worried. "Is this girl real?"

"Yes." The answer is immediate, defensive. "She's real. I've seen her. I've talked to her. I've held her." The memory of it crashes over him again, the weight of her, the solid reality of her presence. The way she'd put her arms around him and told him it was okay, he was safe and she wasn't going anywhere.

"In your dreams," Sunghoon says. 

"No, listen." Jake leans forward, desperate to make them understand. "She's real. She exists. She's been protecting me this whole time. Every night when I sleep, she's there, and she keeps the bad things away." He's gesturing now, hands moving frantically. "She's the only reason I've been okay. Without her, I'd be back where I was before, terrified of my own mind.”

"What's her name?" Jay interrupts.

Jake stops. "What?"

"Her name. What's her name?"

The question sits between them like a trap. 

"You don't know her name," Jay says flatly.

"I haven't—we haven't—" Jake's hands are shaking again, worse now. "It's not about that. Names don't matter. "

"Jake." Sunghoon's voice is gentle, which somehow makes it worse. "I think you need to hear how this sounds."

"How what sounds?"

"You're talking about a girl you've never met outside of your dreams. A girl whose name you don't know, but you're calling your savior."

"Because she is." Jake can hear the desperation in his own voice. "You're not listening. She's real. What she does for me is real.”

"Do you hear yourself right now?" Jay asks, and there's something almost pleading in his voice.

"I sound crazy. I know." Jake slumps back in his chair, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that's been keeping him upright drains away all at once, leaving nothing but bone-deep weariness. "But I'm not. I'm not crazy. She's real."

"Maybe you should talk to someone," Sunghoon says. "A professional, just about the nightmares.”

"I don't need a therapist."

"Jake.”

"I need her." The words come out more raw than he intended. "I need her, and I know that sounds insane, but it's true. Without her, I'm—" He can't finish the sentence. Without her, he's drowning. Without her, he's back in the dark with nothing but his own fear for company. "I can't lose her."

"You can't lose someone you don't actually have," Jay says, and his voice is so gentle it feels like a knife.

They think he's breaking. They think the sleep deprivation has finally pushed him over some edge, made him lose his grip on reality.

"Forget it," he says quietly. He reaches for his coffee, remembers again that Jay moved it, and stands up instead. "I should go."

"Jake."

"I'm fine." He's backing away from the table, hands shoved in his pockets to hide the shaking. "I'll see you guys later."

Outside, the sunlight is still too bright. Jake squints against it and starts walking. His mind is racing, thoughts tumbling over each other in an exhausted tangle.

She's real. He knows she's real.

But he's never seen her outside of his dreams. When he tries to describe her, to explain what she looks like or anything concrete about her, the details slip away like smoke.

────୨ৎ────

You've been maintaining distance for three days now.

The elders didn't yell. They simply summoned you to their chamber and stated, with calm, inflectionless voices, that your recent reports showed concerning patterns of extended intervention and that you needed to recalibrate your approach to align with established protocol. 

You enter Jake's dreamscape only when absolutely necessary, dismantle nightmares from a distance, and leave before his consciousness can latch onto your presence.

It's destroying him.

You can see it in the way his dreamscape has started to fray again, anxiety creeping back into the edges like mold. His sleep is deteriorating, not as badly as before, but trending in that direction. He's fighting rest again. When he does sleep, his consciousness is agitated.

Tonight his dreamscape forms into something unstable, flickering between locations like he can't decide where he wants to be. The café. His apartment. Campus. Back to the café. Nothing settles.  His subconscious is too restless, too focused on something other than the dream itself.

You stay at the very edge of the dreamscape, monitoring from a distance. A nightmare starts to form, and you reach in just far enough to dismantle it. The nightmare dissolves before it can take hold.

Jake's consciousness sharpens immediately.

You pull back, making yourself as small and unnoticeable as possible. You can feel his awareness sweeping through the dreamscape, searching for the thing that just intervened. 

"I know you're here," he says to the empty café around him. His dream-self is standing in the middle of the room, turning slowly, scanning every corner. "I can feel it when you stop the bad things."

You don't respond. 

"Please," he says, and there's something desperate in his voice that makes your chest tight. "I just want to talk to you. That's all."

The dreamscape wavers. His emotions are destabilizing it, making it harder to maintain from a distance. You consider leaving entirely, letting it collapse naturally, but that would probably wake him, and he needs the sleep. So you stay, silent and still, and wait for him to give up.

The café dissolves, and the dreamscape reforms into the bookstore you've seen in his dreams before, the peaceful place he kept returning to in those early weeks. He's recreating it himself now, pulling it from memory, and the details are almost perfect. 

He's trying to lure you out with something familiar. 

It's clever. It almost works. Some part of you wants to step into that space, to see what he's built and acknowledge the effort.

 You stay where you are.

Jake sits down in the window seat and waits, like he thinks if he's quiet enough, you'll appear on your own.

Minutes pass. The dreamscape holds steady. He doesn't move.

"I'm not going to stop," he says finally. "I know you can hear me. I know you're there. And I'm not going to stop looking until you talk to me."

You watch him wait, and you tell yourself this will pass. He'll get tired of waiting. He'll move on.

The next night, he tries something different.

The dreamscape forms into a nightmare immediately, but it's wrong. You can tell within seconds that he's doing this on purpose, forcing his own subconscious into a fear response to make you intervene. 

You almost admire the strategy.

The nightmare isn't severe enough to warrant intervention. It's uncomfortable, probably unpleasant for him, but not dangerous. You leave it alone, let him suffer through it as a lesson about manipulation.

Then it starts intensifying. He's pushing it further, feeding it more fear, and it's starting to spiral beyond his control. What started as a calculated risk is turning into something real.

You reach in and dismantle it before it can fully form.

"There you are," Jake says immediately, and his dream-self is smiling, triumphant. "I knew that would work."

You pull back to your observation point and wait for him to realize you're not going to engage.

His smile fades. "Come on. I know you're there. Just show yourself. Please."

The dreamscape shifts, and you can feel his frustration building. He's trying to force another nightmare, trying to recreate the conditions that made you manifest last time, but he doesn't understand the mechanics well enough to do it right. He's just destabilizing his own sleep, making the dreamscape chaotic and hard to manage.

You spend the next twenty minutes cleaning up the mess he's making, smoothing out the disruptions, keeping everything stable while he essentially throws a tantrum trying to get your attention.

It would be annoying if it wasn't so concerning.

By the third night, you're expecting more of the same manufactured nightmares and attempts to force your hand.

What you're not expecting is for him to hurt himself.

The dreamscape forms normally at first. Jake is in his apartment, sitting on his bed, and everything seems calm. You're monitoring from a distance, alert for whatever strategy he's going to try tonight.

He stands up and walks toward the window.

It's a dream-window, looking out onto a dream-version of the street below. Jake opens it and looks down at the ground several stories below.

"I wonder what happens if I jump," he says conversationally, like he's musing about the weather.

Your attention sharpens into something close to panic. He wouldn't. He doesn't understand how dream-death works, how trauma in the dreamscape can bleed into waking consciousness, how dying in a nightmare can leave psychological scars that don't heal.

"I bet you'd stop me," he continues, still looking down. "If I actually did it. I bet you'd have to show yourself then. I'm going to count to ten, and if you don't show yourself by the time I reach one, I'm going to find out what happens."

He's bluffing. He has to be bluffing.

"Ten."

You don't move.

"Nine."

This is a test. He's trying to see if you'll break, if you care enough to intervene.

"Eight."

You should call his bluff. Manipulation won't work, you're not going to compromise your position just because he's threatening self-harm in a dream.

"Seven."

But if he's not bluffing—

"Six."

—if he actually jumps—

"Five."

—the psychological damage could be severe enough to set him back months, could trigger a cascade of actual night terrors worse than anything you've seen from him.

"Four."

You can't let that happen.

"Three."

But if you manifest now, you're rewarding this behavior, teaching him that threatening himself is an effective way to get what he wants.

"Two."

He puts one foot on the windowsill.

"One."

You manifest in front of the window, blocking his path, your form solidifying so fast it's almost violent. "Stop."

Jake's face breaks into a smile, relief and triumph mixed together. "I knew you'd—"

"Are you out of your mind?" The words come out sharper than you intended, anger bleeding through the careful neutrality you're supposed to maintain. "Do you have any idea what you almost did?"

"I wasn't actually going to jump," he says, but there's something uncertain in his voice now, like he's realizing he might have miscalculated.

"You don't know that." You step closer, and you're furious in a way you haven't been in years, maybe ever. "You don't understand how any of this works. Dream-death isn't real death, but the trauma is real. The fear is real. You could have damaged yourself in ways I can't fix."

"But I didn't," he says. "Because you stopped me."

"I shouldn't have had to stop you. You shouldn't have—" You cut yourself off, trying to regain control. This is exactly what he wanted. He wanted you to engage, and you fell for it. "This was manipulation."

"This was the only way you'd talk to me." His voice is rising now, frustration spilling over. "You've been avoiding me for days. I can feel it. You're still here, you're still protecting me, but you won't let me see you or talk to you. What was I supposed to do?"

"Let it go," you say. "Forget this happened."

"I can't forget you." He says it like it's obvious. "You're the only thing that's kept me sane for weeks. The only thing standing between me and everything terrible. How am I supposed to just forget that?"

"That's not how this works."

"Then explain to me how it works." He moves closer, and you don't step back even though you should. "Tell me the rules. Tell me what I'm not supposed to do. Tell me anything, just stop disappearing every time I get close."

You can see exactly what will happen if you leave. He'll spiral and get worse. The nightmares will come back with a vengeance, and the next guardian won't know how to handle him.

You're trapped, and you put yourself here.

"You can't do this again," you say finally. " No more threats.” 

His voice has gone soft, almost pleading. "You've been in my head for weeks. You know everything about me. Every fear, every weakness, every terrible thing I've ever dreamed. I don't even know your name."

The word sits between you like a trap. Your name. Such a small thing, such a basic piece of information.

"No," you say.

"Why not?"

"Because this is already too far. You're not supposed to know I exist, and I'm certainly not supposed to—" You cut yourself off before you can finish that sentence.

"Supposed to what?" he asks, and there's something searching in his expression. "Care? Is that what you were going to say?"

"You do care," he says, and he sounds almost amazed by it. "That's why you keep protecting me. You care what happens to me."

"I care about all my assignments," you say, but it sounds hollow even to you.

"I don't believe you."

"That's not my problem."

"Isn't it?" He's still looking at you with that unbearable intensity. "If I'm this attached to you, if I'm willing to stand in a window and threaten to jump just to see you again, doesn't that mean you've already broken whatever rules you're trying to protect?"

He's right, and you hate that he's right.

"This can't continue," you say. “I've seen inside your mind, Jake. I know how this works. You're not attached to me. You're attached to not being afraid."

"You're wrong," he says flatly.

"I'm not."

"Then prove it." He crosses his arms. "Stop protecting me. Let me have the nightmares, let me deal with it on my own, and we'll see if I forget about you."

It's a challenge, and you both know it. He knows you won't do it. 

"That's what I thought," he says when you don't respond. "You're just as trapped as I am."

The words hit harder than they should. You want to argue that you're just doing your job, his attachment is one-sided and problematic and not at all reciprocated.

You're not sure any of that is true anymore.

"I need to go," you say quietly.

"Don’t," He reaches for you, and you step back before he can make contact. The rejection flashes across his face. "Five more minutes. Please."

"No."

"Then tomorrow night. Just talk to me tomorrow night. You don't have to manifest if you don't want to. Just let me hear your voice."

"Maybe," you hear yourself say.

His face brightens immediately. "Really?"

"Maybe," you repeat, firmer this time. "And only if you sleep normally tonight.”

"I can do that."

You disconnect before he can ask anything else, returning to the archive room with your manifestation dissolving like mist. You sit down heavily, exhaustion washing over you in a wave.

────୨ৎ────

Jake only feels in extremities.

You've noticed this over the past week, watching him in his dreams and cataloging the way his consciousness operates. There's no middle ground for him. The night terrors were extreme, debilitating and relentless in a way most people never experience in their entire lives. And now his attachment to you is equally extreme, all-consuming in a way that should disturb you more than it does.

Tonight he's dreaming about a garden. You didn't construct this, he did, pulling it together from fragments of memories and imagination. It's peaceful, almost aggressively so, all soft sunlight and flowering plants and the distant sound of water. He's sitting on a bench, and the moment you manifest, his entire face lights up.

"You came," he says, and he sounds so genuinely delighted that something in your chest does an uncomfortable twist.

"I said maybe."

He pats the bench beside him. "Sit with me?"

You sit down.

"I've been sleeping better," he says, and he's angled toward you, knee almost touching yours. "Every night this week. Did you notice?"

"Yes." Of course you noticed. You've been monitoring his sleep cycles obsessively, tracking every change, every improvement. He's going to bed at reasonable hours now, sleeping through most of the night and waking up rested. It's the kind of progress that should let you rotate off his case.

"I think it's because I know you'll be here," he continues. "It makes it easier to sleep." There's something almost shy in his expression now. "Knowing you'll be waiting."

He shifts closer. Not much, just a few inches, but enough that his shoulder brushes yours. The contact is light, barely there, but he's testing to see if you'll pull away.

You don't.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

"You're going to regardless of what I say."

He grins at that, quick and bright. "Probably. But I'm trying to be polite."

"Since when?"

"Since you threatened to leave permanently if I wasn't." His hand moves, fingers brushing against yours where they're resting on the bench between you. "I'm trying very hard to behave."

"I've noticed. What were you going to ask?" you say when he doesn't continue.

"Oh. Right." His fingers are still against yours, warm and solid in a way that shouldn't be possible in a dream. "Do you have a name?"

You've been expecting this question. "You know I can't tell you that."

"Can't, or won't?"

"Both."

"I could just make one up," he continues, thoughtful. "Give you a name myself. Would that bother you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I already have a name. You just don't get to know it."

His fingers curl slightly against yours. "That seems unfair. You know everything about me."

"It's my job to know things about you. It's not your job to know things about me."

"You've said that before. I still don't believe you." He's smiling now, soft and knowing. "I think I'm special."

The arrogance of it should annoy you. Instead it's almost charming in its directness, the way he's stating what he wants without pretense or game-playing.

"You're a difficult case," you say. "That's not the same as special."

"I'll take it." He shifts even closer, and now his shoulder is pressed fully against yours, his hand warm around yours, his presence taking up space in a way that should feel invasive but doesn't. "I've been thinking about you all day. Every day, actually. I go through my classes and eat lunch with Jay and Sunghoon and do my homework, and the whole time I'm just waiting for nighttime.”

"I know I'm not supposed to feel this way. I know this whole thing is probably breaking a dozen rules. But I can't help it." His fingers tighten around yours. "You're the best part of my day. The only part I actually look forward to. And I know that probably sounds pathetic, being this attached to someone I only see in my dreams. "

"It's not pathetic," you interrupt, and you mean it. 

He leans his head against your shoulder, a gesture so casual and affectionate it makes your breath catch. "Pathetic would be harder."

He shifts slightly, getting more comfortable against your shoulder. "What if I just talk then? You don't have to tell me anything. Just let me talk to you."

This is safer territory. Letting him talk means you can maintain some semblance of professional distance while still keeping him engaged.

"Fine," you say.

He talks about his classes, about a paper he's working on, about how Jay is dating someone new and won't shut up about it. About how Sunghoon keeps asking if he's okay because apparently he's been acting weird lately, distracted during the day and eager to go home at night.

"I told him I met someone," Jake says, and you feel yourself tense. "He asked if it was the same person from before. The one I tried to tell them about."

"What did you say?"

"I said yes." His hand tightens around yours. "I didn't tell him the details. Just that I'm still... that we're still..." He trails off. "I don't know what we are, actually. What should I tell him?"

"Nothing. Tell him nothing."

"That's not helpful."

"It's the truth. We're not anything. This is temporary."

"You keep saying that." He tilts his head to look up at you, and he's close enough that you can see the details of his face. The exhaustion’s finally fading from around his eyes. "But you keep coming back."

Your silence is apparently answer enough. He settles back against your shoulder, satisfied.

"Jay thinks I'm in love," he says conversationally.

Your heart does something complicated. "You're not."

"How do you know?"

"Because love requires knowing someone. You don't know me."

"I know some things." His fingers lace through yours properly now, holding instead of just touching. "I know you're patient. I know you're careful. I know you care more than you want to admit. I know you're scared of this, whatever this is, but you keep showing up anyway."

"Those are observations, not knowledge. You can't love someone you don’t know anything about.”

"I'm not saying I'm in love with you. Not yet, anyway." He says it so casually, like it's not a devastating thing to admit. "But I could be, if you let me.” 

The words hang between you, heavy and unavoidable. He's not wrong. You do feel something, something you don't have a name for and don't want to examine. Something that's going to end badly for both of you.

"We should talk about something else," you say finally. “This conversation is going nowhere productive."

"I disagree. I think it's very productive." But he doesn't push, just settles more comfortably against you. "Fine. Different subject. Did you make this garden?"

"No. You did. You've been getting better at constructing stable dreamscapes.” 

"Is that because of you?"

"Partially. Your subconscious is learning what stable feels like. It's starting to default to peace instead of panic."

He's quiet for a moment, and you can feel him thinking. Then: "Does that mean you'll leave soon? If I'm getting better?"

There it is. The question you've been avoiding.

"Eventually," you say carefully. "When you're stable enough to maintain on your own."

"And when will that be?"

"I don't know."

"Just tell me." His hand tightens around yours, and there's something almost pleading in his voice now. "How much time do we have?"

"A few more weeks, maybe. If your progress continues. You need to prepare yourself for me to leave."

He stops, laughs slightly. "I don't even know what I want. Just more time with you. More of this. Whatever this is."

"This is me helping you sleep."

"This is more than that and you know it." But he's smiling now, soft and knowing. "But fine. We'll call it helping me sleep. If that makes you feel better."

It doesn't make you feel better. It makes you feel like a coward.

But you nod anyway, and he settles back against your shoulder, hand still in yours, and you sit together in the garden he created while the dream continues around you, peaceful and stable and completely unsustainable.

He falls into deeper sleep eventually, his consciousness dimming as his body gets what it actually needs. You stay until the dream naturally dissolves, until his sleep cycle shifts and your presence is no longer necessary.

────୨ৎ────

Jake is sleeping fourteen hours a day.

You noticed the shift a week ago, right after you told him your time together was limited. At first it seemed like a normal adjustment, his body finally able to catch up on months of sleep debt without fear. Then he kept sleeping and sleeping. 

He's missing classes. You know this because his dreams have started incorporating anxiety about assignments he's forgetting, emails he's not answering, texts from Jay and Sunghoon that he's ignoring. Somehow, the anxiety isn't enough to wake him up. Nothing is enough to wake him up, because waking up means leaving you.

Tonight he fell asleep at six in the evening.

The dreamscape forms into something familiar now, a room that's become your default space, comfortable and neutral with soft lighting and a bed that he insists on even though dream-logic doesn't require furniture. He's there the moment you manifest, already reaching for you with that desperate eagerness that's become standard.

"You're here," he says, like there was any doubt.

"I'm always here." You let him pull you down onto the bed, let him arrange you the way he wants: on your back with him curled against your side, head on your chest, arm around your waist. He's gotten bolder about touching you over the past two weeks, and you've let it happen because it keeps him sleeping peacefully.

Except he's sleeping too much now, and you're running out of ways to justify it.

"Jake," you say carefully. "What time did you go to sleep?"

"I don't know. Six? Seven?"

"It's six-thirty."

"Then six." He presses closer, fingers curling in the fabric of whatever your manifestation is wearing tonight. "Why?"

"You slept twelve hours last night, and ten the night before that."

"So?"

"So that's too much. You're oversleeping."

"There's no such thing as too much sleep." His voice is muffled against your chest. "I'm just making up for lost time."

"You've made up for lost time. Now you're actively avoiding being awake."

"Can you blame me?" He tilts his head to look up at you. "Being awake means being away from you. Why would I choose that?"

This is exactly what you were afraid of. The attachment going too far, tipping from therapeutic to pathological. He's preferring sleep to waking life, choosing dreams over reality because you're in the dreams.

"You have a life outside of sleep," you say, and you start running your hand down his back in slow, soothing strokes. It's something you've learned calms him, grounds him when he's getting agitated. 

"I have you here." He catches your other hand, brings it to his chest and holds it there. "That's better than anything out there. I'm not wasting a single hour of being awake when I could be here with you."

"You're going to make yourself sick," you try. "Sleeping this much isn't good for you."

"I feel fine."

"It’s not sustainable.”

"My body needs rest. That's what you kept telling me for weeks, remember? How I needed to sleep more, how I was destroying myself by staying awake?" There's something almost sharp in his voice now. "Well, I'm sleeping. Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Not like this."

"Then how?" He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at you properly. "How am I supposed to sleep a normal amount when I know every hour I'm awake is an hour I'm not with you?"

Your hand is still on his back, still moving in those slow, calming strokes. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he's holding himself too tight. "You need to find balance. Sleep at night, be awake during the day. Live your life."

"I don't want to live my life. I want to be here."

"That's not an option."

"Why not?" And now there's real frustration in his voice, breaking through the usual gentleness. 

"Because I'm not going to be here forever." You make your voice firm, trying to cut through the attachment that's wrapped around him like a strangling vine. "Jake, listen to me. You need to start pulling back. Start spending more time awake.” 

"No. I'm not preparing for you to leave." He's sitting up fully now, and your hand falls away from his back. "I don't care what the rules are. I'm not just going to wean myself off of you like you're some kind of addiction I need to quit."

"That's exactly what this is becoming."

"Good." His jaw sets in that stubborn way you've seen before, the one that means he's not going to be reasoned with. "Let it be an addiction. I don't care."

This is getting out of hand. You need to regain control of the situation, need to make him understand the severity of what's happening. "Jake, I'm serious. If you keep this up, if you keep sleeping this much, the elders are going to notice. They're going to see the pattern and they're going to pull me off your case immediately."

"Then let them pull you off. I'll just keep sleeping until they assign you back."

"That's not how it works. They'll assign you to someone else."

"I don't want someone else."

"You won't have a choice." Your hands move to his shoulders now, trying to ground him, trying to make him focus. "Listen to me. If I get pulled off your case early, you won't see me again. They'll reassign me and you'll have a new guardian and that will be it."

"Then don't let them pull you off."

"I can't control that if you keep sleeping fourteen hours a day. They monitor these things. They'll see that something is wrong and they'll intervene."

"So what am I supposed to do?" His voice cracks slightly. "Just go back to my regular life and pretend you don't exist?"

"Yes. That's exactly what you're supposed to do."

"I can't." His hands come up to cover yours where they rest on his shoulders. "I can't do that."

"You have to." You gesture between the two of you, frustration bleeding into your voice. "This isn't real, Jake. None of this is real. I'm not real. I'm just something your mind has personified because that's easier than accepting that you've just been healing on your own."

"That's bullshit and you know it." His grip tightens. "You're real. What I feel is real."

"Jake, please." Your hands slide from his shoulders to his face, cupping it gently, trying to make him hear you. "Please, you need to listen to me. I need you to start sleeping at normal hours. Eight, maybe nine at most. I need you to go to your classes and see your friends. Because if you don't, I'm going to get pulled from your case, and then you really will lose me. Do you understand?"

He's quiet for a long moment. His hands come up to cover yours where they're holding his face. "And if I do this, if I sleep normal hours and go to class and act like everything is fine, will you stay for the full few weeks you promised?"

"I'll stay as long as I'm allowed to."

"That's not a yes."

"It's the best I can offer."

He closes his eyes, and you can feel the war happening inside him. You keep your hands on his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones in a soothing gesture, and wait for him to make the choice.

"Fine," he says finally. "I'll sleep less. I'll go to class. But you have to promise me something too."

"What?"

He struggles for the words. "You'll be present with me, like this."

It's a terrible idea. It's the opposite of pulling back. Feeding the attachment makes everything worse. "Okay, but you have to keep your end of the bargain.” 

"Do you just move on to the next person after all this is over?” 

"Yes. That's how this works."

He hesitates. "Will you think about me? After?"

"Yes," you say quietly. "I'll think about you."

"Good." His grip tightens on your hands. "Because I'm going to think about you. I'm going to dream about you and know it's just my mind recreating what we had. I'm going to miss you," he says, and his voice cracks on the last word. "Is that allowed? Am I allowed to miss you when you're gone?"

Your throat feels tight. "You can do whatever you want."

When he speaks again his voice is rough. "I'm going to miss feeling safe."

The words hit harder than they should. Because that's what this has always been about, isn't it? Not you specifically, but what you represent. He's not in love with you, he's in love with not being afraid.

"You'll learn to feel safe on your own. That's the whole point of what we've been doing."

"What if I don't want to feel safe on my own?” His hands are trembling slightly where they hold yours, and you can feel his emotions destabilizing the dreamscape, making the walls waver. "Admit that you want this.” 

"I've already told you I feel something," you say quietly.

"Then why are you fighting this so hard?"

"This isn't real, Jake.” 

"Stop saying that." There's real frustration in his voice now. "Stop trying to protect me from this." His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. "I don't want protection. I just want you. Is that really so impossible?"

His mouth presses against yours with enough force that you gasp. His hand tightens in your hair, holding you in place, and his other hand comes up to cup your face like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't hold on.

You kiss him back.

It's instinct more than decision, your body responding before your mind can catch up. Your hands come up to his chest, to push him away, you tell yourself, but they just flatten against him instead, feeling the dream-echo of his heartbeat. His mouth softens against yours slightly, the desperation giving way to something that feels almost like relief.

He pulls back after a moment, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I just needed you to stop talking. Are you going to leave?” 

"No." The word comes out rougher than you intended. "I'm not leaving."

"You're not?"

"No."

He lets out a shaky breath. "Okay. Okay, good. I’m still sorry. I shouldn't have done that without asking."

"It's fine."

"It's fine?" He sounds almost dazed. He pulls you closer again, and you let him, because apparently you've lost all ability to maintain boundaries. "Can we just have tonight? Without talking about endings or protocols or what we're supposed to do?"

His hands are warm on your wrists, and the dreamscape is stable around you, and you're so tired of fighting this.

"Okay," you say quietly. "Just tonight."

────୨ৎ────

Jake can't stop smiling.

He knows it's a problem because Jay keeps looking at him like he's grown a second head, and Sunghoon has asked him twice if he's okay. 

He can't help it. She kissed him back. She didn't pull away, didn't disappear, didn't tell him he'd crossed a line he couldn't uncross. He felt alive in a way he hasn't felt in years.

"Dude, you're doing it again," Jay says, waving a hand in front of his face.

Jake blinks, realizes he's been staring into the middle distance with what is probably a ridiculous expression on his face. "Doing what?"

"That." Jay gestures at him vaguely. "The whole... whatever that is. You look like someone just told you you won the lottery."

"Maybe I did," Jake says, and he can hear how stupid he sounds but he doesn't care.

Sunghoon sets down his coffee and studies Jake with that quiet, assessing look. "You seem different."

"Different how?"

"Awake," Sunghoon says simply. "We've only ever seen you exhausted. This is new."

"Oh." Jake hadn't thought about that. They've known him through years of sleep deprivation and night terrors, through the worst of it. They've never seen him well-rested and happy. "Is it weird?"

"It's not weird," Jay says quickly. "It's good. Really good. You look like a person again."

"I feel like myself." It's true. For the first time in years, he feels like he's operating at full capacity instead of running on fumes and desperation. His mind is clear. His body doesn't ache. 

"So what changed?" Jay asks, leaning forward with interest. "Did you finally start taking those sleep meds?” 

"I kissed her," Jake says, and the words are out before he can think better of them.

Both of them go still. 

"You kissed her," Jay repeats slowly.

"Yeah."

"The girl from your dreams."

"She's not—" Jake stops, tries again. "Yes. Her."

"In your dream," Sunghoon says. 

"Yes."

The silence that follows is heavy, loaded with concern that neither of them is trying very hard to hide anymore.

"Okay," Jay says carefully. "That's... that's good, man. I'm glad you're happy."

There's something in his tone that makes Jake's smile falter. "You don't believe me."

"I didn't say that.” 

"You don't have to say it. I can hear it." Jake looks between them, at the worry written across both their faces. "You think I'm losing it."

"We think you're going through something," Sunghoon says quietly. "And we're trying to understand."

"I told you. I met someone. She's been helping me sleep. Last night I kissed her and she kissed me back,” He can hear how it sounds, but he keeps going anyway because they need to understand. "She's real. What I feel is real. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"You're sleeping fourteen hours a day—"

"Eight. I'm sleeping eight hours a day now.”

"—and talking about kissing someone who only exists in your dreams—"

"She exists," Jake says, and his voice is rising now. "Just because you can't see her doesn't mean she's not real."

"Jake—" Sunghoon starts, but Jake cuts him off.

"No. You don't get it. You've never had to deal with what I deal with. You don't know what it's like to be afraid of your own mind every single night.” His hands are clenched into fists under the table. "She saved me from that. She's the only thing that's ever made it stop. And if that means she only exists when I'm asleep, then fine. I'll take it. At least I have something."

"You have us," Jay says quietly.

"It's not the same."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't do what she does!" The words come out louder than he intended, and the people at the next table glance over. Jake lowers his voice, but the intensity doesn't fade. "You can't go into my dreams and make the nightmares stop. You can't make me feel safe the way she does. You try, and I love you for trying, but you can't fix this. She can."

"Jake, listen to yourself," Jay says. "You're talking about her like she's the only thing keeping you alive."

"Maybe she is."

The admission hangs in the air between them. Jay looks stricken. Sunghoon's expression has gone very careful.

"That's not healthy," Sunghoon says finally.

Jake stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "You know what? Forget it. I shouldn't have told you."

Jay reaches for him, but Jake steps back.

"I'm fine. I'm better than fine. For the first time in years, I'm actually sleeping, actually living, and you can't just be happy for me. You have to make it into something wrong."

"We're worried about you," Sunghoon told placates. "That's all this is."

"Well, don't be. I'm handling it." Jake grabs his backpack from the floor. "I have to go."

"Where?"

"I have errands to run."

He leaves before they can stop him, pushing through the café door and out into the afternoon sun. 

They don't understand. She's not just some fantasy he's projecting onto his dreams. She's real, and she cares about him. 

He's walking without a destination, just moving, trying to burn off the anxious energy thrumming under his skin. His feet carry him down familiar streets, past familiar buildings, until he finds himself standing in front of a pharmacy.

He stares at the storefront for a long moment, something clicking into place in his mind.

The inside of the pharmacy is bright and clinical, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Jake wanders down the aisles, past pain relievers and cold medicine, until he finds what he's looking for.

The sleep aids section is bigger than he expected. Melatonin in various doses. Diphenhydramine. Herbal supplements promising restful sleep. Prescription-strength options behind the counter.

Jake picks up a bottle of melatonin. 10mg. The label says to take one tablet thirty minutes before bed and to not to exceed recommended dose.

He picks up a second bottle. Diphenhydramine, 25mg. Sleep aid and antihistamine. The labels say not to combine them, but people do it all the time, don't they? 

────୨ৎ────

Something is wrong.

You can tell the moment Jake enters the dreamscape. Usually his consciousness arrives with a certain clarity, a presence that's become familiar over these weeks. Tonight he's sluggish, his form manifesting slowly like he's moving through something thick and resistant.

The dreamscape forms around him, but it's hazy at the edges, unfocused in a way that suggests his subconscious isn't operating at full capacity.

"Hey," he says when he sees you, and even his voice sounds off. 

You manifest fully and cross to him immediately. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." He sways slightly when he moves toward you, and you have to catch his arm to steady him.

"Jake." You guide him to sit on the bed, studying his face. He looks tired, which shouldn't be possible. Exhaustion doesn't exist in the dreamscape the way it does in waking life. Dreams are supposed to be restorative. "What happened?"

"I'm fine. Just tired." He reaches for you, pulling you down beside him, but the movement is clumsy and uncoordinated.

"You're in a dream. You shouldn't be tired here."

"Well, I am." He leans his head on your shoulder, the weight of it heavier than usual. "Can we not talk about it?"

Alarm bells are going off in your mind. This isn't normal. This isn't how dreamscapes work. If he's this compromised here, something is very wrong in his waking life.

"Jake, I need you to tell me what's going on."

"Nothing's going on. I'm sleeping like you wanted." There's something defensive in his tone, even through the sluggishness.

"This isn't normal sleep. You can barely hold yourself upright." You pull back to look at him properly, and the unfocused quality of his eyes makes your chest tight with worry. "What did you do?"

"Nothing. I'm just really tired from today. I had a long day." But his words are coming out too slow, too deliberate, like he's concentrating hard on making them sound natural.

You take his face in your hands, making him look at you. "Tell me the truth. What did you do before you went to sleep?"

"Nothing." The word comes out too fast this time, overcompensating. 

"I can tell when you're lying. The dreamscape responds to dishonesty." You can feel the panic starting to rise in your chest, cold and sharp. "What did you take?"

"Can we please just drop this?" He tries to pull away from you, but the movement is sluggish and you hold on easily. 

"That's not how this works!" Your hands are shaking where they hold his face. "Dreamers don't experience physical exhaustion in the dreamscape, not unless something is interfering with their natural sleep chemistry."

Recognition flashes across his face, he understands what you're implying, but he schools his expression back to neutral. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, and we both know it." You can feel the dread solidifying in your chest, heavy and cold. "If you won't tell me what you did, I'm going to have to find out myself."

His eyes widen slightly. "What does that mean?"

You don't want to do this. You've avoided this with him because it's invasive and a violation of the small amount of privacy dreamers have. 

"I'm sorry," you say quietly. You reach for his consciousness, bypassing his awareness and diving straight for his recent memories.

The reaction is immediate. Jake gasps, his whole body going rigid, and you feel the dreamscape shudder violently around you. Accessing memories without permission hurts. It's meant to hurt, a built-in defense mechanism to prevent guardians from abusing their access.

His hands come up to his head, and his face contorts with pain. You hate this. You hate hurting him. You push deeper anyway, searching for the memory of what he did before he went to sleep.

There. You find it and pull it forward.

Jake is in his bathroom opening the medicine cabinet. He takes out bottles, plural, and reading the labels before shaking pills into his palm. 

You pull out of his memories and back into the present moment. Jake is curled in on himself, hands still pressed to his head, breathing hard.

"Don't," he says, and his voice is raw. "Don't do that." He looks up at you, and there's betrayal written across his face, sharp and clear even through the drug haze. "You hurt me."

The words cut deeper than they should. "I needed to know what you did."

"So you just forced your way into my head?" He's moving away from you now, putting distance between you on the bed. "You were supposed to be safe.” His voice cracks. "Why would you do that?"

"You're taking medication you don't need to artificially extend your sleep," you interrupt, and you can hear the fear bleeding into your voice as anger. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"I'm not hurting myself.”

"You are!” You stop, trying to find words that will make him understand. "Your brain needs natural sleep cycles. When you artificially induce sleep with medication, you disrupt that balance.” 

"I know what I'm doing."

"You clearly don't." You're standing now, pacing, the horror of what you saw in his memories crashing over you. "You're damaging yourself. For what? For a few extra hours in a dream?"

"For a few extra hours with you," he says, and even through the hurt and the drugs, his voice is certain. "And I'd do it again. "

"No. No, you won't." The words come out louder than you intended, sharp with fear. "You're hurting yourself because you're so desperate to hold onto something that was never meant to last. I can't watch you destroy yourself for this."

"For you," he corrects. "I'm doing this for you."

"If you care about me at all, stop."

He stares at you, and something in his expression shifts. The hurt is still there, but underneath it is a realization. "You're scared. You can't dismiss it anymore as just attachment or trauma bonding or whatever else you've been telling yourself."

"It doesn't matter if this is real," your voice sounds broken even to your own ears. "It still has to end."

"Then let me have as much of it as I can."

"Not if it means you're going to hurt yourself." You close the distance between you, taking his face in your hands, making him look at you. "Please, Jake. Please stop. I need you to be safe. Even after I'm gone, I need to know you're going to be okay."

His eyes search yours, and you can see the moment the fight drains out of him.

"Okay," he says quietly, giving into your fear.

The dreamscape is already starting to stabilize around you, responding to the easing of tension. Jake's consciousness is still sluggish from the medication, but he's present, holding onto you like you're the only stable thing in his world.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," you say quietly. "When I accessed your memories. I'm sorry."

"I know." His voice is soft against your ear. "I understand why you did it, but it still scared me. The one person who's supposed to be safe doing something that hurt."

You stay with him for the rest of the night, monitoring the way the medication affects his sleep cycle, making sure he's safe even though he shouldn't have needed you to. When he finally slips into deeper, dreamless slee, you disconnect and return to the archive room with your heart heavy.

Jungwon is there. He takes one look at your face and says, "What happened?"

"He's trying to extend his sleep artificially.” 

Jungwon's expression goes carefully neutral. "And you stopped him?"

"I tried." You sink into a chair, exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with the work. “I don't know if I can trust him to keep that promise when he's this desperate."

"You need to file a report. Let the elders handle this."

"If I file a report, they'll pull me off his case immediately. He'll get worse.”

"Or he'll adjust and find other support systems." Jungwon sits down across from you, and his expression is serious. "You need to request reassignment. Tonight."

"I can't do that."

He leans forward slightly. "Listen to me. I work with children, the elderly, and the terminally ill. Do you know how easy it would be to get attached to those cases?” 

"That's different.” 

"It's exactly the same." His voice is calm but firm. "I had a case two months ago with a six-year-old girl, dying of leukemia. Her dreams were beautiful, full of hope and wonder despite everything she was going through. Every night I had to watch her build these elaborate fantasies about growing up and living a full life. I had to maintain those dreams knowing she had weeks left at most.”

"I rotated off after three months. It hurt to leave her and know that someone else would be there for her final dreams instead of me, but I left anyway, because that's the job. Jake has had months of your time. Instead of getting better, he's now medicating himself to spend more time with you." Jungwon's expression doesn't change, but there's something almost pitying in his eyes. "You're enabling him."

The word lands like a slap. "I'm not.” 

"You're feeding his attachment." He pauses. "You're both bad for each other at this point. You need to leave."

"So what am I supposed to do? Just abandon him when he's like this?"

Jungwon's expression softens slightly. "I know it feels cruel. You care about him, maybe more than you're willing to admit. That care is making you blind to the fact that you being there is the problem, not the solution."

The words settle over you like a weight. You want to argue, to explain why leaving now would be worse than staying.

But a small, honest part of you knows he's right.

────୨ৎ────

The connection forms, and the dreamscape resolves back into the soft bedroom. You’ve barely fully manifested when he’s on you. One second you’re standing in the abyss, and the next his body is pressed against yours, arms locking around your waist with a desperate strength that steals your breath. He buries his face in the curve of your neck with a broken sound.

“You’re here, you’re here, fuck, you’re really here,” he mumbles, the words hot and damp against your skin. His hands are everywhere, skating up your back and clutching at your shoulders, as if trying to confirm you’re real through frantic touch.

“Please,” his voice is a shaky whine. He pulls back just enough to look at you. He looks exhausted, hollowed out. “Please, I need to touch you. I need you to let me touch you.” 

He’s trembling. You place your hand on his shoulder, trying to inject soothing energy inside him. It does little to help.

“I kept my promise,” he whispers, nuzzling back into your neck, his lips brushing your jaw. “No pills. I just laid there and waited. It took forever and I was so scared you wouldn’t come back after… after what I did.”

His hands fist in the fabric of your shirt. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I was stupid. I was scared. Please.” He grinds his hips against yours, and you can feel him already hard. The need radiates from him like heat. “I need you to take care of me. Please, just take care of me tonight. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

It feels like the most intimate thing he’s ever done. You bring your hands up, one palm cupping the back of his head, fingers tangling in his dark hair. The other strokes down the tense line of his spine.

He melts at the touch, a full-body shudder of relief going through him. “Yes,” he whines. “Yes, like that. Just like that.”

His mouth finds yours with a consuming, clumsy desperation. The kiss is deep, and starving. His tongue sweeps into your mouth and you meet him in the middle. A groan tears from his throat.

“I can’t think straight when I’m awake,” he pants against your lips, his hands dragging your tunic up, fingers scrambling for purchase on your skin. “All I do is count the hours until I can sleep. It’s pathetic. I know it’s pathetic.”

“It’s not,” you murmur, and you’re not sure if that’s a lie or not.

He gets the tunic over your head, discarding it into the fog. His mouth drops to your breast, sucking a hardened nipple deep, his tongue flicking wildly. He kneads the other with a rough, possessive hand. 

“Need to be inside you,” he mumbles, his words slurred against your flesh.

He fumbles with the fastening of your pants, his fingers shaking too hard to work properly. A frustrated, almost childish sob escapes him. You help him, pushing the material down your hips, and he sinks to his knees, mouth trailing down your stomach.

His tongue laps a broad, wet stripe through your folds, and you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair. He moans like he’s the one receiving pleasure, the vibration against your clit making your knees buckle.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groans, his voice ragged. He devours you with a single-minded focus, his tongue plunging inside you, then circling your clit. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open. “Let me make you feel good. Please. I need to.”

The submission has twisted, turned into a different kind of control. His need to please, to serve, is just as dominant as any aggression. You look down at the crown of his head between your legs, the sheer abject devotion in the curve of his spine, and something cracks open inside your chest. You come with a choked cry, your hips stuttering against his mouth. He drinks you down, whining with satisfaction, not stopping until the last tremor subsides.

Then he’s rising, pushing you back until you’re laying on your back. He sheds his own clothes, cock jutting out. Pre-cum beads at the tip. He aligns himself and pushes forward, burying himself inside you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his whole body trembling. “Fuck, you’re so tight. You feel like home.”

He starts to move, full of pure, pounding need. Each thrust is a deep, claiming slide, his hips slapping against yours. The sounds are obscene, wet skin on skin. He stares into your eyes, his gaze unfocused and drowning.

“Tell me,” he whimpers, his pace increasing and becoming frantic. “Tell me you feel me. Tell me I’m real.”

“You’re real,” you gasp, the words torn from you. He is a solid, desperate weight inside you. It is the most real thing you have ever known.

“I’m gonna come,” he warns, his voice high and broken.“I’m gonna come inside you. Is that okay? Please, can I?”

“Jake, slow down,” you manage to say, your hands sliding to his hips.

It’s a reflex, a guardian’s instinct to moderate, to control the environment. But the plea is weak. The drag of him inside you is perfect, a friction that ignites every nerve. Your own body arches, betraying you to seek more. 

“I can’t,” he whines, the words punctuated by another sharp, deep thrust. “Oh god, I can’t, it feels too fucking good.You feel too good.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between thrusts, his voice high and tight with impending release. His hands scramble for purchase on your skin, leaving fleeting bruises. “I’m sorry, I know, I’m sorry.” 

The apologies are meaningless, ritualistic, lost in the animal need. He’s not sorry.

His rhythm becomes erratic, desperate. He’s chasing that feeling of home he mentioned, trying to obliterate himself inside you. One of his hands leaves your hip, slips between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing rough, frantic circles. The dual sensation is too much. A sharp, keening cry is torn from you. Your internal muscles clench around him, a vice grip of pleasure.

He follows you down, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. He fucks into you, deep and final, his body bowing, every muscle locking.

“Take it,” he sobs, his voice shattered. “Take it all, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna knock you up so you can never fucking leave me.”

The words are deranged.They should horrify you. Instead, a dark current of something terrifyingly close to pride thrills through your veins. He’s spilling inside you, his whimpers muffled against your shoulder blade. He collapses onto you, his breath hot on your skin, his softening cock still nestled within you, twitching with the last of his climax.

This is a dreamscape. He cannot impregnate you. Your body in this space is a projection, a confluence of his subconscious desire and your manifested form. The threat is empty, a fantasy of possession. But the emotion behind it, the raw, desperate wanting, is terrifyingly real.

He nuzzles the sweat-damp skin of your back. “Stay,” he murmurs, the word barely audible.

It’s the last plea of a drowning man. You wait, feeling his heartbeat slow against your spine, feeling the dream itself begin to soften at the edges as his mind descends into truer, emptier sleep. When his breathing evens out into the deep, rhythmic pattern of the dreamless, you gently disentangle yourself.

────୨ৎ────

You're standing at the edge of Jake's dreamscape, ready to enter, when Jungwon's voice stops you.

"Don't." Jungwon holds up the file. "He's been reassigned."

The words don't make sense at first. You stare at him, at the file in his hands, trying to process what he's saying.

"What?"

"The elders reassigned his case this morning. He's under my care now." Jungwon's voice is gentle, but there's no room for negotiation in it. "You're off the case. Effective immediately."

"His mental state has deteriorated to the point where he qualifies as a vulnerable case. Severe psychological distress, reality dissociation, compromised decision-making." Jungwon sets the file down on the table between you. "He needs a guardian who specializes in fragile cases. Someone who can work without getting their feelings involved."

The implication hangs in the air. 

"I can handle him," you say, but your voice sounds weak even to your own ears.

"You can't. That's why you're being removed." Jungwon's expression is sympathetic but firm. "The elders have been monitoring the situation. They made the call."

"When do I have to leave?" you ask quietly.

"You already have left. As of this morning, I'm his guardian. You're not to enter his dreamscape again."

"Not even to say goodbye?"

"A clean break is better."

"Better for who? The elders?" You can hear the bitterness bleeding into your voice. "Because it's certainly not better for him. He's going to wake up and I'll just be gone. He'll think I abandoned him."

"I know exactly what he'll do. He'll be upset. He'll be angry. He'll probably try to force himself to sleep more to find you, and I'll have to manage that." Jungwon's expression is steady, professional. "I've handled cases like this before. Dreamers who become attached to their guardians. It's not common, but it happens. There are protocols for managing it."

"He's going to hate you." The thought of him falling asleep tonight and finding you gone, finding Jungwon there instead, makes you feel like you're being torn apart. "Please, just let me see him."

"I can't. I'm sorry.” Jungwon moves toward the exit, then pauses. "For what it's worth, I don't think you did anything wrong."

