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Jeong Yunho is the human equivalent of a system crash. A 6’2” wreck of stuttered sentences, fogged-up glasses, and nerves he can’t outgrow. He has spent his first year of college trying to be invisible. He’s a tactical genius on screen, but on campus, he can barely survive a three-word greeting without his voice cracking. He tries to start a Gaming Club in a basement that smells like dust and dump.
When a pack of “Mean Girls” turns his recruitment drive into a public execution, you step in. You lie. You improvise. You claim you’re his pro-tier carry—his star recruit.
Now you learn the hard way: Rule #1 of saving a cute nerd from bullies is this—don’t claim you’re an expert in a game you’ve never played.
➢ gamer!yunho x fem!reader | ➢ collage au, romance, strangers to lovers, slice of life, smut | ➢ mdni, explicit sexual content (first time, p in v, unprotected sex), emotional manipulation&deception, substance use, panic&anxiety, unhealthy coping mechanisms, cheating mentioned (regarding a past relationship), depressive symptoms, heartbreak, strong language, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, physical violence, blood | ➢ ~32k | ➢ the last part of my humble contribution to LIVE ALIVE! collab hosted by @sungbeam! thank you all for reading and sticking till the end! ♡ make sure to support all of the amazing writers who contributed to this collab! | ➢ part three of three | ➢ part one ➢ part two
Yunho had a bird’s-eye view of Haven pulled up on the main monitor. He pointed a laser pen at the screen, his expression intense. You stared at the map. The lines, the call-outs, the technical jargon—it was like looking at a foreign language without a dictionary. Your brain was a cluttered mess of Wooyoung’s screaming instructions from the night before and pure panic. You hadn’t slept. The blue light of the monitors at home was burned into your retinas, and the weight of Wooyoung’s ‘boot camp’ was already making your fingers twitch.
“The Summer Open uses a Best of Three format for the qualifiers. We need to lock in our map pool. Based on our scrimmage data, our strongest win rate is on Bind, but the pro-meta is currently leaning heavily toward Lotus and Sunset.”
“I’m not playing Sunset,” Yeosang deadpanned, spinning in his chair. “The verticality is a mess. It’s a playground for Raze mains, and I refuse to be blasted off a ledge because Mingi forgot to smoke the side.”
“I didn’t forget!” Mingi protested. “I was providing suppressive fire!”
“You shoot at a wall,” Yeosang countered.
“Focus,” Yunho commanded, tapping the desk. He looked at you, his gaze full of that devastating warmth. “Y/N, we need to talk about your lineups on Haven. If we get forced onto a map with long sight-lines, your orb-placements are our only cover. I was looking at the VODs from last night—the way you used the snake bite was... it was genius.”
Your stomach did a slow, sickening roll. That wasn’t me. That was Wooyoung while I was eating a sandwich and drinking coffee.
“I was thinking,” you started, your voice sounding thin to your own ears. “Maybe we should focus on more... aggressive, aim-heavy strats? Less reliance on the complicated lineups?”
Yunho frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Why? Your utility is what makes us Level Zero. Anyone can click heads, Y/N, but no one plays the map like you do.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a private whisper like he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Are you nervous about the hand-cams? I know you like to play in the dark, but don’t worry. I’ll be right next to you. If your hands shake, I’ll just tell them it’s the vibration from the bass in the arena.”
“Anyways, so for the C-site retake, we’re running smoke early to cut off the long sightline,” Mingi chirped in. “Y/N, when you drop the wall to block, I think you shouldn’t activate it straight away? Not until we notice the enemies. Your line-ups in Haven are absolutely perfected and way better than mine, but where do you want to aim? Straight into C-link?”
“I... I think I just, um aim for the cubby?” you guessed, your voice wavering.
The clicking of Yeosang’s keyboard stopped. He didn’t turn around, but his shoulders went rigid. “The cubby?” Yeosang repeated, his voice dropping into that terrifying, flat register he used when he found a bug in a code. “Y/N, the cubby is playing head-down behind the green crates. If you aim for it, you’re leaving the link completely open. You never do that.”
“I just meant... in that specific scenario,” you stammered, feeling the heat rise in your neck. “Depending on the economy.”
“Economy doesn’t change the skills, you always buy the skills,” Yeosang countered, finally spinning his chair around. He crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing behind his bangs. “Actually, I’ve been noticing something since we signed up. Your logic is getting... fuzzy. That lineup you used on Bind yesterday? You missed the bounce three times in practice. You don’t miss, Viper. You’re a machine."
“She’s tired, Yeosang,” Yunho cut in, his voice firm but defensive. He stepped between you and Yeosang’s piercing gaze, his large frame acting as a literal shield. “We’ve been grinding for forty-eight hours straight. Everyone’s ‘logic’ gets fuzzy when they’re running on three hours of sleep and caffeine."
“It’s not just fatigue, Yun,” Yeosang’s voice sharpened. “She didn’t know the call-out for Fracture yesterday.”
Mingi looked back and forth between them, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a worried frown. “Maybe it’s just... tournament nerves? I get them too! Sometimes I forget which button is my ultimate!”
“You’re an idiot, Mingi, that’s expected,” Yeosang snapped, his eyes never leaving you. “But she’s the MVP. We’re building our entire pro-strategy around her ‘god-tier’ game sense. If she’s lagging this hard before we even hit the stage, we’re going to get humiliated.”
“That’s enough,” Yunho didn’t raise his voice, but the Captain authority was absolute. He turned to you, his hands reaching out to grip your upper arms. His touch was warm, but you could feel the slight, protective tremble in his fingers. “Y/N, look at me.” You forced your eyes up to his. “You don’t have to explain yourself, mistakes are allowed,” he whispered, yet it was loud enough for the room to hear. “If you’re hitting a wall, we adjust. If you want to change the lineups, we change them.”
“You’re being blinded by the romance stats,” Yeosang deadpanned, but he sounded more frustrated than mean. “If she can’t execute the C-long smoke, our entire A-split fails.”
“Then I’ll cover C-long!” Yunho turned back to Yeosang, his jaw set. “I’ll adjust my rotation. We’ll pick up the slack. Level Zero doesn’t interrogate its members; we support them. Now, are we going to fix the execute, or are we going to sit here and play ‘spot the error’?”
Yeosang let out a long, heavy sigh and turned back to his screen. “Fine. But if we lose the scrimmage because Viper forgot how to throw a smoke, I’m putting it in the VOD review.”
Yunho squeezed your arms one last time before letting go, then he leaned in, his lips brushing your temple in a quick kiss, a gesture of solidarity. “Don’t listen to him,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. Just play your game.”
You nodded, but you like a ticking bomb. Yunho wasn’t just defending his girlfriend; he was defending a lie. And the more he fought for you, the more you felt like you were leading him straight into a massacre.
Seonghwa had spent three hours perfecting his cologne-to-skin ratio before heading out on a date, and Mingi was currently at The Abyss, probably accidentally breaking a glass while trying to look cool
It was just you. And Yunho. And a very shiny, very tempting PS5.
Yunho was currently occupying approximately 75% of the sofa, his long legs stretched out, his bottom lip tucked in that specific, “I’m-not-mad-but-I’m-sad” pout that usually made you melt instantly. He was holding the DualSense controller like it was a sacred artifact. “I’m just saying,” Yunho muttered, “we’ve been dating for weeks, and the only time I see your screen is when there’s a spike involved. Am I not worthy of a casual lobby, Viper? Am I just a tactical asset to you?”
“Yunho, stop being dramatic,” you laughed, reaching for the controller, but he held it high above his head, using his unfair wingspan to keep it out of reach.
“I’m not being dramatic! I’m being neglected!” He shifted, his broad chest pressing against your shoulder as he looked down at you through his glasses, his eyes full of playful hurt. “If you don’t feel like Valorant it’s fine. I bought this new RPG. It has high-fidelity graphics, a complex leveling system—it’s very ‘Radiant-tier.’ I thought you’d like it.”
“I don’t want a complex leveling system,” you grunted, lunging for his wrist. “I want the Ultimate Game.”
“The Ultimate Game?” Yunho’s brows shot up. He finally lowered the controller, intrigued despite himself. “Is it a hidden indie gem with a 10/10 meta-score?”
“Give. It. Here.” With a quick swipe, you tackled him—or as much as a human can tackle a 6’2” tower—and wrestled the controller from his grip. You scrambled to the other end of the couch, frantically navigating the UI while Yunho watched, completely bewildered.
“Okay, okay! Show me your elite taste,” he teased, crossing his arms and leaning back, a smirk playing on his lips. “What is the secret weapon of the Level Zero Goddess?”
The screen flickered. A bright logo popped up, followed by the most upbeat, whimsical music imaginable.
RAYMAN LEGENDS.
Silence descended upon the living room. Yunho stared at the screen. Then he looked at you. Then he looked back at the screen where a limbless yellow creature was currently doing a joyful little dance. “...Rayman?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Your ultimate game… is the platformer with the singing frogs?”
“It is a masterpiece of level design and musical timing! Don’t you dare judge the Globox!”
“I’m not judging!” Yunho’s hands flew up in a gesture of total surrender, though he was shaking with suppressed laughter. He slid across the cushions until his side was pressed firmly against yours, his arm draping over the back of the sofa to pull you into his space. “It’s just… you’re the Viper. You’re terrifying. You’re the girl who knows every lineup in the book. And you’re currently selecting a level called ‘Castle Rock’?”
“Just pick up the damn controller, Captain,” you muttered, your face heating up. “And try to keep up. This requires actual rhythm, something your ‘tactical’ brain might struggle with.”
Yunho’s grin turned wicked—the shy boy was gone, replaced by the gamer who never backed down from a challenge. He grabbed the second controller, his long fingers settling over the triggers. “Oh, it’s on,” he murmured, leaning his head against yours. “But if I get a higher score than the Goddess in her own territory… I get to pick the next daily quest.”
“Deal,” you whispered, hitting ‘Start.’
In no time the colorful “Victory!” screen for Rayman pulsed on the TV, casting rhythmic flashes of pink and blue across the darkened living room. Yunho was still leaning against you, he was quiet—the kind of comfortable, post-game quiet that usually meant his brain was processing at 100% capacity.
“You’re still lagging,” you teased softly, nudging his ribs with your elbow. “I thought you said you were a rhythm-game natural. You missed like, five of the singing eye-stalks in that last run.”
Yunho let out a soft, huffy laugh that puffed against your hair. He didn’t pull away; instead, he tucked his chin over the top of your head, drawing you a fraction closer. “I told you,” he murmured, his voice sounding deeper. “My focus was… compromised. It’s hard to time a jump when the person next to me is making ‘die-die-die’ noises at a cartoon dragon. You’re scary when you’re platforming, baby.”
You froze, the controller still clutched in your hands, the plastic slightly warm from the heat of the game. Yunho didn’t pull back. He didn’t cough, or stammer, or do any of the clumsy “oops-I-said-too-much” things you might have expected from the boy who usually tripped over his own long legs. Instead, he just let his breath hitch for a split second before exhaling slowly, his thumb tracing a slow, absentminded circle on your shoulder.
“Did you just…” Your voice was tiny, fragile.
“Did I just what?” He sounded calm, but you could feel the vibration of his chest against your back—his heart was hammering a rhythm that definitely wasn’t “Castle Rock” approved. You turned your head just enough to catch his gaze. He was looking at you with an expression that was dangerously soft, his glasses slightly crooked and his hair a mess from where he’d been leaning against the sofa
“You called me baby,” you whispered, the heat finally reaching your ears.
Yunho tilted his head, a slow, shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned in until your noses almost brushed. “We’ve already passed the Beggnier’s Guide level, haven’t we? And if you can handle a dragon, I think you can handle a nickname.” He paused, his hand softly grabbing one of yours. “Unless you didn’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that,” you breathed, finally dropping the controller onto the cushion.
Yunho’s grin returned, wider and more confident this time. He closed the remaining distance, pressing his forehead against yours. “Good. Because Viper is for the lobby. But ‘baby’...” He let the word linger, tasting it again. “That’s just for here. Now, are we going to play the next level, or are you too busy blushing?”
“Shut up,” you laughed, though you didn’t pull away.
“I like this version of you,” he whispered.
The teasing remark you had ready died in your throat. “This version?”
“Yeah.” He gestured vaguely at the screen, then back to you—to your bare face, the oversized shirt you borrowed as soon as you arrived at his apartment, and the way you were currently tangled in his space. “Don’t get me wrong, Viper is… she’s incredible. She’s the person I look up to on the server. But this girl? The one who gets genuinely offended if a frog doesn’t hit a high note? She’s… she’s the one I’ve been wanting to meet.” A cold spark of guilt flickered in your chest—a sharp reminder of the tournament, the lie, and the training waiting for you the second you go back to your apartment. You looked away, staring at the cartoon character on the screen, but Yunho’s hand moved, his fingers gently catching your chin and tilting your face back up to his. “Hey,” he said, his voice dropping to that honey-sweet tone that always made your defense stats crumble to zero. “Did I say something wrong? You’re doing that thing where you look like you’re trying to calculate a tactical retreat.”
“I’m just…” You swallowed hard, the weight of the secret feeling like a lead debuff. “I’m just not used to… hearing such stuff.”
Yunho’s expression softened into something so tender it actually hurt to look at. He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, his breath warm and steady. “You aren’t the hero because of your K/D ratio, Y/N,” he whispered, his thumb grazing your lower lip. “You’re the hero because you’re the only person who makes me feel like I don’t have to be someone else or pretend all the time. With you, I’m just… Yunho. And that’s the best quest I’ve ever been on.”
The guilt in your chest felt like a glitch in a moment that was otherwise perfect. You wanted to tell him. You wanted to spill everything about the tournament and the persona, but the words felt like they were stuck behind a border you couldn’t cross. Before you could spiral, Yunho pulled you closer, he seemed to sense the internal battle raging behind your eyes and decided to end it the only way he knew how—by being unapologetically himself. He leaned back just an inch, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re overthinking. I can practically see the loading icon spinning over your head.”
“I just... I don’t want to let you down,” you admitted, the truth coming out in a fragmented, half-honest way. “The hero you see when we play? Sometimes I feel like I’m just playing a character.”
“Then stop,” he said simply. He reached down and took your hand, interlacing his long, elegant fingers with yours. “If you ever feel like it’s too much, just come over. We’ll play the game with the singing frogs. We’ll eat bad takeout. I’ll let you win at Mario Kart—maybe."
You let out a watery laugh. “You would never let me win at Mario Kart. You’re too competitive.”
“True,” he conceded with a wink, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. “But for you, I might at least consider not using the blue shell.” Yunho squeezed your hand one last time before suddenly straightening up. “Wait. Stay right there. Don’t move. Don’t even pause the music.”
“Where are you going?” You watched, confused, as he scrambled off the sofa with a sudden burst of energy. He didn’t head toward his bedroom or the bathroom. Instead, he hurried toward the small utility closet near the entryway. You heard the faint creak of the door, the rustle of plastic, and then a muffled, “Aha! Still alive.” When he turned the corner, your breath caught. He wasn’t holding a controller or a snack. He was holding a bouquet of peonies and baby’s breath, the petals vibrant against his dark hoodie. He looked slightly flustered, his cheeks flushed pink as he walked back to the couch, hiding the flowers behind his back for a split second before presenting them to you like a hard-earned trophy. “Where did you even get those?” you stammered, reaching out to touch a soft petal. “We’ve been in this apartment for like three hours. Did you… did you spawn these into existence?”
Yunho let out a nervous, airy chuckle, settling back down beside you. “I got them this morning. I hid them in the bucket in the closet because I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it if the vibe wasn’t right. I kept thinking, ‘Is it too much? Is it too early?’ I was so worried they’d wilt before I found the right moment to tell you.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering there, his thumb skimming the line of your jaw. The playful gamer light in his eyes had softened into something steady and profound. “I’ve realized that you aren’t just my duo-partner. You’re my… you’re my entire world-map.” He stopped, his breath hitching. He looked like he was about to bolt, but he forced himself to stay, his gaze locked on yours with sincerity. “I love you,” he breathed. “I love you so much it feels like a debuff to my entire system when you’re not in the room.”
The words “I love you” were in the air between you, heavy and sweet, like a rare achievement finally unlocked. But the second Yunho saw the look in your eyes—the pure, unfiltered softness of your reaction—his internal CPU hit 100% and his cooling system failed. His eyes went wide, his pupils shrinking as the reality of what he’d just confessed fully downloaded. “I—I just—that was—” He didn’t even finish the sentence. He let out a muffled, embarrassed groan and immediately dropped his head, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He hid there, his nose pressing into your skin, his entire body becoming a literal heater against yours. You could feel the tips of his ears burning against your cheek. His arms tightened around you, hauling you flush against his chest as if he could hide his entire frame behind you if he just hugged you hard enough. You felt the puff of his breath against your collarbone as he spoke, his voice muffled by your skin and sounding like a confession of a different kind. “I think my heart just overclocked,” he whispered, “I’m pretty sure I’m technically dead right now. Please don’t look at me for at least four business days. I need to reboot.” He nudged his face deeper into your neck, a shy, shaky laugh escaping him. “Also,” he added, his voice even smaller, “if there was a leaderboard for ‘Most Pathetic Confession,’ I'm definitely Top One. I’ve reached the final boss and I'm just... I'm just here with no armor.”
“Overclocked, huh?” you reached up, running your fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. “Is that why you’re currently running at 100 degrees Celsius? Do I need to call IT, or should I just apply some cooling gel patch to your forehead?”
Yunho let out a sound that was half-groan, half-whimper, his grip on your waist tightening. “Please… please don’t,” he muffled into your skin. “I’m already at critical failure. My fans are spinning so fast I’m pretty sure I’m going to levitate off the mattress.”
You shifted, trying to pry his face away from your neck. He resisted for a second, clutching you tighter like a giant, panicked koala, but eventually, he crumbled. He let you tilt his head back, and the sight of him was enough to make your own heart skip a beat. He was a total wreck. His glasses were fogged, his hair was a chaotic nest, and his face was a shade of deep red. He wouldn’t meet your eyes, his gaze darting to the pillow, to the ceiling, to the wall—anywhere but you. “Four business days?” your fingers traced the shell of his ear—which was, indeed, radiating enough heat to power a small village. “That’s a pretty long downtime for a Radiant-tier player, Yunnie.”
Yunho let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a desperate plea for mercy. His eyes finally flickered to yours for a split second before darting away again, his long lashes fluttering with nerves. “The system is down,” he managed, his voice still thick with that shy, honeyed rasp. “Complete server maintenance required. No users allowed until further notice.”
“You’re impossible,” you whispered, leaning in until your foreheads touched.
“I'm a disaster,” he corrected, though he didn’t pull away. He finally braved a look at you, his dark eyes shimmering. “But I meant it. All of it. Even the parts that sounded like I’ve been spending too much time on a headset.” He took a slow, shaky breath, and you could feel the way his body gradually began to relax against yours.
“You do spend too much time on a headset, though.” You murmured, your thumb tracing the line of his lower lip. “But you don’t need four business days, I think the server is already back online.”
Yunho’s shy smile finally broke through the blush, he tilted his head, closing the tiny gap between you until his nose was nuzzling yours. “Yeah?” he whispered, his voice gaining a tiny bit of its playful spark.
You let your hand slide from his cheek to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in those soft locks. “But I have to admit, Captain... I’m a little disappointed. I thought you were supposed to be the one who handles high-pressure situations without breaking a sweat.”
Yunho let out a pained, soft groan. “It’s—it’s a different kind of pressure! There’s no manual for this!”
“Excuses,” you teased, leaning to press a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, right where that pretty smile of his was trying to peek through. “You were doing so well. Very tactical. Very… efficient.”
“Y/N, stop,” his eyes were once again squeezed shut as if the sheer sight of you was too much for his system to handle. “I am literally a puddle. You’re talking to a liquid state of matter right now.”
You laughed, “Well, if you’re a puddle, then you’re my puddle,” you murmured, your expression finally softening, the teasing dropping away. “And for the record?” You waited until he braved opening one eye. “I love you too, Yunnie.”
He didn’t say anything for a full four seconds—his jaw just worked silently like a character with a broken animation cycle.
Then, he lunged.
He hauled you into his chest, wrapping his massive arms around you and rolling over on the couch until you were tucked securely against him, his face hidden once more in the crook of your neck. “You can’t— you can’t just say that!” he choked out, his voice cracking spectacularly. “I was—I was prepared for a ‘Good game, teammate’ or a ‘Nice try, Captain.’ I wasn’t—I wasn’t ready!”
“You literally said it first!” You laughed, trying to breathe through his crushing hug.
“That’s different! I’m the one who’s supposed to be the disaster!” He pulled back just enough to look at you, he looked like he wanted to cry and cheer at the same time. “You love me? Like… for real?”
“For real,” you whispered, reaching up to finally straighten his fogged-up glasses. “I love the Captain. But I love the ‘puddle’ a whole lot more.”
He let out a long, shaky breath, the last of his nervous tension finally dissipating. He leaned down, kissing you with a slow, deep sincerity. “Then I guess… I guess I really don’t need those four business days,” he murmured against your lips. “But I might need a few more minutes of this. Just to make sure I’m not dreaming.”
“A few more minutes?” you murmured, your voice dropping an octave as you slid your hands down from his neck to his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heart through the fabric of his hoodie. “I think we can do better than that.” You leaned forward, closing the distance slowly, giving him every second to retreat. The kiss started out hesitant, a soft, testing press of lips. You tasted the salt of his skin and the lingering sweetness of the moment. You felt him freeze for a split second before he finally, shakily, began to melt.
Yunho’s hands were still trembling where they rested on your waist, his large palms feeling heavy and hot through your clothes. But as the reality of your confession truly settled into his marrow, the kiss shifted. It deepened, losing its tentative edge and becoming something hungrier, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between the words he’d struggled to say and the feeling that was currently overflowing in his chest. His large hand slid from your waist to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair to hold you steady as he tilted his head to find a better angle.
He pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark and blown wide, the pupils swallowing the honey-brown of his irises. His chest was heaving, his breath coming in jagged hitches. He looked like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down at a view that was both dizzying and irresistible. “I’m... I’m doing this right, aren’t I?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m not—I’m not lagging?”
You chuckled softly, reaching up to frame his face, your thumbs smoothing over his burning cheekbones. “You’re doing perfect, better than perfect.”
Yunho’s hands, usually so occupied with the precision of a keyboard, began to wander with a new curiosity. He was a tactile learner, and right now, you were the only thing that mattered. His large palm slid from your waist, tracing the curve of your hip before moving upward, his touch light enough to make your skin prickle with electricity. He moved slowly, as if he were afraid that pressing too hard might break you. He took a shaky breath and leaned in, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He began to trail slow, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, his stubble grazing your skin. You tilted your head back, exposing the line of your throat to the cool air of the room, and let out a soft, airy sigh.
Yunho’s entire body jolted. “Did I—” he started, his eyes flying to yours, filled with that familiar, wide-eyed panic. “Did I hurt you? Was that too much pressure? I didn’t mean to—”
“No,” you whispered, reaching out to lace your fingers through his, guiding his hand to your waist. “It felt good. It means you’re doing it right."
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Right. Good. Okay.” Yunho began to explore the curve of your waist, his thumb tracing the line of your spine. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes, making your stomach flip. “I want... I want to be closer. Is that—can we?” He didn’t even know how to ask for it, his experience level at zero despite his towering frame and confident gamer persona. He was a giant of a man reduced to a mess of nerves by the simple prospect of skin-on-skin. “I... I don’t want to mess this up.”
You reached to gently slide his glasses off his face. You set them aside without breaking eye contact. Without the frames, his gaze felt even more intense—dark, dilated, and fixated entirely on you. You guided his hand up, pressing his palm flat against your cheek, then trailed it down to the curve of your throat. The heat radiating from him was intense. You shifted your weight, straddling his lap on the sofa, and watched as his entire face went a new, impossible shade of crimson. “Oh,” he choked out, his hands hovering uncertainly near your hips. “Oh, okay. We’re... we’re doing this. This is happening. High stakes. Final boss. No checkpoints.”
The comment was so perfectly Yunho that you couldn’t help the soft, genuine laugh that bubbled up. You reached out, cupping his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. You waited until his wide, panicked eyes locked onto yours. “Look at me," you whispered, your voice calm in the middle of his internal storm. You waited for his breathing to hitch, then level out. “This isn’t a match. There’s no rank, and there’s definitely no way to lose.” You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his, closing your eyes so he could feel the sincerity in your voice. “It’s just me. And I’m not some final boss you have to defeat. I’m your person. We’re on the same team, remember? We’re just... discovering a new map together.”
“Same team,” he repeated, his voice losing that panicked edge and softening into a low, honeyed rasp. He let out a long, shaky exhale, his nose brushing against yours. “Yeah. Okay. I can do that.”
You took his hovering hands and guided them firmly to your waist. “You can touch me. I promise.”
He let out a shaky breath, his fingers finally curling around your hips. His grip was tentative at first, but as he felt the warmth of your body through your clothes, his touch grounded. “My brain is literally just a blue screen right now,” he whispered, a small, helpless laugh vibrating in his chest. “I’ve spent a thousand hours practicing combos and memorising maps, and right now, I can’t remember how to breathe. You’re—you’re so close.”
“Then don’t think about breathing,” you whispered, your fingers hooking into the hem of his hoodie. “Just feel.” As you began to tug the fabric upward, Yunho’s posture went rigid, his eyes widening as he realized the trajectory of the moment. He lifted his arms with a clumsy, mechanical sort of grace, allowing you to pull the fabric over his head. When it cleared his hair—leaving it a static-charged, adorable mess—he looked more exposed than you’d ever seen him. He looked down at his bare chest, then back up at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His skin was pale, save for a frantic, blooming flush that crept from his chest all the way to the tips of his ears. The sight of him—broad-shouldered, solid, and looking at you as if you were a miracle he hadn’t yet prepared for—made your own heart hammer against your ribs. You reached for the hem of your own shirt, and the room seemed to go silent except for the rhythmic thrum of his heart, which you could practically feel through the air between you. His eyes followed your hands with a focus that was terrifyingly absolute.
“Wait,” he breathed, his hand coming up to catch your wrist before you could pull the shirt too high up. His palm was searing, his grip firm but trembling. “Can I... can I do it? I want to... I want to be the one. Even if my hands won’t stop shaking.”
“Of course.” You covered his hands with yours, guiding them more than leading them. His fingers were trembling—actually, visibly shaking—as he reached for the fabric. He swallowed, eyes flicking from your face to his hands like he was afraid the moment would vanish if he blinked. As he slowly pulled the shirt over your head, the cool air of the room hit your skin, but it was immediately chased away by the sheer intensity of his gaze.
Yunho looked at you like you were something sacred—something he had studied from afar but never dared to touch. His eyes traveled over you, tracing the line of your collarbone and the curve of your shoulders with a reverence that made your pulse skip. “You’re real,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and I’ll just be at my desk with a headset on... but you’re here.” He leaned in, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. You felt the damp heat of his breath against your skin, followed by the soft, hesitant press of his lips. He started small—tiny, shy kisses along your pulse point—but as you arched into him, letting out a soft hum, his grip on your waist tightened. He pulled back just enough to look at you, the shy gamer was still there, but beneath it was a man waking up to the power he held over you—and the power you held over him. His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you flush against his bare chest. The contact was electric—skin on skin, your racing heart beating directly against his. He leaned up, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth in a move that was surprisingly bold, eliciting a sharp, surprised hitch in your breath. He seemed to take courage from your reaction, his tongue darting out to soothe the spot he’d bitten before deepening the kiss with a newfound hunger. It was clumsy in its intensity, but the honesty of it was intoxicating.
As your hands roamed over his bare shoulders, feeling the way his skin bunched and rippled under your touch, Yunho’s own exploration became more daring. One of his hands traveled up your spine, his long fingers mapping every inch until he reached the nape of your neck, tilting your head back to give him better access to the sensitive skin of your throat.
“Is this... is this okay?” he murmured against your skin, his lips never fully leaving you. “Am I doing what you like?”
“Yes,” you breathed, your head falling back as he found a particularly sensitive spot beneath your ear. “Exactly that.”
He let out a shaky, triumphant breath, his chest expanding against yours. “I’ve thought about this,” he confessed, his voice muffled. “In the middle of matches, or when I’m supposed to be sleeping... I’ve thought about how you’d sound if I did this.” He moved his hands, his knuckles brushing against the skin of your stomach right above the waistband of your jeans. The contact made your muscles involuntary ripple, a sharp intake of breath escaping you. His thumbs begin to stroke small, mesmerized circles into your skin. He watched the movement of his own hands against you, his expression shifting from panicked to a dazed, quiet wonder. His hands slid higher, his long fingers splaying across your ribs, mapping the curve of your body with a growing, hungry curiosity. He reached up, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull you down into a kiss that was no longer hesitant. It was deep, desperate. His tongue swept against yours, a plea for you to show him exactly how much more there was to discover.
The kiss turned feral, a messy collision of teeth and tongues that tasted like the desperate relief of finally being known. Yunho’s hands were no longer just hovering; they were active, possessive, sliding from your ribs to the small of your back to anchor you against him. He let out a low, needy sound into your mouth, his fingers digging into your hips as if he was trying to pull you into his very skin. Underneath the frantic heat of the kiss, he shifted. It was a subtle adjustment of his weight—a subconscious search for friction—and that was when you felt it. The hard, heavy length of him pressed firmly against your thigh, separated only by the thin fabric of his joggers. Yunho’s entire system seemed to stall. He pulled back just an inch, his lips swollen and wet, his eyes darting to yours with a look of pure, wide-eyed shock. He looked like he’d just been hit with a status effect he hadn’t prepared for.
“Oh,” he breathed, his voice cracking spectacularly. “Oh... that’s... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—my body is just—” You didn’t let him finish the apology. You shifted your weight, rolling your hips slowly, deliberately, against him. The reaction was instantaneous. Yunho’s head snapped back against the sofa cushion, his eyes squeezing shut as a sharp, broken moan escaped his throat. It wasn’t a loud sound—it was a soft, strangled hitch of breath that sounded like it had been torn out of him. His fingers spasmed against your waist, his knuckles turning white as he gripped you with a sudden, overwhelming strength. Your hands slid down to the waistband of his joggers. “Wait—wait,” he stammered, his hands flying to cover yours. He took a long, shaky breath, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. When he found only warmth, he let out a puff of air and slowly moved his hands, allowing you to continue. “Okay. Okay. Phase two. I’m ready. I think.”
As your fingers hooked into the elastic of his waistband, you could feel the frantic, rhythmic twitching of his abdominal muscles. You eased the fabric down, his eyes remained locked on yours, wide and shimmering with a mixture of terror and absolute, undiluted devotion. When his joggers slid down his ankles to the floor, he didn’t try to cover himself. Instead, he gripped the cushions of the sofa so hard his knuckles turned white, his chest heaving as he tried to regulate a respiratory system that had clearly forgotten its programming. You leaned down, trailing your lips from his collarbone up to that sensitive spot beneath his jaw, and the sound he made—a high, broken whimper—was the most honest thing you’d ever heard.
Yunho reached for the button of your jeans next. His hands were steadier now, though he struggled with the clasp for a second, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in a look of sheer concentration. When the denim finally gave way, he let out a triumphant, shaky puff of air. “Level cleared,” he murmured, a tiny spark of his playful self returning even through the heavy haze of his desire. He helped you slide the rest of the way out of your jeans, his movements slow and worshipful. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest, and he was kissing you again—deep, certain.
Yunho’s fingers felt like live wires against your skin, tracing the line of your spine with a reverence that made your head swim. When he reached the metal clasp of your bra, he faltered for a heartbeat, but you nodded your head to encourage him.
“It’s okay, you can take it off,” you reassured, your nose brushing against his.
“Okay,” he whispered against your lips, “Command received. Attempting to... to execute.” He fumbled at first, his thumbs searching for the logic of the hooks. You could feel the heat radiating off him in waves—his skin damp with the sheer effort of staying composed. He let out a frustrated, needy little huff, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he focused every bit of his Radiant-tier precision on the task.
“Yun,” you murmured, a playful tilt to your voice even as your own heart raced. “Do you need a walkthrough?”
“No,” he gasped, his jaw tightening. “No, I’ve got it. I just—” Then, with a sudden, triumphant click, the tension snapped. Yunho froze. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet of the apartment. He didn’t move for a second, his breath hitching in his chest. Slowly, he slid his hands around to the front, his palms grazing your ribs as he helped the straps fall away. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and heavy, drinking in the sight of you in the soft light. Yunho’s hands retreated just an inch, hovering in the small, heated space between your bodies. His fingers were trembling, twitching with a mix of instinctual urge and a deep-seated fear of crossing a line he hadn’t been invited to cross yet. He looked down, his breath coming in shallow, jagged puffs that fanned across your skin. His eyes were wide, fixated on you with a look of such pure wonder.
You reached out, catching his wrists and gently guiding his large, hot palms forward until they were just grazing your breasts. “You can touch them,” you whispered, your voice grounding him. “I want you to.”
A low, broken sound escaped his throat—halfway between a gasp and a whimper. The moment his hands finally made full contact with your boobs, his eyes squeezed shut, letting out a long, shuddering exhale. “Oh,” he choked out, his fingers curling instinctively, testing the softness and weight of them. “Okay, wow. You’re… you’re so soft. I didn’t think—I mean, I thought, but this is…” He opened his eyes again, and the fear was almost entirely gone, replaced by a dazed, singular focus. He watched his own hands, his dark lashes fluttering as he mapped the curve of your flesh, his thumbs beginning to move in slow, mesmerized circles around your nipples. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave, sounding more like a confession than a question. “Do you… do you like that?”
“Yes,” you breathed, your own hands sliding up his biceps, feeling the hard, tensed muscle beneath his skin. “I like it a lot.”
He let out a small, triumphant puff of air, a tiny shadow of a smirk finally tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his flushed cheeks. “Okay,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips were just a fraction of an inch from yours. He reached down, one of his hands sliding from your breast to your waist, and with a sudden surge of strength, that reminded you just how much larger he was, he pulled you flush against him and captured your lips in a kiss that was deeper and more sure than anything before it. He shifted his weight, easing you back onto the cushions as he loomed over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the world.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he whispered, reaching up to pull you up.
Yunho didn’t just carry you; he held you like you were the most precious thing in existence, his large arms trembling slightly. The walk to the bedroom was a short, hazy blur of shadows and the frantic thud of his heart against your chest. When he reached his bed, he lowered you onto the mattress with a gentleness that bordered on reverence, his hands lingering on your skin as if he were afraid you’d vanish if he let go. The bed groaned softly under his weight as he followed you down, looming over you. The moonlight filtering through the blinds cast sharp, silver lines across his broad shoulders, highlighting the raw tension in his frame. He looked down at you, his hair a chaotic mess, his face flushed a deep, beautiful pink.
“Is the… is the lighting okay?” he whispered, his voice cracking as he tried to maintain a tiny bit of humour to mask the fact that his hands were still shaking. “I didn’t exactly prep the arena for a cinematic cutscene.”
You reached up, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging him down until his face was inches from yours. “Yunho. Stop. It’s perfect.”
He let out a long, shuddering breath, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “Okay. Perfect.” He began to kiss you again, but it was different now—slower, deeper, filled with a heavy, magnetic pull. His large hands, though still trembling, found their way back to your breasts with a newfound, singular focus. “You said… I could,” he whispered like a reminder to himself. He didn’t just touch you; he worshiped. He used his palms to lift and squeeze gently, his thumbs sweeping over the nipples in a rhythm that was increasingly less like a confused beginner and more like someone discovering a natural instinct. His eyes were wide, fixated on the way his skin looked against yours, his breath coming in short, needy hitches.
Your hands slid down to the waistband of his boxers. When your fingers hooked into the elastic, Yunho’s entire body gave a violent, electric jolt. He froze, his hands stilling on your chest, his eyes snapping to yours with a look of pure, unadulterated shock. “Wait—oh. Oh, we’re… okay,” he stammered, his face reaching a shade of red that looked like it might actually glow in the grey of the room.
“Phase three,” you teased softly, your voice a low hum. “Do you want to opt out?”
“No!” the word came out a little too fast, a little too loud. He let out a shaky, self-deprecating laugh, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “No. Definitely not. I’m just… Give me a second.” He didn’t pull away. Instead, he lifted his hips just enough to help you, his movements clumsy but eager. As you slowly drew the fabric down his long legs, Yunho let out a long, shuddering sigh, his eyes fluttering shut. When the last barrier was finally gone, he looked back at you, his vulnerability so raw it was almost tangible. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck again, but this time his hands didn’t stay still. They moved back to your breasts, his touch firmer now, more desperate. He began to trail kisses down your throat, his lips hot and wet, until he reached the curve he’d been admiring. He paused for a heartbeat, his breath ghosting over your nipple, and then he looked up at you— final check for permission. When you arched your back toward him, he leaned in, taking you into his mouth. The sensation of his mouth on you was the final system override. Yunho’s tongue was hesitant at first, swirling with a shy, tasting curiosity, but as you let out a sharp, broken gasp, his confidence surged. He let out a low, muffled growl against your skin, his suction deepening as he realized exactly how much power he had over you. His large hands were possessive, one palm cupping your other breast, squeezing with a rhythmic, heavy heat, while his other hand slid back down to your thighs, his thumb digging into the soft flesh.
As he moved to slide the fabric of your panties down your legs, he paused, his gaze flickering up to yours. “I—I’m about to... initiate the next phase,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly, that adorable panic momentarily clashing with his desire. He took a shaky breath, trying to steady his hands. “Your... your physical feedback suggests that the, uh, compatibility levels are... they’re optimal. I just want to make sure I’m not... skipping any vital steps in the sequence.”
You let out a soft, breathless laugh, reaching down to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “No steps skipped, Yun.” He nodded nervously, and finished the task. He stayed there for a moment, kneeling between your legs, looking at you with a quiet, stunned worship that made you feel like a goddess. He reached out, his fingers hesitant at first, ghosting over the soft skin of your inner thigh. He was shivering, a fine tremor running through his large frame. Slowly, he moved higher, his touch light as a feather until he finally reached the center of you.
When his fingers met your warmth, his breath hitched so loudly it was almost a sob. He didn’t pull away; instead, he let his hand linger, his touch turning soft and exploring. He felt the slick, heated evidence of how much you wanted him, and his pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black. “Oh,” he rasped, his voice dropping an octave, becoming thick and gravelly. “You’re... you're already so... your stats are... they’re red-lining.” He began to move his fingers with a clumsy, sweet curiosity, tracing your folds.You let out a sharp, needy moan, your head falling back against the pillow as your fingers tangled in his hair.
“Did that—does that feel... okay?” he stammered, his thumb catching against you in a way that made your hips arch off the bed.
“Yunho... yes. Please, don't stop.”
“I’m not stopping,” he promised, his voice regaining a sliver of that Captain confidence even as his face stayed bright red. “I’m... I’m just calibrating. I want to make sure I know... exactly how you like it. I want to be... the only one who knows your map like this.” He leaned forward, pressing a hot, lingering kiss to your thigh as his hand continued its shy rhythm. He began to move his thumb in a slow, circular motion, the slickness of you made his movements fluid, and the sound of it—the soft, wet friction—made his own breath come in jagged, desperate gasps. Before he could even draw a full breath to apologize for being clumsy or ask if he’s doing it right, you reached down, fistfuls of his hair tangling in your fingers, and jerked him upward. Yunho let out a surprised, strangled gasp as you forced him to bridge the gap, dragging his face up until he was hovering mere millimeters from yours.
“Less talking, Captain,” you breathed, the command vibrating against his lips. “More of this.”
You crashed your mouth against his, swallowing his startled moan. It wasn’t a soft kiss—it was a claim. You kissed him with all the pent-up frustration of the lie, all the desperation of the “boot camp,” and all the genuine, terrifying love you felt for the boy above you. You reached down, your fingers finally brushing against his erection, fully exposed and pulsing with the same frantic energy as his heart. Yunho’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the contact. He let out a long, shuddering hiss, his hips bucking upward into your hand with a desperate, uncoordinated instinct. “Oh—god,” he choked out.
“Not yet,” you whispered, your thumb grazing the tip of his cock, spreading the pre-cum. “The main quest hasn’t even started.”
Yunho let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-whimper, his hands flying to your wrists to steady himself. He was trembling so hard the bed seemed to shake with him. He looked up at you, his dark eyes blown out, shimmering with a mix of terrifying love and overwhelming lust. “I don’t... I don’t know if I can be patient anymore,” he confessed, “I want to be gentle, I want to be perfect for you, but my whole system is screaming at me to... to just...”
“Then listen to it,” you reached down to guide him, your fingers palmed his cock, and the breath left your lungs in a sudden rush. He wasn’t just average; he was big. The sheer length of him was daunting, a weight that felt almost impossible to reconcile with the shy, blushing man hovering over you. “Yunho,” you breathed, your voice catching as the broad, blunt head of him pressed against your entrance. You looked up into his dark, blown-out eyes, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Wait. Just… go very, very slow. Okay? Promise me.”
He nodded frantically, his jaw locked so tight you could see the muscle leaping in his cheek. “Slow. Right. Low mobility. I can do that. I’m—I’m going at 0.5 speed, Y/N. I promise.” He braced his weight on his elbows, his massive hands fist-deep in the pillows on either side of your head. He took a shaky, stabilising breath and pushed. The moment the tip entered, your body felt the sudden, stretching fullness of him. Your breath didn’t just hitch; it left you in a sharp, jagged exhale that sounded like a pained hiss. Your eyes squeezed shut, and your fingers dug into his biceps.
Yunho froze instantly, his face went pale, the flush draining away as panic took over. He started to back away immediately, his eyes wide and shimmering with a sudden fear. “Oh god—I hurt you. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I knew I’d—I’m too clumsy, I’m too much, I—” He looked like he was about to bolt out of the room. “Did I break something? Are you okay? I’m pulling out, I’m stopping—”
“No! Yunho, stay,” you gasped out, reaching up to grab his face with both hands to keep him from retreating. You took a few shallow, rhythmic breaths, waiting for your body to accommodate the heavy, overwhelming presence of him. You looked at him, a small, dazed smile breaking through your winced expression. “You didn’t break anything. You’re just… you’re really big.”
Yunho blinked, his brain clearly struggling to process the data. He looked down at the point where you were joined, seeing the way your skin was stretched taut around him, then back at you. His mouth stayed slightly agape. “I’m… what?”
“It’s big,” you repeated, your voice a soft, breathless confession. “A lot bigger and longer than I… than the average. It just... I need time.”
The crimson flush returned to his face with a vengeance, blooming across his chest and up his neck until even his forehead was glowing. He let out a tiny, high-pitched sound—a squeak that was half-embarrassment, half-shock. “I—I am?” he stammered, his voice cracking spectacularly. He looked down at himself again as if seeing his own body for the first time. “I didn’t… I mean, I’ve never had a comparison! I thought the character model was just… standard? I didn’t think I had an… an accidental buff in that department.”
The innocence of his shock made you giggle, the tension finally breaking. You pulled him down for a quick, reassuring kiss. “It’s a very good buff. Just… stick to the slow strategy for a minute, okay?”
Yunho let out a long, shuddering breath as he finally began to relax into the sensation of being held by you. “Slow. Right. Tactical pacing. I’m on it.” He leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous rasp again. “I’ll be careful.” With his face still a dazed, glowing crimson, Yunho took a deep, stabilising breath, his chest expanding. He braced his forearms on either side of your head, his large hands clenching the sheets as he slowly began to sink deeper. The sheer thickness of him was a heavy pressure that seemed to occupy every bit of your focus, his length felt seemingly endless, a slow-motion invasion that reached deep into your core. “Y/N,” he choked out, his voice dropping into a ragged, desperate whisper. “Tell me... tell me to stop if it’s—if it is too much. I don’t want to...”
“You’re okay,” you managed to gasp, your hands sliding down his back to pull him in. “Just... like that. Don’t stop.” The encouragement seemed to give him the final green light he needed. As he finally bottomed out, a long, shuddering groan was ripped from his throat. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his entire body trembling with the effort of staying still.
“Oh... dear god,” he muffled against your skin, his voice thick with a mix of awe and relief. “It’s– You’re so warm, and… wet.” he rasped, the confession making your face flush. He stayed still for a heartbeat, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes squeezed shut. Then, he made his first move. It was a slow, tentative pull back—the long, heavy slide of his thickness dragging against you—followed by a single, testing push forward. The moment he bottomed out again, Yunho’s entire body went rigid. His eyes flew open, blown wide and unfocused, and a high, strangled moan was ripped from the back of his throat. “Oh,” he choked out, his voice cracking spectacularly. “Oh. No. No, no, wait—wait.” He froze instantly, his arms trembling as he braced himself above you. His jaw was locked so tight it looked painful, and his chest was heaving in short, panicked bursts. He looked down at you, his eyes shimmering with a mix of desire and panic.
“Everything’s alright?” you whispered, reaching up to touch his damp cheek.
“Don’t—don’t move,” he gasped, a tiny, helpless whimper escaping him. “Y/N, if you move even a single inch, I am going to... the game is over. Right now. I’m at the finish line.” He squeezed his eyes shut, his head dropping to the crook of your neck as he let out a long, shuddering hiss through his teeth. You could feel the rhythmic pulsing of his cock inside you, twitching with a desperate urgency. “I’m sorry,” he muffled into your skin, his voice shaky. “I’m so sorry. I’m—I’m a level one player and the difficulty just spiked to impossible. I just... I need a second. I need to... lower my heart rate.” He was so sensitive, so completely overwhelmed, that even the stillness was almost too much for him. He took a long breath, trying to force his body to settle, his fingers digging into the pillows as he fought for control.
“It’s okay,” you murmured, tracing the line of his spine with a slow, grounding touch. “It’s your first time. Just let go.”
“No!” he groaned, the sound raw and desperate as he buried his face deeper into the pillow next to your head. “No, I can’t—I’m not gonna... I’m not letting the credits roll after ten seconds of gameplay! That’s—that’s a speedrun I didn’t sign up for!” He was shaking, his large frame vibrating with the effort of fighting his own body. His muscles were corded like steel, his glutes and thighs locked tight as he tried to remain absolutely motionless inside you. You could feel him pulsing—thick, hot, and agonisingly close to the edge—the girth of him feeling even more intense now that he was wound so tight.
“Yun, it’s fine,” you whispered, shifting just a fraction to press a kiss to his burning ear.
“Don’t!” he gasped, a tiny, helpless whimper escaping him. “Don’t... move. Y/N, please. I have a reputation to uphold. I’m the Captain. I’m supposed to have... stamina. I’m supposed to be... efficient.” He took a long, shuddering breath, his ribs expanding against yours. He sounded like he was trying to solve a complex equation in his head just to distract himself from the overwhelming sensation of being wrapped in your warmth. “I’m not letting it end like this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice thick with a mix of embarrassment and stubborn resolve. He stayed pinned between your legs, his forehead resting on the mattress as he counted his breaths. Every few seconds, a small, involuntary twitch would rack his hips, and he’d let out a pained, soft hiss, his fingers digging into the sheets until they threatened to tear.
You reached up, threading your fingers through the damp of his hair and pulling him down. Your arms wrapped around his neck, anchoring him to you as you brought his lips back to yours. The kiss was slow, deep, and thick with the salt-sweet taste of him. You wanted to show him that there was no failing here—that the connection was the point, not the duration.
Yunho let out a muffled, helpless sound against your mouth, his hand moving from the pillows to frame your face. As you hummed into the kiss, your tongue grazing his, he felt his resolve begin to fracture all over again. “Ba-baby,” he breathed into your lips, “You’re... you’re making it really hard to keep the game paused.” He pulled back just an inch, his nose brushing yours. His eyes were wide and shimmering, looking at you with such affection that it felt more intimate than the physical act itself. As your arms tightened around his neck, pulling him flush against your chest, the sensation of your breasts pressing into him made his breath hitch. He let out a low, shaky exhale, his forehead dropping back to yours. “Okay,” he whispered finally, his voice dropping into a shaky, low-tier rasp. “I think... I think I’ve got it.” He let out a tiny, bashful laugh, his thumb grazing your cheek. “But if you do that hip-roll thing again? All bets are off. I’m just a man, Y/N. A very, very overwhelmed man.”
With that, he slowly, carefully began to move again. It was a shallow, testing slide at first, but the moment he felt the way your body welcomed him, he let out a long, grounded groan and sank back in, the rhythm he found was slow and deep, each thrust an effort to keep from hitting his limit too soon. His length reached deep while the thickness kept you stretched, Yunho looked like he was witnessing a miracle, his breath coming in hot, rhythmic puffs against your lips. Every time he pushed back in, his jaw would tighten.
As Yunho settled into a more confident rhythm, his movements became less about caution and more about exploration. He shifted his weight, his large hands moving from the mattress to your thighs, anchoring you firmly as he angled his hips. On a particularly deep, heavy thrust, he hit a spot inside you that sent a literal jolt of electricity straight to your brain. Your reaction was violent and purely instinctive. Your back snapped off the mattress, a moan tore from your throat, echoing through the quiet bedroom.
Yunho looked like he’d just discovered a hidden Easter egg in a game he thought he’d mastered. “Wait—that... that sound,” he gasped, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and pure pleasure. “Did I just... did I hit a critical?”
“Yunho—right there,” you managed to choke out, your head falling back, your nails digging into his back. “Don’t... don’t stop. Do that again.”
A triumphant light flickered in his eyes—the look of a pro-player who had finally found the winning strategy. He didn’t just do it again; he focused entirely on that angle. He withdrew slowly, the agonising thickness of him dragging against that sensitive wall, and then lunged forward with a sharp, rhythmic precision. “Right here?” he rasped, his voice dropping into a growl you’d never heard from him before. “You like it when I hit this?” you just let out a breathless moan in response, your nails digging deep into the skin of Yunho’s back.
Every time he connected with that spot, your body bucked against his, your moans becoming frantic, breathless. He doubled down, his pace becoming faster, more desperate, his heavy frame thudding against yours as he chased that sound out of you over and over again. His large hands slid up to lace with yours, pinning them above your head as he drove himself into you. Yunho’s breathing was broken, ragged, his skin slick and burning wherever it met yours.
He was at the absolute limit. His muscles were rigid, his back corded with tension as he hovered over you. He was blind with it, his eyes half-closed as he focused every ounce of his being on the friction where you were joined.
“Touch me. Please... right there.” you gasped, voice strained and needy as you arched against him one more time. You guided his hand down, fingers trembling as you moved his large, hot palm toward your wetness. Yunho let out another moan as you rolled your hips to meet his thrust. Through the overwhelming haze of his own, fast building release, he tried to focus his wandering senses. His fingers, usually so precise, felt clumsy against your slick skin, but he found your clit with a soft, desperate touch.
The moment he made contact, the world seemed to tilt, the electricity traveling down your spine to your very toes.
The pleasure was more than his system could handle. Yunho felt the familiar, terrifying tightening in his lower stomach, a pulsing heat that was no longer something he could hold back. “I can’t... I’m not going to…” he choked out. He lunged forward, burying himself as deep as he could possibly go, his entire body going taut. He didn’t pull away; instead, he surged into you, seeking the heat of your mouth as the first wave of his climax took him. He crashed his lips against yours, his kiss desperate and messy, tasting of salt and relief.
As he came inside you, a long, broken sound was muffled against your lips. He held you with a sudden, crushing strength, his fingers digging into your hips to pull you flush against him, wanting to be as close as humanly possible while he gave you everything he had. The pulsing was deep and rhythmic, an overflow that seemed to drain the very strength from his bones.
He stayed there, buried deep and trembling, his face hidden in the crook of your neck as the world finally stopped spinning. His breath was hot and wet against your skin, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs, the sound of his heavy, uneven breathing against your ear.
Yunho was still lost in the aftershock of his own orgasm, his body pinning you into the mattress. But as he felt the way your muscles were still twitching around him, the way your nails were still buried deep in his back, he realized you weren’t there yet. He lifted his head, his eyes dark and hazy with a dazed, post-orgasmic glow. He saw the flush on your chest, the way your lips were parted as you fought for air, and a new, quiet intensity flickered in his gaze.
“You’re not…” he didn’t finish the sentence, he shifted his weight immediately, bracing himself on one arm so he didn’t crush you, while his other hand slid back down. His thumb found your sensitive bud, moving with a newfound, steady confidence. He wasn’t rushing anymore; he was focused entirely on the way you arched under his touch. “Let go,” he breathed, his lips ghosting over your jawline. “I’ve got you. Just... please give it to me.” He began to move his hips again, a slow, deep grind that used the lingering hardness of his length to create a different kind of friction. The combination of his thumb’s steady rhythm and the heavy, internal pressure was the final tipping point. Your breath hitched, a moan escaping you as your vision began to blur at the edges. You felt the tension coil tight in your stomach, a white-hot spark that suddenly caught fire. Your head fell back, your eyes snapping shut as the first wave of your climax crashed over you. “That’s it,” Yunho groaned against your skin. “Yes... just like that.”
You cried out as your body buckled and pulsed around him. Every muscle in your body went rigid, your toes curling as the pleasure radiated in rhythmic, electrifying waves. Yunho held you through it, his hand steady and his body anchored deep inside you, providing the solid ground you needed as you orgasmed. He watched you with a look of absolute devotion, drinking in the sight of you until the last of the tremors finally began to fade.
When you finally slumped back into the pillows, limp and exhausted, Yunho collapsed beside you. He pulled you into his side, his arm hooking around your waist to tuck you into the hollow of his chest. He pressed a lingering, tender kiss to the top of your head, his heart finally slowing to a calm, steady thud. “I think…” he murmured into your hair, “I think I’m finally starting to understand what everyone was talking about.”
Yunho was tangled with you, his large, damp body a literal heater against yours. His heart was still doing a frantic victory lap, but the panic was gone. Slowly, he pulled back, enough to look at you. If you thought he was red before, it was nothing compared to the radiant, sunshine-soaked glow on his face now. He looked like he’d just won the World Finals, the lottery, and a lifetime supply of bagels all at once. His hair was sticking up in every direction, and his smile—oh, that adorable smile—was so wide it looked like his face might actually split. “Oh my god,” he whispered, his voice cracking with a high-pitched, breathless laugh. “Y/N. Oh my god.”
You let out a soft, tired giggle, your fingers lazily tracing the corded muscle of his forearm. You were exhausted, your body feeling heavy, but seeing him this happy made your chest ache. “You okay?”
“Okay?” He let out a loud, hysterical huff of a laugh and flopped onto his back, pulling you with him so you were draped over his chest. He immediately began to wrap his arms around you, squeezing you in a massive, happy hug. “I’m better than okay! I’m—I’m levelled up! I’ve reached a new tier! I’ve… I’ve discovered a whole new game genre!” He was beaming, his dark eyes shimmering with a pure, unadulterated joy that was almost blinding. He couldn’t stop moving—his feet were twitching under the comforter, his hands were petting your hair, your back, your arms, as if he needed to constantly verify you were still there. “That was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he shifted closer, tucking his chin into the space above your collarbone, his nose nuzzling against your skin. “Did you... I mean... we just…” He let out a breathless, giddy laugh, shaking his head. “That was incredible! Was that as cool for you as it was for me? Because I feel like I just discovered a new colour. Like, a colour that doesn’t even exist on the spectrum yet!” He reached out, cupping your face with both hands, his thumbs dancing over your cheekbones in a flurry of excited motion.
“And I didn’t even... I mean, I held it together! Mostly!” He beamed, his chest puffing out just a little bit with a sudden, adorable surge of pride. “I was worried I was going to be all clumsy and, you know, ‘technical difficulties’ everywhere, but I think I actually did a decent job? Right? Tell me I did a good job.” He didn’t wait for an answer before he started peppering your face with dozens of quick, happy kisses—your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose. He was like a puppy that had finally caught the ball and didn’t know what to do with all the excess joy. “You were so loud,” he whispered, his voice hitching with a mix of awe and a very male sort of satisfaction. “I made you make those sounds. Me! Yunho! The guy who usually trips over his own feet in the kitchen!”
You laughed, a genuine sound that bubbled up from your chest despite how drained you felt. You reached up, catching his face to stop the flurry of kisses, your fingers digging into the soft hair at his temples. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice still a little shaky, a little airy. “You did a very good job. Better than a decent job. You... you were incredible.”
“You made those sounds,” he repeated, almost to himself, a smug little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t even know you could hit those notes. I want to hear them again. I want to spend the rest of the night making you make them.”
“Yunho!” you squeaked, hitting his chest lightly.
“What? I’m serious!” He caught your hand, lacing his long fingers with yours and bringing your knuckles to his lips for a lingering, tender kiss. He looked at you with such intense, boyish hope that it felt like you could melt right here and there. “I mean, did you see that?” he asked, his voice full of wonder as he looked at his own hands as if they’d just performed magic. “I was actually... I was consistent! I found the spot! I saw you arch and I was like, ‘Oh, okay, Yunho, stay on target, stay on target!’ And I did!” He couldn’t stay still. He kept moving, his feet tangling with yours under the sheets, his hands constantly finding an excuse to touch you—brushing a hair back, rubbing your shoulder, or just squeezing your waist. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered, his hyperactive energy settling for just a second as he looked at your face. He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours, his voice softening. “Really, Y/N. I’m the luckiest guy in the world. I’m never gonna forget tonight. Ever.”
Yunho’s eyes suddenly widened, his pupils practically sparkling as a new thought downloaded into his hyperactive brain. He sat up abruptly, shifting you from his chest to his side, the comforter sliding down to his waist, completely unbothered by his own nudity because he was too busy being the most excited boy on the planet. “Gosh, I need to tell Mingi!” he blurted out, a huge, goofy grin spreading across his face. “I have to tell him! He’s been acting like such an expert for months, giving me all these ‘tips’ and telling me to ‘just try not to pass out’! I didn’t pass out! I was a natural! I was practically a pro-player on the first try!”
“Yunho, no!” you gasped, reaching up to grab his arm, your face burning. “You are not telling Mingi!”
“But he needs to know!” Yunho laughed, leaning over to press a messy, happy kiss to your shoulder. “He told me I’d probably be ‘clumsy’ and ‘low-impact.’ I was high-impact, Y/N! And turns out I have a massive character buff! I need to humble him!” He started looking around for his phone, his long limbs tangling in the sheets as he moved with the energy of a kid on Christmas morning. “And Seonghwa!” Yunho added, his voice rising in pitch as he got even more excited. “Oh man, hyung is going to lose his mind. He’s so nervous about the ‘mechanics’ and the ‘controls.’ I need to tell him it’s not scary! I need to tell him that if I can do it then he can do it too!” He finally found his phone on the nightstand, but before he could unlock it, he looked back at you, his expression softening into something so dazed and proud it was almost unbearable. “They’re not gonna believe me,” he whispered, a little breathless. “They’re gonna think I’m making it up. They’ll be like, ‘Yunho? Our Yunho? The guy who gets shy when a girl asks for the time?’ And I’ll be like, ‘Yeah! Me! I’m the one who made her make those sounds!’”
“If you tell them I was loud, I will move to a different country,” you threatened, though you couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up.
“I won’t tell them everything,” he promised, though his mischievous grin said otherwise. He flopped back down beside you, pulling you into his chest so hard you squeaked. “I’ll just tell them I’ve officially reached the top tier. I’ve reached the final boss and I won, Y/N. I won so hard. I’m a living legend!” He was beaming, his chest puffed out with a sudden, adorable surge of pure, masculine pride. He looked like he wanted to go out and wrestle a bear or win the Summer Open solo. “I’m just… I’m really happy,” he murmured, his voice finally settling into a warm, domestic hum. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. Not even when I hit Radiant for the first time. This is way better than Radiant.”
As you shifted to get more comfortable, you felt a warm, unmistakable trickle against your thigh. The reality of the mess finally cut through the post-glow haze. “Oh—wait. I need a wet towel. Can you grab me one? I’m kind of... a mess.”
The “Legend” status evaporated instantly. Yunho’s eyes went wide as dinner plates, his golden-retriever energy switching to pure, frantic panic. “A towel? Why? Are you—are you bleeding? Did I actually break a mechanic?!” He scrambled to his knees, looking like he was about to call an ambulance. “Oh my god, Y/N, I knew it! I was too much! I’ve over-levelled and destroyed the environment!” Before you could stop him, he was diving toward the foot of the bed, his face full of terrifyingly earnest concern. “What happened? Where is it? Let me see! I need to check the damage—”
“Yunho! Stop!” You grabbed a pillow and playfully whacked him with it to get him to look at you. “I’m not hurt! You didn’t ‘break the environment,’ you dork. It’s just... you."
He paused mid-lunge, blinking up at you with a look of confusion. “Me? What do you mean, me?”
“It’s you leaking out of me,” you said, your face heating up despite the hilarity of the situation. “You finished inside me, remember? It doesn’t just stay there forever. Gravity exists, even for Radiant rank.”
The silence that followed was heavy with the sound of Yunho’s brain cells trying to process biology. He looked down at the sheets, then back at you, and slowly—painfully slowly—the most intense shade of purple-red you’d ever seen crawled from his chest to the tips of his ears. “Oh,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Oh. Right. Fluid dynamics. I... I knew that. I totally knew that was a feature.” He buried his face in his hands for a second, let out a tiny, high-pitched whimper of embarrassment, and then immediately scrambled off the bed. “Towel! Wet towel! Coming right up! I’m on it!”
You heard him nearly trip over a stray shoe in his rush to the bathroom, his voice drifting back to you, full of bashful pride again. “I’m definitely not telling Mingi about the towel part.”
You heard the sound of water running in the bathroom, followed by a loud clatter of a fallen shampoo bottle, and a muffled “I’m okay! No damage taken!”
A few seconds later, Yunho jogged back into the room. He was trying to look composed, but he was still stark naked and holding a warm, damp towel like it was a holy relic. He knelt on the edge of the mattress, his eyes darting between your face and the “situation” with a mix of awe and lingering bashful panic. “Okay, I have the supplies,” he announced, his voice still a little high-pitched. He reached out to help you, but then he hesitated, his hand hovering mid-air. “Wait, should I... do I do it? Or is that like... a solo quest?”
“Just give me the towel,” you laughed, reaching for it.
“No, no! I got us into this mess, I should help clean it up!” He took a deep breath, his face glowing as he gently began to clean your thighs. As he worked, he couldn’t help but peek at the evidence of his “character buff.” He let out a low, shaky breath, a small, proud smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth again. “Gosh, there’s actually... quite a lot.”
“Yunho!” you hissed, swatting at his shoulder.
“I’m just observing the stats!” he defended himself, looking up at you with those wide, shimmering eyes.
When he finally tossed the damp towel toward the laundry hamper (and missed by a mile, hitting the door instead), he let out a long, grounding exhale that seemed to finally vent the last of his energy. He scrambled to his dresser, his long, pale limbs moving with a new kind of fluid confidence, and pulled out two shirts. He put on an oversized black tee and shimmied into a pair of boxers. “Equipping the pyjamas,” he muttered, a soft, boyish chuckle vibrating in his chest as he climbed back into bed.
The mattress dipped significantly under his weight, the air finally setting into a low, domestic hum. “Here,” he murmured, handing you a plain, cotton tee. He helped you pull the shirt over your head, his large hands lingering on your shoulders for a second too long. It swallowed you whole, the hem reaching mid-thigh, making you look tiny against the backdrop of his pillows.
He didn’t just lie down; he curated a nest. He pulled the heavy comforter up, tucking it around your shoulders before sliding his arm underneath your neck, hauling you flush against his side so that your head rested right over his heart. “Comfort levels at 100%,” he whispered, his voice dropping into a thick, sleepy rasp that made your skin tingle. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, and finally a long, lingering one to your lips. He tasted like the cool water he’d just splashed on his face and felt like a living heater. He pulled you into him, his front to your back, his long legs spooning yours perfectly. One of his heavy arms draped over your waist, his hand splaying across your stomach. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady against your skin. “You okay?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. “Not too cold? Do you need another blanket? I can go get the heated one from Seonghwa’s bedroom—”
“I’m perfect. Just stay,” you murmured, reaching back to stroke his hair.
“Okay,” he breathed. “Staying. Keeping the position.” He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the back of your shoulder, then another to the side of your neck, they were quiet, deep, and filled with a domesticity that felt like a promise. “I love you, Y/N,” he muttered into your skin. “Best… night… ever.”
“I love you too, Yunnie.” You felt his breathing evening out, within minutes, he was dead to the world, his grip on you firm even in sleep. You stared at the curtains for a moment, the weight of his love—and the weight of your lies—swirling in your head. But as the warmth of his body seeped into yours, the exhaustion finally won. Your eyes drifted shut, and you fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, wrapped in the arms of the boy who thought you were a goddess.
Yunho stirred first. His body felt heavy and warm, a lingering phantom of the night’s heat still buzzing in his skin. He didn’t want to open his eyes; he wanted to stay in the soft, scent-filled bubble of your hair and the quiet hum of the apartment. But he needed to check the time. He needed to see if he had enough minutes left to pull you closer and fall back into that dreamless, happy sleep or if both of you needed to rush to classes. He groaned softly, his long arm reaching out blindly to the nightstand. His fingers brushed against cold glass and metal. He fumbled for his glasses, but his hand closed around a phone instead.
His brain was still 90% asleep when he brought the screen close to his face, squinting through the blur. He didn’t realise it was your phone. He didn’t realise the lock screen was different. He just saw the stacked notifications.
Wooyoung: EMERGENCY!!🚨 THE GYM GUY ACTUALLY HAD THE BALLS TO ASK ME OUT TONIGHT!! HE GAVE ME HIS NUMBER ON A PROTEIN SHAKE WRAPPER I AM SCREAMING!!
Wooyoung: BITCH WAKE UP!!! STOP RIDING CAPTAIN’S DICK AND CHECK YOUR DAMN PHONE!! MY SINGLE DAYS ARE OVER!!
Wooyoung: Anyway, priority shift! I can’t be Viper tonight. My skin needs to be glowing for this date, not hunched over a monitor carrying your ass. Reschedule the match with your nerdy boyfriend and his friends.
Wooyoung: Seriously, tell him you’re sick or something. We can’t Ratatouille tonight if I’m getting my back blown out! I plan to not be able to walk for the next three days. Go practice your aim, you still shoot like a blind toddler.
The silence in the room suddenly became deafening.
Yunho sat up, the movement slow and mechanical. The comforter slid off his chest, the cool air hitting his skin like a slap, but he didn’t feel it. He stared at the screen, his eyes scanning the words over and over again.
The puzzle pieces he’d been too in love to notice began to lock into place with a metallic click. The “coincidences.” The way you two never played together. The way you were always “studying” when the rest of Level Zero would meet up in B-12. He looked down at you—still asleep, wearing his shirt, looking like the personification of the pure, beautiful thing he’d described hours ago. His hand began to shake. The phone felt like it was burning his palm. Every word you’d whispered—“I love you,” “You were incredible,” “We’re in the same team,”—now felt like a line from a play he hadn’t realized he was starring in. He read the texts one more time, hoping—praying—he’d misread them. But there it was. He let out a breath that sounded like a sob, his fingers clutching the edge of the mattress. He just sat there in the grey light, looking at the girl who had stolen his first love and tied it to a lie. His jaw was tight, his eyes shimmering with a sudden, hot moisture that he refused to let fall. He wasn’t the happy, beaming boy from a few hours ago.
The sudden absence of his heat was what woke you.
The bed shifted, the mattress rising as Yunho’s weight left it. In the haze of your deep sleep, you reached out blindly for him, your hand brushing against the still-warm sheets where his body had been seconds ago. You let out a small, soft whimper of protest, your eyes fluttering open against the dim, grey morning light. “Yunho?” you murmured, your voice honey-sweet with sleep.
He didn’t answer.
You sat up, the oversized t-shirt sliding off one shoulder. You saw his silhouette near the door—his shoulders were hunched, his posture rigid with a tension that made the air in the room feel brittle. Without a word, he stepped out into the hallway, his footsteps heavy.
Panic flared in your chest, instantly killing the last of your drowsiness. You scrambled out of bed, your bare feet hitting the cold floor as you followed him. “Yunho? Is everything okay? Did something happen?”
You followed him to the living room. He wasn’t looking at the Rayman screen or the controllers still scattered on the rug. He was standing by the window, his large hands gripped so tightly onto the back of the sofa that his knuckles were white. His chest was heaving, his breath coming in shallow hitches that sounded like he was physically choking on the air.
“Yunho?” you stepped closer, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinched. He didn’t just move away—he recoiled as if your touch had burned him. The pale, cold light of dawn made his skin look like marble. He turned around, and the sight of his face stopped the blood in your veins. His glasses were on, but his eyes behind them were bloodshot, shimmering with disbelief. He looked like he had aged ten years in the span of five minutes. In his right hand, he was clutching your phone. The screen still lit up, displaying the wall of text from Wooyoung that had just dismantled his life.
“I was looking for my glasses,” he started but he didn’t look at you. He was staring at the phone, his thumb hovering over the screen as if the words were wounds he couldn’t stop touching. “I just wanted to see if I had enough time to make you breakfast before we had to leave.” He finally lifted his gaze, and the raw, wet shine behind his lenses made your heart stop. He didn’t look angry—he looked destroyed.
“‘Stop riding Captain’s dick and check your damn phone,’” he quoted, his voice cracking on the word Captain. He let out a short sound that was supposed to be a laugh, but it was too sharp, too full of pain. “He’s very high-energy, isn’t he? Your roommate. He seems very excited about his date.” He took a step toward you, holding the phone out so you could see the words. “He told you to reschedule the match with your ‘nerdy boyfriend.’ That’s me, right? The nerdy boyfriend who was just... being fooled the entire time?”
He looked down at the text again, his jaw tightening until the muscle leaped in his cheek. “‘We can’t Ratatouille tonight.’ Everything I fell for... every time I thought we were perfectly in sync... it was just him, wasn’t it? Wooyoung was playing, and I was just the idiot who didn’t realize the girl I loved was lying.” He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours for something—anything—that wasn’t a lie. “He called me a ‘nerdy boyfriend,’ Y/N. He told you to tell me you were sick so you could skip playing tonight. Was that the plan all along? Were you going to wake up in my arms, tell me you didn’t feel well, and then go practice your aim because you ‘shoot like a blind toddler’?" He let out a shaky breath, his fingers trembling against the phone. “The ‘Goddess’ I bragged about... the girl I thought was a tactical genius... she doesn’t even exist, does she? She’s just a character you and Wooyoung created to play me.” His voice dropped to a whisper, more devastating than any shout. “Last night... when I told you I loved you. Was that part of the mission? Or was that just the ‘nerdy boyfriend’ being a little too easy to manipulate?”
The air in the living room felt like it was freezing over. You took a desperate step forward, your hands reaching out instinctively to grab him, to pull him back from the edge. “Yunho, please,” you choked out, your voice trembling. “It’s not like that. It didn’t start like—I didn’t mean for it to go this far. Just let me explain, please, just let me touch you—” As your fingers brushed the skin of his forearm, Yunho flinched so violently it was as if you’d struck him. He lunged backward, hitting the wall.
“Don’t!” he held the phone up between you like a shield, his knuckles white. “Don’t touch me. Don’t... don’t do that soft voice. I don’t know which part of you is real and which part is the script anymore.” He looked at you, and for the first time, the warmth in his eyes was completely gone, replaced by a cold, hollow clarity. He let out a breathy, pained laugh that broke into a sob at the end. “I keep thinking back,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I keep going back to that day in the quad. When those girls were laughing at me. When she said…” He swallowed hard, his throat working as he stared at you with a look of dawning horror. “When she said that I was so pathetic that nobody would want to fuck me, even out of pity.” He wiped a frantic, messy hand across his eyes, shoving his glasses up his nose. “You heard every word they said to me.” He took a step toward you, his eyes searching yours with a terrifying, desperate intensity. “Is that when it started? Did you see me there, at my absolute lowest, and… Did you decide right then that the pathetic guy from campus was the perfect target for you to play? Were you bored?” He gestured wildly to the bedroom behind him, his voice cracking spectacularly. “Was last night the ultimate pity fuck? Was that the final achievement? Did you tell Wooyoung you finally closed the loop on the guy nobody wanted? Are you guys going to laugh about it over beer tonight while I’m sitting here thinking I finally found someone who saw me for who I actually am?” He dropped his head, his shoulders shaking as he clutched the phone to his chest. “I gave you everything,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “I gave you the only first time I’ll ever have. And you... you were just playing a character.”
“Yunho, no! It wasn’t pity, I swear to you, I—”
“Then what was it?” he snapped, the volume of his voice jumping for the first time, sharp and echoing against the ceiling of the apartment. He didn’t let you finish, his words cutting through yours like a blade. “If it wasn’t pity, was it just… the game? Was it the challenge of seeing how long you could keep the lie going before I noticed my ‘Goddess’ couldn’t hit a target?”
“Listen to me!” you cried, taking another step forward, your heart thumping painfully against your ribs. “The feelings, the way I look at you, that’s—”
“Stop!” he shouted, holding up a hand, his eyes squeezed shut as if the sight of you was physically hurting him. “Don’t say it. Don’t you dare use that word right now. You don’t get to talk about feelings when you were planning on telling me you were sick today just so the real Viper could go get laid!” He opened his eyes, and the sheer betrayal in them made you flinch. He looked down at the phone again, his thumb scrolling aggressively through the thread. “He thinks I’m a joke, doesn’t he? He’s laughing at me. And you let him! You let him call me a nerd, let him tell you to lie to me, while you were lying in my bed, wearing my shirt!” Yunho wasn’t just hurt anymore; he was getting heated, his voice rising into a sharp, authoritative tone you’d never heard before.
“I’m learning!” you said, your voice cracking as you took a defiant step toward him, fuelled by a mix of guilt and exhaustion. “I’ve been waking up at four in the fucking morning every day to run drills until my hands cramp! I didn’t ask for this to become some grand conspiracy! I just wanted to stay by your side because I fucking love you!”
“By my side?!” Yunho barked, a harsh, hysterical laugh breaking from his throat. He slammed your phone down onto the coffee table with a crack that made you flinch. “You stayed by my side by letting another man smurf your account? By making me look like a fucking idiot in front of my own friends? You let me brag about you! I told everyone you were the best thing to ever happen to me! And the whole time, you were just the girl behind the curtain while Wooyoung pulled the strings!”
“I’m trying! I’m in the range for hours every goddamn night after you fall asleep!” you screamed, your voice cracking as the sheer weight of the double life finally crushed your composure. “You think I like this? You think I enjoy having Wooyoung scream in my ear because I can’t aim to save my fucking relationship? I’m doing it for the team! I’m doing it for you!”
“For me?” Yunho’s laugh was a harsh, ugly sound that tore through the quiet of the apartment. “You didn’t do this for me. You did this because you loved the attention! You loved being the ‘Goddess’ everyone worshipped. You loved that I looked at you like you were some kind of miracle while you were just a puppet!”
“That is bullshit and you know it!” you hissed, stepping right into his space, your chest heaving against the fabric of his shirt. “I lied in the first place because I saw the way you cared for the club, and I knew—I knew if I was just some girl who couldn’t even pick the right agent in the lobby, I’d be invisible to you! I was trying to help you!”
“By lying to my face?’ he roared, his voice finally breaking into a full-scale shout. “By making me look like a fool in front of my own friends? You let me brag about you! You sat there and watched me tell Mingi how incredible you were, knowing the whole time you were lying! Was I just a trophy to you? The pathetic, shy gamer you managed to trick into bed?”
“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up about the bed!” you sobbed, shoving at his chest. “Last night had nothing to do with the game! You know that! You felt it!”
“I don't know anything!” Yunho screamed back, his eyes wild and bloodshot behind his glasses. “I don’t know if the girl I slept with even exists! Are you even the person I fell for, or was that just another layer of the script? Did Wooyoung tell you what to say to me in bed, too? Was he ‘Ratatouille-ing’ our whole fucking relationship?!”
“Go to hell, Yunho!” you shrieked, the words torn from the rawest part of your throat. “You’re so obsessed with your rank and your precious stats that you can’t even see I was doing everything to keep up with you!”
Yunho went deathly still. The anger in his face didn’t fade, but it curdled into something far more terrifying—pure, concentrated hurt. He looked at you as if you’d just slapped him. “My stats?” he repeated, his height feeling like a threat for the first time. “You think... you think this is about fucking Valorant?” He grabbed his own hair, pulling at the blonde strands in a fit of genuine, unbridled agony. “Do you really think a fucking video game is the most important thing to me?!” he screamed, his voice cracking spectacularly. “I didn’t fall for a character in the game, Y/N! I fell for the girl who sat in the dust with me in the basement! I fell for the person I thought was honest with me! I would have forfeited the Summer Open, the club, the whole fucking game just to stay in that bed with you for one more hour!”
“That’s a lie!” you yelled back, your hands fisted in the hem of his shirt. “We wouldn’t have even talked if it wasn’t for my lie! I was just some random girl who helped you out of a fucked up situation! After I shoved Seoyun I’d be just another person in the hallway to you!”
“Just another person?” Yunho’s voice broke into a pained, high-pitched sob. “I saw you! I saw you before you ever laid eyes on me! Do you even know we shared a class last year? I would look at you all the time thinking how pretty and cool you were! I was just too shy to speak to you until I thought we had something in common!”
The silence that followed was absolute. It felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of the apartment. You stood frozen, your hands still curled into the fabric of his shirt. Your brain was struggling to process his words, frantically searching through memories of crowded lecture halls. You had never noticed him. Not until that day when he put up the poster. “You... what?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
“Last year. Professor Shin’s lecture,” Yunho rasped, finally looking down at you. His eyes were red, his glasses slightly crooked. “You sat three rows down. You used to wear that oversized black leather jacket on top of a huge, black shirt and drink two cups of coffee, its smell would fill the entire class. I spent the whole semester trying to think of a single thing to say to you, but I am just some nerdy kid with no social skills. That day in the Quad, I thought... I thought the game was our bridge. It was the one thing that finally made me brave enough to talk to you.”
“I didn’t need you to be a good player, Y/N. I just wanted the girl with coffee.” He gestured toward the phone, his hand shaking. “But you thought I was as shallow as the girls who bullied me.”
“I was going to fix it! I was going to get good enough so Wooyoung didn’t have to—”
“Fix what?! The lie is the foundation, Y/N! You built us on a fucking lie!”
The room felt like it was shrinking, your chest was heaving, the oversized fabric of Yunho’s shirt—the one he’d tenderly helped you put on just hours ago—now feeling like a shroud. “You weren’t supposed to find out!” you shrieked, the words tearing out of you. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this! I was supposed to learn! I was supposed to get better and finally stop relying on Wooyoung!” You desperately placed your hands on top of Yunho’s sternum, but he flinched, backing into the wall. “I was going to wait until I was actually good enough, until I could hold my own, and then— I just needed more time! I just wanted to be the girl you thought I was! You weren’t supposed to know about any of this!”
The words didn’t just hang in the air; they curdled. Yunho’s expression shifted from agonising heartbreak to something far worse: a cold, dead clarity. He stopped shaking. He stopped crying. He just stood there, staring at you as if he were seeing a stranger for the first time—or finally seeing the real you. “I wasn’t supposed to find out,” he muttered, his voice dangerously soft. The way he said it made your blood run cold. It wasn’t an outburst; it was a realisation. “That’s the part you’re most upset about, isn’t it? Not that you lied. Not that you betrayed me. Just that you got caught.”
“No, that’s not what I meant—”
“But it is!” he snapped, his voice suddenly sharp again. “You just said it! You weren’t going to tell me. Ever. You were just going to wait until you were ‘good enough’ so you could successfully replace the old lie with a newer, better one. You were never going to be honest with me! You were just going to wait until the truth didn’t matter anymore.”
“Enough! Both of you!”
The voice was like a bucket of ice water.
Both of you spun around, chests heaving, faces flushed and tear-streaked. Seonghwa was standing at the edge of the kitchenette. He looked like he’d been standing there long enough to hear the full, ugly truth
“Hyung,” Yunho breathed, his voice suddenly small, the fire dying into a pathetic ash. He looked like he wanted to disappear.
Seonghwa’s gaze didn’t go to his best friend first. It landed on you. He looked at you—standing there in Yunho’s shirt, disheveled and desperate—and his eyes were colder than you had ever seen them. “Is it true?”
The silence that followed was the loudest sound in the world. You looked at Yunho, who was now staring at the floor, his shoulders shaking as he gripped his own arms. He couldn’t even look at you anymore. “I…” you whispered, the fight completely gone. “I can explain.”
“There is nothing to explain,” Seonghwa walked into the middle of the room, stepping into the debris of the argument. He looked at the phone on the table, then at your trembling hands, and finally at Yunho, who looked like he was trying to fold himself into the wall. “I’ve been watching the two of you for weeks,” Seonghwa continued, his gaze drifting back to you. The coldness was there, but it was mixed with a sharp, piercing disappointment that felt like a physical weight. “I saw how happy he was. I saw how he looked at you like you were the only person in the world who truly understood him. I actually started to believe it, too.”
“Seonghwa, please—” you started, but he held up a hand, silencing you instantly.
“Yeosang was the one who noticed the inconsistencies first, Y/N. He told me that some things just didn’t add up. That you never talked much about the game play and past matches when we were hanging out in B-12. That sometimes during matches what you said didn’t match your movement. I kept quiet because I thought... I thought surely you wouldn’t lie to us about something as stupid as being good at a game.” He turned to his best friend, his expression softening with a pained, protective look. “He doesn’t have a single bad bone in his body,” Seonghwa whispered, his voice thick with a quiet fury. “He thinks everyone is as honest as he is. You knew that. You saw him sitting there, getting ripped apart by those girls, and you knew exactly how much he needed someone to be on his side.” Seonghwa took a step toward you, his height looming, his face a mask of a heartbreak. “You stood in our kitchen and helped me cook. You sat on our sofa and listened to him talk about his dreams for the club. You let him give you his heart, knowing the entire time that you were lying.”
“But Hwa, I love him!” you cried out, the words sounding desperate and thin.
“You love the way he loves Viper,” Seonghwa corrected you sharply. “If you loved him, you wouldn’t have let him become a laughingstock for your roommate. You wouldn’t have let him believe he was in a relationship when he was actually in a puppet show.” He reached out and grabbed your bag from the floor where you left it yesterday, his movements efficient and final. He didn’t yell; he didn’t have to. The way he looked at you—as if he were seeing a bug in a system he had to purge—was enough. “You’re wearing his clothes,” Seonghwa noted, his eyes flickering to the oversized shirt. “Go into the bathroom. Change. Put your own things on.”
He turned to Yunho, who was still staring at the floor, his breathing shallow and jagged. Seonghwa walked over and placed a steadying hand on Yunho’s shoulder, “Yunnie, look at me,” he commanded gently. When the taller one finally lifted his red, tear-filled eyes, Seonghwa spoke with a finality that broke the last of the air in the room. “She’s leaving. We have a tournament to withdraw from, and a free spot in Level Zero to take care of.”
The bathroom door felt like a mile away as you walked toward it, Seonghwa’s eyes burning into your back. Every step was a nightmare, the soft cotton of Yunho’s shirt now feeling like it was made of lead. You changed with trembling hands, the silence in the apartment so heavy you could hear the blood rushing in your ears.
When you stepped back out, dressed in your own clothes, the living room felt like a funeral. Seonghwa was sitting next to still sobbing Yunho on the couch, his hand a firm, protective weight on his shoulder. Yunho looked like a ghost, his gaze fixed on a spot on the carpet, his fingers digging into his own arms.
“Yun, I—” your voice cracked, desperate for one last chance to make him see you, to make him believe that your feelings were real. “Please, just listen for one second—”
“Enough, Y/N,” Seonghwa interrupted, his voice like iron. “You’ve said enough.”
You looked at the two of them—the Level Zero family you had so desperately wanted to belong to. You walked out the door, the ‘Goddess’ was dead, and as you walked down the stairs into the cold morning air, you realized Viper had finally lost the only match that actually mattered.
The cigarette in your hand was a dying ember, the orange glow barely visible against the grey afternoon. You’d forgotten to take more than a single, bitter drag; you were just holding it, watching the ash grow long and precarious, a perfect mirror of your own stability. The weather for the past few days had been a cruel, mocking thing. The sky was a bruised palette of grey and blue, a relentless, drizzling rain portraying exactly how you felt inside. Everything was damp, cold, and blurred at the edges.
Your hands were shaking—a constant, rhythmic tremor that hadn’t stopped since the moment the door to Yunho’s apartment had clicked shut behind you. You’d burst into tears in the most humiliating scenarios: in the middle of the cafeteria, standing in line for a bus, and most horrifyingly, right in the middle of Professor Lee’s lecture. You couldn’t stand the skin you were in; you felt hollow, a ghost haunting your own life. In those few weeks by Yunho’s side, you had completely forgotten what your existence looked like before him. Now, the silence of your old life was deafening.
You were about to crush the filter into the damp rim of the trash can just to light another one—anything to keep your hands busy—when a voice cut through the hum of the rain.
“You don’t look too good.”
You froze. Yeosang was standing a few feet away, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. For the first time since you’d met him, the sharp, analytical edge was gone from his eyes. He looked... hesitant. Scared, even. He approached slowly, as if he were worried that a single wrong word might cause you to shatter right there on the pavement.
He stopped just outside your personal space, his gaze dropping to your shaking hands and then to the dead cigarette. “The Captain hasn’t slept,” Yeosang said softly, his voice devoid of its usual dry bite. “And looking at you... I’m guessing you haven’t either.” He took a step closer, the umbrella he was holding casting a shadow over both of you, shielding you from the drizzle. “Mingi told me you had classes in this building. He wanted me to scream and demand answers.” He paused, his throat working as he swallowed. “I’m not here to talk about the game, Y/N. I’m just... I’m here because Level Zero logic doesn’t make sense without Viper. And Yunho is currently a ghost in a headset.” He looked at you with a piercing, quiet sadness. “What happened? Truly. Because a lie about a video game doesn’t leave someone looking like they’ve had their soul deleted.”
You laughed—a sharp sound that had no humour in it, only bitterness. Your tongue darted out to lick your lower lip, tasting the salt of dried tears and the tang of nicotine, before your hands dove into your bag. You fumbled through the mess of receipts and loose change, your movements jerky and frantic as you searched for a fresh pack. You needed the smoke. You needed the ritual. Most of all, you needed your old walls—the walls of a girl you were before Yunho—to slam back into place.
“Why would you care?” you chuckled, the sound thin and brittle against the backdrop of the rain. You finally fished out the pack, your shaking fingers struggling to peel back the plastic. You kept your head down, focusing entirely on the task, your eyes never quite landing on Yeosang. You couldn’t afford to look at him. Yeosang was too smart; he saw the frame data of a person’s soul, and right now, yours was nothing but corrupted files. “Isn't this what you wanted, Yeosang?” you asked, finally sparking the lighter on the third try. You took a long, desperate drag, the smoke filling your lungs and momentarily steadying the tremors in your chest. “You were the one who kept saying I was a glitch. You were the one who didn’t trust me. Well, congratulations. The error has been corrected. I disconnected.” You leaned back against the damp brick wall of the campus building, blowing a plume of gray smoke into the gray sky. You looked like a stranger—colder, harder, and entirely unreachable. “Tell the Captain he can stop being a ghost,” you said, your voice dropping into a flat, monotone register. “Tell him the server is closed. He should go find a real Radiant to play with. Someone who doesn’t have to use a script to love him.”
Yeosang didn’t move, watching you with that terrifyingly calm intensity. “You’re a terrible liar, Y/N,” he said quietly. “You’re playing a character again. But this one... this ‘I don’t care’ version? Her win-rate is zero. You’re shaking so hard you can barely hold that cigarette, and you expect me to believe feelings are gone?”
You just scoffed, a short, sharp sound intended to dismiss him entirely, but your body betrayed you. Even as your lips curled into a defensive sneer, a single, hot tear escaped the corner of your eye. It traced a slow, burning path through the foundation on your cheek, cutting through the mask you were trying so desperately to rebuild. You didn’t wipe it away. To wipe it would be to acknowledge it was there. Instead, you took another aggressive drag of your cigarette, the tip glowing a fierce, angry red. “Feelings are overrated, Yeosang,” you whispered, your voice finally cracking, betraying the stone-cold persona you were aiming for. “The only way to save the system is to format the whole drive. That’s what I did. I saved him from a fraud.”
“You didn’t save him, you just left him in a room with all the lights turned off. He’s not even playing, Y/N. He just sits at his desk in B-12 and stares at your empty chair. He doesn’t even care about the Summer Open anymore.” He reached out, his hand hesitating in the air before he gently, tentatively, plucked the cigarette from your shaking fingers. He dropped it into the wet puddle at your feet, where it hissed once and died. “He thinks the lie was your way of trying to get away from him before things got ‘real.’ That’s the logic he’s running on now. Is that the version of the truth you want him to keep?”
You finally looked at him. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your eyeliner smudged into dark shadows that made you look haunted.
“He doesn’t have it in him to hate you, and he’s too far gone for pity. He just wants his person back. Not the MVP. Just the girl who blew him a kiss while chopping carrots.”
“The first phase of Summer Open is in three days,” Yeosang continued, his voice regaining a sliver of its tactical edge. “Mingi and I... we signed the roster. My friend from high-school, Jongho, took Seonghwa’s place for the tournament. Your spot is open.”
“My spot is open?” you repeated, your voice a hollow echo. “Yeosang, did you miss the part where I’m a liar? I can’t play. I can’t even hold my crosshair in the right position without hyperventilating.”
Yeosang’s tiny smirk didn’t reach his eyes, but it was the most Level Zero thing you’d seen in days. “I didn’t say you were playing. I’m a realist, Y/N. I know you’re still a bottom-tier scrub who probably still looks at her keyboard to find the ‘W’ key." He took a half-step closer, his expression turning deadly serious. “But you can still help Yunho make his dream work.”
You looked up at him, your eyes red-rimmed and stinging. “How? By showing up and letting him see how much I played him?”
“No,” Yeosang countered. “By bringing the real Viper. Talk to Wooyoung. Tell him to play with us. Even if it’s just for the first phase. He knows us. He knows our rotations. He was the one who was playing the entire time anyway—he might as well get the credit for the headshots.” He stepped closer, the shadow of the umbrella fully engulfing you. “Yunho is breaking, Y/N. If Wooyoung steps in, it gives us a fighting chance. And it gives you a chance to be there. Not as a player, but as the girl who actually cares whether he wins or loses.” Yeosang reached out, his hand hesitating before he gave your shoulder a single, stiff nudge—the closest thing to a hug he could offer without breaking his own character. “Tell Wooyoung he’s subbing in. Tell him the roster is waiting. And you?” Yeosang’s gaze turned piercing, his eyes searching yours. “You show up at the arena. You stand behind him. You be the person he actually fell in love with, and let the lie die. We have seventy-two hours to fix the logic, Y/N. Don’t waste them crying in the rain.”
The air inside the players’ lounge was thick with the smell of energy drinks, and the muffled, rhythmic thumping of the main stage’s bass. On the other side of the soundproof walls, fans were cheering, but inside the small room, the silence was suffocating.