He leaves, taking Jake's file with him, and you're left standing alone in the archive room.

You can feel Jake's dreamscape forming in the distance. He's falling asleep right now, his consciousness reaching for the familiar space where you've always been waiting.

But he’s not yours anymore.

────୨ৎ────

Jake knows something is wrong the moment he enters the dreamscape. The air doesn't feel right. The temperature is off by a degree or two. Everything looks correct on the surface, but something fundamental has shifted.

"Hello?" he calls out, turning slowly in the center of the room. His voice sounds too loud in the silence. "Are you here?"

Nothing, just the quiet hum of the dreamscape maintaining itself, a sound he's never consciously noticed before because she was always there to fill the space.

She's usually already manifested by the time he arrives, always there with that particular expression she gets when she first sees him, something between exasperation and something softer she never quite admits to. Jake can feel his heart starting to beat faster, that old familiar panic creeping in at the edges.

"I know you're here," he says, moving toward the center of the room, scanning the empty corners as if she might be hiding in them. "That's fine. I can wait."

He sits on the bed and waits, hands clasped between his knees, trying to keep his breathing steady. She's never been late before, but there's a first time for everything. He can handle it. He can.

Minutes pass. The dreamscape remains empty, unchanging, and the panic in Jake's chest is growing from a flutter to a roar.

"Okay," Jake says, and he can hear the edge of desperation creeping into his voice now, can't quite keep it out anymore. "Okay, this isn't funny. I know you're mad about last time. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I was desperate.”

The silence presses down on him like a physical weight. He stands up, paces to the window, back to the bed, unable to sit still. This doesn't make sense. She wouldn't just not show up. Even when she was angry with him, even when he'd done something wrong, she was always here.

"Please," he says, and his hands are gripping the edge of the bed hard enough that his knuckles are white. "Please, I'm sorry. Whatever I did, whatever I said, I'm sorry. Just come out. Please."

The air shifts.

Jake's head snaps up, relief flooding through him so intensely it makes him dizzy. "There you are.” 

A figure manifests in front of him, the space rippling and solidifying into a human shape. As the form becomes clear, Jake's relief curdles into confusion and then something darker.

It's not her.

It's someone else. A man, with a calm expression and dark eyes that take in the dreamscape with the kind of professional assessment that makes Jake's stomach drop.

Jake stands abruptly, the bed scraping against the floor of the dreamscape even though there is no floor, not really. "Who are you?"

"My name is Jungwon," the man’s voice is gentle, the kind of voice you'd use with a spooked animal or a confused child. "I'm your new guardian."

The words hit Jake like a punch to the chest. He stares at this intruder in a space that's supposed to be his and hers alone, trying to process what he just said. "My what?"

"Your guardian. I've been assigned to your case as of this morning." Jungwon takes a step closer, slow and deliberate, and Jake takes a step back on pure instinct. "I know this is unexpected. I'm here to help you adjust to the transition."

"Transition." Jake repeats the word like it's in a foreign language, like if he says it enough times it might start to make sense. "No. No, you're just part of the dream. She made you." 

He stops, looking around wildly as if she might appear at any moment to tell him this was all a lesson, something other than what it appears to be.

"I'm not part of a dream she made. I'm a guardian, the same as she was." Jungwon's voice remains infuriatingly calm, like he's explaining something simple and obvious. "I'm here because she's been rotated off your case. This is a standard protocol change. It happens with all guardian assignments eventually."

Jake's breathing is coming faster now, shallow and insufficient. His hands are shaking and he shoves them in his pockets to hide it. "That's not possible. She wouldn't just leave. She promised she'd stay. She promised."

"I understand this is difficult," There's something practiced about the way Jungwon says it, like he's said it before to other dreamers in other dreamscapes. "But guardian rotations are standard protocol. She was with you longer than usual, actually, much longer. But all assignments eventually end. That's how the system works."

"No, you’re lying. Where is she?” Jake backs up until his legs hit the bed again. The room is starting to feel smaller, the walls pressing in, responding to his rising panic.

"I want to see her." Jake's hands come out of his pockets, reaching toward Jungwon like he might be able to physically pull the answer he wants out of him. His throat is so tight it hurts to speak. "After everything, she owes me a goodbye."

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

"Why not?" The word comes out almost as a shout. "Why the hell not? You people can apparently do whatever you want. show up in my dreams and manipulate everything, but I can't have five minutes to say goodbye to someone who's been the most important person in my life for months?"

"Seeing her again would only make the transition more difficult. It would give you false hope that she might come back. This way is kinder."

"I don't care how it works!" Jake is shouting now, and the dreamscape responds violently to his emotion, the walls darkening from soft gray to charcoal, the light flickering like a dying bulb. "This is my mind. You can't just show up here and tell me she's gone and expect me to accept it. I didn't ask for you. I don't want you. I want her back."

Jungwon's expression doesn't change, but he takes a small step back, giving Jake space. His hands are loose at his sides, non-threatening, the posture of someone who's dealt with angry dreamers before and knows how to de-escalate. "I understand you're angry. That's a normal response to this kind of change. Loss of a familiar guardian, especially one you'd developed a strong working relationship with, is disorienting and painful. I need you to understand that I'm here to help you. That's my only goal. I'm not your enemy."

"You're not her." Jake's voice breaks on the words, and he hates the vulnerability, hates that this stranger is seeing him like this. The dreamscape shudders around them, the walls rippling. His voice drops to something quieter, more desperate. "I want to know why she left. I must have done something wrong, right?" He stops, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything wrong." Jungwon's voice is firmer now. "This wasn't about you failing or doing something that drove her away. The elders made a decision based on what they believed was best for your care and her wellbeing. You became attached to her in a way that was making it harder for you to heal, and her continued presence was reinforcing that attachment rather than helping you develop independence."

"I don't want your help." 

"You don't have to want it right now. You just have to not fight it." Jungwon gestures around the dreamscape. "This space is yours. I'm just here to keep it stable, to keep the nightmares away and help you rest. That's all. I'm not trying to replace her. I'm just trying to do my job."

Jake sinks down onto the bed, all the fight draining out of him at once. He feels hollowed out, like something vital has been carved out of his chest and all that's left is the aching space where it used to be.

"I miss her," he says, and the words come out broken. "I miss her so much and she's only been gone for a few hours. How am I supposed to do this?” 

"One night at a time." Jungwon says it simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You don't have to move on right now. You just have to get through tonight. And then tomorrow night. And the night after that. Eventually it will hurt less."

The living room was dim, smoke dancing around the room as Sunoo exhaled the toxic smoke into the stale air. You both were on the floor, Sunoo's back against the couch as you were slumped over the small coffe table, fingers wiping the tears that cling to your lashes and cheeks. Another sniffle made Sunoo snap his head toward you, eyes scanning before he rolled them in annoyance. He put out the cigar in the ashtray right by his thigh, hand fast enough wrapped around the cold glass filled with the mellow juice vodka. His head already light and body buzzing after a couple of them.

"I seriously don't know why you are crying now. I told you, didn't I?"

He took a sip, eyes on your messy figure—the almost half downed bottle of tequila you insisted on drinking, the shot glasses scattered around. You groaned as tears kept pouring, a sob slipping past your lips before you could choke it back.

"I know you told me." You slurred, voice thick and wobbly, forehead pressing against the cool wood of the table. "You always tell me. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."

Sunoo scoffed, leaning his head back against the couch with a sharp exhale. "God, you're unbelievable." He muttered, rubbing his face with his palm. He shifted closer, knees brushing yours when he reached forward to move a shot glass out of the way before it tipped. The touch lingered longer than necessary—his fingers hovering near your wrist.

"You knew what he was." Sunoo continued, quieter now, jaw tight—words rolling off his tongue in a well known manner. He himself didn't know how many times these words left his lips as he comforted you, again and again. You, on the other hand, seemed to always get involved with people who could care less about forming anything deeper—meaningful. And that was what you always seeked, aware or not.

You are the classic lover girl in Sunoo's eyes— loving, caring, innocent. Everything about you screamed any synonym that stood for lovely. That's just what you radiated, even if you never wanted to say that out loud—and he thinks that's the part that makes all of this happen.

Sunoo let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back against the couch. "You are genuinely impossible." You sniffed, dragging the back of your hand across your face. "Wow. Comforting."

"I'm not comforting you." He said, nudging one of the empty shot glasses away with his foot. "I'm telling you the truth. You never listen. Ever."

You lifted your head just enough to squint at him, head heavy, eyes red. "I do listen."

"No, you nod." Sunoo corrected. "Then you go and hook up with some guy who looks like he washes his face with body soap and has the personality of wet cardboard." Your eyes teared at that, shoulders tense as you held in the sobs that threatened to pour out of you. Not because of his words, but because you knew Riki was anything but that. Tall, handsome, personality something that actually makes him stand out from the rest—outgoing, shining, perfect.

And you did think you two were on the right way. But the moment you actually gave into his pure charm, the sex appeal he cared with himself into every room he stepped foot in, you were not interesting anymore. Since then it would have been cold answers to your texts, busy all the time, sometimes even delivered for more than twelve hours. And he did actually call you up sometimes, but it only ended up with him fucking you, apologizing and saying all the things he didn't mean, never meant.

How foolish of you to actually believe those for four consecutive months. Humiliating. But again, you held onto that one string of hope that was always pulled whenever he texted you, called you—even if you knew there was only one thing he came back for.

Sunoo grabbed one more cigar, lighting it and exhaling the smoke. The toxic fumes making his head feel lighter than it already is when the nicotine mixed with the alcohol in his system. His eyes were back on you, quiet and tense. Gaze moved over your shaky figure, softening as he noticed your pointer fingernail repeatedly dig into your thumbs cuticle.

He knew that. He knew you could breakdown again any minute. You sniffed again, shoulders shaking despite your best effort to stop it. "I really thought he liked me." You muttered, voice breaking in the most annoying way possible.

Sunoo groaned, letting his head back against the couch as he stared at the ceiling, bringing a lit nicotine stick up to his lips. "Please don't start again." He really cared about you. He did. But it was tiring him. Tiring to always be the shoulder you cry on, come to him sobbing after making the same mistake again and again—like you never learn a lesson. He felt mentally tired of it—the empathy he felt at first always switching to annoyance during your breakdowns.

And you knew that. But still, he was your only solace—the one you knew will always have your back no matter how much you annoyed him. No matter how much your same stories made him sigh, he always listened.

"I—I just really care about him. And I—" There it goes another sob. Tears stained your cheeks like waterfalls, and this time the cry made even Sunoo's skin crawl. He closed his eyes, huffing out a breath as the cigar burnt slowly between his fingers. He inhaled slowly, then let the smoke slip out through his nose, jaw tight. "Hey." Sunoo said, finally, voice lower now. Less sharp. "Okay. Breathe."

You shook your head, another broken sound clawing out of your chest. "I did breathe. For four months."

"That's not what I meant." He muttered, putting the the cigar out into the ashtray a little harder than necessary. He turned toward you then, hand hovering awkwardly before settling on your upper arm. A grounding squeeze. "You didn't do anything wrong." You laughed bitterly, vision blurry, head in the clouds. "That's bullshit."

"No." He said, firmer. "It's not. You liked him. You tried. That's not a crime."

"It feels like one." You whispered, gaze drppping to the surface of small wodden table in shame. Sunoo sighed, rubbing his thumb against your sleeve absentmindedly. "He liked the attention. He liked the convenience. That's not the same thing."

Your shoulders slumped, energy draining out of you all at once. Without really deciding to, you crawled by his side—too tired to sit upright on your own anymore—and leaned onto the couch, your head knocking lightly against his shoulder "Jesus." He muttered. "You're gonna knock me over."

"Then move." You sniffed.

He didn't.

Instead, he adjusted slightly, shoulder angling so you wouldn't slip. His arm stayed loose at his side, close enough to cage you in without actually holding you. You stared blankly at the floor. "I just don't get it." You said quietly. "How do you do it?" Sunoo blinked, staring ahead into the TV that was off, the quietness just now settling in. His head dizzy and light. "Do what."

"Get someone to actually like you." You said, slightly frustrated now with your cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded. "Like… stay. Not just want you when it's convenient." Sunoo scoffed. "That's your problem. You think it's about doing something."

"What's it about then?" You asked, voice almost an inaudible whisper, head resting on his broad shoulder as you looked at his layed out legs against the carpet. "Not settling for people who treat you like an option." He answered. "And not confusing attention for affection."

You sniffed, the sleeve of your big hoodie coming in handy as you wiped your wet nose. "Wow. You should write a book."

"Yeah." He deadpanned. "It'd be called 'Stop Dating Assholes'." Despite yourself, a weak laugh slipped out of you. "Easy for you to say. You're so pretty." Sunoo snorted, rolling his eyes as he looked to the side. "That has literally nothing to do with it."

"It absolutely does. You get both too.Men and women, especially men. Like—"

"Wrong." He said, cutting you off before you could finish that sentence that narrowed everything down to looks, and not standards. "I just don't chase people who clearly don't give a fuck." You tilted your head slightly, cheek pressing more into his shoulder. "Must be nice."

"It is." He said. Then added. "Less crying. More sleep." His hand was again around the glass that rested next to his thigh right by the ashtray.

"Can you spare your homegirl at least one good from your roster—" You were about to hit the punch line of your overused joke, when the sudden buzz on the coffee table cut through the room. Your phone.

You froze.

Sunoo felt it immediately—the way your body stiffened against his side. His radar for shithole-piece of trash-washes himself with 3in1 shampoo went off. "…Tell me that's not him." He said slowly, side eyeing you over the glass and remembering your words just from earlier.

You swallowed, eyes locked on the screen lighting up the table. Riki's name sat there like a punch to the gut. "I blocked him." You said weakly, words slightly slurred as you tried to get your lie across again. Sunoo laughed, sharp and disbelieving, glass again down onto the floor after he took a sip. "Clearly."

"It's probably nothing." You murmured, already pushing yourself up slightly. "I should just—"

"No." Sunoo said immediately, sharp voice cutting through the tight air.

"I just want to see what he—"

"No." He repeated, firmer this time, and before you could reach for it, he leaned forward and grabbed your phone off the table, already feeling the annoyance engulf him again. "Sunoo—!" He glanced at the screen, jaw tightening instantly. "Oh my god. He has audacity."

"Give it back." You said, reaching for it, getting up on your knees and over his figure. He lifted it out of reach. "No. Absolutely not."

"He might be apologizing."

"He's apologizing because he's bored." Sunoo snapped. "Or horny. Or both."

"That's not fair—" You slumped back onto your heels, throat already tight and eyes stinging again. "It's extremely fair." He cut in, finally turning to look at you. "You told me he was blocked. You cried about him for an hour drunk. And now one vibration and you're ready to fold?"

"You don't get it." Your eyes burned as you swallowed the lump in your throat. Sunoo couldn't believe how desperate you could be, all because of a man who treated you like some rag doll he could call up just to play with. It made his jaw tighten at your obvious stupidity. "I get it perfectly." He said. "And I'm not letting you do this again. Not tonight."

His voice left no room for argument. You stared up at him from where you were kneeling, chest rising unevenly, tears clinging stubbornly to your lashes. The angle made everything feel wrong— you below him, his arm still raised with your phone clenched in his hand like it was contraband. "You can't decide that for me." You whispered, but it came out weaker than you meant it to.

Sunoo scoffed. "I'm not deciding anything. I'm stopping you from embarrassing yourself."

That did it.

You surged forward without thinking, hands pressing against his chest as you tried to snatch the phone back. "Give it to me."

"Jesus—" He almost tumbled to the ground, balance already off from the alcohol, your palms warm and insistent against him. "Would you stop—" Your fingers fisted into his shirt instead, frustration spilling over, tears finally breaking free. "You don't get to control me just because you're annoyed."

"I'm annoyed because you're letting him do this to you." He snapped back, breath suddenly much closer than before.

Too close.

You froze.

So did he.

Your hands were still on his chest, knees between his thighs as the couch dig into his back, phone forgotten for half a second. You could smell the smoke on him, the alcohol, something distinctly Sunoo that made your head feel lighter than it already was. "You're drunk." He muttered. "So are you." You shot back, chin tipping up defiantly. Your faces were inches apart now. Neither of you moved.

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable and buzzing in a way it hadn't been all night. Sunoo's gaze dropped—just briefly—to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes like he hadn't meant to do that at all. "Let go." He said, but his voice wasn't as sharp this time. You didn't. Not immediately.

"I just want him to care." You said quietly, the fight draining out of you as fast as it came. "Why is that so hard?" Something in Sunoo's expression shifted. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring slightly as he exhaled through his nose. "Because you keep giving people access to you without making them earn it." He said. Lower. Rougher. "You hand yourself over and then act surprised when they take what they want."

Your grip loosened, hands sliding slightly over the fabric of his shirt before dropping back to your lap. The movement was small—but he felt it. You swayed a little on your knees, dizzy, and Sunoo reacted without thinking, his free hand coming down to steady you by the waist.

There it was. The touch lingered. Both of you noticed. His fingers pressed in just enough to keep you upright, thumb digging slightly into your side like he was grounding himself as much as you. Your breath hitched, eyes flicking down to where he was holding you. Sunoo swallowed.

"…You're gonna fall." He muttered.

"Then don't let go." You said, frustration laced with something softer. Something reckless. The words landed heavier than they should have. His hand didn't move. The phone buzzed again in his other hand, sharp and intrusive, dragging him back just enough to scoff under his breath. "Unbelievable."

He looked at you again, eyes darker now—not angry, not soft either. Just… focused.

"You really wanna answer that... " He said. "After everything you just said?" You hesitated. That hesitation was all he needed. Sunoo turned and tossed your phone onto the couch behind him, out of reach this time. When he looked back at you, his hand was still on your waist, grip firmer now, unapologetic. "Not tonight." He repeated, quieter. "You're not going back to him." Your heart hammered, chest tight—not just from crying anymore.

"…And what if I don't know how to stop?" You asked, voice almost cracking at the mere thought of Riki. His thumb pressed in a little harder. There it is. Always the same story, same questions he was fed up of hearing. Your desperation raising a bubble of anger and annoyance inside his chest. He was tired of it, almost at the brink of just saying "screw you and your non existent love life, get proffesional help and let me live".

He exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw clenched so tight it almost hurt.

God. He was so tired.

Tired of the tears. Tired of the same names leaving your mouth like they mattered. Tired of being the one you collapsed into every single time someone else decided you weren't worth the effort. "Do you hear yourself?" Sunoo said suddenly, voice low and edged. "It's always 'I don' t know how to stop.' Always." You flinched, eyes glossy as you looked down at him. "I'm just—"

"No." He cut in. "You're not just anything. You're choosing it. Every time." Your lips parted, breath shaky. "That's not fair."

"Neither is this." He snapped, thumb digging into your waist harder than necessary. "Me standing here, holding you together while you wait for some guy to text you back like you're disposable." The alcohol burned hot in his veins, nicotine buzzing in his head, frustration coiling tighter and tighter in his chest until it had nowhere else to go. You shook your head, tears spilling again. "I don't want to be like this."

"I know." Sunoo said, harsher than he meant to. "And yet you keep doing it." Something snapped. Sunoo got closer suddenly, invading your space completely, his face inches from yours, you still between his thighs swaying slightly, face flushed. "You want to know why they don't stick around?" Your breath hitched, chest tight.

"Because you give them everything." He continued, voice rough. "And they don't have to work for a single fucking thing." Your hands curled at your sides, nails digging into your palms. "Stop."

He didn't.

"Because you let them touch you, fuck you, walk away—" He stopped himself just short of the last word, chest rising fast. Your eyes flashed. "You don't get to talk about me like that."

"Then stop proving me right." He shot back. The words hung between you, sharp and ugly. For a split second, neither of you moved, then Sunoo swore under his breath.

"This is a bad idea." He muttered—right before he closed the distance and kissed you. It wasn't gentle, it was heated and impulsive, frustration bleeding straight into his mouth against yours like he needed to shut you up or himself down, he didn't know which. His hand tightened at your waist, pulling you flush against him before you could even react, intoxicated breaths mixing.

You gasped into the kiss, shock freezing you for half a heartbeat—

Then your body responded before your brain caught up. Your fingers grabbed onto his shirt again, not to push him away this time, breath stuttering as you kissed him back, clumsy and desperate and tasting like alcohol and smoke and everything you weren't supposed to want.

Sunoo groaned quietly against your mouth, like the sound was dragged out of him unwillingly. He broke the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

"Fuck..." He muttered. "This isn't—"

You kissed him again before he could finish. His grip slid from your waist to your hip, thumb brushing bare skin where your hoodie had ridden up, touch lingering just long enough to make your stomach flip. The kiss deepened, slower now but heavier, charged with the kind of tension that had nowhere to go but worse.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark, unfocused, lips slightly parted. Your breath's raging, caressing each others red faces. Sunoo looked ethereal. You knew he is pretty. That's nothing new. But right now, with his eyes lidded, nose and cheeks red, plump lips slick—he looked tempting. Tongue made its way over your lips, collecting the remnants of him. Alcohol and smoke—he tasted like alcohol and smoke. But there was sown thing different, like under all those intoxicating substances you could taste something sweeter, something addictive.

Something twisted low in Sunoo's chest when you looked at him like that. Like you didn't recognize him either. His jaw clenched, eyes flicking to your mouth when your tongue passed over your lips, slow and thoughtless. A mistake. He noticed. Of course he did. "Don't." He muttered, voice rough.

"Don't what?" You asked, breathless, genuinely confused.

That was it.

He kissed you again, harder this time—no hesitation, no warning. His mouth crashed into yours like he was punishing both of you for the second he'd pulled back earlier. The kiss was all teeth and heat and frustration, lips bruising against yours as his hand slid up from your hip to your side, fingers digging in like he needed something solid to hold onto.

You made a soft sound against his mouth, knees threatening to give out, and Sunoo felt it—felt you sag slightly into him—and swore again under his breath.

"Fuck's sake." He muttered against your lips. "You're unbelievable." His thumb brushed under your hoodie again, this time deliberate, dragging over warm skin just to feel you react. You did—your breath hitching, hands tightening in his shirt as if that was the only thing keeping you upright. "You let everyone touch you." He murmured, words spilling out between kisses and the smacking sound of your mouths, bitter and heated. "And then you act surprised when they don't stay."

His mouth dipped lower, not kissing—hovering—like he was daring himself to stop. He didn't. "But you cling to them anyway." He continued, voice low, almost mocking. "Cry over them. Let them wreck you." Your head tipped back slightly, not resisting, lips parted as you breathed him in. You didn't argue. Didn't defend yourself.

That silence snapped something else in him. Sunoo's hand slid up to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you back into another kiss—slower, deeper, controlled in a way the first hadn't been. Less explosive. More intentional.

"You don't even know how to say no." He murmured against your mouth. Your reply was a soft, shaky breath—and then you kissed him back just as deeply, surrendering to the pull, to the closeness, to the fact that thinking had fully left the room. Ignoring the facts that the one you were kissing was your best friend who you survived high school with, spent every second of your free time on face time. And most importantly the one you never saw in any other way than just your friend. It is wrong. But the common sense went out the window the same moment he closed the gap between you two. The moment you inhaled his toxic breath.

His grip tightened, thumb pressing into your jaw as he tilted your face just right, kissing you like he was trying to overwrite every other mouth that had ever touched you. Possessive. Heated. Unfair.

When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to breathe, foreheads touching, noses brushing. "This is stupid." He said quietly. You nodded, eyes unfocused. "Yeah." He didn't move away. Instead, his lips hovered near yours again, breath warm, intoxicating. "And you're gonna regret this."

You swallowed. "Probably." Sunoo huffed out a short, humorless laugh—and then kissed you again anyway, deeper than before, because being tired of your bad decisions didn't stop him from making one of his own. One that he won't be able to erase no matter how hard he tries or wants. Your hands found his shoulders, his head angling to deepen the kiss as his tongue grazed your bottom lip. Your mouth already parted, waiting for him to continue, but he backed away a inch lips still close but so far. One hand went to your chin as his eyes danced over your face. Eyes glossy and lashes wet from the tears, cheeks stained and flushed. Fingers of his other hand caressed the back of your thighs, shorts riding up and nor doing much in covering your bottom.

"Tongue out." Sunoo said, low and rough—less a command than a dare he didn't expect you to take. You did it without thinking—clumsy, breathless, still shaking—eyes half-lidded as you waited. The second he saw it, something in his expression snapped. His jaw tightened. "Fuck." He groaned, thumb pressing into your chin as he leaned back in, closing the distance he'd created only to break you on it. His tongue slid over yours in a slow, deliberate sweep—testing, taunting. His tip dragged up your wet muscle, tasting and flexing against it. You purred, a sound left your throat as your tongue was out, offered and inviting as he pressed his own against yours. The slippery friction making your throat tight as you rubbed your tongues together. Slow. Torturous.

You could feel the saliva slowly drip down your chin, a drizzle coming down from your connected mouths. Sunoo moaned against your tense muscle, both hands on your waists, caressing over the warm cozy material, feeling your body up and hands getting used to something they never had, and never even thought about having—but here he was.

His lips closed around your hot tongue, slowly sucking on the tip, head light and dizzy. You closed your eyes in delight at the new feeling, saliva collecting fast and demanding. A moan you let out went straight to Sunoo's mouth, making his fingers cramp and dig into your waist, pulling you flush against his leasure figure. Your woobly knees and calves already hurting from all the kneeling on the hard wooden floor. Your fingers were fast to grasp the back of his head, urging him to close the gap, let your tongues meet in a messy collide of your swollen mouths.

But he didnt budge, instead he released your tongue, letting the string of saliva snap between your raged breaths. The eye contact was charged, eyes tracing over each other's faces, sucking in every proof of the act that just took place under the dim lights. Sunoo's lips raised into a smirk, gaze stuck to your lips as you licked them in impatience. A whine escaped you, body finally moving as your knees adjusted and moved to straddle his hips, centers meeting as a breathy moan left your chest, eyes closing at the mere feel of his hard on under his sweats.

He sneered, hands still firmly onto your waist, eyes moving down where you sat on him, the subtle move of your clothed heat made him smile mockingly. "Are you this desperate for those man too?" He asked, eyes moving to your tipsy face, your eyes boring into his, aching for the eyes to meet. Your breath caught, but you didn't stop. His restrained length fitting against your folds just right, dragging between the covered folds that threatened to drench the fabric soon enough.

His jaw flexed when you rolled your hips again, just enough to make him feel it. Sunoo blinked, one hand grabbing your jaw, making your faces just inches apart, his fingers dig in your cheeks shaking your face in an attempt to make you focus on him. "For men who don't even bother pretending they care?" He continued, thumb pressing harder into your jaw as he forced you to look at him. "You get like this for them?" You swallowed, eyes glassy, lips parted as your hips stuttered against him.

"Do you act like this?" He asked, tilting his head slightly, studying your face. "Or is this just because you're drunk and pathetic right now?" The words were cruel. Deliberately. Your fingers tightened on his shoulders instead of pulling away, breath shaky as you felt your arousal pool more and more—thighs shaking and weak with each friction of your covered centers.

Sunoo's mouth twitched at that. "Look at you." He muttered, the upward move of his hips making you jolt. "Crying about him five minutes ago and now you're grinding on me." His grip shifted onto your ass, fingers digging into your flesh as he guided your movement once—slow. Controlled. "Is this what you do?" He asked quietly. "Confuse attention with something real?" Your breath came out uneven, hips faltering for half a second before pressing forward again. "Mmm..." A sound escaped your throat as his hips met yours halfway.

"Or do you just need someone to want you that badly?" His eyes dragged over your face, taking in every shaky breath, every twitch. "Even if it's not the one you were crying over." You didn't answer. You just moved again. Sunoo exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes darkening. "You don't even think before you give yourself away, do you?" His hand left your jaw, sliding down your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, thumb brushing lightly as he held you in place.

"And you wonder why they don't stay." You swallowed the saliva that collected in your mouth, hips stuttering against his own as you opened your eyes, palms pressing against his wrist that held your neck. Face flushed as your eyes started getting teary, lashes again decorated with small pearls. They threatened to fall any second, your hips still working over Sunoo's, words somehow getting through your drunk and hazy mind.

Sunoo rolled his eyes. Just the image of you crying again over the shitty men you let come into your life made his blood boil with annoyance. The next thing you knew his arms were around your waist, turning you away from him and making you lean against his chest as he readjuated you onto his lap. You let out a gasp as you were now facing away from him, your back to his chest as his arm grounded you, hard and firm against your waist, pressing you down. The rock hard bulge pooling at your tail bone, making you arch involuntarily.

His breath grazed your ear, nose tracing the side of your neck. His breath lingered at your neck for only a second longer. Then his hand moved. Not back to your waist. Lower. Slow.

His fingers traced down your stomach, dipping beneath the hem of your hoodie this time, skimming warm skin like he was testing how far he could go before you snapped out of it. You didn't. You inhaled sharply instead. His palm flattened against your lower stomach, holding you still when your hips tried to move again. No grinding now. He controlled it.

His fingers slid a little lower, feeling the outline of your drenched pussy against the tight shorts that hugged your bottom. His fingers tapped, carresed softly. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, your warm skin pressing against his big hand, trapping it between your shaky thighs, breaths uneven. A low, humorless chuckle vibrated against your neck. "See?" He said quietly. "This is why they treat you like that."

His other hand moved up, tangling briefly in your hair before gripping at the back of your head, tilting it slightly to expose more of your throat.

"You act like you don't want it..." He murmured. "But you're already shaking." His thumb pressed lightly against your pulse point. "You like when someone takes control, don't you?" The hand that was over your cunt wiggled out and slid sideways, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts — not pulling yet. Just resting there.

"Bet you'd let me do whatever I want right now." He continued, voice darker now. "Just to feel chosen for once." Your breath hitched, eyes closing with a tear escaping your eye. His grip tightened slightly in your hair. "Wouldn't you?"

He shifted beneath you, just enough to remind you how solid he was, how aware he was of every reaction you gave him. How there's no backing out now. His thumb finally dragged slowly along the inside edge of your waistband — still teasing as he snapped it against your hip. "Sunoo—" His fingers finally hooked onto the material pulling it down your thighs as you hastily helped him and kicked it off. He pulled you flash against him again, chuckling darkly as his hands grabbed the hem of your big hoodie, pulling one side up and slowly exposing the warm skin to the air. His eyes scanned everything over your shoulder—your pressed thighs, your pink bikini panties that hugged your hips before it disappeared into the curve of your mound.

Your stomach felt tight, raising fast with each shallow breath. Your arousal spreading like wildfire in your abdomen. His soft palms were moving down your sides, traveling all the way to the back of your thighs before he stopped there eyes skimming over the goosebumps on your legs that pricked his hands. He chuckled lowly right by your ear. "You know what really gets me?" He murmured against your ear, low and raspy as his fingers dipped into your soft flesh, pulling your legs apart without any resistance whatsoever. "Your taste." Your breath hitched, body going stiff as he let your feet meet the cold floor. You clit throbbed at his words, legs wide and spread over his lap as he held the back of your knees, making sure you stay like that. "In men." He clarified mockingly. "Absolute garbage."

Sunoo's teeth grazed your ear, as you were now nestled against his chest. Every raise of his ribcage sent vibrations through your chest, tight and flaming. "Do you even hear yourself when you talk about them?" He muttered, hands slid down your thighs again, spreading you wider without effort. "You hype up the bare minimum like it's something rare." You shivered, thighs suddenly burning from the stretch.

"They text you once and you act like they chose you out of a lineup." Your breath stuttered as his hand traveled over your hip, feeling the cotton underwear before it nestled on the wet path that is so embarrassingly getting bigger. The moment his fingertips went over your covered slit, dipping right into your folds, you moaned.

"And then you let them get close." He continued, voice colder now. "Not because they deserve it. Not because they're worth it." His middle finger found your clit, lightly grazing and tracing circles over it, wet fabric slippery under his fingertip.

"But because you are stupid enough to fall for them fast."

The words landed heavier, but ending up just as a nonsense as your hips raised, chasing the friction he was providing you with. "You don't even pick..." He said, finger sliding down pressing and prodding at your entrance teasingly, the wet cotton oozing with your wetness making your eyes roll to the back of your head. "You just take whoever looks at you long enough."

His lips brushed the edge of your ear, his cock throbbing violently against your back, precum leaking that he himself felt every ooze of it, his briefs a mess. "Half of them don't even try. They don't even want you that badly." His finger shallowly thrusted into your covered hole, grounding you back against his chest.

"And you still spread yourself for them."

Your thighs trembled, a groan escaped you. A quiet scoff left him as his fingers hooked onto the waistband tugging it down as your legs joint together for a second helping him get them off before you spread them again. Thouglessly offering yourself to him, every trace of common sense knocked out of you. Sunoo was not any better. His mind in his cock, thinking only with it—no step backs now.

He shifted slightly beneath you again, enough to remind you exactly how you were positioned — legs open, back pressed against him, breath uneven. He had the control. His hand went behind your knee again, holding you open, thumb pressing into the sensitive skin there as the other went back down your hot stomach. And for the first time he let his fingers graze your bare pussy—red, wet and swollen, begging for any kind of touch.

You jolted against him, eyes shoting open at the mere feel of his touch as your hips rolled to meet his cold hand. Sunoo delivered a bite to your earlobe, breath fanning your flushed cheek. His finger went right over your throbbing clit, diving into the mess of your glistening folds, expertly running through it up and down enjoying the mess you created and the sounds your cunt produced—and he just started.

You moaned out, eyes heavy and head against his shoulder, buzzing and throbbing harshly. "A—aah..." A broken sound left your shaky impatient body as his finger dipped into your entrance, slowly filling you up. "You have the worst taste." He murmured, his finger sliding in and out of your drenched pulsing hole, feeling the muscle clench around him at the mere feel of his fingertip gliding against it. He purred at the feel, eyes moving down to catch a glimpse as his other hand let your leg go and slid over your stomach, hand gripping the hem of your big hoodie as he pulled it up to your chest. The view now all clear.

Sunoo but his lip, eyes stuck to the way his finger thrusted into your glistening mess that's slowly coated the whole of his palm, sticky arousal spreading all over. "Your taste isn't just bad." He let his nose graze your cheek, another finger making it's way into your pussy, slowly being sucked in as you gasped from the stretch. "It's embarrassing." His words were sharp, cutting through your ears meanily as his fingers gradually started building a pace. You squirmed against him, breath uneven as you let his fingers explore your inside. "Yesyesyes—ah fuck..." You whispered desperately, eyes threatening to close as your hips tried to meet his hand.

Sunoo held you against him, the hand under your chest pressing you down, legs wide spread as his fingers sped up, your velvety walls clamping on his digits as they curled inside, palm smacking against your wet clit. You moaned, one hand moving over your shoulder to grasp at his shirt, fisting it hard, trying to ground yourself as the fire in your pelvis burned. Each feel of his skin slapping your throbbing bud, the drag of his fingers against your pulsing walls sent waves of overwhelming pleasure through you. "Everything you do is fucking embarrassing."

Sunoo spoke, tongue flicking your sensitive ear cartilage, head pulsing and buzzing with adrenaline the more he felt you shiver. "Chasing them as if they are the only ones in this world, begging them to stay." His digits plunged into you at an unreal speed, the squelching sound of your wetness pouring out of you as he abused your cunt, fingertips grazing that one spot. Your arched your back, hips chasing his ravenous fingers as your mouth went agape fast pants escaping. "Pathetic."

The lewd sounds were the only thing that echoed through your mind, the building pleasure threatening to snap—even the ding of your phone behind the two of you nothing but a background noise. "I'm close!" Sunoo snickered at your whiny voice as your body started to tremble, feet dragging against the cold floor searching for anchor as your toes curled. His fingers were precise and sharp, the wetness spread all over his palm and your inner thighs. Your foot sent the glass of vodka that was right by him rolling as it spilled all over the hard floor—the glass tumbling resonating through the tight air.

Your body tightened all at once, breath splintering as the pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter. Every nerve felt lit, stretched thin, ready to snap. "I'm close—" You breathed again, voice wrecked, barely steady. He felt it—he way your muscles clenched, the way your hips lost rhythm and started chasing.

And then he stopped completely. Hand stilling before withdrawing. The sudden absence hit harder than anything else had, your walls fluttering around nothing, mad at the sudden emptiness. Your body jerked forward instinctively, chasing what wasn't there anymore. A broken sound tore from your throat, half protest, half disbelief.

"No—" You whimpered, breath shaking almost a sob. "Why—"

He tightened his arm around you, keeping you pressed against his chest. Your hips twitched uselessly, trying to grind against nothing, trying to find friction that was already gone. "Sunoo…" You whined, frustrated, flushed, trembling.

He leaned in close, breath hot against your ear. "You get on your knees for men who don't deserve it." He murmured. "You don't get to cum that easily." Your stomach burned with need, pulse throbbing in your ears. He let you squirm for a second longer. Let you feel it. Let the frustration settle deep.

Then his hands slid to your waist, holding you over your hoodie before he spoke right into your messy hair. "Sit on the fucking table." He spit the words out with venom, hands slightly pushing you away from him. Your thighs shook as you gulped, already on your knees and tipsily grabbed onto the edge of the small wooden coffe table, the furniture swaying under your relaxed weight as you raised yourself onto it, hand messily pushing the stray shot glasses off as they rolled over the surface, one hitting the ground harshly. The hunger for the denied orgasm boiled inside you as you climbed. Your hot skin hit the surface of the small table, palms bracing behind you for balance. You didn't wait to be positioned, you spread yourself before he could even step in, eyes going over his sitting figure across. Hungry. Desperate and still in your tipsy, aching haze—still trembling from where he left you hanging. A low, sharp laugh left him. "Couldn't even pretend to hesitate." He teased amusingly.

You were already leaning back on your hands, thighs open, chest rising fast. The cool air hit your overheated skin and only made you more aware of how badly you wanted him back. Your hips rolled against the open air, a whine escaped you. Sunoo got on all fours, the discomfort in his sweats forgotten about once again as he crawled towards you. His eyes scanning your pulsing heat for the first time, gaze tracing each and every crevice—the way your puffy clit throbbed, your glistening folds that begged to be separated and licked, your hole fluttering just under the simplicity of his sharp eyes. You could see his stare that burned through you even more, stuck between your trembling thighs before he looked up.

Your eyes met as he left a kiss on your knee, crawling further between your legs as his tongue attached itself to your burning skin, leaving a long strip of saliva as it dragged almost to your heat. Sunoo stopped right before he could get any closer to your throbbing pussy, eyes stuck to yours.

Your chest moves fast and shallowly, palms grounding you against the small wooden table as your eyes went over his crawling figure—his broad shoulder, back muscles that seemed to engrave themselves onto his thin shirt, his slender waist that you were always envious about dipped perfectly into his sweatpants covered hips.

A moan echoed the room as he let his teeth graze the inner of your sensitive thigh, before turning to the other and leaving open mouthed kisses against the trembling flesh. Sunoo's eyes never left your dazed face, noting down every reaction you had and the way your gaze traveled all over his body. A smile raised itself on his lips as he licked your inner thighs, his knees rubbing against the hard floor as he slightly but noticeably swayed his hips, palms firm against the parquet, muscles tensing at every shiver of yours.

"Please— fuck..." Your mouth went agape as his tongue left an unexpected lick against your aching center, from your entrance up to your clit, his mouth steadily engulfing your bud sucking hard before slowing down again. His feline eyes teasing through his lashes, leaving you frustrated at the lack of sight of his mouth against you, hands hastily grabbing the hem of your hoodie and throwing it over your head leaving you only in your bra.

Sunoo smiled teasingly against your wetness, hot muscle twisting and circling over your clit as he took a moment to catch a breath, detaching his mouth from you to lick his lips. His breath still fanned your sensitive cunt, teasing with each whiff of air that escaped his nostrils as he studied your hungry heat. Pants of desperation were sending your chest rising and falling at a rapid speed, whines of urgency spilling as you rolled your hips towards his face sending the weak table under you slightly swaying. "Sunoo please..." You whispered, eyes pleading and calling his to meet yours again and he did. Your flushed faces glowing under the dim light, warmth swallowing your bodies as the subtle realistion hit you— what you two were doing, what he was doing to you. And you are letting him.

As these thoughts somehow are going through your head, the train of clarity shattered the moment his mouth attached to you again. "Oh my!" You jolted, hands trembling behind you as they tried to steady you. Sunoo's tongue explored you, shamelessly flicking over your clit fast, your essence coating his nose and chin dripping down as it mixed with his spit with filthy sounds. Your pelvis clenched now and then, whenever his teeth would graze your bundle od nervous sending shocks through you.

And then—your phone. The vibrations and ringtone taking you out of the trance.

Your head snapped to the couch right behind Sunoo's figure, eyes glossy and lost in the pleasure but still your thought went back to the boy who was unstoppably trying to get you on your phone. Your chest tightened at the bright phone screen that danced around the cushion, a lump in your throat forming as your eyes became glossier then they were. Sunoo noticed the absence of your pants and sobs, eyes now behind him even though he was ravishing you like you were his last meal, tongue running up and down your slit, poking at your hole as he sucked the essence out. He stopped. A slap over your clit made you jolt, gasp erupted from your chest at the sting that remained from the force Sunoo delivered it with.

Your gaze moved back to him slowly, breath still uneven, chest rising and falling as the sting faded into something else — something hotter, sharper. He was already looking at you, not confused, not apologetic. Just irritated. "Eyes on me." The phone buzzed again somewhere behind him, lighting up the room for half a second — but he didn't even glance back. Your gaze had barely flickered toward the couch when his hand caught your chin, firm and unyielding tilting your head down towards him. His thumb pressed slightly into your jaw. "I said." He repeated, slower now, voice low and edged. "Eyes. On. Me."

The command settled heavy in your chest. Your thighs trembled where they framed him, your fingers curling against the edge of the table as you forced yourself to focus on his face — the set of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes, the faint sheen of sweat at his temple.

Satisfied, he let go of your chin. And lowered himself back between your legs. The shift was immediate — his hands gripping your thighs to keep you open as he leaned in again, mouth returning with deliberate purpose. Not rushed. Not sloppy. His mouth attached to your pussy, almost as if trying to swallow you whole, tongue running up and down your slit impatiently, flicking your clit before prodding at your entrance, continuesly thrusting and poking the gaping hole. Your head tipped back instinctively, but his hand shot up, fingers threading into your hair.

"Look at me." He murmured against you, voice rough and vibrating against your swollen pussy. You forced your head forward again, eyes fluttering open despite how heavy they felt to watch the way his firm tongue fucked your cunt. He kept his gaze on yours, watching every twitch, every breath that hitched. Watching the way your stomach tightened, the way your hips tried to move. His grip tightened when you did.

"Stay." He muttered, holding you steady and reminding you to focus as he lapped up your arousal that felt divine against his tongue as it glided against you effortlessly. The phone vibrated again faintly on the couch.

Sunoo didn't stop. His mouth worked intentionally, almost punishing in its precision. Like he was proving something — that your attention belonged exactly where he wanted it. Your breath broke into a soft, helpless sound. "That's it." He said quietly, barely lifting his head. "Focus."

You fell back onto your elbows, moans of restraint falling from your lips as tears formed at the corners of your shut eyes. Was it from the pleasure? Or the boy who didn't care about you and only looked at you like some sex toy? Were you that pathetic? At the brink of an orgasm thinking about a man who doesn't even bother to say 'Hi' to you on the streets.

"A— fuck." You murmured, hands curling into fists, eyes tight shut. Your fists clenched tighter, nails biting into your palms as the pressure inside you climbed higher and higher, unbearable and blinding. Every breath came out broken, dragged from your lungs like you couldn't pull in enough air. Tears slid down your cheeks as your thoughts swirled around everything, around Riki. Your head tipped back, a strained sound slipping from your throat as the coil inside your stomach pulled impossibly tight. "Don't run from it." He murmured against you, voice rough, almost commanding.

Your thighs shook harder. You tried to steady yourself on your elbows, but your arms trembled just as badly. It wasn't just the pleasure.It was the humiliation of how fast you gotten here. How easily Sunoo dragged you to the edge. How your mind kept trying to wander to someone who didn't even matter and how your body didn't care. "Sunoo—" You choked out, barely coherent now. He held you there — hands firm, presence solid, not letting you close your legs, not letting you shrink away as he slurped up your juices.

"Come on, cum on my face" He said quietly. That was all it took. The tension finally snapped, sharp and overwhelming. Your body tensed hard, breath tearing from your chest in a broken cry as the release rolled through you. You arched against his mouth, fingers digging into your palms, knuckles white, thighs trembling uncontrollably as the wave crashed over you.

For a few long seconds, you couldn't think. Couldn't breathe properly. Couldn't do anything except feel it — the rush, the heat, the tremor that left you weak and shaking. Your head dropped forward as the intensity slowly ebbed, chest heaving, skin flushed and damp, lashes wet and cheeks decorated with tears.

Sunoo straightened slowly, watching you come down from it. You looked wrecked. You sniffed, wiping your nose as tears dropped slowly down your flushed face. Sunoo licked his lips, the back of his palm coming to wipe his drenched nose and chin. Your sniffle cut through the thick air between you.

Sunoo was still close, still between your legs but now on his knees. He saw it immediately. The way your mouth trembled. The way your eyes weren't focused on him. Your hand came up to wipe your nose, shoulders shaking faintly despite the heat still lingering in your body. Your eyes flicked to the couch behind him and he rolled his eyes, cock still throbbing in his sweats, tip leaking with hot precum. His jaw tightened.

A tear slipped down your cheek. You didn't bother stopping it this time. "He keeps calling." You said hoarsely. "And I still— I still care."

There it was.

His hand went to grab your arm, pulling you up to sit, now face to face with him as you hissed at the discomfort from the orgasm, your walls pulsing. One of his hands cupped your cheek, thumb brushed under your eye, collecting a tear. "You're still thinking about him." He said quietly, softly almost.

You didn't answer. His hand moved again, but this time not to caress— a quick, controlled slap to your cheek. Not hard enough to hurt long, but sharp enough to make your breath hitch, head slightly turned to the side from the impact. "Answer me." Your lips parted, shaky. The cheek burning as you hiccuped.

Another one. Same side. Same sting.

"Who are you crying about?" He asked, voice low, dangerous in its calm as it escaped his gritted teeth. You swallowed, the mind hazy enough from the alcohol and the climax, but now the slaps too. "Riki." The name leaving your mouth seemed to irritate him more than the tears. He grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. "While you're still flushed from me?" He asked. Another quick slap — this time lighter, more deliberate.

"While your legs are still shaking?"

Your breath stuttered. He leaned closer, forehead almost touching yours. Your eyes lowered, tracing his front before they stopped onto his huge bulge. The outline of his hard cock imprinted onto the baggy sweats, making you gulp in shock. Your pussy pulsed at the mere sight of his boner, arousal pooling again with a burning sensation.

His hand slid from your jaw to your throat, not squeezing, just holding. "Look at you." He murmured breath fanning your red face. "Crying over someone who isn't even here… while I'm the one who just had you falling apart." Another sharp tap against your cheek — not angry, but claiming your attention. "Who are you thinking about right now?" He asked. You hesitated. His thumb pressed into your lower lip. "Say it."

Your voice came out breathless, a whisper. "You." His jaw flexed, thumb pressing into your pulsing point as his eyes flicked to your lips briefly. "Louder."

"You."

That was all he needed.

His hand slid into your hair, gripping at the back of your head before he pulled you into him — mouth crashing against yours, no hesitation left. The kiss was rough, messy, almost punishing. Not tender. Not slow. His teeth grazed your lower lip before he deepened it, tongue pushing in like he was trying to erase the name you said earlier.

Your hands clutched at his shirt again, desperate and unsteady. He pulled back just enough to murmur against your mouth. "Don't cry over someone who doesn't deserve you." Then he kissed you again — harder this time. Your breath barely had time to steady before his mouth was on yours again.

This time it wasn't rushed, it was hungry. His hand stayed in your hair, fingers curled tight at the nape of your neck, holding you exactly where he wanted you as his lips moved against yours with deliberate hungry pressure. The earlier sharpness was still there, but it had shifted — less anger, more intensity.

You melted into it instantly. Your fingers twisted in his shirt, pulling him closer like you were afraid he would disappear if you loosened your grip. Your tears were still damp on your cheeks, mixing with the heat of his skin as your mouths moved together. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss without hesitation. Not gentle. Not soft.

Claiming.

Your chest pressed against his, breaths colliding and tangling, the taste of him lingering every time your lips parted for a second before meeting again. It wasn't neat — it was messy. Saliva was everywhere, smearing between the two of you, chins drenched. You moaned against him when he bit your bottom lip, pulling it slightly before releasing it. His head dipped and attached right onto your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses that made you shudder against him, moving your head to the side giving him access.

You breath out through your mouth, eyes closing in delight as you purred when his hands groped your covered chest, massaging them. Your hands sneaked to the back unclipping the bra and letting the straps fall down your shoulders. Sunoo pulled back from your neck and grabbed the straps, pulling it over your arms before throwing it to the side. His hands were fast onto your tits, palms against the hard perks as he squeezed. You pushed your shoulders back, arching into his touch as your hands moved behind you, palms flat against the shaky table.

You moaned lowly as his head lowered, eyes flicking to yours before he attached to one of your nipples, sucking on it before letting his tongue dance around it. You gasped, eyes stuck on his mouth that worked over your hardened sensitive perk as his hand squeezed the other repeatedly. "Yes, fuck." You threw your head back as he moved to the other nipple, flicking it and caressing with his hot muscle as he moaned against you eyes closing in content. The hard bud felt too tense against his mouth as he teased it, rolling and sucking it harshly.

One of your hands tangled in his hair, back arching as low gasps escaped you. "So good Sunoo—" You were cut off as his arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you harshly off the surface as your back met the cold floor between the couch and the table. You hissed at the sudden coldness against your bare body as you layed there, Sunoo hovered over you as his mouth attached to you neck in a matter of seconds. He sucked and licked as you arched into him hands fast onto the hem of his shirt as you started pulling it up.

Sunoo got up on his knees, pulling the shirt over his head and revealing his pale porcelain skin. He spread your thighs as he nestled between them, eyes skimming over your naked form and stopping on your dripping wet cunt. He sneered. "Have to fuck the thought of him out of you, huh?" He said slowly crawling over your body, hands at either side of you. You hummed back in response, feeling your head pulse and vision fuzzy at the edges. Sunoo's head snapped to the side, gaze stopping onto the half drunk tequila standing proudly and mockingly on the coffe table. A reminder why you both are like this, a reminder of why this is happening in the first place. And he grabbed it, hands skillfully and fast opening the bottle, the smell hitting his already dull senses.

"Make you a dumb cock slut cuz that's what you are..." He continued and brought the bottle right over your chest. A stream of the transparent drink hit your sternum with cold force, sending your mouth agape at the contact. The liquid trailed down slowly, icy against your overheated skin, making you gasp as it slipped between the curve of your chest and down your stomach. The sharp scent mixed with the warmth radiating off your body, and for a second the contrast made your head spin even more than the alcohol already had.

"Sunoo—" Your voice wavered, not quite a protest, not quite a plea. He didn't look apologetic. His eyes followed the path of the tequila as it slid lower, jaw tight, something unreadable flickering there. The earlier mockery was still present, but there was something else under it now — something more focused. "You're already not thinking straight." He muttered, almost to himself, setting the bottle aside on the floor with a dull thud. "Don't need more of that."

His hand flattened against your stomach, cold fingers spreading the liquid across your skin, dragging it upward again slowly. The chill made you arch instinctively, a shaky breath leaving your lips. The room felt smaller like this — the couch at your side, the table leg near your shoulder, him above you, blocking out everything else.

He was again over you, his head lowering over your stomach before his tongue was out, dragging slowly upwards, tasting the sharp and strong alcohol as it burned his taste buds, evoking a hunger in him that was indescribable. You could not look away. His hot tongue gliding against your body, over your sternum and between your breasts, nipples hard and sensitive. His tongue slid slowly higher, deliberate, unhurried — like he wanted you to feel every inch of it. The alcohol's sharp scent lingered between you, but the way he looked at you now had nothing to do with tequila.

It was hunger.

He swallowed, throat working, eyes never leaving yours. Your chest rose and fell unevenly under his stare. He leaned over you again, eyes dark, scanning every trembling inch of you like you were a mess he couldn't believe was real.

"You are ridiculous." He spat, voice low and sharp, teeth clenched. "Absolutely, catastrophically ridiculous." Your chest rose and fell, heart hammering, and he smirked at the way you were practically vibrating in place. "Do you ever think?" He snapped, hand slapping your shoulder just enough to make you flinch. "Do you pause before throwing yourself at idiots who don't even know your name half the time?"

Another sharp slap, this time to your cheek. You gasped, blinking up at him, and he leaned closer, jaw tight. Your stomach tightened, heat pooling everywhere as his glare pinned you to the spot. You could feel your pulse in your temples, pussy throbbing and burning.

"You always do this." He said, hand flicking at your cheek again, smirk tugging at his lips. "Whining, crying, begging. And for what? Huh? For what?" Another sharp slap. Your lips parted instinctively, letting out a breathless gasp. He chuckled darkly, leaning closer until his mouth was near yours, almost brushing your lips. "Do you think I'm gonna coddle you?" He hissed. "Do you think I care about your pathetic sob story?"

His hand traced your jaw with force, tilting your face so you couldn't look away. "You're a mess. A walking, whining, pathetic mess." You swallowed, breath uneven, words caught in your throat. He didn't care. "And you're looking at me like I'm supposed to fix it." He said, voice rising, almost taunting. "Like I'm supposed to clean up your disaster every single time you crash and burn. Pathetic."

You gulped, eyes watering more, barely coherent. Then his face was close again, almost pressing yours into the floor. Your chest rose and fell, breath uneven. A small whine escaped your lips.

"Shut your mouth." He hissed, voice low and rough, leaning in. His lips pressed to yours in a chaotic, messy kiss — not gentle, not soft, just forceful and demanding. Your hands gripped his shoulders, leaning into the kiss instinctively as your heart pounded.

His tongue barely touched yours, teasing, flicking in sharp, messy motions that made your head spin. He pulled back just a fraction, smirk tugging at his lips. "Damn, you're insatiable." He muttered, lips brushing against yours again, teeth grazing your lower lip, sending another shiver down your spine. A graze on his front made his head snap down, a sight of your hands fiddling with the sweat straps as you struggled to pull them down, a whine followed from you. He chuckled, one hand coming down to undo the bow before he took your hand and stuck it into his sweats flush against his boxer covered cock. Your palm felt the heaviness of it, the restraint as he pulsed. His hand cupped yours over his bulge, guiding it up and down.

He hissed, hips thrusting into your hand as he held himself up with the other. His lips ghosted over your shoulder, leaving a feather kiss as you delivered pressure to his throbbing cock, the wet patch hot and growing under your skin. He groaned. "Do you feel that." Sunoo spoke breathlessly against your collarbone. "Going to fuck you so hard, fuck—" He choked out as something snapped in him. He pushed your hand off, his hand pulling the front of his sweats and boxers down finally releasing his length. Tip was red and purple, glistening under the dim lights as his hand wrapped around it, spreading the arousal down and stroking it as he raised himself, sitting back down on his heels. The shine of your arousal as it spilled all over your thighs and floor made him hiss, the other hand grabbing your thigh and pushing it open, knees raising from the ground.

You spread yourself for him, whining and calling his name. He glanced at you, eyes locking with his hand still stroking his cock. He smirked as he leaned over you again, hand directing his pulsing head right at your entrance before pulling it through the sticky mess, coating his length. Your thighs trembled, a moan ripping form you at the feel of his pulsing tip against you. Sunoo let out a low, sharp hiss, eyes dark and glittering with frustration and hunger as he hovered over you, hand pushing your thighs far apart. "You're such a fucking mess." He muttered, fingers brushing lightly over your thighs, teasing, just enough to make you squirm. "Do you even realize how desperate you look right now?"

He leaned closer, letting his breath fan over your skin, lips brushing your collarbone as he continued, voice rough and sharp. "Whining and trembling, letting me do all the work. And you're enjoying it, aren't you?" You whined, hips urging him to enter you as your folds drooled all over his head.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he watched you, chest rising and falling, eyes wide and glossy. "I could watch you like this forever." He added, tone teasing but edged with dominance. "Please please put it in—" A breath was stolen from you, pushed out of your lungs as he pushed into you. Your walls hugging him tightly at the sudden rough intrusion. You arched into him, a needy moan following. He stood over you, the other hand right by your waist, holding himself up as he pushed your knee up to your chest, easing your leg into the air. He bottomed out teasingly slow, eyes watching your face contort with pleasure.

Sunoo smirked as he pressed into you, letting the slow, deliberate movements drive the heat building between you both. His hand gripped the back of your knee tightly, grounding you as your body arched instinctively, gasps escaping your lips. "You feel like this for me?" He hissed, voice low and rough, almost dangerous, feeling your walls clench around him at the filthy words "So wet, so needy…"

Your nails clawed at his hand that held your knee up, trying to anchor yourself as he pushed again, slow and deliberate, just teasing the edges of your control. "Look at you." He groaned at the feel of your nails digging into his fingers. "Thinking you can handle this… thinking you could survive a second of me being in charge."

A soft, frustrated laugh left him as he moved, his fingers dug into your flesh pressing against the back of your thigh and dragging you just a little closer. "You're so damn greedy… always wanting more, huh?" You saw starts at the way his length caressed your walls agonizingly slow, pulsing hard around him in a plea to ravish them, abuse them till you can't walk. "S-Sunoo..." You stammered, tongue tied himself. "Faster please." Sunoo chuckled darkly at your plea, eyes glinting with amusement and something sharper, hungrier. "Faster?" He echoed, voice low, rough, almost teasingly cruel. "You think you deserve faster?"

He pressed you down slightly, fingers digging into your thigh as he tilted his hips, letting just the right amount of pressure keep you on edge. Your breath hitched, body trembling against him, and he grinned wickedly at the effect he had on you. "Please please move Sunoo..." You almost cried out, eyes glossy searching for his mischievous ones. Sunoo's mouth twitched when you begged again, your voice shaky and wrecked beneath him.

He tilted his head slightly, studying your face like you were something both pitiful and irresistible, hips moving too slow—almost still. "God." He muttered under his breath, almost laughing. "You sound so desperate.*

His hand spread you painfully, pressing your knee down against your chest just slightly more as he watched your expression crumble. "Should I?" He asked mockingly, voice soft but edged with arrogance. "Should I actually give it to you?" He thrusted just enough to make you gasp again, but still held back — controlled, measured, maddeningly slow.

"Look at you." He went on, smirk deepening. "Can't even form a sentence. And you want me to lose control?" Your fingers dug more into the back of his palm, nails pressing in harder, and he inhaled sharply through his teeth. "Maybe I should keep you like this." He mused. “Right on the edge. Shaking. Begging." You whimpered his name again — broken, needy. Legs spasmed at the feel of his cock pulsing too.

And something in his expression changed, not softer—darker. "Oh, you really want it." He said, almost impressed. "Fine." His grip on your thigh tightened, and without another warning, he shifted his pace faster now, sharper, no longer teasing. The controlled slowness vanished, replaced with confident, deliberate thrusts that stole the breath straight from your lungs. You arched, a high pitched moan spilling form your dry mouth as he pounded you, the angle he had you making him hit all the right places. Your juices mixed, his cock gliding with ease and sharp precision.

"There." He hissed, watching your face closely as your head tipped back, broken hoarse sound getting to his ears. "That what you were asking for?" Your nails dragged down his forearm and he let out a rough sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "Careful what you beg for." He added, leaning down so his face was inches away from your ear. "I don't half-do anything."

His hand slid to your jaw, turning your face back toward him so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. "Keep looking at me." He ordered. "You wanted faster? Then handle it." Your forehead creased at the pleasure that shot with each snap of his hips against you, eyes glossy and ears ringing. "Sunoo fuck." You moaned into his face, biting your lip at the overwhelming heat that was pooling between your legs. Your head tipped back anyway, a purr escaping your throat. Sunoo mockingly grinned, his other palm that was flat against the floor already aching, and he moved it, grabbed your other leg from the floor and pushed it against your chest too, holding the back of your knees as he pounded you soaking hole. Each drag of his veiny dick against your swollen pussy felt too good.

You sobbed out at the new position, and the new angle as he pushed your knees up. "Ah yes! Don't stop!" Your body rocked against the hardwooded floor, your bones and flesh rubbing against it uncomfortablly but you did not care. Sunoo moaned too when you squeezed him, giving him a whiplash as his hair moved form his sweaty forehead, pants escaping his chest. "Fucking take it."

Your phone buzzed again on the couch. You didn't even hear it. Another vibration cut through the room—sharp, persistent. Sunoo did hear it and his jaw flexed. "Unbelievable." He muttered, breath uneven, eyes flicking toward the couch before snapping back to your face—flushed, unfocused, gone.

The phone buzzed again. You moaned his name again as your body arched helplessly beneath him. Something dark flashed in his expression. His hand hooked one of your legs onto his shoulder and he shifted just enough to lean sideways, grabbing the phone without breaking rhythm. His breathing was heavy as he glanced at the screen.

Riki.

Again.

He scoffed, a humorless smirk tugging at his mouth. "Persistent, isn't he?" He muttered to himself, finger fast enough unlocking your phone entering the passcode and clicking on the camera app. His rhythm did not falter one second, your gasps and sobs filling the tight air as his cock plunged into you. He angled the device—the image of his cock ramming into you. your pussy gaping and fluttering around him on the screen as he pressed record. He groaned, hand pushing your knee to the side, opening you up for the camera as you were still lost in your own worlds of pleasure. The other leg still dangling over his shoulder. He moved the camera up slowly, making sure to catch your tits bouncing and sweat covered skin before finally getting to you face. The frame nothing but filthy on the small screen as you chanted his name.

"Yeah, just like that. You are taking me so good, shit—" Sunoo got the camera back to where you two collided and the way he filled you to the hilt, till his balls smacked against your ass and you cried out in bliss. "Sunoo!" He hissed, feeling his abs contract as he stopped the recording. You were too far gone, the tension in your pelvis grew fast and greedy, your toes curling with the way he was splitting you open.

Sunoo's thumb worked over the keyboard unsure and shaky, brows furrowing in pleasure as his chest rose and fell rapidly, but he had to do this now.

you: shes a little busy right now

[video attachment]

The moment he hit send the phone flew back onto the couch his hips pushing through you with aggressive thrusts. "I'm close! Ah—" You cried out, ears ringing and body shuddering, the waves washed over you as he abused your sore cunt, his hips thrusting into you at an unreal pace. Your cry tore out of you, raw and unfiltered, your whole body tightening beneath him as the pressure finally tipped over the edge.

Sunoo felt it instantly. The way you clenched and the way your breath completely broke. His grip on the backs of your knees tightened as he leaned closer, trapping you under his weight, watching your face like it was the only thing that mattered in that moment. "That's it." He muttered, voice rough, almost satisfied. "There you go."

Your head pressed back against the hardwood, vision going white at the edges as the wave crashed through you. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft. It was overwhelming — your body shaking, thighs trembling violently as you gasped his name again, over and over, like you couldn't stop.

He didn't look away. Not once.

Your nails dragged down his arms as your hips jolted helplessly beneath him, chasing the feeling even as it tore through you. The room felt too hot, too loud — your pulse in your ears, your breath coming in short, broken sobs.

Sunoo let out a low sound at the way you reacted, forehead creasing slightly as he felt you completely lose control. "You are fucking falling apart on my cock, God—" Your body spasmed again, softer this time, the aftershocks rippling through you as your legs shook against his hold. You could barely keep your eyes open, lashes wet, chest heaving hard against his.

Sunoo did not slow down, his hips pushing you into overstimulation as he chased his own release. His pelvis built with unreal pressure fast, threatening to explode any second, his tip pulsing against your wet spasming walls that only pulled him closer to the edge. He felt it moans spilling from his plump lips as he frantically pulled out, his hand quick to imitate your walls as he pushed your legs down. You hissed at the sudden emptiness, your hole fluttering as your eyes followed Sunoo who was quick to move up over your body, his knees trapping your head as his hand rapidly glided over his cock right in your face. You opened your mouth, still dazed and high on the climax as he felt the knot almost snap.

And when his tip grazed you bottom lip before you closed you slick lips around him he shuddered, a moan left his parted lips. The white ropes of seed coated your warm cavity as the taste on your tongue made you moan, eyes glowing as you looked up at him. Sunoo's hand slowed down, a whimper he let out was followed by deep pants and a dizzy head.

Your tongue swirled around his tip, licking everything as you swallowed the thick substance, eyes closing as the tiredness sinked in.

Sunoo was still over you, one elbow resting on the couch right by him as he tried to collect himself, the climax wearing off together with the alcohol in his system. The post-clarity slowly creeped in as his breathing slowly stabilized. He dragged a hand down his face, the sweat making him grimace as he glanced down between his thighs at your already knocked out form.

What the hell has he done?

—

taglist: @soobinkissed @tidepod101 @ningxspa @kvonhos @ariloves-louis @ssouupp @lovesick-sylus

chapter four: dangerous orbits

by friday morning, the library has become your sanctuary, or maybe your hiding place. you sit at a secluded corner desk on the third floor, hidden behind a fortress of heavy textbooks. Quantum Mechanics: The Theoretical Minimum is open in front of you, but for the last twenty minutes, you’ve been staring at the same paragraph about state vectors, your mind completely unmoored.

every time you close your eyes, you hear his voice. “good girl". “you could never disappoint me, y/n.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, your cheeks burning hot against your palms. "stop it," you whisper to yourself, pressing your knuckles against your forehead. you're a rational person. you chose physics because the universe runs on strict, unyielding laws. cause and effect. action and reaction. but nothing about the way your pulse skyrockets when heeseung fixes his glasses with his index finger feels rational.

your phone buzzes against the wood of the desk, the sudden vibration making you gasp. your heart leaps into your throat as you scramble to grab it, half-terrified and half-hoping it’s his name on the screen.

it isn't. it's just a reminder for your lab quiz on monday.

you let out a shaky breath, a mixture of intense relief and a hollow, disappointing ache settling in your chest. you drop the phone back onto the desk and stare down at your lap. today you wore a simple oversized gray hoodie and regular jeans, consciously choosing the most ordinary, shapeless clothes you owned. after the matching sweater incident on tuesday, you felt exposed, like he could read the deliberate intent behind your outfits. you wanted to look pretty for him—you couldn't even lie to yourself about that anymore—but the realization of what you were doing, of the line you were eagerly dancing on, made your stomach twist with a complicated guilt.

he's married. you saw the ring. you saw the way he gripped it, twisting the silver band like an anchor keeping him tethered to a shore you aren't allowed to touch.

"he's just being a good mentor," you mutter, tracing the edge of the textbook page. "he sees a passionate student, and he's helping. the rest is just in your head."

but a good mentor doesn't tell a student she's captivating. a good mentor's voice doesn't drop into a raspy, low register that makes your thighs press together under the desk.

unable to focus on the formulas any longer, you pack your journal and the heavy textbook into your bag and leave the library. the campus is bustling with students enjoying the afternoon sun, but you walk through the crowd like a ghost, completely absorbed in your own head.

without entirely meaning to, your feet guide you toward the science building. your next lecture isn't for another two hours, and it's not even in this hall, but your eyes automatically track upward to the second-floor windows. that's where his office is. is he in there right now? is he grading papers, or is he looking at the diagram of quantum entanglement, thinking about how two particles can be connected across a room?

you bite your lip—a habit you are now hyper-aware of—and force yourself to turn away, heading toward the campus cafe instead.

by the time tuesday evening rolls around, you are a nervous wreck. you spent a full hour in front of your closet, completely paralyzed by indecision. you wanted to look neat, professional, but your heart ached to see that dark, intense look in his eyes again. in the end, you settled on a polkadot blouse paired with a black skirt that hits just above your knees. it's modest, but the soft fabric hugs your waist just enough to make your skin prickle with anticipation.

the walk to his office feels longer tonight. the hallways of the science building are empty, the quiet echoing with the rhythmic click of your shoes. when you reach his door, you stop, closing your eyes and taking three deep, grounding breaths.

"academic guidance," you whisper to yourself. "just ask about chapter three."

you raise your hand and knock softly.

the door opens almost instantly, as if he had been standing right behind it. heeseung stands in the doorway, and the sight of him makes your breath hitch. he’s back in his formal attire—a crisp, black button-up shirt with the sleeves neatly cuffed at his wrists, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead.

his dark eyes sweep down your skirt, his gaze lingering for a fraction of a second on your bare knees before traveling back up to your face. a subtle, almost imperceptible shift occurs in his expression, his jaw tightening slightly.

"good evening, y/n," he says, his voice soft, carrying that familiar, heavy resonance that makes your knees feel weak. "come in."

"good evening, heeseung," you murmur, stepping past him into the warm, golden light of his office. the scent of coffee and old paper wraps around you like a familiar blanket, but tonight, there's also the faint, sharp smell of his cologne.

as he closes the door behind you, the heavy click of the lock signals the start of another hour where the rest of the world ceases to exist, and you are entirely at the mercy of his orbit.

you step further into the room, setting your bag down on the edge of the chair. your hands are slightly clammy, so you press them against the fabric of your skirt to dry them before pulling out the heavy textbook.

heeseung walks back around his desk, his eyes tracking your movements with an intensity that makes your breath shallow. he doesn't sit down immediately; instead, he leans against the edge of the wood, crossing his arms over his chest. the fabric of his black button-up stretches across his broad shoulders, and your eyes find their way down to his rolled-up sleeves, catching the slight flex of his forearms.

"did you manage to get through the first three chapters?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. his tone is perfectly professional, but his dark eyes hold a quiet curiosity that makes you feel like you're being tested on something far deeper than physics.

"i did," you say, looking up to meet his gaze. you open the book to your marked pages, your journal sliding out alongside it, filled with pages of your neat handwriting and complex equations. "the math in chapter three got a bit overwhelming, especially when it came to the scalar field representations. i tried to map out the operators, but..."

"but you got stuck?" he guesses softly, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips.

"a little," you admit, feeling a sudden flush of heat creep up your neck. "i wanted to understand it perfectly before tonight. i didn't want to disappoint you."

heeseung lets out a quiet, huffed breath, his gaze dropping to your face. the small smile fades, replaced by that intense, serious look that always makes your heart hammer against your ribs. "y/n, i told you before. you could never disappoint me. the fact that you even attempted the derivation on your own is more than what most graduate students can do."

he moves away from the edge of the desk, pulling his chair closer to yours. when he sits, the distance between you shrinks significantly. you can feel the warmth radiating from him, the subtle scent of his clean cologne completely enveloping your senses.

"show me where you got confused," he whispers, leaning over the desk so his shoulder is almost brushing against yours.

you point a trembling index finger toward a complex string of symbols in your journal. "here. the transition from the classical field to the quantum operator. i lost the track of the commutation relations."

"ah." heeseung leans in closer, his dark head hovering just inches from yours as he looks down at your notes. "you missed the spatial dependency. see this term here?" he reaches out, taking the pen from your hand. his fingers brush against yours, a brief, electric spark of contact that makes your stomach flip. he doesn't seem to notice—or maybe he's just better at hiding it than you are—as he circles a variable in your journal. "if you don't account for the delta function, the whole equilibrium collapses."

"oh..." you murmur, staring at the page. but you aren't looking at the math. you're looking at the long, elegant shape of his hand, the way his knuckles look as he writes, and the silver wedding band catching the golden light of the lamp.

the ring feels like a quiet, heavy chaperone sitting on the desk between you, shouting boundaries that your heart keeps trying to ignore.

as if sensing your distraction, heeseung stops writing. the room goes incredibly quiet, save for the hum of the building's air conditioning. he slowly turns his head to look at you, his face so close you can see the dark flecks in his eyes and the small mole on his forehead. his gaze drops down to your mouth, watching the way your lower lip is caught between your teeth.

"y/n," he says, his voice dropping into that low, raspy register that sends a violent shiver down your spine. "what did i tell you about that?"

you freeze, your heart slamming so hard against your chest you're entirely certain he can hear it. you slowly release your lower lip, your breathing shallow. "sorry... i told you, it's a habit."

"a dangerous one," he murmurs, his dark eyes fixed entirely on your lips. his hand is still holding your pen, resting on the desk just inches from your skirt. for a split second, the space between you feels completely charged, a magnetic pull so strong that the air feels thick, suffocating. heeseung swallows hard, his jaw clenching as he fights whatever internal battle is raging behind his calm exterior.

he forces his gaze away, staring down at your journal with a sudden, tight focus. "if you apply the operator here," he continues, his voice slightly rougher than before, "the field resolves. do you see it now?"

"yes," you whisper, your voice a little breathy as you try to regain your composure. "i see it."

"good." he sets the pen down with a quiet click, leaning back into his chair. he rubs his temples, letting out a long, slow breath. "you're incredibly smart, y/n. your intuition for the subject is... remarkable. it makes it very easy to teach you."

"thank you," you say softly, a genuine smile breaking through your nervousness. "i really love learning from you, heeseung. i mean it. no one else makes it make sense like this."

heeseung looks at you, his expression softening into something so fond, so heavy with unspoken thoughts, that it catches in your throat. he opens his mouth to say something, but before the words can leave his lips, a sudden, heavy vibration echoes through the quiet room.

your eyes instinctively look down at his desk. his phone is face-up, the screen illuminated in the dim light.

the caller ID reads: Minji—his wife.

the warmth in the room evaporates in an instant, replaced by a cold, sharp reality. heeseung freezes, his eyes locked on the flashing screen. his expression hardens, the soft, intimate look he was just giving you vanishing behind a wall of polite, professional distance.

he clears his throat quickly, his hand reaching out to flip the phone face-down, silencing the vibration. the silver wedding band on his finger catches the light one last time before he slides his hand back into his pocket.

"i think... that's a good stopping point for today," he says, his voice completely steady now, returning to his standard professor tone. "you have a solid grasp on the fundamentals. just finish the exercises at the end of chapter three for next week."

the sudden shift makes your chest ache with a dull, heavy disappointment. you nod quickly, your cheeks burning with a fresh wave of embarrassment as you gather your things. "of course. thank you for your time, mr. lee... heeseung."

"anytime, y/n," he says quietly, watching you pack your bag. he stands up to walk you to the door, his posture rigid and formal once again.

as you step out into the empty hallway, you give him a small, polite smile, but the cool night air hitting your face offers no comfort this time. you turn and walk down the corridor, the rhythmic click of your shoes sounding lonely against the linoleum floors. you can feel his eyes on your back until you turn the corner, but the heavy image of his flashing phone screen stays burned into your mind, a stark reminder of exactly where his gravity truly belongs.

chapter five: broken symmetry

for the next week, you became a ghost in his lectures. you sat in your usual spot—second row to the left—but you kept your eyes fixed firmly on your notebook, your fingers gripping your pen until your knuckles turned white. you didn't look at the way he fixed his glasses. you didn't look at his broad shoulders. and most of all, you didn't look at his hands.

the image of his flashing phone screen—minji—had re-centered your universe with a violent, necessary force. it was the cold, hard boundary you had been foolishly trying to ignore. he was a married man, and you were a student letting a silly crush completely distort reality.

when tuesday evening arrived, you didn't wear a skirt or a coordinated sweater. you wore an oversized black hoodie and baggy sweatpants, your hair pulled back into a messy, unpretentious bun. you walked into his office with your textbook clutched against your chest like a shield.

heeseung was sitting at his desk, his laptop open, looking exhausted. the dark circles under his eyes were prominent under the harsh fluorescent lights he had chosen over his usual soft lamp. when he looked up and saw you, his eyes scanned your casual attire, and a flash of something unreadable—perhaps regret, or maybe relief—passed through his features.

"y/n," he said softly, his voice carrying a raspy edge. "sit, please."

"good evening, heeseung," you said, your tone deliberately polite, devoid of the soft reverence from before. you took your seat, immediately opening chapter four and laying out your completed exercises. "i finished the derivations for the gauge fields. i think i got the matrix transformations right, but i wanted to verify the invariance."

heeseung stared at the notebook you pushed toward him, but he didn't lean in. he remained back in his chair, keeping a strict, painful distance between the two of you. the warm, magnetic bubble from the previous weeks was completely gone, replaced by a tense, sterile atmosphere.

"let's see," he murmured, pulling the notebook closer. he picked up his pen, his fingers moving methodically across your equations. "this is correct... and this is also correct. your math is flawless here, y/n."

"thank you," you said, keeping your eyes on the paper.

silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. the hum of the building's ventilation seemed louder than usual. heeseung set the pen down, his hand resting near the edge of the desk. the silver wedding band on his finger seemed to catch every drop of light in the room.

"you've been quiet in class," he said suddenly, his voice dropping into a lower register that made your chest tighten despite your best efforts. "very focused on your notes."

"i have a lot of exams coming up," you lied smoothly, keeping your gaze fixed on a random variable in your notebook. "i just need to make sure my grades stay perfect."

heeseung let out a long, slow breath. he ran a hand through his dark hair, his jaw clenching. "y/n... about last week—"

"it's fine," you interrupted quickly, finally looking up to meet his eyes. your throat felt dry, but you forced the words out with a steady, resolute strength. "you don't have to explain anything, heeseung. you're my professor, and you're helping me with my degree. that's all this is. i know the boundaries."

heeseung froze, his dark eyes searching your face with an intensity that felt almost predatory, as if he were trying to find a single crack in your armor. but you held his gaze, refusing to let your lower lip tremble, refusing to give in to the dangerous pull.

"right," he whispered, his voice sounding hollow, almost bitter. he looked away, staring down at the complex equations of broken symmetry on the page. "that's... exactly what this is. let's move on to chapter five."

the rest of the session passed in a cold, analytical blur. he explained the concepts with his usual brilliance, but the passion was gone, replaced by a rigid professionalism that made your heart ache with a profound, heavy sorrow. when the clock finally hit five, you packed your things without a word.

"thank you for the session," you said, offering a small, polite nod as you swung your bag over your shoulder.

"have a good night, y/n," he responded, his voice completely flat, his eyes already fixed back on his laptop screen.

as you walked out of the office and into the empty hallway, the cool air felt bitter. you had successfully repaired the symmetry of your academic relationship, but as you walked away, you felt entirely shattered.

chapter six: the perturbation theory

for the rest of the month, the distance between you and heeseung became an unwritten law. in the lecture hall, you remained a model student—attentive, quiet, and completely detached. you no longer lingered after the bell rang, and you stopped looking at his hands. you convinced yourself that the ache in your chest was just the stress of midterms, nothing more.

but laws in physics are meant to be tested, and systems in perfect equilibrium are often the most fragile.

it happened on a rainy thursday afternoon. the campus was drenched in a torrential downpour, turning the sky a heavy, bruised purple. you had spent the last four hours in the basement computer lab typing up a rigorous programming model for your advanced mechanics class. by the time you packed up your laptop and walked up the stairs, the building was nearly deserted, the dim hallways cast in the gray shadow of the storm outside.

as you stepped onto the main floor, a sharp, melodic sound echoed down the corridor, stopping you dead in your tracks.

it was a piano.

the notes were heavy, rich, and deeply melancholic, drifting through the empty hallway from the old auditorium at the end of the hall. the melody was complex—a classical piece that felt restless, full of tension and unexpressed grief. your feet moved before your brain could protest. you walked down the dim corridor, drawn to the music like a moth to a flickering flame.

the auditorium doors were heavy oak, but one of them was propped open just a fraction of an inch. you stepped closer, holding your breath, and peered through the gap.

the stage was mostly dark, save for a single spotlight cutting through the shadows, illuminating the grand piano. and sitting at the keys, his jacket thrown carelessly over a nearby chair, was heeseung.

his black button-up shirt was untucked, the top two buttons undone, and his sleeves were rolled haphazardly up his forearms. his dark hair fell over his eyes as his long, elegant fingers flew across the ivory keys with a raw, breathtaking intensity. he wasn't just playing; he was pouring something volatile into the instrument. you watched, completely mesmerized, as his broad shoulders shifted with every heavy chord, his jaw clenched tight in complete concentration.

this was the man who had told you he was rusty. this was the private concert he had promised you in the quiet safety of his office.

as the piece reached its thundering crescendo, heeseung struck a final, lingering chord that echoed through the vast, empty room. the notes slowly faded into the quiet air, leaving nothing but the sound of the rain heavy against the high windows. he stayed still, his hands resting on the keys, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

unconsciously, you leaned a bit closer to the door, the strap of your heavy bag slipping against your shoulder and hitting the wood with a dull, quiet thud.

heeseung’s head snapped toward the entrance immediately. "who’s there?" he called out, his voice sharp, echoing in the empty space.

your heart stopped. you stepped back, intending to run down the hallway before he could see you, but the heavy oak door creaked loudly as you moved.

"y/n?"

hearing your name, you froze. heeseung stood up from the piano bench, walking down the steps of the stage into the dim seating area. your legs felt like lead, keeping you rooted to the spot as he approached the doors and pulled one wide open.

when his dark eyes met yours, the air between you instantly turned thick, the rigid professionalism of the past two weeks dissolving into nothing. he looked exhausted, his eyes searching your face with a raw, exposed vulnerability that stripped away all his usual academic armor.

"i... i'm sorry," you stammered, your voice barely a whisper against the sound of the rain. "i was just leaving the computer lab. i heard the music, and i didn't mean to intrude."

heeseung didn't answer right away. he just stared at you, his gaze tracking the damp strands of hair framing your face, down to the simple oversized jacket you wore. he let out a slow, shaky breath, running a hand through his dark hair.

"you weren't intruding," he said softly, his voice dropping into that low, raspy register that always made your chest ache. he stepped aside, holding the heavy door open wider. "come in out of the hallway, y/n. please."

every rational thought in your head screamed at you to turn around and walk away. but looking at him standing there—unraveled, beautiful, and completely devoid of his usual composure—you found yourself stepping past him into the dim auditorium.

he closed the door behind you, and just like that, the sterile, safe boundaries you had fought so hard to rebuild collapsed under the weight of a single, unpredictable perturbation.

the heavy oak door clicked shut, the sound dampening the distant rumble of the storm outside. you stood just inside the threshold, your fingers tightly gripping the straps of your bag, your knuckles white. the auditorium felt massive, yet the space between the two of you felt incredibly small, charged with a sudden, suffocating gravity.

heeseung turned around, his eyes locking onto yours. without the desk between you, without the textbooks and the structured syllabus, he looked entirely human—and dangerous. the top two buttons of his black shirt were undone, exposing the elegant line of his throat, and his rolled sleeves revealed the tense muscles of his forearms.

"you play beautifully," you whispered, the quiet words costing you a strange amount of bravery. "you lied to me. you aren't rusty at all."

a faint, self-deprecating smile touched his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. he walked slowly back toward the stage, his steps unhurried. "i haven't touched a piano in three years, y/n. not until today." he stopped by the edge of the stage, leaning against the wooden apron, looking down at you. "the keys... they don't let you hide what you're thinking. physics is safe because it has rules. music doesn't."

you walked down the sloped aisle, drawn closer despite the warning bells in your head. "what were you thinking about?"

heeseung’s gaze darkened, tracking your progress until you stood just a few feet away from him at the base of the stage. the single spotlight from above caught the silver wedding band on his left hand as he gripped the edge of the wood. tonight, the ring didn't look like a shield; it looked like a handcuff.

"you know what i was thinking about," he said, his voice dropping to that rough, low register that sent a violent tremor straight to your core. "i was thinking about symmetry. and how easily a system collapses when a single variable changes."

you swallowed hard, your throat completely dry. "heeseung, we shouldn't—"

"i tried, y/n," he interrupted, his tone carrying a sudden, raw edge that made your heart hammer against your ribs. he stood up straight, stepping off the low stage platform until he was standing directly in front of you. he was so tall, completely enveloping your field of vision, the scent of his clean cologne mixed with the faint, sharp smell of rain. "the past two weeks... i sat behind that desk and let you treat me like a stranger. i saw you looking away in the lecture hall. i saw the sweatpants, the oversized hoodies. i knew what you were doing. you were trying to build a wall."

your breath hitched. you hated how easily he read you, how easily he dismantled the armor you had spent weeks desperately piecing together. "i had to," you said, your voice cracking slightly. "it was the right thing to do. you have... a life. you have minji."

hearing his wife's name leave your lips made heeseung flinch slightly. his jaw clenched, a muscle working in his cheek. he closed his eyes for a brief second, letting out a ragged breath that sounded like a confession.

"my marriage was over long before you ever walked into my classroom, y/n," he whispered, opening his eyes to look down at you with a vulnerability that completely broke your heart. "it's an arrangement of convenience, a cold routine of two people living separate lives under the same roof. she doesn't care where i am. she doesn't care what i think. and she certainly doesn't look at me the way you do."

he stepped closer, closing the remaining distance until you were mere inches apart. you could feel the heat radiating from his chest, his presence completely overwhelming your senses.

"when you look at me," heeseung murmured, his dark eyes dropping to your mouth, completely transfixed, "i feel like a man who actually exists. not just a professor. not just a name on a legal document. you are a distraction i never anticipated, and no matter how much math i use, i can't calculate my way out of wanting you."

your heart was beating so hard you were certain he could see it pulsing against the fabric of your jacket. you looked into his eyes, seeing the desperate, magnetic pull that had been unravelling him just as much as it had been unravelling you. the symmetry was completely broken now, the boundary shattered beyond repair.

"heeseung..." your voice was barely a breath, your lower lip trembling.

"don't," he rough-whispered, his hands rising instinctively as if to catch you, his fingers hovering just inches from your waist, trembling slightly with the sheer force of his self-control. "don't look at me like that if you're going to tell me to stop."

you look up into his dark eyes, the logic and rules of the universe fading into nothing but the heavy sound of the rain outside. you don't tell him to stop. instead, you take a small, deliberate step forward, closing the final inch between you.

"i'm not telling you to stop," you whisper.

heeseung lets out a low, ragged sound—halfway between a sigh and a groan—and all of his carefully guarded self-control completely fractures. his hands close around your waist, his grip firm and desperate as he pulls you flush against him. the heat of his body hits you like a physical wave, and before you can even catch your breath, his mouth is on yours.

the kiss is nothing like the soft, polite persona he presents to the world. it is intense, unyielding, and heavy with the weeks of suffocating restraint he has been forced to maintain. his lips are warm and demanding, parting yours with a possessive hunger that leaves you completely dizzy. your bag slips from your shoulder, thudding softly against the floor as your hands instinctively fly up to chest, gripping the fabric of his black button-up before tangling into the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

heeseung pulls you even closer, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket, lifting you slightly until you are completely anchored to him. he kisses you like you are the answer to a problem he has been trying to solve his entire life, his breath hot against your skin as his mouth slides down to trace the sharp line of your jaw, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"y/n," he rough-whispers against your skin, his chest rising and falling in heavy, erratic thuds. "you have completely ruined me."

you arch your neck, a quiet gasp escaping your lips as his mouth moves back up to find yours again, softer this time but twice as deep. the silver wedding band on his hand presses cold against your hip, a sharp contrast to the burning heat radiating between your bodies, but for the first time in weeks, the sight of it doesn't make you step back. the boundary hasn't just been crossed—it has been entirely rewritten.

when he finally pulls away, just enough to breathe, his forehead rests against yours. his dark eyes are blown out, staring down at your flushed face and parted, swollen lips. he runs a trembling thumb over your lower lip, tracing the habit he had called dangerous, his expression full of a terrifying, beautiful devotion.

the rain continues to pour over the old auditorium, but inside the dim shadows of the stage, the chaos has finally found its alignment.

heeseung’s thumb lingers on your lower lip, his breathing gradually slowing down, though the grip on your waist remains unyieldingly tight, as if he’s terrified that letting go will cause you to vanish back into the safe reality of the lecture hall.

you rest your forehead against his chest, listening to the rapid, frantic rhythm of his heart underneath the black fabric. it matches yours perfectly—an identical frequency born from the same chaotic collision.

"we can't change the past, heeseung," you whisper softly into the quiet space between you, your fingers gently smoothing the collar of his shirt. "and we can't ignore the outside world forever."

"i know," he murmurs, his voice vibrating deep in his chest. he tilts your chin up with his index finger, forcing you to look into his dark eyes, which are now filled with a quiet, resolute calm. "but i'm not asking for forever right now. i'm just asking for this. for us. let me figure out the rest, y/n. just don't hide from me again."

you look at him—at the brilliant, unraveled professor who had completely rewritten your understanding of gravity—and nod slowly. "i won't."

a small, genuine smile finally breaks through his serious expression, softening his features in a way you've never seen before. he leans down to press one last, lingering kiss to your forehead before reluctantly loosening his grip around your waist.

bending down, he picks up your fallen bag and hands it to you, his fingers intentionally brushing against yours, leaving behind a faint, tingling warmth. he walks you to the heavy oak doors of the auditorium, checking the hallway first to ensure it's completely deserted before letting you step out into the dim corridor.

"go home safe, y/n," he says quietly, his eyes tracking your flushed face one last time. "i'll see you in class tomorrow morning."

"good night, heeseung," you murmur with a soft smile, finally turning to walk down the hallway.

as you step out of the science building and into the cool, damp night air, the torrential downpour has reduced to a gentle, rhythmic drizzle. your face is still burning, and your chest feels lighter than it has in weeks. you finally look down at your hand, your fingers tracing the memory of his touch. the symmetry of your world is completely gone, broken into a million unpredictable pieces, but as you walk toward your dorm under the dark campus sky, you realize you've never felt more alive.

chapter seven: the thermal equilibrium

the next morning, the lecture hall feels different. the air is thick with a tension only two people in the room can detect. you sit in your usual spot—second row to the left—staring down at your notebook, but your fingers are loose around your pen this time, no longer gripping it like a lifeline.

when heeseung walks through the door, a quiet hush falls over the classroom. he looks impeccable, as always. his gray button-up shirt is crisply pressed, his dark hair neatly styled away from his eyes, and his glasses sit perfectly on the bridge of his nose. to anyone else, he is the picture of rigid, academic authority.

but you notice the slight hesitation in his step as he reaches the podium. you notice the way his dark eyes sweep over the lecture hall, bypassing thirty other students before anchoring completely on you for one long, burning second.

"good morning, class," he says, his voice carrying that familiar, commanding warmth. "today we are moving on to thermodynamics and thermal equilibrium."

as he turns to write on the whiteboard, you see his broad shoulders move beneath the fabric of his shirt. the memory of those same shoulders shifting under the spotlight in the auditorium hits you with a sudden, violent wave of heat. your cheeks flush, and you quickly look down at your book, your heart beginning its familiar, erratic dance.

throughout the two-hour lecture, heeseung explains the zeroth law—how two systems in thermal equilibrium with a third system are in equilibrium with each other. it is a lesson about balance, about heat transferring until everything reaches a stable, uniform temperature.

but every time he speaks, his voice seems lower, rougher, directed straight at the second row. when he raises his eyebrows to emphasize a point, his gaze lingers on your face, watching the way you absorb his words. you try your best to look like a diligent student, but your lower lip caught between your teeth betrays your composure.

heeseung’s eyes immediately drop to your mouth. his hand freezes for a fraction of a second against the board, the marker stalling mid-equation, before he forces himself to finish the sentence. the sudden, quiet crack in his professional armor makes a small, secret smile touch the corners of your lips.

when the bell finally rings, signaling the end of the period, the classroom fills with the usual rustle of papers and shuffling feet. you take your time packing your bag, your movements deliberate as the room gradually empties.