Yunho was sitting at the edge of his chair, his head buried in his hands. He looked hollow—his jersey hung loosely on his broad shoulders, and the vibrant, determined leader who usually commanded B-12 had been replaced by a man running on nothing but autopilot. He didn’t even look up when the door hissed open.
“The fifth player is here,” Jongho announced, his voice echoing off the clinical white walls.
“Yeosang said he was bringing a ringer,” Mingi muttered, pacing the small room and checking his watch. “Some guy from the library? Who plays tactical shooters in a library?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Yunho rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. “We’re just here to fill the slot so we don’t get blacklisted for a no-show. We’re not winning anything today.” Yunho let out a heavy, tired breath, his voice muffled by his palms. “Just... tell him to come on in. I’ll give him the tactical brief in five minutes.”
“Actually,” Jongho muttered, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, “I don’t think he needs a brief.”
The door creaked open.
Yunho didn’t even look up at first, not until the heavy, rhythmic tread of two people entering made him lift his head. Yeosang walked in first, but it was the figure behind him that made the air vanish from the room. Wooyoung stepped in; he wasn't wearing a jersey; he was dressed in his usual oversized hoodie, a pair of high-end noise-canceling headphones draped around his neck. He looked like he was walking onto a battlefield he already owned.
Yunho’s brow furrowed, his brain trying to categorize the face. He’d seen him in photos on your phone. He’d heard his voice in the background of your calls. Then, in a sudden, violent motion, he surged to his feet. The chair he’d been sitting in skidded back, hitting the wall. “No,” Yunho hissed, his face contorting with a sudden, white-hot fury. His eyes weren’t just angry; they were devastated. “Absolutely not. Yeosang, what the hell is this?”
“Yunho, sit down,” Yeosang said calmly.
“I’m not playing with him!” Yunho roared, stepping toward Wooyoung. He was a head taller, his frame vibrating with a dangerous, unstable energy. “I’m withdrawing. We’re done.” Yunho turned to grab his bag, his movements jerky and frantic. He was done being the Captain. He was just a man who had been broken by the person he trusted most.
“I’m not here for you, Yunho. I’m here because of her,” Wooyoung said, stepping closer, refusing to be intimidated by the Captain’s height. “You want to withdraw? Fine. Throw away the Summer Open. But don’t act like you don’t know who I am.”
“I know exactly who you are,” Yunho spat.
“I’m the Viper,” Wooyoung corrected him, his eyes flashing. “I know the C-site retake on Haven. I know the wall-drop on Bind. I know that when you’re stressed, you over-rotate to A-short and leave the flank exposed. I know the way you breathe when you’re about to make a play, Yunho. I know all of it because I’ve been in your ear for weeks.”
Yunho’s face went pale, his grip on the bag loosening.
“I played those rounds with you,” Wooyoung continued, stepping into Yunho’s personal space. “When you clutched that 1v3 on Icebox and screamed because you were so happy? That was me holding the angle for you. When you told Y/N that she was the smartest player you’d ever met? You were talking about my brain. I know this team better than Jongho or Yeosang ever could. I am Level Zero’s strategy.”
The room went deathly quiet. Mingi looked like he was witnessing a car crash in slow motion.
“She’s outside,” Wooyoung whispered, his voice softening just enough to hit Yunho where it hurt. “She’s a mess. She thinks she ruined your life. But she’s the one who begged me to come here. She’s the one who said that you deserve this dream, even if you hate the person who helps you get it.” Wooyoung reached into his bag and pulled out his mouse, placing it on the desk with a heavy thud. “We have twenty minutes until we hit the stage,” Wooyoung said, looking Yunho dead in the eye. “You can hate me. You can never speak to her again. But don’t you dare let these guys lose because you’re too proud to play with the person who’s had your back since day one.”
Yunho stared at the mouse, then at Wooyoung. His chest was heaving, the fury fighting a losing battle against the sheer, undeniable logic of the situation. He looked like he wanted to scream, but instead, he let out a long, shuddering exhale. “If you miss a single lineup,” Yunho rasped, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and grief, “I’m killing the power to your PC myself.”
Wooyoung’s mouth twitched into a small, sharp smirk. “I don’t miss, Captain. Patch me in.”
Five minutes before the stage call, Yunho couldn’t breathe. He needed a second—just one second away from Wooyoung’s gaze and the suffocating reality of the tournament. “I need a minute,” he muttered under his nose, voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and shoved through the heavy door, stepping out into the industrial hallway.
He didn’t even make it three steps when he saw you. You were leaning against the cold concrete wall directly across from the door, your arms wrapped tightly around your middle as if you were trying to keep yourself from falling apart. Your hair was pulled up neatly, but your eyes were red-rimmed, staring at the floor.
Yunho froze. The fury that had been sustaining him in the room for the last fifteen minutes suddenly drained out of his heels, leaving him hollow and dangerously fragile.
At the sound of the door closing behind him, you flinched, head snapping up. Yunho looked weary, his broad shoulders hunched as if he were carrying the physical weight of the arena’s ceiling. He had his game face on—that terrifying, focused mask he wore when he was about to enter a high-stakes clutch—but it was cracked with pain that made him look older than his years. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The distance between you was barely six feet, but it felt like a canyon filled with every lie, every kiss, and every shattered promise.
“Yunho,” you whispered, your voice cracking.
But he didn’t even flinch. He turned his eyes to the neon exit sign at the end of the hall, and began walking, his stride long and purposeful. It was as if you were a non-playable character he was simply pathing around. The coldness of his silence was more violent than any shout could have been.
“Yunho, please, just—just one second,” you said, hurrying to keep pace with him. “I just wanted to wish you luck. I know... I know things are a mess, but Wooyoung is amazing. He’s going to do great as a substitute. He knows the game front to back, he’ll hit every timing, I promise. He’ll make sure Level Zero gets the win you deserve.”
Still, he said nothing, his jaw was set so tight you could see the muscle leaping in his cheek. He was treating you like a hallucination, a glitch in his system that he was determined to ignore until the map changed.
“Yunho, look at me,” you pleaded, your eyes blurring with fresh tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t walk into that stage carrying all this hate. Just win. Just take the dream and run with it.”
He reached the end of the hall, his hand extending toward the heavy metal bar of the arena door. He was going to walk through it and leave you in the shadows of the backstage, and you knew that once that door closed, the disconnect would be permanent. Without thinking, you reached out and snatched his wrist. Your fingers clamped around the bone of his forearm, your touch desperate and grounding. The sudden contact was like an electric shock. Yunho stopped dead. For a long moment, he stayed with his back to you, his arm rigid in your grasp. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the frantic pulse of his blood beneath your palm.
“Let go,” he rasped. It wasn’t a command; it was a plea.
“Not until you hear me,” you choked out, your grip tightening even as your hands began to shake. “I know I’m a liar. I know I’m a ‘bottom-tier scrub.’ But the way I feel about you—that wasn’t a script. That was the only real thing I had.”
He slowly turned his head, looking at your hand on his wrist before his gaze finally traveled up to your face. His eyes were dark, devoid of the honey-brown warmth you used to find safety in. He looked down at you, and for the first time, you saw the full extent of the damage. He wasn’t just mad; he was grieving. “Why are you here? To watch me fail in person?”
“I’m here because you’re not a failure,” you whispered, your voice trembling so hard it was barely audible. “And because I couldn’t let you walk into that stage thinking you were alone.”
Yunho let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Alone? Y/N, I’ve never been more alone than I was the second I realized the girl I loved was a character someone else was playing.”
“No, the girl you kissed was real. The girl who stayed up until 3:00 AM listening to you talk about your dreams is real.”
Yunho’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor between you. “You treated my heart like a game you had to cheat at to win.” He looked at you, and the exhaustion in his eyes broke your heart all over again. “You’re still doing it,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re still trying to manage my stats. You think you can just wish me luck and hand me a ‘substitute’ and everything will be optimised again? You think a win in a video game is going to fill the hole you ripped in my chest?”
“I just want you to be happy,” your fingers slipping against his skin as he slowly, firmly, began to pull his arm away.
“Then you shouldn’t have made me love a lie,” he said, his voice flat and final. He didn’t jerk away; he simply uncoupled himself from you with a clinical, heartbreaking precision.
“Wooyoung’s the best, Yunho. He’ll get you to the finals. He’ll make Level Zero real.”
“Level Zero was already real to me! I didn’t care about the tournament and pro-status! I didn’t care about the Radiant rank! I cared about you. I would have played in the bottom tier forever if it meant I was playing with you.” He reached out, his hand hovering near your face, his fingers trembling with the urge to touch you, to see if you were still warm, still his. But he stopped himself, his hand curling into a fist as he pulled it back. “And now, I have to go play a game with a stranger who helped you break my heart,” he said, turning back toward the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, his back to you. “And god help me, I still hope we win. Just so you don’t have to feel guilty for ruining that, too.”
He pushed the door open, and the roar of the crowd from the main stage flooded the hallway like a wave of sound—screams, casters shouting, the heavy bass of the intro music. It was the sound of his dream, and it was deafening.
Yunho stepped into the light without looking back, the heavy door swinging shut and leaving you in the sudden, crushing silence of the hallway. You stood there staring at your empty hand, the ghost of his pulse still burning in your fingertips.
You hadn’t stayed for the trophy presentation or the post-match interviews. You hadn’t even stayed to see if Yunho’s face lit up when the word VICTORY finally splashed across the jumbotron. The moment the casters screamed that Level Zero had secured the third qualifying spot, you had bolted.
You were curled into a ball on the living room floor, your back against the sofa and a half-empty bottle of Smirnoff cradled against your chest like a lifeline. The room was dark when the front door groaned open.
Heavy footsteps thudded in the hallway—the sound of someone exhausted but riding a massive wave of leftover adrenaline. A bag was dropped unceremoniously, and then the light flickered on, blindingly bright and clinical.
“Holy fuck—Y/N?” Wooyoung stood in the doorway. He looked like he’d been through a war. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his eyes were bloodshot from staring at a monitor for hours, and he was still wearing the Level Zero jersey—the one with the blank space on the back where a name should have been. He looked down at you, his gaze traveling from your tear-streaked face to the bottle in your hand. He didn’t make a joke. He didn’t even smirk. He just let out a long, shuddering sigh and leaned against the doorframe.
“We won,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Qualified. Third seed. We’re going to the second stage in two weeks.”
You let out a wet, jagged laugh, taking a swig from the bottle. “Congratulations, Legend. I guess ‘Viper’ really was the MVP after all.”
“Don’t do that,” Wooyoung snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through your drunken haze. He walked over and sat on the floor across from you, his legs splaying out. He looked at the bottle, then back at you. “It was a bloodbath, Y/N. Mingi almost threw in the second map, and Yeosang... Yeosang actually yelled. But Yunho...”
You flinched at the name, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don't want to hear it.”
“You’re going to hear it,” Wooyoung countered, reaching over and firmly prying the bottle from your hands. He set it out of reach. “He played like a demon. I’ve never seen anything like it. It wasn’t even tactical anymore—he was just violent. Every time I gave a call-out, he executed it before I could even finish the sentence. He didn’t look at me once.”
You buried your face in your knees, your shoulders starting to shake. “He hates me, Woo. He looked at me in that hallway and I saw it. I’ve deleted him. I’ve corrupted everything he ever felt.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Wooyoung said, and for once, there wasn’t a trace of his usual sarcasm. He reached out, awkwardly patting your knee. “He’s just... he’s processing. After the last round, when the crowd was screaming and the casters were losing their minds, he just sat there. He didn’t cheer. He didn’t high-five Mingi. He just stared at the floor for a full minute before he walked off stage.”
Wooyoung looked at the jersey he was wearing, his fingers picking at a loose thread.
“He asked me something before I left,” Wooyoung whispered.
You looked up, your vision blurred and swimming. “What?”
“He asked if the Viper’s Pit—the way I play it, the way I stall the spike—if that was the version of the game I taught you.” Wooyoung looked you dead in the eye. “I told him no. I told him I couldn’t teach you how to be me, because you were too busy trying to be someone he’d love.”
You let out a sob, your forehead hitting your knees with a dull thud. “I ruined his dream, didn’t I? Even though he won, I ruined it.”
“No,” Wooyoung said, standing up and offering you a hand to pull you off the cold floor. “You just turned his dream into a complicated quest. But you? You need to sleep. You smell like a distillery and regret.”
You didn’t take his hand. Instead, you tilted sideways as your body, heavy and uncoordinated from the alcohol, refused to cooperate. The room felt like it was running at a low frame rate, every movement lagging behind your brain’s desperate commands. “I can’t… I can’t get up, Woo,” you slurred, the words thick and clumsy, tumbling over each other. You reached out for the bottle he’d taken away, your fingers grasping at empty air. “Gimme that back. I need to… I need to format. Too many files. Too much… garbage.”
“You’ve had enough ‘formatting’ for one night,” Wooyoung muttered. He crouched back down, his face a mix of exhaustion and genuine concern. He hooked an arm under your knees and another behind your back, hoisting you up. Your head lolled onto his shoulder, the world spinning in dizzying, nauseating circles. You felt like a lead weight in his arms, your limbs dangling uselessly.
“It’s all my fault,” you whimpered into the fabric of his jersey—the jersey that smelled like the arena, like sweat, and like the dream you’d poisoned. “He was so… he was so happy, Woo. Did you see his face before? When he thought I was… her?”
“Y/N, stop,” Wooyoung said, his voice strained as he carried you toward the couch.
“No, listen,” you insisted, your voice rising into a sharp, drunken wail. You grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him close until your blurred vision finally focused on his eyes. “I stole it. I stole his first win. I stole his first… everything. He’s gonna look at that trophy and he’s just gonna see my lying face.”
He set you down on your bed, but you didn’t sit up. You slumped over, your face buried in the pillows, your voice muffled and wet with fresh tears. “I love him so much I erased myself,” you sobbed, the words coming out in a broken, rhythmic chant. “I erased myself until there was nothing left but a mask, and now… now the mask is broken and there’s nothing underneath. He’s in love with nothing. I’m just… I’m a bottom-tier scrub. A zero. I’m level zero.”
“You’re drunk and you’re being dramatic,” Wooyoung said, though he didn’t say it meanly. He pulled a blanket over your shaking shoulders, tucking it around you with a rough, brotherly kind of care.
“I want to go back,” you rasped, your eyes fluttering shut as the darkness of the room started to pull at you. “I want to go back to the Quad. Before the daily quest. Before the Viper.” You let out a long, shuddering breath that smelled of vodka and heartbreak. “I just want him to be okay. Why can’t he just… be okay without me?”Wooyoung didn’t answer. He just sat on the edge of the bed, watching you descend into a fitful, alcohol-heavy sleep. He looked at his phone, a notification from the team Discord glowing in the dark—a message from Yunho that simply read: Good games today. See you at practice. No emojis. No exclamation points. Just the cold, mechanical ghost of a Captain who had won the game but lost the world.
“You have to eat something other than nicotine and regret, Y/N,” Wooyoung muttered one afternoon, leaning against the doorframe of the balcony.
You didn’t turn around. You just watched a stray ember fall from your cigarette. “I know.” You were curled into the corner of the old, outdoor sofa, your knees pulled to your chest, staring out at a city that didn’t know your world had ended. The ashtray on the sill was a mountain of grey stubs, a testament to the days you’d spent watching the sun crawl across the sky without feeling its warmth. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the look on Yunho’s face in the grey morning light that day everything fell down.
Wooyoung dropped a bag of takeout beside you and sighed, the sound heavy with a guilt he tried to mask with his usual bravado. “At this point, you’re going to get lung cancer,” he said, his voice flat as he walked over and snatched the cigarette from between your fingers. He crushed it into the ashtray, but the joke didn’t land. It didn’t even hover. He sat on the edge of the sill, looking down at you. The vibrant, chaotic Wooyoung who had sent those texts—the one who was so excited about a gym guy—was gone, replaced by a man who looked exhausted by his own regret. “Y/N, it’s been over two weeks now,” he said softly, his hand hovering near your shoulder before he pulled it back, sensing the invisible wall you’d built. “I can count on one hand the meals you’ve eaten. I’m worried.”
You didn’t move. You didn’t even blink. “I’m not hungry, Woo.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I was the one who pushed the lie. I was the one who sent those stupid fucking texts.” Wooyoung reached out and took your cold, trembling hand in his. “Please stop blaming yourself. Just one bite of the kimchi fried rice. For me? If you die of a broken heart, I have to live with the fact that I’m the one who broke it.” Wooyoung’s voice was desperate, clawing at the edges of the hollow shell you’d become. He hated this quiet version of you. He missed the girl who was sharp-tongued and untouchable—the one who could out-drink and out-insult anyone in a five-mile radius. “Where is my best friend, Y/N?” he asked, his voice rising, trying to inject some of his old fire into the stagnant air of the balcony. He nudged your shoulder, his eyes searching yours for even a flicker of the old light. “Let’s just go out. Let’s get drunk and get him out of your system like we always do!”
You finally looked at him, but your expression was dead, your eyes flat.
“Remember that frat party we went to after that dick Juyeon cheated on you?” He let out a sharp, forced laugh. “You threw a drink in his face and made the whole house side with you by midnight. We can do it again! It’s Saturday! Put on your scary liner and those ripped fishnets, and let’s go! I know you’ll feel better once you remind yourself you’re that bitch!” He was pleading now, his hands gripping your shoulders as if he could shake you back into existence. “He’s just a guy, Y/N,” Wooyoung lied, his voice trembling because he knew it wasn’t true. “He’s just a gamer with a pretty face and a big heart that you happen to break. So what? People break hearts every day! You’re the girl who doesn’t care, remember? You’re the one who calls the shots!”
You looked down at the bag of cold kimchi fried rice, the smell of it making your stomach turn. “That was different, Woo,” you whispered, your voice sounding like it was coming from the bottom of a well. “Juyeon was a dick. I wanted to hurt him back.” You finally turned your head to look at the empty space on the balcony where you used to imagine Yunho standing, his large frame blocking the wind for you. “Yunho... he wasn’t a dick. He was the only person who ever looked at me and saw past ‘that bitch.’ He saw the girl who drank coffee. He saw someone worth loving.” You let out a jagged, dry sob that felt like it was tearing your throat open. “I can’t put on the liner. I can’t go out and pretend I’m untouchable when I’m the one who touched him and ruined everything.”
Wooyoung’s face fell, his hype man mask finally shattering. He pulled you into a tight, suffocating hug, burying his face in your hair. “I know,” he choked out, his tears finally hitting the collar of your hoodie. “I know he was different.”
“He’s surviving, Y/N,” Wooyoung added. “He doesn’t speak to me much beside the game talk but... he tries to survive. Just like you’re trying to do. But he’s doing it by moving forward. By having a purpose. You’re doing it by sitting in this ashtray.” He stood up, his shadow stretching across the balcony. “You can’t stay in this phase forever while he’s out there becoming a machine just to forget you existed. Come on. Get up. If he’s moving on, you have to at least pretend to do the same.”
The silence between you and Wooyoung stretched thin, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic and the rhythmic thump-thump of your own hollow heart. He wasn’t giving up. He saw you disappearing, fading into the upholstery and the smoke, and it terrified him. “I’ll let you do any weird, reckless thing you want tonight,” Wooyoung whispered, his grip on your hand tightening. “We’ll go to that underground club. We’ll spray-paint a bridge. Anything. Just... please. Go out with me. Move from this spot before the floor swallows you whole.”
You looked at him, his eyes were bloodshot from hours in front of the monitor, and he looked smaller, drained of his usual neon energy. He was drowning in his own guilt, and you realized that by staying here, you were keeping him under the water with you. “Any reckless thing?” you rasped, your throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper.
Wooyoung nodded frantically, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes. “Anything. You want to get a tattoo? You want to jump off a bridge into a safety net? You want to go find Juyeon and key his car just for the hell of it? I’m your man.”
You stood up slowly, your joints stiff and protesting. You walked past him into the living room, your eyes landing on his PC—the machine that had been the conduit for your greatest joy and your most spectacular failure. You reached for your phone, the screen cracked from when Yunho had slammed it down. You stared at the jagged lines spider-webbing across the glass, reflecting the ghost of your own face. “I don’t want a tattoo,” you said, your voice finally gaining a sharp edge. “And I don’t want to key a car.” Wooyoung watched you as you grabbed your leather jacket from the chair. You shook off the weeks of ash and dust, the scent of leather cutting through the stagnant air of the apartment. You felt a cold, hard resolve settle into your bones—the kind that only comes when you’ve reached the absolute bottom and realise there’s nowhere left to go but out. “We’re going to The Abyss,” you said, looking him dead in the eye. “And,” you added, your voice dropping into a reckless, dangerous low, “we’re going to get fuckfaced drunk.”
Wooyoung’s eyes widened, a slow, wild grin creeping onto his face as the shock wore off. This was the mess he knew. This was the chaos he understood. He didn’t care if it was a bad idea; he just cared that you were finally moving. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, snatching his car keys off the counter with a flourish. “The Abyss it is. If we’re going to go down, we might as well go down in a blaze of cheap beer and bad decisions.”
“I want to forget,” you said, pulling your hair back into a tight, messy knot. “I want to be so far gone that when I close my eyes, I don’t see his face looking at me like I’m a toxin.”
“Then let’s get moving,” Wooyoung said, throwing the door open. “Put on the liner, Y/N. Make it thick. We’re going to remind that bar—and anyone from Level Zero who happens to be lurking—that your Viper might have been a ghost, but you’re a fucking haunting.”
As you stepped out into the hallway, leaving the ashtray and the silence behind, you didn’t feel better. You felt hollowed out and electrified. You weren’t moving forward, not really—you were just running headfirst into the dark.
And for now, the dark was the only place you felt at home.
The neon sign for The Abyss flickered in a shade of neon violet, casting long, distorted shadows across the cracked pavement as you and Wooyoung stepped out of the car.
“Tonight,” Wooyoung muttered, adjusting his jacket collar, his eyes darting toward the entrance with a mix of anxiety and adrenaline. “Tonight, we’re just two people looking to erase the last month from our collective memory. No names, no flings. Just the bottom of a glass.”
As you pushed through the heavy, sticker-covered door, the air hit you, thick and sweltering, a claustrophobic haze of cheap beer, sweat, and cloying fruit vape smoke. The floor was tacky under your boots, sticking with every step as you navigated past clusters of loud, shoved-together tables.
“Oh, shit,” Wooyoung hissed, his hand tightening painfully on your elbow. He came to a dead stop, his breath hitching as he scanned the crowded rail. “Y/N, Mingi’s working.” He tried to yank you back toward the exit, his voice climbing into a frantic whisper. “Maybe this was a mistake. Let’s just go to The Per Mille. It’s a bit more expensive, but we can still get trashed if I flirt enough with the bartender—please, he’s going to see us.”
“No,” you said, the word coming out sharp. The lukewarm vodka from the convenience store you’d downed in the car was finally hitting your bloodstream, radiating a false, hollow warmth through your chest. “I’m not hiding. I hid enough in our apartment.” You didn’t just walk; you moved with a reckless intent, heading straight for the bar and stopping squarely in Mingi’s line of sight. You climbed onto a high stool, the cold metal biting into your thighs through your ripped fishnets. With your heavy, smeared eyeliner and disheveled hair, you knew you looked exactly like the disaster you were. “Two shots of the cheapest vodka you have,” you called out, your voice cutting through the muddy bass of the speakers. “And keep them coming until I can’t feel my face.”
Wooyoung scrambled onto the stool next to you, looking like he wanted to bolt for the fire exit. “Y/N, stop,” he pleaded under his breath. “Mingi just looked over. He’s frozen... he’s staring right at us. He will give me such a hard time tomorrow during the B-12 meeting.” You didn’t turn. You didn’t flinch. You simply picked up the first plastic shot glass, the cheap alcohol stinging a small, raw cut on your lip. You could feel Mingi’s gaze—heavy, hurt, and burning with a dozen questions—pinning you to the spot.
Mingi stopped wiping the counter, the rag limp in his hand. He looked at you, then at the guilt-ridden Wooyoung, and finally at the shots you were about to down. The boy who usually had a laugh for everyone looked like he’d just seen a ghost walk into his bar.
You tossed the shot back, the burn of the vodka searing your throat, and stared at your own distorted reflection in the grimy bar mirror. You were right there. You were a mess. And you wanted it to hurt.
Mingi didn’t move for a long beat. The rowdy college kids at the other end of the bar were shouting for a round of pitchers, but he ignored them, his eyes locked on yours. The neon violet light caught the edge of his jaw, making him look sharper.
He finally walked over, his boots heavy on the sticky floorboards. He didn’t say a word as he reached out and took the second shot cup—the one meant for Wooyoung—and dumped it into the sink behind the bar with a sharp, decisive splash.
“Mingi, hey— Didn’t know you were working today.” Wooyoung started, his voice cracking, but Mingi cut him off with a look so cold it could have frozen the cheap beer taps.
“You’ve got some nerve bringing her here,” Mingi said, his voice low and vibrating with a bass that cut right through the music. He leaned over the counter, his large hands gripping the edge until his knuckles turned white. He was looking at you—at your smeared makeup, at the way your hands were trembling despite your defiant posture. “You look like shit, Y/N.”
“Good,” you rasped, pushing your empty cup toward him. “That was the goal. Now fill it up again.”
“No.” Mingi snatched the cup and threw it into the trash. “I’m not helping you drown whatever’s left of your conscience. You think being a disaster makes up for what you did? You think if you get messy enough, the lie just... dissolves?”
“I’m just a customer, Min,” you hissed, leaning in until you could smell the cleaner and smoke on him. “Just give me the drink and do your fucking job.”
Mingi let out a harsh, dry laugh. “My job? My job is usually keeping people like you from making mistakes they can’t take back. But you’re a pro at that, aren’t you?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a secret and a threat. “He’s in the back, Y/N. In the ‘Staff Only’ booth. We’re staying for a beer after my shift, Seonghwa is on his way. If you stay here, he’s going to see you. Both of them will. And I swear to God, if you break what’s left of him tonight, I will personally throw you out of this basement.”
“He's here?” you whispered, the bravado finally cracking like thin ice.
“We should go," Wooyoung muttered, tugging at your sleeve. “Y/N, come on, let’s go. This was a bad idea, let’s just—”
“No,” you said, but the word lacked its previous fire. You looked past Mingi, toward the dark, shadowed corner behind the kegs where a single ‘Staff Only’ sign flickered. You leaned across the sticky wood of the bar, your fingers curling into the fabric of Mingi’s work shirt, yanking him closer until your foreheads were almost touching. The smell of cheap vodka on your breath mixed with the heavy scent of his citrus cologne. “I don’t care where he is,” you hissed, your voice a filled desperation and intoxication. “I don’t care if he’s watching. Keep. Them. Coming.”
“Fine,” Mingi barked, his voice rough with a mixture of pity. He ripped his shirt out of your grasp. “If you want to disappear, Y/N, I’ll help you do it.” He didn’t use the plastic cups anymore. He grabbed a heavy glass and slammed a bottle of the bottom-shelf vodka onto the rail. He poured a double, then a triple, the clear liquid sloshing over the sides. “Drink up,” Mingi said, his eyes hard. “But when you start puking, Wooyoung is the one carrying you out. I’m not touching you.”
You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the glass, the weight of it grounding you as you tipped it back. “Another,” you gasped, slamming the glass down.
Wooyoung reached out, his face pale. “Y/N, slow down. You’re going to get sick, please—”
“Shut up!” you snapped, your head starting to swim as the room began to tilt on its axis. The violet neon light began to bleed into long, pulsing streaks of colour. “You wanted ‘that bitch,’ right? Well, she’s here! And she’s fucking having a blast!”
Mingi poured another, his expression grim. He was watching you like a car crash in slow motion. Around you, the bar roared—students laughing, glasses clinking, a group in the corner shouting about a “sick play” on the TV. You felt the stool beneath you sway. Your skin felt too tight, your chest too heavy. You leaned your head back, letting the light blind you, your eyes stinging as the vodka finally began to numb your brain.
“You know what?” Wooyoung barked, his voice sharp with a sudden, reckless fury. “Fuck it.” He didn’t try to stop you anymore. He didn’t try to be the voice of reason. He reached out and snatched the bottle of bottom-shelf vodka right out of Mingi’s reach. He didn’t bother with a shot glass. He tipped his head back and took a long, burning pull directly from the bottle, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the fire. Wooyoung slammed the bottle back onto the sticky wood, his eyes watering, a wild, manic light returning to his face. “If we’re going down, we’re going down together!” He leaned in closer, his face flushed under the pulsing violet strobes. The adrenaline of the alcohol seemed to tear a secret right out of his throat—one he had been guarding like a bruised ego for the last week. “And you know what? Fuck the gym guy!” he yelled over the bass, the confession coming out as a jagged, hysterical bark.
You blinked at him, your vision lagging behind your movements. “What?”
“The guy from the texts! The one I was so excited about!” Wooyoung let out a sharp, self-deprecating laugh and took another swig from the bottle. “He never showed up. I sat at that goddamn bistro for two hours like a fucking loser, checking my hair in the window reflection!” He shoved a lock of hair out of his eye, his face falling into the same raw misery you were feeling. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to be the heartbroken one while you were also falling apart,” he confessed, his voice cracking. “But we’re both losers, aren’t we? I‘m a failed date, and you’re a ghost in a leather jacket. We’re the perfect pair of fuck-ups!”
The irony hit you like a physical weight. While you were destroying your life for a lie, Wooyoung had been trying to build a fantasy that didn’t even want him.
“He ghosted you?” you slurred, a ghost of a bitter smile twitching on your lips.
“Ghosted. Stood up. I never showed up to the gym again,” Wooyoung cheered, raising his glass to the empty air. “Who cares, right? I just spent six months crushing on him! But now we’ve got rail-vodka and each other!” He grabbed your arm, pulling you off the stool. Your legs buckled, and you stumbled into his chest, the world spinning. “Come on!” he screamed, dragging you toward the the sticky dance floor where the bass was loud enough to stop a heart.
Mingi watched from behind the bar, his hands gripping the counter so hard the wood creaked. He looked toward the back hallway, his face a mask of dread, knowing that the louder Wooyoung got, the closer the ‘Staff Only’ door was to opening.
You let Wooyoung pull you into the crowd, the heat of the bodies and the roar of the music finally swallowing you whole. You were your old self now—the one who didn’t care, the one who didn’t cry, the one who was too drunk to realise she was breaking her own heart with every step.
The universe had a sick sense of humor.
Just as Wooyoung was spinning you into the middle of the sweaty, heaving crowd, screaming about being a failure, he slammed back-first into a solid wall of muscle. The impact was enough to send Wooyoung stumbling, his grip on your arm the only thing keeping you both upright. “Hey, watch it—” Wooyoung started, his alcohol-fuelled bravado peaking—until he looked up. The air seemed to vanish from the bar. Standing there, illuminated by a sudden flash of white light, was a man who looked like he’d been rendered in 4K while the rest of the bar was stuck in 480p. Broad shoulders that stretched the fabric of a tight white tee, a sharp jawline, and—as he looked down at the disheveled mess that was Wooyoung—a single, devastating dimple appeared.
“Wooyoung?” the guy asked. His voice was a soft, deep rumble that felt like it belonged in a velvet-lined library, not this neon-soaked dive.
It was him. The gym guy.
Wooyoung froze, looking less like a bar-goer and more like a deer caught in headlights. His mouth hung open, a stray drop of vodka glistening on his chin. “You…”
“Why didn’t you show up?” the guy asked suddenly, clearly surprised by his own bluntness, his hand reaching out to steady Wooyoung’s waist. His palm looked massive against Wooyoung’s small frame. There was no anger in his voice—just a genuine, heartbreaking confusion. “I waited at Park Bistro for three hours. I thought... maybe you changed your mind because I had to leave so fast after asking you out.”
Wooyoung’s jaw hit the floor. The windows in the background could have exploded and he wouldn’t have noticed. “The Park Bistro?” Wooyoung shrieked, his voice cracking. “No! No, no. I was at Bistro Verre! The one on the other side of the park!”
The realisation hit them both at once—a classic, low-budget sitcom misunderstanding that had cost them weeks of unnecessary heartache.
You stood there, swaying on your feet, watching the scene unfold through a thick, violet haze. The irony was so sharp it was practically sobering. Wooyoung’s fantasy had just materialised out of the smoke and grabbed him by the waist, while your guy was still MIA.
“You waited?” Wooyoung whispered, his bravado having completely evaporated, replaced by a look of sheer, shimmering wonder. “Three hours?”
“I had a book,” the guy admitted, a faint, sheepish flush creeping up his neck that made him look human for the first time. “And I really wanted to see you again. I thought... maybe I’d misread the vibe. I almost deleted your number.”
Wooyoung let out a sound that was half-sob, half-gasp. “If you had deleted it, I would have had to join a monastery. Or move to Mars. I’ve been mourning us for days! I’ve been telling everyone you were a hallucination!”
The stranger laughed—a rich, melodic sound that seemed to cut right through the haze. “I’m San. And I’m definitely not a hallucination.” He finally looked at you, giving a polite, slightly awkward nod of acknowledgement to the third wheel currently leaning against a sticky high-top table. “Is he... is he okay to walk? Or should I get him some water?”
“He needs an exorcism and a grilled cheese,” you slurred, waving a hand dismissively. “But mostly, he needs you to stop him from falling over. He’s all yours, San. Please, take him.”
San smiled—that dimple again, a literal hazard to public safety—and turned back to Wooyoung. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here. I think we’re owed a do-over, don’t you? Somewhere with zero strobes and a lot of water.”
“Go,” you shoved Wooyoung’s shoulder weakly. “Go be with your gym crush, Woo. I’m fine.”
“Y/N, wait—” Wooyoung tried to reach for you, but San was already began to weave through the crowd, his large hand stayed firmly anchored on the small of Wooyoung’s back, guiding him through the chaos.
You watched them go, a tiny, bitter-sweet smile tugging at your lips. The universe was still a jerk, sure—but every now and then, it actually nailed the landing.
Your legs felt like they belonged to someone else as you pushed through the heavy, sticker-covered door that led to the smoking area. It was a cramped, fenced-in concrete slab behind the bar, lit by a single flickering amber bulb and the orange cherries of a dozen cigarettes. The cold night air hit your lungs like a slap, making your head spin even faster.
You fumbled for your pack, your fingers shaking so hard you almost dropped it, when a shadow detached itself from the brick wall.
“Need a light?”
The voice was like a nightmare from a past life. You looked up, squinting through the haze, and felt your stomach drop. Standing there, looking exactly as arrogant and polished as he had freshman year, was Juyeon. The dick from your past. The one who had cheated, the one who had started the cycle of you building walls and calling yourself a bitch. He was leaning against the fence, a silver lighter flicking open and shut in his hand with a rhythmic clack-clack.
“Juyeon,” you breathed, the name tasting like acid.
“The one and only,” he smirked, stepping into the light. He looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on your smeared liner and the way you were swaying. “You look like you’ve had a rough night, Y/N. I heard you were hanging around with the geeks. Didn’t think they’d be your type.” He walked closer, the silver lighter sparking a flame that danced in his dark eyes. “What’s the matter?” Juyeon taunted, his voice a low, condescending drawl. “Did the stuttering nerd realise that playing video games doesn’t make you any less of a—”
“Get lost,” you spat, but your knees buckled as you tried to push past him.
Juyeon’s hand shot out, grabbing your upper arm with a grip that was far too tight. “I don’t think so. You look like you can’t even find the door, Y/N. Let’s get you out of here before you embarrass yourself even more.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you snarled, trying to wrench your arm back. The movement made the world tilt on its axis, the gray campus buildings swaying dangerously. You felt pathetic, your legs heavy and uncooperative, while Juyeon stood there like a stone pillar of arrogance.
“Still got that fire, huh?” Juyeon laughed, but it wasn’t a kind sound. He pulled you closer, his chest hitting your shoulder. “It’s embarrassing, Y/N. Look at you. Standing here alone, smelling like a dive bar, crying over some guy who can’t finish a sentence without stuttering. I hang around Seoyun now, she told me about him. Is that what you’ve reduced yourself to? A groupie for a bunch of nobodies?”
“For fuck’s sake,” you hissed, digging your heels into the concrete, but he began to haul you toward the door. He wasn’t being a gentleman; he was dragging you like a trophy he’d reclaimed, his fingers digging into your skin. “Let me go!”
He didn’t listen. He yanked you forward, dragging you back through the heavy metal door and into the pulsing violet chaos of the bar. “I’m doing you a favour,” he muttered, his voice hardening as he yanked you.
Juyeon’s face drifted closer, his breath smelling of expensive mints and something cold. He didn’t just look angry anymore; he looked predatory, his eyes scanning your disheveled state with a look of pure, skin-crawling possession.
“We’re leaving,” he repeated, his voice dropping into a low, revolting murmur against your ear. “You’re going to sit in my car, sober up, and stop acting like a tragic lead in a shitty indie movie.”
“Actually,” he drawled, his grip tightening until it bruised, “Maybe you don’t need to sober up just yet. You always were a lot more… compliant when you’d had a few. Why don’t we go back to my place for old time’s sake? You can show me you haven’t forgotten how to use that mouth? A little thank-you for saving you from your own pathetic breakdown. I bet you’ve missed it.”
The crude, casual way he spoke about you—like you were nothing more than a convenient fix for his ego—shattered the last of your composure. “You’re fucking disgusting,” you choked out, your voice thick with a mix of nausea and terror.
Juyeon pushed through a group of freshmen, his shoulder clipping a tall figure standing near the end of the bar rail.
He leaned in even closer, his teeth almost brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell you what. You give me that blowjob you used to be so good at—the one you used to do to get me to stop being mad at you—and maybe I’ll forget how pathetic you look right now. It’ll be just like freshman year, Y/N. Quick, quiet, and you can pretend you’re someone who actually matters for twenty minutes.”
The bile rose in your throat, thick and hot. The memory of the power he used to hold over you—the way he used to make you feel like your only value was in what you could provide for him—slammed into.
“Let her go.”
Mingi.
He looked from Juyeon’s hand on your arm to your pale, terrified face, and his expression went from exhausted to lethal in less than a second.
“Mingi,” you whimpered, the vodka-induced haze making his name sound like a prayer.
Mingi didn’t say a word, he stepped forward, his height dwarfing Juyeon, his shadow swallowing both of you. “I’m going to count to three,” Mingi said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that you’d never heard from the boy who usually spent his time cracking jokes. “And if your hand is still on her when I’m done, you’re going to find out exactly why they call this place The Abyss.”
“Look, man, I know her, we’re on our way to have some fun—” Juyeon started, trying to regain his footing.
“One.”
Juyeon let out a sharp, nervous bark of a laugh, his pride stung by the way the entire bar was now watching him get punked by a guy in a work shirt. He looked at Mingi, then at you, and his face twisted into something ugly and venomous. “Fine!” Juyeon spat, “Take her! You want this pathetic, used-up piece of shit? She’s all yours!” His mouth curled as he leaned in just enough for you to hear it. “Have fun babysitting the sloppy little fuckup.” Then, with a violent shove, Juyeon didn’t just let go—he threw his full weight into your shoulder, launching your limp, uncoordinated body straight at Mingi. He treated you like you were nothing more than trash he couldn’t wait to get rid of.
You let out a short, choked gasp as you flew backward. You were too drunk to find your footing, your boots sliding on the sticky floor. You hit Mingi’s chest hard, the impact knocking the air out of your lungs, and you would have slumped straight to the grimy floor if Mingi hadn’t dropped his guard and caught you in his massive arms, pulling you against him to keep you upright.
“What did you just call her?” Yunho’s voice cracked on the last word, a sound of someone forcing air into lungs that had forgotten how to breathe. He stood a few meters away, his chest heaving under his sweater, but he wasn’t just shaking from rage. If you looked closely—past the shadows and the terrifying set of his jaw—you could see his hands trembling violently. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, his fringe falling onto his eyes, making his features softer. This was the boy whose ears turned red whenever you touched him. Every social instinct in his body was screaming at him to retreat, to hide back in that ‘Staff Only’ room where it was safe and quiet. But the sight of Juyeon treating you like trash was the only thing stronger than his own crippling anxiety.
“Yun, let it go,” Mingi muttered, almost covering you, he wasn’t just shielding you from Juyeon—he was shielding you from seeing Yunho. He knew how much it was costing his best friend to stand his ground.
Yunho’s eyes were fixed on the floor for a split second, his lashes fluttering as he fought the urge to look away, to disappear. Then, he forced his gaze up, locking onto Juyeon with a desperate, shaky resolve. “I... I asked you a question,” Yunho repeated. His voice stuttered, the “I” catching in his throat, but he didn’t back down. He stepped closer, his boots heavy on the sticky floor. “What did you... what did you call her?”
Juyeon, sensing the stutter, tried to regain his footing. He let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “What, are you gonna cry, big guy? I said she’s trash. A liar. A used-up—” Then, with an ugly sneer, Juyeon yanked you from Mingi’s grip and hauled you against him, treating you like you were nothing. “I bet you haven’t even seen her without her clothes on, have you? I bet you’ve been real ‘gentle’ with her.” He pulled you flush against him, his hand sliding down to grip your waist possessively, his eyes fixed on Yunho’s pale, frozen face. “But I’ve had her on her knees more times than you’ve played your little games, and trust me—she’s a lot more useful when her mouth is busy than when she’s talking.” Juyeon sneered, his lip curling in a way that made your stomach turn. “She’s trash.” Juyeon’s voice cracked with his own frantic nerves. With a violent, dismissive grunt, he shoved you away from him. You flew backward, the small of your back slamming into the hard, unforgiving edge of the wooden bar. A sharp, sickening thud echoed in your ears as the wood bruised your middle, the impact knocking the remaining breath out of your lungs. You gasped, your vision swimming with white spots as you slumped against the rail, clutching your stomach.
“Y/N!” Yunho’s voice was a panicked sob. The sight of you hitting the bar snapped the last thread of his restraint. Yunho lunged forward, his large frame moving with a desperate, clumsy speed to catch you before you hit the floor. His hands were outstretched, trembling with the singular need to hold you, to check if you were breathing.
But Juyeon wasn’t finished. As Yunho crossed his path, Juyeon planted both hands on Yunho’s chest and shoved him back with everything he had. Yunho stumbled, his boots skidding on the sticky floorboards. He wasn’t a fighter; he didn’t know how to brace himself. He hit the side of a barstool, the metal screeching against the floor, and he stood there, heaving, his face pale and his eyes wide with a terrifying level of shock. “What, big guy?” Juyeon taunted, stepping toward him, emboldened by the fact that Yunho hadn’t swung back. Juyeon poked a finger into Yunho’s shoulder, mocking the tremor in his hands. “You gonna cry now? You gonna go back to your little computer and tell on me? Look at you. You’re shaking like a leaf.” Juyeon leaned in, “I bet you won’t do anything. You’re just a soft, stuttering loser who has a crush on a worthless bitch like her. Go on. Do something.”
Yunho stood there, his chest heaving, his hands fisted so tight they were white. He looked at Juyeon, then his gaze flickered to you—hunched over the bar, gasping for air, looking small and broken.
The shy boy didn’t stutter.
Instead, a deathly, absolute clarity settled over Yunho. The trembling in his hands didn’t stop, but it changed—it wasn’t fear anymore. It was the hum of a machine being pushed past its breaking point. He looked up at Juyeon, and for the first time, his eyes weren’t searching for an exit. They were locked on target. “Mingi,” Yunho’s voice was steady and hauntingly quiet. “Hold her. Don’t let her see this.”
Mingi didn’t hesitate. He saw the look in Yunho’s eyes—the bridge finally snapping—and he lunged for you. He scooped you up, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “Don't look, Y/N,” he grunted, his own voice thick with dread. ”Just don’t look.”
But you heard it.
The sound was wet and heavy—the sound of a fist meeting bone. Yunho didn’t throw a calculated punch; he swung with the desperate, uncoordinated weight of every lie and every heartbreak of the last days. His knuckles caught Juyeon squarely in the jaw, sending the shorter guy reeling back against a pool table.
For a heartbeat, the bar went silent. The music seemed to fade into a dull hum.
But Juyeon wasn’t a shy gamer. He was a guy who had spent his life stepping on people to feel tall. He wiped a streak of blood from his lip, his eyes turning into something rabid. “You actually did it,” Juyeon hissed, a smile spreading across his face. “You’re dead, loser.”
Juyeon lunged. Unlike Yunho’s desperate swing, Juyeon’s movements were practiced and cruel. He tackled Yunho around the waist, the force of it slamming Yunho’s back against the brick pillar with a sickening thud. You heard Yunho let out a choked, airy gasp—the sound of the wind being driven out of him.
“Yunho!” you screamed, tearing your face away just in time to see Juyeon’s fist collide with Yunho’s cheek. Yunho didn’t know how to guard his face. He didn’t know how to slip a punch. He just stayed there, his hands instinctively coming up to protect his head as Juyeon rained blows down on him. Every hit sounded like a hammer striking a hollow wall. Yunho’s legs gave out, and he slid down the bricks, but Juyeon didn’t stop. He grabbed the collar of Yunho’s sweater, dragging him back up just to shove his knee into Yunho’s ribs. “Stop it! For fuck’s sake, Juyeon, you’re gonna kill him!” you shrieked, struggling against Mingi’s grip, but Mingi held you tight, his jaw set, his eyes brimming with a pained, helpless fury. He couldn’t jump in—not while he was holding you, not while the bar's security was finally closing in.
Yunho’s head snapped back, his blonde hair falling over his eyes, now matted with sweat and red. He was trembling with pain of a boy who had never been in a fight in his life. Yet, even as Juyeon’s fist caught him again, Yunho didn’t crawl away. He reached out, his fingers fisting weakly in Juyeon’s jacket, trying to pull him away from where you were standing.