"y/n," heeseung’s voice calls out casually from the front of the room, sounding perfectly normal to the few lingering students walking out the door. "a moment, please. i wanted to review your matrix transformations from tuesday."

you look up, your heart skipping a beat. "of course, heeseung."

once the last student steps out and the heavy door clicks shut, the atmosphere in the room shifts instantly. the large lecture hall suddenly feels incredibly small. heeseung sets his marker down and walks around the podium, stopping just a few feet away from your desk.

"you're distracting me," he rough-whispers, his dark eyes searching your face with a quiet, intense fondness. "sitting there, wearing that sweater, biting your lip... i barely made it through the lecture."

you chuckle softly, leaning back against the desk as you look up at him. "i was just taking notes, professor. i was being a model student."

"a model student doesn't look at her professor the way you look at me," he murmurs, stepping closer until he is standing directly over you, completely blocking out the rest of the empty room. he reaches out, his hand hovering for a second before his index finger gently traces the line of your jaw, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

the silver wedding band on his hand catches the harsh fluorescent light, but the sight no longer feels like a barrier. it feels like a problem he is actively working to solve.

"are we still on for next tuesday evening?" he asks, his voice dropping into that low, raspy register that always makes your knees weak. "there's a lot of advanced material we need to cover. outside of the syllabus."

"yes," you whisper, your breathing turning shallow at his closeness. "i'll be there."

"good." heeseung smiles, a genuine, beautiful expression that changes his entire face, before reluctantly pulling his hand away as footsteps echo in the hallway outside. "go to your next class, y/n. before i forget where we are entirely."

you nod quickly, a small, breathless smile pulling at your lips as you swing your bag over your shoulder. the briefest glance back at him confirms he is still watching you, his expression intense and entirely focused. you slip through the classroom door and merge into the bustling flow of students in the hallway.

the contrast is dizzying. outside, everyone is rushing to their next lecture, completely oblivious to the fact that the universe has completely shifted inside that classroom. your skin still pricksles where his finger traced your jaw.

the days leading up to tuesday pass in a blur of anticipation. you find yourself studying harder than ever, diving deep into the thermodynamic equations, almost as if mastering the physics is your way of proving you belong in his orbit. you want him to see that you aren't just a distraction—that you understand the complexity of what's happening between you, both on the pages and in reality.

when tuesday evening finally arrives, the science building is quiet. you walk up the stairs, your boots making a faint, rhythmic sound against the linoleum. tonight, you chose a simple dark gray knit top and jeans—neat, deliberate, but comfortably yourself.

you stand outside his office door, your heart doing its familiar, erratic dance against your ribs. taking a deep breath, you raise your hand and knock softly.

the door opens almost immediately. heeseung stands there, the soft, golden light of his desk lamp framing him from behind. he has abandoned his usual formal blazer, wearing just a sharp black button-up shirt with the sleeves already rolled up to his elbows, exposing the strong lines of his forearms.

his dark eyes instantly lock onto yours, sweeping down your frame before returning to meet your gaze. the exhausting weight he usually carries seems to lift the moment he looks at you.

"good evening, y/n," he says softly, his voice carrying that heavy, raspy resonance that immediately makes the outside world fade away. "come in."

"good evening, heeseung," you murmur, stepping into the warm, familiar sanctuary of his office. the scent of old paper, rich coffee, and his clean cologne instantly wraps around you.

as he closes the door behind you, the solid click of the lock signals the start of your private hour. heeseung doesn't move back to his desk right away. instead, he stays close, leaning his back against the closed door, tracking your movements as you set your bag down.

"i missed you this weekend," he confesses quietly, the raw honesty in his voice catching you completely off guard.

your throat goes dry, and you turn around to face him, your notebook clutched against your chest. "i missed you too. i spent the whole weekend reading the thermodynamics chapters."

heeseung lets out a quiet, breathless chuckle, his eyes softening with an overwhelming fondness that makes your chest tight. he steps away from the door, closing the distance between you until he is standing right in front of you, completely enveloping your field of vision.

"only you would try to fight loneliness with thermodynamics, y/n," he whispers, reaching out to gently take the notebook from your hands and setting it on the edge of the desk behind you without ever breaking eye contact.

his hands move smoothly to your waist, his long fingers pressing firmly through the fabric of your knit top, pulling you just an inch closer. the silver band on his left hand catches the golden light of the lamp, but as you look up into his dark, devoted eyes, you know he is already calculating the path toward a completely different future.

before you can even process it, his mouth is already on yours. his lips, soft and plump against yours, feel like kissing a cloud. throughout your short life you have experienced pleasures, but nothing compares to his lips.

his hand reaches to cup your jaw, a silent ask for permission for more access. you open your mouth against his and his tongue slides into your mouth; it's warm and it tastes like coffee. the combination of his deliberately slow movements against your mouth and his hand on your waist steals a soft gasp from you, making him bite your bottom lip softly before pulling back.

“don't make those sounds, y/n. i'm trying to be a gentleman,” he whispers against your lips, his fingers caressing your jaw while looking into your eyes. and you swear you can see everything he is holding back. the combination of his strong gaze, his hold, and his voice sends a shiver down your spine that pools into heat between your legs.

you immediately clear your throat. “the session, heeseung.”

“right, the session,” he mutters before kissing your cheek softly and walking towards his desk. “sit, please.”

you seat yourself in front of him, your cheeks flushing.

he sits back down in his leather chair, the formal professor persona patching itself back together, though his breathing is still a little too shallow to be completely professional. he pulls your notebook toward him, his long fingers tracing the margin of the page where your equations are written. for a few seconds, he just stares at the paper, his jaw clenching as he forces his mind back to the physics.

"thermodynamics," he starts, his voice rougher and lower than usual. he clears his throat, fixing his glasses with his index finger. "it's the study of heat and energy. specifically, how systems interact when they are brought together."

you try to focus on his words, but your eyes keep darting to his mouth, remembering the exact texture of his lips. you pull a strand of hair behind your ear, your hands still trembling slightly. "mhm. the exchange of energy."

"exactly," heeseung says, his dark eyes flicking up from the book to catch your gaze. the intensity in his eyes makes the air in the small office feel thick again. "when two bodies of different temperatures come into contact, they don't stay separate. they change each other. heat flows from the hotter system to the colder one until they reach... a uniform state."

he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, bringing his face closer to yours. the scent of his woodsy cologne drifts across the short distance, mixing with the lingering warmth of the kiss.

"it's an inevitable law of nature, y/n," he whispers, his gaze dropping down to your lower lip before rising back to your eyes. "no matter how much insulation you put between the two systems, if the attraction is there... the energy will always find a way to transfer."

you swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of your seat. "and what happens when they reach that state?"

heeseung's mouth twitches into a faint, devastatingly handsome smile, his thumb unconsciously rubbing the silver wedding band on his finger—a habit that feels less like a shield now and more like a loose thread he's waiting to pull.

"they reach equilibrium," he murmurs, his voice dropping into that hypnotic register. "the chaos settles. but the system is permanently altered. it can never go back to how it was before they touched."

the silence hangs between you, heavy and filled with everything left unsaid. he opens the textbook to a page dense with graphs and formulas, turning it toward you, but his fingers linger on the edge of the paper, just inches away from yours.

"let's look at the mathematics behind the transfer," he says, though his eyes tell a completely different story. "show me how you solve for the entropy, y/n.”

you pick up your pen, trying to anchor yourself to the solid reality of the paper. your fingers are still trembling slightly, and when you lean forward to write out the first derivative, your sleeve brushes against his forearm. a tiny, accidental spark of friction that makes your hand stall for a second.

"first, you... you have to isolate the thermal variables," you say, your voice a little breathy as you force yourself to look at the equations instead of the sharp angle of his jaw. "if the system is closed, the total change in entropy has to be greater than or equal to zero."

"correct," heeseung murmurs, his eyes tracking the movement of your pen, but his head is leaning closer, his shoulder almost touching yours as he watches you write. "and what happens to the internal energy during that expansion?"

"it... it changes based on the heat added and the work done," you reply, your heart doing that familiar, erratic dance against your ribs. you write down the formula, but you accidentally mess up a sign, the ink smudging under your finger as you try to fix it. "sorry. my hands are..."

"i see that," he interrupts softly.

before you can draw your hand back, his large, warm hand slides across the desk and covers yours, stopping your pen. his palm is slightly rough, the heat of his skin instantly transferring to yours, exactly like the thermodynamic law he was just explaining. his fingers curl over your knuckles, grounding your shaking hand against the smooth wood of the desk.

the silver band on his finger presses gently against the side of your hand, cold against your burning skin.

"you're skipping steps, y/n," he rough-whispers, his dark head hovering just inches from yours. you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest right beside you. "you're rushing the derivation because you're nervous."

"i'm not nervous," you lie in a whisper, turning your head slightly to look at him.

because of how close he's leaning, your faces are suddenly mere inches apart. your eyes lock onto his dark, blown-out pupils. heeseung doesn't pull his hand away; instead, his thumb begins to trace slow, deliberate circles over the back of your hand, completely erasing any thoughts of physics left in your brain.

"no?" he asks, his eyebrows raising just a fraction, a small, knowing look in his eyes. his gaze drops down to your lips, watching your shallow breaths. "your pulse is racing under my fingers, y/n. a system in perfect equilibrium doesn't fluctuate like this."

"that's because... you're a major perturbation," you murmur, using the physics terminology like a secret language between the two of you.

heeseung lets out a low, ragged huff of laughter that hits your cheek like a warm breeze. his jaw clenches, his eyes darkening as his self-control slips a little more. he slides the pen out of your fingers, letting it roll across the desk, and turns his hand over so his long fingers can interlock with yours, squeezing firmly.

"i told myself i was going to keep my hands to myself for the rest of this hour," he whispers, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register that completely melts your resolve. "i told myself one kiss was enough to get me through the week. but you're devastatingly bad for my discipline."

"you can let go if you want to," you tease softly, even though your fingers are clinging to his just as tightly.

"i don't think i can," he admits, his tone suddenly turning incredibly serious, full of that heavy, raw honesty that makes your chest ache. he looks down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "that's the problem. i don't think i have the variable for walking away from you anymore.”

he looks up from your joined hands, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. the soft, golden light of the lamp reflects in his dark pupils, making the rest of his office look like it's completely fading into the background.

"heeseung," you whisper, the sound of his name breaking the quiet tension hanging in the air. "someone might... the hallway..."

"the door is locked, y/n," he murmurs, his voice incredibly low as he slides his hand up from your fingers, his palm tracking the inside of your wrist, feeling the frantic skip of your pulse. his touch travels up the sleeve of your knit top, his long fingers wrapping around your forearm to gently pull you a fraction of an inch closer across the desk. "there's no one out there. it's just us."

you swallow hard, your eyes dropping to his mouth again. the memory of how he tasted—like warm coffee and something entirely intoxicating—makes your lower lip tremble out of habit.

heeseung’s jaw tightens instantly at the movement. "i told you to stop doing that," he rough-whispers, his eyes burning as they lock onto your lips.

"i can't help it," you breathe out, your cheeks flushing a deeper pink.

he lets out a low groan, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. before you can even react, he stands up from his leather chair, rounding the edge of the desk in three swift, deliberate steps. he stops right beside your seat, his tall frame completely towering over you, blocking out the light.

his hands come down to rest on the armrests of your chair, effectively trapping you between his arms. he leans down until his face is level with yours, the clean, woodsy scent of his cologne enveloping your senses so completely it makes your head spin.

"if you keep looking at me like that, we aren't going to get any work done today," he murmurs, his thumb reaching out to gently trace the apple of your flushed cheek, his touch surprisingly soft for how large his hand is.

"we're supposed to be analyzing the entropy graphs," you say, though your voice lacks any real conviction. your hands rise instinctively, your fingers gently resting against his forearm, feeling the solid, rapid thud of his heart underneath.

"the graphs can wait," heeseung whispers against your lips, his fingers sliding into your hair, tilting your head back slightly. "right now, you're the only system i'm interested in calculating."

and then his mouth is on yours again, deeper this time, his lips parting yours with a possessive, heavy hunger that leaves you completely unmoored from reality.

his mouth moves against yours with a heavy, deliberate slowness that completely detaches you from the passage of time. you grip the soft wool of his dark blue sweater, pulling him closer until the desk behind you is the only thing keeping you upright. every touch from his hands feels like it's carving a permanent mark into your skin, a silent language of missing you that he hadn't been able to say out loud all week.

when he finally breaks the kiss, his breathing is ragged, his forehead resting heavily against yours. his thumbs gently trace your cheekbones, his long fingers tangled in the loose strands of hair that escaped your bun.

"i'm failing my own test," he rough-whispers, his chest heaving against your hands. his dark eyes are wide, blown out, looking down at you with a terrifying amount of devotion. "i promised myself i would give you a normal lesson today. i practiced the lecture. i organized the slides. and within ten minutes, i have you trapped against my desk."

you let out a soft, breathless laugh, your hands sliding up from his chest to rest against the nape of his neck, your fingers gently playing with the soft hairs there. "maybe some systems aren't meant to be controlled, heeseung."

he lets out a low, vibrating huff against your lips, his jaw clenching as he reluctantly pulls back just an inch, his hands dropping to rest loosely on your waist. he doesn't let go completely—you're beginning to realize he rarely does when you're alone in this room. it's as if he needs the physical touch to convince himself that you're actually here, that this isn't just another daydream born from the quiet isolation of his life.

"you have a dangerous effect on my logic, y/n," he murmurs, his index finger rising to habitually fix his glasses, though his hand shakes slightly.

looking at him like this—completely unraveled, his professional composure lying in pieces on the floor—makes a profound warmth ache deep in your chest. it isn't just the thrill of the secret or the heavy physical pull that makes your knees weak; it's something much deeper, something that has been quietly growing since the first day you sat in his classroom.

you had always felt like an outsider in your own life, moving through the world with a brain that felt too loud, constantly looking at everything through the cold, clinical lens of mathematics and formulas. people always thought you were too detached, too intensely focused on academic metrics. but heeseung was the first person who ever looked at your passion and didn't find it strange. he didn't just tolerate your enthusiasm; he matched it. when he spoke about the universe, he made it sound like poetry, and in doing so, he made you feel seen in a way no one else ever had. your feelings for him weren't just a silly student-teacher crush anymore. they were a total shift in your gravity. you loved the way his brilliant mind worked, the quiet kindness hidden beneath his strict authority, and the heavy, melancholic soul he kept hidden from the rest of the world.

"if i'm such a distraction in your office," you say softly, your voice carrying a sudden, brave confidence that makes his dark eyes flare with curiosity, "maybe we should change the environment."

heeseung tilts his head, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "change the environment?"

you nod, your cheeks flushing a light pink, but you force yourself to maintain eye contact. "you liked the cookies. and you said you liked my dedication. i was thinking... you should come over to my apartment this Friday. i can make us dinner. I'm just as good at making italian food as i am with baking. we can actually look at the advanced coursework without... the fear of someone knocking on your office door."

the invitation hangs in the warm, golden light of the office, innocent on the surface but deeply intimate underneath. a private space. your space. away from the sterile campus walls and the prying eyes of his colleagues.

heeseung freezes, his long fingers tightening slightly against your waist as he processes your words. for a long moment, he doesn't say anything, his dark eyes searching your face as if trying to calculate the sheer weight of what you're offering. a slow, tired sigh escapes his lips, and he leans his hip back against the edge of the desk, looking down at his hands.

the silver wedding band glints under the lamp, looking entirely out of place against his dark clothes.

"italian food," he repeats softly, a faint, melancholic smile touching his lips, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "i can't remember the last time someone offered to cook a meal for me, y/n."

he looks up, his expression clouding over with a heavy, quiet sadness that makes your heart ache for him. he runs a hand through his dark hair, his voice dropping into a flat, exhausted register as he finally lets down the wall regarding his personal life.

"my marriage... it isn't just cold, y/n. it's completely hollow," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "it was an arrangement orchestrated by our families years ago. a transaction of social status and academic connections. minji’s father was the dean of the science department at my previous university, and my family... they saw it as the perfect alignment for my career. we never had a foundation. we never had a single conversation that wasn't calculated for an evening gala or a faculty dinner."

he lets out a dry, humorless chuckle, his thumb absentmindedly twisting the ring on his finger. "she lives in the east wing of our house. we haven't shared a meal in two years. she fills her time with high-society charity events and her own social circles, and i fill mine with equations because the numbers don't lie to me. my parents always told me that love was a secondary variable in a successful life—that duty and reputation were the only things that mattered. i believed them. i thought this quiet, freezing routine was all i deserved."

he steps closer to you again, his dark eyes swimming with a raw, exposed vulnerability that strips away every ounce of his thirty-two years.

"and then you walked into my quantum lecture," he whispers, his voice cracking slightly as his hand rises to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your soft skin. "you sat in the second row, looking at me like i hung the stars in the sky just because i was explaining molecular bonds. you brought homemade cookies into my sterile office. you looked at me like i was a human being, not just a tenured name on a legal document or a trophy husband for a political family."

your chest swells with a profound, overwhelming empathy. you can feel the decades of loneliness radiating from his skin, the heavy burden of a man who had been starved for genuine affection for so long that a simple box of baked goods felt like a miracle. your hand rises to cover his, pressing his warm palm firmer against your cheek.

"you do deserve it, heeseung," you murmur, your eyes shining with a deep, unyielding sincerity. "you deserve to have someone care about your day. you deserve to have someone listen to you play the piano because they love the music, not because it's a status symbol. i don't care about your reputation or your title. i just care about you."

heeseung’s breath hitches at your words. the sheer depth of your feelings hits him like a physical force, dismantling the very last of his internal resistance. he looks at you as if you are the only source of light in a room that has been dark for years.

"friday evening," he says, his voice rough and low, a firm, undeniable resolve finally taking root in his features. he leans down, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to your forehead, his eyes closing as he inhales your vanilla scent. "give me your address, y/n. i'll be there at seven.”

chapter eight: the transition state

the text with your address had been sitting on his phone since wednesday morning, a tiny coordinate of light in the quiet darkness of his routine. you had spent the entire day cleaning your small apartment, organizing the textbooks on your desk three times over, and listening to the steady, rhythmic hum of the rain against your kitchen window.

by six-thirty, the scent of crushed garlic, fresh basil, and simmering tomatoes had completely filled the small space, cutting through the usual scent of laundry detergent and old paper. you wore a soft, cream-colored knitted dress that hit just below your knees, your hair left down in natural waves. you looked neat, but comfortable—a stark contrast to the sterile, buttoned-up world heeseung was forced to live in every day.

at exactly seven o'clock, the soft knock on your door made your heart skip an entire beat.

you smoothed down the front of your dress, taking a deep, stabilizing breath before turning the lock. when you opened the door, heeseung was standing under the dim hallway light. he looked entirely different. he had left his formal overcoat in his car, wearing only a relaxed charcoal gray sweater with the sleeves loosely pushed up his forearms, and dark jeans. his hair was slightly damp from the drizzle outside, a few dark strands falling over his forehead.

for a long moment, he didn't say a word. his dark eyes just swept over your face, taking in the soft flush on your cheeks and the warm, inviting light of your apartment behind you. the exhaustion that usually sat heavy in his shoulders seemed to evaporate the moment his gaze anchored onto yours.

"good evening, y/n," he said, his voice carrying that familiar, low resonance that immediately turned your knees to jelly.

"good evening, heeseung," you murmured, stepping aside to let him in. "come in out of the rain."

as he stepped past you, the clean, woodsy scent of his cologne mixed instantly with the rich, warm aroma of the italian food cooking on the stove. heeseung stopped in the middle of your small living room, looking around the space with a quiet, almost reverent curiosity. your apartment wasn't grand like the cold, historical estate he shared with minji; it was small, cluttered with physics journals, a few house plants on the windowsill, and a soft velvet couch. but it felt alive. it felt warm.

"it smells incredible in here," he said softly, turning around to face you. a genuine, relaxed smile touched his lips—one that didn't carry a single trace of the polite, professional mask he wore at the university. "you weren't exaggerating about your skills."

"i told you, i'm a master of thermal reactions, whether it's molecules or marinara," you teased, the lighthearted joke slipping out easily now that the heavy oak doors of the science building weren't trapping you.

heeseung let out a low, breathless huff of laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners. he walked over to the small kitchen counter, setting down a bottle of red wine he had brought with him. as he set it down, your eyes instinctively flicked to his left hand.

the silver wedding band was gone.

there was only a faint, pale mark on his skin where the metal had rested for years—a lingering ghost of a past constraint, but the hand itself was entirely bare. your chest swelled with a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion. he hadn't just promised to clear the path; he was actively doing it. the sheer depth of what he was risking for you—his career, his family's expectations, the rigid stability of his life—hit you with a profound gravity. you didn't just love him for his brilliant mind anymore; you loved him for the quiet courage he was showing just to stand in your kitchen.

"the wine is an older vintage," heeseung murmured, noticing your gaze but keeping his tone gentle as he closed the distance between you. he stopped just inches away, his tall frame blocking out the rest of the room. "a complex structure, but well-balanced. i thought it would pair well with whatever you were calculating on the stove."

"it's perfect," you whispered, looking up into his dark, devoted eyes.

heeseung didn't hesitate this time. his large, bare hands rose to gently cup your face, his long fingers sliding into your hair to support the back of your head. his palms were warm, his touch so incredibly tender it made your eyes flutter shut for a fraction of a second.

"i spent the entire drive here trying to remember the laws of professional distance," he rough-whispered, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, leaving a trail of pure fire against your skin. "but the moment i smelled the basil and saw you standing at the door... every single formula went entirely blank."

"then stop calculating, heeseung," you breathed out, your hands rising instinctively to rest against his chest, feeling the heavy, rapid thud of his heart underneath the soft charcoal wool. "just be here."

"i am here," he murmured against your lips, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register that completely melted your final defenses. "i'm entirely yours."

and then his mouth descended onto yours, slow and deeply possessive, sealing the promise in the quiet sanctuary of your home.

the kiss is different from the ones in his office or the dim auditorium. there is no lingering panic of someone rattling the door handle, no cold shadow of a flashing phone screen on a desk. it is slow, heavy, and full of a quiet relief that makes your head spin. his lips press against yours with a deliberate plowness, parting them naturally, tasting faintly of the damp rain from outside and the deep, silent longing he’s been carrying all week.

his hands slide down from your face, his long fingers tracing the slope of your neck before anchoring firmly on your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. the soft wool of his sweater presses against the knit of your dress, a perfect, frictionless contact. you let out a quiet sigh into his mouth, your fingers tightening into the fabric at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to his height, his warmth, his absolute gravity.

when he finally pulls back, his breathing is thick and erratic. he doesn't let go of your waist; instead, he rests his forehead against yours, his dark eyes blown out as he looks down at you in the dim light of your kitchen.

"if we keep doing that," he rough-whispers, a small, breathless smile pulling at the corner of his lips, "the thermal reaction on the stove is going to turn into a total system failure."

you chuckle softly, your cheeks burning with a deep, happy flush. "right. the pasta. we need to turn down the heat."

you reluctantly step out of his embrace, though his fingers linger on your hip until the very last second, a silent protest against the distance. you walk over to the stove, stirring the rich, simmering sauce while heeseung moves around the small counter, opening the bottle of wine he brought. you watch him from the corner of your eye—the way his broad shoulders move as he pours the dark liquid into two simple glasses, how relaxed he looks without the sharp, stiff lines of his university blazers.

"sit at the table, heeseung. it's almost ready," you say, draining the pasta and tossing it into the pan with the fresh marinara.

he obeys without a word, taking a seat at your small wooden table. the space is tight, meaning when you bring over the plates and sit across from him, your knees are only inches apart under the wood. you serve the food, suddenly feeling a little shy under the weight of his steady, admiring gaze.

"buon appetito," you murmur, lifting your glass of wine.

heeseung smiles, clinking his glass against yours. "buon appetito, y/n."

he takes a bite, chewing slowly, and for a second, his eyes close. a low, genuine sound of appreciation escapes his throat, making your heart leap with pride. when he opens his eyes, they are shining with a quiet warmth. "this is incredible. the balance of the acidity, the fresh herbs... it’s perfect."

"i told you. i don't mess up my proportions," you say softly, taking a sip of the wine. it's rich, deep, and warm, spreading through your chest and loosening the last of your nervousness.

"clearly," he mutters, his gaze lingering on your mouth before he continues eating.

as the dinner progresses, the conversation flows with an ease that surprises both of you. away from the lecture hall, you don't talk about gauge fields or state vectors. instead, you talk about the music he used to listen to when he lived in germany for his doctorate, the small bakery you want to open after you finish your degree, and the quiet, ordinary things that make up your days. he listens to you with a rapt, undivided attention, his elbows resting on the table as he leans in, hanging on every word that leaves your lips.

"minji and i never sat like this," heeseung says suddenly, his voice dropping into a quiet, reflective tone as he finishes his glass of wine. he stares down at the empty plate, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. the pale, un-tanned line on his ring finger is clearly visible. "even at the very beginning. our dinners were always catered events. we had staff in the house, or we were out at a restaurant with colleagues. everything was a performance. i had to wear a tie just to have breakfast."

he looks up, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"coming here tonight... sitting at this table, eating food you made yourself, seeing the flour smudge on your apron earlier... it feels like the first real thing i’ve experienced in a very long time," he whispers, his jaw clenching slightly with the weight of his emotion. "my family always told me that a quiet life was a wasted life. that i needed status. but they were wrong. this... this is the only thing that actually matters."

your throat tightens, a profound, aching tenderness swelling in your chest. you reach across the small table, your fingers sliding over the polished wood until they cover his bare hand. his fingers instantly turn over, interlocking with yours, squeezing with a tight, desperate strength.

"you don't have to perform for me, heeseung," you say softly, your voice carrying the full weight of the love you’ve been keeping hidden. "you never have to wear a mask in this room."

heeseung stares at your joined hands, letting out a long, shaky breath. the quiet in your apartment is absolute, save for the soft patter of the rain against the glass, creating a private, impenetrable bubble around the two of you. the transition state is over; the old system has completely collapsed, and as he looks back up at you with those deep, devoted eyes, you know there is absolutely no going back.

heeseung doesn't say anything for a long moment, but the way his fingers tighten around yours says more than any complex formula ever could. he slowly stands up from his chair, his tall frame stepping around the small wooden table until he is standing right beside you. he reaches down, his large hands gently taking your empty wine glass and setting it aside before pulling you up by your waist to face him.

the warmth of his body hits you instantly, a comforting barrier against the cool rain pressing against the windowpane. his eyes trace every detail of your face—the soft curve of your cheekbones, the slight parting of your lips, the deep, unyielding affection shining in your eyes.

"i want to show you something," he whispers, his voice dropping into that low, raspy register that always makes your pulse spike.

he keeps one hand anchored securely around your waist, guiding you over to the small, cozy corner of your living room where your velvet couch sits. instead of sitting, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. for a second, a small flare of old anxiety rises in your throat, but it vanishes completely when heeseung opens a music app and selects a piece.

the soft, rich notes of a classical piano piece—the exact melancholic melody he had been playing in the empty auditorium—fill the quiet space of your apartment, drifting through the warm, garlic-and-basil-scented air.

"i can't bring a grand piano into your apartment tonight," he murmurs, a beautiful, genuine smile softening the sharp lines of his face as he slips his phone back into his pocket. "but i promised you a private concert, y/n. let me give you this much for now."

your heart swells so intensely it feels almost painful in your chest. you look up at him, completely captivated by the sheer thoughtfulness of the gesture. "heeseung..."

"dance with me," he rough-whispers, not giving you a chance to overthink.

his hands slide smoothly down to your hips, pulling you flush against his chest. your hands rise naturally, your fingers tangling into the soft charcoal wool at his shoulders, your chin resting against his chest as the two of you begin to sway slowly to the rhythm of the recorded piano notes. the movement is unhurried, natural, and deeply intimate.

with every slow step, the rest of the world—the university, the prying eyes of his colleagues, the cold ghost of his past marriage—fades into complete non-existence. there are no laws of professional distance here. there are no parameters to maintain. there is only the steady, synchronized rhythm of your heartbeats meeting through the fabric of your clothes.

heeseung leans down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your skin as he inhales the sweet, lingering scent of your vanilla perfume. a low, contented sigh escapes his lips, his grip on your waist tightening as if he is finally anchoring himself to the only shore that matters.

"this is the equilibrium, y/n," he murmurs against your skin, his voice carrying a profound, heavy peace that strips away the very last of his analytical armor. "no more chaos. no more hiding."

you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, seeing the terrifying, beautiful devotion written in every sharp feature of his face. you reach up, your thumb gently tracing the small mole on his forehead before sliding down to rest against his cheek.

"i love you, heeseung," the confession slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, quiet and steady, carrying the absolute weight of every silent glance and nervous blush from the past months.

heeseung’s breath hitches. his dark pupils blow out completely, his jaw clenching as the words wash over him. he doesn't respond with equations or logic. instead, he closes the final inch between you, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that is slow, deep, and overflowing with a raw, unspoken promise. it is the final seal on a newly rewritten system.

when the music finally fades into a quiet hum, leaving only the gentle, rhythmic drizzle of the rain outside, heeseung keeps you held tightly against his chest in the dim, golden light of your living room. the old symmetry is completely broken, shattered beyond any hope of repair, but as you close your eyes and let his warmth envelope you, you know that the new balance you've found together is entirely flawless.

chapter nine: the boundary layer

the rain didn't stop. by monday night, the gentle drizzle from the weekend had mutated into a cold, relentless downpour that lashed against the high windows of the science building. in physics, a boundary layer is the thin fluid layer immediately adjacent to a solid surface where friction forces are dominant. it is a place of constant shear stress. a place where the smooth, predictable flow of a system violently breaks apart.

you stood inside the empty computer lab, the cold blue glow of your laptop screen illuminating the dark room. your fingers hovered over the keyboard, but you hadn't typed a single line of code in thirty minutes.

the ghost of his touch was still burning into your skin. the memory of his bare hand interlocking with yours at your kitchen table, the low, gravelly vibration of his voice when he whispered *i'm entirely yours*—it had felt like a permanent shift in reality. but reality has a cruel way of asserting its original parameters.

your phone buzzed against the plastic table. a sharp, violent vibration that made your chest tighten with an immediate, defensive anxiety.

you picked it up, expecting his name, his neat, lowercase texts. instead, your stomach dropped into a freezing void. it was a link to a campus forum post, sent by a classmate with a single sentence: *is this about your mentoring sessions?*

your hands shook so violently you almost dropped the device as you clicked the link. the headline was a blur of hostile, clinical words: **unprofessional conduct in the physics department: anonymous report details inappropriate relationship between tenured faculty and undergraduate student.**

there were no names, but the details were surgical. *tuesday evening office hours.* *one-on-one mentoring outside the standard syllabus.* *frequent private interactions.* the comments underneath were already multiplying like a malignant cell culture, filled with speculation, judgment, and the cold, unyielding disgust of a university community that valued reputation above all else.

the air left your lungs in a ragged gasp. the walls of the computer lab felt like they were actively closing in, suffocating you. *our secret.* *don't mention this arrangement to anyone.* his warning from that very first morning echoed in your ears, no longer a thrilling, forbidden whisper, but a heavy, iron cage slamming shut.

you didn't think. you shoved your laptop into your bag, your breath coming in shallow, frantic hitches as you sprinted out of the lab and up the stairs toward the second floor. your wet boots skidded against the linoleum, the quiet corridors echoing with the panicked rhythm of your escape.

when you reached his office door, you didn't knock softly. you pushed it open, the heavy wood hitting the inner wall with a dull, loud thud.

heeseung was there. but the warm, golden sanctuary of his office was gone. the soft desk lamp was turned off, replaced by the harsh, blinding overhead fluorescents that made his skin look stark, pale, and entirely exhausted. his blazer was back on, tightly buttoned, his tie perfectly straight. the rigid, untouchable professor stood behind the desk, staring down at a formal, cream-colored letter bearing the official seal of the university board.

he looked up when the door slammed, his dark eyes hollow, stripped completely of the beautiful, relaxed warmth from friday night.

"y/n," he said, his voice flat, carrying a terrifyingly professional distance that made your heart fracture on impact. "you shouldn't be here."

"is it true?" your voice cracked, a raw, breathy sound against the hum of the overhead lights. you pulled out your phone, your trembling fingers holding up the screen toward him. "the forum... the board. heeseung, someone knows."

heeseung didn't look at the phone. he kept his eyes locked on your face, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle in his cheek flickered violently. he slowly slid the formal letter into his desk drawer, closing it with a quiet, final click.

"the dean called me into his office an hour ago," heeseung whispered, his voice sounding entirely empty, like a machine running out of fuel. "an anonymous report was filed with the ethics committee. they have dates, y/n. they have the log of my office door locks opening after hours on tuesdays."

"who told them?" you stepped closer, your chest heaving, tears finally hot and blurring your vision. "we didn't tell anyone. i kept the secret. i swear i did—"

"it doesn't matter who told them," he interrupted, his tone suddenly turning sharp, cutting through your panic with a cold, clinical precision that made you flinch. he stood up straight, crossing his arms over his chest—the exact posture he used when a student failed an exam. "the reality is the same. an investigation has been opened. until it resolves, all private mentoring is suspended. effective immediately."

you froze, the coldness of his demeanor hitting you like a physical wave. you looked down at his left hand.

the silver wedding band was back on his finger.

it glinted stubbornly under the harsh fluorescent light, a cold, metallic shield separating him from you, separating the professor from the man who had danced with you in your living room.

"you put it back on," you whispered, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. you pointed a trembling finger at his hand. "friday night... you said you were starting the paperwork. you said you were fixing the variables. but the second a breeze hits the system, you slide the ring back on?"

heeseung’s composure cracked for a fraction of a second. he closed his eyes, let out a long, ragged breath that sounded like a groan of pure agony, and rubbed his temples. "y/n, you don't understand the logistics of this. a scandal like this doesn't just damage my reputation—it terminates my tenure. it destroys your academic career before it even begins. if they find proof of misconduct, your degree is compromised. your future in this field is over."

"i don't care about the degree!" you yelled, the sob tearing through your throat, loud and unraveled in the quiet office. "i care about you! i told you i loved you, heeseung! and you're standing behind that desk looking at me like i'm a data error you need to delete from your ledger!"

"don't say that," he rough-whispered, his eyes snapping open, suddenly dark and burning with a desperate, suffocating pain. he took a step around the desk, his hands rising instinctively as if to reach for you, but he stopped himself, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides as he stared at the closed door behind you. the invisible boundary between professor and student had instantly turned into a solid brick wall. "god, y/n, don't you think this is killing me? i haven't slept in three days. but i have to protect you. and the only way to protect you right now is to return to the original state."

"the original state," you repeated, a bitter, hollow laugh escaping your lips as the tears ran down your cheeks. "you mean the state where you're a married professor and i'm just a face in the second row? the state where we pretend we never touched?"

heeseung looked away, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, his posture rigid, frozen under the weight of his family's legacy and the university's unyielding laws. "yes," he whispered, the single word sounding like a death sentence. "for now... we have to be strangers."

you stared at him, looking at the long, elegant line of his shoulders, the dark hair falling over his eyes, the absolute brilliance of the man you had given your heart to. and you realized, with a terrifying, absolute certainty, that physics had lied to you.

some systems don't reach equilibrium when they touch. some systems just collide until they completely destroy each other.

"okay," you breathed out, your voice dropping into a dead, flat quiet. you pulled your bag tighter against your shoulder, turning your back on him before he could see your face completely shatter. "goodnight, mr. lee."

you gripped the handle, pulled open the door, and walked out into the freezing, empty corridor, the heavy click of the lock behind you sounding like the final, definitive snap of a broken bond.

the walk back to your apartment was a blur of freezing rain and neon headlights reflecting off the wet asphalt. your clothes were soaked through, the heavy fabric of your coat pressing against your skin like a physical manifestation of the gravity that was currently crushing you. when you finally shut the door behind you, the silence of your living room was deafening. the faint, lingering scent of basil and rosemary from friday night still hung in the air—a cruel, haunting reminder of a system that had been completely dismantled in a matter of minutes.

you dropped your bag onto the floor, not caring as your expensive physics textbooks spilled out onto the hardwood. you sank down against the front door, pulling your knees tightly against your chest, and let the first real sob tear through your throat.

you were entirely alone.

that was the brutal reality of your situation. you had left your hometown—a small, suffocatingly quiet coastal suburb three hundred miles away—specifically to escape the predictable, pre-determined life your family had mapped out for you. they wanted you to stay local, to marry a sensible boy from the neighborhood, and to take an ordinary office job that didn't require you to stay up until three in the morning analyzing the thermodynamic properties of stars. they didn't understand your brain. they looked at your passion for mathematics as an eccentric phase rather than a calling.

moving to this university was supposed to be your great escape, your chance to finally find a community that spoke your language. instead, you had found heeseung—a man who understood your soul so perfectly it terrified you—only for the world to rip him away the second you dared to reach for him. now, the very field of study that had given you a sense of purpose felt like a minefield.

your phone buzzed in your pocket. your heart gave a pathetic, hopeful leap, but when you pulled it out, you saw it wasn't him. it was a video call invitation from an international area code.

jia.

you stared at her name through a screen blurred by tears. jia had been your absolute anchor since the seventh grade. while you were the quiet, analytical girl hiding in the back of the geometry class, jia was the loud, fiercely protective force who refused to let the world ignore you. you had done everything together until university lines drew you apart; she had received a prestigious scholarship to study architecture in milan, italy, leaving you three hundred miles away in your university town. the physical distance was immense, but the emotional matrix between the two of you had never faltered.

with a trembling thumb, you swiped to accept the call.

jia’s face immediately filled the screen. she was sitting in her brightly lit apartment in milan, surrounded by rolled-up drafting paper, a half-empty cup of espresso, and the warm morning light of an italian dawn breaking through her window. but the second her eyes landed on your face—your red eyes, your soaked hair, your unraveled expression—her smile vanished instantly.

"y/n?" jia’s voice came through the speaker, sharp with immediate concern, completely ignoring the thousands of miles between you. "what happened? why are you sitting on the floor? are you hurt?"

hearing her voice—the familiar, steady cadence of home—broke the last of your restraint. another wave of hot tears spilled over your cheeks, a choked sound escaping your lips. "jia... everything is ruined. the whole system... it completely collapsed."

"hey, hey, look at me. take a breath," jia commanded softly, her structural, logical brain instantly kicking into high gear. she set her drafting pen down, leaning close to her camera, her eyes fierce with a protective anger. "is this about the professor? did something happen with heeseung?"

you nodded miserably, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your damp knit dress. you hadn't hidden the relationship from jia. in fact, she was the only person in the entire universe who knew the truth. she was the one you had texted at midnight after the auditorium, the one who had practically screamed over the phone when you told her heeseung took off his ring in his office.

"someone filed a report," you choked out, your voice sounding small and fragile in the empty apartment. "an anonymous report to the ethics committee. it's all over the campus forums. they have dates, jia. they know about the after-hours sessions. heeseung... he called me into his office tonight. or, no, i ran to his office. and he was so cold. he put the ring back on."

jia’s jaw clenched, a low curse word in italian escaping her lips. "he what?"

"he told me we have to be strangers," you whispered, the words physically hurting your chest as you repeated them. "he said it's the only way to protect my degree and his tenure. he looked at me like... like i was just an equation he needed to balance out. jia, i told him i loved him on friday. we danced right here in my kitchen. and tonight, he wouldn't even let me step past his desk. he wouldn't even look at me."

jia let out a long, slow breath, her expression shifting from anger to a deep, profound sadness for you. she knew how hard it was for you to let people in. she knew that your feelings for heeseung weren't a shallow infatuation; they were the first time you had ever felt completely aligned with another human being.

"listen to me, y/n," jia said, her voice dropping into a firm, unyielding tone that brooked no argument. "heeseung isn't acting out of malice. he's a thirty-two-year-old man who has been trapped in a cold, transactional life for a decade. when a man like that gets a taste of actual warmth—of what he has with you—he panics the second the cage doors start rattling. he's terrified. not just for his job, but because he knows what the world does to things that are genuine."

"but it feels like he's abandoning me," you sobbed, hiding your face in your hands. "he's leaving me alone in this city."

"he's trying to build a shield around you the only way his stupid, over-analytical brain knows how," jia said softly, her eyes swimming with empathy across the digital screen. "is it fair? no. it's incredibly messy, and it hurts like hell. but you are not alone. do you hear me? you left that tiny hometown because you were strong enough to seek out your own orbit. you are brilliant, y/n. don't let this university, or his fear, make you feel like you don't belong in that room."

you pulled your hands away from your face, looking at your best friend. the distance between milan and your small apartment felt agonizingly wide, yet her words felt like the only solid thing you could hold onto in the middle of the storm.

"i don't know how to walk into that lecture hall tomorrow, jia," you admitted, your breathing finally starting to slow down. "i don't know how to look at the whiteboard and pretend my heart isn't completely broken."

"you don't look at him," jia said firmly, a small, encouraging smile finally touching her lips. "you look at the physics. you prove to every single person in that room that you belong there because of your mind. let him sit in his cold office and watch you excel from the second row without him. let him see exactly what he's choosing to lock away."

you let out a shaky, breathy sigh, a tiny fraction of the weight in your chest lifting just from her presence. "thank you, jia."

"always, watchmaker," jia used your old childhood nickname, her eyes warm. "now, go take a hot shower, change into dry clothes, and leave the phone on. i'm going to finish my sketches, and i'm staying right here on the screen until you fall asleep. the Atlantic ocean doesn't mean a damn thing when it comes to us."

you offered her a small, fragile smile, nodding as you stood up from the floor. as you walked toward the bathroom, leaving the phone propped up on the kitchen counter where jia’s steady breathing and the scratching of her pencil filled the silence, you realized the boundary layer hadn't destroyed you completely. the flow was turbulent, the friction was agonizing, but you were still moving forward.

chapter ten: the critical point

the next morning, the campus was a study in gray. the rain had finally slowed to a dismal, heavy fog that hung between the brick buildings, swallowing the tops of the faculty towers. you walked up the stone steps of the science building, your knuckles white around the strap of your bag. jia’s words from the night before were an explicit boundary layer in your mind, keeping the panic from completely taking over your nervous system. *look at the physics. let him see exactly what he's choosing to lock away.*

when you pushed open the heavy double doors of the main lecture hall, the atmosphere was thick. the room was already half-full, the low hum of student gossip dropping by a noticeable fraction the second you stepped into the aisle.

you felt the weight of a hundred glances. the anonymous forum post had done its work; the parameters of your presence had been altered. people weren't looking at your high test scores or your neat notebook anymore. they were looking for a symptom. they were looking for a crack in the armor.

your lower lip trembled out of habit, but you caught it between your teeth, forcing your expression into a neutral, clinical mask. you didn't look left or right. you walked straight down the steps, past the third row, and took your exact seat in the middle of the second row. you pulled out your notebook, aligned your pen with the edge of the desk, and stared directly at the blank whiteboard.

at exactly eight o'clock, the side door opened.

heeseung stepped into the room. the sight of him sent a sharp, violent spike of heat straight through your chest, followed immediately by an icy chill. he was impeccably put together—the dark gray blazer was buttoned, his tie a sharp, flawless knot, his hair combed back neatly from his face. he looked exactly like the tenured, unyielding professor the university paid him to be.

but as he set his leather briefcase on the podium, his hand froze for a fraction of a second. the silver wedding band on his left ring finger caught the fluorescent light, practically blinding you from where you sat.

heeseung didn't look at the class. he turned directly to the board, picking up a fresh piece of chalk, and began to write with a rigid, mechanical speed.

"today, we are discussing phase transitions," his voice boomed through the lecture hall, carrying that deep, resonant authority. but to your ears, it sounded completely hollow—a recorded tape running on a loop. "specifically, the critical point. the precise temperature and pressure at which the boundaries between liquid and gas cease to exist. the system becomes a single, indistinguishable phase."

the lecture was a brutal exercise in endurance. every time heeseung spoke, the low, gravelly undertone that used to feel like a private wire connected directly to your soul was gone, replaced by a cold, academic distance. he kept his gaze strictly focused on the back rows, his eyes sweeping across the theater but completely leaping over the second row, as if you were nothing more than an empty desk. a statistical outlier. a variable that had been successfully eliminated from the calculation.

the deliberate erasure hurt worse than his anger would have. it made the warmth of your apartment, the taste of the coffee on his tongue, and the soft melody of the piano feel like a collective hallucination.

"at the critical point, the density of both phases becomes identical," heeseung explained, his broad shoulders moving beneath his blazer as he drew a phase diagram on the board. "there is no longer a distinct interface. the system loses its structure. it becomes turbulent."

you didn't let your hand shake. you forced your pen to trace the curves of the graph exactly as he drew them, your jaw clenched so tight the muscle ached. you were going to be the model student jia told you to be. you wouldn't give the lingering whispers in the room the satisfaction of seeing you break.

when the two-hour bell finally rang, the relief in your chest was immense. the classroom immediately filled with the chaotic rush of students packing up, eager to escape the heavy, tense air of the lecture hall.

you didn't linger this time. you didn't slow your movements. you packed your notebook and your pen into your bag within thirty seconds, determined to be the first one out the door, to prove to him that you could return to being a stranger just as easily as he could.

"mr. lee," a voice called out from the front of the room just as you stood up.

it wasn't your name. it was professor harris, the head of the physics department, standing by the stage doors with two members of the university's administrative board. they were holding formal folders, their expressions grim and entirely devoid of academic pleasantry.

you froze in the aisle, your bag slung over your shoulder.

heeseung stopped what he was doing. he set the chalk down, his broad shoulders turning rigid as he looked at the senior faculty members waiting for him. the untouchable, professional mask he had worn for the last two hours didn't fail him, but his jaw clenched so hard a small vein pulsed at his temple.

"we need to discuss the formal audit of your laboratory allocations and private instruction hours, heeseung," professor harris said, his voice carrying clearly across the emptying room. "the committee is waiting in the dean's office."

heeseung didn't argue. he didn't offer an excuse. "of course. let me grab my briefcase."

as he reached down to pick up his bag, his dark eyes finally did what they had resisted doing all morning. they flicked up, cutting through the remaining students in the aisle, and locked directly onto yours.

the distance between the stage and the second row felt like a vast, uncrossable canyon, but for three seconds, the professional armor vanished entirely. his dark pupils were wide, swimming with a raw, suffocating panic and a desperate, unspoken warning. *don't look. don't stop. stay away from the blast radius.*

he was drowning under the weight of the system he had tried so hard to maintain, yet his eyes were still trying to build a shield around you.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag until your knuckles turned white. you didn't offer him a smile, and you didn't let a single tear fall. you simply turned your back on the stage, walking up the concrete steps toward the double doors, leaving him to face the committee alone under the harsh, unyielding glare of the lights.

you stepped out into the hallway, the heavy doors closing behind you with a loud thud. the air in the corridor felt cold, but your face was burning. you could hear the quiet whispers of a few students lingering near the water fountain, their eyes darting to you before quickly looking away. you kept your head down, walking past them as fast as you could until you reached the exit of the science building.

the cold fog hit you the moment you stepped outside. you pulled your coat tighter around yourself and walked toward the small campus library, looking for a place where nobody would recognize you.

you found an empty desk in the very back of the basement level, hidden behind rows of old, dusty textbooks that nobody had touched in years. you pulled out your phone and immediately opened the chat with jia.

*they just took him,* you typed, your fingers trembling over the screen. *the head of the department and two board members were waiting for him right after class. they took him to the dean's office for a formal audit. jia, he looked so scared.*

a few seconds later, jia's response popped up. *are you somewhere safe? did they say anything to you?*

*no,* you texted back. *they only spoke to him. but he looked at me before he left. it was like he was begging me to run away so i wouldn't get caught in the middle of it. i hate this. i hate pretending i don't care.*

*you're doing exactly what you need to do,* jia replied quickly. *he is the professor, y/n. it is his job to handle the board, not yours. keep your head down and stay out of that office. let him protect you.*

you stared at the screen, letting out a long, shaky breath. you knew jia was right, but the logic didn't stop the ache in your chest. you kept picturing the look in heeseung's eyes—that tiny crack in his untouchable mask right before they led him away. he spent his whole life trying to be the perfect son, the perfect husband, and the perfect professor, all to satisfy a family that never actually cared about him. and now, the first time he tried to choose something for himself, his whole world was crashing down.

you tried to study, but the hours passed in a miserable blur. every time you closed your eyes, you saw the silver ring back on his finger.

by four o'clock in the afternoon, the basement library was completely dark outside the small window wells. you couldn't sit still anymore. your legs felt restless, and your brain was fried from trying to read the same page of physics over and over again.

you packed your bag and walked back toward the main campus square. without even realizing it, your feet led you back toward the science building. the lights in the windows were starting to turn on as the evening settled in. you stood across the street, hiding under the shadow of a large oak tree, looking up at the second floor.

the light in heeseung's office was on.

your breath caught in your throat. you looked around the campus square; it was mostly empty because of the thick fog and the cold air. nobody was watching.

ignoring the voice in your head telling you to walk away, you crossed the street and entered the building. the hallways were completely silent now, the evening classes not starting for another hour. you walked up the stairs, your heart hammering a wild, chaotic rhythm against your ribs.

when you reached his door, you saw a small sliver of yellow light leaking out from the bottom. you stood there for a long moment, your hand hovering over the wood. you knew it was dangerous. you knew it could ruin everything. but the need to know if he was okay was stronger than any rule the university had ever written.

you knocked softly, three times.

the door opened almost instantly. heeseung stood in the doorway, and the sight of him made your stomach twist. his tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, and his hair was messy, as if he had been running his hands through it for hours. he looked completely drained, the dark circles under his eyes deeper than they had been that morning.

when his eyes found yours, he didn't look angry. he just looked incredibly tired.

"y/n," he breathed out, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sounded completely broken. "i told you to stay away."

"i couldn't," you whispered back, your eyes immediately filling with tears. "i saw them take you. heeseung, please tell me what happened."

heeseung looked down the empty hallway, checking both directions before he grabbed your forearm and pulled you quickly into the room, locking the door behind you with a sharp click. the moment the lock snapped into place, he didn't step back. instead, he leaned his forehead against the heavy wood of the door, letting out a ragged, trembling sigh that seemed to shake his entire body.

"they know about the separation," he said, his voice muffled against the door. "minji's father called the dean this morning. it wasn't a student who filed the report, y/n. it was her family. they found out about the divorce papers, and they're using the university to ruin me.”

the room went completely cold. you stood frozen in the middle of the small office, the words echoing in your ears until your brain could finally process them.

it wasn't a classmate. it wasn't someone passing by the office door at night or a lingering student in the hallway. it was his family. it was the massive, clinical machine of his marriage, reaching out from three hundred miles away to wrap its fingers around his throat.

"minji's father," you whispered, the name tasting like lead on your tongue. "they're doing this on purpose?"

heeseung slowly lifted his head from the door, turning around to face you. he looked completely stripped of his academic authority. he leaned his lower back against the heavy wood, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, his fingers twitching.

"it's a warning," he rough-whispered, a bitter, humorless smile twisting his lips. "in my family, you don't just walk away from an alliance. you don't break a contract without consequences. her father told the dean that i’ve been showing 'unstable behavior' and neglecting my departmental duties. they used the anonymous report about our private hours as the weapon to prove it."

he took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. without the frames, his face looked younger, more vulnerable, and completely exhausted.

"the board is launching a full investigation into my scheduling logs," he continued, his voice dropping into a flat, dead tone. "they're reviewing my grading metrics for the second-row students. they want to see if there's any statistical bias. if they find anything they can label as misconduct, they won't just suspend me, y/n. they will revoke my tenure, blackball me from every research institution in the country, and cancel your scholarship for 'collusion' with faculty."

your breath caught in your throat. a sudden, sharp panic flared in your chest. "my scholarship? but i didn't do anything wrong! i just—i studied. i earned every single mark."

"i know that," heeseung said quickly, stepping forward. for a split second, he looked like he wanted to reach out and grab your hands, but he stopped himself, his bare right hand clenching into a fist. "i told them that. i spent three hours in that room taking total responsibility for the scheduling. i told them the extra hours were entirely my decision to push you toward the advanced doctoral track. i lied to them, y/n. i looked the dean in the eye and told him there was absolutely nothing personal between us."

he looked down, his gaze landing on his left hand. the silver wedding band was still there, a bright, mocking circle under the white lights.

"i put it back on before the meeting," he whispered, his jaw clenching so hard the muscle leaped. "because if i'm a happily married man facing a bitter family dispute, the board views it as a private matter. but if i'm a man mid-divorce who is spending his Tuesday nights locked in an office with an undergraduate... they destroy us both. i had to become the professor again. i had to pretend friday night never happened."

the weight of his words pressed down on your chest until it physically hurt to breathe. you looked at him—at the messy hair, the unbuttoned collar, the sheer desperation rolling off his skin—and the anger you had felt that morning completely melted into a profound, aching sorrow.

he wasn't acting like a coward. he was acting like a shield. he was standing in front of the blast radius, letting the shrapnel hit his own career just to keep your future completely clean.

"heeseung," you murmured, stepping closer until you were standing right in front of him, ignoring the imaginary line between the desk and the door. "you can't keep lying for me. if they find out you lied to the board, it's worse."

"i don't care about the board," he rough-whispered, his dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, burning with a sudden, fierce intensity that made your heart hammer against your ribs. "i care about you. do you understand me? i have lived thirty-two years in a frozen system, y/n. i have lived a life where nothing belonged to me, where every choice was made by someone else. friday night... when i was sitting in your kitchen, eating the food you made, listening to you talk about your dreams... that was the first time i ever felt alive."

he took one final, heavy step, closing the remaining distance between you until his broad chest was almost touching your shoulder. the clean, woodsy scent of his cologne was faint now, replaced by the sharp scent of stress and coffee, but he still felt like home.

"they can take my tenure," he whispered, his voice cracking with an emotion so raw it made your tears finally spill over your lashes. "they can take the lab allocations. they can take my family's name. i don't care. but i will not let them touch your future. i will not let them ruin the one beautiful thing i have ever found."

your hand rose instinctively, your fingers pressing against the soft fabric of his gray blazer, feeling the erratic, terrified rhythm of his heart. "we can't just pretend we're strangers, heeseung. it's killing me. i sat in that lecture today and you didn't even look at my row."

"it killed me too," he murmured, his large hand finally rising, his long fingers hovering just a millimeter away from your wet cheek, desperately wanting to wipe the tear away but forcing himself not to make physical contact. the discipline was tearing him apart from the inside out. "but we have to play their game for a little while longer. until the audit clears. until the divorce papers are legally processed and her father loses his leverage."

"how long?" you breathed, your voice small and trembling.

"a few weeks," heeseung said, his dark pupils searching your face with a quiet, devastating devotion. "just a few weeks of absolute distance. no office hours. no private texts. nothing they can track."

he slowly lowered his hand, his chin tilting up as he looked at the closed door, his expression hardening into something unyielding.

"let them investigate," he whispered, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register that made your skin prickle. "let them check the equations. they won't find a single error. and once the system settles... i am coming back for you, y/n. and nothing will be able to stop the transfer.”

you stared up at him, your fingers still clutching the fabric of his blazer. the reality of the situation settled into your chest like a heavy stone. a few weeks. it sounded like an eternity to keep your heart under lock and key, to sit in the second row every single morning and look at him like he was just a stranger with a piece of chalk.

but seeing the raw determination in his eyes, you knew you didn't have a choice. you had to be strong, not just for your own scholarship, but for him.

"okay," you whispered, your voice small but steady against the quiet hum of the room. "a few weeks. no texts. no office hours."

heeseung let out a long, ragged breath, his shoulders dropping as if a massive pressure had been relieved. a small, incredibly tender smile touched his lips, though his dark eyes remained filled with a deep, aching sadness.

"thank you, y/n," he rough-whispered.

he slowly reached down, his large, warm hand covering yours where it still rested against his chest. his long fingers squeezed your knuckles with a tight, desperate strength, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. the silver wedding band pressed cold against your skin, but you didn't look at it this time. you only looked at him.

"when this is over," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips for a split second before rising back to meet your eyes. "i’m going to take you out to a real dinner. no secret locations, no locked doors. i want to walk down the street holding your hand without looking over my shoulder."

"i'd like that," you breathed, a tiny, fragile smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

heeseung’s jaw tightened, his self-control clearly reaching its absolute limit. he reluctantly let go of your hand, stepping back a full pace until the professional distance was restored between you. the space felt cold immediately, but the invisible heat of his promise still flickered in the air.

"you should go now, before the evening classes start filtering into the building," he said softly, his voice returning to that low, careful register. he walked over to his desk, picking up his glasses and sliding them back onto his face, the professional armor clicking perfectly back into place. "the hallway should be clear."

you nodded quickly, wiping the last of the dampness from your cheeks with your sleeve. you adjusted the strap of your bag over your shoulder and walked toward the door. your hand gripped the brass handle, but before you turned it, you paused, looking back over your shoulder one last time.

heeseung was standing behind his podium, his hands resting flat against the polished wood as he stared at you. under the bright overhead lights, he looked every bit the serious, untouchable professor. but the fierce, devoted look in his dark pupils belonged entirely to the man who had danced with you in the rain.

"goodnight, professor lee," you murmured, the words heavy with a secret meaning meant only for him.

"goodnight, y/n," he replied quietly.

you turned the handle, unlocked the door, and stepped out into the quiet, dim corridor. the heavy wood clicked shut behind you, the solid sound echoing down the empty hall. as you walked down the stairs and out into the cool evening fog, the air felt crisp against your skin. the turbulence was here, and the system was completely unstable, but as you pulled your coat tight and walked into the dark, you knew the critical point wouldn't break you. you were just waiting for the equilibrium.

chapter eleven: the separation variable

in the weeks that followed, the university campus became a massive exercise in thermal isolation. in physics, an adiabatic wall is a boundary that allows no heat or matter to pass through it. it is a perfect insulator. for twenty-one days, you and heeseung lived on opposite sides of that invisible, crushing wall, pretending the energy between you hadn't already changed the entire layout of your lives.

from your perspective, the second row of the lecture hall had turned into a testing ground for your emotional endurance.

every morning at eight o'clock, you sat at your exact desk, your notebook open, your pen held tightly between your fingers. you watched him walk into the room. you watched the fluid movement of his broad shoulders under his dark coats, the sharp line of his jaw when he turned to the board, and the way his long fingers held the chalk. but his eyes never dropped down to yours. he kept his gaze locked on the upper tiers, his voice carrying that steady, clinical professor tone that felt like a slap to your face every time he spoke.

the lack of contact was a physical ache. you found yourself staring at his left hand, counting the days, wondering if the silver band was still suffocating him as much as it was suffocating you. every evening, you would sit on your velvet couch, the silence of your apartment so loud it made your head spin. you would stare at your phone, your thumb hovering over his name in your contacts list, desperately wanting to type a single line: *are you okay?*

but you didn't. you kept your promise. instead, you would call jia in milan, letting the sound of her voice and the scratching of her drafting pens ground you while you forced yourself to solve pages of advanced statistical mechanics. you poured all your frustration, all your missing him, into the numbers. you became the top student in the class, your exam scores so flawlessly high that no ethics committee could ever claim you were receiving unfair favoritism. you were surviving, but your heart felt like it was operating in a vacuum.

from heeseung’s perspective, the distance was a completely different kind of torture.

every morning, before he even opened the door to the lecture hall, he had to stand in the hallway and take three deep breaths, forcing his facial muscles into a rigid, untouchable mask. he had to consciously brace himself for the sight of you.

because the second he stepped onto that stage, his body automatically looked for you. even without looking directly at the second row, he knew exactly where you were. he could feel your presence like a localized pocket of heat in a freezing room. out of the corner of his eye, he noticed every tiny detail—the soft knit sweaters you wore to shield yourself from the autumn chill, the way you bit your lower lip when you were concentrating on a difficult graph, and the fierce, brilliant determination in your eyes as you took your notes.

and it was killing him not to step down from the stage and walk to your desk.

when he returned to his office after lectures, the room felt like a tomb. the scent of your vanilla perfume had long faded, replaced by the dry, sterile smell of the official audit folders piled on his desk. minji’s father was still pushing the committee, demanding a full review of his research funding, trying to find any loose thread to pull. heeseung spent his nights sitting under the harsh overhead lights, signing legal documents, reviewing schedule logs, and speaking with his divorce lawyer.

his family called him twice a week, their voices cold and full of warnings about his reputation, but heeseung barely listened to them anymore. their threats had lost all their density. every time he felt like giving up, every time the exhaustion threatened to crush him, he would look at his bare left ring finger—the silver band currently locked away in his desk drawer, only taken out when he had to step into a formal faculty meeting.

he wasn't fighting for his tenure anymore. he was fighting for the right to exist in the same space as you without a lie between you.

on the third Tuesday evening of the isolation, heeseung sat alone at his desk. it was four o'clock—the exact hour your mentoring sessions used to begin. the office was completely silent, save for the rhythmic clicking of the radiator against the wall.

he leaned back in his leather chair, running a hand through his dark hair, disrupting the neat style. his eyes drifted to the edge of the smooth wood desk where you had sat three weeks ago, where your fingers had interlocked with his, where he had promised you that he would come back.

"just a little longer, y/n," he rough-whispered into the empty room, his jaw clenching as he stared at the closed oak door. "just stay in orbit a little longer.”

that friday morning, the first snow of the season began to fall, turning the campus into a quiet, white landscape. inside the lecture hall, the radiator hummed loudly, trying to fight the frost pressing against the glass.

you sat in the second row, pulling the sleeves of your dark green sweater over your knuckles. it was the final lecture before the mid-term break, and the air in the room was restless. students were already talking about packing their bags and catching trains home. but for you, the break didn't feel like a relief—it felt like a wider gulf, a longer stretch of time where you wouldn't even be able to see his face.

when heeseung walked in, a collective quiet settled over the room. he wasn't wearing his usual gray or blue blazer today. he wore a simple, sharp black turtleneck underneath a dark coat, looking striking against the pale light coming from the windows.

he set his briefcase down, and for the first time in three weeks, he didn't immediately turn to the whiteboard.

he stood behind the podium and looked straight out at the rows of students. his eyes moved slowly across the theater, passing the back rows, sliding down the center aisle, until they finally stopped.

directly on you.

your breath caught in your throat. your fingers froze over your notebook.

he didn't look away. for five long, uninterrupted seconds, heeseung maintained absolute eye contact with you in front of the entire class. there was no professional distance in his dark pupils anymore. the cold, mechanical mask he had worn for twenty-one days was completely gone, replaced by a deep, burning intensity that made your heart do a violent, erratic dance against your ribs. his jaw was set, his expression carrying a quiet, triumphant clarity.

he slowly lifted his left hand to fix his glasses.

your eyes immediately dropped to his ring finger.

the silver wedding band was gone. and this time, there was no faculty meeting, no audit folder, and no hesitation. his hand was completely bare, the pale mark on his skin finally fading away, leaving him entirely exposed. entirely free.

"good morning," heeseung said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that vibrated straight through the floorboards to the soles of your boots. it was rougher than usual, carrying the heavy weight of a man who had finally finished a long, exhausting battle. "today, we are concluding our unit on statistical mechanics. we will be looking at how a system finally stabilizes after a period of intense external pressure."

the two hours passed like a dream. heeseung didn't avoid the second row anymore. every time he made a point, his eyes anchored onto your face, watching the way your lower lip parted in surprise, watching the soft color return to your cheeks. it felt like the air in the room was warming up, the adiabatic wall between you violently cracking open with every word he spoke.

when the final bell rang, signaling the start of the holiday break, the classroom erupted into chaos. students stood up, laughing and talking about their holiday plans, rushing for the exit to catch their rides.

you packed your bag with trembling hands, your heart hammering so loudly you were sure the people next to you could hear it. you took your time, waiting as the sea of students slowly filtered out of the heavy double doors.

heeseung stood behind his podium, packing his papers into his leather briefcase. his movements were calm, deliberate, and entirely unhurried.

finally, the heavy doors clicked shut. the lecture hall fell into an absolute, beautiful silence.

you stood up from the second row, holding the strap of your bag, your legs feeling weak as you looked down at the stage. heeseung snapped his briefcase shut, set it on the desk, and slowly looked up.

"the audit is clear, y/n," he rough-whispered, the formal 'professor' tone vanishing into the empty theater. he stepped out from behind the podium, walking to the very edge of the stage until he was looking down at you, his dark eyes wide and swimming with an overwhelming fondness. "the separation is legally finalized. her family has no more leverage over this department. it's over."

a breathless, choked laugh escaped your lips, the relief hitting you so hard a tear finally slipped over your lashes. "heeseung..."

"i told you i was coming back for you," he murmured, his voice cracking slightly with emotion. he didn't care about the windows, the stage, or the empty desks anymore. he took the steps down from the stage in two swift strides, closing the distance between you until he was standing directly in front of your row.

his large, bare hands rose instantly, his long fingers cupping your face, his thumbs gently wiping away the tear on your cheek. his palms were burning hot against your skin, a perfect, beautiful thermal reaction.

"twenty-one days," he whisper-groaned, leaning his forehead down until it rested firmly against yours, his eyes closing as he took a deep, shaky breath of your vanilla scent. "twenty-one days of sitting in this room and pretending you were just a face in the crowd. it was the hardest calculation i’ve ever had to make."

"you did it," you whispered back, your hands rising to grip his forearms, feeling the solid, unyielding strength of the man who had protected you through the storm. "we did it."

"now," heeseung murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, a genuine, breathtaking smile fully transforming his sharp face. his hands slid down to wrap firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against him. "my car is parked outside. the snow is falling, the keys to my office are locked away for the holidays, and i believe i owe a model student a very long, very public dinner.”

chapter twelve: the permanent state

the restaurant heeseung took you to was a small, warm bistro hidden down a cobblestone side street, away from the bustling campus center. it was the kind of place that felt completely detached from the academic world—no bright fluorescent lights, no heavy oak desks, and no whispering students. instead, there were flickering candles in glass jars, the soft murmur of couples laughing over jazz music, and the gentle patter of the snow melting against the windowpanes.

for the first time since you had met him, heeseung didn't look for a hidden corner booth.

when the host led you to a table right in the center of the room, next to a large window overlooking the snow-covered street, heeseung simply smiled, thanking the man politely. he pulled out your chair for you, his large hand lingering gently on your shoulder for a second, his thumb rubbing through the fabric of your green sweater before he took his own seat across from you.

"you're staring," heeseung murmured, a beautiful, relaxed hum in his voice as he opened his menu. a small, teasing smile played at the corner of his lips.

"i can't help it," you whispered, your cheeks flushing a happy, deep pink under the warm candlelight. "you look different."

he looked up from the menu, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners behind his glasses. "different how?"

"relaxed," you said, your eyes dropping to his left hand resting flat on the white tablecloth. his long fingers were bare, the pale mark on his skin completely gone now, replaced only by the warm, healthy glow of his skin. "you don't look like you're trying to solve a crisis anymore."

heeseung’s expression softened completely, a profound, heavy tenderness filling his eyes. he reached across the small table, his large palm turning upward in an open invitation. you didn't hesitate; you slid your hand into his, your fingers instantly interlocking, squeezing tightly.

"that's because the crisis is over, y/n," he rough-whispered, his thumb tracing the back of your knuckles over and over again. "for the last three years, every time i sat in a restaurant, i felt like i was on display. i had to watch what i said, how i sat, who was looking at me. but sitting here with you... looking at the snow outside... i don't feel any pressure at all. i just feel incredibly lucky."

the dinner was filled with a light, easy joy that you hadn't experienced in months. there was no talk of audits, faculty boards, or bitter family disputes. instead, you laughed over the shared dessert—a rich chocolate torta that heeseung insisted on feeding you a bite of himself, his eyes dark and full of a playful, devoted heat as he watched your lips part for the fork. you talked about the upcoming holidays, the books you wanted to read for fun instead of class, and how jia had practically screamed over the phone when you texted her the news that morning.

"she told me to tell you that if you ever make me sit through another twenty-one days of silence, she’s flying back from Milan to build a brick wall between us himself," you teased, taking a sip of your red wine.

heeseung let out a loud, rich laugh that vibrated deep in his chest—a sound so full of genuine happiness it made your heart swell until it almost ached. "please tell jia i have absolutely no intention of testing her structural skills. one separation variable was more than enough for a lifetime."

by the time you left the restaurant, the snow had stopped, leaving the city quiet, clean, and completely still under the winter night sky. the air was freezing, but as heeseung wrapped his arm securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his side as you walked back toward his car, you didn't feel the cold at all.

when he pulled up to the curb outside your apartment building, he didn't just unlock the doors and wait for you to step out. he turned off the engine, pulled the keys from the ignition, and looked over at you in the dim, shadowy light of the car's interior.

"can i come up?" he whispered, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that always made your pulse spike. "i don't want to say goodnight to you yet."

"you never have to ask," you murmured, your hand reaching over to rest against his cheek.

the moment the door to your apartment clicked shut behind you, the coat you were wearing was gently pulled from your shoulders. heeseung dropped his own jacket onto the floor, his hands immediately finding your waist in the dark, pulling you back against his broad, solid chest. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his warm lips pressing a sequence of slow, heavy kisses along your jawline that made a quiet, breathless gasp escape your throat.

"heeseung," you breathed out, turning around in his embrace until you were facing him, your hands rising to tangle into the soft dark hair at the nape of his neck.

"i missed you so much," he rough-whispered against your lips, his voice thick with weeks of buried emotion. "every single morning. every single lecture. i just wanted to hold you like this."

and then his mouth found yours, deeper and more passionate than ever before, but entirely devoid of the old panic. it was a kiss full of pure, unadulterated joy—a celebration of a battle won, a system stabilized, and a future that belonged completely to the two of you. his long fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back slightly as he drank you in, his heart thudding a wild, triumphant rhythm against your chest.

when he finally pulled back, just an inch, his dark eyes were shining with a terrifyingly beautiful devotion in the dim light of your living room. he gently reached out, his bare ring finger tracing the soft line of your lower lip.

"no more hiding, y/n," he murmured, his voice full of a profound, permanent peace. "from now on, this is our equilibrium.”

you rest your hands flat against his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic thud of his heart through his black turtleneck. the relief in the room is so thick it feels like a physical blanket, keeping the winter chill completely outside the glass.

"no more hiding," you repeat softly, a brilliant smile finally breaking across your face.

heeseung lets out a soft, contented sigh, his large hands sliding down from your waist to take your hands. he leads you over to the velvet couch, pulling you down right next to him. the moment you sit, he shifts, lifting his arm to invite you in. you slide instantly into his side, tucking your knees up onto the cushions and resting your head against his broad shoulder.

his arm wraps securely around you, his long fingers gently stroking your upper arm in a slow, soothing pattern. for a long time, neither of you says anything. you just sit in the quiet, golden light of your small living room, watching the faint reflection of the streetlamps on the snow-covered windowsill.

"i kept the box," heeseung says suddenly, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

you tilt your head up to look at his sharp profile. "the box?"

"the tin box you brought the cookies in," he clarifies, turning his head to look down at you, his dark eyes soft and incredibly tender behind his glasses. "the first day you came to my office hours. when the board was auditing my office logs and going through my desk drawers last week, they asked what was inside it. professor harris thought it might contain off-syllabus research materials."

you let out a soft, breathless laugh. "what did you tell them?"

"i told them it contained vital fuel for my thermodynamic research," heeseung teases, a quiet, playful spark in his eyes. "they looked very confused, but they left it alone. it's still sitting on the top shelf of my bookcase. i look at it every time i start to lose my patience with a departmental memo."

you lean up, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to his jawline, making him close his eyes for a brief second as his grip on your waist tightly cinches. "you're a terrible liar, mr. lee."

"only when it comes to you," he murmurs, turning his head to catch your lips in another slow, warm kiss. it's completely different from the desperate, frantic kisses of the past—this one tastes like quiet mornings, shared coffee, and a future that is entirely open.

when he pulls back, he gently slides his glasses off his face, setting them onto the small coffee table beside the couch. without the frames, his dark eyes look incredibly deep, holding a vulnerability that he only ever shows within these four walls. he leans down, burying his face in your hair, inhaling the familiar, sweet scent of your vanilla perfume.

"tomorrow," heeseung whispers against your skin, his voice thick with a sleepy, profound happiness, "we don't have to go to campus. we don't have to check the logs. i can make us breakfast. i'm not as good at baking as you are, but i can manage an omelet if the variables are right."

"i'd love that," you whisper back, your fingers lightly tracing the soft fabric of his shirt, feeling completely safe, completely cherished, and entirely at peace.

as the minutes tick by, the heavy exhaustion of the last three weeks finally catches up to both of you. the constant baseline of stress, the sleepless nights, and the sheer emotional weight of the day begin to take their toll. heeseung’s long fingers slow their movement against your arm, his breathing deepening into a slow, heavy rhythm. he shifts slightly, sliding lower onto the cushions and pulling you right along with him until his back is propped up against the padded armrest of the couch.

"stay right here," he rough-whispers, his eyes already half-closed as he tucks your head securely under his chin. his large arm stays firmly looped around your waist, locking you against his side.

"i'm not going anywhere," you murmur, adjusting the soft knit of your sweater against his chest.

you reach over to grab a thick plush blanket resting on the back of the sofa, pulling it up over both of your shoulders. heeseung lets out a low, deeply contented rumble at the added warmth, his long legs stretching out along the length of the cushions, tangling naturally with yours. the velvet couch is small, forcing the two of you into a completely seamless, breathless fit.

with his heart beating a steady, soothing lullaby against your cheek and his warm breath fanning across your hair, your own eyelids begin to feel impossibly heavy. the system had been turbulent, the forces had been violent, but as you finally close your eyes and let his massive warmth envelope you in the quiet dark, you fall into the deepest, safest sleep you've had in months, completely anchored to each other on the small sofa.

the morning sun breaks through the frost on the windowpane, casting long, pale lines of light across the hardwood floor of your apartment. for the first time in months, there is no jarring sound of an alarm clock at six o'clock, no sudden bolt of panic about getting to the lecture hall before the front rows fill up.

you slowly blink your eyes open, your cheek still pressed against his solid chest.

heeseung is still sound asleep beside you, his long frame perfectly filling the space of the couch. his profile looks completely soft in the daylight, the usual serious line of his forehead totally relaxed. his large, bare hand is still draped securely over your hip, his long fingers subconsciously twitching to pull you even closer the moment you stir. the pale morning light catches the dark strands of his hair falling messily over his eyes, making him look younger, gentler, and entirely yours.

you lie perfectly still for a few minutes, just listening to the steady, deep rhythm of his breathing, watching the faint dust motes dance in the golden sunlight. it feels like a miracle. after weeks of staring at him from thirty feet away, being able to count the dark lashes on his eyelids feels like a luxury you never want to give up.

as you shift slightly to look up at him, heeseung stirs. a low, gravelly hum vibrates in his chest as his eyelids flutter open. his dark eyes are blurry with sleep, but the exact second they focus on your face, a beautiful, lazy smile spreads across his lips.

"good morning," he rough-whispers, his voice thick and deep from sleep. he slides his hand up from your hip to cup the back of your neck, his thumb gently brushing over your skin.

"good morning," you murmur, leaning into his touch. "how did you sleep?"

"perfectly," he sighs, pulling you up until your chin is resting on his chest. he presses a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his chest expanding with a long, contented breath. "i can't remember the last time i didn't wake up with a headache about a faculty meeting. the variables of this couch are highly underrated."

you chuckle softly, resting your forearm against his collarbone. "i believe someone promised me an omelet last night. or was that just a theory?"

heeseung’s eyes spark with a playful, amused light. "a theory? y/n, i am a man of science. i do not make hypotheses i cannot prove."

he reluctantly shifts, letting you go as he sits up and stretches his broad shoulders. he slides his glasses back onto his face, the sharp, intelligent look returning to his eyes, though the warmth remains entirely intact. he stands up, wearing only his dark jeans and the black turtleneck from the night before, his feet bare as he walks into your small kitchen corner.

you pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping the soft blanket around your shoulders as you watch him move. he opens your refrigerator, inspecting the eggs and vegetables with the same intense, calculated focus he usually reserves for a quantum mechanics graph.

"the thermal distribution of your stove is slightly uneven," heeseung comments, a teasing lilt in his voice as he cracks an egg into a bowl. "but i will adjust the pan coordinates to ensure a flawless structural integrity."

"just don't burn the butter, professor," you laugh, the old title slipping out like an inside joke now.

heeseung stops, turning his head to look at you over his shoulder. the bright morning sun catches the absolute devotion written in his eyes. he sets the fork down, walking back over to the couch in three long strides. he leans down, his large hands resting on the back of the sofa on either side of your head, trapping you in his warm, familiar scent.

"that title doesn't work in this room anymore, y/n," he rough-whispers, his mouth hovering just an inch from yours, his dark eyes burning with a deep, happy heat. "in this apartment, i'm just a man who is incredibly in love with you."

and before you can answer, he closes the distance, his lips meeting yours in a sweet, unhurried kiss that tastes like coffee, fresh snow, and the beautiful, permanent beginning of the rest of your lives.

the kiss slows down, deepening into something thick, warm, and sweet, until heeseung finally pulls back with a soft, breathless chuckle. his forehead rests against yours for a second, his thumbs lightly stroking your jawline before he lets out a quiet sigh of pure contentment.

"if i stay right here," he murmurs, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners as he glances toward the counter, "the eggs are going to experience a tragic phase change. stay put."

he gives your lips one last, gentle peck before turning back to the stove. you pull the plush blanket tighter around your shoulders, your heart feeling completely full as you watch him. heeseung moves around your small kitchen with an easy confidence, his tall frame blocking the morning light as he skillfully folds the omelet in the pan. it’s a beautifully ordinary sight—the brilliant, tenured physics professor, bare-footed on your linoleum floor, completely dedicated to making you breakfast.

within a few minutes, he walks back over to the small wooden table, setting down two plates of perfectly golden omelets alongside two mugs of hot coffee.

"proportions are flawless, y/n," he says proudly, pulling out his chair and looking over at you with a bright, inviting smile. "come eat."

you drop the blanket onto the couch and walk over, sliding into the seat across from him. the space under the table is just as tight as it was during your rainy dinner weeks ago, and the moment your knees bump against his under the wood, heeseung doesn't move away. instead, he hooks his foot gently around your ankle, anchoring you to him.

the conversation flows without effort, filled with quiet laughter, small pieces of egg shared from across the table, and the comforting warmth of the coffee. you talk about what to pack for the mid-term break, the record store he wants to visit down the street, and how strange—yet incredibly freeing—it will be to walk back onto campus in a week without a single secret to keep.

when the breakfast is finished, heeseung reaches across the table, his long fingers gently catching your chin. his thumb brushes a stray crumb from the corner of your mouth, his gaze dropping to your lips with that familiar, heavy devotion.

"no more turbulence, y/n," he rough-whispers, his voice full of an absolute, unbreakable certainty. "we survived the critical point."

you smile, leaning into his touch, your hand rising to cover his bare knuckles. "we did."

he stands up, pulling you with him until you are pressed firmly against his chest in the bright, sunlit kitchen. the snow outside continues to fall silently against the glass, but inside, the temperature is absolutely perfect. the old, rigid system has completely dissolved, and as heeseung holds you tight, his chin resting on your head as you look out at the white landscape together, you know that the new equilibrium you’ve found is entirely permanent.

chapter thirteen: the final equation

six months later, the spring breeze was warm as it blew through the open windows of the lecture hall. the harsh, freezing rain of the winter was completely gone, replaced by the bright afternoon sun that lit up the entire room.

the university was still the same. the wooden desks were still scratched, the whiteboards were still covered in complex formulas, and students were still rushing down the aisles to find their seats. but for you, everything had changed.

you sat in the middle of the second row, your notebook open to a fresh page. you weren't hiding your face behind your hair anymore. you weren't gripping your pen until your knuckles turned white with anxiety. you just sat comfortably, a soft smile on your face as you chatted with a classmate sitting next to you.

at exactly two o'clock, the side door opened.

heeseung stepped into the room. he looked as sharp and handsome as ever, wearing a light gray blazer over a white button-down shirt, his dark hair falling softly over his forehead. he set his leather briefcase on the podium, and as he adjusted his glasses, the sunlight caught his left hand.

it was completely bare.

he didn't look at the back rows today. the very first thing he did was look down at the second row, his dark pupils immediately locking onto yours. a genuine, beautiful warmth flooded his eyes, and he gave you a tiny, private nod before turning to the board.

"today is our final lecture of the semester," heeseung’s deep, gravelly voice echoed through the hall, but it didn't sound cold anymore. it sounded alive. "we are going to conclude with the law of conservation of energy. it states that energy cannot be created or destroyed. it can only be transformed from one form to another."

as he spoke, you looked down at your notebook, your fingers smoothly tracing his words. you felt a familiar vibration in your pocket. you pulled out your phone under the desk, keeping it hidden from the rest of the class.

it was a text from jia.

*i just landed at the airport!* the text read, filled with little airplane emojis. *i’m taking a cab straight to your apartment. the architecture internship in milan is officially over, and i expect a full dinner with the famous professor tonight. he better be ready to cook.*

you let out a quiet, happy laugh, your thumb quickly typing back: *he already bought the ingredients. we're waiting for you.*

you slid the phone back into your bag and looked up at the front of the room. heeseung was drawing a final, simple graph on the board. as he explained the transfer of force, his eyes drifted back to you, watching the way the sunlight hit your face. there were no board members waiting in the hallway. there were no anonymous reports or bitter threats hanging over your heads. the system was completely clear.

when the final bell of the semester rang, the room erupted into loud cheers and the chaotic sound of packing bags. students stood up, waving goodbye to each other and rushing out the doors to start their summer vacation.

you took your time, packing your notebook and pen into your bag. you stood up from the second row and walked down the concrete steps, waiting until the very last student left the room.

the heavy double doors clicked shut, leaving the lecture hall in a peaceful, quiet stillness.

heeseung snapped his briefcase shut and stepped out from behind the podium. he didn't wait. he walked straight up to you, his large hands reaching out to grab your waist and pull you flush against his chest. the familiar, clean scent of his woodsy cologne and warm skin enveloped you instantly.

"congratulations on finishing the semester, y/n," he rough-whispered, his eyes full of a deep, endless fondness as he looked down at your face.

"thank you, professor," you teased, reaching up to gently slide his glasses off his face and setting them on the podium behind him.

heeseung let out a soft, rich laugh, his broad shoulders shaking against your chest. he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his thumbs tracing the soft line of your hips.

"jia texted," you murmured, a bright smile on your lips. "she's on her way to the apartment right now."

"good," heeseung whispered, his voice dropping into that low, heavy register that always made your heart skip a beat. "the variables for dinner are already set. but before we go..."

he didn't finish the sentence. he closed the final inch between you, his lips finding yours in a slow, deep, and incredibly sweet kiss. it was a kiss that held no more fear, no more parameters, and no more hidden spaces. it was just the two of you, completely open to the world, standing in the bright afternoon light.

the old symmetry was gone, the chaos had settled, and as heeseung held you tight against his heart, you knew that the final equation was complete. you had found your permanent equilibrium, and nothing would ever change the system again.

you pull back from the kiss just an inch, your fingers sliding down his arms to link with his large, warm hands. the silence of the empty lecture hall feels gentle now, a far cry from the suffocating quiet it held months ago.

"are you nervous?" you ask softly, tilting your head up to look at him. "about meeting jia? she can be pretty intense when she's protecting the people she cares about."

heeseung lets out a soft chuckle, his long fingers squeezing yours tightly as he guides you toward the side exit, picking up his briefcase with his free hand.

"i have defended my research in front of the strictest academic boards in the country, y/n," he murmurs, a playful, relaxed smirk touching his lips as you both step out into the sunlit hallway. "but yes, i am slightly terrified of your best friend. i've made sure to buy the exact brand of coffee she likes just in case I need to negotiate."

you laugh, the sound echoing lightly against the lockers. it feels incredible to walk by his side down the main corridor, your hands joined openly, without a single person staring or whispering. the campus is empty and peaceful, the summer breeze carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers through the open glass doors of the building.

by the time you drive back to your apartment, the afternoon sun is starting to sink, casting a warm, orange glow over the brick streets. the moment heeseung unlocks your front door, a loud, familiar voice rings out from the kitchen.

"it's about time!" jia yells, popping her head around the corner. she's wearing a comfortable oversized sweater, her hair tied up in a messy bun, holding a wooden spoon in one hand.

she stops dead in her tracks when her eyes land on heeseung. she looks him up and down, her sharp eyes taking in his tall frame, his casual gray blazer, and the completely bare fingers of his left hand. heeseung stands perfectly still, offering her a polite, slightly nervous smile.

"you must be jia," heeseung says, his voice deep and respectful. "it’s a pleasure to finally meet you."

jia stares for two more seconds before a huge, triumphant grin breaks across her face. she drops the spoon onto the counter and walks over, completely bypassing you to pat heeseung firmly on the shoulder.

"alright, lee," jia says, her voice full of approval. "you passed the first test. you didn't run away when i pointed a spoon at you. now come inside, the pasta water is boiling and you're in charge of the sauce."

heeseung lets out a relieved breath, his shoulders dropping as he looks over at you with a bright, happy smile. he cuts a glance back to jia and nods. "understood. i'll make sure the temperature is precise."

"oh god, he really is a physicist," jia laughs, turning back toward the kitchen.

the rest of the evening passes in a beautiful blur of warmth, loud laughter, and incredible food. you sit at the small wooden table, watching heeseung and jia debate architectural design versus structural physics, their voices filling the apartment with a lively energy that you haven't felt in a long time. heeseung sits close to you, his thigh pressed warmly against yours under the table, his hand occasionally reaching over to rest on your knee.

later, after dinner is finished and jia leaves to check into her hotel down the street, the apartment falls back into a quiet, peaceful stillness. the moon is bright outside, shining down on the calm streets below.

you stand by the large window, looking out at the city light. heeseung walks up behind you, his broad chest pressing against your back as his long arms wrap securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him. he buries his face in your neck, inhaling the sweet vanilla scent of your hair.

"she likes you," you whisper, leaning back into his solid warmth.

"i'm glad," heeseung rough-whispers, his lips brushing against your skin. "because i don't ever plan on letting you go, y/n. this is where i belong."

you turn around in his arms, looping your hands around his neck as you look up into his dark, devoted eyes. the journey had been full of heavy friction and painful boundaries, but as his mouth gently finds yours in the quiet dark of your living room, you know the calculation is finally done. you are safe, you are loved, and the equilibrium is completely yours to keep.

heeseung pulls back from the kiss, his eyes searching your face with a quiet, happy look that makes your chest feel warm. he lifts one of his large hands, his thumb softly tracing the curve of your cheek, before he slides his fingers into your hair, holding you close.

"let's sit down," he rough-whispers, his voice deep and relaxed in the quiet room.

he takes your hand and leads you over to the velvet couch. it is the same couch where you both slept weeks ago when everything felt like it was breaking apart. but tonight, there is no stress, no cold rain, and no fear. you sit down together, and you instantly lean into his side, tucking your legs up and resting your head right on his shoulder.

heeseung loops his long arm around you, pulling you securely against his broad chest. he reaches for the soft plush blanket on the back of the sofa and drapes it over your laps, tucking the edges around your feet. the apartment is quiet, save for the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of a car passing by on the street below.

"i was thinking about the summer," heeseung says after a long moment, his voice a low rumble against your ear. his fingers gently stroke your arm in a slow, steady pattern.

"what about it?" you ask, looking up at his sharp profile in the moonlight.

"i want to take you to the coast," he murmurs, turning his head to look down at you. his dark eyes are incredibly soft. "i want to see the town where you grew up. i want to walk on the beach with you, away from the university, away from everything. just you and me."

a small, breathless smile breaks across your face. the thought of walking through your hometown with heeseung—not as a secret, but as the man who loves you—makes a knot of old tension completely dissolve in your heart.

"i would love that," you whisper, leaning up to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his jawline.

heeseung lets out a low, contented sound, his arm tightening around your waist to pull you even closer, until there is absolutely no space between you. he rests his chin on the top of your head, his breathing slowing down as the peaceful energy of the night takes over.

you close your eyes, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart under his shirt. the journey had been full of heavy friction, cold distance, and rules that tried to tear you apart. but you had survived the turbulence. you had stood by each other through the storm, and now, the air was completely still.

epilogue: the coast

heeseung’s fingers stay laced with yours the entire drive down the coast, his thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles like he’s memorizing the shape of your hand. the windows are rolled down, letting the warm summer air and the sharp scent of salt water fill the car. there is no talk of physics, no academic schedules, and no heavy expectations. it is just the hum of the engine and the quiet rhythm of his breathing next to you.

when the car finally stops at the quiet stretch of beach just outside your old town, the world feels completely still. heeseung turns off the ignition, looks over at you, and leans over to kiss you once, soft and unhurried, before he walks around to open your door.

the sun is low in the sky, painting everything in a deep, beautiful gold. you take off your shoes and walk barefoot along the shoreline, the cool water lapping at your ankles while he keeps you tucked securely against his broad side. his arm is wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. every few steps he stops to press his lips to your temple, to your hair, to the corner of your mouth, whispering how beautiful you look with the wind in your hair and the salt on your skin.

there are no secret glances or worries about who might see you here. the vast ocean stretches out in front of you, a perfect, open space where you finally belong entirely to each other.

eventually the path curves behind a tall line of dunes and you’re completely hidden from the road. the only sound is the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the sand. heeseung guides you down onto the large blanket he spread out earlier, pulling you right into his lap so your back rests against his solid chest.

his large hands slide under the hem of your sundress, his palms burning hot against your skin as they travel up your thighs. a quiet, breathless gasp escapes your lips as you lean your head back against his shoulder, looking up at his dark, devoted eyes.

"twenty-one days of distance," heeseung rough-whispers against your ear, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates straight through you. "and months of hiding in the dark. i spent every single day dreaming of holding you in the light like this."

"we're finally here," you murmur, turning your head to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his jawline.

"yes," heeseung whispers, his long fingers tightening against your skin, anchoring you to him completely. "we're exactly where we're supposed to be."

he leans down and catches your lips in a slow, deep kiss that tastes like salt, summer warmth, and permanent peace. he keeps you in his lap a little longer, the blanket soft beneath you both and the sound of the waves filling the quiet space behind the dunes. his hands move slowly, tracing the hem of your sundress before he lifts it inch by inch, letting the fabric bunch at your waist. he touches the newly exposed skin of your stomach, then lower, his fingers stroking the inside of your thighs in long, patient lines.

"been thinking about touching you like this all day," he murmurs against your ear. "my good girl, letting me have you out here where anyone could walk by."

he shifts you gently onto your back, settling between your legs but not rushing. instead he starts at your knees, kissing upward one leg at a time. his breath is warm, his mouth unhurried, and every touch makes your pulse skip.

heeseung looks up at you once, his eyes dark and soft. he presses the pads of his fingers to your clothed clit, rubbing in slow, steady circles, building the heat gradually until your hips start to rock toward his hand. when he reaches the edge of your panties he doesn’t pull them off right away. he mouths over the thin fabric, letting you feel the heat of his tongue through the cotton. his fingers hook into the waistband, dragging them down so slowly you feel every brush of fabric against your skin.

once they’re gone he spreads your thighs wider, settling in close so his shoulders keep you open. the first slow drag of his tongue makes your hips twitch. he hums in approval and keeps going, licking broad and steady, savoring every taste. one hand stays on your thigh, holding you open, while the other slips two fingers inside you, curling gently as his tongue focuses on your clit.

you bite your lip to stay quiet, but little sounds still escape. heeseung glances up again, his lips shiny in the fading light. "that’s it. let me hear how good it feels."

he sucks softly, then presses his tongue flat and drags it again, his fingers moving in the same perfect rhythm. your thighs start to shake around his head. he doesn’t rush. he takes his time, worshiping every inch of you with his mouth until your breathing turns ragged and your fingers twist in his dark hair.

when you come the first time it’s with a broken moan, your pussy clenching tightly around his fingers while he keeps licking you through the waves of it. he only pulls back when your hips stop twitching, pressing one last, wet kiss to your inner thigh before he crawls up your body.

heeseung kisses you deeply so you can taste yourself on his tongue, then sits back on his heels to strip off his shirt and push his shorts down. his cock is already hard, flushed at the tip. he lines himself up and sinks into you slowly, watching your face the whole time.