He was still trying to protect you.
“Look at the hero,” Juyeon mocked, pulling back for one last, heavy blow. “Look at the stuttering freak trying to—” Juyeon’s arm was suddenly caught mid-air. Two massive bouncers finally descended, tearing Juyeon away and pinning his arms behind his back.
Yunho collapsed. He hit the sticky floor, his breath coming in wheezing sobs. His face was a map of bruises, his lip split wide, and his eyes—the eyes that used to look at you with such gentle wonder—were glazed and distant.
“Yunnie!” You finally broke free from Mingi, stumbling across the floor until you reached him. You pulled his head into your lap, your tears dripping onto his bruised skin, mixing with the blood. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby, please…”
He blinked, trying to focus on you. His hand, still shaking uncontrollably, reached up to touch your cheek. “Are... are you…” he coughed, a wince of pure agony crossing his face as his ribs protested. “Are you okay, Y/N? Did he... did he hurt you again?” He wasn’t thinking about his shattered face. He wasn’t thinking about the crowd of students filming the scene on their phones. He was only thinking about the girl who had lied to him, making sure she was still standing while he lay broken on the floor.
You weren’t just crying; you were shattering, your body trembling with rhythmic sobs that tore through your chest. Your tears hit his hot, bruised skin, washing away some of the blood on his cheek. You reached down, your hands shaking as much as his, and cupped his face. You didn’t care about the people watching, or the cameras, or the fact that Juyeon was being dragged out screaming.
Yunho let out a sharp, pained hiss as your hand brushed over his ribs, but he didn’t jerk away. Instead, he leaned his face into your palm, a broken, shaky exhale escaping his bloodied lips. “Don’t... don’t cry,” he whispered, forcing his eyes open, searching for yours through the haze of pain. “Y/N... look at me.” You pulled back just enough to see him, your vision swimming. His eye was already beginning to swell shut, and the corner of his mouth was torn, but the look he gave you was so profoundly gentle it felt like a physical blow to your soul. “It’s okay,” he rasped, his fingers curling weakly around your wrist, right over the red marks Juyeon had left. He squeezed—just a faint, trembling pressure. “I’m... still here. I didn’t... I didn’t let him take you.”
“You’re an idiot,” you choked out, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. “You can’t fight! Why did you do that? You’re supposed to be focused, you have the second phase—”
“I couldn’t…” He stopped to cough, a wince of pure agony flitting across his features before he settled back into that heartbreakingly soft gaze. “The game doesn’t... it doesn’t matter if you’re not there to see it.”
Behind you, you felt a heavy hand settle on your shoulder. Mingi was kneeling beside the two of you, his face a mask of grim resolve, though his own eyes were glistening. “We have to get him out of here, the police are going to be here in a minute, and he needs a doctor.”
Yunho tried to push himself up, his arms trembling violently under his weight. “I can... I can walk,” he lied, his face going pale from the effort.
“Like hell you can,” Mingi muttered, reaching under Yunho’s arms to hoist him up. As Mingi lifted him, Yunho’s hand didn’t let go of yours. He held on with a desperate, white-knuckled grip, pulling you close to his side even as he leaned his full weight on Mingi. You wrapped your arm around his waist, feeling the heat radiating from his bruised ribs, acting as the crutch he refused to ask for.
The movement of being hoisted up sent a fresh wave of agony through Yunho’s chest, and he leaned heavily into Mingi, his head lolling back for a second as he fought the urge to pass out. His face was a map of disaster—his lip was split, a dark bruise was already blossoming over his cheekbone, and his skin was a sickly, translucent pale.
But as you stepped in to support his other side, wrapping your arm firmly around his waist to steady him, he didn’t look at the exit. He looked at you. A weak, fluttering smile tugged at the corner of his bloody mouth. He looked ridiculous, battered and broken, but there was a strange, delirious light in his eyes. “Hey,” he rasped, his voice barely a thready whisper. “Y/N.”
“Don’t talk,” you sobbed, your tears dripping onto his ruined sweater. “Just breathe. Please, just breathe.”
“No, wait,” he insisted, his head swaying as Mingi began to guide him toward the back exit. He squeezed your hand, his grip surprisingly firm despite his trembling. He squinted at you, his vision clearly blurred, and then he let out a tiny, wheezing chuckle that ended in a sharp wince. “I… I forgot to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” you asked, your heart breaking at the sight of him.
“Don’t I… don’t I look cool?” he murmured, his eyes searching yours with a dazed sort of hope. He blinked slowly, his lashes fluttering against his bruised skin. “I’m not wearing my glasses today. I put in lenses. I wanted to… I wanted to look cool if you decided to show up at the tournament agian.”
The sheer absurdity of it made a choked laugh escape your throat, even as your heart shattered into a million pieces. Here he was, barely able to stand, his ribs likely cracked and his future in the tournament on the line, and he was worried about his aesthetic stats. “You look amazing,” you whispered, pressing your face against his shoulder, mindful of his injuries. “The coolest person I’ve ever seen.”
“Good,” he breathed, his weight sinking more fully into you and Mingi as his eyelids grew heavy. “Because those lenses… they’re a nightmare to get in. I think I… I think I scratched my cornea for the cause. Level Zero… 100% charisma build, right?”
“You’re an idiot,” Mingi muttered, though he was blinking back his own tears as he adjusted his grip on the Captain. “A total, god-tier idiot. Now shut up before you collapse.”
Yunho just hummed, a soft, satisfied sound, and as the cool night air hit your faces at the exit, he didn’t let go of your hand. He just kept drifting, anchored to the world only by the feel of your arm around him and the knowledge that, for the first time in weeks, the map between you was finally clear.
“My car is around the corner,” Mingi said, glancing at the street. “Keep him upright.”
Yunho’s head fell onto your shoulder, his breath hitching. “Y/N?”
“I’m right here.”
“The... the girl who drinks too much coffee,” he murmured, his eyes flickering shut as the adrenaline finally began to fail him. “Is she... is she still in there? Somewhere?”
You tightened your grip on him, your heart feeling like it was finally beating in sync with his. “She's here,” you whispered, pressing a bruised, tearful kiss to his temple. “She’s not going anywhere.”
The air in Yunho’s bedroom was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the low, rhythmic hum of a humidifier. The hospital had released him with a taped-up ribcage, a butterfly stitch on his lip, and a strict warning to rest, but rest was the one thing eluding him.
The moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting long, skeletal shadows across the floor. Yunho was propped up against a mountain of pillows, his face covered with purple and deep blue bruises. Every time he tried to settle, a sharp hiss of pain would escape his teeth, his hand instinctively fluttering toward his side.
You sat on the edge of the mattress, your own leather jacket discarded on a chair, feeling smaller than you ever had. You were holding a glass of water, watching him struggle against the heavy fog of the painkillers that weren’t quite doing their job. “You need to close your eyes,” you whispered, your voice still ragged from the hours of crying.
“Can’t,” he rasped, his voice barely more than a breath. He reached out, his fingers fumbling blindly across the blanket until they found your hand. He gripped you with surprising strength. “If I... if I sleep, I’m afraid I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. And I’ll be back in B-12 staring at the map you helped me put up.” You shifted closer, careful not to jostle the bed, and ran your thumb over the back of his hand. “You’re still shaking.”
“I’m fine. I’m not the one who used my face as a shield,” you tried to joke, but it came out as a sob. You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his uninjured shoulder. “Why did you do it? You knew you couldn’t beat him. You knew he’d... he’d hurt you.”
Yunho was silent for a long time. You felt his chest expand painfully against his bandages as he took a breath. “Because for a second... I saw your eyes,” he said softly. “When he was holding you... you looked like you believed him. You looked like you believed you were what he called you.” He squeezed your wrist, his thumb tracing the fading red marks left by Juyeon’s grip. “I can handle being beaten up. I can’t handle you thinking you’re anything less than everything to me.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes searching the wreckage of his face. He looked so fragile against the pillows, yet his gaze was the steadiest thing you had ever known. “I’m a liar,” you whispered, the confession finally tearing out of you. “I’m a fucking liar. I’m the girl who broke your trust before I even earned it. How can I be ‘everything’ when I’m not even who you thought I was?”
He reached up, his fingers trembling as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was light, cautious, as if he were afraid you might shatter. He winced as he shifted, forcing himself to lean toward you. He didn’t let go of your hand; if anything, he pulled you closer. “The girl who lied to me is the same one who stayed up until dawn playing Mario Kart with me,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours with a clarity that the painkillers couldn't touch. “The same one who defended me. The same one who took care of me. The same one who loves me. You can’t change the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”
You felt a fresh tear track through the dried salt on your cheek. “I’m a mess right now,” you warned, closing your eyes and breathing in the scent of him.
“I’m a mess too,” he pointed to his face with a faint smile that made him look like the boy you’d fallen for again. “We can be a disaster together. Mingi says we’re already halfway there.” For a second, the room fell into a comfortable silence. Yunho’s grip on your hand softened as the painkillers finally started to win, his thumb slowing its frantic tracing of your skin. His eyes were half-lidded, glazed with exhaustion, but he didn’t close them. “You know,” he started, his voice dropping to a vulnerable, sleepy register. “I realized... while I was sitting in B-12 the day after... that I wasn’t actually angry that you lied. Not really.”
You looked at him, surprised. “You weren’t?”
“No,” he murmured, a small, pained huff escaping him as he shifted his weight. “I realized that the only thing I was truly mad at was that... you didn’t ask me to teach you. That Wooyoung was the one teaching you how to play. I spent all those nights thinking I was so smart, and you were right there... but you were learning his reckless crosshair placement instead of mine.”
You huffed a small laugh, the absurdity of it—that amidst the lies, the secret identity, and the brawl at The Abyss, his competitive heart was still pained by a missed coaching opportunity—was so quintessentially Yunho that it made your chest ache with a new kind of warmth. “You’re a tactical snob, Yunho,” you whispered, your fingers curling around his.
“I’m just... very competitive,” he muttered, his voice trailing off into a pout that felt so familiar it made your heart skip. He looked away, a faint flush creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with his bruises. “I honestly couldn’t believe you preferred Wooyoung’s tutorials! My girlfriend? Learning his lineups? Using his crosshair placement instead of mine? I’ve spent months perfecting all of the maps, Y/N. I have spreadsheets. I have data!” He let out a huffed, pained breath, his fingers twitching against yours. “It was insulting. Professionally insulting.”
It was so perfectly ridiculous, that you completely lost your grip on reality. You forgot he was a walking bruise. You forgot the “handle with care” labels the nurses had practically invisible-inked onto his forehead. “You’re such a fucking geek ass nerd,” you whispered, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you lunged forward. You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a desperate hug.
“Ooh—agh—yep, those are the ribs,” Yunho gasped, the sound punched right out of him. He stiffened as your weight hit his chest, his eyes widening in a moment of pure shock. “Internal bleeding... yeah, that’s the way to go. That's the way I want to die.”
“Oh my god! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” You immediately tried to recoil, your hands fluttering in mid-air. “I’m an idiot, I forgot, I—”
But Yunho’s shaky hands moved faster than your retreat. He caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you right back into the space you’d just vacated. He let out a long, wheezing exhale, leaning his forehead against your shoulder as he waited for the sharp spike of pain to dull into a throb. “No, no,” he managed to choke out, a breathless, shaky laugh vibrating against your collarbone. “Don’t move. It hurts like a bitch, and I think I felt a rib move, but it was... it was worth it. If I’m going to have a collapsed lung, I want it to be because of you.”
“Stop joking about your organs failing!” you huffed, though you didn’t try to pull away again.
“What a way to die,” he murmured, his grip softening as he tucked his face into your hair, his breathing finally beginning to steady. “Dying by a hug from the girl who uses another man’s crosshairs.”
You let out a wet, shaky laugh, finally settling into the small space he’d made for you. You were careful now, shifting your weight so you were barely more than a warm shadow against his side. “I’ll change it,” you whispered, gently caressing his hand. “The crosshair. The lineups. I’ll let you teach me everything from scratch.”
“Spreadsheets and all?” he murmured, his voice thick with the first real pull of sleep.
“Even the spreadsheets.”
Yunho sighed, a long, contented sound that ended in a tiny, muffled wince. He didn’t let go of your hand; he just laced his fingers with yours, pinning them against the blanket as if to make sure you were still real. The adrenaline that had kept him upright through the fight, and the hospital was finally being replaced by a heavy, healing exhaustion. “Good,” he breathed, his eyes fluttering shut for the last time that night. “We’re going to be... we’re going to be the best team the Open has ever seen.”
“You’re unbelievable, Captain.”
“I’m a winner,” he corrected sleepily, his grip softening as he finally drifted off. “And I think... I think I finally won the only game that actually mattered.”
As the silence of the room wrapped around you, you finally closed your eyes. The game was over, the lies were gone, and you were exactly where you belonged—in the middle of a beautiful, bruised, and perfectly tactical disaster.
“Hey, Viper,” you heard Yunho’s quiet voice, barely a thread of sound in the dark room. You opened your eyes, looking at him, thinking he was already asleep, but his eyes were cracked open just a sliver—hazy and heavy, yet still fixed on you with that same unwavering devotion. A tiny tug of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, making the butterfly stitch on his lip crinkle. “Do me a favour?” He paused to take a shallow, careful breath, his hand squeezing yours one last time. “Don’t go back to The Abyss anytime soon. Or... or any bar, really. I don’t think I can fight off all the jerks in this city. I’m actually... I’m really bad at it.”
A tear escaped your eye and soaked into his t-shirt, but you were smiling through it. “You’re terrible at it. Your form was embarrassing.”
“I know,” he whispered, a hint of that shy, dimpled grin touching his voice as his eyes finally remained closed. “But for a guy who prefers spreadsheets to fistfights... I think I held my own. Just... let’s stick to the server from now on. I’m much braver when I have a digital gun.”
“Deal,” you whispered back, listening as his breathing finally deepened into a steady, rhythmic lullaby. “No more bars.”
As the room fell into a deep, peaceful silence, you realized he was right. He was a terrible fighter, a shy strategist, and a tactical snob. But as you drifted off to sleep beside him, you knew you’d never felt safer than you did right there, in the wreckage of his arms.
you and park seonghwa, petty rivals since the third grade, can't stand the sight of each other. at least, that's what you both claim. sometimes, getting the truth out of two stubborn people just requires turning up the heat. ❧
▷ genre, warnings. nc-17. academic rivals 2 lovers, college au, by definition this is a slow burn, swearing, drinking, angst, moms comparing you to other children </3, petty rivalry bc why r they like this in college it's been 12 YEARS—, kissing at some point i promise, STEM </3, business major slander (it is justified for this character LOL), i spent two whole paragraphs describing how seonghwa gets out of a pool, like one suggestive line, slice of life, gets a little sappy at the end, brief mention of blood
▷ word count. 30.4k (ao3 link)
▷ associated tunes. the winner takes it all (abba), lemon drop (ateez), angeleyes (abba), i think i'm in love (kat dahlia)
a/n: this is my submission for the live alive! collab!! go check out everyone else's fics too <3 pls enjoy!!
SOME THINGS WERE JUST meant to ruin your entire day.
“0% chance of rain, huh?” you muttered wryly as you stared out at the torrential downpour with a scrunched nose.
“Good afternoon, Aurora County! It seems that our region has been hit with an unexpected storm. Get your umbrellas and raincoats out, everyone—especially if you're in the KQ University area—we’ll be in for a very wet evening,” came the voice of the news anchor from the local channel. It was broadcast on the small flatscreen hoisted up in the corner of the corridor behind you. He sounded all-too jolly for the current state of your world.
You let the front door to the sociology building slam shut behind you—not before it whipped one last gust of air conditioning at your back—leaving you to the storm, the heat, and your own devices. How the hell were you supposed to walk home in this?
The day had commenced rather uneventfully, as most mundane days in the middle of the week did. Spring quarter was in full swing with midterms creeping up faster than you could run out of this obscene amount of rain.
You racked your brain for any friends with a car who might have still been on campus. There was a decent chance there was someone around who could give you a ride back to the house, right?
BEEP BEEP!
You nearly flew out of your skin at the sound of a car honk going off down the steps from where you stood. In this small back street on campus, there weren't many cars that passed by who weren't instructors or TAs.
You squinted out into the heavy downpour as the passenger window to the silver sedan rolled down. “Oy! Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna let me drown before you get in here?”
“Wooyoung?” you shouted back, disbelief stark on your face. If he was in the passenger seat, then who was…
There was a blur of dark hair behind Wooyoung's head in the driver's seat, and you cursed under your breath. It didn't matter; all that mattered was that you got out of this rain. Any friend of Wooyoung's was a friend of yours.
You made a mad dash down the stairs and out to the street with your hand shielding your eyes and your head ducked to keep from being blinded by the fat splotches of rain. You crashed into the backseat of the car, hair slightly damp, skin a little damper. The AC was blasting from the front vents, blowing back a mixture of Wooyoung's signature oak and vanilla-bourbon, as well as a hint of something softer and sweet from the driver's side. AOA's Miniskirt shimmied out from the speakers under the loud accompaniment of the rain drumming overhead as you clocked the C-3PO Lego figurine on the dash.
“Hey, thanks,” you exhaled out sharply as you maneuvered around to deposit your backpack at your feet and get yourself strapped into the seat. Your eyes went to the driver's side, eyeing the dark hair at the back of his head. He looked familiar—
“If you don't buckle your seatbelt in ten seconds, the car will start yelling at you,” drawled a voice that made your stomach drop.
Swiftly, that realization shifted into a hot flash of annoyance, one that made your nose wrinkle and the corner of your mouth dig into your cheek with disdain. The C-3PO made sense all of a sudden. “Oh,” you droned as your seatbelt clicked into place, “it's you.”
Wooyoung's head hit the back of his seat with a loud groan. “Please, God.”
“The rain is waiting for you if you'd prefer that to me,” Park Seonghwa said to you through the sharp slant of his eyes in the rear view mirror. You didn't need to see his face to hear the saccharinity lacing his words like venom. “It wasn't my idea to—”
“Enough!” Wooyoung screeched, fingers digging into his hair. “You two are so loud sometimes, and that's coming from me!”
You folded your arms over your chest in the manner of a petulant child. You had been in the backseat of Seonghwa's car a total of five times—and you would attest to everyone you knew that it was at least somewhat unwilling each time.
“Sorry,” both you and Seonghwa grumbled under your breaths. At this rate, you knew how annoying yours and Seonghwa's pettiness could be to your friends. It was something that couldn't be helped, even at the ripe age of twenty-something—some things just could not be forgotten. And some people were just meant to ruin your day.
Wooyoung loosened a sigh from his breath that sounded so akin to your mother's. “Yeah, yeah. Let's go, I'm hungry.”
Seonghwa tugged the car into drive and the wheels peeled away from the curbside.
The drive from campus to where your house was located wasn't a long one by any means. Walking took far longer than driving, and if it wasn't raining like the world was ending, you wouldn't have minded the walk. You stared out the window to your right, watching the university district pass by behind a curtain of raindrops chasing one another down the glass pane.
“So I'm guessing this means the car wash fundraiser is gonna be cancelled,” Wooyoung piped up after the last song ended. The synthesizer of the next song began to drift out from the speakers.
You turned to look at the back of his head in front of you. “Oh shit, you're totally right,” you said. “I mean, the rain kind of beat us to it.”
There was a click of a tongue from the driver's seat. “Sucks,” he muttered. “I was looking forward to raking in more cash than you, Ln.”
You didn't bother to hold back a roll of your eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Park,” you shot back. A spare raindrop rolled down from your hairline, and you reached up to swipe it away just as it dribbled down the side of your face. When you glanced up to meet Seonghwa's eyes in the rearview mirror, he darted back to look out the front windshield, as if burned by the eye contact—or from being caught.
“Aish,” Wooyoung muttered. “I think we all know I'm the moneymaker of our society.”
A snort fell from your lips, and Wooyoung let out a squawk of indignation. “What was that?” He twisted around in his seat, hands clutching the back of the headrest as he scowled back at you. “Say it to my face, Ln.”
You grinned. “Yeesh, so much of my last name today. You know you boys would have lost, right?”
The three of you had all been a part of the same pre-health student society since the beginning of your college careers. In kind, that meant that you also orbited similar social circles. You and Seonghwa had known each other the longest out of everyone here, having hailed from the same high school, the same community, and the same goddamn neighborhood block. (The universe had it out for you, truly.)
As the end of the school year was rolling around, your society was due for its standard round of fundraising. The idea that the leadership came up with before Spring Break had been that of a car wash fundraiser in bathing suits, and a competition between whether the guys or the girls could raise more money. One could always count on the male gaze, right? But now that this unexpected and early summer storm hit your county this week, it was doubtful that the fundraiser would still go on.
You could hear Wooyoung rolling his eyes through his voice. “I guess leadership is gonna pivot to that speed dating idea then, huh?”
“Changing the subject now, are we?”
“Shut up!”
Your mood remained afloat the entire rest of the drive.
When the car began to slow as it neared the apartment complex Wooyoung lived in, you began to gather your things along with him. The rain had yet to let up, but your educated guess told you that you could make it down the street without your backpack flooding.
Seonghwa slid into an empty space along the front curbside, and Wooyoung was already hollering his gratitude, shoulder shoving his door open.
“Hey, where are you going?”
You stopped just before you opened your own door, your backpack half on and making you sit at an awkward angle. You turned slightly toward the man who had spoken up and met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “I'm leaving?” you replied.
His eyebrows furrowed. “But you don't live here.”
Even Wooyoung stalled outside the car as the rain pummeled the top of his hood. “Yeah, Yn, you don't live here—”
“Wooyoung, can you please close the door before half the car gets wet” —SLAM— “thank you.” Seonghwa saluted to his friend through the passenger window as Wooyoung shouted something unintelligible from outside. The rain made it impossible to hear him, but he didn't wait to repeat himself, and ducked his head while sprinting for the apartment door.
The driver returned his attention to the front. “I'm driving you to your house,” he said, and signalled to get out onto the street again.
“You don't have to do that. Your place is, like, the opposite direction—”
“It's just a block away,” he countered. “Do you not want to be dropped off right outside?”
You deflated slightly. You definitely did, but was it not inconvenient to drive further up the street when his own living situation was back the way you just came? You could understand stopping at Wooyoung's apartment because it was in the middle, but enduring not one, but two U-turns in the congested, stormy university streets was not something you were wishing on anyone. Even Park Seonghwa.
He took your hesitation as your answer. “That's what I thought.”
Whatever. If he wanted to drive the extra block, the extra two U-turns, and spend the extra time in the congested rain with people who didn't know how to drive, then that was his prerogative.
The car was silent for the next three minutes, barring the radio being played at a low volume. Just as he said he would, Seonghwa pulled his car right up into the driveway of the house you shared with six other girls.
He let the engine stall as you maneuvered your second backpack strap over your shoulder. “Thanks,” you said quietly, hand lingering on the door handle.
Seonghwa carded a hand through his hair absentmindedly. “Yeah, sure. I'll see you at Trivia Night then, I guess.”
“See you when I wipe the floor with you again, you mean?” you asked as you climbed out of the car, holding an arm over your head.
“Close my goddamn door, Yn—”
Your laughter was interrupted by the slamming of his backseat door and muted by the downpour.
Trivia Night was held every Thursday evening in the basement of the anthropology building. It was the only classroom available at your required hours equipped for all of the society's needs; plus, its projector was still in working condition and it certainly beat the chemistry laboratory building's No Eating policy.
As a handful of the society's members gathered once again, it was beneath the dense storm clouds of the region's recent summer-like showers. This evening's theme was Homeostasis, an apt topic to study when the temperatures lately were far greater than any this city had ever endured in mid-April. When the sky wasn't unleashing the floodgates of Hell over KQ University, it was inflicting a diabolically humid atmosphere.
“Do I really need to know the technical term for your hair standing erect?” Choi San groaned as he waved a hand at the screen, while the traumatic rhythm of the Kahoot theme song distressed everyone in the room.
Society President, exhausted fourth-year, and medical school-hopeful Kang Seulgi had her boots propped up on the desk at the front, crossed at the ankles. She tossed a chip into her mouth. “Hey,” she said and pointed at him, “don't come cryin’ to me when you see 'piloerection’ on your MCAT and you can't remember why it's relevant.”
From the back row of the desks, Song Mingi hollered out, “Can we switch to physics yet?”
A wave of groans swept through the room in a unanimous objection. The third-year math major widened his eyes at the reaction to his words, expression screaming, 'What'd I do?’ His desk neighbor and best friend, Jeong Yunho, wheezed and slapped a hand onto Mingi's shoulder.
“The only person who actually prefers the physics questions is you, Mingi,” Seonghwa teased from where he sat a few desks to your left. As the only person who had ever ventured past calculus, Mingi was, in turn, the only person in the room who favored math-based topics and was also good at them.
Mingi shrugged his shoulders helplessly and gesticulated wildly between Seonghwa and you. “I can't help that you and Yn suck at math.”
You whirled around in your chair. “Hey! Why am I being pulled into this?” you asked, mouth agape.
“Because you and Hwa have been neck-and-neck for first place for the past twenty questions!”
“It's only 'cause I'm letting her catch up,” came Seonghwa's flippant reply, feigning boredom as he glanced down at his phone screen.
Your head snapped over him so fast, you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “Oh, you're letting me catch up?”
He met your gaze like a challenge, mouth curling into the kind of smirk that made your heart pump (with absolute malice, of course). “I said what I said.”
“Alright.” Kim Hongjoong clapped his hands from the seat beside Seonghwa while sending his own friend a pointed look. “Seulgi, if you'd please just—let’s move on.”
Seulgi blinked, her chip-equipped hand freezing mid-air. “My show was just getting started.”
“You're so messy,” snorted Soyeon as she slapped a palm over her mouth. She turned to you and placed a placating hand on your arm. “Sorry, babe.”
Your mouth pursed together in an unamused pout, but you were far from being actually offended. Any agitation you might have felt would only be aimed at the guy a few desks down from yours who had yet to wipe that audacious smirk off his face. As your friend and housemate Ronnie liked to remind you, sometimes it felt as if you and Seonghwa bickered like cats for fun. You could not disagree more; the pettiness between you was far more serious than you were proud enough to admit.
Seulgi smiled to herself and shook her head, then clicked something on her keyboard. “Oh, before we move on, I thought we'd take a brief commercial break and talk about our upcoming fundraiser.” She muted the Kahoot theme, and the entire room seemed to deflate, all tension seeping out of your postures.
The tab switched to the one on the far left, revealing a PNG of a graphic copy-and-pasted into a document. You leaned back in your seat, loosely folding your arms over your stomach, as you picked out the words “bracelet-making” and “matchmaking.” The idea was not something you had seen or heard of on campus yet, and you found yourself nodding absentmindedly. Bracelet-making was cute.
“Leadership has decided,” said Seulgi as she wiggled her salty fingers at the screen, “that since the weather has so graciously ruined our plans for this weekend, we would move onto phase two of our fundraising and postpone the car wash idea.”
“So we're not going forth with the speed dating thing?” Wooyoung piped up from somewhere near San, Yeosang, and Jongho's seats.
Madam President shook her head. “Nah. Well, we're just not advertising it as speed dating; it's more like 'friendship matching’ and making friendship bracelets. The student association doesn't like the idea of actual matchmaking for some reason. We'll just be pairing everyone who decides to participate through this” —she scrolled down to highlight a hyperlink— “form. Anyone can join for an entry fee of eight dollars, which includes all of the bracelet-making materials, too.”
Lee Chaeryeong lifted her hand slightly to catch Seulgi's attention. “And this is not happening this weekend, right?”
“No, it'd be too fast of a turnaround, so it'll be hosted two weeks out. Any other questions?”
“What’re your pairing criteria?” Seonghwa posed.
Seulgi shrugged. “That's for me to know and you to never find out. And Hongjoong is sworn to secrecy, so don't even try.”
You chuckled to yourself, glancing over in the pair's direction. Hongjoong was shaking his head and smiling as Seonghwa nudged him in a joking attempt to coax an answer out of him.
When there were no more questions for the moment, Seulgi nodded her head and switched back to the Kahoot host screen. “Remember to repost the announcement on your Instagram stories, or I will make you suffer during our next Trivia Night. Okay! Next question…”
The remainder of Trivia Night went as anyone could predict: you and Seonghwa tied for first place. No one was surprised.
As members began to trickle out of the room following adjournment, it left only a select few. Soyeon, Seulgi, Yunho, Mingi, and Jongho remained; all five of whom surrounded the instructor's desk at the front of the room that Seulgi occupied to share her bag of chips.
Seulgi gestured at Soyeon with a vague wave of her chip. “I’m surprised you didn't go home with Yn. Don't you guys share a house?”
“Yeah, but my friend Miyeon's got this rehearsal she's wrapping up soon,” said Soyeon, “so I told Yn to go back before me since she has some things to do.”
“Oh, wait. Don’t you guys have that biochem exam coming up?” Jongho chimed in.
Those around him, barring Seulgi, groaned altogether and Jongho snickered. Though most of the third-years in the society were actively enrolled in a biochemistry course, not all of you were in the same section. You, Soyeon, and Seonghwa were in an earlier section, while everyone else had a later section. Both sections were taught by the same professor, though, so both sections’ pain was quite similar.
“Don't remind me,” Yunho grunted and he slipped another chip past his lips. “That’s what I'll be working on all weekend now that we don't have the car wash fundraiser.”
“Speaking of,” Mingi piped up, nodding to Seulgi, “how are you planning to make pairs for the bracelet-making thing?”
The president narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head. “Just because you brought me muffins last week, Song Mingi, does not mean I'm gonna let you pull anything out of me.”
“Okay, but” —Yunho raised his palm, tongue jammed between his grin— “can you at least tell us if you're gonna put Yn and Seonghwa together?”
“So you want whoever's near them to suffer?” Jongho asked incredulously.
Yunho's smile only widened. He lifted both hands now in a gesture. “C'mon! I can't be the only one tired of their back-and-forth. They can't really hate each other. Soyeon” —he shot a finger gun her way, catching the girl mid-chip— “you have to know something about this. You live with Yn.”
Soyeon finished chewing her bite, her expression screwing up into something both contemplative and frankly, disturbed. “I mean, I don't know what you expect me to say…”
“Well, does she bring him up a lot? Because I feel like Hwa definitely brings her up in conversations.” Anyone who was close to Seonghwa could name at least five instances where the man in question spontaneously inserted your name into the conversation. Outsiders who were unfamiliar with your dynamic would think too naively that he was talking about someone he didn't see as his academic rival since the goddamn third grade. (Yunho still shook his head at that. And they called him Mr. Overcompetitive?)
“Yes, but it's to, y'know, complain about him!”
Jongho cocked his head to the side. “We're not counting that then?”
Both Seulgi and Soyeon replied at once, “It's complicated.” They whipped their heads around to look at each other, then bursted out laughing.
The boys present could only blink at them.
“Okay, okay,” Soyeon said through a last huff of laughter, “I do have to admit that there's no way she engages in these verbal sparring matches all the time with him for fun. Maybe I'm delusional, but she… looks at him.”
Yunho thumped his fist against the desk. “So does he! Look at her, I mean.”
“Third grade until now is a long time for a slow burn arc,” Seulgi mused.
“It's about goddamn time though.”
Soyeon waved her hands around to stop the conversation. “Now wait a minute, I'm not saying that she has feelings for him—”
Yunho grinned. “You're not,” he agreed, “but we're just putting two and two together. If you think about it, if they actually just liked each other, wouldn't that make a lot of sense? All the bickering is just foreplay!”
“Good grief.”
“I'm just saying!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “I think Seulgi should pair them up for the event, so they'll finally realize that the only tension between them is—”
Soyeon put a hand to her brow. “Don't say what I think you're gonna say.”
“I think they need to make out and get it over with.”
“If they can get over their massive egos first,” Mingi pointed out unenthusiastically.
From her president's chair, Seulgi sucked the remaining salt and crumbs off her thumb and forefinger in deep contemplation. Since the moment you and Seonghwa set foot in this society, there was a feeling prodding at the back of her mind about the two of you; one might call it a hunch, a sixth sense. Maybe you claimed to hate each other's guts, but maybe there was a chance to smooth out that wrinkle and get you both to shut up.
There was another smile curling onto Yunho's face as he regarded her from across the desk. “You have a plan,” he said. It wasn't a question.
Seulgi merely shrugged. “Maybe I do.”
When you were first entering into university—and even when you were still in high school—people’s favorite fearmongering tactic when you expressed your desire to go into medicine was that organic chemistry would suck the life right out of you. Truly, you wondered if the fear they ingrained in you was what made you ace the series last year, or maybe if it was just because Park Seonghwa was in your class.
You were beginning to suspect that the latter was the case, considering biochemistry was not even half as bad as you were expecting it to be.
“Your flashcards must be magic or something,” Soyeon grumbled beside you as she peered over your shoulder at the Quizlet deck you flipped through. The two of you were amongst the school of other students in your biochemistry course loitering outside the examination hall, cramming last minute knowledge into your already-packed craniums. iPads, textbooks, and notebooks were splayed out and poured over; you were certain someone had even brought a tea light to pray over.
You finished the deck you were on, drumming your fingers along the seam of your pants to give your nervous energy somewhere to go. “They're not magic; I just become a hermit when exam weeks come around,” you replied. None of this information came natural to you, and the curve of your spine could attest to the amount of hours you spent hunched over your desk, grinding notes and problem sets.
Soyeon hummed, unconvinced, to herself. She had her own notes she was scrolling through on her tablet, a worried furrow between her brows. “Is it weird that I have a bad feeling about this exam?”
Your stomach twisted at just those words. “No, I feel it too,” you muttered. You shivered then, as if an evil breeze just blew against your neck.
Your eyes coincidentally wandered elsewhere in the building lobby and met the gaze of a familiar opponent.
“Nope,” you drawled as the man approached where you and Soyeon lingered, “it's just Seonghwa.”
Soyeon muffled a laugh by squeezing her lips together and she gave your shoulder a light shove. “You're so petty, oh my god.”
Seonghwa lifted one perfect brow when he drew closer, lowering his headphones to hang them around his neck. “Should I even hazard a guess at what you just said about me?” he asked you directly, understanding full well that Soyeon was not the culprit.
You wrinkled your nose at him. “I have faith that you know.”
Soyeon coughed loudly. “So, Hwa, how're we feeling about this midterm?”
A sigh fell from his mouth and it was a haggard sound that you could relate with down to your exhausted bones. He raked a hand through his hair, eyes flitting to you before going back to Soyeon. “It's… hit or miss, I think,” he said, almost as if he were picking the words carefully.
“That's how we're feeling, too,” you added in with an absent-minded bob of your head. “Dr. Chung has been in a bad mood lately.” This statement was paired with a grimace while you hissed through your teeth.
“I hear you've been locking in hours at Quill all weekend, Ln.”
Quill was the colloquial name of KQ University's largest library, a frequent haunt of students during Finals Week because it was open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It had also practically become like your third home over the last few years of your undergraduate career. Truly, that reading room had seen far too much of you. “Are you asking around about me, Park?” you queried.
He flashed you a wry smile. “Don't flatter yourself,” he quipped. “Everything I learn about you is against my will.”
“But you still listen to it, right?”
“Know thy enemy,” he replied simply.
(Soyeon observed the two of you with a new set of eyes. After the conversation shared between five members of the Yn and Seonghwa Need to Get Over Themselves Club, she hated to admit that she was actually seeing Yunho's point—and she hated to admit when a man had a point. There was always this inkling wriggling at the back of her mind that there must have been something deeper between you two, but she knew what it was like to not be able to stand the sight of someone.
The difference in this case was that, as much as you both claimed you loathed the sight of one another, you could not keep your eyes off each other.)
Soyeon leaned her elbow onto your shoulder and flashed the screen of her tablet at the both of you. As much as she was fascinated by this little observational study, there was an exam she needed to pass. “Can we go over glycolysis again? We have five minutes before they let us into the room.”
You and Seonghwa snapped out of your previous conversation. “Shit,” you muttered while pocketing your phone, “yeah, let's go over it.”
Five minutes later, the doors to the Gwang-Yin Hall opened to allow the flood of students into its bowels. The mass shuffled into the spacious room in an unorderly fashion, a mass of nervous jitters and panic that would eventually tighten into a yarn ball only unwoundable by one's graduation date. Even then, the stress would only continue to mount rather than vanish.
All one could do was trudge on.
Two hours later, your hand was cramping and the digits on the clock projected upon the screen were getting closer and closer to zero. Your knee shook under the tiny wooden desk, palms and fingers sweating as you scanned through your answers and fixed one last response.
“Time! Pencils and pens down.”
A mishmash of curses and thumps rattled throughout the lecture hall. You heard sighs and coughs and calculators slam shut (which was weird because you didn't need a calculator on this exam); paper fluttered as exams were passed to the ends of rows and TAs came by to sweep them up. The professor was yelling at someone to stop writing, but you were already folding the desktop between the seats and shuffling out of the row.
Your brain hurt, fuck.
As you made your way toward the exit, your peers were already finding their friends and exchanging answers. This was arguably worse than the exam itself. You tried not to listen to them—what if your answers were different? What if the answer you got wasn't even in the same ballpark?
Exhaustion weighed down on your body from all the stress you'd accumulated over this past week and weekend. You raised your head to let your eyes surf through the crowd. Where was Soyeon…
Your eyes did not snag on Soyeon, but they did catch the back of a familiar head. He was closer to the exit than you were, and you maneuvered through the masses to reach him.
“Yo” —you appeared at Park Seonghwa's side just as you both shoved out into the disgusting and muggy April morning.
He sent you a look, eyebrows pursed in surprise. “Yo,” he said back.
“Thoughts?”
Seonghwa sucked in a breath that sounded very much like a hiss. “Hit or miss, as I said,” he drawled. “I'm not in the mood to compare answers though, Ln.”
“Me neither. I kind of need caffeine though,” you thought aloud. It was only the beginning of the day, after all. You still had to get through a lab and one more lecture before you were due at the university hospital for a volunteer shift.
“That sounds… super good right now actually.” Seonghwa's eyes went from you to the phone in his hand. “Where are you headed?”
“Physics lab,” you grunted with a scrunched-up nose.
His expression shifted. “Oh,” he said. “The wave simulator one?”
“Yeah, the one they made us learn beginner Python for.”
“It's easy,” he told you with a flick of his wrist. “My group finished early and left with like, an hour to spare.”
You cocked a brow at him. “Easy for you to say. You went to that Comp-Sci camp in high school every summer.” You didn't know what inside you suddenly thought to speak the words in your head, but they were out in the open now. Maybe you really were tired—in what reality did you even suggest that he was better than you at something?
Seonghwa made a sound that was suspiciously akin to a laugh. Disbelief filled his face; he shifted a foot toward you. “You remember I went to fuckass Comp-Sci camp?”
“Don't get ahead of yourself,” you quipped, squinting one eye at him. Maybe you should not have said that, but there were worse places to be stuck. “My mom just would not shut up about it.” Just like how she would not shut up about how much better Seonghwa was doing in his academics, and in general. The comparisons had gotten so out of hand when you were kids.
He bit his cheek. “Don’t worry, Ln, my mom wouldn't shut up about how you tutored first graders after school everyday. If that makes you feel better.”
Your mouth curved into a frown, albeit incredulously. How much did your mom tell his mom? Neither you nor Seonghwa asked to be pitted against each other, but the dynamic had been ingrained in the two of you like a bad habit, and bad habits died hard. “It's whatever,” was all you managed to say. You shouldn't have brought it up.
Seonghwa looked as if he was going to say something. His mouth opened, then snapped shut, his mind changed. “Yeah, it's whatever.”
In seventh grade, Seonghwa's bike broke down along one of the worn trails behind the school that would take him toward the block you both lived on. The situation ended up with bloodied and scraped-up knees, and an equally bloodied and scraped-up ego, because you had watched it happen in real time.
Middle schoolers were not known for their empathy, but you saw the watery silver lining his eyes as he angrily shoved himself to his feet, tugging his bike along with him. He could barely step without his legs trembling.
Maybe your mom had just reminded you that he won the science fair again, but it didn't exactly feel right to abandon him on this trail, of all places. You slowed your bike to a stop next to him and met his glare with defiance.
“Just leave me alone.”
“So you don't want a ride home?”
He scoffed. “Not from you. I don't need help.”
You could have growled with all of that middle school girl rage. “Get on the dang bike, Seonghwa. You're bleeding.”
He glanced down at his shins. Dark red streamed from the open wounds as if he'd just survived some chainsaw murderer, not Mother Nature from the height of a bike. Seonghwa glanced back over at you on your bike, the foot bars on the back wheel. He couldn't meet your eyes as he abandoned his vehicle on the path and propped one foot onto the corresponding bar of yours. “If I hear you talking about this at school—”
“Yeah, whatever,” you interjected, rolling your eyes. His fingers dug into your shoulders and you felt his weight press down on the wheels. You propelled your foot off the dirt trail and pumped your legs to make it up the small hill ahead. He could do his worst for all you cared.
“Good afternoon, Aurora County! It looks like we're in for another stormy week. Forecast says to expect showers through to the weekend with highs of about 86 degrees Fahrenheit—” SLAM.
You brought an umbrella to your sociology lecture this time.
The accessory popped out like a parachute as you launched it above your head, wincing as raindrops went flying in all directions. The outside world remained a living sauna—hot and wet and miserable. Nobody asked for this.
You paused to select a playlist to listen to, then commenced what you expected would be a long trek in the rain. Wednesdays were usually what you considered your break days; they acted as somewhat of a pause during the middle of the week to give you a moment to breathe. In the morning, you had a very relaxed bioethics seminar, and in the afternoon, it was your sociology lecture. There was a reason you loved Wednesdays—
BEEP BEEP!
Déjà vu washed over you like rainwater being splattered by a car racing past. The familiar silver sedan rolling up next to you in the street sealed the deal.
Park Seonghwa lowered the passenger side window only partially. “You need a ride?”
“Are you purposefully driving down this way or…?” This week and the week before were the only times you ever saw him drive on this road. What class did he even have before this?
“The main road that gets to North campus is closed for reconstruction, remember? They roped it off two weeks ago.” He deadpanned at you, unamused. “Of course, I'm driving this way on purpose.”
You made a face at him. “You don't have to be chivalrous.”
“So that's a no?”
“I don't need a ride from you.” As if it would help your case, you waved your hand up at your umbrella with a flourish. “I have coverage.”
His expression somehow seemed to flatten further. “Get in the car, Yn.”
Your reputation as a Seonghwa hater was suddenly in danger if you got into this car. You had an umbrella, good tunes, and a free afternoon. It was Wednesday, a good day.
You got in the car.
“This could be considered kidnapping,” you hummed with no real malice as you wrestled your umbrella into its closed position, then shut the door.
Alright, Drama Queen. He rolled his eyes and pulled the car forward. “I regret everything.”
As soon as you settled properly into the seat, you realized where exactly you found yourself. The AC was blowing a cool and comfortable breeze at you, rustling up the smell of his flowery-coffee cologne. The song playing on low from the stereo was one that settled on the tip of your tongue, a name you could only remember when you saw its title on the navigation screen. And then there was that damned C-3PO Lego figurine stuck to the dash.
Seonghwa was less than a foot away from you with only the center console separating you. The two of you have sat closer to one another—there was that spelling bee tournament in third grade, that school assembly in sixth grade, that Science Olympiad competition in tenth—but all of those had been assigned. This was something you did on your own, just as you had run after him post-exam yesterday, just as he had walked up to you and Soyeon pre-exam.
You fiddled around on your phone and tucked your earbuds into your backpack, antsy to forget where you were and the choices you'd made.
He coughed. “So,” he said, dragging out the vowel, “how was the physics lab yesterday?”
There was a sudden spike of anxiety in your chest from the question, even though the lab itself had gone pretty okay yesterday. It was as if your body was gearing up for another cat fight on its own, as it seemed to do frequently around him. “Fine,” you said. “I really don't know why they made us do a whole workshop for learning Python, though, when all we did was change two numbers around.”
“Yeah,” he chimed in with a sigh, carding a hand through his hair as he made a turn, “me neither. It was helpful if you wanted to make more advanced adjustments though.”
“Oh.” You couldn't help but think: how much more was Seonghwa learning or gaining from each lab because he had a slightly better foundation than you did in code? There would undoubtedly be future lab situations where you would need to know some kind of code in more depth, but… You dashed the thought away; you could look into an online course later. It would be fine. “You have your physics midterm next week, too, right?”
He grunted, the corner of his mouth pressing into his cheek. “Unfortunately. You?”
“Same.” You glanced out the passenger side window. “Seulgi's probably gonna give into Mingi's demands tomorrow night—for physics questions, I mean.”
Seonghwa chuckled something low. “Yeah,” he agreed with a grimace, “a nice reminder of what we're in for. Maybe this time, I'll even let you beat me.”
You arched a brow at him, unimpressed. “You'll be so low on the rankings tomorrow, you'll never forget what gravity feels like.” A bold statement from someone who could barely punch the right buttons on her calculator. Then again, while Seonghwa went to Computer Science camp, it didn't necessarily mean he was good at math… or computer science. He just knew slightly more than you.
(Maybe it was time to actually look into coding classes.)
“Speaking of gravity.”
Curious, you lifted your head to look at him.
His eyes darted off the road briefly to meet your gaze, before settling on the rain-slicked streets, the car's wipers swishing back and forth over the windshield. “My mom keeps asking about you,” he said, the words coming out terse as if he had to rip them out of his vocal cords.
What did that have to do with gravity?
“Ah,” you vocalized. His mom asks about you, too? You didn't necessarily find yourself in too many situations like this—situations wherein you had time for a full-length conversation. Truth be told, your mom enjoyed asking about Seonghwa, too. “Tell her what I tell my mom about you.”
His brow flicked up when he glanced at you this time. “And what's that?”
“That you're fine—I mean, doing fine.”
The car paused at the red light, the rain continuing to drum overhead. His stare bored into the side of your head, and you couldn't understand why your pulse suddenly leapt. Your heart was doing sprints—no, cartwheels—as his lips pulled into a cheeky sort of grin. You chalked up your racing heartbeat to annoyance. He did have an infuriating face. “How fine am I, Ln?”
Was it hot in here? You could have sworn the air conditioning was on.
You looked back at him blankly and held your poker face for as long as physically possible. “Check your ego, Park.”
The only reason he broke away was because the traffic light turned green.
As a responsible pre-health student with an impending physics midterm, you were stuck in the library on a Friday afternoon. The weeks seemed to tear by fast in the spring quarter, and you weren't sure you could keep up. Rain, as forecasted by the oh-so-helpful Aurora County weatherman, battered the windows of Quill Library, creating a comfortable white noise that nestled between the gaps of your headphones’ shoddy noise cancelling function.
You stretched your arms over your head and pulled your spine up toward the ceiling. That was another practice problem set completed, and yet, you still felt worlds away from where you wanted to be.
With your head raised, you made a cursory scan of your surroundings. In this area of Quill, the tables were slightly larger, big enough to fit four people comfortably, as well as any and all work those four people might find themselves tackling. You were this table's lone occupant, but there were other tables lining the window down the length of this wall of the library, too, all taken up as well. Midterm season made this place popular, no matter the time of day.
It only made sense then that when you turned your head in the direction of the hallway, you made direct eye contact with a pair of fellow students who were undoubtedly in search of an open table, as well.
Kim Hongjoong seemed to physically float at the sight of you—or rather, the sight of your nearly empty table. Seonghwa didn't so much as smile. (You had been seeing a lot of him recently.) The latter had no choice but to follow the former over to where you sat, their wet sneakers tracking over the grey carpet.
You shifted one ear of your headphones. “Hey?”
Hongjoong had his palms pressed together in a prayer position. “Please tell me no one else is sitting here.”
You were tempted to say that Seonghwa might have to go find alternative seating, but even then in this seating climate, that might be too harsh of a joke. “I'm doing well, too, Joong. How are you?” you teased him with a small smile. You made a flourishing gesture to the empty seats across from you. “Yeah no, be my guest.”
“Thank you,” he said, waving Seonghwa over before squeezing into the seat closest to the window. “And sorry, we just had the worst time going through the tables in the reading room. I had no hope.”
You and Seonghwa made brief eye contact as he slid into the seat across from you. “I figured by the defeat on your face,” you mused to Hongjoong. “I just got lucky 'cause my bioethics lecture got out early, so I thought I'd find a place to plant for the afternoon.”
Hongjoong bobbed his head as he rummaged for his iPad in his messenger bag. “Sounds like a plan. I'll probably only be here for a couple hours, really, and then I've got this club meeting to go to.” He nudged Seonghwa with the back of his hand, forcing the man to take out one of his earbuds. “Your plans: go.”
Seonghwa's eyes widened slightly as Hongjoong caught him off guard. His eyes darted to you, then back to his friend. “Uhh,” he said and scratched the side of his jaw, “not sure. I'll see how this goes.” He gestured to the notebook and laptop he'd just pulled out, the notebook cover labeled with a Post-It note that read Phys upside down.
“Yeah,” you drawled with a nod, eyeing him.
“Oh, Yn” —Hongjoong caught you before you moved your headphones back into place and you were lost to the world of fluid mechanics— “Seulgi's hosting a house party tomorrow night. Are you coming?”
Your face lit up with surprise. “That's a little last minute, isn't it?”
He shrugged with a sheepish grin. “You know her,” he replied helplessly. “I know a handful of people from the society will be there—plus, a lot of other people she knows. You should bring your housemates!”
“I dunno, Joong… I do have that midterm on Monday.”
“I already know you'll be studying all weekend,” he parried. “It'll just be for a few hours. You can swing by for a little, catch up, and then head home in time to get enough sleep to cram on Sunday.”
You abhorred that he knew your habits, sleeping and studying. Attending a house party the weekend right before a physics midterm was not a word to the wise, but if people from your society were going to be there, then perhaps they weren't too worried about their exams. It would be a nice, little break from all of the studying you'd been doing lately, as well as a reward for locking in.
Instead of giving Hongjoong a direct response, your eyes flickered to Seonghwa who was pretending like he wasn't listening. “Is he going?” you asked, jabbing the end of your pen in his direction.
“I'm right here,” he muttered.
Hongjoong shrugged. “Don't let a man stop you from having fun, Yn.”
Now that was a word to the wise. You felt your mouth pull into a smirk. “You are so right,” you said to him. “But I'll still have to let you know. If today goes well, then maybe you'll see me.”
A couple of hours came and went, and so too did Hongjoong. He rushed off to his club meeting, wishing both you and Seonghwa luck with your studying.
And then there were two.
You both continued to study independently and silently for a few more hours, coexisting in the same space of the library. At some point, the rain outside had quieted to a misty hush and the majority of the crowd had filed out to spend their Friday evening doing something less depressing.
By the pulsating at your temples, you figured your brain had enough for one afternoon. This session hadn't gone too terribly, you decided, as you drummed your fingers against your notepad. Your eyes lifted up to the man still seated across from you; Seonghwa's cheek was pressed against his fist as he scribbled something out into his notebook before checking it against his calculator.
He felt your flighty gaze, eyes ensnaring yours before you could look away again. “Need something?” he asked, voice slightly hoarse from lack of use.
“Not from you,” was your automatic quip.
He made a show of looking around at the sparsely-populated area of the library. “Well, then you must be looking at a ghost,” he said back with a saccharine sort of smile.
You wrinkled your nose at him before deciding to actually close the lid of your laptop. “I'm going to go now.”
“No one's stopping you.”
“You're not leaving?”
He cocked a brow at you, the hand with his pen stopping on his page. “Just because you are? What do you think I am—obsessed with you?”
The scoff fell out of your mouth before you could stop it, but the heat swarming your cheeks and neck also appeared without permission. “No one mentioned anything about being obsessed with me. I was just asking a question; it's a Friday night, after all.”
“Well, I'm currently on a date with physics.”
“Oh, so you do get action.”
Seonghwa smiled. “More than you, that's for sure.”
“And you say you're not obsessed with me.” You had no idea how the conversation unfolded in this direction, but you were throwing your things into your bag with fervor—anything to get away from him and whatever you were talking about now.
When you picked up your bag, you tucked the chair close to the table. Seonghwa kept his eyes on his laptop screen, cheek against his fist, pen tick-tocking against his finger.
You were only a couple steps away when you heard him say, “See you at the party.”
You whirled around with your mouth open in retort, but you didn't actually know what to say. How could five words evoke such a visceral reaction inside your chest? He heard your response to Hongjoong earlier; he couldn't just assume you would go.
You turned back around without saying anything, and you swore you heard him snicker under his breath as you left. You would not be going to that party, just to make a point.
So maybe you were going to the party.
In your defense, it was not your idea. You were doing it in support of your roommate and good friend Ronnie, who heard her current campus crush was going to be there; thus, the seven of you in the house were going to all attend for a few hours in solidarity.
“It's warm tonight” —a skirt flew at your face, faster than you could realize or catch— “so wear this. You've only worn it, like, what? Once?”
You sputtered as you whipped the skirt out of your eyes and mouth, your expression screwed up in disdain as Ronnie tore your half of the closet apart in search of a suitable top to match. “It’s not like I’m the one about to see my crush,” you said as you lifted the skirt up in front of you to inspect it. Indeed, you had only worn the simple, pleated black garment a total of one time, and you had forgotten it existed ever since.
Ronnie eyed up a big graphic tee in her hand, stripped it from its hanger, then tossed it at you.
“Veronica Shim, I swear to god—”
“Sue me for being nervous,” she squawked. She walked over and grabbed you by the shoulders. “I just need to busy myself before my hands shake so hard, they fall off.”
You peeled the T-shirt she had thrown at you off of your head. “I’m going to get dressed,” you promised, “and then I will let you do my makeup—”
“I love you.” Before you could respond, she was already halfway across the room again, tearing through your makeup box instead. When Ronnie was nervous, there wasn’t very much that could calm her down unless she was physically doing something. It was what made her such an adept physical media artist—the ceramics studio saw her face as often as the library saw yours. The bedroom you shared was covered from ceiling to floor in the origami she folded, from little paper stars to intricate flowers that had taken her days to make.
You were exceptionally fond of her, but if she threw another clothing item at your head, you might lose it.
In about an hour, the seven of you were piled into Lillian's minivan on the way to Seulgi's house. Each passenger, sans Lillian, had each taken a shot of soju Soyeon had found at the back of the kitchen pantry. Suffice to say, Ronnie was ready to actually talk to her crush and you were all prepared to have fun for the first time since midterms started.
You could already hear the music bleeding out from Seulgi's place, accompanied by the warm buzz of laughter and chatter. It was a smaller house at the end of a cul-de-sac a few blocks from where you lived. The driveway and surrounding streets were already chock-full of cars, so Lillian dropped everyone off in front of the house while she and Seeun went to find an open parking spot.
You, Ronnie, and Soyeon had your arms hooked together as Seulgi's housemate Irene let you in. The party was well under way—with it being a little past nine o'clock—and you could already spot some familiar faces in the crowd.
“Wow, it's hot in here,” you shouted over the addicting bass kick of some early 2000s song. There were far too many bodies shoved into the living room; in no way was this within the building’s occupancy capacity.
Ronnie squeezed your hand before letting go. “I just saw my friend Renjun from my design principles class!” she exclaimed, throwing her thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “I'm gonna go say hi.”
“Okay, have fun!”
Soyeon tugged you in the direction past the kitchen, toward the stairs. “Mingi just texted—apparently they're in the basement and they have tequila shots.”
“You had me at shots,” you replied back with a grin.
Soyeon let out a hoot of approval, and the two of you turned the corner to take the stairs down into the basement below. As you descended into the bowels of the house, you unconsciously tugged the hem of your skirt down. You were definitely not tipsy enough to be unaware of your flashing risk.
There was still a handful of people in the basement, but it was considerably less congested than upstairs. There was even a fan hoisted up into the nearby corner blowing a draft of wind—not cool wind, but wind nonetheless—down over the basement occupants. Closest to you were a few people surrounding a pool table, while the far end was outfitted with a relaxed layout of rugs, blankets, bean bags, and pillows for people to lounge about in. The latter was where your society members were, their voices and laughter already familiar to you.
Wooyoung was the first to notice yours and Soyeon's entrance. He waved his arm at the two of you, careful not to knock off a very flushed San from his other shoulder. “Oy! Look who finally decided to show up.”
“Had to wait for this one to get home and eat dinner first,” Soyeon said with a thumb pointed in your direction, her lips blowing a raspberry.
You threw her a look of betrayal. “If someone had just called me, I would have been home faster!” You made a cursory scan of the people currently present, eyes looking for no one in particular, or maybe just someone to sit next to.
You happened to make eye contact with Seonghwa at one end of the loosely-formed circle, his legs crisscrossed, hands braced behind him. Hongjoong was on one side of him, but the other side was occupied by a girl you did not recognize. She was not from the society and she wasn't someone whom you had seen at a social function before either.
Before your face could visibly show your confusion, you were tugged down next to Wooyoung.
A clear shot glass was handed over to you, equally clear liquid sloshing over the rim, and it came as a packaged deal with a roughly sliced lime wedge. “Here” —Wooyoung placed one in each of your hands— “you can finish San's shot.”
“I can finish it!” San cried from his other side, lips pouty and face red as tomato soup.
Both you and Wooyoung gave him the same expression. “No way.”
You took one for the team (San), and dunked the shot back, following it swiftly by the lime between your teeth. You grimaced at the initial burn, but it subsided the longer you sucked on the lime wedge.
“Yah, both Soyeon and Yn need extra shots,” Yunho hollered from his seat between Mingi and Lia. He grinned as he liberally poured two more shots, one in a teacup and one in a miniature beaker.
You took the lime out from your mouth. “Says who?”
“Says me!” Seulgi chimed in, clapping her hands. “Minimum two shots to stay in the circle—”
“Unless you're driving,” Jongho called out.
“Truuue,” Seulgi agreed with a nod in his direction. “So drink up, ladies.”
Who were you to argue with your host? You were already technically two shots in, thanks to your light pregaming, but you weren't about to complain. The shot glasses were passed around the circle to where you and Soyeon were seated, and you both dutifully paid your toll.
Just as you finished, you felt Wooyoung sling one of his arms over your shoulders. The movement seemed to make your world spin just a little bit more. “Guys, we should play Hot Seat!”
“Ooh, like the game we played in middle school?” Chaeryeong asked.
“But I don't want my seat to be hot,” San muttered, lips curving into a frown.
You cooed at him, reaching around Wooyoung to pinch San's cheeks together in one hand. “Oh my god, you're so cute. How many drinks have you had?”
(From across the circle, Seonghwa's nose wrinkled. He leaned over toward Hongjoong's ear, muttering, “He's not that cute, is he?” He had certainly thought it to himself a few minutes ago, but that was before you said it out loud.
Hongjoong turned his head, face contorted into pure incredulity. “You're… kidding, right?”)
San’s frown deepened as he slurred, “Only two.”
“And that's the way it's gonna stay,” Wooyoung declared, patting his friend on the head with pursed lips. “Personally, I think Hot Seat is befitting of our current situation. You know, apparently, we're supposed to get a heatwave these next few weeks?”
Soyeon tipped her head back in a groan. “Dude, I cannot take any more of this! I can't even tell if I'm sweating or if it's from the rain.”
“Tell me about it,” Seulgi grumbled. “At this point, we'll need to start planning for the postponed car wash fundraiser on top of the bracelet-making one.”
“Why are we talking business at a party?” Mingi cut in. He had one elbow resting on Yunho's shoulder while the other hand raised a red Solo cup of his poison for the night to his lips. “Let’s play Hot Seat.”
“Take a shot for every question you don't want to answer?” you asked, glancing around the circle.
Only murmurs of agreement met your ears, and someone chimed in with a suggestion of three questions per person.
As the one who proposed the game, Wooyoung had the honor of going first. The only issue was that Wooyoung was the closest thing to an open book out of the entire group; it was hard to find a topic he would feel hesitant to answer out loud. Wooyoung's turn on the hot seat slipped by as fast as a summer breeze, and the baton was passed onto you (to give San a fighting chance, of course).
“Well, this should be good,” you chuckled, hoping your nervousness didn't shine through too much. Maybe an additional shot would actually help you.
Soyeon's grin lit up her face. “Ooh, I've got one!”
“Oh no.”
“If Kim Hongjoong and Jung Wooyoung were each being dangled over a pit of lava—”
Both Hongjoong and Wooyoung jerked to life at the same time from opposite ends of the circle as everyone else erupted into laughter. “Now wait a second!”
“—who would you choose to save?”
You covered your smile with your hand and ignored Wooyoung's eyes burning two holes into the side of your head as best as you could. “Well, that's not fair; I need context!”
Soyeon shrugged. “To save the world, I guess.”
“To save the world?” You let it sink in. “Can't I drop both of them in?” you jested, guffawing at Wooyoung playfully shaking your shoulders and Hongjoong shouting his dissent from across the circle. “Okay, okay! Sorry, Hongjoong—you’re going in the pit!”
“I knew I was your favorite,” Wooyoung sighed and draped himself over your shoulders.
“Her answer was coerced!” Hongjoong flashed you a wry and petulant smile as Seonghwa placated him with a pat on his back. It said everything you needed to know: you would pay for this. “You should've taken the shot, Yn.”
“I've got a question” —Yunho cut in, and there was this boyish sort of smile on his face with an impish twinkle in his eyes. You knew him well enough not to trust that look— “do you actually hate Seonghwa?”
Half the group shot wide-eyed stares at Yunho, with Mingi shoving him in the shoulder, while the other half had their attention darting curiously between you and Seonghwa. There was a smile of disbelief that crawled onto your face as your immediate reaction; your sympathetic nervous system had jumped into high gear, as well, making your heart pound and palms sweat.
What kind of question…?
You tried not to glance in Seonghwa's direction. “Hate is a… strong word,” you drawled, dragging out the syllables of the latter half. Your fingers played around with the empty shot glass sitting on the rug in front of you, index tracing the rim.
“You’ve gotta answer the question, Yn,” Yunho prompted, the smile on his face only widening.
“Yeah, answer the question, Ln.”
That had your head turning. Seonghwa did not look away when you met his gaze, and you couldn't tell from this distance if that was pure stoicism in his face, or if there was something else hidden there. The blood in your veins thrummed, simmered. His tone was so annoying though. This question was so annoying. Who asked this kind of thing in a group setting, let alone when you were barely even drunk?
You picked up the shot glass and wiggled it in the air. “Pour me one.”
A group-wide groan erupted in this corner of Seulgi's basement, cleaving the tension wide open. You ignored everyone’s playful shouts of dissent, their urges for you to hurt Seonghwa’s feelings and bruise his ego with your honesty; you insisted on the shot, and because Yunho was a little butthurt, Mingi took over the role of Keeper of Tequila and poured you one.
You drained the shot with ease—better the bitter burn of fermented agave than the bitter burn of truthful words. (Maybe you just didn’t want to confront the very words you had already spoken, that ‘hate’ really was too strong in describing what you felt for Park Seonghwa.) It was the coward’s way out, but the night was still young and you were still in the hot seat.
The last question you were dealt was dutifully delivered by Kim Hongjoong, as was prophesied by your disservice to him in your earlier answer. He asked if you had really cheated during the Trivia Night three months ago about plant physiology. It had been a point of great contention back then, and it didn’t truly matter in the grand scheme of things; plant physiology night was “for fun,” but everyone here owned at least one competitive bone in their body.
As everyone leaned in, expecting a horrible scandal to be confirmed, you said, “No, but I know who did.”
The group howled once more—you wouldn’t be surprised if the goddamn neighbors could hear you all at this point—as they hounded you for answers. They were answers you wouldn’t give, however, because you had fulfilled your turn on the hot seat.
You leaned back onto your palms and the tension in your shoulders loosened slightly now that you were no longer in the spotlight.
A loud giggle cut through all the noise around you. From across the circle, the girl you did not recognize was laughing into her palm, Seonghwa's mouth still moving as he muttered something under his breath so only the people around him heard.
Your face fell. “He's not that funny,” you grumbled to Wooyoung, since Yeosang was busy answering a question on your left.
Your friend snorted loud enough that glances were thrown his way.
“Just admit you're mad you can't hear what he's saying,” he said to you, keeping his volume low enough this time so only you were privy to his words.
What an egregious take! It was hotter than hot, scalding even. “Why would I be mad that I can't hear him? If anything, I'm pissed he's right in my line of sight.”
Wooyoung only lifted a brow at you, his mouth curving into his cheek while he smirked, unconvinced. ‘Jelly,’ was what he mouthed at you in exaggerated movements.
You huffed and shook your head. No way you were mad or jealous.
Park Seonghwa was drunk. At least, he was pretty sure he was on the cusp of tipsy and drunk—inebriated would be an apt term. The room was spinning; that was one standout symptom he was experiencing at the moment. Dim, amber lights swirling with the faces and basement walls around him, voices he recognized. Hongjoong would have definitely added that he giggled way too much to be Sober Seonghwa. It was settled then: he was drunk.
“Guys, be honest with me” —that was San’s voice… no. No, wait. That was definitely Wooyoung’s. He swore he saw his mouth move— “who do we think is gonna get married first out of all of us?”
The group had dwindled down considerably following the conclusion to the game Hot Seat. Though the space taken up remained the same, the blob was far more deformed now. One could not call it a circle if they had even an ounce of integrity.
Seulgi lifted her beer bottle to her lips. “Not me,” she drawled with a snort.
“I think Lia,” said Soyeon.
There was movement next to Wooyoung, and Seonghwa watched you wag your finger in Soyeon's direction. Your head was on Wooyoung's shoulder, alcohol-induced drowsiness hitting you while it was making him think things. “Mmh,” you agreed, “but I raise you: Jung Wooyoung.”
Hongjoong loosened a sound from his lips that made Seonghwa giggle again. “Yah, now you're just doing it on purpose!”
“I can hype up my bestie, Kim!”
“Yeah!” Wooyoung chimed in. “Let her hype me up, Kim!”
“Alright, but,” Yunho said, mouth already stretched in a grin, “he couldn't even ask out his work crush, remember?”
Wooyoung's eyes shot wide open. “Oy—the work environment at Gap was just not confession-friendly! It was actually anti-romance.”
Cutting through Yunho's snickering, a slightly-flushed Mingi raised his fingers for his turn. “Let's not sleep on the real secret romantic, Mr. Choi Jongho.”
A murmur of agreement swept around the group as all eyes went to the only truly sober member of the blob. Jongho lifted his can of ginger ale to his lips for a small sip, but shook his head as he did. “I don't know where you're getting this misinformation from.”
“Wait, no! Mingi's right,” you piped up, even sitting upright to gesture with your arm at Jongho. (Seonghwa shifted in his spot, jerking as you moved. His inhibitions were… not in the building.) “You would totally be in a long term relationship for years and not tell anyone until you're sending out Save the Dates!”
“Exactly,” Seonghwa suddenly said, nodding his head. Oh—people were looking at him—did he say that out loud? He could agree with you sometimes; he just didn't often agree with you aloud. “What?”
Hongjoong blinked at him, his eyebrows scrunched together, lips parting slightly before he pursed them, as if deciding against whatever thought wanted to breathe air.
You were the only one not looking at him like he'd just sprouted another head. There was that familiar neutrality, a slightly warmer version of the crinkle-nosed brattiness that drove him up the walls.
“You guys are weird,” he muttered and flicked his eyebrows up, then took a swig out of the half-empty soju bottle parked between him and Hongjoong.
“What if I think Yn will get married first?” These were San's first, sober words since he had woken up from a brief nap; but considering what he said, maybe he hadn't quite reached sobriety yet.
Everyone's attention flipped to the opposite side of the group again, Seonghwa included. The question was cold gutter water that splashed over him from the street, and any haziness disappeared in an instant.
“No fucking way,” both you and Seonghwa said at once.
Time stilled.
Yunho reacted first, leaning his chin onto his fist. He used his other hand to gesture between you two. “Interesting. Explain.”
Seonghwa leveled his gaze with yours. "I'm not claiming anything. I just don't think she'll be the first to get married.” He clutched the bottleneck in his hand, the glass hanging midway between the ground and his mouth, his elbow propped on top of his knee while he watched your reaction.
“The feeling's mutual,” you replied tersely, a thin smile spread on your face. “What was it you said the other day? That you were on a date with physics?”
“Well, I definitely wasn't on a date with you.”
Out of Seonghwa's periphery, Hongjoong slapped his hand over his mouth.
There was a warm thrill beneath his skin as your eyes narrowed at him. “Funny, 'cause everyone here knows I would rather retake calculus than even think about going on a date with you.”
“I’m touched, Ln, really.”
“Oh, there they are!” Heads turned in the direction of the voice. It cut through all of the buzz and chatter down here in the basement. Seonghwa's mind was yet to be at its sharpest still, but he was able to recognize the familiar faces of two of your and Soyeon's housemates, Seeun and Lillian. They bumbled over, arms linked and faces flushed with the spirits they had consumed tonight. “Yn, Soyeon—we’re stealing you!”
“Recruiting,” Lillian corrected Seeun with a pointed cough. “We are recruiting you to take over the pool table over there.” She thrust an arm in the direction of the opposite end of the room.
Seonghwa took an absent-minded sip of his drink as your friends tugged you and Soyeon to your feet, then stole you away from the group and whatever this conversation had turned into. The conversation blurred into something about long-term relationships again, drifting further away from the initial marriage inquiry and to something more palatable for a bunch of young 20-somethings.
The liquid in his bottle was drained, then replaced by another. To hell with that physics exam on Monday, he supposed.
Hongjoong passed him a glance. “Are you… gonna slow down soon?”
“Maybe after this,” Seonghwa muttered with his lips at the bottle rim. His eyes kept on wandering over toward the opposite end of the room to where you stood at the pool table; and the more he drank, the harder it was for his consciousness to drag his focus back to the people around him.
Your laugh cleaved through any self-control he had left. He leaned back on one hand, catching how you tugged down the hem of your skirt with an instinctive motion, before taking the pool cue from one of the guys there—
“Hwa” —he heard his name, but his head was slow to turn. Seulgi was smiling at him, and maybe if he hadn't had this last bottle, he would have noticed the knowing tilt of her expression— “what about you?”
“Hm?”
“Anybody you're interested in?”
Seonghwa's skin warmed as if he had just been caught. “Not really,” he answered and straightened from his previous position. He resisted the urge to look, to reveal every single one of his cards with one, stupid look. How he managed to bite his tongue this time was a miracle, but if anybody asked him again, he might admit his answer would be “the girl in the skirt.”
When the Parks moved to your neighborhood in the third grade, your mom and Seonghwa’s mom became fast friends. The comparisons did not start immediately, but they were always there, lurking in the shadows of the upstairs hallways, in the whispers echoing from the kitchen when the “adults were talking.” There was almost an instant competition between your mothers on who could praise the other’s child best.
Subsequently, it was not uncommon to find yourself at your new rival’s house. Dinner or lunch or an afternoon snack was often offered at one another’s houses—oranges and peaches washed and sliced with precision, bikes abandoned on the wooden porch (your house) or at the side gate (Seonghwa’s house).
You had only ever been in Seonghwa’s room once, and that was seven years later, in the tenth grade. He was reluctant to let you into his safe space and you were reluctant to be in his space, but your mothers insisted, and their voices dropped into hushed tones as you both disappeared up the stairs in silence.
Seonghwa wordlessly opened the door to his room, and you were whacked in the face by the amount of things there: on the walls, filling the shelves, tucked away in boxes on the floor. It was an explosion of pop culture paraphernalia you were actually familiar with, but the one that was represented the most was—
“I’m more of a Star Trek person myself,” you said, leaning toward a fully-assembled Lego version of the Millenium Falcon.
Seonghwa hung close at your side, hovering, his arms crossed over his chest while he watched you carefully. “Nobody asked.”
You stuck your hand up at him with the Spock salute, index to middle finger and ring to pinky finger.
That drew a half-scoff, half-laugh from his mouth. He shook his head. “You’re such a nerd.”
“As opposed to…?” You straightened and put your arms out to gesture around you at his whole room. There were about a million weird things that tenth grade boys could be into, but there was a huge chunk of you glad that this was his chosen obsession. Star Wars or Star Trek, you would pick a nerd over a creep any day of the week. Not that you would pick him of all people…
“If you think I'm going to say you have a point,” he began.
“You don't have to say it,” you finished for him, turning to inspect the Tai Fighter on a lower shelf. “I already know that I do.”
You could hear him roll his eyes. He seemed to do that a lot. “Can’t believe you like Star Trek better.”
You snorted, twisting around to peer up at him from your squatting position. “What? You can't handle that I have a different opinion?”
“No, I just thought you'd have better taste,” he replied airily.
Something within you paused at that. Though only a flippant parry at your own quip, you thought to yourself how ironic it was that you actually preferred the Star Wars franchise over the Star Trek franchise.
The only reason you bantered with him about it and stood your ground playing the Devil's Advocate was to breach that obvious discomfort you both bore coming in here. Bickering between you was natural, familiar… and the truth behind your words that day would be something you swore you would never reveal to him ever.
“You’re trying to figure out what Seonghwa got on the exam, aren't you?”
You jerked your head to the forward direction and slid down in your seat, moving your pen back over your notebook. Seonghwa was seated on the far right side of the hall, whereas you and Soyeon were somewhere in the middle. There was no way you could see minute details from this distance, but you could certainly try to read his body language from here. “...No, I'm not.”
Soyeon flashed you a sidelong glance that spoke volumes on its own. “Yes, you are. Your eyes aren't very subtle, you know.”
“They're not?”
She snorted, the sound loud enough only to draw the attention of the person seated on her other side.
The week had dragged by at a snail's pace, compared to the prior week and weekend. As soon as you were released from your physics midterm on Monday, it was as if the world set its playback speed at 0.5. Perhaps it was the swath of heat that had descended upon the city that made everyday double in length. With no more gray skies and buckets of rain, the inhabitants of Aurora County were left to not only the unbearable heat, but the wrath of the sun, too.
Unfortunately, now that midterm exams were mostly completed, all that was left to do was await the scores. The atmosphere in your biochemistry lecture this morning had been suffocating in despair over the scores released yesterday afternoon. As customary, your professor was taking the beginning portion of lecture to review exam statistics and frequently missed questions.
Soyeon grumbled under her breath as she pulled her tablet out from her bag. “I think he should have curved it more,” she grunted, logging into the class-wide polling system. “Those questions about the Krebs Cycle were so stupid.”
“Yeah, they were way out of left field,” you agreed. You hadn't done half bad on this past exam, but you weren't about to rub it in. It didn't mean you were the one who fucked the curve or anything; it only meant that you somehow ended up just a little above the average. Maybe those extra hours spent in Quill had been for something.
“Are you going to the meeting tonight?”
You shook your head, glancing between the screen and your own notes as you scribbled a big question mark in the margins by a note. “No, I picked up another shift at the tutor center,” you replied.
As today was Thursday, usually the society would hold a Trivia Night, but Seulgi had made the executive decision to meet about this weekend's bracelet-making event instead. It was a more relaxed meeting meant for celebrating the end of midterm exams, while chatting about any last minute details for the event. You had already informed Seulgi in advance that you wouldn't be able to make it.
Soyeon let out a low whistle. “Another one?”
“Yeah,” you said with a helpless shrug. “But it's to make up for the shifts I missed to study. Apparently, the Gen Chem classes still have an exam next week.”
“Damn. Sucks to be them.”
You grinned and shook your head. “As if we weren't them once.” There had been a time when the lot of you in your pre-health society treaded through the murky and dark waters of the general chemistry series. Venting about the ridiculously-convoluted lab procedures and steep exam curves were rites of passage, at this point.
As Dr. Chung, your biochemistry professor, continued on with his planned lecture for the day, you leaned your cheek against your fist, gaze drifting back over to the right side of the hall. At some point, you were only half-tuned into whatever Chung was saying; the rest of your attention was worlds away.
You hadn't seen Seonghwa after your sociology lecture yesterday, but then again, it hadn't been raining and you had to linger back to chat with your professor about a lecture topic. If he had passed through that alleyway again, he hadn't said anything.
Suddenly, the back of the head you were staring at turned over his shoulder.
He hit his target dead-on, and his eye contact made you shudder out of your daze. Seonghwa made an exaggerated face so you could see it from that distance. What?
You stuck your tongue out at him, then forced yourself to look forward at the board. (Though, that sixth sense you had could tangibly feel his eyes roll at you.)
When the lecture ended, you and Soyeon moved out of the lecture hall with the current of your peers. You were so engrossed in making sure you weren't walking into anybody, you nearly missed the man that fell into step beside you.
“What's your deal this time, Ln?”
You perked up in surprise at the sound of Seonghwa's voice and him. Where he was seated, he should have been clear out of the building by now. He must have hung back then. “I have no idea what you're goin’ on about, Park.”
One of his brows quirked upward at you as he shouldered the door open. “You are not getting away with burning two holes in the back of my head.”
“You know,” you said, feigning thoughtfulness as you tapped your chin, “maybe I can—”
Seonghwa peered around you at Soyeon. “What'd she want?”
“I’m not getting involved,” she declared. She raised her palms up at the both of you, shaking her head vehemently. Once you had all descended the stairs to the pathway below, she began stepping in the direction of her next course. “See you, guys!”
With Soyeon respectfully bowing out, it left you and Seonghwa. Again.
He looked at you expectantly.
“I just wanted to know how you did on the exam,” you said with as much nonchalance as you could muster. “No biggie.”
Seonghwa crossed his arms over his chest. “How did you do on the exam?”
“Fine.”
“Well, so did I.”
You nodded. “Cool. Good talk!” You swiveled on the ball of your foot and prepared to take off, but he was swift to latch onto the top handle of your backpack.
“Hold it” —he turned you back around just in time to catch the irritation cross your face— “are you going to the meeting tonight?”
He stopped you for this? “No, I'm working.”
Something flickered in his expression; it was nothing you could label clearly. It was probably just his initial surprise. “Oh. Sucks.”
You nodded again, mouth pressed together. “Yup. See you on Saturday for the fundraiser then.”
“Yeah, see you.”
How interesting that he cared to even ask that, you thought as you went off to your physics lab. Then again, one could ask that of any instance you or he inquired about the other’s movements. At some point, it had become some convoluted game of chess; though, the older the two of you became, the way in which you played the game shifted. It was less capturing the other's pieces to get to checkmate first, and more so flirting with the idea of check. No matter—any lingering curiosities regarding one Park Seonghwa was dashed away and replaced by the remainder of your day.
And just like that, it was Saturday.
The pre-health student society had managed to snag use of a local cafe space for the event, probably thanks to Seulgi’s friend of a friend working as a shift supervisor there. It was of a cozy-modern design complete with smooth, white countertops and furniture, cute character mascots painted on the walls, and complete with the all-encompassing scent of roasted coffee. A late Saturday afternoon found the place packed to the brim with students, not just for your event, but general college students milling by for a weekend treat. It seemed to attract even more people to the event itself though; poor Hongjoong and Taeyong were asked to run to the nearby craft store a few blocks over to purchase some necessary stock of thread and beads.
The cafe was alive with the buzz of chatter, the clanging of coffee-making, and the dull sounds of acrylic beads dribbling off the sides of tables. In all definitions, the event looked and sounded like a success.
“How does anyone do this for fun? Oh—shit—”
You wanted to jump off a roof. Or maybe stick your hand in that canister of boiling milk by the espresso machine ten feet behind you. Or just be anywhere but here. Across the small, two-seater table from you was a man you had only seen in passing and never properly interacted with. He was not a member of the society, so you could only imagine that he was a mutual friend of one of your society-mates. After this dreadful afternoon was over, you were going to find out who this man was connected to and—
“Can you catch that for me? Thanks.” Justin—your partner for the afternoon—took the beads from the center of your palm and squinted his eyes as he tried to string them on his piece of electric blue thread.
The issue wasn’t that he couldn’t make a bracelet for shit; the issue was far more personal than that. “Yeah, sure,” you said quietly, trying to ignore the fact that the pair right next to you kept sending glances over at your table. To make it worse, that very pair was Park Seonghwa and that girl from Seulgi’s party last Saturday. Your adept eavesdropping skills managed to pick up that she was vaguely connected to Seulgi through one group project they completed together in a freshman year dance class. (Why was it always Seulgi?)
You straightened, tying off the little loop you had made with a few seed beads. Maybe you should try making conversation again. “So, uhm,” you began, “you mentioned that you’re taking an econ class about… foreign markets?”
The guy nodded. “Yeah, Economics in Cold War Foreign Trade—it’s kind of interesting, actually.”
Oh. Economics wasn’t really your forte, but if he was passionate about this subject, then it would at least make for an engaging conversation. You can work with this, Yn. “Then I’d love to hear more. What’re you guys currently learning?”
“You know, like the drive of U.S. actions during the Cold War,” Justin said with a shrug, not really looking up from his bead struggle. “People always forget that a major part of our foreign policy back then was driven by this need to dominate global markets and defend against communism. I mean, sure there was that thing with Guatemala” —he paused his ramble and spared you a glance— “but you don’t seem like the type to be interested in that.”
Your hand movements paused, your facial features twitching into a confused smile. “I’m sorry?” What was that supposed to mean?
He looked at you again. “I just mean,” he said, “that you don’t look like the kind of person who would understand the nuances of that whole situation.”
For a pregnant moment, you just stared at him. Was he being serious? “You could… give context,” you drawled, curling back all of the rage slowly mounting up inside of you like a tea kettle. “That’s why I asked.”
“Oh.” Justin’s eyes darted back down to his hands and he let out a laugh, the kind of sound that someone made when they were uncomfortable. “There are just a lot of terms, y’know, that I’m not sure you would understand—”
Your eyes went to the ceiling for a second. “Okay, just stop,” you cut in and waved your hands in an accompanying gesture. Why was this fucking business major talking down to you?
The table descended into silence, and your counterpart mercifully shut his mouth. You didn’t know what was more embarrassing: hearing this man effortlessly shut down any will you had left, or that the only other people who were privy to this conversation was Seonghwa and his event partner. Their conversation was much lower in volume, but you’d overheard the occasional chuckle.
You resisted the urge to huff; this was the worst.
“Listen.”
You spoke too soon. When you glanced up from your beads, it was not at the man directly across from you, but the one who sat diagonal to you one table over. You swore he just rolled his own eyes.
Justin, stupidly, continued. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I don’t really go on dates with nerds—”
“Who said you’re on a date?”
“Who said we’re on a date?”
Both you and Justin whipped around to the table beside you. You could recognize that first voice even with your eyes closed and your body running on fumes. Incredulity, embarrassment, and perhaps even gratitude warmed the skin of your neck and face as you and Seonghwa made brief eye contact.
“Sorry?” Justin stammered. “This isn’t your business, dude.”
Your eye twitched again. He wasn’t even talking to you. “Hey!” You snapped your fingers at Justin like he was a dog, and at this point, that was an insult to dogs everywhere. “It isn’t his business, but he’s right. We’re not on a date, and the only reason I even put up with you was for the sake of my society’s event.” Not to mention that you were giving him the benefit of the doubt, something he clearly didn’t deserve.
“If it’s not a date, then why the fuck’s it called matchmaking?”
Seonghwa rolled his eyes again before narrowing them into twin slits. “Didn’t you read the flyer, dude? We’re making fuckass friendship bracelets.”
Justin fumbled with the thread in his hands as he struggled to come up with an adequate retort. If your blood wasn’t still simmering from his previous statements, you might have laughed at the way his face flushed, flustered by the lack of support he was getting while Seonghwa backed you up. In his fidgeting, every single bead he managed to string over the past fifteen minutes escaped from their thread, skittering to the floor with the likeness of a thousand dust mites scattering from a sudden beam of light. “Fuck this,” he huffed, throwing down the sad piece of string onto the table. “Can’t believe I paid for this shit.”
He pushed out of his seat, the movement causing an ear-piercing SCREECH to tear through the cafe. A few curious and concerned eyes followed him as he stormed out of the establishment. You half expected him to trip over one of the fallen beads he hadn’t bothered to pick up. (If karma was real, that would have happened.)
Your gaze met that of Seulgi’s, who had been strolling around, socializing and monitoring people’s progress during the event. She hustled over, eyes wide as her head flicked between you and the door swinging open. “What happened?” she asked, not accusatory, but rather greatly concerned.
“He was a prick,” Seonghwa answered matter-of-factly while crossing his arms over his chest.
“He said some not-nice things,” you followed up. The steam in your ears was gradually dissipating, in turn, clearing your vision of your own ire. “Who’s friend was he?”
Seulgi frowned and stood with a hand braced on the back of your chair and the girl next to yours. “I could’ve sworn…” her voice trailed off as she scanned the room. Then a curse tumbled out from her mouth, a hand slapping against her forehead. “Goddamn it,” she said, “your partner was supposed to be Lee Jeno—you know, Taeyong’s friend? He sat down at the wrong table, ugh. JENO!”
You all turned. Across the cafe, a dark head of hair perked up from one of the tables, his eyes as wide as the bottom of a coffee pot from the sound of his name being barked out.
You grimaced. “Hey, Seulgi, it’s fine—”
Seulgi waved her hand. “No, no. I should have micromanaged him; he saw the letter J and went with it! My plan,” she groaned. Despite her initial dismissal, she did not go off to scold Jeno or bring him to his original assignment; she merely turned back around and pinched the space between her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Yn. This should have never happened.”
You nodded your head with pursed lips, unsure of what to say. “It’s not your fault, really.” One could not control the audacity that emerged from a man’s mouth.
“Oh my gosh, wait. Let me find someone else for you to sit with.”
“Seulgi” —Seonghwa’s voice drew your attention back to him— “she can just join our table. It’s fine.”
You startled and shook your head, glancing between him and your society president. Become the third wheel to Seonghwa and Sydney (that was her name, if you remembered correctly)? You would rather waltz into the oncoming traffic outside the door. Hadn’t you had enough social anxiety for today? “That’s okay! I really don’t think I’m up to doing this any longer. Can I just, like, monitor or something?”
Seulgi licked her lips. For a long beat, you truly believed she would refuse you. “Okay, yeah,” she said whilst nodding her head. She made a sweeping gesture with her hand as she took a step back. “I was just about to give Taeyong a break from the supply table, if you wanna do that.” How could you ever doubt your easygoing, existentially-exhausted senior?
You pushed out a sigh of relief. The chair legs scraped against the wood floors as you stood, sending any nearby beads tumbling further into motion. “Let me pick up these beads though before someone breaks a leg,” you joked.
“You don't have to—”
“Don't,” Seonghwa cut in and practically waved you away. “Just leave 'em. No one's gonna trip; we'll get them later.”
He sent you a pointed look at your balking and the sternness there sent your toes curling. It wasn't only firm, but you swore there was a tenderness there, too. It was an action not meant to boss you around but to remind you that you did not have to be the one to pick up some asshole's mess.
You gripped the back of your chair, then slowly rose from it, nodding. “Right,” you whispered.
Seulgi led you over to where Taeyong was, all the while apologizing profusely for Jeno's lack of literacy for his own name. You dutifully replaced the vice president at his post, falling into an easy rhythm of organizing beads into small, metal trays, keeping threads from knotting if they were returned, and doling out the appropriate materials.
As the event passed on, you could feel the side of your head tingle, a phantom ache. When one was burned by the sun, the target area of skin often felt distinctly hot and irritated upon touch. You glanced up in the direction of said sun, catching only the movement of Seonghwa's head as he engaged in conversation with Sydney across from him.
You feigned a look away, watching from the corner of your vision as his stare touched you once more. An abrupt bout of tightness flared up in your chest, nerves inflamed and sensitive. Why was he looking over here so much? It had to do with what happened.
For the remainder of your time, you kept your eyes to yourself and tried to ignore the instincts compelling you to meet his gaze.
By the time Seulgi and Taeyong brought the event to a close, the sky had already fallen to darkness, the merciless sun sinking beneath the fold of Earth's horizon. You and the other members of the society made quick work of cleaning up all your messes—it turned out that nearly every table had spilled a handful of beads at some point. You felt a little less horrible about your own situation.
You grabbed your bag from the employee's room in step with Soyeon. “Oh my gosh, wait I have something to tell…” your voice trailed off, vision snagging on the person heading for the exit door. A lightbulb clicked on in your head. Right.
“I'll meet you at home,” you promised her with a hand grazing her shoulder. There was something you needed to do first.
Soyeon's brows twisted at your actions, but she sputtered a good-natured laugh anyway. “Okay? See you at home.”
“Yo—Park! Wait up,” you called after his retreating backside, his body nearly completely over the threshold of the cafe door.
Seonghwa paused in the doorway, angling slightly to watch you catch up to him and keep the door open. “What’s up?” he asked before letting the door fall behind the two of you.
The evening outside was temperate, comfortable. Though the heat remained, it was no longer stifling like its sister, Daytime. Rather, the warmth settled over your skin as a thin shawl with no breeze interrupting. By many definitions, this was a perfect summer’s night despite it still being in the midst of spring. The streetlights flickered to their ‘on’ positions, painting the pavement a nostalgic sodium-orange up and down the university district.
You fell into step beside him and his pace slowed slightly as the two of you walked in the northerly direction toward your separate houses. “I just,” you began, the words needling at the back of your throat like an itch, “wanted to say thanks—for speaking up for me back there.”
Seonghwa glanced at you briefly. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his cargo pants, keys clinking against his thigh with each step he took. “Oh. Well, it was kind of the bare minimum, and that dude was being a class A jackass, so…” his voice trailed off as he took a hand out to rub the back of his neck. He stole another glance at you. “Are we cool? I mean,” he amended, “are you okay? What he was saying was just” —he pushed out a sharp exhale— “not nice, as you said before.”
You pursed your lips in memory of Justin’s words to you. “Yeah, I don’t know. Of course, it struck a nerve at the time, but it was more so that I couldn’t believe that he was actually saying those words.” You laughed, the sound coming out breathy and incredulous. “He was not only stupid, but blatantly ignorant. He was entitled, insensitive, and a fucking piece of shit.”
“I won’t argue with any of that.”
“You better not,” you jested.
You nearly stopped in your tracks. Was this the first time that you and Seonghwa were conducting a conversation of this nature, ever? Of course, both of you had your share of asshole run-ins, but you were never close enough to really have a meaningful conversation about any of it—not the awful people in your lives, not the way your moms made you unofficial rivals, and not the fact that neither of you could get over yourselves for two seconds. It had to be that you were seeing him way more often this quarter compared to every other quarter. Yes, that had to be it.
The silence between you two became too comfortable. The warmth in the air was too comfortable. The oscillating distance between your bodies as you walked side by side was too…
You cleared your throat. “I would choose a nerd over a douchebag any day of the week,” you mused in an attempt to keep the conversation alive. Anything but whatever this was.
Seonghwa released a sound that was akin to a laugh or a choke; you couldn’t tell. “Right,” he murmured. He fiddled around in his right-hand pocket for a moment, and you could hear the fabric rustling. Then it stopped, his head turning away from you like he was changing his mind. “Not to agree with you three times in one day, Ln, but same.”
“High score?” you chimed in weakly.