"fuck, you feel perfect," he breathes, his voice rougher than usual. "so warm and wet for me."

he rolls his hips in deep, unhurried strokes, one hand sliding under your dress to cup your breast. his thumb circles your nipple, teasing it into a stiff peak before he leans down to suck it through the fabric. you arch into his mouth with a whimper. heeseung groans around your nipple, sucking harder, then switches to the other one while his cock keeps thrusting steadily.

he pulls the neckline of your dress down so he can see both breasts, using his fingers to pinch and roll your nipples while he fucks you. every time you clench around him he praises you in that low, reverent voice. "good girl. taking me so well. my pretty girl, letting me have all of you."

the angle changes when he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, and suddenly every thrust hits deeper, striking the very core of you. your moans grow louder against the sound of the ocean. heeseung watches your face, his eyes soft even as his pace picks up. "come for me again. want to feel you squeeze my cock while i fill you up."

your second orgasm hits harder, a sudden violent rush of heat. your pussy flutters and gushes around him, wetness soaking the blanket beneath you. heeseung groans at the sight and the feel of it, his hips stuttering as the tight friction completely breaks his control. he buries himself to the hilt and comes with a low, broken sound, pulsing deep inside you until you’re both trembling in the sand.

he stays there for a long moment, his forehead pressed to yours, breathing you in. when he finally pulls out, he watches his cum slowly drip from your swollen pussy with something close to awe. then he gathers you tightly into his arms, pulling the edges of the blanket around both of you.

heeseung kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, murmuring how proud he is of you, how beautiful you looked coming for him, how much he loves taking care of you. his hands stroke your back in long, soothing lines while he tells you how perfect you are, how safe you are with him. the ocean keeps rolling in behind you, and he holds you close until your breathing evens out and the afterglow settles warm and heavy between you both.

you rest your head under his chin, listening to the deep, slow beat of his heart. the warm breeze from the sea blows over the blanket, but tucked against his chest, you only feel his heat.

heeseung wraps his long arms even tighter around you, pulling the edge of the blanket over your shoulders as the sky shifts from gold to a deep, quiet purple. he presses one last, lingering kiss to the top of your head, letting out a long, happy breath that catches in the quiet air.

you fall back onto the bed, fingers tangling in jake’s hair as he makes a humming sound against you, the vibrations sends sparks up your spine.

jake is good at this, always has been, but tonight he’s showing off. his tongue traces slow circles around you before flicking at your opening and dragging up, seeking out the place where you need him most.

“oh”, you whine. “oh fuck.”

“the clitoris”, he says against you, pulling his head back enough to meet your gaze, eyes becoming glossy as if he wants something more. “did you know it has over eight thousand nerve endings? the most of any part of the human body.”

“jake.” you threaten, fingers finding his temple as he continues to suck gently on your clit, his other hand splayed over the juncture of your thigh and hip.

“its educational,” he teases.

you laugh, a high pitched giggle that turns into a moan when jake sucks your clit into his mouth. your hips buck upwards as he braces himself over you.

“you’re such a nerd,” you manage to say through your moans.

“you are dating a nerd,” he says against your skin. “you knew what you were getting into.”

jake eases two fingers into you as you groan, your head falling back. he uses the stretch of his fingers to find the place deep inside you that makes your whole body twitch. his fingers are long and beautifully angled, curling in just the right way to send another pulse of sensation through you.

“see?” he murmurs, his mouth pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “angles and vectors, all geometry.”

“shut up,” you gasp, your mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as you try to catch your breath. “ah— jake!”

“the g-spot is actually part of the clitoral structure,” he says, his fingers sliding in and out as his mouth finds your core again. “it all connects.”

“jake, i swear—”

“did you know that the clitoris is shaped like a wishbone?” he asks, tracing slow patterns along you with his tongue, working you over from bottom to top. you forget what you were about to say when he begins rolling his tongue over your clit in fast, shallow strokes.

you are so close, already writhing, and jake knows it, he always knows it. he knows your body the way he knows his textbooks, every little sound and reaction to a chapter he memorizes with devotion.

“you’re gonna come for me, baby?”

jake asks, his voice thick with something between amusement and need as his tongue skates over your thigh. “on my face? are you really going to do it? let’s test it, shall we?”

“your— fuck, glasses—!”

“forget the glasses.”

they are completely fogged over now, all opaque. its absurd, really, the way his tongue flicks over you in short bursts while his fingers curl inside you, making you dizzy with need. you can barely focus on what he says next.

“take them off,” you whine, practically begging. “jake— ”

“cant, im too busy recalling the theory of..” he says, practically purring. you find yourself laughing and whimpering at the same time.

“that doesnt even— thats not how it—”

“maybe physics isnt my strongest subject.” jake sighs dramatically before his tongue licks insistently at your folds, his fingers pumping in and out at a steady pace. he manages to ignore the fog on his glasses long enough for you to climax, shuddering and whimpering his name as your thighs shake on either side of his head. jake hums against your skin.

“come on, baby,” he groans, voice rough. “let me taste it. let me have it.”

“ah— jake!”

“i’ve got you. i’ve got you.”

your orgasm rolls over you, until you are gasping your release into the air, your back arching violently. your fingers dig into jakes scalp, his hair splayed out on either side of your hips. jake licks at you determinedly until your whimpers die down, your body limp, exhausted.

you push his head away weakly.

jake grins, finally lifting himself off of you, his chin glistening. he peeks up at you, the lenses blurred with condensation.

“see?” he says, sliding them up his nose. “perfectly functional.”

“you can’t see a thing.” you scoff.

“i can see enough, princess.”

jake leans over you, his head hovering just above your torso as he peppering kisses all over your body. you taste yourself on his lips when his glasses press against your cheek, warm and fuzzy.

you lift his head by the back of his skull, kissing him thoroughly before sliding his glasses off his face.

“hey,” he whines, blinking up at you. his lashes cast shadows across his cheeks. jake’s face is softer without the frames.

“i was going for a look.” he mumbles softly.

you raise your eyebrows, “the look was clouded nerd who cant see.”

“hey, that’s a classic aesthetic!”

you laugh, pulling him down on top of you. jake melts against you, kissing your collarbone, his fingers finding the sensitive spot at the juncture of your thigh and hip.

“i could go again,” he murmurs, voice heavy with intent. “we could run another trial. for science.”

“for science,” you repeat, laughing when jake’s fingers push into you once more, coaxing another moan from your lips as his glasses sit on the nightstand, forgotten.

smut tags― infidelity,  rough sunghoon, jake listens through the walls, tons of masturbation, he also steals panties and gets caught and embarrassed by reader, mentions of double penetration, lil under the table moment with jake, foot job but i swear im not into feet just hear me out ok? It’s brief i swear, sexting and phone sex, reach-around hand job, jake isn’t entirely subby when he finally gets his dick wet, penetration, pet names, sexting, g-spot stimulation, cream pie, unprotected sex, 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The two years you’ve spent so far with Sunghoon can arguably be considered the best of your life. He’s accommodating, listens to all of your problems, touches you in all of the right ways, and he’s even well-liked by your parents. You love your boyfriend enough to spend countless nights at his place just to get away from your own. It’s comfortable there, and feels like home, whereas your own apartment just feels empty without him. 

The relationship felt very adult. He was the first boyfriend to stay with you longer than a couple of months, the first one to have his own house, job, money, and car. The two of you were equal, comfortable, and happily in love. Anyone could trust that both of you were running towards the path of marriage, and you’d agree with them if it weren’t for the fact that your eye is dangerously close to landing on someone else lately.

In your defense, your eyes didn’t linger before Jake, Sunghoon’s younger brother, moved in. You had no interest in anyone aside from Sunghoon but, Jake is really something else. Cute, loud, obnoxious, and even charming at times. Still, you’ve caught him countless times staring for too long at your legs when you wear shorts around the house, lingering in the room when Sunghoon has his lips on yours, and even stuttering through conversations with you after a wild night in the bedroom with his older brother. 

It was cute at first, but as the months went on, you started staring at Jake a little more. You’d note that he gets flustered easily but can’t bring himself to leave any given situation that causes such a reaction. He gets hard sometimes too, you can see it, and occasionally you can hear him take care of it too. 

The first night you heard it, Sunghoon was sound asleep next to you after a long, drawn-out session of putting you in your place (sexually). You were comfortable beside him, listening to his soft snores and finally settling yourself in to close your eyes and sleep too.

It was so silent, the entire house seemed as empty as it always had been outside of you and your boyfriend, except for the fact that Jake was in this house now too. You shot an eye open at the sound of a muffled moan through the wall. You could tell he tried to prevent it, noticing that it appeared to be choked back almost as quickly as he let it fall from his lips.

You laid there, first attempting to sleep but ultimately falling victim to the thoughts of what Jake must have been doing just a wall over. You felt guilty about the images, imagining how cute he must look tugging at himself and whimpering, frustrated at how he can’t make a sound. Jake knows how thin the walls are, you’re sure of it. Even you and Sunghoon have tried to be quieter so Jake doesn’t have to hear it and feel uncomfortable. 

The choked-back sounds he was letting out every few minutes only furthered your thoughts into the danger zone that night. You realized you wanted to watch him. You wanted to help him. And when Jake hit his high, you heard his bed frame hit the wall one time, hard. The image of him lying on his back and fucking against his fist was long gone and replaced with images of what position he could have been in for the bed to hit to wall like that. What was he doing? 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Good morning, sunshine!” You sing out obnoxiously to your boyfriend when he rounds the corner in a sleepy show of how much he doesn’t want to go to work today. He’s already dressed but you can see the darkened bags under his drooping, half-open eyes. 

You don’t often make breakfast for him, not that he minds at all, you just felt guilty about listening in on Jake doing his thing again last night and it’s not something you’re proud of. So yeah, maybe Sunghoon gets breakfast every time his little brother jerks off, what of it? 

“Thanks, babe,” Sunghoon smiles at you weakly, looking at the warm breakfast you place in front of him. “What if I just call in today?” He asks almost immediately after, tearing his eyes from the food and up to you, who had begun to fix a part of his hair that he seemed to have missed. 

“Up to you, I’ve gotta head back to my place soon though.” You look at him, hands on your hips now as you give him another once-over. “You look tired, maybe you should call out.” 

Sunghoon takes a moment to think. What would his excuse be to miss work on a Monday morning after already having two days off? He’s sick? That wouldn’t work, he ran into one of his bosses just the night before picking up some groceries. Car trouble? Also wouldn’t work, he used that excuse last time and he swore he took his car to the shop that very day to make sure it was in tip-top shape. Death in the family? That’s just asking for bad karma. 

“Ugh,” Sunghoon sighs, picking up his fork and picking around the plate. It looks delicious, honestly, but work is the last place he wants to go right now. “How are you so awake? We stayed up so late, are your legs even tired?”

You stop mid-step towards the fridge to grab some juice and turn to look at him. 

“Sunghoon, my legs are killing me, and it’s your fault.” 

He lets out a small laugh, giving himself a gold star for making you cum just as hard as he always did. “Yeah, guess it is my fault, isn’t it?” He prods for more compliments.

“That aside, are you going to call out or?” 

He shakes his head, taking a bite and trying his best to enjoy this last hour of freedom before a nine-hour workday. 

“No, I don’t think I’d have a good excuse today. You’re going home anyway too, I’d just be bored.”

“Umm–” Jake’s voice chimes in as he scuffs into the kitchen with socked feet. He yawns wide and side-eyes you only for a moment before flopping down on the chair next to Sunghoon with his legs spread wide. He looks like such a college boy. Looking equally as tired as your boyfriend and hair far messier, you note his side eye. “Are you saying I’m too boring to hang out with?”

You let out a small chuckle at Jake’s words, and Sunghoon just groans about it. 

“You’re still just as annoying as you’ve always been. I’d rather be wasting away at a desk than sitting here listening to you talk about the exam you’re not studying for.”

“I don’t have exams yet?” Jake protests, looking over Sunghoon's food and swiping a piece from his plate. “The semester hasn’t even started.”

“I’m preparing for what’s to come–” Sunghoon drones on in a defeated voice. 

“Fair,” Jake smiles and looks at you. “So, um, you’re going home today?”

“Yep, gotta go to work too.” You sigh, pointing towards the stove. “Want some food?” 

Jake shuffles to his feet to make himself a plate with a small “thank you”, and you can’t help but notice how disappointed he sounds that you’re going home today. 

“You’re coming over on Wednesday though, right?” Sunghoon asks, sipping the mug of coffee in front of him and finally allowing himself to enjoy the food you’ve graciously made this morning. If he’s gonna have to go to work, the least he can do is feel lucky that he’s not going in on an empty stomach. 

“What’s on Wednesday again?” You smile towards your boyfriend’s now narrowing eyes. 

“You know what Wednesday is.”

“Hm, no, don’t think I do–” Smiling wider at the way his eyes narrow even further.

“What’s Wednesday?” Jake asks, setting down his plate and taking a bite. 

“Yeah, tell him what Wednesday is.” Sunghoon says in an annoyed tone, one that you can tell is a joke. He always plays along with your antics.

“I think it’s like, national fork day or something.”

Sunghoon brings a hand to his forehead with a laugh. “Fork day? That’s all you can come up with?” 

Jake is just confused, clearly. 

“I’m joking. It’s our two-year anniversary.”

You hear a spoon clatter to the table and a small cough. 

“Ugh-” Jake groans, picking the cutlery up off the table and wiping the crumbs clean. “That’s cool.”

Jake can see the way Sunghoon looks at him with his reaction, but it genuinely wasn’t intentional. He just happened to drop his spoon at the wrong time and choke on his food. It wasn’t meant to be as dramatic as it sounded. Also, maybe he’s a little shocked that Sunghoon managed to have a girlfriend for this long with how much of a bore he can be at times. 

Especially someone like you. 

Jake feels shy at the very idea of you, not just because he’s heard what you sound like when his brother touches you, but also because you’re just, like, really pretty and it makes his thoughts go in every direction when you speak to him. 

Even now, just over a small breakfast, he’s disappointed that you have a job too. He’s sad that he can’t spend time in this house with you alone even though he knows well enough that he probably wouldn’t have it in him to approach you. 

Or does he? Knowing that from time to time, like when he first moved in, there had been some days where you stayed over and did your work-from-home stuff. He wasn’t well acquainted with you back then enough to come out and sit with you, and he’s likely not acquainted enough now either, but that doesn’t change the fact that he kind of wants to be around you without his brother taking note of the small crush he kind of maybe developed by being around you.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Today is expected to be more exciting than your last anniversary. Mostly because it’s marking a second year with Sunghoon and solidifying the fact that the two of you have made it this far without any glaring issues that could threaten the relationship. At least, no issues that Sunghoon is aware of. 

You think that these thoughts and images of Jake swimming in your head are a phase. In fact, you hope they are. There’s no way you’d ever actually go through with anything involving your boyfriend’s little brother. He’s just kind of cute to see all flustered, even cuter when he tries to hide how he’s feeling regarding you. 

Jake isn’t there when you walk through your boyfriend’s door. Unfortunately, neither is Sunghoon. 

Grabbing your phone and checking the time you’re distracted by the glaring text message from your boyfriend that seemed to have been sent some ten minutes ago as you got in your car for the drive over. A little wave of disappointment hits you as you stand alone in the darkened kitchen. 

Sunghoon: hey i’m gonna be a little late. Boss got a last minute client today, like an hour before closing time so i’m gonna be here at least until 8:30

Sunghoon: is that okay?

The disappointment fades away with how good he is at communicating with you. Your last boyfriend who you only dated for like two months always bailed without notice on dates, ghosting you for a full day or two before explaining himself with one of the same excuses Sunghoon probably uses to get out of work. You know his job is important to him, and you know the anniversary is important to him. His priority doesn’t always have to be you.

You: Yeah that’s fine. What am i supposed to do for three hours though? I’m already at your place (sparkly eye emoji)

Sunghoon is  great at texting you back too.

Sunghoon: you could get yourself ready for me to come home ;) 

You: for 3 hours?

Sunghoon: yes???? or you can just go bug Jake lol

The silence in the house tells you that Jake isn’t home.

You: he’s not here, i figured he went out to give us some privacy?

Sunghoon doesn’t respond for a few minutes, probably because he’s doing something important with his work. By the time you’ve slipped off your shoes and laid against the couch, you get the little ping on your phone..

Sunghoon: Oh, right, he was gonna go meet with some girl he was talking to. I figured he’d chicken out and not go lol, maybe we really will have the house to ourselves tonight ;)

Something inside of you twists at his message. On one hand, you’re happy that you might get the entire house with your beloved boyfriend tonight, on the other hand, you kind of don’t like the thought of Jake losing the ability to get all flustered around you if he’s got someone else doing it for him. 

Are you jealous? No, but you’re a little selfish. You always liked when men chased you even if you knew it would lead nowhere, even if they knew it would lead to nowhere. It was harmless fun, but now all of your fun is gonna be ruined. The last thing you want to be hearing is Jake railing some girl in his room while you’re trying to sleep. 

You: oh yeah? lets hope we don’t have to be quiet tonight then, i have //plans//

Sunghoon: plans? 

You: better get done with work soon so can come home and see <3

With that, you set your phone down and reach for the remote. 

Jake is out with a girl right now? Part of you wonders how he’s navigating it, or if the girl is actually into him. The images in your head are amusing until you realize that you’re not imagining him stumbling over himself with some faceless girl. You’re imagining yourself as the girl he’s out with.

Even on your anniversary, you’re bored and you’ve got some hours to kill anyway. You sort through all sorts of images in your head. From what Jake would do if you were to reject him to what he would do if you didn’t reject him. How he would act if you were leaning in to kiss him, or how he would react if you kissed his neck, started touching his stomach, trailing your hands down– straight until you’re assuming that Jake must be getting a hand job somewhere right now. A little disappointed that it’s not you, you laugh at yourself. 

Silly thoughts like these are normal and you’re sure Sunghoon has them too. Despite the fact that you’d be weirded out if it were about your little sister if you had one. You’re not hurting anyone passing the time and thinking about how things would go with Jake. Surely not. It’s just a fantasy and nothing more. 

It will never be anything more.

Besides, Sunghoon was never shy toward you. Always shooting his shot in charming and convincing ways that have managed to lead to a two-year relationship that’s still going strong. He didn’t leave as much to the imagination at the beginning of your relationship, nor does he now. You can’t even imagine Sunghoon being insecure or lacking confidence in anything he does, but then there’s Jake. The little brother appears to live in the shadow of Sunghoon. From Jake attending college for the same thing to wanting the same woman that Sunghoon is in love with.

Are you too full of yourself for chuckling about that? Laughing at the fact that he’s so entirely different from your boyfriend but that’s the exact reason you find yourself fantasizing about the ‘what if’s’ with him? 

Now the thought of what Jake would do if he knew you were thinking about him this way infiltrates your mind. Would he panic? Surely. Would he blush? Oh yeah, for sure. Would he try to play it off as a joke until realizing you’re serious, visibly shivering as you watch him imagine? Oh– would he tell Sunghoon? Would he get cocky? So many thoughts that are both scary, cute, and…hot. 

You look at the clock on your phone again and realize how slowly the time is passing. Jake’s out getting tugged at by some girl, Sunghoon is at work being an obedient employee, and what are you doing? Sitting on the couch in a daze.

Glancing around a bit, you shake your head at a specific thought. 

Jake’s room.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Against your better judgment and several hours on hand to spend, you find yourself in Jake’s room. Because of course you do. 

 You don’t know why your legs carry you here, but then again you kind of do. Curiosity. You don’t really plan on snooping or anything, you just kind of want to see how he lives when he’s by himself. You want to see if he made his bed or folded his clothes. When you note that the loser definitely does not do either of those things, a flash of pastel blue is catching your attention.

In the mess of Jake’s room, monochrome colors of black and gray come through the most. From sweatpants to band t-shirts, you weren’t expecting to see a glimmer of pastel silk peeking from under one of his pillows. 

It wouldn’t have caught your attention if it wasn’t for the fact that you recognize the color and even remember the day you purchased them. Those are your panties stuffed under Jake’s pillow. 

You find yourself smirking in an evil kind of way as you make your way toward the dainty fabric and pull it from the pillow. You can confirm it now, they’re yours, and you remember wearing them just the past weekend you were over. It was normal for you to leave some of your laundry at Sunghoon’s place after staying the weekend, it’s not like you aren’t here multiple times a week or anything. 

Jake must have taken them from the laundry basket in the bathroom. The thought of him that morning when you made breakfast, acting as casual and normal as ever. The harsher thought of how you listened to him again after Sunghoon had fallen asleep the night before, furiously reaching his climax. 

You spread the fabric against your fingers and laugh at the stain on them. This must have been what he was using that night, thinking of you, surely, right? God, Sunghoon would kill him if he found out.

And just as you go to look around to see if he’s stolen more of your intimate wares, you hear the front door open and you panic, shoving the panties into your back pocket and rushing out of his room to the bathroom just across the hallway.

In your slight panic, you manage to stand by the bathroom door and listen to the footsteps coming down the hallway. It’s definitely Jake because Sunghoon would have called you to let you know he was coming home. 

Checking the clock again, it’s barely six and you’ve now got two or so hours pretending that you didn’t just find your panties in Jake’s room. Or, maybe, you don’t have to pretend. Maybe you can just fluster and embarrass him more now. 

You reach over and flush the toilet and then step to the sink to actually wash your hands because you definitely were just handling cum-stained panties, and then you step out of the bathroom acting surprised that he’s here.

“Oh!” You exclaim, stepping out of the bathroom and looking directly at Jake through his bedroom door as he’s in the middle of throwing himself against the bed in frustration. “Didn’t think you’d be here today?”

Jake nearly jumps out of his skin despite knowing someone was in the bathroom. He wasn’t expecting to be addressed by you or Sunghoon today.

“Yeah, me either.” He groans, throwing his hand over his face. “You scared the fuck outta me–”

“Ah, you seem frustrated. Why?” You ask, taking a step forward and leaning against the doorframe to his room, crossing your arms. “Sunghoon said you were on a date or something?”

Jake groans again, lifting his back from the mattress to sit up and starts shaking his head in defeat. The fact that you’re talking to him right now only makes him feel worse. He’s embarrassed enough by the happenings of the past hour or so, now he has to sit here and answer your questions about it?

“Yeah, I was supposed to be but she ended up just using me as a ploy.” 

You only chuckle because of course that’s the type of shit that’ll happen to him, but also like, you’re kind of glad the date wasn’t a date, even if he didn’t know it.

“A ploy?”

“Turns out, she was just trying to make some guy jealous. He literally served us our drinks. ”

“Oh yeah? Then what happened?” You question, prying now. 

“When he was coming up to the table, she told me to kiss her so I did. Then as soon as he walked away, she was back on her phone and texting. She accidentally texted me I guess, saying that ‘the plan is working, he’s definitely jealous’.” Jake mocks the text message in a whiny voice.

You laugh a little louder this time, eyes darting to the pillow he had your panties tucked under.

“Why are you laughing? I’m miserable.” Jake is casual when he talks about it, but you note that he lets out a small chuckle too. “Why would someone even use me to make a guy jealous?”

You freeze for a second. Here’s your first opening.

“Because you’re cute?”

Jake freezes now too, glancing away from you with what you think is that shyness you’d seen so much before. It’s definitely shyness, if his quick-flushed cheeks are anything to go by.

 For Jake, out of everything that’s just happened to him, at least you think he’s cute, but it’s not like he can have you or actually use your compliment as an ego boost considering you’re dating his big brother.

“Anyway,” You offer an out, noting his avoidance a little more now that you know what he’s been doing in his free time with your personal items. “Sunghoon will be home later for our anniversary, sorry for what you’re gonna hear later–” 

Second opening.

“I know it’s weird to ask but I left a cute pair of panties last time I was here. They’re his favorite. I can’t find them.”

Jake stands to his feet quickly and casually throws his jacket over the pillow you had pulled them from earlier. Upon the very mention of your panties, he feels caught, like he’s got three shining spotlights directed at him to warn you of the panty thief. 

“I don’t know, what color were they?” He awkwardly asks, trying to avoid looking at you, not even questioning that you’re asking him when you’ve never so much as asked what he does in his free time. He can’t even tell that he’s telling on himself right now. 

“Light blue, silk.” You deadpan, looking at him.

“Oh, I might have seen them in the laundry. I’ll go look.”

Before you can even protest, Jake is shuffling past you and rushing towards the laundry room. You follow behind him casually, not in the slightest bit of a hurry with a cheeky smile hidden from his view.

“I already checked in here. The dirty laundry too.”

“Did you check Sunghoon’s drawers? He did laundry yesterday, they’re probably in there.” 

Jake is talking so fast that it’s almost sad. If you could pinch his flushed cheeks right now, you would.

“Smart boy.” You compliment with a finger in the air, walking towards Sunghoon’s room just to see what Jake will do next when you tell him they’re not there. 

You lazily look through all of your panties stuffed into Sunghoon’s drawers and head back out to Jake’s room after a few moments. Quietly, you peek around the door and only laugh at him when you see that his pillow is overturned and he’s digging through a clothes pile in the corner of his room. The fact that he didn’t even close his door is hilarious, but you imagine it was an afterthought considering time is against him.

“Did you find them?” You ask, watching him nervously stop searching and stay in place on the floor facing away from you. You can practically tell the cold sweat that hit him.

“N-no.” He says quickly. “Did you?” 

“Yep.” You say, pulling the panties out of your pocket.

Jake relaxes, choosing to believe that somehow, the panties he had tucked under his pillow managed to walk themselves to the laundry room, step into the washer, then the dryer, and then place themselves neatly into Sunghoon’s drawer. Never will he let himself think that you found them, or even worse, Sunghoon found them.

When his shoulders relax and he turns to look at you, you see him stiffen up just as much as before when you swing the panties around your finger, stopping to present them in a way that shows the massive cum stain. 

“Guess Sunghoon needs to find a new favorite, huh?” You joke, tossing them onto Jake’s bed and walking away. 

As you walk down the hallway with a smile on your face, you can hear Jake’s frantic footsteps rush up behind you. 

“Wait! It’s not–” He tries to explain the situation away. “It’s not what it looks like!”

“My panties under your pillow aren't what it looks like?” You turn to face him at the end of the hallway, and with the way he was quickly following you, he runs directly into you and has to stumble back from the close proximity of you in front of him. He’s never even touched you before. Never hugged you, prodded you, or even looked at you for too long when your eyes were already on him. 

“No–” He goes to say with a deep swallow of nervousness, but you interrupt him. 

“Jake, you’re lucky it was me who found them and not your brother.” 

“I know,” Jake stutters out, looking to the floor. “But really, I didn’t mean to-”

“If you didn’t mean for me to find them, you should have stuffed them further back. They were hanging out for anyone to see, Jake.”

He stops for a moment. You’re telling him how he should have hidden them?

“Wait–” 

Only now does Jake realize your comment of Sunghoon needing to find a new favorite pair of underwear before you tossed them back on his bed. He’s gotta be thinking too positively to imagine you’re giving him the panties and offering tips on how to keep them from Sunghoon, right? Like you only gave them back because you’re disgusted by him, right? 

“Really, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I took them.”

An admittance. You feel like you’ve won the game and you’re definitely in the position to ask more questions. 

“You don’t? Try and think of a reason then.” You ask, taking a step towards him.

You can see how that single step forward overwhelms him, so much so that he takes a step back, feeling frozen when his eyes glance up at yours. He can’t pull his eyes away this time with the way you’re looking at him. 

There’s a smirk against your lips and he can’t sense a single bit of anger. Cautiously, he tries to avoid your question. 

“I don’t know why.” He repeats, staring down at you as you look at him and take another step forward. 

“I think we both know why you stole them.” You smile wider, lifting slightly to where you’re just inches from his face. “Did you think of me?”

“Yeah,” He sighs out, somewhat lost in your gaze as if he has managed to become hypnotized by the way you’re speaking with him. Then he shakes himself out of it, taking a step back with a muttered out string of “I mean, no!” 

You close in against him just as you did before, not allowing him to escape the hold you have on him. You’re just as close as you were before he stepped back, and you continue. 

“You did? Do you listen in on what Sunghoon does to me too?”

Jake takes another step back, this time knowing full well that you’ll just follow him again. And you do, practically walking him back through the hallway and against the wall after passing his room. 

“I mean,” He admits. “Sometimes.” 

You smile as he tries to back himself up further against the wall. 

“Why not all the time?” You follow up, watching the way his lip quivers a bit from the nervousness within him. 

Unbearably cute is what Jake is at this moment, trapped and caught. 

“You guys get too quiet, I guess?” He answers as if it’s his own question, wondering if it’s what you want to hear. His belly is doing flips though, admitting these things to you and feeling as if you’ll make fun of him, mock him, tell on him. It’s a horrifying thought. 

“You’re too quiet sometimes too.” You smile before backing away and turning to walk back toward the end of the hallway. 

Jake hangs his head wondering what the fuck just happened and if you were actually implying certain things toward him. He can barely bring himself to care that you hear him masturbate. He tries to be quiet, honestly, he does. But it’s hard sometimes when he’s rubbing his cock against the silk of the panties you just gave back to him, even harder when he’s hearing you through the walls and he imagines if you’d make the same sounds for him. 

Pulled from his thoughts, he hears you turn the volume up on the tv before shouting at him.

“Jake?” You say, waiting for him to respond quietly from out of view.

“Yeah?” He responds as he makes his way back to his room. 

“I’ll be loud tonight.” 

Jake closes his bedroom door feeling like his body is on fire and like his mind is spiraling into a place where it shouldn’t be. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

When Sunghoon got home, Jake made it his mission to not step foot out of his bedroom until the two of you were passed out. Thankfully, he had taken a quick bathroom break while also trying to avoid letting you hear that he left his room right before Sunghoon came back.

Jake almost feels like prey right now, additionally, he’s confused about the entire situation with you. 

He tried to be a good person and not fantasize about his brother’s girlfriend by making a profile on a dating app, but even now as he scrolls through all of the pretty faces, he knows that none of them would just let him steal their panties like you did. Not that it’s a hobby of his or anything, he saw your panties and he took the chance to give him a better orgasm next time around. Now he’s kind of obsessed with the idea though.

He had already placed the panties back under his pillow and stuffed them further back by now, and hearing you and Sunghoon in the living room doing couple-things doesn’t really help the confusion in his head. If you’re in there all lovey-dovey with his brother, why did you get up so close to him earlier? Why did you offer to be loud for him? Why did you do any of what you did?

It feels wrong that everything just makes him want you more. Before, he was just being a horny guy, but now he’s like, maybe only horny for you.

Maybe it’s just a phase, surely it’ll pass. He loves his brother. 

Then he finds himself questioning if that’s the truth as the night goes on. 

Jealousy is a hateful demon. When he hears the shuffling into Sunghoon’s room and the giggles coming from both of you, Jake almost wants to hit someone. Why can’t he have that? Why does Sunghoon always get to experience all the good things in life?

Not only was Jake used by some pretty girl today, he is now being shown yet again what he can’t have and will probably never have. The jealousy is only worse, as he faceplants into his pillow and considers moving back in with his parents so that way he can stop wanting what his brother has. 

The consideration is furthered when he grows frustrated at the sounds of you through the wall. He can even hear Sunghoon shush you a few times. 

Unfortunately, against Jake’s will, his cock starts to grow against the mattress and his thigh, fingers now tucking further under the pillow to find those silk panties that caused his ultimate demise today. It’s instinctual at this point, despite how shameful he feels. He seriously just can’t resist touching himself when he hears you, even through the frustration and annoyance. 

When he runs his fingers along the fabric, still tucked beneath the pillow, he whines to himself at how pathetic it is for him to keep doing this. Only when he realizes that you’re over there being fucked and being loud specifically for him to hear does he pull them out and roll over onto his back.

All confusion and worry is left behind now as he replaces those anxieties with the idea of you grinding against him while wearing these panties. He thinks about how you like it, how you move your body, what you’d do with your hands. 

His cock twitches to be free just a few moments later and he doesn’t think twice about lowering his sweatpants and staring down at himself. He sighs in defeat at the image, noting how much harder he is now compared to the nights before when he weakly worked himself up to the faint sounds of you

From across the wall, you’re enjoying yourself far too much. Jake kind of falls into the back of your guilty mind as your boyfriend loves on you. Sunghoon came home excited, a hand was on you the entire time from the moment he walked through the door until now. Both hands are on you now as he praises you and pries your legs open.

 Usually, Sunghoon is rougher. He’d do things that drive you insane, edge you, and deny you pleasure over and over again until he felt it was time to let you let go. The added attempts to be silent only made it more fun for your boyfriend, gagging you with his cock, fingers, or even your own panties. Tonight though, tonight is a little different considering it is the two-year anniversary of his relationship with you.

The plan you had for Sunghoon tonight was for him to use a new toy on you that you’d bought in secret. He always wanted to try double penetration with you but is never willing to share you, and you don’t mind that at all. Still, you wanted to fulfill one of his fantasies, and that’s what the intention is. 

To your surprise though, Sunghoon leaves the toy still in its package on the table and has been eating you out for a solid twenty minutes already.

He’s focusing on you entirely at this moment and it’s got your head spinning with the way his wet tongue flicks your clit while his lips envelop the entire bud. He’s so good at it, and usually only does this when you’ve been extra good for him, like if you willingly choke on his entire length or you let him overstimulate you to the point that getting head from him is painful. 

His head is between your legs lapping away and all you can do is groan out for him, enjoying the way he’s being gentle and pointed with his tongue. His hands go from your legs to keep them from crushing his head to reaching up to massage your tits. He doesn’t even try to silence you, and you’re thankful to keep your promise to Jake despite not actually trying to right now. 

And when Sunghoon pulls his head back for a breath, he looks up at you and whispers a small “happy anniversary, baby–” before smiling in such a genuine way that it has your heart crashing with the amount of love you have for him. 

He dips back in after the loving words, hugging both of your thighs with his arms and burying his face into you for another ten minutes before, well, he grows a bit bored. He wants to make you cum this way and make it last as long as possible, but now he’s feeling neglected and the image of you with that toy you got is burning images in his mind the more he hears you moan for him. 

“Changed my mind,” Sunghoon mutters as he pulls back for a breath and leaves your clit entirely abandoned.

 He hears you whimper at the loss of pressure and honestly, he’s always loved the way you sound when you do it. He finds himself reaching for the toy much quicker than he originally planned, soothing you through your disappointment with a fond voice.

“Play with yourself while I get this ready.” He smiles at you, giving you a quick kiss to the forehead before fumbling with the box. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The fact that Jake can hear his brother tell you to play with yourself makes him feel insane. Only because of the way you start moaning again and give him even more to think about while over here all alone. 

Fuck, the thought of walking in on you one day with your fingers inside of yourself, not quite reaching where you want them to, asking him to take over for you? 

Jake almost wants to put his ear to the wall. 

Wait, why shouldn’t he? He wants to hear you.

Cock still in hand and tangled against your panties, he shuffles to his feet and presses his ear against the wall. You sound much more clear now when he chokes back his own moan, knowing you’d probably hear it more clearly too considering how loud he is.

Knowing you can hear him though? That means Sunghoon can also hear him, so he tries his best to hold it back as he starts thrusting himself against the silk in his hand.

He does well until he hears a choked-out whimper, a slap, and some crude words coming from his brother’s lips. On any other day of listening in, his cock would instantly go soft hearing his brother but what he says to you through these thin as fuck walls has him biting his lip in an attempt to silence his own moan.

“You like being stuffed with two?” Jake hears at first, followed by another whimper from you. “So wet, it slid right in beside me–”

Jake can’t even imagine what’s being done to you right now but he can tell you’re loving it in the way your whimpers turn to full-fledged moans that he’s never heard before. 

“Oh, fuck–” Jake groans out towards himself, looking down at his painfully hard cock against your panties. Dripping, absolutely an utter fucking mess in his own palm over you. 

He starts to move his hand this time, faster than what his hips were doing. Only part of him is trying to match the sounds of skin slapping skin, moving his hand much faster than what he’s hearing happen to you. 

He’s sure you’d moan like that for him too. Wouldn’t even need two to make you be so loud, surely. 

And then he’s starting to shake, rolling his head a bit to where his forehead is against the wall. He’s shamelessly out of breath when he whispers his own words to you as his cock begins to fucking weep his cum against your panties. Words of, ‘yeah, you like that?’ and “Better than him, right?” 

And when Jake backs away from the wall, allowing the muffled sound of your loud moaning to be further and further from his ear, he collapses on his bed in a deep breath and then trails his eyes back over towards the wall. 

You’re right there. 

You know exactly what he’s doing in here but now he can’t tell if you’re actually being loud because you told him you would, or if it’s because Sunghoon really is that good. 

The jealousy hits again. It isn’t fair.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s been days since your anniversary and now that work is finished, you get to head back over for your regular weekend with Sunghoon. Except now you wonder how awkward it’s going to be. The soreness between your legs has gotten better but the guilt of how Jake avoided you the next morning got worse. 

You think you should leave it be, you should just let him have those panties and pretend it never happened, pretend you never flirted with him, and pretend you didn’t tell him that you listen to him get off too.

You went too far on your fucking anniversary then proceeded to fall even more in love with Sunghoon.

Thankfully, you didn’t go far enough to where it couldn’t be salvaged, so when you leave today, you have the promise in your head that you will leave it alone. You will leave Jake alone and go back to what you were with Sunghoon before you ever fantasized about his little brother.

Except that doesn’t happen because the moment you walk in and see Jake lounging by himself on the couch, shirtless, you find yourself avoiding him more than he’s avoiding you.

Though he immediately got up when you walked through the door with a small apology and rushed towards his room, you had to stop yourself from turning around and going straight back home. Sunghoon is here though, back turned towards you as he stirs something in a bowl. 

“Hey babe, can you come help me?” Your boyfriend calls out, glancing at you from over his shoulder and showing the smallest glimpse of something smeared against his cheek. 

Your heart warms at how domestic he looks right now, kicking your shoes off and heading towards him with your weekend bag. 

“I'll be back in a minute, let me put my bag in your room.” You say, coming up behind him and planting a kiss on his shoulder.

He lends you a short nod in response, turning his attention back to his mixing bowl with a smile plastered across his face. Not a day goes by where he doesn’t miss you, honestly. 

And as you make your way down the hallway to Sunghoon’s room, you note how Jake’s door is closed. You’re thankful for that, as the image of his stupidly attractive shirtless body still appears to be fucking burned into your brain.

 It’s stupid, honestly, you have a whole Sunghoon in the kitchen waiting for you, who will probably make you cum a minimum of three times tonight, and you’re panic-walking past his little brother’s bedroom because you’re incredibly fucking attracted to him. 

Ridiculous.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The self-control you once had is no longer present in your head. The plan to leave it be is less and less attractive in your brain the more you take in the image of Jake in front of you at the table texting away on his phone. 

You watch him shamelessly as Sunghoon goes back and forth in the kitchen. You’re almost completely skewed from his view, thanks to the wall separating the kitchen and dining room, as you sit here across from Jake. He’s wearing a shirt now, rude, and is only glancing at you from time to time.

He’s not saying a damn thing to you though, which is annoying.

What happened to you avoiding him? No, what happened to him avoiding you? 

From under the table, you gently kick against his leg to get his attention and his eyes snap up toward you. You look down instantly, pretending as if you weren’t kicking him to get his attention at all. All so you’re the one ignoring him instead. 

But your leg stays there, occasionally kicking against him just to see how long it takes for him to stop reacting to it. 

Scrolling through your own phone now, you’re swiping through videos, listening to Sunghoon clattering through the cupboards, and feeling incredibly warm sitting in front of Jake. You don’t know what’s gotten into you when it comes to him, honestly.

Finally, you slowly trail your eyes back up to his face and note that he does the same, at the exact same time. 

The two of you share a moment of silence looking at each other. You can almost feel his eyes pull you in without intent. It feels dangerous just to look at him, seeing him in a newer light than what you’d seen in him when it was just amusement on your end. You wonder if he can tell. Probably not.

He doesn’t look away from you, and you’re not sure why. He just stays still and silent, blinking back at you. 

Maybe he’s being pulled in too, like a silent agreement communicated just through eye contact. The electricity in the space between the two of you is nothing short of dangerous. Your body almost acts on its own when you raise your lips into a half smile at him and plant your foot on the chair between his legs.

Still keeping eye contact, you watch him jump at the action but he doesn’t move or push your foot away. Instead, he’s breaking eye contact and looking down, staring down, really, at how your socked foot is planted directly between his legs.

He doesn’t move, trailing his eyes back to you now with a curious look. You continue, pressing your foot forward just slightly. Jake jumps again at the feeling and shoots his eyes to the opening of the kitchen.

 Sunghoon is still facing away, stirring something in a pot on the stove. Thank fuck.

 He’s not strong enough to push your foot away. In fact, he can hardly comprehend the situation at all, or why he presses his hips forward out of need rather than want. He knows it’s wrong to have you touching him in any way whether it’s your foot or not, this is not okay to be doing. But god, he yearns for you so badly. He’ll take anything, everything he can get. 

You smile wider, watching the way his face tries to stay casual as he gently scoots forward and presses himself further against your foot. Only now, satisfied, do you look back down to your phone as if you didn’t just do that, and like you’re not keeping your foot in place for Jake to grind against. 

The fact that he’s actually doing this at all is enough for you to feel warm on the inside. All you were going to do was experimentally cross a line to see what would happen. This is a much better outcome compared to him rushing out of the room in a panic. 

It doesn’t take long before you start giving more pressure against his weak grinds. Each time you glance up just to get a look at his poker-face, you can tell he’s looking at you in disbelief and shifting his eyes to keep checking for Sunghoon. 

You can tell he grinds harder when Sunghoon isn’t at risk of seeing, and he moves more weakly when his alarm bells are ringing. If anything, the fact that Jake is falling apart in front of you and trying to pretend he isn’t is enough to have you pressing forward more.

You smirk as you scroll to watch another video, feeling his cock twitch against your foot, and god, he’s really that desperate? You hate how much you like it and hate even more that you’re so fucking attracted to him doing this right now. 

When you glance up again, this time because you really can’t help yourself at this point, you note that Jake is really trying to concentrate on looking normal despite his body obviously shifting back and forth under the table. 

He’s insanely obvious, and already it makes even you panic at the fact that he’s really losing his ability to remain calm. 

“Jake, have you seen this meme?” You fake laugh out loud, mostly to stop him from getting too into it and blowing the cover. 

He jerks his hips back with an annoyed groan, realizes where he is and what’s between his legs, and then jumps back into an act.

“No, I don’t think so–” He says nervously, leaning forward to see your phone. 

You grab the collar of his shirt and pull him closer over the table, lifting him from his seat and whispering as quickly as you can.

“You need to stop being obvious–” You warn before releasing him and turning your phone to show him the video.

Jake lets out a fake laugh at the video, shifting his eyes to you apologetically before seating himself back down and looking dead into your eyes. 

There, he feels you adjust your foot again, this time further into his chair where you can blatantly feel how desperately hard he’s gotten over this. 

Jake can’t just sit here and let this continue for too long, despite really, really fucking needing the touch. And it sucks, considering it’s the first time you’ve actually come onto him and it just has to be with Sunghoon barely even a room over? 

God, fuck. Fuck! 

Right here, right now, Jake decides he’s going to take what he can get, even if it makes you feel sorry for him. 

You’re shocked when you feel his hand grab your foot and hold it in place before very harshly  grinding against it. Watching him from across the table, he makes it very obvious as to what he’s doing but still, you find yourself falling apart at the way he parts his lips, squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to hold back a moan. 

Then, just as quickly as he started, you feel him push your foot away and he’s scooting back in his chair. 

“I left something in my room. I’ll be back.” Jake says sheepishly, looking to the floor and rushing into the hallway.

You watch him rush out of the room confused, so you look behind you hoping Sunghoon didn’t like, make eye contact with him or something. It doesn’t appear he did though, because you see him waist-deep bent over in the fridge looking for something. 

Jake needed to like, not come in his pants from that. Not in front of you. Not in front of his own fucking brother.

  He doesn’t even fucking like feet! But, well, he likes you. 

You offered pressure and he fucking took it. He needed to finish himself off and not have to sit there in cum-soiled pants pretending like it didn’t just happen. So, naturally, he ran to his room to finish himself off out of frustration. Thankfully he’s close enough to reach climax within two to three strokes, right there leaning against his door. 

Embarrassed by the small sob he let out during his orgasm, he’s quick to rush to the bathroom and clean up before grabbing a hoodie from his room and throwing it on over the t-shirt, mostly so it does look like he actually came in here to grab something.

Not even five minutes pass before he’s sitting in front of you again. Jake feels helpless in the way he can no longer bring himself to avoid looking at you, all the way up until Sunghoon peeks into the room and announces that he thinks he’s perfected the soup recipe, and is ready for you guys to come try it. 

You, on the other hand, didn’t look at Jake after he came back. Not much, anyway. It’s not that you didn’t want to, it’s mostly just that you’re coming to terms with the fact that you just crossed a line and you’re not sorry about it. Even after Sunghoon places a spoon at your lips and the soup is definitely the most delicious he’s ever made. 

 Even after he’s got his arm around you at the table with that same loving smile plastered on his lips, sitting across from his little brother who just eye fucked you while grinding against your foot, you struggle to decide who you’d rather look at. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The events of yesterday stay fresh on your mind as Sunghoon lays next to you half-awake and scratching against his arm before cuddling in closer to you. He’s so warm and all you can do is wonder why you're risking this comfort to have fun with his little brother.