He faced you again, the amber warmth of the streetlight becoming his backlight, a halo. You couldn’t see his expression clearly with the shadows in the way, but maybe there was a smile there that beheld a softness you didn’t want to believe in. “Yeah, sure. High score, you dork.”
There were moments in time when you decided to be a good person. Objectively, it was more accurate to describe yourself as a good friend—or if one wished to be even more particular—a doormat. Case in point: agreeing to run a phone down to the college’s natatorium when that very building was a good forty-five minute walk from your house on the opposite side of campus. If you took the bus, it might shave your estimated time of arrival down to twenty minutes, or increase it up to an hour, depending on the bus line. Even worse, temperatures were pushing the mid-nineties in Fahrenheit, and the phone's owner was none other than Park Seonghwa.
You were doing this for Mingi and the chocolate chip muffins his mom made—at least, that was what you were telling yourself.
The bus beneath you rattled and squealed with every stretch of road it traversed. Rather than cutting through campus itself, it made a grand loop around its perimeter, catching the students and faculty who were forced to trek to the further reaches of campus rather than its heart. You fiddled with the phone in your hands; his case was a chrome silver vinyl plastic mimicking a quilted fabric. It was an interesting choice, one that you yourself wouldn’t have made, but in your heart, you knew it certainly encompassed his tastes. You scrunched your nose up as you turned it around and the screen lit up, sensing the presence of a face in front of it.
The device didn’t accept your face ID, of course, but you were left staring at the notifications on it. There were one or two text messages from names you vaguely recognized, a message from some group chat labeled “PSYCH202,” and a notification from some mobile game. A thought popped into your head, and you slipped your own phone out from your pocket, weighing the two devices before you.
What were you called in his contacts?
Ding! —Your head shot up and your body jerked in reaction to a particularly rough pothole in the road. “Next stop: East Paradigm and New World Street.”
You twisted in your seat to yank the yellow cord hanging along the side of the bus, eliciting a softer ding! to echo throughout the vehicle, followed by the words STOP REQUESTED displayed at the front.
It was a sign, you decided, to not try your little experiment.
When the bus came to a teetering stop at the E. Paradigm and New World stop, you called out a thanks to the bus driver before taking off in the direction of the natatorium. There was a paved pathway that broke off from the main road and bordered by smartly-trimmed bushes. It wound down the hill, and framed the glorious face of the KQ University indoor pool perfectly. Its wave-like rafters created a lengthened dome akin to the back of a seashell. Between the sandstone frame were pieces of cerulean blue-tinted glass to compliment the off-white building. You did not often find yourself in this area of campus, but you couldn’t deny that the natatorium was a spectacle of its own.
There was a slight pang in your chest, something like nostalgia or bittersweetness—resonating and heavy. It came with that distinct, sinking feeling in one’s stomach of “what could have been.”
You entered into the front doors of the natatorium and sighed at the swath of air conditioning that fell over you. Curiously, there was no one stationed at the reception desk; your original plan had been to drop off his phone here and head out, but with no one present for you to hand it to…
“Great,” you muttered under your breath and made your way to the doors that led deeper into the building.
When you swung open this set of doors, however, your body seemed to deflate at the utter weight of damp, all-encompassing heat in the inner pool chamber. You heard in the winter, when the weather was frigid and snow littered the ground, the floors and pool water in here were actually heated. Why they did not think to turn off the heat during a goddamn heatwave was beyond you. The grander space reached high above your head with the most appropriate acoustics to echo the sounds of water splashing, whistles shrieking, and voices chattering. You brushed a hand through your hair as sweat already began to bead on the back of your neck—you had only been in here for two seconds.
Where the hell could he be? You scanned the immediate area, eyes darting to any male with dark hair and a punk attitude.
According to intel you’d gathered from friends over the years, Seonghwa worked as a lifeguard here. It made logical sense; he was a member of your high school swim team, but was not particularly interested in swimming competitively in the collegiate league. Lifeguarding was not only a good way to continue swimming, but it also provided him with an income and a Basic Life Support certification.
“Hey, you’re Yn, right?”
You blinked, turning to find a shirtless man walking up to you. He had dark hair, too, but none of that so-called punk attitude you were searching for. His abs though… You coughed and fixed your eyes firmly on his face… his bright, smiley face. “Do I know you from somewhere?” was what came out of your mouth instead of something intelligent.
To his credit, he only chuckled. “Kind of,” he said with a sheepish grin, “I’m Mingyu. I don’t know if you remember me, but I went to Pledis Academy.”
You rifled through the files of memories in your brain, referencing the name, the face, and the school. His face had grown more mature since you last saw him, but he was definitely no longer the scrawny swim star you remembered. Recognition flooded into you and a smile stretched across your face. “Oh, shoot! I do remember you, Mingyu, oh my gosh. How have you been? You look” —you regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, and you awkwardly trailed off. Of course, he looked good, but that was not why you were here. Get it together!— “great,” you finished, clutching Seonghwa’s phone with both of your hands now.
Mingyu laughed again, ducking his head as he swept a hand through his hair. “Oh, thanks—and you, too,” he swiftly added. “I can’t believe we haven’t bumped into each other all these years.”
“Yeah, that’s crazy,” you agreed, nodding your head. “It’s a pretty big campus.”
“Right? But you’d think we’d see each other at least in passing or at parties,” he said. “I don’t know why I never saw you out with Seonghwa.” Mingyu froze, as if someone had just pinched him (probably his own conscience). “Are you two still—I didn’t know if you were still together or not—”
Your smile hardened into an awkward rictus. There were plenty of people who misunderstood yours and Seonghwa’s relationship, but Mingyu? He knew you both from your high school days, when you were undoubtedly more hostile toward one another. You were suddenly reminded of your primary purpose for being here. “Oh, uh, we were never together or anything,” you drawled. Before Mingyu or you could fully let the mutual uneasiness settle into the grooves and heat of this room, you piped up, “Speaking of: have you seen Seonghwa around? He left his phone” —you lifted the silver-quilt case up as evidence— “at a friend’s and I was asked to deliver it.”
“Ah!” Mingyu’s tell-tale signs of discomfort erupted right in front of our eyes, everything from his adorable stammering to the physical turning of his body as he searched for a way out of this conversation. “Rightrightright! I forgot that Yunho sent me a text as a heads up; it completely slipped my mind.”
The expression on your face softened in sympathy. “It’s all good,” you assured him. Your brows twisted together, though, as you walked back his words. “Yunho told you? I didn’t know you knew each other.”
He bobbed his head in an affirmative. “Yup. We met through Hwa in freshman year, actually.” Mingyu swiveled over his shoulder and leaned closer to you so he could point out the far end of the pool. “He should be over there.”
Oh, easy.
You followed Mingyu’s line of sight toward the far end of the pool, and had to catch your own jaw before it dropped. Nope, not so easy.
As a former member of your high school girl’s swim team, you were no stranger to seeing people come out of a pool; but one thing you had concluded about it was that there was no person on earth who could get out of a pool completely elegantly. So then why the fuck were you gawking at the way Park Seonghwa had just appeared out of the water? As soon as his dark brunet head broke the surface, he was brushing the water out of his eyes and sliding one hand over his face to drag any remaining liquid out of the way. The pool water slipping off the slopes of his muscular back gleamed in the clear sunlight that shone through the glass panels far above as he swam freestyle over to the edge of the pool.
You hadn’t even realized that he had something clutched in his hand, something that he was swift to pass over to a little boy and his mother crouched at the poolside. He nodded and smiled as the mother spoke to him, her hand tapping her son’s shoulder, likely to thank Seonghwa for his service.
With the mother and son pair walking off, he braced his hands against the warm pool deck and pushed himself up and out of the water. Pool water cascaded down each crevice and slope of his body, catching on the folds of his swim trunks and his stomach muscles, before smacking against the concrete. He easily swept a foot onto the deck to stand up, and he brought his hands up over his face and through his hair again.
His gaze lifted from the weight of yours, and you wondered why the hell the temperature of the room just shot up ten degrees.
“Oh, he’s seen us,” chirped Mingyu as you pointedly looked away. He began to wave at Seonghwa with that beam so akin to a golden retriever. “Hwa! Look who’s here!”
Yeah, I think he’s seen who’s here, you thought to yourself while mustering up your pride and swallowing everything else in your mouth down. What the hell was wrong with you? You’d seen drenched, shirtless guys before—you were freaking standing next to one already! Granted, he wasn’t drenched, but you had also witnessed Seonghwa in the pool plenty of times in high school. You needed to get a grip—
“Well, this is a surprise,” he said when he was within earshot. Droplets of water continued to run down the surfaces of his body and leave wet footprints in his wake. Seonghwa eyed you with the stoicism you were used to, one that almost broke you out of your flustered state. (It had to be the heat and humidity in here. It had to be.) He inclined his chin at you and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m guessing Mingi or Yunho sent you.”
“Yup.” You thrust out your arm to give him his phone. “It was for the chocolate chip muffins Mingi’s mom makes.”
Seonghwa’s eyebrows lifted, unimpressed. He didn’t take the phone. “Yeah no, I didn’t think you did it out of the goodness of your heart or anything,” he drawled and turned away. “You’re gonna have to hold it for a few more minutes, though; I need to dry off before I electrocute myself.”
You made a face at his back, and with a wave to Mingyu, you strode after him. “Hello? Dude, you know that’s not how it works.”
“Do educate me, Ln,” was his flippant response. He went straight for a small alcove in the far left wall, one with two doorways facing each other—a women’s and a men’s locker room. You halted abruptly when he did, his hand pressed against the door to the men’s side. He sent you a look and his mouth was curved in a half-smirk. “This is the locker room, by the way. If you want a peek, I think you should ask first.”
You could have choked on your own oxygen. “I—I knew that! And I didn’t want a fucking peek, you perv.”
He merely laughed and disappeared into the locker room.
You were left to your own devices in the diabolical humidity of the inner natatorium. Absent-mindedly, you lifted your hand up to feel the back of your neck, the sides of your face, before swearing at the warmth just beneath your skin. With Seonghwa deserting you to dry off and, hopefully, put on a goddamn shirt, (all for a phone) you found something to entertain yourself. There was a bulletin board tacked on the wall between the doors littered with a myriad of posters and flyers and schedules. A section of the wall was dedicated solely to a set of polaroid pictures of each individual staff member, Seonghwa included. (It was a decent picture of him—decent.) This seemed to be a trend for all the businesses associated with and surrounding the school.
Your eyes roved over the media with mild interest, tucking knowledge of an intermediate level water aerobics class held on Saturday mornings, and noting the old flyer for lifeguarding auditions forgotten on the board. As the summer break crept up on all of the students, faculty, and inhabitants of the university town, the pool here needed to prepare by training a new class of lifeguards.
Faintly, you heard the door to your left yawn open, then close with a soft thump. “Thinking of brushin’ up some skills?”
You glanced over at him before turning your attention back to the poster you were reading. There was a light blue towel draped over one shoulder, his bare chest barely covered by a black tank top, and his dark hair still appeared slightly-mussed, the strands arranged in artful chaos. “Nah,” you said, “just curious. I'm not here much.”
“I know.” He stepped closer and stood beside you, sharing your view of the board.
The heat from his skin radiated against your arm and you fought the urge to lean toward him. Why would you want to go closer to more warmth anyway? You cleared your throat, passing his phone between you two a second time. “You should be glad I don't show my face here a lot. I might embarrass you in your own element,” you jested as he finally accepted his device from you.
A low chuckle slipped from his mouth. “You think you're so funny, huh?” he mused.
You were one breath away from whipping back something smart—or something stupidly obvious like “Because I am”—until his body casted a shadow over you. Sunlight had no choice but to gleam around the sides of his head and broad shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat, prey in a metal trap, as he leaned closer. (Prey had more survival instinct than you, at this moment.) Every contraction of your thoracic cavity was shallow and strained, lungs filling with the scent of him, all chlorine and sweat and musk.
“What—”
“Do it then,” he murmured, mouth level with your ear, “embarrass me.”
Then he grabbed the clipboard from behind your head and straightened as if nothing happened.
Your mouth went dry, and you swallowed to hopefully regain some of your dignity. What the hell… The words that you so easily wielded in his presence had retreated to the recesses of your brain, tucking themselves behind the featherlight weight of his breath at your ear and the heat of his gaze. Cowards.
Seonghwa cocked a brow at you as he flipped past one of the sheets of paper on the clipboard. “I know I’m pretty to look at, but don't you have places to be?”
Fuck, did you have places to be? “Right,” you drawled, making a show of squinting one eye at him. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of your face from your hairline, and his eyes lifted from the clipboard momentarily. You instinctively swiped the droplet away; you needed to get out of this infernal torture chamber. “Bye, I guess. Also, keep an eye on your fuckin’ phone, dude. This is the only time I’m playing Delivery Girl.”
He leaned against the alcove wall as you began walking away, his arms folding over his chest. “Yo, Ln.”
You threw him a look over your shoulder. “What is it now?”
“What time do you work until tonight?”
The question nearly had you running into some kid in an inflatable duck floatie. Your eyes widened as he swerved around you, and you parked yourself to the side of the room, as far away from the edge of the pool as you could. Your face contorted into confusion. “Who wants to know?”
Seonghwa said, “Hongjoong does.”
“Then Hongjoong can text me like a normal person?” A frown etched itself onto your face. You had no quarrel with Hongjoong, even if he sustained the tiff between you from last Saturday’s party. It was strange, though, that Hongjoong would think to get this little tidbit of information through Seonghwa of all people. Weird connections were being drawn in your head, and you weren’t sure what to make of them. “Whatever. Tell him that I get off at nine.”
He sent you a small salute before hooking the clipboard back into its place on the wall. “Aye-aye.”
You shook your head as you walked off, careful to avoid any wet puddles left in the textured concrete. Today was strange, to say the least; it had to be the heat.
You spoke too soon. The day only grew weirder.
“Good evening, Aurora County! Seems to me like we’re not quite out of the woods with this summer storm.” There was a crackly laugh cutting through the decade-old speakers in your earbuds before Aurora County’s favorite (and only) weatherman continued, “We’ll be braving another bout of showers tonight, and then it should be clear skies and beach weather here on out ‘til June—”
“—and then he said to me, ‘I don’t really go on dates with nerds!’” you recalled in a voice that was deeper and more stupid-sounding than your normal voice. Your hands gesticulated in time with your narration, fingers waving around to overstate the complete absurdity of it all.
Kim Doyoung, your senior and the tutoring partner who got stuck with you on this late, rainy night shift, twisted his facial muscles into the dictionary definition of disgust. You wondered what one had to do to gain facial flexibility the way Doyoung could scrunch up his entire face like so. “No fucking way.”
“Yes fucking way!” you exclaimed and threw your hands into the air. The movement ripped your earbuds from your ears, and you discarded the wires in a haphazard heap on your laptop keys. There was no use in keeping quiet; at this point, the two of you had Quill Library all to yourselves, unless you counted the student librarians chained to their reception desks in the lobby. “And you know what’s crazy? Guess who was sitting right next to us.”
Doyoung’s eyes were so wide, you could see your reflection in the whites of them. “Who?”
“Seonghwa—and that girl from Seulgi’s party on Saturday!” At this point in the evening, Doyoung was caught up on all of your so-called “lore” from this past week. You nodded your head with vigor when he started slapping his leg. “Exactly. And when this asswipe says his piece, both me and Seonghwa say at the same time, like, who said this was a fricking date? Then, Justin starts getting on Seonghwa’s case, for some reason, and I snap at him. He says some bullshit about why it was called matchmaking if this isn’t a date, and Seonghwa reminds him that the flyer actually says ‘friendship bracelets’ instead.” You gestured with your hand, adding, “Of course, with more snark.”
“But of course,” Doyoung replied with a downturned mouth. He took a sip from his thermos, wincing at the steam wafting out of its mouth. How that coffee was still scalding after four hours was a mystery to you. “Wait, so Seonghwa spoke up for you?”
“Yup,” you said. You leaned your cheek against your fist as his question fully digested. “I guess it’s a little strange to think about, considering what you already know about our relationship. I mean, we kind of talked about it afterward and it felt weird to actually agree on things, for once.”
In an action that nearly had your eyes bulging out of your head, you watched Doyoung return his thermos to the table and place his hand on your shoulder. “Yn, I might need to hold your hand while asking this…”
Dread was the weight of an iron anchor sinking in your gut. It festered there, rusting, and it took far too much energy to haul it up out of the water. You grimaced, glancing at the hand on your shoulder, then back at him. “Please don’t.”
“Don’t you think you guys could actually get along if you got over yourselves?”
You blinked at him. “Is this a genuine question?”
His expression dropped into a deadpan in time with his hand slipping off your shoulder. “Yes, and I want a genuine answer.”
“Ah.” You scratched at your jaw, then reached over to pause the video that you abandoned earlier. You were tempted to make the joke of how The Emotionally-constipated Doyoung was actually prompting an emotionally intelligent conversation, but the thought dashed away as you fell into the gravity of his question. “Sincerely? Yeah.”
It had never been a question of whether you and Seonghwa could get along; it was simply that the dynamic between you had been tainted from the start.
You saw the lines of his face and the curve of his posture soften. “Then why don't you?”
You pulled your eyes away from him at the sensation of heat crawling up your neck. That was embarrassment in tangible form, your nervous system coming up to bat. “It’s complicated,” you said, and quickly tacked on, “and that's not a copout answer. It legitimately is like” —your mouth shut. How were you supposed to articulate this in a way that someone outside yours and Seonghwa's history could understand? “When we were younger, I couldn't see him as anyone but the person my mom thought was always better than me. It… screws with you, y'know? And it's not fair to Seonghwa or me that that is how we grew up looking at each other, but—I dunno. Our dynamic has always been like a cat fight and it feels weird if we're not at odds.”
“Because being each other's competition is what feels natural.”
Your head dipped. “Yeah.”
Doyoung loosened a sigh from the back of his throat and he shifted in his seat. “And you've never… thought about being friends with him? Bonding over that mutual pressure?”
“Not really,” you confessed. “When you're a kid who just wants your parents to be proud, you do what you have to. There were moments I saw him as someone other than the physical rendition of all my mother's expectations and my nightmares, though. I mean—we still grew up together.” There was a laugh, and then your voice dropped off a cliff. You sat stock-still for a moment and let the epiphany swallow you whole.
Your counterpart allowed the silence of realization to engulf you. Seonghwa was your mirror image in more ways than not. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that you were both just kids at the time, and that ultimately, you had grown up together. (But now you were older. Would you continue to look at him and see the past, or could you make room for the man he was growing into?)
In the corner of your eye, you spotted movement. Both you and Doyoung turned to the entryway of this area in the library, and it was as if the universe was about to call you out on your thoughts.
Doyoung looked back at you with wide eyes. “Speak of the Devil,” he whispered, head whipping back in Seonghwa’s direction, then to you.
You wanted to slap your hand to your forehead. “Please be chill,” you groaned quietly to him. Over Doyoung’s shoulder, you watched Seonghwa quietly take a seat on the outskirts of the seating area, furthest from where yours and Doyoung’s table was. Wait, wasn’t it Hongjoong who asked what time you got off work tonight? You peeked over at the time in the corner of your laptop—8:24PM. Huh.
For a minute or two, you and Doyoung simply let the clock tick away in silence.
Then there was a nudge at your arm. “Go ask him if he needs help.”
You jolted. “What? He doesn’t need help—trust me,” you hissed back. “He already took Gen Chem in freshman year and passed with flying colors.”
“I hate that you know that.”
Oh. You pursed your lips together. “Yeah, me too.”
Doyoung sighed and it was loud enough to echo against the high ceiling. He spun your chair around and practically shoved you out of it. “You've been deployed, Yn.”
“This is abuse of power,” you muttered, but gathered your body, ego, and all other accompanying parts, and rounded the table. You could not comprehend why your heart rate began to crescendo with each footstep you took in Seonghwa's direction. There had never been this kind of hesitation before—an uneasiness of suddenly being aware of too much—only an insistent balking to interact with the bane of your childhood.
Seonghwa didn't look up until your shadow sliced over his notebook page. It almost made your eyes twitch. “Funny seeing you here,” he drawled as he leaned back in his seat to peer up at you.
You arched both of your brows, unimpressed. “There is a distinct lack of Kim Hongjoong, I see,” you said and gestured around at the nearly-empty room.
“Yeah, well, he had a conflict.”
You rolled your eyes and slid into the seat across from him. “You could've just asked me. Y'know, like a normal person.”
“Sure I could've, Ln.”
“Anyways,” you muttered, scratching your head and then gesturing behind you in Doyoung's direction, “my senior's tasked me with seeing if you need help with anything. I told him you probably don't, because this is a general chemistry tutor session and—”
“Soyeon says you got full marks on the Krebs Cycle portion of the midterm.”
The words that just spilled out of his mouth were experiencing a traffic jam when entering your brain. When did he and Soyeon talk about that? Why would Soyeon tell him that? And why would he—it hit you.
Your face must have said it all, because Seonghwa was already taking up a defensive position by folding his arms over his chest. “Don't make a big deal out of this.”
You pressed a finger to your lips. “I'm not,” you swore, then lowered your hand to lace with the other over the table. You were telling the truth, as surprising as it was for both you and Seonghwa. In your youth, you would have been flooded with jubilation at the news that you excelled where he underperformed. But as you sat across from him in the harsh library lighting, you felt nothing but a light ‘Oh.’
You were expecting the warm satisfaction in your chest, the smug contentment making your fingers jittery. Those sensations never came.
Not so important after all, huh?
The side of his cheek shifted like he was biting the inside of it. “So no snarky remarks? No celebrating?”
Were you really so bad? You shrugged. “If that's what you want, I'll provide it. But—you know…” you trailed off in thought, an absent-minded laugh tumbling out. “I don't think we've ever admitted to each other our shortcomings directly. They've only ever been told to us through other people.”
Seonghwa's arms uncrossed, expression softening. “Yeah,” he said. “Right.”
You pressed your lips together and nodded. “It's cool that you came to me for help, though. I think I had a dream about this once—”
“Don't push it, Ln.”
A grin split your face just then—a true moment of jubilation—and you could have sworn something flickered across his own face.
You didn't push it. Instead, you and Seonghwa hunkered down in the corner of the room for the next couple of hours breaking down the target section. In the quiet, abandoned floor of Quill Library, rain drummed against the windows plastered with the dark night. At some point, Doyoung excused himself to head home, leaving you and Seonghwa beneath the grating overhead LEDs and the scratchy handwriting on the notebook passed between you.
The clock hands struck about ten o'clock when you decided to call it quits. Rain continued to batter the streets of the KQ University campus, and you stood beneath the large, stone archway that led into the library, watching the glow of the lights from inside scatter across the drenched cobblestones.
Seonghwa yanked his jacket hood over his head. “Hey, come on, I'll give you a ride home,” he said to you, nudging your arm with the back of his hand before gesturing to the left.
You were not about to argue when it was pouring rain at ten o'clock and you were without an umbrella.
The two of you crashed into your corresponding sides of the car, breaths fogging up the windows and mirrors, seats and backpacks and skin damp from either sweat or rain. You shook any errant droplets out of your hair as Seonghwa cranked the engine on. His phone connected to the car radio the moment he began backing out from his parking space, and the vibrant instrumentals of a Bruno Mars song came grooving out of the speakers.
Seonghwa turned the volume down, and you leaned back in your seat and watched the streetlights blur like watercolors against the car window.
“Thanks, by the way.” The glow of the stoplight was crimson red across his face. “I found tonight really helpful.”
You pursed your mouth as you traded glances with him. “Yeah sure, man,” you said. “I'm glad you found it helpful. I think I'm just surprised you even—I dunno—asked me of all people.”
He passed you another glance as his visage turned bright green with the traffic light. “You know I respect you, right?”
“Are you okay?” you blurted out. “Like are you dying or something?”
Seonghwa rolled his eyes so hard, you were sure he could see his brain up there. If he wasn't driving, you knew he would be hitting his head against the steering wheel. “Good grief, Yn, I'm trying to be sincere.”
You coughed, shrinking down in your seat. “And I'm being sincere too,” you retorted. “We haven't been this civil toward each other since—”
“Never?” he offered.
“Yes,” you said. You shared yet another look before he returned his eyes to the road. Your own gaze went to the lone C-3PO figurine on his dash and you balled up your hands in your lap, wondering how they had gotten so clammy. “I—respect you, too.”
“How badly did it hurt to say that?”
Your head whipped around. “Now who's being the insincere one?”
Seonghwa chuckled and the corner of his mouth curled up. “Touché,” he said. “I’m being serious though. I wish…”
You swallowed as you stared out the front windshield. It didn't take a therapist to fill in the blank: I wish we hadn't started off how we did. I wish we grew up differently. I wish we had grown up as friends.
The car tires crunched slowly over the rainy gravel outside of your house a few minutes later. The front windows still emitted a warm, familiar light from within, signalling to you the consciousness status of some of your housemates. The windshield wipers continued to thunk, thunk, thunk away at the ceaseless rain against glass as you prepared yourself to cross the driveway without cover.
You stopped just as your fingers curled around the door handle. “By the way, isn't your guy missing his guy?” you asked, wagging a finger in the direction of C-3PO. You were, of course, referring to R2-D2, the blue and white droid renowned for its resourcefulness and adorableness.
Seonghwa shifted in his seat, eyebrows lifting in pleasant surprise at the question. “Oh,” he said, “well, I guess I just haven't found the right moment to get him.”
Ah. You tugged the door open. “‘Night then,” you chirped, and flashed him with the Spock salute.
“You're such a fuckin’ nerd, oh my god—”
You threw your head back in a cackle as you slammed the car door, then bolted for your front porch.
In the eleventh grade, you bombed a Science Olympiad competition. The Science Olympiad was a high school organization you had been a part of since the moment you stepped foot onto campus in freshman year. As a junior, you were a seasoned professional, an ace card in the deck, a valued player in the roster—until you fumbled every event at this specific meet.
To your credit, most of your teammates also met failure or mediocre success; but that was not something your mother cared about.
Park Seonghwa knew this fact like the back of his hand. He had recognized the sheer panic in your eyes during each event, the harried nature of each attempt to reconcile your mistakes mid-event, the defeat and anxiety pouring out of you in energy that could not be contained in that high-tension ball you called your body.
The bus ride home had been dead silent. The car ride in his mom's car was filled only by the muffled sounds of the world passing by. The worst part was seeing you at school the day afterward. You didn't only look exhausted, you looked sapped—of energy, a will, everything. He never said anything; he didn't have the heart or the balls to.
When the clock hit four on the dot, marking the beginning of after school practice, Seonghwa gathered in room A08 along with the rest of your teammates. He barely tuned into whatever the president was saying because your seat across the room was empty and they were taking roll call.
“I'll go look for her,” he offered as soon as your name was called. His stomach twisted into a painful knot, knowing. Maybe you weren't friends, but it didn't mean he couldn't try to save you some dignity. Seonghwa was already up and out of his seat before anyone else could acknowledge or offer assistance.
There were a myriad of possible places you could be and he would check all of them, barring the girl's bathroom. You had to still be on campus, though, because he saw your bike still locked up when he passed by. You would not have gone home at this hour—at least one of your parents would be home, thus, making it the last place you wanted to be. Minutes flew by as he zipped around different spots on campus. He peeked into other open classrooms, asked your band friends if you were in any parts of the music building, and ducked into alcoves around school grounds. The couple of times he called your number, it went to voicemail immediately; there was no point in trying to text you.
When he reached the swimming pool on the far end of campus, his hopes were not high. He had even broken a sweat, the skin beneath the collar of his hoodie warm and damp from perspiration. You had quit the girl’s swim team last year after an incident with the asshole coach, and it didn’t make much sense that you would hide here of all places. Seonghwa was in no place to judge you for quitting, but your parents miraculously accepted it as long as you took up another extra-curricular. From what he heard, you were tutoring now.
As he stepped foot onto the barren, outdoor pool deck, he paused just as he opened his mouth to call out your name.
The sound of a gasp cleaved through the air—not a gasp of surprise, but a gasp for air. A broken sob rattled after it, followed by another, and another, a cascade of ruin and emotion that no one needed a label for.
Seonghwa froze in place. The distinct feeling that he was intruding swept over him. What if it’s not her, he thought and slowly crept closer, toward the sound. He would make sure that you—or whoever it was—was alright.
But as he took his measured steps, he spied a familiar head of hair around the furthest corner of the locker rooms building. He recognized the red stripe running down your track pants, the pair that you wore on Thursdays when you had your racquet ball class. Your shoulders trembled like a city on a fault line, a fissure in the earth that was once the unbreakable resolve he knew you to possess.
He had never seen or heard you cry before, let alone like this—like every single pressure point had conspired together to finally make you crack. He despised it, hated it. Out of all the people he knew, he never believed you could be broken.
Seonghwa backed away. He didn’t make his presence known to you and he would never bring it up again. This was your private moment; he was probably the last person you wanted to see. He made his way back to the meeting room with a discomfort filling up his chest, and that presented itself outwardly as solemnity.
His teammates all glanced up at his return, and the president asked, “Where is she?”
“She’s fine,” Seonghwa replied while sliding back into his seat. “She just needs a minute.”
“But we have to tighten up on practice—”
Seonghwa’s expression hardened. “Give her. A Minute.”
The president’s mouth snapped shut, and nothing further was said on the matter. However, fifteen minutes later, heads turned again to watch you stumble into the classroom while wiping your cheek, your eyes no longer red and your breathing back to normal. Seonghwa tried not to stare as you muttered out an apology and took your seat across the room from him. You shouldn’t have to apologize, he thought.
He tried not to flinch when he remembered what your crying sounded like; tried not to let the anger he harbored at your mother fester into his own tone when he spoke; and tried not to mention at all that he had caught you at a moment of weakness, because if there was anything that would make you feel worse, it would certainly be that.
There were many things you could read about Jeon Soyeon. After living with her for a solid three years and suffering a glorious amount together through the trenches that were pre-medicine weedout classes, one might say you forged a bond only few could relate to. It was one of the primary reasons you believed that she had been itching to ask you something for an entire week.
You broke away from the lineup of dish detergents on the shelf before you, their rainbow of labels plastered with claims of killing 99.9999999% of grease molecules on your dishes to varying degrees of truthfulness. “Alright,” you said, whirling on your friend and roommate, which caused her to freeze up like a deer in headlights. “Just spit it out already.”
Soyeon’s hands lifted in surrender. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do not make me resort to unsavory methods.” The bright white LEDs above your head washed the entire store in their light, illuminating the company’s specific shade of red plastered on the walls to contrast the white of everything else.
“It’s just that…”
“Uh-huh,” you muttered, turning back to the shelf to pluck your house’s choice of dish soap from the shelf. The translucent blue liquid sloshed inside with a slightly higher viscosity than water, but looser than hand soap. You dumped the bottle into the red basket hanging from your arm filled with the other items you and Soyeon were tasked with retrieving by your housemates.
“Doyoung told me that Seonghwa came to the tutor center during one of your shifts last week.”
You paused in the middle of the aisle, then recovered your stride and continued out into the main walkway. Was everybody talking to everybody but you, all of a sudden? “Yeah,” you drawled, sending her a narrowed-eye look from over your shoulder, “and by the way, I can’t believe you told him that I got the entire Krebs Cycle section right.”
Soyeon deadpanned at you and fell into step beside you as you began to wander in an aimless direction around the store. “In my defense, he asked first! I had a feeling about his score, and you know that I’m not gonna miss out on a chance to brag about my friend, so I told him about just that section.”
In truth, you weren’t upset that Soyeon disclosed this information to Seonghwa. Of course, it would have been different if you hadn’t done as well on that section, but it ultimately led to that strangely civil evening between the two of you. Since then, there had been two weeks’ worth of society gatherings and Trivia Nights, all of which passed by relatively normally, excluding the fact that the jabs you and Seonghwa exchanged were a little less biting. Not that anyone had pointed it out yet though.
You made a turn into one of the many toy aisles in this section of the store. “So what about the tutor center?” you asked, beelining to the Lego sets on the shelves.
“Getting you guys to talk about your feelings about each other is like pulling teeth,” she groaned behind you.
“I mean, a straightforward question helps,” you mused. (‘Straightforward,’ you advocated for, until someone like Jeong Yunho asked you the most straightforward question known to man and you declined to answer in exchange for a tequila shot.) You shoved your hands into the pockets of your shorts and eyed the Lego replicas of real life items: a typewriter, a flower vase, a human-sized Boba Fett helmet—
“Well, have you ever thought that you’re projecting your attraction for Seonghwa as a dislike for him instead?”
Your hand came to a stop. (Was there a tequila shot you could drink now?) What was with everyone asking you about your relationship with Seonghwa lately?
“See!”
“No, no, no—I can answer this! I can answer this,” you spluttered out defensively. You could see Soyeon bracing her hands on her hips next to you while you maintained your focus on the number of Lego bricks labeled on a box. “I can’t believe I’m being interrogated in a Target shopping aisle,” you muttered under your breath, blowing an errant piece of hair out of your eyes.
“Okay, I don't think I've ever thought of it in that way. Maybe there's some cognitive dissonance there with associating him with a lot of the negative things in our past, but—I don't know! He’s… sure, I think he is an objectively decent guy, but he’s not my type.” When you faced Soyeon, she had her arms crossed this time, an eyebrow arched. “I’m guessing you don’t agree,” you huffed.
“I really don’t want to bring up your Hinge history” —you opened your mouth to fire back a retort, but she held up her hand to stop you— “and I won’t. But consider that maybe your obsession with the two of you being in the same league has a deeper meaning than simply his being the bane of your childhood. Like, you guys have so much common footing, and I’ve gotta be honest, girl—you look at him and talk about him a lot.”
Your mouth curved into an elongated frown. You didn’t look at him ‘a lot,’ right? Not so much that it was obvious… right? If anything, the reason you looked at him so much was because—well, even you couldn’t come up with a bullshit excuse for that one. If you supposedly couldn’t stand the sight of him, then why were your eyes always drawn to him like a magnet with the force of the Earth’s poles? Even gravitational acceleration could not beat the speed at which you found him in a crowded lecture hall.
The loud buzzing of a phone tore through the white noise buzzing from the overhead lights. It made you jump out of your skin, and you fumbled around in your pockets to take out your phone.
The caller ID glared up at you like the universe’s favorite joke: Park Vader.
Soyeon peered over your shoulder and snorted. “I forgot you called him that; you’re such a dork, Yn.”
“What?” you lamented. “I thought it was clever, ‘cause he was my sworn enemy!”
She shook her head to herself as she turned around and walked a straight line out of the aisle. That left you alone with the buzzing phone in your hands, the caller on the other side undoubtedly waiting, too. You couldn’t remember the last time you received a phone call from him. Was it that one time you lost half the group during a society outing? Or was it high school graduation when he couldn’t find where his parents had gone?
You brushed those thoughts aside and accepted the call. “Hello?”
“Hey, are you free right now?”
“Uhh yeah,” you dragged out, peering around you for anyone in the vicinity. You kept the call off speaker despite no one being near. “Did you need something?”
The sounds of paper flipping and crinkling met your ears through the speaker. In your mind’s eye, you imagined him propped behind his desk and rummaging through his notebook graffitied with ballpoint pen. “That question about which substrate the antagonist functions most closely to…?”
Your brain flicked on its lights and you mentally rifled through the files labeled with ‘Biochemistry.’ Something caught your eye at the other end of the aisle, and you tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder. “Oh,” you said, “it’s succinyl-CoA because the compound inhibits the formation of citrate. The other options can be involved in the inhibition of the Krebs Cycle, but ultimately, succinyl-CoA is the only one that’s involved with the actual condensation into citrate.”
A sigh erupted from his end of the call, his breathy tone tickling at your ear and making you think of the goddamn natatorium. He was quiet for a second as you scoured the shelves lined with Lego figurines of characters from movies. The dull scratching of his ballpoint pen was loud enough for his microphone to pick up; it was a soothing sound.
“I probably could have known that from straight-up memorization, huh,” he finally said.
You removed a box with an R2-D2 figurine from its hook. “Maybe,” you conceded. “You can only memorize so much until it gets to a point, y’know, where knowing the basics and applying them is more useful than committing every little detail to memory.” Five bucks? This tiny thing should be two dollars maximum, you thought, but tossed it into the basket anyway.
He must have heard the resounding crash of weighted cardboard and gravity, because he was quick to pipe up, “Where even are you right now?”
“Target,” you answered simply. “Soyeon’s somewhere around here, too.” The statement was paired with a swivel of your head—wherever she had wandered off to, you hadn't a clue.
“Oh, did Seulgi make you guys go get stuff for the car wash thing tomorrow?”
“Nah, this is all Lillian's doing,” you replied with more mirth than resentment. “Errands in exchange for coming to support us by bringing her minivan tomorrow.”
An indignant sound crackled into your ear. “That's gotta be cheating.”
“Sorry, that I have friends, Park,” you quipped back, snickering. “Get ready to have your ass handed to you.”
“By you? Not a chance.”
You hummed absentmindedly, dallying toward the end of the aisle to begin your search for your friend. “Not by ‘chance,’” you corrected, “but by the army of our girls in bikinis.”
“Is that including you?”
You made a face. “Duh. Wait why—”
A chuckle resonated through your ear, the heat from your phone meshing with the warmth in your cheek. “See you and your bikini tomorrow, Ln.”
“Seonghwa, what the—” He hung up.
Your face ignited as you ripped the phone out from between your ear and shoulder. As expected, the End Call screen grinned back up at you. There was no way you heard what you thought you heard… but then again, there had been the pool before that, and the other car ride way before that…
Soyeon appeared from around the corner with her phone facing upward as if she herself was just on a call with someone. She peered at you curiously, her brows crinkling together. “Are you okay?”
“I think Seonghwa's been flirting with me, Soyeon,” you said. The phone was still hot in your hand. His goddamn contact was still on the screen.
She raised her hands up to the ceiling as if in prayer. “Oh, thank Mother Seulgi, you're finally awake.”
Seulgi's cul-de-sac was busier than Greek row during Rush.
Perched up high in her second story bedroom window, you could breathe in the expanse of bodies milling about, the cars slowly rolling into the dead-end street, and the dozens upon dozens of buckets and sponges piled high with mountains of soap suds. The pre-health society's car washing fundraiser was well under way, even beneath the scathing wrath of the late spring sun.
“Good morning, Aurora County!” you heard the weatherman's voice carry through one of Seulgi's roommate's radios in the house. They were probably holed up in their room down the hall, deep in a cat nap and unaware of the party around them. “Well, it's gonna be another hot one today. Temperatures are looking to soar to the mid-nineties and hundreds by late afternoon. Make sure to stay hydrated and apply that sunscreen, folks!”
You had been finishing up with some preparations inside the house while everyone else was busy getting the event started. You might have missed the moment everyone tore off their shirts and hosed the first car, but there was plenty of time for one more.
Every conversation that had transpired last night replayed freshly in your mind as you sped down the stairs and out the front door. If you were to be wholly honest, you weren't sure where your head was. This was new to you—the idea that the tension between you and Seonghwa could be anything but a rivalry. Your pulse throbbed at the junction of your throat and jaw, your palms clammy as the midday sun roasted you from even the shade of the porch.
“Yn! Get your butt down here!” came Chaeryeong's shout, her arm flailing around to beckon you over to the Chevy SUV at the mercy of her water gun.
Soyeon cupped her hands around her grinning mouth: “And take that shirt off before I do it for you!”
You let out a loud laugh, descending the porch step by slow step, teasing your fingers at the hem of your T-shirt. “Don’t any of you have manners? Where's my 'please?’”
“Please” —your head whipped over to find Wooyoung lounging in a nearby lawn chair, his shirt unbuttoned and splayed out on either side of him, eyes boasting a pair of heart-shaped glasses, and shooting you a toothy grin— “take your shirt off. For me, of course, and definitely not for anyone else.”
You guffawed, fully amused. “For you, and only you, my friend.”
“That is the goddamn spirit—oop! Gotta go!” Wooyoung rocketed out of the chair as Seulgi came barreling out of the garage fifteen feet behind him, a menacing scowl fixed on her face and a slipper raised over her head.
“Get to work, Jung Woooyoung, or so help me!” Seulgi huffed as she stood on the lawn just before you, hands braced on her jean short-clad hips. She turned halfway toward you. “Ready to rake in some money, Yn? Taeyong and the boys have gotten a headstart, but it won't help them for long,” she said, the grin on her face filled with more teeth than sportsmanship.
“Yes, ma'am,” you chirped dutifully.
She pointed in the direction of a cobalt blue sedan rolling into the lot near the entrance of the cul-de-sac proper, where you saw Lia already stationed. You sent her a salute, stole a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses off a nearby table, and jogged across the street toward Lia. The latter gladly welcomed you to the area she affectionately called “The Griddle,” thanks to the fact that she was in the flat, open expanse of the street. Her only reprieve was the big, floppy sun hat crowning her head and maybe the clipboard tucked under her arm.
She waved over the sedan to an open spot in front of one of the other houses, and to your surprise, as they rolled down the window, you were met by a familiar face.
“Long time, no see, Mingyu,” you greeted pleasantly, leaning over the window sill. You nodded in hello to the guy sitting in the passenger seat, as well.
Mingyu beamed with a kind of boyishness that made you nostalgic for high school, a rare feat. “Hey, Yn,” he said. “My friend Seungkwan and I thought we'd come to support.”
Seungkwan, the passenger, waved to you with a bright energy. “Nice to meet the girl Mingyu hasn't stopped talking about.”
“Aish—shut up, dude!” Mingyu stammered, cheeks darkening from his friend's exposé.
You giggled, the sound spilling out of your mouth from the slight second-hand embarrassment and feeling a little flattered. Sure, Mingyu was good-looking and seemed like a regular Prince Charming, but you weren't sure he was someone you were interested in at this moment. (Or was exactly your type, as Soyeon would say.) Your smile was cordial, bordering on polite. “Ah well, thanks for coming out to show your support. We really appreciate it.”
“Of course!” he was quick to recover. “Do you guys want us to sit outside and wait, or…?”
“Either is fine,” you said with a shrug and took a couple steps back toward Lia. You needed to locate a bucket and sponges and maybe even a hose before you could get started. “Make yourselves comfortable, guys.”
You shimmied your way over to Lia's side. “Hey, is there any extra soap and water around here?”
Lia hissed through her teeth and tapped her chin with the back of her pencil. “Ooh,” she murmured, “you know what? Let me find someone who can get you that—”
“I got it, Lia.”
Your heart palpitated, your lungs seized. For some reason, his voice sounded rough around the edges, and there were only so many instances when you could use heat as an excuse for delusions like this. You swore to god that Park Seonghwa just appeared out of nowhere, setting two buckets of sudsy sponges at your feet, but not before peering at you through long lashes with the intention to make you feel warmth from a source other than the sun.
His shoulders were already well bronzed in his tank top, the fabric loose to give his skin room to breathe. He carded a hand through his damp hair and looked you up and down. “I was promised a bikini.”
You blinked, and for a moment, you nearly forgot who you were. The attitude came zipping back in a second. “Actually, you were promised a proper beating.”
“I could deal with that, too,” he drawled back, arms braiding across his chest.
(Lia quietly excused herself, likely to go run off in Soyeon and Seulgi's direction with the freshest of news. It was almost too easy to give you both privacy; how obsessed did you have to be with one another to forget that the world continued on when you were together?)
You flashed him a saccharine smile and bent slightly to pick up the buckets he’d delivered. “Well, thanks for the stuff. I'm gonna go clean Mingyu's car now.” Before he could even process what you said, you were already walking yourself back in the direction of your assigned car. Somewhere behind you, you registered the sound of Yeosang calling out for Seonghwa to help with a new car coming in.
When you reached the sedan again, you set the buckets by the driver’s side, the car now left to its own devices while Mingyu and Seungkwan loitered on the curbside nearby.
“Yn, d’you need help?” Chaeryeong jogged over in her sandals and flipped her hair over her shoulder with a big grin on her face. The water gun she wielded earlier had disappeared.
“Definitely,” you said back, nodding. You took the heart-shaped glasses off and handed them to her. “Hold these, please.”
Your fingers once again met the bottom hem of your T-shirt. A familiar sensation warmed at the side of your head akin to a light burn. Your eyes wandered in the direction of the stare that seared into you, and your pulse throttled up against your skin when you made eye contact with Seonghwa from across the street. He had the door of his newest vehicle propped open and half his body drenched from chest to waist already, but he halted any activity as if he sensed what was about to happen.
You didn’t know what was wrong with you, but you held his stare while you tugged your shirt up and over your head. Immediately, your skin breathed a sigh of relief at being freed from the fabric incubator that was your cover-up. You tossed the garment onto the side of the road where a drink cooler had been left.
Chaeryeong suddenly coughed and leaned toward you, passing the sunglasses back into your hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Seonghwa look so intense.”
That phantom burn continued to flare against your head. You stole a quick glance back in that direction, your heart rate rocketing when you caught the way his eyes flickered over the expanse of exposed skin framed by a baby blue bikini top.
“Then you should see how locked-in he gets when doing exams,” you joked to Chaeryeong. It was a pathetic attempt at dismissing the fluttering in your stomach.
She shot you a look, her mouth pursing. “No, girl, I think he wants to do you like one.”
If there was one way to get you to shut up with haste, it was that. Your jaw snapped shut before it could fully unhinge. No way. Nowaynowaynoway—you hiked your sunglasses up on top of your head to push your hair out of your face. All of a sudden, you were hyper-aware of the presence across the street from you; and for the first time, it wasn’t because you were solely looking to school his ass at something. When had you become so conscious about him looking at you?