 You’ve already crossed a line and gone too far. You did exactly what you said you weren’t going to do and exactly what you never thought you could do. You’re probably not going to be able to stop even if you wanted to, so you opt to just–not think about when it’s gonna happen again or if it’s gonna happen again. 

Saturday almost flies by and before you know it, all three of you are lounging in the living room to watch a movie. Usually, Jake isn’t as present when you’re with Sunghoon but since everything started, he makes himself known much more. 

He includes himself in things and engages in more conversation. You wonder if it’s because he’s waiting for you to do something again. The worst part about all of it is that you can tell Sunghoon is enjoying the time he’s spending with you and Jake together. 

Even during this movie, Sunghoon doesn’t think twice when you lean against him and throw your legs over Jake’s lap to get comfortable. Alternatively, Jake thinks three to four times over when you do it, opting to keep his hands at his sides when he steals a glance at you and notes that you’re comfortable under his brother’s arm. 

The movie goes on like that and Jake can’t help but feel like it’s taking forever to be over with. Then again, he’s staring at your legs on his lap more than the movie on the screen. It gets worse when there's a jumpscare and your legs are tensing up and moving around against him. 

At least this time it’s not your fucking foot and he’s got a calf muscle to work with. 

You did it both intentionally and unintentionally. You weren’t exactly throwing your legs on him to get him to rub against them or anything, it was mostly just to fluster him, but Jake proves himself as someone with zero self-control once again.

 You feel him twitch under your legs and shamefully, you immediately feel arousal drip between your legs. The fact that he gets you so riled up so fast will always be a mystery to you, honestly. 

The good news? Being turned on isn’t so bad right now, considering you have Sunghoon right here to help you take care of it without much convincing.

Adjusting yourself, you pull your legs from Jake and take a second to focus on his lap. The tent in his pants is obvious, but Sunghoon pays no mind as his eyes stay on the screen. You watch the way Jake covers himself quickly and looks at you in confusion. 

As he looks at you, you move a bit to look at Sunghoon.

Without warning, your boyfriend is thrown off guard by you suddenly kissing his neck. If Jake doesn’t have self-control, neither do you. 

And in your defense, you’re not trying to dangle your relationship in front of him, really, you’re not. It’s not your fault that Jake got hard and that caused a chain reaction in getting you wet. 

Sunghoon pulls back to look at you. His face is somewhat concerned but still, he’s smiling as he makes attempts to dodge your kisses. 

“Hey, hey slow down–” He turns his face to whisper into your hair. “It’s weird with Jake here.”

You ignore his whispers and continue to kiss against him, moving your hand dangerously close to his upper thigh. 

In a way, Sunghoon can’t believe that you’re really acting like this in front of Jake. Sure, the two of you have kissed in front of him, and Jake has walked in on some steamy makeout sessions, but it was never intended to be in front of him. Then again, Sunghoon knows how needy you can get and how selfish you can be when you’re wanting something specific from him. 

“Okay, okay–” Sunghoon relents in another whisper, gently pulling himself from the couch and grabbing your hand. 

“Hey, I think she’s getting tired.” Sunghoon laughs with the obvious lie to his brother. “Can we finish the movie another time?” 

“Uh, sure.” Jake responds, knowing full fucking well that you’re turned on because of him and now you’re gonna go fuck his brother to take care of it. 

This is so annoying.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Come Sunday morning, you were just as turned on as you were the night before. You can feel your body heating the moment you even think of Jake, but Sunghoon satiates you well enough. Even there against the bathroom wall as the two of you take a shower. 

Sunghoon took note the night before that you enjoyed it when he humiliated you for doing those things in front of Jake. Asking you if you were really so desperate that you’d let just anyone see you acting the way you did. He plays off of that today too. 

Waking up hard wasn’t anything weird for Sunghoon, and usually the morning showers end up as morning sex sessions anyway. You seemed more willing and awake this morning than any other time, and he’s thankful for it. 

When he’s got you pressed against the wall as the warm water runs down your back, he doesn’t hesitate to plunge into you all the way with a comment of how much wetter you get when he degrades you. In a way, the punishment and degradation feels deserved, because you are embarrassed by how much you want to touch Jake.

“Getting off on the thought of other people seeing how wet you get for me?” 

You nod against the cold bathroom tiles, feeling his cock pressing deeply inside of you and making your legs feel weak. You do love when other people can see, but what you mean by that is you love when his little brother can see. 

Jake, from across the hall, once again hears it all because it wakes him up. Sunghoon hasn’t even attempted to keep his voice down while talking to you. Why? Because even he is far too turned on to pay attention to anything outside of this bathroom right now. 

“Going so far as letting Jake see? How desperate were you?” 

Jake’s ears perk up at the sound of his brother saying that, already stirring in his pants at the very idea of you getting off to that. 

How desperate were you?

 He wonders how you answer, or if you do. He wonders if you were desperate for him or if it was really for Sunghoon.

Without much more thought, Jake can’t go another day with you here right now. It’s becoming a bit too much, a bit too real, and honestly, he thinks he’s the desperate one right now. Wanting to barge into the bathroom, shove his brother away, and have his way with you. He could never. You’d never let him go that far surely. 

And by the time it’s all said and done, you leave the bathroom lightheaded and Jake appears to have left the house to do something else.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The week passes normally up until Thursday night. You’re rummaging through your cabinets for something to make for dinner when your phone goes off. Assuming it’s Sunghoon again, complaining that Friday never comes fast enough, you’re shocked to see that it’s Jake sending you something through instagram. 

And he’s drunk. 

SimJake_ sent a photo: 

SimJake_: guess who got drunk on a thursday night and is regretting the fact that i wanna talk to you? 

Never did you want a paper trail or some type of proof that you and Jake are involved in this weird….thing together. His message isn’t even sexual, it's just a bit intimate that your boyfriend’s brother is sending you selfies while drunk even though you came onto him first. 

He’s attractive, and entirely too cute right now trying to approach you via fucking Instagram because he won’t do it to your face. Then again, Sunghoon is always around, so maybe that’s why he hasn’t done anything about it. 

You: let me guess, you’re the one drunk on a thursday night and will probably say some shit that will make you not be able to look me in the eye tomorrow?

SimJake_ : ding ding ding! what’re you doing? 

You: texting you and trying to find food, im hungry. what about you?

SimJake_ : bout to make another drink and pretend i don’t have your panties under my pillow

SimJake_ : because i do

Wow, Jake is embarrassing and confident when he’s drunk. You find yourself smiling over it. You’d never guess or even assume he would try to make conversation with you about that of all things.

You: oh yeah, you’re definitely drunk

SimJake_ : am i being too weird? 

SimJake_: because you’re the one who started it

You: me? I started it? last time i checked, you’re the one who stole my panties?? you pervert????

SimJake_ : you’re the one who let me keep them

You: that’s……fair

SimJake_: so… 

Shy boy is no more at this moment and you almost feel caught off guard. Reminding yourself that he’s drunk, you try to set a boundary in your head and change the subject.

You: what are you drinking?

SimJake_ : found some of my brother’s expensive whiskey, gonna tell him you drank it, he wont be mad then

You: you’re gonna tell him that I drank his whiskey, when he knows I don’t even like whiskey?

SimJake_ : yep

You laugh at the audacity, finally finding a snack for yourself and settling on the couch with your phone in hand. 

You: and you’re drinking on a weeknight again, why?

SimJake_ : because i want you 

Oh.

SimJake_ : and i know im not allowed to, but it’s really hard to like, not, i guess

SimJake_ : i know im being weird and im sorry, just really drunk rn and wanna talk to you thats all

SimJake_ : or we can pretend i never messaged you and you can delete the messages

You: no, i think you’re being cute. You can calm down, it’s okay

It’s definitely not okay, but you want it to be. You’re about to do some not okay things too, and cross those boundaries you literally just now set.

You: so, they’re still under your pillow? 

SimJake_: yea

You: when was the last time you didn’t have them under there?

SimJake_ : yesterday

You: oh yeah? 

SimJake_: yea i washed them when Sunghoon was at work…um

SimJake_: can you maybe wear them again

God, he really is that desperate. 

SimJake_ : please? you can leave them in the laundry like last time and ill just grab them

You: i’ll think about it 

SimJake_ : okay…so…

SimJake_: um….did you like the selfie 

You: i like seeing you in person more, it’s fun when you’re all flustered and stuff, trying to pretend you don’t like it

Jake is giggling to himself like a schoolgirl, focusing on your messages and hoping to god he doesn’t forget the things you’re saying to him. He’s going to have to delete these messages as soon as it’s over though, for sure. At least he’s not drunk enough to forget the glaring issue at hand here.

SimJake_: i don’t like it because i always have a boner now lol i feel gross always having to go to my room and take care of it so things dont get weird

You: maybe ill take care of it for you someday, who knows?

SimJake_ : wait what

You’re cheating. As if you haven’t been already. This is blatantly against your moral code and you literally do not care. 

You: are you all flustered now?

SimJake_ : maybe,,,,

You: would you want me to? instead of you having to always run off to your room where I can’t see? 

SimJake_ : you’re doing this on purpose, you wouldn’t actually wanna

SimJake_ : would you?

You: guess you’ll just have to find out eventually

You: flustered now?

SimJake_ : yea, wanna see?

SimJake_ sent a photo: 

You:  jesus christ, you’re…

You: big…. I mean, I knew from feeling it last weekend but like, that was my foot lol

SimJake_ : yeah what even was that about? i felt so stupid doing that

You: you looked hot when you did it tho

SimJake_ : am i really that big? 

You: Jake,look at that thing. im shocked you don’t already have a girl to bury it into yet. 

SimJake_: could have one ;) 

You: ….yeah

SimJake_: yeah? 

SimJake_  sent a photo: 

Okay, it’s getting to be too much now. You can feel the warmth pooling into your panties already and you wonder if he would be just as eager to lick it up as he is to text you right now. You spread your legs wide, deciding on if you should do it. You’re already cheating, the guilt couldn’t get any worse anyway. 

You sent a photo: 

SimJake_ : oh fuck 

SimJake_: you’re wet?

SimJake_: sorry i wasnt expecting that

SimJake_: can i save it

You:  no 

You sent a photo: 

SimJake_: you should give me those panties instead

You: okay, ill put them in the basket tomorrow night 

SimJake_: will you still wear the other ones too?

You: you want //two// pairs?

SimJake_ : yeah :( 

You: ill think about it

Jake is blushing, flushing, and shaking all at once, one hand on his cock and the other texting you. He’s saved the photos anyway, boring holes into them with the thought of what must be behind that thin layer of sticky and wet fabric. He wants to put his face there, he wants to smell you and swallow you up. 

SimJake_ : can i call you?

A sharp feeling of fear but an even bigger feeling of arousal hits you. 

You: okay…

You didn’t have to wait long, watching the bubble of him typing something to you disappear and instead getting a phone call. You knew Jake had your number and you had his, mostly for communication purposes for Sunghoon. Never was this supposed to happen. 

When you answer the phone after taking a deep breath, your eyes are nearly popping out of your head. 

Jake is shameless. 

All those nights of hearing his mans muffled through the wall are now coming through crisp and clear on the speaker. If you close your eyes, it’s like you’re in his room with him. 

You don’t speak and instead, listen. You had expected him to answer the phone stuttering, trying to dirty talk but ultimately failing. It appears his drunken state offers him more than just liquid courage, but liquid lust as well.

 For a moment you stop and contemplate hanging up. Jake is drunk and you can’t help but feel as though you’re taking advantage of him. Then again, previously sober he basically fucked himself against your foot at the dinner table. 

“Feels good?” You ask with a chuckle.

 You can hear the movement of his body through the speaker and you’re aware that through the lack of slapping sounds, your panties are probably silencing what his hand is doing. 

Jake barely answers. A quick “mhm” rings through your ears alongside his deep breaths as a response instead. This isn’t typically how phone sex would go, considering dirty talking is what gets a person there. Perhaps Jake has never done this before, then again, maybe he gets off on just knowing you’re listening to him at all.

“Can you–talk?” Jake asks weakly, his hand stilling for a moment to focus solely on the image he has pulled up over your phone call. He can barely comprehend that you’re on the other line and he’s looking at your pussy pressing against slick panties.

“I like hearing you do this,” You say quickly, not very good at this type of thing yourself despite knowing how it should usually go. You slowly start to trace your fingers against your panties, wondering if Jake would be gentle like this too, nervous even. 

“Yeah?” He asks with a small choked moan as he begins to move his hand again. “You’re not weirded out?”

“If I was weirded out I wouldn’t have sent you photos.” You snap, frustrated suddenly with the whole situation that this is your boyfriend’s brother. “Stop calling it weird–” You trail off, listening intently to the shifting sounds you hear through the speaker. 

“Sunghoon isn’t home right now,” Jake suddenly admits, and you can feel the arousal disappear almost instantly as you hear his name. The reality hitting you, but still not caring enough to stop.

“Don’t talk about him right now, This isn’t right but–”

“But what?” Jake asks with a hopeful voice, this time pulling his hand away completely and feeling his heart double in speed.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” You let out, finally pressing your fingers beneath the lining of your panties. “I know it’s wrong.”

Like music to Jake’s ears, he feels the eagerness in his body swell to the point that it’s difficult to maintain. Sunghoon has everything that Jake wants. A good career, a nice house, needed life skills. All of those things could be obtained with hard work and effort for Jake, but you. You were the one thing he was never supposed to have. You were the one aspect of Sunghoon’s life that Jake wouldn’t have the ability to work his way towards, but he did. 

He has you right now, in this moment, and he feels like nothing could break him. He knows it’s wrong just like you do, but Jake is selfish too. 

He doesn’t think you meant to feel this way, because he always sees the good in people, and if you were doing this with any other man he would definitely snitch on you if he found out. But you’re doing it with him and he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt at this moment. So what if he he wants to fuck his big brother’s girlfriend? You reciprocate the fucking feeling. 

A small part of Jake’s brain is still anxious though. That little still-sober sliver of his moral code trying to fight its way to the front. Does he go with his heart or with his brain? Should he stop? Will he be able to look you in the eye tomorrow? Will he be able to ever look his brother in the eye? 

He isn’t sure. Both his heart and his brain tells him to go for you, the only thing telling him not to is the thought of his brother. The good news about that is, with you on the other end of this line, Sunghoon is pushed to the back of his mind. 

“You can have me, you know.” He almost whispers, staring down at his heavy cock resting against his belly, panties left dangling off the tip. “I wouldn’t say no.”

Those are dangerous words. Words you know you shouldn’t accept or be turned on by. 

“I bet you wouldn’t–” You cut yourself off in a deep breath, pressing against your clit and rubbing harshly. Jake isn’t even talking much, just offering himself on a fucking platter to you, and it’s driving your body to fucking yearn. 

“Oh, shit, are you–” Jake swallows hard, the reality that you might actually be touching yourself on the other line sending waves of heat down his body. He thought it was just him and only had the hopes that you wouldn’t start making fun of him for it. 

“Oh, fuck.” He says, quickly moving his hand to grip against his cock again and already feeling too sensitive from the short moments of neglect. “Where are your hands?” 

“In my panties.”

Jake groans, dropping his phone by his ear on the pillow and using his other hand to grip something, anything as he opts to imagine your fingers sliding beneath the panties you’d shown him in the photo.

You can tell he’s holding his breath, focusing on feeling good in the way he releases short, quick groans every now and then. You keep yourself silent though, trying to hear him, trying to imagine what he’s doing while thinking of you. 

The dripping mess between your legs is being spread by your fingers as you scissor your lips open easily, letting a small groan roll off your tongue for him to hear. Satisfied by his responsive deep breath and sigh, you finally plunge your fingers in. 

“Can you hear it, Jake?” You ask in a breath, lowering the phone a bit so that he can hear your fingers slide in and out of you with a wet sound. 

He chokes on his end at that, swiping the panties off of him to replace the feeling of fabric with the feeling of his closed fist. His precum smears beautifully, offering him the sensation that if he squeezes hard enough, he can imagine that he’s fucking into your warm and wet cunt. He can hear how wet you sound and it’s driving him up a fucking wall not being able to physically see you do it in front of him. 

“This is all I'm going to think about tomorrow–” He groans out, tightening his fist even more and bucking his hips into it. “You sound so,”

“Wet for you?”

That’s all it takes before Jake is gasping out a string of curses, the orgasm both sending him into a sobering world of pleasure and an even drunker state of wanting you to himself. Strings of white spurting all along his belly and going as far as his chin, he throws his other hand up and bites hard against the skin on his knuckle as he works through it.

 He doesn’t want to moan through this, he wants to hear just how fast your fingers are moving, how fast you’d want him to fuck you. He wants to think about how you must be imagining him right now, feeling good and breaking the rules for him. 

Finally, after an embarrassingly long orgasm from Jake, his room goes silent and his ears tune in to the speaker on his phone. You’re cooing, letting out pretty little breaths between the smacking sounds of your palms coming into contact with your clit as you fuck yourself. He can’t believe you’re doing this with him, and even after his own orgasm he’s still incredibly aroused despite his cock softening. 

“You still there?” You groan out. He can tell the phone is closer to what your hands are doing than it is to your face, but he doesn’t mind.

“I’m still here–” He swallows hard, catching his breath as he practically studies the audio you’re feeding to him. 

“I bet that felt good,” You compliment his orgasm that was glaringly obvious on your end. You imagine he doesn’t even recognize that his hand was audible against his cock, and the sheer speed you heard of what he was doing made your clenching walls ache with everything you shouldn’t be wanting.”Wish I could see you right now–” 

Jake did contemplate face timing you instead, but that was crossing more of a line in his head than just calling you. Plus, he would have probably hidden himself from view the entire time. It’s not like he expected to actually have you fucking yourself on the other end of the line, but here you are, and here he is, cum all over him. 

He snaps a quick photo for you, and in your head you whimper a small “yes” at the sound of the shutter from his camera. 

“Send it.” You demand softly, pulling your phone from your stomach and holding it in front of your face. 

He does as you ask and feels embarrassed by the pools of cum all over his stomach. The photo consists mostly of his chest down. You can see his plush and bitten lips at the top of the photo though, and his quite big softening cock lying spent against his stomach, smearing some of the cum across his belly. 

Jake listens to your reaction and hum of approval when you look at the photo, a small blush fanning his cheeks out of pure adoration for you rather than lust at this moment. He listens intently, unsure of if you’re going to work yourself to orgasm or hang up on him before he gets the chance to hear it. 

The point is, Jake is getting a part of you that only Sunghoon should have, and he will be damned to pretend he doesn’t like it. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Waking up with an immense amount of guilt in your head, you almost bail at going to Sunghoon’s house this weekend. You’ve already called out of work simply because you find yourself thinking of Jake more than you should, and the guilt only wavers from you feeling like a piece of shit, to almost being a thought that you can push aside. 

Sunghoon would kill Jake if he found out, and you, what would he even do with you? Break up with you? Insult you? 

Still, the thought of him finding out is the only reason you feel guilty. Because you still don’t regret showing Jake, letting him hear you, or hearing and seeing him. In fact, you don’t intend to stop either. You want him too much at this point, and he seems to be in the same place as you when it comes to this situation. Jake wouldn’t tell on you because then, he would be telling on himself. 

After all, he only moved in with Sunghoon so he could taste freedom outside of his parent’s house. The strict curfews, the password protected websites despite him being a fucking adult, the supervision of his own money and belongings. Sunghoon knew the pain of living there, and that’s why he accepted Jake with open arms. 

Sunghoon was a good brother and an even better boyfriend. You and Jake on the other hand? Jake’s an awful brother and you’re an even worse girlfriend. Sunghoon doesn’t deserve any of this, and he doesn’t deserve any of what’s to come either. You’re in too deep with Jake now though, and the glaring attraction is too strong to ignore. 

Never in your life did you think you could find yourself being unfaithful, let alone with your own boyfriend’s sibling, yet here you are. Only guilty if you get caught. 

Jake had texted you at least three thousand times with apologies throughout the night and morning. Admitting that his head hurt too much this morning to be realizing what the two of you did. He said he wouldn’t approach you when you come over, apologized again, and then promised to never tell Sunghoon and to never hold it against you if you think he’s weird for doing all of that to you.

Reading over his string of messages, you realize that Jake is blaming himself. He feels like he’s taking advantage of you and wanting you to feel secure and safe in something you did without a second thought. 

On his end though, Jake is in his room staring at the two photos you sent to him the night before. Partially wondering if it was all just a dream at first, these pictures of you are the truth of how you feel towards him though. At least last night, that’s how it was. So, when you never text him back today? He doesn’t think too hard about why despite his heart feeling shattered by it. 

When you still show up at that day, he doesn’t question that you’re not eye fucking him the second you walk in through the door either. 

Jake was once again lounging on the couch when you walked in and Sunghoon was nowhere in sight. He hadn’t texted you either. Awkwardly, Jake speaks up before you can question it.

“He told me to let you know that he was gonna be late again. Said something about knowing you’d spam him with needy text messages while he’s in a last-minute work meeting.”

You look to the floor for a second, wondering if the real reason Sunghoon didn’t text you personally like he always did is because he found out somehow. 

“Oh.” You sigh, slipping off your shoes and feeling a wave of anxiety wash over you. 

“He doesn’t know, don’t worry–” Jake assures you as he stands to his feet and heads towards his room. “Sorry about last night, I won't do that again.”

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’ve been slouched against Sunghoon’s couch for at least an hour by now and your mind is still doing a back and forth between taking advantage of this alone time with Jake, or worrying about how you shouldn’t be left alone with him at all.

The glaringly obvious issue in your head right now is the fact that you’re alone with Jake and you’re not upset about it. Jake assured you that Sunghoon didn’t find out, and the fact that Jake is the best source of finding out exactly what Sunghoon knows is more of a comfort than anything to you right now. 

Thinking back to the night before, you remember releasing your orgasm on the phone and hearing him compliment you through it. You have the photo of him saved within your gallery, hidden from your too-trusting boyfriend’s eyes. It was the first time you’ve ever seen Jake’s lower half bare. He really is huge, and it’s a shame, really, that you want it so badly.

It’s not even shocking to you at this point that you can feel guilty and anxious one moment and immediately switch into some sex-starved beast at the very thought of Jake. 

“maybe ill take care of it for you someday, who knows?” The text message you sent to him spreads across your thoughts, knowing full well that you’re probably going to get intimate with Sunghoon later, the least you can do is let Jake have some first if he wants it, right? 

You cautiously stand to your feet with a deep breath. The fact that you allow yourself to continuously dig the hole deeper for yourself? So deep that you’ll never be able to pull yourself from it? It’s laughable at how tiny of a worry that is in your mind when you know that Jake is seething in his bedroom right now.

 Maybe it's just what Jake does to your thoughts? The images of him are too good to be able to ignore, the guilt not nearly enough to make you stop wanting him. 

Sunghoon isn’t in your mind when you reach into your bag and grab the soiled panties you had soaked completely the night before, and Sunghoon barely exists at all in your thoughts when you make your way down the hall and lean against Jake’s closed door. 

“I wouldn’t say no.” was what Jake had messaged you before, guess now is the time to find out. 

Opening his door without so much as a knock, Jake doesn't appear to notice you at all as his back stays turned and he focuses on the screen in front of him. The large headset is sitting comfortably on his ears and you’re sure that the volume is up far too loud to be healthy. You can hear his friend’s yelling directions, where enemies are hiding and where they’re headed next. 

You smirk for a moment, noting how much of a typical college boy Jake is. Messy room, messy hair, messy relationship with his brother’s girlfriend. You can imagine he feels pride in what he was able to do with you, and that’s not even an ego boost on your end. 

You wonder if he’s told his friends anything at all. Not about who he likes or who he’s been getting intimate with even if not too-directly, but like, that he’s been getting fed sexual fantasies by someone in general. You wonder if he talks you up, then again, what if he hasn’t mentioned it at all? 

Why does that thought upset you?

“Where were you last night anyway?” You hear over the too-loud headset as you come up behind Jake with the panties in your hand. 

“Busy getting laid, unlike you losers.” Jake boasts, but you snicker at how he’s both lying and telling the truth.

“Bullshit–” You hear another insult coming through his headset before you finally are right behind him. 

Part of you wants to prove him right so his friends think he’s cool or something, but then again, what if they recognize your voice? Surely these are his friends from back home, some two to three hours from this city. Surely they don’t know you, right?

“No, really.” You lean down against Jake’s headset and speak in a tone that isn’t too common for you and he freezes. 

“Now, hold on–” A voice sounds through his headset and you can’t help but feel happy for him in the way they, for some reason, can’t believe Jake’s got some girl in this city interested in him. 

When Jake tries to turn his body to look at you, you hold the chair in place. Knowing yourself how headsets work, you lift his mic until it clicks, hoping to god the mute function works like it’s supposed to and start talking.

“Don’t move, keep playing if you want.” You say, dangling the panties over his head and lowering them in front of his face.

More arousing than gross, you watch Jake’s face fall forward against them. Part of him can’t believe you’re really doing this right now despite leaving his messages on read. But you are, and these are the panties that he thought about all last night and most of today. He really meant it when he said that would be the only thing he would be thinking about, and here you are, keeping the promise of giving them to him.

Reaching up and clutching the panties, Jake tries to turn towards you again. 

“Stay,” You say. “And hush.” You lower his mic back into place where he is no longer muted and listen as his friends go from talking shit to starting up another game. 

From behind his chair, you’re a little shocked at how good he is at following what you say. He doesn’t move, but you can hear his breathing and the way he struggles to balance it in order to remain some-what normal sounding to his friends when they address him. His fingers are shaking against his keyboard as the game starts, and you think he’s probably thought about this happening to him hundreds of times before. 

Maybe not with you, but still. 

Gamer boys always want this kind of thing. Some girl prodding and tugging at them, sucking them off under the table as they boast to their friends how they can be getting head and still getting gold damage by the time the match is over. 

All you can think about right now is being the person to fulfill the fantasies you assume he has. More turned on by the idea that Jake must want it so badly from you than admitting how badly you want it to be true. 

 When you reach around him, lying your hand against his lap, he’s already incredibly hard and stares down at it as the countdown screen on his game begins. 

From out of sight, you don’t want Jake to see you. In fact, you want to see how badly he plates this game through this, because it’s not only cute but will actually be fucking hilarious. Especially because it’s the first time you’re moving on him rather than him grinding against whatever you have to offer.

Ignoring the call outs of enemies in game, both of you spiral into a world of your own again when you grab his length from over his sweatpants and just–you just hold him for a moment. The weight of it grows much heavier as he somehow manages to get more hard at the fact that you’re in the room with him. Plus, for Jake at least, your used panties sitting right there only drives his cock further to pulse and beg for your hand. 

“Jesus–” Jake groans when you grab him.

“Jesus is right, you haven’t moved from that fucking building you cuck-” Some guy shouts from his head set.

“Shut the fuck up Heeseung, you’re literally in bronze.” Another man shouts.

Jake is silent save for a sharp inhale when you squeeze your palm around him. He knows if he even tries to talk shit right now all of his friends would just fucking know how desperate and embarrassing he is around you. That’s the last thing he needs.

Finally, after a few moments of palming him through his pants, you dip right in. He doesn’t shy away from it either, spreading his legs from under his desk and lifting his ass up slightly so you can pull the pants down to let his cock spring free. 

You silently gasp noting how Jake is even bigger than the photos gave him credit for, thicker than you genuinely imagined now that you see it from over his shoulder. Jake tries to turn his head this time to look at you, but you’re quick to catch his cheek and turn it back to the screen with a chuckle. 

Gripping him again, Jake sighs into his mic and his friend’s screaming goes silent. You’re quick to lift his mic into the muted position just to offer some sort of escape from embarrassment now seeing that he’s incredibly willing to let you do this while his ego is on the line.

“You want them to hear?” You ask, feeling his hips slightly buck into your grip. That sends shivers down your spine, finally feeling it for the first time.

“I don’t care–” He sighs desperately, thrusting his hips up harder. “Please, just don’t stop.”

The way he says it, for some reason, sounds so fucking broken that you could honestly swirl this chair around and impale yourself on him without so much as a second thought. But you contain yourself, now moving your grip up his length and thumbing over the head to feel the sheer amount of pre-cum spilling out of him

“Alright, Jakey.” You soothe, lowering his mic for the last time and wondering just how much he’s going to let his shithead friends hear.

For a few moments, you gently jerk him off just to see his hips chase your fist. He’s needy in the way he moves his body but very fucking good at acting as you start to count each kill he manages to get through this. 

By the time you hear his friends praise him, you feel a little competitive yourself. Shy, needy, desperate little Jake thinks he can get through a game the very first time you actually touch him? Perhaps he thinks he is giving you what you want, but what you want is to see him fall apart. 

You move your hand faster, watching him from behind as he chokes up and slams his head against the headrest of his chair, nearly knocking the headphones off of him. 

“God,” Jake moans, knowing full well that his friends wouldn’t suspect anything if he says such a thing. 

You know that was for you though, so you continue. The rhythm of your hand moving from a slow drag to something painfully fast and unfathomably good. Jake’s head is spinning, thrusting his hips up and gripping his computer mouse so tightly that he thinks he could crush it in his grip. 

When his pre-cum is essentially drenching your palm, the slide of your hand keeps a fast pace, pulling groans out of him every few seconds. 

Jake can’t hold himself back anymore, slamming his head against the headrest of his seat yet again, this time his headset sliding off of his head and falls into the floor. He lols his head from side to side as he finally lets out a full-throated moan, shooting a hand to your wrist and holding it in place so that he can fuck up into it. 

You gasp at that, his grip harsh and far less gentle than you’d expect. The muffled screams of his friends are blatantly obvious and you can’t bring yourself to care if the mic muted itself during its descent to the floor or not. 

He’s choking each moan that threatens to be too loud, and honestly, you can tell he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He goes from releasing your hand just to stare down at the way you grip him, to grabbing it again and fucking into it harder. 

It’s way too endearing seeing him like this. 

He tries to turn to see you again shortly after, so desperate to kiss you, so desperate just to fucking see what you like like when you’re doing this to him, but you do your best to remain behind him as you grab the base of his cock and cause him to groan in pain.

“Let me see you–” He nearly sobs in a frustrated way, and for a moment you contemplate letting him. 

“Let me hear you.” You respond, keeping that same, painfully tight, grip against him and dragging it up to his head, enveloping it and sending sensitive shocks throughout his body. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Jake writhes under the painful grasp, but his hips still chase when you drag your hand back down. 

He’s no longer being quiet, no longer pretending to care about his dead character on the screen, re-spawning and dying every few seconds. He’s a free kill for any enemy player right now and you can tell his friend’s are pissed in the way the screaming from the headset gets louder despite the distance. 

The chat box on screen is being spammed just as aggressively, and Jake can barely even open his eyes to process it. 

“You were playing so well,” You coo out, shifting forward a bit and placing your chin on his shoulder. “What happened, Jakey?” 

He softly moans at the nickname you’ve now used more than once, eyes half open as he glances down at how fast your hand is moving compared to your soft, balanced voice against his ear. He turns his head quickly, trying to catch you off guard, but you pull away.

“Wanna see me so bad, huh?” You chuckle, working him up and knowing that he’s got to be close with the way he shamelessly moans in the most annoyed, frustrated way. 

“Let me kiss you.” He grunts, bucking his hips aggressively, now chasing in full that painful grip you’re keeping against him so well. “I’ll keep my eyes closed, please.”

You contemplate again giving him what he wants, but you figure he’s already getting more than enough. 

“Oh? You’ll keep your eyes closed? Don’t you want to look at me?” 

Jake is desperate now, hands moving to the armrests of his chair as he grips them hard, hips wildly stuttering in your grasp. 

“Fuck, yes.” He lets out, dropping his head with a deep breath and then throwing his head back with an even longer moan. 

You can’t tell if that was him answering you, or simply reacting to what his body is feeling, and you don’t really care. He’s already there, walking on the thin line of orgasm and willing to take whatever it is you give him. He no longer wants anything, he’s just experiencing. 

You watch him from behind very closely, the shiver running from his toes straight to his ears was obvious enough.

“That’s it,” You whisper from behind. “Give it to me.”

Jake’s entire body tenses against the chair, you can feel it stress from the way his legs spread wider and his hips go from quick thrusts to short, drawn-out drags against your palm. The image of him doing that between your legs washes over every single one of your thoughts. He would do that. Burying himself so deeply as he spills out inside of you, thrusting in and slowly dragging his hips out, just to thrust in again to push his seed impossibly deeper.

“That’s so hot,” Jake comments with a deep breath, and only then do you realize the small moan you’d let out during that intense thought of him. Especially as you watch his cum is spill out in loads, leaving a mess all over himself and your hands.

Finally, after making a mess of him, you smile to yourself and do your best to appear not as flustered as you actually are.

Either way, a job well done. 

You opt to make a grand exit, saying nothing after releasing his cock and sauntering out of the room in silence to leave him to his thoughts. You could still hear his friends screaming through the microphone, and he doesn’t even call out after you. Jake must feel on top of the world right now, because you know that you do.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Sunghoon comes home later than he did last time, tired and droopy. He finds himself drawn to you more than usual, noting that your eyes are sparkling a little brighter upon walking through his door. 

You put Jake in the back of your head much like you always tried to do when Sunghoon is around you these days. Your love for your boyfriend is still blatant and honest when you’re next to him, not at all feeling pity for Jake having to see it. Jake should know who it is you love, despite the fact that you jerked him off mere hours ago.

When Sunghoon is next to you, when his arm is around you and his eyes are on you, you don’t question for a second that everything you’ve been doing behind his back will come back on you, and it’ll be well-deserved pain. But there’s still a part of you that hopes you can keep Sunghoon forever and always be happy beside him. You’re actively betraying him, his own flesh and blood is helping you dig this hole deeper and deeper. So deep that Sunghoon can’t even see the bottom where Jake’s got his hands on you. 

Fully intending to keep them both, you find yourself feeling more fulfilled despite the awful moral. Sunghoon isn’t willing to share, but Jake is. 

And you, you don’t have to share.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Saturday was as normal as always. Jake pops in and out of his room, not even once acting as if something suspicious is going on. If anything, Sunghoon is a little more happy to see you spend time with Jake when he’s not in his room.

 It was awkward at first. Jake’s always been shy but it seems like he’s loosened up after realizing you’re a permanent part of the picture for as long as you’re with Sunghoon. He’s endeared by the way you bully his brother the same way he does. 

Even that little crush Jake had on you when he first met you appears to have fallen into more of a sibling-like relationship to Sunghoon. He thought it was cute that Jake had a crush, after all, it’s you. Sunghoon fucking fell head over heels when you gave him attention and wouldn’t be caught dead releasing his grip on you once he asked you to be his girlfriend. The point is, Sunghoon knew Jake had a small crush but was pleased to see it turn into something more casual and comfortable.

 He likes his life, loves his girlfriend, and loves his brother. Nothing could get better than spending time with the two of you, even if Jake jumps up to go be a recluse in his room from time to time.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Jake,” Heeseung grits through the mic. 

“What?” Jake sighs nonchalantly, throwing his arms behind his head as he smiles to himself through the webcam.

“You should be embarrassed.” Heeseung argues. “We didn’t wanna hear that shit.”

“I muted him.” Jay says with a shrug through his own camera.. 

“Yeah, me too.” Jungwon follows up, all eyes now falling to Heeseung, who is avoiding the camera and scratching the back of his neck with a shrug.

“I was in a tight situation! I couldn’t tab out.” Heeseung defends himself easily, still a darker shade than usual.

“I think she wanted you guys to hear.” Jake laughs quietly, whispering. 

“Why are you whispering?” Jay asks, leaning forward towards his camera as if Jake was about to whisper out again, this time with a deeper secret. 

Instead, Jake shifts his eyes and changes the subject. As much as he would love to tell his friends that he’s managed to get a handjob (not the foot thing) from his brother’s girlfriend, he’s sure they’d have a little more respect for him. But it feels like a betrayal to say it out loud, regardless of how hot the idea is in his head.

“Because my brother is with his girlfriend and it’s weird if they know what happens when they’re not here.” Jake explains, receiving a nod from everyone.

“She left her panties,” Jake now adds in a cheeky voice, removing his hands from behind his head and sitting up from his relaxed position. “Wanna see?”

Heeseung was, obviously, the first to nod his head and Jake didn’t really need the others to agree anyway, because they’re a group of college guys who are always either talking about getting laid or how to raise their rank when playing competitive games.

“Damn,” Jay laughs as he sees the thin fabric come into view. “Are they dirty?” 

“Oh yeah,” Jake boasts, spreading out the fabric and bringing them close to the camera. 

“That’s so gross.” Heeseung waves them off, averting his eyes and trying to pretend he’s not interested.

“Jake’s full of shit.” Jungwon chimes in quickly, only to be shut down by Heeseung’s weird need to defend.

“You heard her talk to him through the mic, there’s no way he’s lying.” 

“Uh, no I didn’t. I had him muted the second I saw his hero standing in the middle of the map without moving.” Jay argues back.

“Well, I lied, I didn’t mute him.” Jungwon finally admits. “Still, though. There’s no way she gave you those.”

Jake can’t stop smiling. The fact that he can barely believe what happened himself is enough not to argue. They’re your panties, that’s your scent in them, and that was your hand wrapped around him yesterday. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Waking up on Sunday felt, again, normal. You hadn’t heard Jake through the walls the night before but Sunghoon sure did. He mostly drowned out the sounds by putting in his headphones though, unlike what you would have done. Sunghoon did, however, wake up hard considering the two of you passed out the night before without so much as a lingering hand.

To his dismay, you groan at his roaming hands as he wakes you up. Sunghoon knows you love being woken up this way, but he also knows to stop if you’re making a sound like this over it. 

“What’s wrong?” He says, pulling his hand back and instead, placing it on your waist so that he can pull you closer and into a cuddle. 

You don’t respond, cracking an eye open and immediately feeling your head pound at the sunlight shining through the windows. You feel bad that since thursday, the only intimacy you’ve had has been with Jake despite being in love with the man against you. Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that you immediately, physically, feel like shit this morning, you’d be jumping Sunghoon’s bones. 

“Head is pounding.” 

“Ah,” Sunghoon smiles, hugging you against him and rubbing circles against your skin with his thumb. “It’s okay, you can sleep in. I’m gonna go make some breakfast.”

Your boyfriend’s good mood doesn’t go unnoticed, nor does your headache. You take him up on that offer and immediately fall back to sleep.

Later, you wake to Sunghoon gently patting your cheek. 

“You want some food? Might help?” 

You nod, squinting your eyes and sitting up a little too quickly. You glance around as he turns away and heads back towards the kitchen, and then you stretch your arms out. Things feel too fucking normal for you to be doing what you’ve been doing. This headache is well fucking deserved, surely. 

Making your way into the kitchen, you note that Jake’s bedroom door is open but he isn’t anywhere to be found.

“Where’s Jake?” You ask casually, sitting down at the table and rubbing your temples.

“Said something about one of his friends coming to a city nearby and wanting to go hang out with him. Probably Heeseung.” 

Your heart starts beating in your ears at the thought that you really thought Sunghoon wouldn’t know any of Jake’s friends. Sure, you thought that maybe they were just online friends, or maybe people Jake met after Sunghoon moved out of his parent’s house, but you recognize that fucking name. 

Thankfully, you had changed your voice just slightly as you spoke to Jake the other day. Surely this isn’t what would ruin the entire arrangement.

“Ah,” You groan. “Finally we have the house to ourselves and I have to wake up with a migraine? What lousy luck.” 

“It’s okay, really.” Sunghoon smiles, sitting a plate of food down in front of you. “Besides, we both know you like the thrill of needing to be quiet.” 

He’s joking, you know he is, but it was the truth before this whole thing with Jake started. 

“If we really wanted to be alone, I'd be at your apartment every weekend.”Your boyfriend adds, planting a kiss to the top of your head and heading towards the medicine cabinet. “Little weird that it has to be my brother that we are keeping quiet from, but whatever.”

“Didn’t know i’d be this into it, honestly.” You admit, feeling open enough to at least tell him that you’re very into the idea of someone hearing you. You just won't admit that you want it to be Jake.

“I mean, I personally am not into this type of thing. It’s a little uncomfortable for me.” Sunghoon sits down and hands you two painkillers. “But I doubt he’s actually listening. I apologized after the first time and he said he usually just puts in headphones and goes to sleep.”

You hold back the smile of Jake’s blatant lies towards Sunghoon. 

“So, I guess I don’t entirely mind feeding into your little fantasies of being heard, or caught, or whatever.”

Your boyfriend waves off the conversation with a smile, ultimately willing the fact that it is weird to him out of his head. If that was a new thing you realized you liked, the only way you would have found out is by having someone else in the house when the two of you do those things. Unfortunately, Jake’s the reason. 

 In Sunghoon’s head, he’s mature enough to discuss it like an adult with his brother. Guidelines and rules, moving Jake in wasn’t going to change his sex life with you, if anything, he had already told Jake to invest in some decent headphones or earplugs because he’s gonna hear some shit otherwise.

You allow the conversation to die as you work up an appetite. Thankfully Sunghoon is an amazing cook, though he only did it one or two nights a week considering how spent his job makes him feel. You’re thankful he cooked this morning, and even more thankful for these two little pills that will hopefully knock your headache out within the hour.

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Come Monday, you’re thankful you get to work from home. You sleep in and try your best not to think about the fact that Sunghoon knows the friends that heard you be intimate with Jake. You’re even more thankful for this week away from your boyfriend’s house because, even though you’ve processed everything, you feel like you should probably be alone for a while and really think about what you’re doing.

When Jake is around or texting you, it’s hard to think straight because you genuinely want him so fucking bad. And when Sunghoon is beside you, or texting you, all you can do is imagine a future with him.

The once bright, clear future of Sunghoon in a tuxedo standing in front of you at some extravagant altar becomes a little more foggy at the thought of where Jake would fit into it. Would he be behind Sunghoon, watching him marry you to start a real life together? Would he be somewhere in the crowd, waiting to object and expose you for the awful girlfriend you are? Or even worse, would he not be there at all? Running away and disappearing never to insert himself into your life or his brother’s life ever again?

You don’t want to think about the future right now. Everything you’ve been doing has been so selfish and so fucking fulfilling that you can’t bring yourself to feel any amount of pity for Sunghoon and the way he trusts you fully. You never once gave him a reason to not trust you, and you think maybe Jake hasn’t given him a reason either. 

But god, he shouldn’t trust either of you at all. He’s at work, making money, living his life with a supposed loving girlfriend all while offering his little brother an ounce of freedom. What does he get in response to his hard work and kindness? His brother wanting to tongue fuck his girlfriend? And worse yet, his girlfriend wants it even more than his brother does? 

Your mind is burning through scenarios all day if you have it in you to feel bad. Another scenario involves you, married to Sunghoon and sneaking Jake out of your bed when Sunghoon returns from work. Even more scenarios of Sunghoon finding out and hating you forever, leaving you and meeting someone better. How could you have them both and keep it going? Is something like that even possible?

Then you get a text.The glaring reality blows right past your head when you’re expecting it to be Jake but you see Sunghoon’s name on the screen. You still feel just as excited though. 

Sunghoon: good news and great news

You: oh? 

Sunghoon: Good news: a co-worker has family issues and had to drop out of the business trip coming up.

You were about to question why that’s good news, but then Sunghoon quickly texts again.

Sunghoon: great news: i am now being asked to attend the event and it could get me a pretty big promotion. 

You: You’re gonna go right?? When is it?

Honestly, the way your heart swells at your boyfriend moving up in the world could knock anyone on their feet. No one would ever guess what you do behind his back, because again, you haven’t lost an ounce of love for this man and you probably never will.

Sunghoon: I leave tomorrow if I accept.

You: how long is it? do you need help packing since it’s such short notice?

Sunghoon: only three days, so i’d be back on friday and still get to see you this weekend

You: it’s a win/win! i can come over tonight since i’m working from home today.

Sunghoon: you good to sleep over and drop me off in the morning at the airport? i can give them an answer now so they can work out the transport and get the tickets transferred to me. 

You: you didn’t need to even ask!! you should have immediately said yes! I’ll be over tonight, i’m proud of you babe! 

Sunghoon: love you :) 

And so there it is. The glaring issue about to become a blatant, full blown affair. And like, you don’t want to get it twisted. You are so fucking proud of Sunghoon and so fucking glad that everything in his life appears to be rushing him straight to major success, but also, he’s going to be gone for three days and that’s three days to try and get over this whole Jake phase. By using Jake. By fucking him, specifically.

It doesn’t help that just a few moments later, presumably after Sunghoon lets Jake know the plan, Jake is texting you.

Jake: Sunghoon’s leaving for 3 days

You: yep 

Jake: ….do i even need to say it

You: nope

Jake: gonna clean my room

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Dropping Sunghoon off is weirdly bitter sweet. His confidence is clearly through the roof as he kisses you goodbye. Even after he walks away, he quickly rushes back to you and asks for a second kiss, citing it’s for good luck. You knew he’d do amazing for this event, even with it so last minute. Everything Sunghoon did was with effort and thought put into it. You’re not the only person who sees it either. 

That was the sweet part anyway. The bitter part is the guilt finally coming to you like it should have weeks ago. The fact that Sunghoon is walking off to get on an airplane and Jake is at home cleaning his room to fuck you in it? It’s obvious that you don’t deserve either of them. 

Still, the guilt hitting you now is unnerving. It took so long to come, and only consumes you when Sunghoon isn’t around to nearly witness the infidelity? Shaking yourself of disgust, you head out of the airport and still find yourself pulling into Sunghoon’s driveway against your better judgement. 

You sit in your car for a moment, thinking back on all of those small moments with Jake, wondering now if you still want him or if those moments were enough to satisfy the curiosity of what could be. 

As expected, with a huff, you accept the fact that even through the guilt, you still want him.