You forced the thought to the back of your mind; in fact, you shoved it under a mental floorboard, hammered it in with a mental nail, and draped a mental rug over it. There were more important things to deal with at present and who were you if not a champion of absolute focus?
It truly proved to be a challenge for your mental faculties. As the late morning simmered into high noon, you and your society-mates must have cleaned about a few dozen cars. If the pre-health society did not collect at least a couple thousand in donations by the end of the day, you would declare your retirement. The heat was beginning to wear on you and everyone else, the sun’s rays beating down from above while the hot asphalt beneath discharged heat waves, completing a proper assault on two fronts.
You swiped the fat droplet of sweat rolling down the side of your face with your arm, despite it mixing with the layer of perspiration already settled atop your skin. You, Soyeon, and some of the other girls just finished up with a fraternity brother’s dirt- and dust-slicked truck, and were making your way back toward home base.
Soyeon slumped one of her arms around your shoulders before her head came tumbling down next. “Man, the tan lines we’re gonna end up with are going to be diabolical,” she whined. “And right before summer, too! What am I supposed to do in a backless dress and my body’s in three different shades?”
“I don’t know, but you’re still hot regardless of how many shades your body is,” you mused back with a cheeky grin. The two of you stood within range of the front lawn sprinklers, which had been so graciously activated by one of Seulgi’s housemates. You had already spotted some of the boys making full use of the cool water when they took their break earlier.
“Have I ever told you I love you?”
You chuckled and patted her head, your movements sun-soaked and lethargic. “Love you, too, babe.”
A high-pitched yelp pierced the air and the sound echoed against the surrounding houses of the cul-de-sac. You and Soyeon tracked the noise to the boys’ side of the street, where Wooyoung was scrambling away from the group like his ass was on fire, his hair and body dripping wet. The culprit, it seemed, was Yunho, of all people.
“Oh my god,” you mumbled, “who let Yunho have the hose?” A small chuckle left your throat as you watched the chaos unfold. The wicked, toothy grin slathered over Yunho's face was enough to tell anyone in the vicinity that he meant Business.
The trajectory of the hose spray continued on down the line before it reached the side of a black four-wheeler. Someone shouted from behind the trunk, before Seonghwa and Hongjoong emerged, their bodies sopping wet from head to toe.
“Yah! Jeong Yunho,” Hongjoong cried with a shaking fist before flicking off the water from his arms and legs.
But your attention fixed upon the man next to him with the magnetism of an MRI scanner to a slab of metal. You couldn't rationalize how the world slowed, but when Seonghwa yanked the black tank top—drenched and clinging to every crevice of his body—over his head, it definitely happened in slow motion. He shook out his dripping wet hair and scooped it backward and out of his face with one hand.
Your head whipped away before he could notice you were watching—or drooling, for that matter. (What was wrong with you? You swiped at the corner of your mouth to thumb away the saliva there.) If anyone asked, the reason your face and neck were so warm was because of the burning ball of plasma reigning over your heads.
You heard your name being called out from your left, and you and Soyeon waited for Seulgi to come to a stop by you both. “Hey, what's up?” you asked her.
There was a clipboard in her hand, similar to the one Lia had been holding onto earlier. “You remember where my laundry room is, right?” When you nodded an affirmative, she continued, “Would you mind doing me a huge favor and grabbing a stack of the smaller towels on the rack in there?”
“Oh, I'll go with you,” Soyeon piped up.
Seulgi made a sound that had both you and Soyeon freezing in place. A beat of silence passed between them, almost like telepathic communication.
“I just remembered” —Soyeon gave your shoulder a squeeze and began stepping away in the direction of a nearby cooler— “I was gonna go restock some of the coolers with White Claws. Sorry, Yn!”
“Thanks, Yn!” Seulgi chirped. “Remember that the laundry door has a weird lock—”
You sent her a thumb's up. “I remember,” you assured her, then made your way up the porch steps. You shook your head with a scrunched nose. That was… interesting.
The laundry room was infamous for its dysfunctional locking mechanism. You and the girls from the society had plenty of slumber parties in this house, and thus, knew very well that the laundry room in the basement would slam shut and jam on the inside. There was always a little doorstop to keep it open, but at times, the house's occupants would remove the doorstop if one of the machines were running.
You wormed your way through Seulgi's house toward the basement entrance, cutting beneath the stairs and into the house's foundation. The small fan blew out over the room with a gentle and low breeze, and afternoon sunlight poured in through the slim windows.
The laundry room door was tucked away on the far side of the room, and you paused just outside the door. Huh. It was closed.
Carefully, you pulled it open and peeked inside. No machine was running. You yanked the cord by the door to turn on the small strip light overhead; you couldn't spot the Ditto Pokémon doorstop either.
“Don't be stupid,” you muttered to yourself, and closed the door while you went around the basement to look for a replacement doorstop. You made a loop around the basement and checked the cabinets by the pool table, eyeing a folded chair shoved in haphazardly with the pool cues.
The chair was chosen, and you propped it open between the door and the doorjamb, preventing yourself from being locked inside. “Why is this door so goddamn heavy,” you pondered aloud, scrutinizing the way the weight of the laundry door pushed the folding chair until it was flush against the doorway.
Whatever. That would be fine for now.
You clambered in through the opening and went straight for the rack at the furthest end of the room. How many towels was Seulgi asking for? If it was the small ones, it might have just been for drying the cars, perhaps…
Your thoughts slowed as the sound of footsteps resounded against the basement stairs. You glanced upwards, then back toward the door.
Thunk, thunk, thunk—then, “Ln? Yn, you in here?”
Brows crossing, you straightened. “Seonghwa?”
Sure enough, Seonghwa's head of damp hair appeared through the opening. His gaze flickered from the chair between the door and the wall, then back up at you. “Seulgi said you might need help.”
“Oh.” So she didn't want Soyeon helping, but now Seonghwa was down here? There was something fishy going on… You turned back to the rack. “I mean, it's just towels.”
“Is there not a lot of them? She said there was a lot.” There was a soft shuffling sound, followed by a hollow clank as the chair was moved.
Shit. You whirled around, eyes widened as you watched him slip inside and set the chair aside. “Waitwait—don’t let it” —SLAM— “close!” A screech loosened from your throat as the wood vibrated from impact behind Seonghwa.
Your counterpart, to his credit, stood stock-still with his eyes blown wide. If he were a bunny rabbit, his ears would have been pressed flat against his head. “There… was a reason that chair was there, huh,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yes,” you sighed deeply. You dragged a hand down your face as you racked your brain for a solution. “It's fine. You didn't know about the door.”
“I'm sorry, I—that’s so stupid. Why haven't they called their landlord about this?” He rattled the doorknob to no avail, pink dusting his cheekbones as he tried to find some imaginary way out of the laundry room.
“Do you have your phone on you?”
Seonghwa patted his pockets, then groaned. “Fuck,” he swore, raking a hand through his damp hair, “I took it out of my pockets earlier because I didn't want it to get wet.”
Dread curdled in your stomach and you leaned your hip against the drying machine. “Same here.”
The two of you averted gazes as the reality of your situation sank in. Your only hope was the fact that both Seulgi and Soyeon knew of your whereabouts and were bound to come looking for you should you not turn up in a reasonable amount of time. For a moment, you tilted your head back and stared up at the popcorn ceiling. Out of all the people you could have gotten stuck with, of course, it would be Park Seonghwa.
Your conversation over the phone last night sparked in your head, along with the stares you had been exchanging all day. You glanced over at him, his bare back now pressed against the door as he stared at the floor in thought; but he raised his head to meet your eyes. “What?”
“Can you—can I ask you a question and will you answer honestly?”
He stared at you for a moment, then ducked his head. “Yeah, sure. Shoot.”
“Have you been… flirting with me?” As soon as the question left your mouth, you wished so badly to reel it back in. Oh, the utterly horrified tightening in your chest—was this a physical symptom of embarrassment?
The room was quiet enough to hear the muffled sound of the outdoor speakers driving their sound waves through the ground. You really hoped he didn't laugh. You wouldn't laugh if he confirmed it, but if he laughed, you would probably just about die of embarrassment. (But maybe you were willing to risk that. If what Soyeon talked to you about last night had any grounds, maybe there was a small part of both of you that was misinterpreting everything.)
Seonghwa's posture tautened and he pulled his shoulders back as if bracing himself. “Maybe I have been.”
“Oh.” You had not been expecting such a straightforward answer.
He seemed to register your daze in a certain way, and he began moving toward you. “Is that an issue for you?” he asked lowly, his head tilting to the side while he eyed you.
You cleared your throat, shook your head. “No,” you whispered.
“It's not?” he murmured. He was closer now, close enough that if you extended your arm, your fingers would press up against the broad expanse of his chest. “So you're not uncomfortable?”
“Uncomfortable? I wouldn't say uncomfortable,” you babbled as he took another step closer. “It's just that I'm not used to hearing something like that from you, addressing me—”
“So you're saying I should do it more often?” Seonghwa's lip twitched with the ghost of a smile. “To get you more used to it, I mean.”
When did this become an interrogation of you? Didn't you ask the first question? (Had he always been so close? You'd never seen abs this close before.) “Okay, stop!” You pressed your hands to his clavicle bones, and despite realizing you were touching the firm and bare flesh of his chest, you did not remove your hands. “What are we doing?”
He cocked his head to the side, eyeing you. The smile stopped ghosting you and curled up into his cheek. “We're having a conversation about flirting, Ln. Do keep up.”
You couldn't help yourself from rolling your eyes. It was like holding a lighter under a fuse, and you yanked your hands away from him as if you’d just been burned by a hot stove. “I'm flustered, not stupid!” you sputtered, fumbling desperately for an ounce of dignity because it had never been this easy for Seonghwa to get you like this, right?
“I never said otherwise,” he said, chuckling. His chin inclined at you, hands bracketing on either side of your body upon the washing machine your back dug into. “You’re a smart girl. What do the combined symptoms of dilated pupils” —his finger tapped the bridge of your nose— “rapid pulse” —another tap by your carotid artery on the underside of your jaw— “and shallow breathing” —a graze over your sternum— “suggest in this specific context?”
The answer materialized in your throat as a lump and you forced it down. Your eyes strayed to his mouth, unable to help yourself, but this action was swiftly mirrored by the man in front of you. In all the years you knew him, you had never seen him from this proximity before—you never let yourself. (Had his lips always been so pink?) Any attempt at closeness was always replaced by an exchange of barbed wits.
Your brain did the only thing it knew how to when it came to him. “God, you're such a fucking nerd,” you spat, then grabbed his face and kissed him.
He made a sound against your mouth—surprise, by the way his feet stumbled, knees knocking against yours and the washing machine—then recovered, leaning into you with purpose, hands finding purchase on the bare skin of your waist to yank you closer.
You decided he made the faint remnants of Coors Light on his tongue taste sublime. You suddenly couldn't get enough of it. Your arms hooked around his neck, fingers burying themselves in the hairs at his nape. Every cell in your body was geared toward this man, and this man only—your air exchanging with his, pulses pounding near in sync.
For once, your brain wasn't thinking. It wasn't thinking about what was happening outside that door, it wasn't thinking about how long you might be stuck in here, it wasn't thinking about ways to get out of here. Why would you want to get out of here? The heat conducted between your bodies could power the goddamn street for all you cared; the sensation of firm muscle against your stomach was enough to send you spiralling.
Seonghwa cupped the side of your jaw and coaxed your head back, your mouth further open. “Holy shit,” he rasped, voice worlds past Gone, then devoured you whole.
Holy shit, indeed. A whimper tumbled out from the back of your throat as you were pressed harder against the metal of the washing machine. Your mouths seared against one another like a brand, soft and breathy sounds seeping out from between you two, indistinguishable. Out of all the people in the world, how did kissing this man feel this right? Were some people just meant to ruin your life—ruin you—in more ways than one?
When you broke for air, his lips chased yours briefly, the string of saliva a physical attachment between you. For a moment, it was only heavy panting, eyes shut, noses bumping one another.
Reality did not settle like the hot humidity of summer on skin; it rolled in with the impending doom of thunder clouds. Literally.
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM—a herd of stomps shook the walls around you, then were quickly followed by knocks so horrendously violent, one might believe that there was a murderer on the other side. “Yn, Hwa? Are you guys alive in there?”
Why would they have the decency to knock? Hands went to Seonghwa's chest and you forced some space between you two. You avoided his stare as you furiously fixed your hair and willed your mouth to look anything but kissed. “Yeah, will you open the damn door, Yunho?”
The laundry room door was hauled open, and on the other side was a handful of familiar faces, all quirked into curious expressions as they peered into the small space. They took in both of your appearances—no one needed to say anything.
“Towels,” you said aloud, your brain finally toggling on. You whirled back toward the back shelf and began loading your arms with the small towels Seulgi had asked for. (There was a sense prodding at the back of your mind that she never really needed them, but you would choose to do anything rather than confront the decision you just made.)
Seonghwa called your name as you passed by. Your lips burned as you continued walking.
Seonghwa's head no longer housed a brain, but a film projector constantly rewinding and playing a specific, 15-minute cut.
The fundraiser had long since concluded with Seulgi and Taeyong comparing values to determine that the girls had indeed raised more money. Everyone was free to return home, or loiter around Seulgi's house like a bunch of freeloaders. Some, like himself and Hongjoong, decided to dip back home for a quick shower and a nap, then return in time to meet everyone back here for a movie.
You were not one of the people who returned.
He sat in the driver's seat of his car, a beaded bracelet warming in his palm. Every time he rewound the past, he came to similar conclusions: he egged you on, but you kissed him first. He reciprocated the kiss and he was sure you seemed into it. Maybe he had been wrong.
No matter what Hongjoong said to soothe his ego, Seonghwa was still left with this pit in his stomach. Should he not have touched your relationship? Since that night at the library, there had been less distance between you; he had been making progress. He needed to talk to you about it, perhaps apologize. You initiated the kiss, but you were allowed to change your mind. You were allowed to be swept up by the heat of the moment.
His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. When he opened them, he loosened his jaw with a sigh, tossed the bracelet into the cupholder, and replaced it with his keys. Go home, sleep on it, call her tomor—
The passenger side door opened and shut. The car filled with light notes of jasmine and bergamot and pear—the smell of summer and you.
He couldn't comprehend what was happening before you clunked something onto the dashboard next to his C-3PO. He blinked; it was a Lego figurine of R2-D2. (There went his steady heartbeat.)
You stared at the figurine you had placed, your hands settling into your lap. Your hair was still slightly damp, and the amber streetlight right outside your window casted a diabolically divine glow across your profile. “I thought it was time the spot was filled,” you said.
Seonghwa glanced between R2 and you. “Ah,” he replied, swallowing, “thanks.”
“I've always liked Star Wars better than Star Trek,” you blurted. “I just kind of… said all of that that one time because you seemed so on-edge about me being in your space.” You shook your head and picked at the skin on your fingers. “I don't know why I'm saying this.”
His brows furrowed slightly at your confession. This whole time… Why were you saying this now? The epiphany hit him in the chest, a blunt force that might have sent him stumbling if he were standing. There were so many layers to this confession. He looked at the R2 and C-3 figurines again; the pair was finally complete.
“Why didn't you tell me?” he inquired with a voice barely audible. It was one thing that you never outwardly judged him for his love of Star Wars or Legos, but it was another thing entirely that you claimed to be a Star Trek fan and allowed him to tease you.
“I convinced myself it was right for the time,” you said. A beat passed. “I'm sorry for basically running away earlier,” you continued on quietly. “I know I'm the one who kissed you first.”
“You don't need to apologize for that,” he murmured. “It all kind of happened really fast, and you know, it's okay if you didn't really mean it.”
Your head turned to look at him now—really look at him. He couldn't help but meet your gaze as opposite poles of a magnet did without fail. “I meant it. I don't know what it means, but I meant it. And I—liked it. A lot.” The latter was uttered with such fragility, such vulnerability; it was cupping a snowflake in your palms and hoping the natural heat of your body did not melt it.
(You had gone home earlier this evening to wash up and laid in bed with the taste of him taking up residence on your tongue. Staring at the ceiling had lost its appeal after the first hour, and it took the efforts of both Soyeon and Ronnie to drag you out of your mental prison.
“Did you like it?” they'd asked. “And don't say no just because it's Seonghwa and you have an ego; be honest with yourself.”
You sat there before them—scared, nervous, and embarrassed—but without a doubt in your mind as to the answer.)
Seonghwa wondered if you could hear the thrashing of blood in his ears like he could. He wondered if your heart pounded as vigorously as his did, if your mouth burned with the phantom of his, if you were confused by how you had gone on so long not seeing who was in front of you this whole time. (Because if he was being honest, you were the measure no one has been able to compare to in his head, in any capacity.)
“I liked it a lot, too,” he said. He would not let that snowflake melt, at least not by your hands alone.
Your eyes glimmered with silvery as they widened. “Oh.”
Seonghwa offered you a small smile, then cleared his throat as he remembered something. His eyes went to the discarded bracelet in the cupholder, and he fished it out with a sheepish wince. “I, uh, made you this awhile back” —he deposited it into your waiting palms— “'cause you weren't able to finish your own bracelet at the event.” Seonghwa had been fidgeting with that thing in his pocket that entire evening.
“So that's what you had in your pocket during the walk.”
He startled. “You noticed?”
The corner of your lip tilted upward into a semblance of a smirk. You scoffed. “I notice everything about you,” the words slipped out of your mouth before you could catch them.
The weight of them rested heavy upon both of you, but not uncomfortably. Seonghwa relished in the sudden way you avoided his eye contact, and he decided that one embarrassing line could be traded for another. He let out a small laugh. “I just chickened out because it sounded stupid to give it to you and say I wished we could start over.”
God, why did that still sound stupid? Everything coming out of his mouth was stupid. It was impossible to have a do-over with so much history between you two, but… wasn't it worth a shot?
You absentmindedly rubbed at the arrangement of beads and artful knots along the thread, your mind seemingly far away. He had made you a friendship bracelet, or was it a do-over bracelet, or was it far more complicated than either or those? “I don't think we could ever start over.”
His heart plummeted into his stomach. Right. Rightrightright.
“But I wanna try whatever this is.” You wrapped the bracelet cord around your wrist, looping it and tightening it to the perfect circumference. “I think we owe ourselves that much.”
A smile, so gentle and tender like the spring breeze, blossomed on his face. It was gladness in physical form. You couldn't help but break into a similar expression, and the thought occurred to him that you must have always had that smile. How could you know so much about each other and yet, nothing at all? What were you supposed to do with so much history?
It was a lot like layers of skin peeling away from a healing sunburn. All that damage caused over the years might take just as long to turnover, but who were either of you if not up for a challenge?
Not bad for a couple of nerds.
a/n: they tied for first place in the "who will get married first" debate by the way. pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed !!
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[three's company] boyfriend!mingi x fem!reader x boyfriend!yunho
tall, curvy, insecure reader. angst, fluff, smut minors dni | pinv, oral (receiving), anal, mxm, fingering, manhandling, degradation, hella praise, one alcoholic drink consumed, subspace, they're in love, established relationship dynamics, light bdsm dynamics, breeding kink, words mommy and pregnancy are used, aftercare | wc 8.8k
─── if you feel like you've read this before, that's because i'm reposting it! technically this is non-canon 3comp but i wanted to post her in her full glory bc this is my soul fic
“Can we go out tonight?” Yunho’s head hung off the back of the recliner, his head tilted to look at you and Mingi in the kitchen, sharing a bowl of chips at the counter, scrolling on your phones. A book halfway read laid on his lap, your top lip curled at the question, you assumed tonight was another night in.
“Where?” You answered his question like there was nothing open at this hour. Seven in the evening on a Friday, you wanted it to be another night in with your boyfriends. Those were your favorite.
“Jinkies,” Yunho replied simply, like that answer was so obvious you should have known it already. The dive bar a few streets over you frequented often, your friends were always there, it was a staple for your town. Your gaze slid to Mingi and he blinked at you, indifference on his face, before stuffing another chip in his mouth.
“What if we go tomorrow instead?” You tilt your head, smiling enticingly at Yunho, but his eyebrows slanted in a way that meant he saw straight through you. When he asked tomorrow, you’d say next week, then he’d be irritated, and you’d spend half the night trying to make it up to him when all you wanted to do was stay home cuddled up to his side.
“Come on,” Mingi nudged your phone in your hand with his own. “We haven’t been out in awhile, and it’s Yunho asking this time, not me.”
That was true. It usually was Mingi asking to go out, get drunk, to inevitably go home and fuck like drunken rabbits, forever his plan, his favorite weekend activity. Your top lip curled again, a low whine sneaking its way past your lips, your head tilting back.
“Why can’t we just stay home and spend quality time with each other?” You complained, slipping off the stool you sat on to trudge over to Yunho, who kept amusement in his eyes as he watched you come closer. You leaned down, palms pressed into the armrests of the recliner he sat on, letting your voice sink into something sultry, “We could have a lot more fun if we stayed home.”
He tilted his chin up in a way that meant kiss me, “We can do that when we get home, baby. It's Friday, we can sleep in tomorrow.” You pouted, but you closed the distance to press your lips against his, anyway. You tried to deepen it, sinking into him farther, trying to pry open his lips with your tongue, but he pulled away. “You know that doesn’t work on me, I’m not Mingi.”
“Hey,” Mingi scoffed from the kitchen. “I’m not that easy. Usually she takes off her shirt, at that point it’s out of my hands.”
You can’t help the smile that crawls onto your cheeks, even if you were trying to prove how much you hated the idea of leaving your apartment tonight. Yunho tilts his head, a palm reaching up to cradle one side of your face, “It’s only seven. You have plenty of time to get ready, and we don’t have to stay out past twelve.”
You sigh, leaning off the recliner, hands landing on your hips. Every excuse you could have made, he just countered. He knows you too well.
Mingi’s jaw dropped from the counter, “That was the easiest we’ve ever gotten her to say yes.”
“We? I asked,” Yunho responds, picking up his book again, fixing where his glasses sat on his face, completely ignoring how Mingi’s face blew wide with offense. “Be ready by nine.”
“I’m showering, you’re hanging out with me while I get ready,” you point at Mingi and he slides off the stool immediately, his lopsided, giddy grin spread wide.
“I’ll shower with you!” He calls after you, hot on your tail as you walk into the hallway that leads to your shared bedroom. After being together for years, taking a shower together these days was more for saving water, saving time, than it was for quickies or heated touches– yet sometimes they were still for exactly that.
You washed your hair while he washed your body, just because he can, lathered hands sliding over each curve of your body, taking time on your chest, your ass, giving each a proper grope, playing it off that you were extra dirty. You rolled your eyes with a smile, but let him do as he pleased, his hands on your body so comforting, each touch filled with love, he was obsessed with you. Touching you. Feeling you.
You couldn’t say you weren’t obsessed too, the way you took time washing his body, on his chest, his abdomen, his thighs, his cock that began growing the moment your fingers neared. Groaning, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, “Don’t start, we won’t leave the fuckin’ house.”
With raised brows, your smile in answer was mischievous. He shook his head, lips parting as you gripped him just right, “Fuck, he’ll kill us, or tie us up or something. Don’t start, seriously.”
You leaned into him, smiling at him, your lowered eyes meeting his easily, your heads almost meeting the same height, your gaze sank him deeper into your trap. “I already started.”
The shower curtain opened. You jumped away from each other, caught red-handed.
Yunho’s sigh was long, knowing. Deep brown hair ruffled on his forehead, glasses nowhere to be seen, he was naked, his strong body on display, your mouth watered. He noticed, but instead his features drooped into a scowl.
“Can’t let you two do anything,” he mumbled, annoyed, stepping in right between you.
You pouted, but stayed for the duration of the shower in an attempt to convince him to do anything else but go to the bar. You loved staying home with them, but your distaste for going to the bar was a little more loaded, a tad bit deeper than you let on.
The dingy dive bar you frequented, full of everyone you know, you loved seeing them, but sometimes it made you sick remembering that they saw you, too. Ripping your closet apart to find an outfit, then finding one just to try it on and hate how it looks on you. Your jeans didn’t fit like they did four years ago. Your chest spilled out of the collection of going out tops you had in your closet.
Your body was different– but it should be. Your mindset changes as you get older, your hormones change, your priorities change, everything changes, but somehow you couldn’t accept that your body changed, too. It was insecurity, it was something you kept on a tight leash so it didn’t bleed into your relationship with the two men who loved you severely.
You were getting your period soon and already feeling more bloated than usual, on top of the regular insecurity that thrummed beneath your skin as a constant reminder. You didn’t want to go. You didn’t want to see anyone that knew you back then, that can compare the old you to the new you. You could go to Jinkies a thousand times and still have the same uncomfortable pang in your gut about leaving the house.
Mingi helped with your hair, styled it how you liked it while you did your makeup, just dark enough for the dive bar vibe. Upbeat music played throughout your shared space, the three of you mindlessly singing along to your favorite songs as you got ready in your bedroom, a king-sized bed right in the middle, big enough for the three of you.
You’ve never been small. Always taller than your friends, forever standing behind them at concerts so they could see, reaching the things they couldn’t reach, somehow being seen as rougher, more masculine in a strange way, just because you towered over them. Having to do research on the inseam of pants before you bought them, clothes not fitting right, even having a smaller dating pool. Being in a relationship with two tall men was incredible, even better that they were still taller than you, despite it just being an inch or two. Almost face to face with Mingi, Yunho still stood above you both.
They’ve never once been the core of your insecurity. For a long time, it lay dormant, like you locked it away in a box, never to be opened again. Over the years, you’ve had your fair share of not being able to wear heels, slouching your shoulders to appear smaller, but never once with Mingi and Yunho have you needed to shrink any part of yourself. They loved you, every fucking inch of you, loud and proud.
You couldn’t pinpoint when the box had been unlocked, but when you opened it again, it was exploding, overflowing with things that weren’t there when you tucked it away.
You faced your closet, robe tied tight on your waist, heart pounding against your chest.
“Wear the sexy jeans,” Yunho came up behind you, hands on your hips, his cheek pressed to yours. He smelled like your bodywash, clean, still him. You leaned into him, the comfort of his touch, too deep in your head, eyes laying over the denim in your closet– you didn’t know if the sexy jeans were still all that sexy.
But you pulled them out anyway, jumping into them, ignoring how Mingi snickered behind you. After he clasped your bra around your back, you pulled a random black top over your head, immediately reaching for the black bomber jacket you loved. Looking in the mirror, your jaw clenched, you swung the jacket over your shoulders before your thoughts could settle.
“We’re not leaving for awhile yet, baby, if you wanna wait to put your jacket on,” Yunho kisses your head softly as he passes you, going into the bathroom for his cologne.
You meet Mingi’s eye as you pull it closer to your body. He’s studying you always, too in-tune with your emotions, they both are; reading your thoughts before you’ve properly finished them, knowing what's happening in your head just from the look on your face.
“You look so fucking sexy,” he says low, almost under his breath as he crosses the room, pressing his forehead to yours, pushing your jacket off your shoulders. He kisses you as it falls to the floor, his hands reaching for your waist, squeezing you, tongue slipping between your freshly glossed lips.
“Lemme see you,” he mutters against your mouth, taking a step back. His face morphs into pleasure like you’d just taken his cock into your mouth, “God, I’m so fuckin’ lucky. Yunho, come look at our pretty baby, all dolled up for us.”
Yunho, from the doorway to the bathroom, whistles low, “I’ll never get tired of that ass, fuck, don’t know how ‘m gonna keep my hands off you.”
“We could always just stay home,” you’re smiling as you turn your head to see him. “You can keep your hands on me.”
“But you look so pretty,” he pouts, head tilting, so puppy-like it makes your tummy tumble. “I want everyone to see how beautiful my girlfriend is.”
“We wanna show you off,” Mingi pulls you into him and you brace your hands on his chest, giggling. Black tee beneath his zip-up, soon to be paired with a leather jacket on top, he had a hat on his head, hiding his shiny black hair that’s grown longer, touching the base of his neck. Baggy jeans on his legs, crisp sneakers on his feet, he was in his dive-bar uniform.
Yunho’s uniform, loose cargos, an oversized tee, even more oversized flannel, his favorite sneakers on his feet. They were so predictable it made you laugh sometimes.
“Fine,” you press your lips to his, slinging your arms around his neck, “I won’t beg anymore.”
“We’ll only be out a few hours,” Yunho is at your back, hands on your hips, now smelling like warmth, vanilla, woodsy cedar. He presses his lips to your hair again, his favorite place to kiss, anywhere on your head. “You can have a few drinks and remind us what a lil’ tequila does to you.”
You snort, wiggling out of their grip, picking the black jacket up from the floor, “You two will be reminding me what whiskey does to you, after you’ve dapped up the entire fucking town.”
Looking back at them, Yunho’s arms are linked around Mingi’s waist, standing slightly lowered behind him so their cheeks pressed together. You throw a hand on your hip, “Okay, choose a pair of shoes for me.”
The November air outside is fucking freezing, the inside of Jinkies isn’t much better, but its giving you an excuse to hold your jacket close, so you can’t complain. Bodies surround you, people you’ve known for years, people you’ve never met, everyone seems to have eyes on you and it’s already fucking suffocating.
“This is my girlfriend,” Mingi is introducing you to someone from his job with the widest grin on his face, the guy is tall, you think Mingi said his name starts with a J? Structured face, broad build, generally handsome. “And my boyfriend, Yunho.”
You give him a tight-lipped smile, but your eyes dance about the bar, feeling like a sore thumb. Your arms are tucked under your chest, you need a drink, you want to go back home. Mingi laughs from his belly, something J-guy said, Yunho speaks over them to excuse you both with a hand on your lower back.
“Let’s get you a drink,” his eyes are on the crowd, on the flooded bar before you, on alert for a space to slide in, to flag the bartender down. You wished being tucked into his side meant you could cower beneath his height, be invisible amongst the sea of bodies.
Your lips are scrunched to one side, spitting an unhappy mumble, “Make it a double.”
He leans in against the bar, a sliver of space he carved out for himself, he keeps you tucked close to him and raises a brow while he taps his card along the bar. “What’s up with you?”
Your eyes jump up, defensive, “Nothing, just don’t wanna be here.”
He hums, “Mm, something else, something you’re not telling me.”
Your lips smack, “I told you I didn’t wanna come from the jump, Yun.”
Yunho’s eyes are back on Mingi, that possessive streak of his showing in the flex of his jaw. Your eyes glide over to where your boyfriend stood, still laughing at something else J-guy said, his head tilting back, mismatched teeth on display. You watch Yunho watching, his brows a line, eyes squinting as if he could explode the man making his boyfriend laugh with his eyes.
“He’s fine, leave him be,” you say under your breath. “Bring him a drink and he’ll be at your feet.”
Then Yunho’s eyes are on yours again and you feel the irritation behind them, but he doesn’t comment, instead asking, “He’s kinda hot, what’s his name again?”
You shrug, “Don’t care. What’s taking so long?”
“There’s a bar full of people, baby,” he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Have patience.”
You feel like a spoiled brat, arms crossed, foot tapping, not feeling any warmth when your boyfriend kisses your skin. You wished you could tell him it’s not because of him, it’s not because he dragged you here, it is– but it’s more than that. You didn’t want to hear him tell you you’re wrong for feeling this way, that it’s not true, that you’re beautiful.
Truth is, in his eyes, in Mingi’s eyes, you know you’re beautiful. You feel it every single day.
But no one else here is looking at you with rose-colored glasses the way they do.
Yunho’s hand pulls your arms from your chest, unzipping your jacket to slide his arm around your waist, beneath the black leather. His hand hot on your skin, you fix your posture in a quick, startling jump of movement, Yunho flinches before settling his hand where he wants it.
“What’s wrong?” His brows are furrowed now, looking into your fucking soul with those chocolate brown eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Yunho,” you step back. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom, hopefully you’ll have drinks by the time I get back.”
God, you hate acting like this. You hate who your insecurity is turning you into right now, a sharp-tongued asshole taking it out on the wrong person. What you hate the most is that you can’t fucking stop.
The bathroom line isn’t long, girls around you in outfits much too dressy for a dive bar, at least for your tastes. Fresh blowouts, mini-skirts, heeled boots on their feet, it didn’t match the dollar bills stapled to the beams on the ceiling or the vintage pin-ball machine, nor the heavy rock music slamming into your ears or half the men here who wore leather on leather.
They look beautiful, every single one of them. You hate that you’re sour because you don’t look just like them. Standing slouched, shoulders inward, their stomachs still flat, their legs crossed, not a sign of cellulite peeking from beneath their mini-skirts, it was nauseating. They’re younger than you, that you’re sure of, but damn, did you look like that even at their age? You can’t remember, or your mind refuses you even a moment of reprieve.
Your chin tilts upward until your eyes are on the ceiling. It’s jealousy, insecurity, you’re too self-aware for your mind to imprison you like this– it’s utterly and completely unfair.
You listen as they share lip gloss and take pictures with their digital cameras while you’re in the stall, talking about who-kissed-who and who’s-leaving-with-who tonight. Your mouth tastes like bile, so disgustingly jealous it makes you sick, until you leave the bathroom to be met with a face that was last on your list of people to see tonight.
“Oh my God, it’s been so long.” Jihyo, a friend you’ve known since college, one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever known, one of the most beautiful women on the planet, probably. If coming here was lighting a matchstick, seeing her was throwing yourself into the fucking fire.
You give her a tight, short hug, forcing yourself to ignore how tiny she feels in your arms, “Only a few months, I thought.”
Her laughter, her smile, easily found compared to the one plastered on your lips, forced out of your mouth. You can’t imagine the things she’s thinking right now, what disappointed thoughts are on her mind–
“A few months too long, you look fucking incredible,” she gives you a one-over and you’re lucky there isn’t alcohol in your system yet, you might have emptied your stomach right there.
“Shut up,” you shake your head, cheeks beginning to cramp from your fake-ass smile. “You never change. Like, genetically perfect, I think.”
She smacks your arm, giggling, “Please." She tilts her head, "Have you seen Jongho? He’s somewhere around here, I think.”
“Maybe he’s with Yunho or Mingi, they’re up by the bar somewhere.”
“I’m gonna go look for him, I’m in dire need of a cig.”
You part ways easily, you’re praying Yunho has a drink for you. Finding your boyfriends was simple, their heads popping up over everyone else’s, up by the bar where you left one of them. A cocktail in Mingi’s hand, a beer in Yunho’s, a matching cocktail for you in Yunho’s other hand. You could cry from the sheer relief of tequila in your sights.
“There she is,” Mingi’s eyes drape over your figure, hunger incarnate, a brain that’s never not directly in the gutter. “Can’t believe how fucking sexy you look, I need to rip those jeans off of you.”
Ignoring him, you take the clear plastic cup from Yunho’s hand, forgoing the straw as you suck down a few chugs, enough to where both of their eyebrows raise with comedic timing you couldn’t appreciate. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, blinking at them, “What?”
“Nothing,” they respond simultaneously, heads shaking.
“I saw Jihyo.” Your eyes are bouncing around the bar again in self-preservation. “She’s here with Jongho.”
“That means they’re all here,” Yunho’s grin widens, his eyes already leading to the backdoor.
“Shall we go?” Mingi looks at Yunho, then to you, but you both wait for Yunho’s nod before you begin for the lion’s den. You’re chugging down more tequila, waiting patiently for the burn of ease to spread from your tummy to your limbs, needing something to hit before you push the heavy steel door open to the frigid air behind it.
Everyone howls upon seeing your boyfriends, all loud laughs and wide grins, hands smacking together and fists pounding against backs. Everyone greets you kindly, side hugs, kisses pressed to your cheek from the girls, all of whom look stupidly gorgeous. Jongho, Wooyoung, Yeosang, their girlfriends Jihyo, Sana and Tzuyu. San and Jongin, Hongjoong and Seonghwa, it was a spur of the moment family reunion that you didn’t want to be at, but no one would have a clue.
You think Yunho has caught on by now.
How your smile only appears when someone addresses you directly, how you decline each offer of a smoke despite liquor in your system, only adding to the conversation with small, meaningless words. He pulls you inside under the guise of your already-empty drink, long fingers wrapped around your forearm, eyebrows knitted together in concern, “What’s going on with you?”
The music pounds over your words. “I told you I’m fine, Yunho.”
“And I know you’re not,” his voice is harsh, clean-cut, demanding the truth. “Are you just acting like a fucking brat because I dragged you out of the house?”
“No, Yu–”
“We haven’t been out in months, and I wanted to see our friends. I’m asking you for one night, a few hours, and you can’t even give me that?”
Oh, your face burns. Your ears had been dipped in fire. There’s a tightness in your chest that feels inescapable, of embarrassment, of guilt, of genuine fucking sadness that he thinks you’d do that, act like that, just because you weren’t getting your way.
“It’s not that, Yunho, I swear–”
“Then what is it?” He’s reading your face, trying to see into your mind, trying to gauge some kind of truth other than the one he’s concluded on his own.
“Give me your flannel,” you say bluntly, skipping past the explanation, straight to what would make you feel better in the moment. What would ease you enough so you could pretend better.
He blinks at you. You stand your ground, despite your voice cracking, “Give me your flannel, Yunho.”
He’s silent for a second, “Why do you want my–”
“You can wear one of Mingi’s jackets, or mine, I don’t care, just give me the fucking flannel, Yunho.”
His eyebrows furrow, sliding it off his shoulders, you hand him your empty drink as you unzip the bomber, trading your jacket for his flannel; oversized on him, it swallows you. A thick, wool dress your jeans peek out of, it settles half the unease in your tummy, being hidden beneath his clothes.
“Baby, why?” He looks confused, concerned, voice small and curious.
“I felt exposed,” you shrug it off. “This is better.”
Mingi barrels inside, his drink empty too, his grin lazy and stamped on his face like this was the best night of his life. It disappears when he sees the two of you. Your heart churns.
“What goes on?” He asks, brows furrowing, coming in close, looking between the two of you. “Did you come inside to play Dress To Impress? Nice outfit change.”
“No,” you reply instantly, shaking your head, usually you’d laugh, smile, at least. “I just need another drink.”
Yunho seems like he’s still calculating. Blinking, eyes glazed over like he was putting pieces together in his head. After a moment, he looks at Mingi, “We’re leaving.”
Mingi pouts, a whine escaping him, “Why? I was just coming in to get another drink and take a leak.”
“No we’re not,” you shake your head, eyes pleading to Yunho who had already made his decision. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to become a thing, it’s fine. We can stay.”
“What do you mean a thing?” Mingi’s confused now, head bobbing back and forth, “What became a thing? Tell me the thing. Are you okay, baby? Did something happen?”
“It’s fine, Min.” You pull away in the direction of the bar, grabbing Mingi’s wrist to drag him along in escaping the mess you created. “Let’s get another drink.”
“I said we’re going home.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
You hated when he used that voice on you, the edge of dominance, so unyielding and clear your back straightened on command, body stopping mid-movement, heart plummeting to the base of your gut. Like a spell, or maybe you were just a well-trained dog, when Yunho used that voice, you fucking listened.
“Say your goodbyes and get in the car.”
You had tears in your eyes by the time you made it to the passenger’s seat of Yunho’s Acura. Knees touching, hands folded on top of your jacket in your lap, staring out the window, pretending like your guilt wasn’t eating you alive. You don’t know why it bothered you so heavily tonight, something you carry with you all the time, you can’t pinpoint why it made you so ugly tonight out of all nights. You didn’t behave like that usually, you were far better at hiding it, you kept the feelings on a tight leash so this wouldn’t happen.
Mingi hummed along to Yunho’s radio the entire ride home, you weren’t sure if he was oblivious, or waiting for the explosion. You weren’t sure how to get out of this without exposing yourself completely, without telling them the truth. You’ve never really had to lie to them before.
Nervous. You didn’t want to lie, but you didn’t want to tell them the truth, either. Yunho didn’t speak until after he locked your front door behind him.
“Tell me what’s wrong, and be honest. Please.”
He didn’t sound mad. Your eyes peeked up at this, surprise written on your face when you’re met with Yunho who looked upset. Scared. Hurt, even. You couldn’t put your finger on it.
“I just didn’t like my outfit, that’s all,” your voice is shaky, high-pitched. You don’t know when you became such a shit liar.
His hands are on your waist at the obvious deceit, guiding you forward until your back is pressed against Mingi, the three of you conjoined in your foyer, barely inside your apartment yet. His head leans down to press his forehead against yours, his voice soft, “Come on, baby, tell me the truth. I know you like the back of my hand, there’s no point in lying.”
You attempt to swallow down the tightness in your throat that was beginning to crawl up again. Your bottom lip poking out, your voice cracked as you said, “I don’t know how to say it to you.”
His hands slide upward until they’re cupping your cheeks, Mingi’s hands settle on your hips, tucking you inside a bubble of them. The two people who have never made you feel less than, the loves of your fucking life, who love you just as much as you love them. Knowing you could lean on them for support but being too fucking insecure to do it is like two different halves of you fighting, teeth and claws bared.
“I don’t look like Jihyo,” you blurt, and the sob that follows is harsh. The rest is a jumble of words, barely audible from your sobs that rip every syllable apart, but saying it out loud is somehow a weight off your chest. “I don’t look like Jihyo, or Sana, or Tzuyu, or any of those fucking girls in that bar. I don’t look the same as I looked at twenty-two and it makes me sick.”
Yunho’s answer comes after a second of thought, of looking deep into your eyes, after reaching into his well of information about you, telling him how to proceed. “Do you want me to say the shit you know I’m gonna say?”
You shake your head furiously, words rushed, “I know how you feel about me, I know you love me, I know you think I’m beautiful. It just gets to me sometimes.”
Mingi’s hands tighten on your hips, his head pressed to yours, holding you as close as he can without suffocating you. “Can we show you then?”
You sniff, “Huh?”
“Can we show you how much we love you, how beautiful we think you are, instead of telling you?” His breath is hot on your neck, his hands heavy on your hips. Yunho’s still holding your cheeks with pleading eyes like he’d beg you to say yes if he needed to.
Your head starts to shake, a rebuttal on your lips, but Yunho steals the words from your mouth. Lips pressed to yours, he’s rough at first, pulling you down into submission, you fall in line easily, melting into his touch was routine.
“You need this,” he whispers into your mouth, deepening the kiss, tongue slipping past your lips, and already you feel lighter.
Mingi’s head drops into the pocket of your neck, moving your hair out of the way so his lips can find the spot below your ear, “Let us worship you, baby. Show you how much we love this fuckin’ body.”
His hands slide up to your chest, lips attaching to the sensitive spot on your neck, Yunho’s tongue working your mouth open like he’s done a million times before. There’s emotion in Yunho’s kiss, words you don’t want him to say, each one on his tongue that dances with yours.
You sink into them, nails clawing into Yunho’s forearms, back pressed into Mingi’s front as he holds you, kisses your skin like he’s burning his love for you into it. God, you fucking love them, you love them so much it hurts.
“C’mon,” Yunho’s hands were under your ass before you noticed Mingi pulled away, picking you up with a motion much too easy. That alone has your mind short-circuiting, but he kisses you as he walks you to the bedroom, effectively shutting your brain off, a purposeful action.
They crawl on top of you, both of them, four hands in different places. On your cheek, your thigh, your waist, your neck, they take either side of you like they owned halves of you, your partners, your boyfriends, they owned all of you, both of them.
“Smell so fucking good,” Mingi groans into your neck, tongue flattening against your skin. “Wanna eat you.”
“No idea how beautiful this body is,” Yunho’s hand goes for his flannel over your chest. “You have no idea how hard I get just by looking at you, baby.”
You whimper, hips bucking into Mingi’s hand that lays against your thigh. He chuckles into your neck, “We’ll get there, baby, don’t worry. Gonna treat our wife so good tonight.”
Your tummy tumbles at wife, a moan slipping past your lips, they both catch it. Mingi chuckles into your neck, pulling the hand from your thigh to grab you by the chin to face him, “You like that? Being called our wife?”
You nod, brows furrowed, face already blown out in pleasure. Yunho’s smiling as he unbuttons the flannel over your chest, met with the low-cut black top beneath, your chest spilling out of it. “Fuck, we should make you a mommy.”
You clench around nothing, pooling in your panties by now, Mingi drinks up your moan as he presses his lips to yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needed your taste to keep himself focused. Hands splayed across your tummy, your chest, squeezing you through your bra, you didn’t know who’s hands were who’s.
You quickly realized you didn’t care when you were being pulled upward, flannel pushed off your shoulders, top pulled over your head. It was Mingi who unclasped your bra one-handed, he fastened it for you daily, took it off of you daily.
His lips wrapped around your peaked nipple, fingers toying with the other as your head knocked back against the mattress, a harsh hiss of pleasure pushing past your lips. Yunho was already at the button of your jeans, “As much as I love these jeans on you baby, how they make your ass look, how it sways when you walk… shit, I need a picture of you in these.”
“Take one,” you squeak, breathless, back arched under Mingi’s lips on your chest, squealing when his teeth graze your nipple.
“Next weekend,” Yunho commands, dragging your zipper down. “You’ll wear these again, and that strappy lil’ top I love.”
“Fuck,” you huff, hips jerking into his touch.
“So needy,” Yunho tsks. “And you were gonna say no, as if we don’t know what you need.”
“Trust us, baby,” Mingi’s lips move back up your chest, sucking at the skin on the base of your neck. “We know everything about you. Spent years learning and loving this beautiful body, figuring out that insanely intelligent mind of yours.”
“Smart and beautiful,” Yunho’s thumbs tucked into the waistband of your jeans, tugging them over the curve of your ass. “Funny, too. Damn, Min, we really hit the jackpot, huh?”
You can feel the breath of Mingi’s amusement on your neck, “Sexy, smart, funny… pussy tastes so sweet, too. Maybe we will make you a mommy tonight.”