Stepping out of your car and walking up to the door felt too unfamiliar and nerve wracking, especially with the fact that you can hear your heart skip beats and your body melt away into the hole you fucking dug for yourself. However, the moment Jake opens the door and looks at you, before you can even unlock it yourself, every single guilt ridden thought disappears. 

You don’t know what it is about him, and surely you’ve never felt this way before, because goddamn is it a blinding kind of feeling. Thinking back as you look at him, he seems different now despite having the same face and body language.

 Before, Jake was cute with his little crush. Weird even, with the way he lingered for too long to see you kiss his brother. Now, when you look at him, he looks like he isn’t at all the cute, shy little brother. He’s Jake, a man with wants and needs that have your name written all over them. You can’t fucking help yourself, and now being able to indulge yourself fully along side him, Sunghoon is drowned out in the back of your mind, as usual when you find yourself alone with Jake. 

Jake is still shy and timid in the way he moves but he knows just as well as you do what’s about to happen and isn’t at all shying away from the fact that he’s about to fulfill every dirty little thought he’s had about you since he met you. Hell, since he saw photos of you that Sunghoon sent before he ever met you.

On cloud nine, Jake is timid when he, for the first time, makes a move on you himself. It’s shocking that he does it at all if you’re being honest, but you lean into him on instinct. All he does is grab your hand, a touch that wouldn’t raise suspicions at all in Sunghoon if he were to see it, but to you it’s the most intimate thing he could do at this moment. Because he’s leading you, and his eyes are hungry and unable to pull from you. 

Not a single word is said, everything already spoken and understood with nothing more than the look when he opened that fucking door. Jake leads you to his room, and the energy in the air is so electrifying that it scares you. Never has a touch to your hand, or a leading pull to a bedroom made you feel so weightless. 

You think back to when you held his length in your hand, you had all of the power that day. Now, you don’t think Jake realizes what he could get away with. You’re falling into the same mindset you have with Sunghoon, one where you want, need, and could beg to be touched, but you still yourself from falling too far into it. 

Jake is even more gentle when he lets your hand go and turns towards you with a deep sigh, as if he’s preparing his entire being for what’s coming. Both of you like a deer in headlights, as if this wasn’t intentional or planned, you smile at him. 

Jake lets out a nervous laugh at your smile, shaking his head and looking down. He’s already stiff beneath his pants, which are conveniently unbuttoned and unzipped already. Even you, shamelessly wearing a dress with no panties. Sunghoon thought it was for him, and he damn well did fuck you this morning while on a confident-high before you took him to the airport.

You knew Jake could hear it, and he didn’t appear to care because in all fairness, Jake did not give a damn. He knew you weren’t his at that moment, but you fucking would be before the night is up. The next three days, you’re his. Even if he never has you again.

That deer-in-the-headlights look from Jake fades as his eyes take you in without hiding it for the first time. You imagine he will fall apart if he were to trace his hands under your dress and find that you are completely bare, you imagine you would fall apart much faster if he touched you at all.

It happens so fast. Too fast, almost, with the way he steps up to you confidently. You just now realize that he’s taller than you when he skews his head and looks down at your lips. Well, you knew he was taller than you, but at this moment he seems so much bigger than usual. 

 His breathing is uneven as he stares at your lips and you can tell he’s doing his best to be confident because you haven’t made a move towards him at all like you usually would. 

Looking up at him, you want to reach up and grip his hair. His lips are so plush, clearly freshly coated with chapstick. His skin is practically glowing save for the few blemishes that the fringe on his forehead covers, you find yourself wondering if he’s taking this moment to study you too.

“I’m having a really hard time holding back,” Jake whispers out, inches from your face. “This is going to be embarrassing for me.”

“Don’t hold back.” You encourage him without doubt, hoping that he can break past that last little boundary the two of you haven’t crossed yet. The one where he can kiss you, touch you, have you. Only because you can’t bring yourself to do it at this moment, for some reason.

The feeling of his lips touching yours is more bruising than you think he intended them to be, but the desperate feeling was all the same as your own, you think. Never have you actually stopped to think of kissing him or how he would go about it. Like running in blind, you’re learning that Jake knows what to do with his tongue, how to pace himself despite not wanting to, and how to reach up and hold your face in such a way that you feel like this could very well be a dream.

A perfect dream. 

His hands are cupping your face though, you can feel the way his fingertips press into your cheeks as he makes his attempts to deepen the kiss. And fuck, he’s kissing you like you’re his girlfriend. He still moves his lips in a hungry and desperate way though, in a way that has you struggling to breathe by the force of it alone. 

When his hands drop from your face and fall to your waist, every new place he touches feels like it’s set ablaze. You press forward against his chest, walking him back as you lick into to kiss, all the way until he falls back on his bed with a happy and dazed ‘oof’ sound. 

Still, his face is slack as he stares up at you, eyes struggling to stay trained on your face for too long as you begin to take off your jacket and reach over to pull at his shirt. So badly do you want to see him shirtless again, and he doesn’t argue, eagerly lifting it off of his body and lying back again. 

Now that the initial intimacy has been established, you finally come back to yourself, thinking more clearly and finding a small list in your head of things you want and need to do for him. Starting with letting him really look at you.

“I know how much you like my panties–” You smile, standing in front of him and trying to keep your eyes averted from his length threatening to break through his pants. 

“Yes, god, let me see it.” Jake urges you, tilting his head with a swallow and training his eyes on your thighs. 

He thinks you must be wearing the prettiest pair today, for him, not for his brother. But when you lift your leg and straddle him, his face contorts to confusion and then to pleasure when you sit against his cock. Of course, with the fabric covering his length, he still can’t tell that you’re not actually wearing any panties at all.

“You wanna see?” You ask for his clarification, bunching your dress up in your hands and preparing to lift it so he can see your bare folds sitting against him. 

Jake blinks at you, nodding his head and nibbling on his bottom lip. He’s doing everything in his power not to reach up and grab your waist just to guide you on him. He’s afraid to move too fast, he’s afraid to embarrass himself with how fucking desperate he is for you right now.

“Look.” You say, nodding between your legs and lifting your dress.

“Oh god,” Jake gasps as his eyes focus on the fact that you’re leaving a small wet spot against his pants. 

That’s your pussy on him. 

Without a second thought his hands are on your waist, pushing and pulling you forward and backwards on his lap. You blink hard at the sensation of the fabric rubbing against your lips harshly, and then open your eyes to look at him again.

He is still staring between your legs, almost losing himself to this alone. Then again, it’s the first time he’s ever seen you bare and he cannot get past the fact that Sunghoon gets to see it whenever he fucking wants to. 

“I can feel it–” Jake chokes back in a happy groan, referring to your slick seeping through his pants and onto him. 

You smile at him, now moving your hips on your own as you pull his hands away and push them to lay above his head. If he thinks this is good, you want to see how fast he reaches for you again.

It’s so easy when you lift yourself up, and incredibly cute in the way his eyes follow your pussy when you lift. He doesn’t even realize that you shove his sweats down and sit right back down, this time coating him in full with your slippery folds. 

“God, fuck,” He moans in disbelief, and just as expected his hands shoot to your waist and hold you down against him. You’re not sure if it’s intentional or not, but he’s incredibly sexy in the way he moves without thinking. 

“Fuck?” You question cutely, forcing your hips to slide up his length despite him trying to hold you there. 

“How are you already so wet?” He questions in a groan, still trying to process the fact that this is actually happening. His grip on you loosens, letting you move and instead grabbing the hem of your dress himself and holding it up so he can watch you slide against him better. 

“How are you so big?” You try to compliment back, feeling him between your folds and wondering just how deep he could fuck you if he so wanted to. “So, so big.” You groan out this time, feeling the head of his cock bumping against your clit every few seconds.

Jake obviously doesn’t answer, his fingers are gripping your dress so tightly and his eyes are burning the image of you doing this into his head. He never wants to forget this moment of feeling you against him for probably the first and last time, because in all realness, this can’t happen again if he thinks too hard about it. 

“I want to fuck you so bad,” He admits suddenly, out of breath. “Just this once, please.” 

You nod cutely, swiping his hands away from your dress and lifting it off of you in full. His eyes are now glued to your tits and whatever it was he was saying is long forgotten as he watches them jiggle when you slide up against him again.

The way he shuts up is entirely too arousing. You can see him thinking about you, practically able to see him process every part of your body on top of him. 

“Take your pants off, Jakey.” You finally say, frustrated that clothing always gets in the way of things. 

He does as he’s told when you stand to your feet in wait, and instantly he’s lifting himself and grabbing you, pulling you right back on him. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Jake whines, pushing your hips against him and keeping himself upright so that your tits are pressed right up against his own, careful not to fall back against the mattress so he can plant his lips against your neck. “Oh my god, you have no idea.”

You feel a bite and pull back from him, hips stilling in short panic.

“Don’t–” You scold him, and he simply nods and goes back to kissing against your neck and shoulder, because if that’s the only thing he can’t do in this situation, he’d be a damn idiot to argue with you about it.

“Right, wouldn’t want him knowing that I got you this wet, right?” Jake mocks the situation as a whole as his confidence blooms, using reality as a form of ego boost, hoping to god that you lean into it rather than run from it. “He’d know I do it better.”

It makes you a little angry, but you get it. Jake’s confidence must be through the roof because never would you have imagined him speaking to you like this, or mentioning his brother at all at a time like this. 

“Prove it and maybe I’ll play along.” You try to challenge him, but you know that he might actually be right. 

His size rivals his brother’s, but can he work it the same way? Can the shy, timid little brother actually satisfy you the way your boyfriend does?

Jake pulls back from kissing your neck only for a moment, moving to your lips and wincing at the feeling of your folds sliding against him still, maybe he did get a little too cocky there. 

“Prove it?” He breathes against your lips, gripping your waist tighter and guiding you up. 

You already know what he’s doing and don’t shy away from it. Usually there’s foreplay, and you’re sure he wanted to do more than just fuck you, but too little too late. You’re hungry for it and so is he, if the sounds between you are enough to go by. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you lift yourself and allow his hand to disappear between the two of you. You can feel him position himself right at your entrance and all you need to do is sink down. 

You lend a pause, staring at him for a moment. Looking straight into his eyes and recognizing that for the first time in over two years now, you’re about to fuck someone that isn’t Sunghoon. 

He stares back at you with anticipation, and when you sink down just a tiny bit, he’s lunging his lips forward and kissing you again so desperately that any doubt in your mind withers away with all that guilt you know you shouldn’t be ignoring. 

Continuously as you sink down inch by inch, feeling him stretch you out in a searing type of pleasure, Jake just groans into your mouth with wet kisses. You can feel his chest heave against you as he feels your walls start to envelop him and when you’re finally seated, he pulls you down with him as he falls against the mattress.

There, in a hug, his mindless kissing becomes even more vacant as he holds you in place, fucking his hips up and into you in an aggressive pace without giving you any time to adjust. His lips release from yours and his moans come out strangled, breathless, and entirely desperate for you.

He’s deeper inside of you than any man has ever been able to reach without the aid of a toy, and the head and thickness of it is far better than any plastic could ever be. You imagine you sound just as desperate as he does right now. Unable to wiggle in his grasp, you just take it. You were well versed in that, at least.

Jake holds you there for at least a full minute, feeling you clenching and drenching his cock in a way that makes the slide easy and pleasurable for him. His hips can move much faster this way, but the fear of cumming too quickly forces him to slow his movements and open his eyes in a breathy moan.

Your legs are spread out over his own, his cock is buried into you completely, and you fucking just take it? God, No wonder Sunghoon is in love with you. 

Jake looks at you lovingly, wishing so badly that his brother wasn’t in the way of having this all the time. And then? his arms release you and he’s lifting your face with one of his hands, thumb and pointer finger pinching your chin. 

Jake’s arms release you from the hug and he uses one hand to lift your face.

“Sorry, I just–” He says before getting a look at your face. Glancing between both of your empty eyes, he ends up losing any thought in his head when he notes how blown your pupils are, face still contorted in a silent moan as you start to grind yourself against him. Chasing the pressure he was just slamming into you. 

What he was gonna say was that he was sorry he lost control for a second, but what he ends up saying now is “Fuck, I want this so bad.” 

Despite that Jake is getting everything he wants at this moment, all he can do is look at you and watch you grind your clit against his pelvic bone, chasing a pleasure that he knows you’re feeling intensely right now. He thinks of himself in pity, all those nights of wanting exactly this and never knowing that he actually fucking gets to do it.

Without thinking, Jake doesn’t even know why he does it, but he keeps his cock buried deeply into you and knocks you over. He follows your body, adjusting himself behind you into the big spoon position and pulling your leg up to drape over his hip. 

There, he slips out of you only slightly to hear you whine at the loss. You’ve gone so silent save for moaning and he thinks he’s in love with you. So fucking in love.

He makes quick work to stuff you again and smiles at the way you throw your head back, opening your pretty and glistening eyes just for a split second to look at him. 

One hand now reaches around you and cradles one of your tits, the other snaking between your legs and experimentally tapping against your clit. 

“That’s right,” He boasts, trying his best not to drool as your droopy eyes struggle to stay on him for too long. “Look at me.” 

“Damn, Jake,” You manage to say in an aroused laugh, realizing that he’s really fucking you in the spooning position now? Of course he fucking would. It’s such an intimate position, and the angle, you could argue, is one of the best you think you’ve ever felt. 

Paired with his words? Goddamn.

“Hm?” He hums against your shoulder once he lays his head there, feeling your body jerk as he fucks his length into you repeatedly. “Feels good?” He asks, moaning himself this time at the way you close your legs around his hand and grind back against him.

He’s quick to abandon your clit to push your legs open again, draping it right back in the same spot over his own hip. He can imagine how spread out you look, despite not being able to see it in this position. He’s heard time and time that women like this angle, and if your sounds are anything to go by? He can say that it’s absolutely fucking true.

This time, when you reach back and pull his face to yours, now kissing him with more force than you have before, he loses composure again. Any chance of his focus being on you and you alone is now long fucking gone, baby. 

Even as he tries to put his fingers against your clit again, the movements are messy, messy, messy. Thankfully, his hips are fucking you with full intent now. He’s trying his best to control how good he feels so that way he can at least try to focus on your pleasure more, but god, fuck.

After one particularly deep thrust, you shiver and he fucking loses it.

“Oh my god, I found it?” He asks, experimentally pressing his hips up the same way. “Right here? Baby, yeah?” He continues, repeatedly slamming you with the head of his cock bumping just where you need it.

“Fuck-” You choke out, your body jolting without intent again and feeling shockwaves of what you can only describe as mini orgasms shooting throughout your muscles. “Ahh- Jake, don’t stop!” You frantically encourage him, mouth falling slack against his lips now, giving in to the pleasure and now losing all ability to speak at all. 

He does, pressing his hips harder this time, a grunt spilling from his bitten lips with every forceful thrust. Repeatedly hitting the soft spot inside of you, over and over again, ultimately sending you into a world of something you’ve, strangely, never felt before in terms of sex. 

Jake watches you roll your head back, moaning out with a slack and somewhat pained face as he does it. He cannot fucking believe he found your g-spot on the first try and he will be damned to stop now. 

He focuses now, grunting at the way your walls clench him so tightly each time he hits your spot. He’s determined to make you cum, make you babble out strings of his name and how good he feels. He needs you to feel so good that you’ll never think twice about letting him do this again, and again, and again, no matter how close you could be to getting caught. 

His hips are going at a pace faster now than he thought possible, and with his fingers messily working your clit, paired with his cock driving into the single most pleasurable spot inside of you, you find your body tensing up and your mind erasing every thought and memory. 

It’s so much to feel at once but you feel too weak to stop him for event the smallest moment of collecting yourself. 

“Ah, you’re squeezing me–” He breathes out, words broken with his own moans as he does his best to keep pace to work you through it. “So tight–” He manages to breathe out again, not yet realizing that you’re quite literally about to cum all over him.

And you want to. So you fucking do. You cum hard around him, clenching him so tightly that Jake stills his hips in disbelief at the way your body moves when you release. He can barely get the words out when he speaks, feeling you drench him with liquid fire. “Are you–?” He chokes out, jerking his hips back and trying to pull out of you for his own release.

“Do not pull out,” You groan as your orgasm continues to choke you of your breath. “Feels so good, just–” You cry out, pressing yourself back and enveloping the inches of him that he had pulled from you. “I wanna feel it.” 

“Fuck. fuck.” He moans out louder this time, hands gripping your waist and holding you against him as he shakes behind you. You can feel him twitch inside of you as he shoots those thick, white ropes of cum into you. 

For a brief moment you remembered when he released from your hand, pressing himself slowly and roughly into your first. 

You were right. 

Jake buries himself as deep as he can go, only grinding back a few centimeters before pressing himself flush against you as another spurt paints the flesh inside of you. You feel so full, and he’s packed so tightly in you that you genuinely think this is the first time you’ve ever actually felt a man cum inside of you. Like really feel it. Every fucking pulse of it. 

Unfortunately, just like that, you feel empty with how fast he pulls out of you. You’re in shock, actually. 

“Where are you going?” You ask in a cracked and panicked voice, looking behind you as he backs away from you momentarily. 

“I–” He pauses, looking at you and the way your eyes look back at him in a different type of panic. “Don’t know.” He says, getting back onto the bed and reluctantly putting his arms around you in a hug.

“I don’t know how to like, end this.” He admits against your shoulder, still trying to steady his breath from the orgasm he had ten seconds ago. 

Instantly, Jake found himself in a post-nut state of guilt and kind of scared of how much he adored fucking you. 

“End it?” You ask, pulling away from him. “You want to stop?”

“You don’t?” He asks, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes. 

“I mean, we both know what we are doing…” You trail off, sitting yourself up and fully aware that the guilt will always hit you at random times, but still, you want Jake. “And we still kept doing it.”

“Yeah, but–” 

“But?” You ask, turning your body to face him as he sits himself up now. The nakedness of your bodies is not at all embarrassing at this moment. 

“Jake, I don’t think I can like, not want you if you still want me.”

He nods his head reluctantly, wondering if this is you offering the fact that you’re willing to straight up, blatantly, and shamelessly cheat on Sunghoon with him.

“Ugh,” Jake puts his face in his hands and then runs his fingers through his hair. “This is so fucked up.”

“Yeah, it is.” You admit, leaning towards him. “But If we never talk about it…,”

“No, no! I wouldn’t.” Jake throws his hands up defensively. “I only feel bad when you’re not here.” He says, now questioning himself. “I don’t think I’d be able to like, not ever do this again.”

“So we are both in this same little fucked up boat?” You ask. 

“I guess so.” He laughs at himself, and then at you. “If he ever finds out, you know i’ll be found in a ditch somewhere, right?”

You laugh, despite it being the worse fucking joke in the world. Running hand in hand with Jake into a fire that you both fucking searched for is kind of…scary? But also elating?

“Well, I’m not gonna fucking tell him.” You say, pressing the important matter at hand. “The point is, Jake, I need you to understand that I’ve never cheated on anyone.”

Somehow, he lightens the mood.

“Damn, I must be special.”

You guess he is.

You met in the library every Tuesday afternoon. Same table, same corner, same routine. You were already there when he walked in, and you felt that familiar flutter in your chest.

He dropped his bag on the floor, and you watched him settle into the chair across from you. His hair was messy, like he'd been running his hands through it. He looked tired but happy, that easy smile already on his face.

"Professor let us out early," he said, grinning.

"Lucky you."

"Lucky us." He leaned forward. "Now I get to spend extra time with my favorite person."

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed. The usual performance.

"Your favorite person? What about Heeseung?"

"Heeseung doesn't bring me cookies."

"You only like me for my baking."

"And your cute personality." He grinned.

You laughed softly, the soft, sweet laugh you'd perfected. It made people think you were shy and made them want to protect you.

Jake fell for it every single time.

"You're studying already?" He peered at your notes. "Midterms aren't for another week."

"I like to be prepared."

"You're going to get a perfect score. You always do."

"It's not about perfect scores." You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "It's about understanding the material."

He chuckled then his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long. "Hey, are you free this weekend? The boys are having a party, nothing crazy. Just people."

You tilted your head. "People?"

"Okay, lots of people. But it's at Jay's place, so it'll be chill. Well, as chill as Jay's place gets."

You considered it. You'd been to a handful of parties with Jake before, and you'd spent the night in the corner, sipping water and smiling politely while his friends tried to talk to you.

"Maybe," you said. "I'll think about it."

"Don't think too hard." He grinned. "You might hurt yourself."

You swatted his arm. He laughed.

And you watched the way his eyes crinkled, the way his whole face lit up and you thought about how easy it would be to tell him the truth.

But you didn't. Because whatever this was, was too much fun.

The party at Jay's house was on a Saturday night.

You wore something soft and innocent. A pale pink loose top that fell off one shoulder, jean skirts that were just tight enough to be cute but not too tight. Your hair was down, and you'd put on just enough makeup to look like you weren't wearing any.

You fitted the image of the innocent sweetheart so perfectly but deep down you were a girl who was anything but innocent.

The house was packed when you arrived. Music vibrated through the walls, and the smell of cheap beer and drunk students filled the place. You pushed through the crowd, smiling politely at people who recognized you, nodding at the ones who called out your name.

Y/N! Hey! You made it!

The sweetheart is here!

Where's your boyfriend?

You laughed at that one. Soft and shy. "Jake's not my boyfriend. We're just friends."

"Sure," the guy said, winking. "Whatever you say pretty."

You found Jake in the kitchen, surrounded by his friends. His head was thrown back laughing at something, his whole body relaxed in a way it never was around you. Around you he was careful and gentle. Like you might break.

It used to make you feel special. Now it just made you want to scream.

"Y/N!" He spotted you and crossed the room in quick strides. "You came."

"Told you I would." You smiled up at him. "You look nice."

He always did but tonight he'd made an effort dark baggy jeans, a fitted white shirt, his hair pushed back from his forehead. He also looked like he'd been drinking.

"You look nice too," he said. "You always look nice. But like. Tonight. You look really-" He stopped himself, clearing his throat. "Do you want a drink?"

"Water's fine."

"Of course it is." He grinned, reaching into the fridge. "Water for the sweetheart."

You watched him, your expression soft and eyes wide. The perfect picture of innocence. Jake's hand found the small of your back, a warm, possessive weight as he introduced you to yet another friend whose name you'd forget in seconds. You smiled, demure, your fingers curled around a glass of water that had long gone warm. You were the perfect picture of sweetness, his sweetheart, the girl who sipped water at a party full of cheap beer and bad decisions.

"I'm gonna grab another round with the guys," Jake leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "You okay here?"

You nodded, your lashes fluttering. "I'm fine. I think I'm going to find the bathroom."

He kissed your temple, a soft gesture that made something in your chest tighten, though you weren't sure if it was guilt or amusement. "Don't wander off too far."

You gave him a delicate smile, the kind that made him melt and slipped through the crowd. The hallway to the bathroom was darker, the music muffled by the walls. You pushed the door open, but before you could step inside, a hand shot out, caging you against the wall.

"Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart."

Your heart didn't jump. You knew that voice, the voice that had haunted a handful of late nights a couple weeks ago.

Jeno. A knowing smirk curling his lips as he looked down at you. He was taller than you remembered, or maybe you just forgot how he towered.

"Jeno." You let his name roll off your tongue. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, probably." His eyes dipped down, tracing the short of your skirt and the way your chest rose and fell. "Looking for trouble."

You laughed, a soft breathy sound that wasn't quite innocent. "I'm not looking for anything."

"No?" He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing yours. He tilted his head, his gaze sharp. "Does he know what you look like when you're not playing the part?"

A shiver ran down your spine and he saw it. The way your breath hitched and he laughed. His hand slid to your waist, fingers digging into the soft curve of your hip.

"Been thinkin about you," he murmured, his mouth trailing down the column of your neck. "Thinking about that night. You remember?"

"Which one?" you whispered, your voice dipping into something husky, something that wasn't the sweet, water drinking girl Jake thought he knew. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Fucking brat." He nipped at your collarbone and you arched into him, a soft, approving hum escaping your lips.

You let him push you a little farther into the shadows, let his hands wander, let his mouth find yours. It was all heat and teeth and a quiet desperation. His tongue swept against your lower lip, and you bit down, just hard enough to make him groan.

"Still a menace," he breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide.

You licked your lips, tasting him, tasting the lie you were about to tell. "Maybe," you said, tilting your head, all innocence and invitation. "Catch me later."

He grinned, a flash of white in the dim light. "Count on it."

And then he was gone back into the party, leaving you pressed against the wall, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You took a moment to compose yourself. You smoothed your skirt, ran your fingers through your hair, and checked your reflection in the tiny, cracked mirror by the bathroom door. Your eyes were bright, your lips a little swollen, your cheeks flushed.

You walked back to the living room, weaving through the crowd until you found Jake. When he saw you, his whole face softened.

"Hey, you okay?" He asked, stepping closer, his hand reaching for yours.

You leaned into him, letting your body sag against his like you were exhausted and overwhelmed. You pressed your face into his shoulder, and you could feel the steady thud of his heartbeat, so steady so trusting.

"Just a lot," you murmured, your voice muffled. "Can we go? I think I need some air this party is a lot for me."

His hand came up to stroke your hair, gentle, so fucking gentle. "Of course. Let's get you out of here."

He said his goodbyes, slapping backs and shaking hands, his arm never leaving your waist. You walked out into the cool night air, and he opened the car door for you, his eyes soft with concern.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked, buckling his seatbelt.

You looked at him, the streetlights casting shadows across his earnest face. You smiled, slow and sweet, and reached across to squeeze his hand.

"I am now," you said. "Let's go."

And as he pulled away from the curb, you let your head fall back against the headrest, your lips curling into a secret, satisfied smile.

The warm morning air hit you as you walked across campus, your bag slung over one shoulder, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Jake walked beside you, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, rambling about something his professor said that made no sense. You nodded along, making the right sounds of interest, your mind still half asleep.

Then you saw him.

Jeno was leaning against the brick wall near the exit, his arms crossed, that lazy smirk already in place. His eyes found you instantly, dark and knowing, and your step faltered for just a fraction of a second.

"Hey, sweetheart," he called out, pushing off the wall and walking toward you. "Been looking for you, as always."

Jake's brow furrowed. He glanced between you and Jeno, his posture straightening. "You know him?"

Before you could answer, Jeno was there, too close, his voice dropping low. "Where were you last night? I waited."

You felt your stomach flip. "I left early," you said, keeping your voice even and your eyes innocent. "I wasn't feeling well."

"Bullshit." Jeno laughed. "You weren't feeling well, or you were feeling too good? Because I remember you feeling pretty damn good when we were-"

"Back up," Jake cut in, stepping between you and Jeno. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, almost like a warning. "She said she wasn't feeling well. Take the hint."

Jeno's eyes flicked to Jake, assessing him. A slow grin spread across his face. "Oh, this is him? The best friend?" He looked past Jake, straight at you. "You didn't tell him, did you? About us?"

Your heart hammered, but you kept your face soft, confused. "There's nothing to tell. We talked a few times. That's all."

"Talked?" Jeno's laugh was louder this time. "Is that what we call it now? Because I remember your mouth being pretty busy for just talking."

Jake tensed, his jaw clenching. "What are you talking about?"

"Jake, ignore him," you said quickly, reaching for his arm. "He's just trying to cause trouble. He's always been like this."

Jeno's eyes narrowed. "Always been like this? Baby, you used to love the way I am." He stepped closer, ignoring Jake entirely. "You gonna pretend last night didn't happen too? Or the other nights when-"

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, your voice trembling just enough. You pressed closer to Jake, letting your fingers curl into his sleeve. "You're scaring me."

Jeno's smirk faltered. For a split second, something flickered in his eyes confusion, maybe even hurt. But then it was gone, replaced by cold amusement. "Right. Of course. You're so good at that, aren't you? Playing the victim."

"Get lost," Jake said, his voice hard. He stepped forward, putting himself fully between you and Jeno. "She said she doesn't know you. That's enough."

Jeno held up his hands, backing away slowly. His eyes never left yours. "Fine. But you can't run forever, sweetheart." He winked, a cruel, knowing gesture. "We both know you'll come back eventually."

He turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, whistling some tune.

Jake stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Then he turned to you, his expression softening, concern replacing the anger. "You okay? Did he hurt you?"

You shook your head, letting your eyes well up just a little. "I don't know why he's like that. We barely even talked. He just... he won't leave me alone."

"Hey, hey." Jake pulled you into a hug, his arms warm and solid around you. "It's okay. He's gone. I'm not gonna let him bother you."

You buried your face in his chest, letting out a shaky breath. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Always," he murmured into your hair. "Come on, let's get you to class."

You walked together, your hand in his, your steps slow and careful. Jake kept glancing at you, checking, making sure you were okay.

"Oh, by the way," he said, breaking the silence. "I'm going out with the boys for dinner tonight. But I was thinking after, I could come over? Watch the new Toy Story with you?"

You looked up at him, your smile soft and grateful. "I'd like that."

"Cool." He grinned, squeezing your hand. "I'll bring snacks. The good popcorn."

"My favorite," you said, your voice sweet as honey.

You walked into the building together, and Jake held the door for you, his gaze warm and trusting. You stepped past him, and for just a second, over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of Jeno across the quad. He was watching you still, arms crossed, that smirk firmly back in place.

You turned away, your smile never wavering. You let him watch. You knew exactly what you were doing.

The restaurant was buzzing, warm light spilling over the table where Jake sat with his friends. The whole crew, all of them crammed into a corner booth, drinks half empty.

Ni-ki was scrolling through his phone, barely paying attention to the conversation, when he suddenly burst out laughing. Like, full on wheezing, slapping the table, tears forming in his eyes kind of laughing.

"Bro, what the hell?" Jay asked, reaching over to smack his arm. "You good?"

Ni-ki couldn't even speak. He just shoved his phone across the table, pointing at the screen. "Look. Look at this idiot."

Sunghoon grabbed it first, his eyebrows shooting up. Then he started laughing too, shaking his head. "Oh my god. Oh my GOD."

"What? What is it?" Sunoo leaned over, and within seconds, he was cackling, covering his mouth.

Heeseung took the phone, read whatever was on it, and let out a low whistle. "Damn. Jeno's down bad."

Jake frowned, setting down his beer. "What about Jeno?"

"Your girl's got that man whipped," Ni-ki said, still giggling. "Look."

He passed the phone to Jake. It was Jeno's Instagram story a photo of him looking all love sick, texting someone, with the caption: "She left me on read again. Should I double text? Asking for a friend (it's me, I'm the friend)."

Jake stared at it for a second, then let out a weird laugh. "Wait, you think he's talking about-"

"Bro, who else would it be?" Jay laughed, grabbing the phone back. "Your girl's got him wrapped around her finger. It's actually kinda sad. Look at him bro he's a mess."

"Okay, but that's crazy," Sunghoon said, scrolling through more of Jeno's story. "Like, look. He's posting thirst traps now, because she didn't reply."

Ni-ki was wheezing again. "Bro is on his hands and knees for her. Literally posted a black screen with 'come back' in the lyrics of some sad song."

"He's got it baaaad," Sunoo added, wiping his eyes.

Jake was quiet, but he was smiling, a little confused. "I mean... she's sweet, but she's not like... she's not that type of person to entertain him. He's such a fuck boy and well she's innocent, she's never even-"

"Wait, wait, wait." Jay held up a hand, choking on his drink. "Did you just say innocent?"

"Yeah?" Jake blinked. "She's shy. She's not into all that stuff. She told me-"

"Bro." Heeseung leaned forward, a grin spreading across his face. "Are you serious right now?"

"What do you mean?"

Ni-ki was still scrolling on his phone while laughing. "Okay, okay. Let me tell you something. Do you know Yeonjun? Basketball guy?"

"The star player? Yeah, I know him. What about him?"

"You know the championship game last semester? The one where he went crazy and dropped like 40 points?"

Jake nodded slowly.

Ni-ki was barely containing himself. "Apparently, your sweet, innocent girl gave him a little pre game 'motivation' in the locker room. If you know what I mean."

Jake stared at him. "What?"

"Like," Sunghoon made a gesture with his hand near his mouth, "you know. The good luck kind."

"Bullshit," Jake said immediately. "She would never."

"Oh, she would." Heeseung was laughing now too. "And she did. The whole team was talking about it. Walked out with her lipgloss smeared and everything. He played like a god that night."

"There's no way-" Jake started, but Jungwon cut him off.

"Okay, okay, but that's just the start. You guys heard about the threesome rumor, right?"

"The WHAT?" Jake's voice cracked.

Sunghoon was wheezing now. "Oh my god, yes I have. Bro, there was a rumor going around last year that she-"

"Okay, I don't think it was confirmed," Jay interrupted, still grinning. "But people were saying she had a thing with two guys from the soccer team. At the same time. In the equipment room."

"THAT'S NOT REAL." Jake's face was red now, his eyes wide. "That's literally not real. She wouldn't- she's not like that."

"She literally gave good luck head to a basketball player," Ni-ki said flatly. "In a locker room. Before a game. With other guys in there."

"I could've sworn she told me she was studying that night!" Jake yelled, throwing his hands up.

His friends all looked at each other for a second. Then they burst out laughing again.

"Bro..." Sunghoon shook his head, wiping tears from his eyes. "I hate to break it to you, but your girl is far from innocent."

"She's literally got Jeno begging and Jeno never begs," Heeseung added. "And you're over here thinking she's never been touched? She's been touched, man. By a lot of people probably."

"And you think she's shy," Sunghoon added, snickering. "She's got three different guys on the line and you think she's shy."

"That is crazy," Ni-ki laughed even more seeing Jeno post a picture of you and him cuddled up with a corny caption in attempts to get you back. "Bro is literally the backup option and he doesn't even know."

"I am not the backup option," Jake snapped. But even as he said it, his voice wavered.

They all stared at him for a second.

Then Heeseung lost it. "Oh my god. You are the backup option!"

"NAH, HE'S THE SAFETY NET," Jay shouted, cackling.

"The nice guy," Jungwon added. "The one who takes her to dinner and walks her to class while Jeno gets the late night texts."

"This is the funniest thing I've ever heard," Ni-ki wheezed, slamming his hand on the table. "Bro thought she was saving herself for him!"

"Guys, she literally has Jeno posting love songs for her at 1 AM," Sunghoon snorted. "And she's probably still responding to him. While you're over here playing Toy Story with her."

Jake's face was burning. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched under the table. "Okay. That's enough."

But they couldn't stop laughing.

"This is insane," Heeseung said, shaking his head. "You were out here thinking she's this innocent little angel while she's got damn near the whole campus on speed dial."

"I'm leaving," Jake muttered, pushing back from the table.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Ni-ki called after him. "Bro, don't be mad. It's just funny! She's got you both wrapped around her finger and you don't even know."

Jake grabbed his jacket, his face of embarrassment. "I'm not wrapped around anyone's finger."

"Sure you're not," Jay called after him, still laughing. "That's why you lend her your sweaters and she wears them while making out with Jeno!"

"SHUT UP!" Jake yelled back, but his friends just howled with laughter as he stormed out of the restaurant.

The cool night air hit his face. He stood there on the sidewalk, breathing hard, his phone feeling heavy in his pocket.

He pulled it out. Your message was still there, sitting pretty: "Can't wait to watch Toy Story with you tonight. You're the best <3"

He stared at it for a long moment.

And then, despite everything, despite all of it, he laughed. A dry, humorless, disbelieving laugh.

He was literally the backup option. The nice guy. The one you watched Disney movies with while you're out there doing all that.

He shoved his phone and started walking to your place despite his head and heart racing.

The door clicked shut behind Jake, and you were already there, all soft smiles and warm eyes, your hair falling in gentle waves around your shoulders. You were wearing one of his hoodies and you looked so sweet, so perfectly innocent, that something twisted painfully in his chest.

"Hey, you're early!" you said, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. "I was just getting the popcorn ready. Toy Story's all queued up."

He didn't hug you back. His hands stayed at his sides, stiff and unmoving.

You pulled back, your brow furrowing. "Jake? What's wrong? You seem off."

He walked past you into the living room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He stood there for a moment, staring at nothing.

"Jake, you're scaring me," you said softly, coming up behind him. "Talk to me."

He turned around slowly, his eyes searching your face. "My friends told me some things tonight."

"Okay?" You tilted your head, that perfect confused expression on your face. "What kind of things?"

"About you." His voice was tight. "About Jeno. About... a lot of stuff."

Your face didn't change. Not even a flicker. "Jake, I already told you. Jeno's obsessed with me. He's been spreading lies-"

"They weren't lies." His voice cracked. "They showed me his story. The picture of you. On top of him. Wearing my hoodie."

You went very still.

"They told me about Yeonjun too," he continued, his voice getting stronger, harder. "The basketball player. The locker room. Before the championship game." He laughed bitterly. "And I was sitting there telling them you were innocent. That you'd never been with anyone. That you were shy and sweet and-"

"Jake-"

"And then Sunghoon mentioned the soccer players," he cut in, his eyes burning. "The threesome rumor. And I didn't want to believe it. I thought they were messing with me.

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

"They were laughing at me, you know. All of them. Because I was sitting there defending you like an idiot. Ni-ki was literally crying he was laughing so hard. Saying I was the backup option. The safety net. A nice guy who takes you to dinner and watches Disney movies while everyone else gets-" He stopped, his voice breaking.

Your face had gone pale, but you recovered quickly. You stepped closer, reaching for him.

"Jake, listen to me-"

"Why did you lie to me?" His voice was quiet now, raw. "Why did you make me believe you were someone you're not?"

"Because I was scared." you said, your voice trembling. "Jake, I was so scared. I knew what you thought of me. You looked at me like I was this... this pure, good person. And I wanted to be that for you. I wanted to be the girl you thought I was."

"But you weren't."

"I know, and I hated myself for it. Every time you looked at me with those eyes, like I was something special, I felt so guilty. Because I knew I didn't deserve it.

He stared at you, his expression unreadable.

"But I wasn't pretending about you," you continued, your voice breaking. "I wasn't pretending about how I feel. You're the only one who's ever made me feel like I mattered. Like I was worth something. All those other guys? They were nothing. They were distractions. But you-" You reached up and cupped his face. "You're everything, Jake. You're the only thing that's ever felt real."

He didn't pull away. He stood there, frozen, his heart warring with his head.

"I don't care about Jeno," you whispered, your thumb stroking his cheek. "I never cared about him. He was just someone to pass the time. But you? You're the one I think about when I can't sleep, the one I want to come home to. You're the one who actually sees me."

"I don't even know who you are anymore," he said, but his voice was weaker now.

"Yes, you do." You pressed closer, your bodies almost touching. "You know me better than anyone. You know I make bad choices because I don't think I deserve good things. But when I'm with you, I feel like maybe I could deserve them. Like maybe I could be better."

His hands came up, hesitantly, to rest on your waist.

"I was so scared you'd leave if you found out," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "And I couldn't handle that. I can't lose you, Jake. You're all I have."

He swallowed hard. "I don't know if I can trust you."

"Then let me prove it." You rose on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

He didn't respond at first. He just stood there, stiff and uncertain. But you didn't give up. You kissed him softly, gently, your fingers threading into his hair, your body pressing against his.

"Please," you murmured against his lips. "Please don't leave me. I can't- I can't do this without you."

"Baby..." His voice cracked.

"Let me make it better," you whispered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "Let me make you forget all of it. Everything they told you. Everything you saw. Just let me show you how much you mean to me."

"I don't know-"

"Shh." You pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't think just feel."

You kissed him again, deeper this time, your tongue tracing his lower lip. His hands tightened on your waist, and you felt the tension in his body start to ease.

"Jake," you breathed against his mouth. "I only want you. I've always only wanted you."

He let out a shaky breath. "You mean that?"

"I mean it with my whole heart." You pulled back, looking up at him with those big, wide eyes. "I know I messed up. I know I lied. But I'll spend as long as it takes making it up to you. Just please don't leave."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then slowly, his hands slid up your back pulling you closer.

"I'm so stupid," he muttered.

"No." You shook your head, pressing another kiss to his jaw. "You're not stupid. You're kind, and sweet. You're everything I don't deserve."

"Stop saying that."

"It's true." You kissed the corner of his mouth. "But I want to try. I want to be the girl you think I am."

He cupped your face in his hands, tilting your head up. His eyes searched yours, looking for something. Whatever he found, it must have been enough, because he let out a long shaky breath.

"God, I'm so whipped," he muttered.

You let out a soft laugh, pressing your forehead to his. "Good. Because I'm whipped for you too."

And then his mouth was on yours, hungry and desperate, all his doubts and fears melting away. You walked him backward until his knees hit the couch, and he fell back, pulling you down with him.

You straddled his lap, settling comfortably against him, your hands resting on his chest. His hands gripped your thighs, his breathing uneven.

"Let me make you forget," you whispered, leaning down to kiss his neck. "Let me be the only thing you think about."

"You already are," he breathed. "You always have been."

You smiled against his skin, your fingers working at the buttons of his top.

"Good," you murmured. "Then let me show you what you've been missing."

Jake's hands were already pressing into the warm skin of your waist. You could feel him hard beneath you, his breath coming faster as you grind down against him.

"You gonna take care of me?" he asked, voice rough, hands sliding up your back.

"Mmhm," you hummed against his neck, kissing a slow path up to his ear. "But you gotta tell me what you want. I don't know anything, Jake. You gotta show me."

He let out a breathy laugh, his fingers tangling in your hair. "You're so full of shit."

"Am I?" You pulled back, looking at him with those wide, innocent eyes. "I'm just a sweet innocent girl who never did anything with anyone. Remember? Never slept with Jeno, never gave Yeonjun good luck head, and never ever did I have a threesome. You told your friends that. You told everyone that."

His jaw tightened. He flipped you over so fast you gasped, your back hitting the couch, his body caging you in.

"You wanna play that game?" His voice dropped low, dangerous. "Fine. Let's play."

He yanked the hoodie up over your head, tossing it aside. Your chest was bare underneath, and his eyes darkened immediately.

"Look at you," he muttered, his thumb brushing over your nipple. "You been hiding these under my hoodie this whole time?"

You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. "Jake..."

"Shh." He leaned down, his mouth hovering over your nipple. "I'm showing you, remember? Since you don't know anything."

His tongue circled your nipple slowly, teasingly, before he took it into his mouth and sucked hard. You cried out, your fingers gripping and tugging his hair.

"Fuck," he breathed, pulling back to look at the wet mess he made all over your chest. "So perfect. I've been thinking about these for months. Dreaming about them. And you just let me walk around like an idiot while you were letting everyone else-"

"Jake, please-"

"Please what?" He pinched your other nipple, rolling it between his fingers. "Please stop? Please keep going? Use your words, baby. Since you're so innocent."

You whimpered, squirming beneath him. "Please don't stop. Please touch me."

"That's more like it." He lowered his head again, switching sides, his mouth hot. His hand traveled down your stomach, slipping past the waistband of your shorts.

"So wet," he murmured against your skin. "For someone who doesn't know anything, you're pretty good at soaking through your panties."

His fingers found your clit, circling slowly, and you bucked against his hand.

"That's it," he coaxed. "Show me what you like."

You rolled your hips, chasing his fingers, your head thrown back. "More, Jake. Please. I need-"

"You need what?"

"You. I need you inside me. Please."

He pulled his hand away, and you whined at the loss. But then he was standing, pulling you up with him, his eyes dark and hungry.

"Bedroom. Now."

You stumbled down the hall, his hand on your ass, pushing you forward. The second you reached the bed, he had you face down on the mattress, your shorts and panties ripped down your legs.

"Look at that," he breathed, his palm smoothing over your ass. "All mine. You know how long I've wanted this? How many nights I've laid awake thinking about bending you over."

He smacked your ass hard, and you cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure jolting through you.

"Count," he commanded.

"One," you gasped.

He spanked you again, the sound echoing in the room.

"Two!"

Another. Harder.

"Three!"

"Good girl." His hand soothed over the reddened skin. "See? You can follow instructions when you want to."

You heard the rustle of his jeans, the sound of his belt unbuckling. Then the mattress dipped, and his body was behind you, his chest pressing against your back.

"You want this?" he asked, his lips at your ear, his cock pressing against your wet folds. "You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes," you breathed. "Please, Jake. I need it."

"Need what? Say it."

"I need your cock. Please. I need you to fill me up."

He pushed inside you in one smooth stroke, and you both moaned. He was thick, stretching you, and you gripped the sheets as he bottomed out.

"Fuck," he groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "So tight. Fuck, baby. You feel so good."

He pulled out slowly, then slammed back in, and the sound you made was almost inhuman.

"That's it," he grunted, setting a brutal pace. "That's my good girl. Taking it so well."

His hand snaked around your front, finding your clit, circling in time with his thrusts. You were already close, the pressure building.

"Please don't stop," you begged. "Please, I'm gonna-"

"Cum for me," he commanded. "Cum on my cock."

And you did, with a cry of his name, your walls clenching around him. He didn't slow down, fucking you through it, chasing his own release.

"Jake," you whimpered as he kept going, overstimulated but not wanting him to stop. "Jake, it's too much-"

"One more," he moaned. "You can give me one more."

He pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your back. Before you could protest, his head was between your thighs, his mouth on you.

"ohh-" You jolted, your hands fisting in his hair. "Jake!"

He was relentless, his tongue lapping at your folds, his lips sucking your clit. He groaned against you, the vibration sending sparks through your body.

"Taste so sweet," he murmured. "Could eat you all fucking night."

And he did. He worked you with his mouth until you were an absolute wreck, until your thighs were shaking, until you came again with a broken sob, your hips bucking against his face.

He pulled back, his chin glistening, and kissed his way up your body.

"One more," he said, his voice hoarse. "I need one more, baby. Can you do that for me?"

"I don't- I can't-"

"Yes you can." He kissed you, and you tasted yourself on his lips. "You're gonna take it. All of it."

He reached for his phone on the nightstand, but before he could even unlock it, it started buzzing in his hand. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening slightly.

"It's Heeseung," he muttered, looking at you with an unreadable expression. "They're probably checking on me. Making sure I didn't do something stupid."