You should be fucking embarrassed at the sound that leaves your lips. Pure, unbridled lust in the form of a strangled moan, everything in you was saying yes, please, do it.
“So wet, these panties are stickin’ to you.” As if Yunho said the trigger word Mingi is pushing himself off your upper half, one veiny hand holding up your thigh, you’re just now noticing he lost his jackets, his hat.
His black tee clinging to him, face pink-kissed and splotchy, his dark eyes dilate as Yunho slides your panties to the side. Mingi’s face morphs in pleasure, both of them groaning, Yunho curses under his breath, “You’re dripping, baby.” His eyes shoot up your body, meeting your gaze, “So fucking beautiful, you wanna be a mommy that bad?”
“Stop saying that,” you mutter, fingers twisting in the comforter beneath you, hips twitching. Mingi keeps you spread, strong fingers under your knee, thigh folded over your tummy. He leans down to throw it over his shoulder, a gasp leaving your lips when his tongue makes contact with your seam, a long, slick stripe between your folds. His moan bleeds into yours and Yunho sighs, sitting back on his calves, eyes glazed over as he watches Mingi between your legs.
“You sound so pretty.” He’s mindlessly speaking, eyes locked on your center, on Mingi’s tongue that flicks over your clit. Your hands are in his long hair, tugging at his roots, staggered breaths and whimpers leaving your lips.
“Taste so fuckin’ good,” Mingi grunts into your core, his breath hot against your folds, you’re squirming at the ghost of his lips on your clit.
Yunho bends down, spreading your legs impossibly farther, as if he wanted your knee to hit the mattress. The stretch feels good with Mingi’s mouth on you, even better as Yunho dips his head in too, two tongues on your cunt, lapping up every ounce of wetness, grunting and groaning like they were doing it for their own pleasure.
“You–” your words come out through short, desperate breaths. “It’s too much.”
Ignoring you, someone’s tongue is inside you, the other’s lips around your clit, sucking, teeth grazing. Your moans grow louder, piercing the air of your shared bedroom, your belly filled with white-hot fire.
“Is our wifey gonna cum already?” Yunho, his voice honey-sweet. “Without anything inside her?”
You nod, eyes slits, so squinted in pleasure you could barely see the two heads between your legs. Mingi’s lips stay wrapped around your clit, sucking harshly as Yunho keeps talking. “You don’t want my finger inside you? Curled just right, against that little spot inside you that makes you see stars?”
“Fuck, Yunho,” your hips are bucking against Mingi’s face, an orgasm you fear the intensity of on the brink of exploding. “‘m gonna cum.”
“Gonna cum on Mingi’s tongue? You want his fingers inside you, then? They’re thicker than mine, y'know, almost the size of that pink toy in the drawer…”
He’s teasing you and your body ignites, tummy churning, body locking up, he smiles. His long, middle finger prods your entrance, beneath Mingi’s tongue, curling in the way he said he would, the slight pressure against that spot inside you has you squeezing around his finger, pleasure exploding in your tummy, legs shaking as it spreads throughout each limb, every nerve ending.
“So good for us,” Yunho’s praise keeps your hips twitching, waves of pleasure exploding beneath your skin. “So fuckin’ good, our good girl, there you go.”
He adds another finger, moving now, thrusting up inside you with a curve to his knuckle that has you seeing stars. Overstimulation hitting, you panic, nails clawing at his forearm, “Yunho!”
Mingi breaks off your clit with a pop, licking his lips, watching how you gush around Yunho’s fingers with dilated, focused eyes. “Make her cum again, just like that.”
Mingi’s forearm holds down your hips, adding pressure on your lower tummy, the sounds that ripped from your gut were obscene. Guttural cries, not pretty ones, a song of how overwhelming it was to have your orgasm never truly end, cunt clenching around his fingers, pulsing and gushing against him.
“You can do it, baby,” Mingi encourages, Yunho’s brows locked in focus. “C’mon, give us another. Wanna see you all messy.”
“Shit– shit.” The weight of Mingi’s arm on your tummy, pressed against where Yunho’s fingers curved inside of you, was too much. The pressure was too heavy. “I can’t,” you’re shaking your head, voice high-pitched, “I can’t, I can’t–”
“Let go,” Mingi’s voice is low, soaked in greed. “Let go for us, let yourself feel it, let us show you how much we love you.”
“Love you so fucking much,” Yunho’s gasping, in awe at how their words make you clench. “Wanna taste it, one more, c’mon.”
Your fingers dig into Mingi’s arm over your tummy as the pressure blows again, this one just as intense as the first, if not more, your vision whiting out as Yunho’s fingers work you through the eruption of scalding pleasure.
“Fuck,” Mingi’s groan is edged with need. “I’m so fucking hard.”
“Thought you were just a painslut, baby,” Yunho pops his fingers into his mouth when the aftershocks subsided. “Didn’t think praise got you off like that, too.”
“Situational,” Mingi’s short reply is filled with amusement as he crawls up your twitching, spent body, hands immediately landing on your hips, squeezing your skin as his tongue sloppily slides into your mouth.
“Need to be inside you,” he mumbles into your lips. “Need to feel you clenching around me.”
Yunho’s behind him, pulling him upward to tug his shirt over his head, grabbing him by the throat to turn his head to the side, attaching their lips like they’d been waiting for this all night. Mingi sinks into his hips, head craning while Yunho’s hands splay across his stomach, sliding upward, halting just to flick at his nipples.
Mingi moans into his mouth and Yunho’s hands drop again to palm him through his jeans, unbuttoning them, pulling the zipper town, dropping the denim just enough so his brief-covered cock pokes out. Your mouth waters, heat flooding you all over again as you watch Mingi’s body arch and twitch under Yunho’s long fingers, strong hands.
Yours. The reminder was still dizzying.
Mingi moans as Yunho pulls his cock out, giving it a few harsh tugs, the crimson tip leaking with precum, just enough for Yunho to smear along his length, twisting his wrist. Your hand drops between your legs, rubbing at your clit softly, overstimulation still thrumming in the bundle of nerves.
“So fucking big,” you mumble mindlessly, lips parted, your other hand toying with one of your nipples.
Yunho’s eyes open to watch you, smirk tugging at his lips, “You want it? Want him inside you, baby?”
“Wanna be full,” you don’t meet his eye, gaze locked on Mingi’s clenching abdomen, how Yunho expertly fists his cock. “Want both of you, need both of you inside.”
Yunho’s brows raise, even Mingi’s eyes widen at that. Mingi reiterates, “Both of us?”
As if it were the first time. You nod, floaty, “Mhm.”
Yunho lets Mingi go to undress himself, Mingi kicks his pants off his feet as he pulls you toward him by your ankles, your ass almost meeting his knees. Kneeling, he pulls you up by your wrists until you have your own legs tucked under you, easily picking you up onto his lap. “God, this body is so fucking sexy, baby. Can’t wait to fill you up, make your belly all plump.”
You whine, forehead falling onto his shoulder, “Stop saying that.”
“Why would I when it makes your pussy so creamy?” He’s smiling, smirking, you can hear it in his voice. “You wanna be nice n’ full just as bad, don’t you? Want me to fuck you full of my kids?”
“Holy shit,” you mumble under your breath, body twitching in his hold while he explores every inch of your exposed skin, fingers following every line, every curve, each touch imprinting his love for you.
“It’s okay, baby,” he kisses the side of your head. “Don’t be embarrassed. Sit on my cock, lemme fill you up, c’mon.”
He grabs at the skin of your ass to move you, lining you up with his cock, you hold onto his shoulders for leverage as his tip catches on your entrance, a choked moan already tumbling from your lips.
“Haven’t even put it in yet and you’re moaning like a bitch in heat,” he teases, catching your lips in a quick kiss. “You gonna survive Yunho, too?”
Yunho’s warm hands are on your hips, his presence behind you like a shadow, guiding you down onto Mingi’s length. The air punches from your lungs in a tight squeak, he’s so fucking big, he fills you up so perfectly, the feeling is dizzying.
Yunho’s lips are on your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin as Mingi bottoms out, sheathed inside you deliciously. Your breath catches in your throat, tight, heat flooding every sense, every limb, tears swell in your waterline.
“Crying already,” Mingi’s talking to Yunho, his voice tight. “Pretty baby wants two cocks and can’t even handle one.”
You clench and he hisses, Yunho chuckles from behind you. “You can’t handle her pussy, either.”
“Let’s see how you fare balls-deep in her ass,” Mingi bites back and you’re swimming, mind fuzzy while they talk about you like you’re not there. Not human. Just theirs, to take, to bend, to fill, you didn’t have to think if you didn’t want to. You didn’t need to.
You start moving, pleasure-soaked whimpers escaping as you bounce along the length of his cock, head falling forward onto Mingi’s shoulder again. You can hear the bottle of lube open behind you, but you pay no mind; the sound of Yunho slicking up his fingers, his cock, it's all above what your brain can materialize.
It was just you, feeling so full, feeling so loved, Mingi’s cock buried inside of you, curved to drag against the spot inside you, you’re babbling into his shoulder. “So fucking good, Mingi, I love you, I love you.”
Yunho’s coated finger swirls around your entrance and you’re arching at the feeling, body a livewire, he’s pressed to your back in a moment. “Color,” he orders, and the strike of dominance has you searching your mind for structure, you weren’t in a scene, but he could tell your mind was going fuzzy.
“Green,” you find clarity, the system you’ve put into place years ago slamming into the forefront of your mind.
“Good, breathe,” he reminds you, fingertip prodding at your entrance, you suck in a deep breath, clenching around Mingi’s length. “My good girl, just breathe,” his chin is tucked into your neck, his other hand moving your hair out of the way, fingers pulling strands from your temple, your cheek. His lips press against your jaw as you suck down a breath, he sinks his finger deeper as you exhale, the sound verbal, laced with a cry. “Let me in, baby. You know what to do, you can stop thinking soon, I promise.”
Your eyes flutter closed, nails drawing crescents into Mingi’s shoulders, jaw slack as you try to remember. Letting your body relax, to be open for him, pliant, he hums into your neck. “Just like that, good girl, doing so, so good for me. Love this body, love what she can do for me, look at you.”
“So fucking beautiful, holy shit,” Mingi’s praise is added to the mix and you’re pushing against Yunho’s finger, taking him deeper, silently asking for more. Yunho adds another and you’re keeling, body shaking, if it weren’t for Mingi’s strong hands on your hips you’d be jelly. His cock jumps inside you and he hisses, fingers squeezing the plush on your sides, “‘m sorry baby, fuck, you’re so wet, feels so fucking good.”
You hum, it’s all you can manage, so full, so brainless. You use the last bit of your strength to utter, “More.”
Yunho moves his fingers and you can hear how slick you are around Mingi’s cock, grinding against him so dirty, meeting Yunho’s thrusts, Mingi’s whining into your ear. “Fuck, fuck, so tight, so wet. I don’t know if I can last like this.”
“You can,” Yunho breathes. “You will. You don’t cum until I say so.”
Mingi’s hips buck into you and a strained noise escapes you. He curses, voice taut, ragged with pleasure, “Feels so fucking good, Yunho, she feels so good.”
“I know baby,” Yunho leans over your shoulder to find Mingi’s lips in a messy kiss. “You can do it, I won’t last long inside, either. Body fuckin’ carved for us, made for us to fill.”
You’re alight again, pulsing against them, moving faster, taking them deeper. They both moan, cradling you between them, but Yunho speaks, “Ready for my cock? You want it?” You nod, nonsensical babbles uttered from your lips, and Yunho laughs. “Oh, she’s gone. I’ll fill you up, baby.”
His fingers leave your ass and you clench again, impatience on your tongue, fingertips drumming along Mingi’s skin. Yunho lines himself up and you hold your breath instinctively, bracing yourself, he reminds you with a light smack to your hip to breathe.
You choke on a moan as he begins pushing inside, colorful words ripped from your throat at the stretch, Mingi already so deep inside you, Yunho’s full length meeting him, a thin wall separating them. They’re both groaning, staggered breaths of pleasure, curses, your sounds blend together in the open air of your bedroom, a song of coinjointness; it was a beautiful feeling, the three of you connected so deeply, you didn’t know where one of you began and the other started anymore, it was the best you’ve ever felt.
Nothing could ever feel better than this.
“I love you,” you’re whispering, croaking. “Fuck, I love you.”
Mingi catches your lips as Yunho casts his love into your back, lips pressed to your skin as he starts moving. Mingi moving with him, you’re suspended between them for the taking, whatever they wanted, you’d give them. You trust them. You love them.
“So tight,” you’ve never heard Yunho so out of it, his voice lagged, layered with pleasure and awe.
“I can feel you,” Mingi’s gasping, tongue swiping along your bottom lip. “You feel so good, you both feel so good, ‘m close.”
They pick up speed, finding a rhythm with one another, you at their mercy, taking it all. You lean back into Yunho’s chest and his lips find your mouth, cock splintering inside you as he licks inside your mouth, Mingi’s lips finding your chest. You feel the curl of heat then, a greater pressure, pushing against their cocks like you wanted them out. You needed them to stay in.
“She’s close,” Mingi uttered, tongue held straight out to flick against your nipple that bounced with your body, knowing your body all too well. Yunho breaks away from your mouth to slide his palm over your throat, without pressure, keeping you steady.
“So am I,” Yunho replies, sounding ragged, close to the edge. “Want us to fill you up, baby? Wanna be so full of us?”
Your eyes open to Mingi smiling, “Want me to make you a mommy? Fill this lil’ pussy up?”
Your face contorts in pleasure, mouth opening without sound. His face matches yours, but he keeps talking, “You want it, don’t you? Want your tummy so pretty n’ round, fuck– so sexy, so pregnant, wanna see your pussy dripping with my cum, tell me you want it, baby–”
“Fill me up,” your words are slurred, tasting your orgasm on your tongue. “Yes, give it to me. Give me a baby, give me more, fill me up.”
Yunho’s grunt is obscenely lewd, “Fuck, you two are insane. I’m gonna cum, cum with me, please, c’mon.”
The pressure blows, tears streaking your cheeks as you slide limply forward, slugging against Mingi’s chest, both of their names a cry on your lips. Mingi keeps a strong arm around your back as he fucks you through it, his hips staggered, Yunho’s skin slapping against yours with such strength you’re slamming into Mingi, at their mercy completely.
“I’m cumming,” Mingi says in a whimper, hips rocking into you, fucking himself through it, prolonging your orgasm as he fills you with warmth, long ropes of his release, drool dribbling out of his mouth onto your shoulder.
Yunho’s right behind him, a strained moan leaving him that only escapes when he’s finishing, emptying himself inside you, hips slowing down as he fucks himself through it. He leans forward just to lick up the drool that slipped from Mingi’s mouth, his tongue on your back makes you shudder.
They’re quick to pull out, to lay you flat on your back, to assess your body like they’d done open heart surgery. You’re swallowing down nothing, licking your dry lips, mind fuzzy, so in love as you stare at them hovering over you, concern mixed within the sweat on their brows.
Praise is a waterfall from their mouths, a mantra of you did so fucking good, you’re so beautiful, I love you, you took us so well… You’re smiling, a lazy, tired grin, reaching for them, they nuzzle up to you as soon as your arms move.
One on your left, the other on your right, both facing you, bodies so fucking hot you almost hate it, but their closeness makes you smile. You’re safe between them, your partners, your boyfriends, who always take care of you. They’d do anything to make you happy. They’d do anything to make you feel better.
You finally talk after a long while, finding solace in Yunho’s fingers dancing along your tummy, Mingi’s face pressed into your hair. “Since when do you want me pregnant?”
Mingi snorts, Yunho huffs amusement through his nose. Mingi responds, voice loud in your ear from his closeness, “Six kids, three by both of us. Three boys, three girls.”
Yours and Yunho’s heads both turn, blinking at him, surprise on both of your faces. Mingi giggles, rolling onto his back, “I’m just kidding, geez.”
It makes you laugh, an ache in your sore abdomen, their cum leaks at the clench of your muscles. You gasp, hips arching before it meets your baby pinkl comforter, rolling over onto Yunho’s leg, “I’m leaking, please carry me.”
“The comforter’s already ruined,” Yunho scoops you up into his arms. “I’ll change it while you’re in the shower.”
“No,” you cling to him, arms around his neck as he wraps a strong arm under your knees. “Stay with me. Don’t go.”
Mingi follows you in, your second shared shower of the day, letting the steaming water melt off the embarrassment and shame you felt earlier, basking in the warmth of both of them holding you, washing you, their hands on you. There was love in every touch, appreciation in each stroke of their fingers, in how they massaged your head, lathered up your supple skin, kissed you in between movements. The shower was quiet, silent, but there wasn’t a need for words, for reassurance. Their presence, their touch was enough.
They love you just as you are, you didn’t need anyone else to see you how they saw you. You needed them, and them only, and they needed you, too.
Jeong Yunho is the human equivalent of a system crash. A 6’2” wreck of stuttered sentences, fogged-up glasses, and nerves he can’t outgrow. He has spent his first year of college trying to be invisible. He’s a tactical genius on screen, but on campus, he can barely survive a three-word greeting without his voice cracking. He tries to start a Gaming Club in a basement that smells like dust and dump.
When a pack of “Mean Girls” turns his recruitment drive into a public execution, you step in. You lie. You improvise. You claim you’re his pro-tier controller—his star recruit.
Now you learn the hard way: Rule #1 of saving a cute nerd from bullies is this—don’t claim you’re an expert in a game you’ve never played.
➢ gamer!yunho x fem!reader | ➢ collage au, romance, strangers to lovers, slice of life | ➢ mdni, anxiety, imposter syndrome, substance use | ➢ ~30k | ➢ this is my humble contribution to LIVE ALIVE! collab, dear @sungbeam thank you for letting me be a part of this! ♡ | ➢ part two of three | ➢ part one
Fridays were a cruel joke played by the university registrar. Your timetable was stacked from noon to evening with the kind of back-to-back misery that left you with no time to eat, barely enough time to breathe, and zero patience for the fluorescent-lit purgatory of the building. You were currently dragging your heels toward your last lecture with Professor Lee. She was a woman who seemed to view your existence as a personal insult; a woman who would pick up on you if you breathed too loud or blinked at the wrong tempo. You were five minutes late, your brain was a slurry of 4:00 AM callouts and caffeine-induced regret, and the thermos of coffee Wooyoung had prepared sat forgotten on your kitchen counter like a tiny, lukewarm betrayal.
Then, your phone buzzed.
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: ATTENTION. WE ARE A REAL ENTITY NOW. I HAVE THE STAMPED FORMS.
You stopped dead in the middle of the corridor. A group of freshmen swerved around you, but you didn’t notice.
You: registered like… legally?
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: LEGALLY.
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: As in, with the University Council. Golden_Retriever_Yunho: As in, there is now an OFFICIAL Strategic Digital Coordination Club.
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: I have a stamp!
Your brain struggled to process the concept of Yunho navigating campus bureaucracy without spontaneously combusting from the stress.
StarHwa_04: Yunnie, please stop typing in all caps. You’re announcing a club, not a declaration of war.
You: how did you even pull that off?
StarHwa_04: I did the talking. Yunho held the forms and tried to look ‘sturdy.’ Mingi threatened his friend who works around the library into joining as the 5th member.
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: BUT IT WORKED!
You: proud of you, captain! 🖤
There was a beat of silence long enough that you could practically see the crimson flush creeping up Yunho’s neck in real-time.
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: Don’t—
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: Don’t call me that when I’m in public. I mean. You can. But like. Respectfully. Professionally.
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: ANYWAY.
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: THEY GAVE US A ROOM.
You: ok. where?
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: IN THE BASEMENT.
You: the basement like… storage?
FixOn_Mingi: basement room is CRAZY. we’re literally a side quest.
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: Basement like “tactically isolated.”
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: Basement like “zero windows.”
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: Basement like “the faculty looked at us and said: Yes. Put the gamers where the sunlight cannot reach them.”
FixOn_Mingi: please let me call it a level zero.
Your mouth twitched. You glanced at the door to Lee’s classroom. You could hear her shrill voice already beginning the roll call. The thought of sitting in there for ninety minutes was physically painful.
You: they put us in gamer jail.
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: IT’S NOT A LEVEL ZERO!
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: IT’S NOT JAIL!
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: I’m heading there now to check the Ethernet ports. Is... is anyone around? I don’t want to be the only one there if the lights flicker.
FixOn_Mingi: Can’t make it. I started my shift earlier today.
FixOn_Mingi: Celebratory beer on me later? Come around 8:30. I should be done by then.
StarHwa_04: I’m tutoring that cute guy in 15, but I can make it to The Abbys later.
You looked at the classroom door one last time. Screw it. If Lee wanted to fail you for breathing, you might as well give her a reason. You spun on your heel and headed for the stairs.
You: i’m skipping. send the room number.
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: You’re skipping? For the club?
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: That’s… highly irresponsible.
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: (B-12. I’m actually terrified of this hallway.)
The basement of the Science Building was a labyrinth of exposed pipes and flickering industrial lights that hummed at a frequency designed to induce a migraine. You followed the yellowing signs until you reached a heavy, reinforced steel door with a small, wired-glass window.
B-12.
You pushed the door open. It creaked with the weight of a century’s worth of neglect, making the man inside flinch. The room was small—a concrete cube that felt like a bunker. Yunho had already claimed the space. He’d shoved the dusty old desks into a perimeter, leaving a wide open space in the middle. He was standing at the far wall, a piece of painter’s tape between his teeth, holding up a massive, hand-drawn map that he’d clearly brought with him. He looked up as the heavy metal door groaned shut behind you, the sound echoing off the concrete like a final judgment. In the dim, fluorescent flicker of the basement, his glasses caught a sharp, clinical glint.
For a second, neither of you moved. Yunho’s stare snagged on you like a hook. You watched it happen in real-time—the tactical assessment being overwritten by total sensory overload. His pupils widened behind his lenses, his mouth opening just a fraction, before his entire face flushed a shade of crimson so deep it looked like it hurt.
“H—hi,” he managed. The word came out far too thin for a man of his stature. The painter’s tape stuck to his thumb, tugging at the skin but he didn’t even notice. He was too busy trying not to blue-screen. You should have gone cold. You should have kept your shoulders squared and let the Viper rasp settle in your throat. Instead, you felt your stomach do a slow, humiliating flip.
Oh no.
You hadn’t seen him up close in days. You’d heard the Captain in Discord—all frantic, careful bursts of leadership and coordination—but this was different. In person, he was all long limbs and nervous energy, a shy soul stretched into a body far too large for its own comfort. His hoodie sleeves were pushed back to his forearms, hands smudged with ink, and that faint crease of concentration between his brows. “I—uh.” Yunho swallowed, his eyes flicking to your boots, then back to your face like it was a physical trial to hold your gaze. “Y—you came.” It sounded like he didn’t fully trust the universe to be kind enough to make it a reality.
“I said I would,” you replied, voice came out normal. No bored rasp. No monster’s purr. Just you. The realization hit you with a rush of heat. You were dropping the act without even meaning to. You were tired, you were real, and the thought of performing for him—of being that sharp, distant thing—suddenly felt like a weight you didn’t want to carry.
Yunho blinked fast, as if he’d been bracing for a blade and got a hand instead. “O—okay,” he stammered, his grip on the tape tightening until his knuckles went pale. “G—great. Great. Um. This is—this is B-12.” He gestured vaguely at the room, as if the concrete cube needed a formal introduction. “It’s… it’s kind of a dungeon. But, uh—” His eyes darted to the overhead lights. “They don’t flicker,” he blurted, far too loud for the small space. Then, as if realizing he’d sounded too eager, his shoulders hiked up toward his ears. “I— I checked,” he added quickly, his voice pitching up. “For the future meetings. N-not because I… I mean, I don’t mind flickering. It’s fine. I’m sturdy.” You stared at him. He stared back for half a heartbeat before his gaze crashed to the floor like it had taken massive fall damage.
Something warm and awful softened behind your ribs.
He’s trying so hard.
And the worst part was… it was working. Not the club—the club was a basement and a stamp held together by desperation. It was him. Standing tall on purpose. Standing tall for the club. Maybe even for you.
“Your glasses,” you said before you could stop yourself.
Yunho froze. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach up and check if they were still there. “M-my—” He cleared his throat. “They’re… they’re okay.”
They weren’t. You could see it now—the frame was slightly warped at the hinge, not enough to scream broken, but enough to whisper it whenever the light hit the plastic. One lens looked newer than the other, replaced in a hurry. He followed your stare and flushed even deeper. “I fixed them,” he said, too fast. “W-well. Seonghwa went with me to get the lens replaced. I just— He did the… the talking. I was… moral support.”
“Moral support,” you echoed.
Yunho nodded like that was a perfectly legitimate job title. “I was very sturdy,” he added, his voice small. Your mouth twitched. The urge to smile was a physical ache. Don’t. If you smiled, Viper was dead. If you smiled, you’d show him exactly how easy it was for him to get under your skin. But then Yunho glanced up again, and his eyes caught yours for a full heartbeat. There was something in them that wasn’t gamer-panic. It was gratitude. And a cautious, terrified kind of hope.
“Can I help?” you asked.
His whole body flinched. Then he nodded so hard it was almost violent. “Y-yes. Yes. I mean—if you want. You don’t have to. You’re—” he swallowed, his voice cracking, “—you’re… you’re very high value.”
You blinked. “What?”
Yunho went crimson. “I—” he squeaked. “Not like— not like that. I mean like—like in team comp! Meta-wise!” His hands flew up, gesturing at nothing. “I just mean you’re… important. A-and I don’t want you to— to touch dusty desks if you don’t—” He stopped, stared at the tape like it might tell him how to be a human being again. You watched him, and the feeling in your chest deepened into something reckless. Something too soft.
You stepped closer—close enough to smell faint detergent on his hoodie and see the tiny freckles near the bridge of his nose. He inhaled sharply, like you’d invaded a boundary he didn’t know he’d set.
“I can handle dust,” you said. “I’m not made of glass.”
Yunho’s eyes flicked to your boots again. The corner of his mouth tugged, barely there. “Y-yeah,” he whispered. “You… you look like you could fight a vacuum cleaner.” It was so specific. So stupid. And it made your heart do something it had no business doing.
“Okay,” you said, reaching for the edge of the map he was trying to tape up. “Tell me what goes where, Captain.”
The word landed. Yunho made a noise that was half-choke, half-whimper. “D-don’t,” he breathed, looking at the floor as if it held a new, limited skin for his favourite gun. “N-not like that. Not when you’re—here. In person.” You held the map steady anyway, and in the fluorescent hum of Level Zero, you realized you would do a lot of things just to keep him blushing like that.
The basement was too quiet. The only sound was the sticky schlick of the painter’s tape as you helped him secure the map to the concrete wall. Yunho was standing so close that every time he reached up, his arm brushed against your shoulder. Each contact sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with the static electricity of the room.
“So,” Yunho started, his voice still small, still careful. He smoothed down a corner of the paper with a trembling thumb. “I was thinking… I realized I don’t actually know that much about you. Outside of the, uh, the absolute carnage you cause when protecting the Spike.”
Your heart did a panicked stutter-step. “What’s there to know? I play. I win.”
“No, I mean…” He finally looked at you. Not a glance, but a real look—full of that earnest, terrifying curiosity that made him so dangerous. “When did you even start? To get that good, you must have been playing since the beta, right? Or did you come from another tactical shooter? Your crosshair placement… It's like it’s muscle memory.”
You felt the cold sweat prickle at your hairline. Muscle memory. Yeah, Wooyoung’s muscle memory. “I’ve been around,” you said, trying to find that edge, but it felt flimsy in the face of his sincerity. “A long time. I don’t really keep track of the years.”
Yunho nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on yours. “It shows. You play like... like you’re not even thinking. Like the gun is just an extension of your hand.” He stopped, his face going a shade darker. “Anyway. I—I actually got you something. Um… For the club. To—to welcome you properly.” He turned away, reaching into a worn-out, grey backpack with a few, colourful pins, that sat on one of the dusty desks. He fumbled with the zipper, his nervousness making his movements jerky. When he turned back, he was holding a small box.
LOGITECH G Pro X Superlight 2.
You’d seen that box before. Not this exact one—this one was new, uncreased like it hadn’t been carried around in someone’s backpack for three days while they worked up the nerve. Wooyoung had dragged you out for coffee once, months ago, on a day he’d been too fried to queue. He’d pretended it was casual. Just caffeine. Just air. Just not being in your room for a second.
On the way back, he’d “accidentally” detoured. You’d followed into the electronic store because you always did, because Wooyoung was easier to deal with when he was moving, talking, and filling the silence with noise. He’d picked up the Superlight 2 like it was holy. Turned the box over. Read the specs like scripture. His fingers had hovered near the price tag, then jerked back like it might bite, then he’d put it down carefully, like setting something alive back into a cage. You remembered the way his mouth had tightened after, the way he’d kept walking faster through the aisles like he could outrun wanting. You had even thought—just for a second—about buying it for him for his birthday. You’d even opened the tab later that evening. You’d stared at the total until your eyes went dry. You’d done the math twice like the numbers might feel pity and change.
Two weeks of groceries.
You’d closed the page.
“Yunho,” you breathed, his name slipping out before you could catch it.
“I noticed that your tracking was a little... jittery,” he said, his voice gaining a tiny spark of confidence as he talked tech. This was his safe space. “I thought maybe your sensor was spinning out. This one has the HERO 25K sensor. It’s... it’s the best. I wanted you to have the best.” He held it out, his hand trembling so much the box rattled.
You took it, your fingers brushing his softly, on purpose. He inhaled sharply, but he didn’t pull away, instead he smiled. “You shouldn’t have,” you whispered, and for once, you weren’t acting. “This is too much.”
“It’s not,” he said firmly, his eyes dropping to the box in your hands. “If you’re not performing at a hundred percent, the whole team... I... I fail.” He cleared his throat, stepping even closer. The smell of his lavender detergent, and a woodsy cologne wrapped around you. “Do you—do you want to try it? One of the computers was already set up on that station over there. I already downloaded the game.” He led you to the desk. The monitor hummed, the university logo moving on the screen. He pulled out the chair for you—a gentlemanly gesture that felt absurd in a concrete basement. “Back home I put mine at 800 DPI with a 0.35 in-game sens,” he said, leaning over you as you sat down. His chest was inches from your shoulder. “But that’s like the standard for entry-fraggers.”
You stared at the screen. You didn’t even know what DPI stood for. You knew Wooyoung moved his mouse a lot, but the numbers were a foreign language. “I... I actually play on a higher sens,” you lied, your voice tight.
Yunho paused. You could see the gears turning in his head—the tactical brain battling the Smitten Boy. No pro plays entry-fragger on high sens, his brain was likely screaming. It ruins accuracy. He looked at you and saw your bottom lip tremble slightly, noticing how you were gripping the mouse like it might bite you. “Right,” he whispered, his voice softening. “High sensitivity. For the... flick-shots. It makes sense. It’s... unconventional. Just like you.” He reached down, his large, warm hand covering yours on the mouse. His skin was slightly rough, his touch hesitant but lingering. “Here,” his breath was warm against your ear, and you couldn’t help the shiver creeping up your neck. “Let’s just... calibrate the polling rate. We’ll find your sweet spot.” He moved your hand across the pad but you weren’t focusing on the cursor. You were looking at the way his veins stood out on the back of his hand, the way his thumb tucked perfectly against your knuckles. “Is that better?”
“Yes,” you lied, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Perfect.” In that moment the lie felt like a wall between you. But as Yunho smiled—a real one that reached his eyes—you realized you’d rather live in the lie than lose the way he was looking at you right now. You pulled your hand back, the skin where he’d touched you feeling unnaturally, annoyingly warm. The “perfect” hung in the air, a flat-out lie with a bitter taste. You needed to move. If you stayed in this chair, under his gaze, the Radiant Rank would eventually see through the act. “Anyway,” you said, pushing the chair back with a sharp scrape against the concrete. “Settings are fine. Great, even. But if this is a club and not just a shrine to high-latency headsets, we should probably get to work! Where’s the rest of that tape?”
Yunho blinked, the sudden shift in energy clearly jarring his processor. He looked at the empty space where your hand had been, then up at you, his expression softening from intense focus to something more... vulnerable. “Right. The tape. Sorry.” He handed you the roll, but he didn’t step back into his own personal bubble. He stayed in yours. “I didn’t mean to corner you. I just—We’ve spent so much time on Discord that actually having you here... it’s like seeing a legend step out of the screen.”
You felt a pang of nausea. Legend. “I’m just a person, Yunho,” you said, and your voice was a little more on the Viper side than you intended—sharp, defensive. “Don’t put me on a pedestal. It’s a long way down when I fall.”
Yunho went quiet. The fluorescent light hummed above you, filling the silence. He looked at the roll of tape in your hand, then finally, he looked at your face—not like a fan, and not like a captain. “That’s the thing, though,” he whispered. “Everyone talks about your aim. Even Mingi won’t shut up about your headshot percentage. But since you walked in here... that’s not what I’ve been noticing.”
You froze, your fingers catching on the sticky edge of the tape. “Oh?”
“You’re really patient,” he stated and it wasn’t a “gamer” compliment anymore. It was an observation of you. “I’ve been stuttering and tripping over my own feet for twenty minutes. Most people—most ‘high value’ players—would have walked out or made a joke at my expense. But you just... you stood here. You helped with the map. And back then, in the quad, you looked at my broken glasses like they were something worth fixing, not something to laugh at.” He reached up, nervously adjusting the warped hinge of his frames. “I think... I think you’re a lot kinder than the person you pretend to be online. And I like that version of you better.” It was the ultimate irony: he was falling for your kindness—the one part of you that wasn’t a lie—while believing that kindness was just a hidden layer of the gamer he admired.
“Yunho,” you started but your voice cracked, exposing how truly nervous you were.
“I’ll go get the chairs from the hallway,” he blurted out, his blush returning in full force as if he’d just realized how much he’d said. “You stay here! Don’t... don’t lift anything heavy. You’re the MVP. I’m the—the manual labor.” He practically scrambled toward the door, nearly tripping over a stack of empty boxes on his way out.
You stood alone in the middle of B-12, holding a tape and a heart that was starting to feel far too heavy for the secret you were carrying. The heavy door groaned open again, snapping you back to reality and Yunho reappeared, balancing two mismatched rolling chairs and a stack of foam padding. He looked like a human Jenga tower, his chin hooked over the top of the padding to keep it from sliding.
“I... I got the ‘ergonomic’ ones,” he panted, setting them down. “Well, they were ergonomic in 2012. Now they just kind of... lean to the left. I’ll give you the one that doesn’t squeak.”
“I’ll take the squeaky one,” you said, reaching out to help him steady a desk that started shaking under the foam padding. It the looked like it was held together only by hope and wood glue. “It’ll keep me awake during the long rounds.” He laughed breathlessly, his shoulders dropping from his ears for the first time. Together, you slid the desk into the corner, the metal legs scraping against the floor
Once the desk was stable, Yunho started cable-managing the old monitor with the kind of reverence usually reserved for holy relics. Without looking up, he asked, “So... why Viper?”
You paused, your hand resting on the back of the chair. “What do you mean?”
“The agent,” he clarified, finally glancing at you through his warped glasses. “Most people with your mechanical skill play Geko or Reyna. They want the glory, and flashy kills. But you... you play the controller. You play the one who hides behind smoke and acid. You play the one who controls the environment so no one can see what’s actually happening.”
He looped a zip-tie around a cluster of wires, his fingers precise, skilful. “It’s a lonely way to play. Effective, but lonely. I always wondered if you picked her because you like being the one in control, or if you just like having a wall between you and everyone else.”
The question felt heavy. He wasn’t just talking about a video game; he was accidentally dissecting your entire life. You weren’t Viper because of the “meta”—you were Viper because Wooyoung was the one with his hand on the mouse, and the “Toxic Screen” was the only thing keeping Yunho from seeing that you were a fraud. “She’s misunderstood,” you said, the words feeling dangerously close to a confession. “Everyone thinks she’s the villain because she uses poison. But she’s just trying to survive in a game where everyone else has superpowers and she only has her chemistry. She has to create her own cover because if the smoke clears... she’s vulnerable.”
Yunho stopped working. He stood up slowly, his height looming over the desk, but his expression was soft, almost pained. “If the smoke clears,” he repeated quietly, stepping toward you, the distance between you shrinking. “You know, in the lore, Viper says she’s a monster. But when I watch you play... I don’t see a monster. I see someone who’s protecting her team.” He reached out, his hand hovering near the sleeve of your shirt, not quite touching but close enough that you felt the heat. “You don’t need the walls in here, you know? In B-12. You don’t have to be the ‘monster’ for us.”
You looked up at him—at the messy blonde hair, and the unwavering devotion in his eyes. He was offering you a safe place, unaware that the walls you had built were the only thing keeping him from hating you. “I’m used to the smoke, Captain,” you whispered, trying your best to give him a smile, but it came out as a grimace. “I don’t know if I know how to play without it.”
“Then we’ll just stay in the smoke together.” With that his fingers flinched, pulling back and clenching hard into the dark fabric of his sleeve. He looked like he was fighting a war with himself, his knuckles white against the ink-smudged skin of his hands. “And for the record?” He let out a shaky, self-deprecating laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze dropped, landing on your lips for a heartbeat—long enough for your breath to catch—before snapping back to your eyes with a startle, “Viper is... she’s iconic. But at the end of the day, she’s just a bunch of pixels on a screen.” He paused, his voice cracking on the next word, turning small and raw. “I think the girl standing in front of me is… I think you are... devastating. In person. Without the mask.” You wanted to flinch, to look away, to tell him that the girl he was looking at was the biggest pixelated lie of all. But his eyes were so earnest, so terrifyingly steady behind his warped glasses, that you were pinned to the spot. “You’re... you're really pretty, Y/N,” he whispered, the compliment sounding less like flattery and more like a confession he hadn’t meant to let slip. “And I’m—I’m really glad you joined us.”
The air in B-12 was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Yunho was standing in front of you, radiating heat, his gaze fixed on you with a sincerity that felt like he had touched you. The silence stretched. Five seconds. Ten. You were looking up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs, waiting for the movie-moment. But Yunho wasn’t a movie character. He was a guy who’d just spent his entire monthly supply of courage. He watched you blink. He watched your mouth part slightly. And suddenly, the reality of what he’d just said—and how close he was standing—hit him. His blinked repeatedly, posture collapsing into a frantic, jerky mess. He practically leaped backward, his heels catching on the legs of a dusty desk. “I—uh—I mean!” he squawked, his voice hitting a frequency only dogs and Mingi could hear. “The light! The Ethernet! I have to—there’s a cable! A very important cable in the… Another basement!” He began to backtrack toward the door, his long limbs flailing like a startled giraffe. He was moving so fast he almost tripped over his own backpack.
“Captain? Are you okay?” you managed, completely stunned by the sudden whiplash.
“Great meeting!” he shouted, grabbing the door handle like it was a lifeline. He didn’t look at you. His face was a shade of pink that suggested he might actually be dying of embarrassment. “Very productive! Map is… map is stable! You’re stable. I’m—I’m leaving!” He yanked the door open, the rusted hinges let out a mournful scream that filled the silence. He paused for one half-second in the doorway, his silhouette trembling against the dim hallway light. “See you in The… The Abyss!”
SLAM.
The door shut with a finality that made the dust dance in the air. You stood there alone in the hum of Level Zero and the surrounding silence was deafening. You stared at the heavy metal door, then back at the map you’d helped him hang. “See you in The Abyss?” you whispered to the empty room, your eyebrows rising in pure confusion.
A second later, your phone buzzed in your pocket.
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: I’m so sorry. Please forget that I exist for the next 3-5 business days.
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: Also you are still pretty. Okay. Bye.
Golden_Retriever_Yunho: Also, The Abyss is the bar where Mingi works.
The air outside was crisp, biting at Yunho’s flushed cheeks, Seonghwa walked beside him, hands tucked into his coat pockets, looking composed compared to the frantic skyscraper of nerves next to him. “You’re walking too fast,” Seonghwa noted, his voice smooth and entirely too unbothered. “Unless you’re planning on sprinting all the way to The Abyss, slow down.”
“I’m—I’m optimizing my travel time, hyung!” Yunho squeaked, though he did slow his pace. He adjusted his glasses—the ones he’d told you were “fine” even though the hinge was screaming for mercy.
“She called you Captain in person, didn’t she?”
Yunho stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to Seonghwa, his eyes wide and haunted behind his lenses. “I think I’m dying. I think my heart has reached its maximum capacity and it’s about to force-quit.” he groaned, his voice muffled and desperate. “Hyung, I’m in trouble.”
“We’ve established that. You’re a disaster.”
“No.” Yunho dropped his hands, looking at Seonghwa with eyes that were terrifyingly wide. Now, he was just a boy standing under a flickering streetlamp, wearing his heart on his sleeve. “I like her. I really like her. It’s not just the team, and it’s not just because she’s the best Viper I’ve ever seen. It’s… it’s the way she looks at me like she sees right through the stutter. Like she knows I’m a mess and she… she stays anyway.”
Seonghwa’s expression softened, the teasing light fading from his eyes. He leaned against the wall just beside where Yunho abruptly stopped in his tracks. “I know. It was pretty obvious.”
“I’m scared,” Yunho whispered, his gaze dropping to his scuffed sneakers. “Because now she’s coming to The Abyss. She’s going to meet Mingi. In his... his element.”
Seonghwa tilted his head. “And?”
“And Mingi is... Mingi!” Yunho’s voice hit a frantic pitch. “He’s tall—well, I’m tall, but he’s cool tall. He has that deep voice that doesn’t crack every five seconds. He shakes cocktails and looks all... brooding and tactical behind the bar. What if they click, hyung? What if she realises that in real life he can hold a conversation without blue-screening?” He looked at his hands—those massive hands that had been trembling under your touch—and let out a miserable groan. “I’m just a guy who chokes on plain bagels. Mingi is... he’s a Radiant-rank socialiser. She’s going to see the difference. She’s going to realise I’m the bug and he’s the feature.”
Seonghwa stayed quiet for a moment, watching his friend spiral. He reached out, patting Yunho’s shoulder with a grounding, heavy hand. “Yunnie. She’s seen you at your worst. She’s seen you glitch. And she still showed up to the basement to help you hang a map.”
“But Mingi—”
“Mingi is going to drop a glass the second he sees her because he’s terrified of her,” Seonghwa interrupted dryly. “Trust me.”
Yunho didn’t look convinced. He pulled his hoodie up, the fabric obscuring half his face as they approached the neon glow of the bar. “If she laughs at one of his jokes,” Yunho muttered into his chest, “I’m retiring from the server. I’m moving to a farm. I’m becoming a monk.”
“Just go inside, you idiot,” Seonghwa laughed, pushing him toward the door.
“Okay,” Yunho breathed, a final, shaky exhale. “Let’s go. But if I start crying because she will only talk to Mingi, you have to tell everyone I had an allergic reaction.”
The Abyss wasn’t a bar so much as a hiding spot that had been granted a liquor license. It sat in the shadow at the end of the road like someone had tried to tuck it behind the buildings on purpose—low ceiling, stained brick, and a sign that flickered just enough to make everything look like it was happening inside a glitch. The air inside hit you first. Beer. Old wood. Cleaner that didn’t quite win. And underneath it all, the familiar bite of smoke clinging to leather.
You were already late when you pushed through the door and let your eyes adjust. It wasn’t full yet, but the sound of music and chatter already bordering on too loud. People hunched over sticky tables, someone laughed too hard in the corner. And then you saw them. Seonghwa sat in a booth near the back where the light was softer, like the place had naturally arranged itself to flatter him. He was dressed like he’d never heard of the word casual, even though the shirt hanging off his shoulder tried to lie about it. His hands were wrapped around a glass of beer, and his posture was too elegant for the torn vinyl seat. By the same table were two boys. One had to be Mingi—impossible to miss, dyed dark blue hair, had his work shirt half-hidden under a denim jacket, he looked like he was in the middle of complaining about something with his entire soul. Even from here, you could see the way he talked with his hands, dramatic and wide, like he was conducting an orchestra of problems. The other one had to be the new recruit. He was quieter in the way some people are quiet on purpose. Not shy. Not nervous. Just… watchful. Blonde hair, sharp eyes, hoodie pulled up even though it was warm inside. He sat angled toward the aisle like he wanted a clean exit route, but his gaze kept flicking back to Seonghwa and Mingi anyway, as if he was trying to decide whether this group was worth the trouble.
And then you noticed who wasn’t there. No tall frame hunched in the corner. No frantic scanning of the room for threats that didn’t exist.
Yunho.
Your chest did that annoying little thing it had been doing lately—tightening, then pretending it was just the air.
As if the universe heard the thought, Seonghwa looked up, his eyes finding you instantly. For a second, his expression did that careful, polite blankness then it softened. Not much, just enough. He lifted a hand, it wasn’t a big wave, but small, almost shy, like he didn’t want to draw attention to you. Like he didn’t want to startle you. Like he’d already figured out you were the kind of person who ran on sharp edges and pride, a person who didn’t like being handled too gently. You paused in the midway, boots planted, letting the dim light outline you like a warning. And then you smiled. Seonghwa’s shoulders dropped by an inch, relief cutting through his pretty composure.
Mingi noticed the shift immediately. He followed Seonghwa’s gaze, saw you, and his face lit up like a man who’d just spotted incoming chaos. “Oh,” he gasped loudly, already grinning. “It’s her. It’s the—” Seonghwa kicked Mingi’s shin under the table and the taller one hissed through his teeth. “Ow. Okay. Sorry. I was going to say the hero.”
You started toward them, your boots disappearing under the bass and the sound of voices in other booths. The third guy didn’t react. He didn’t smile, and he didn’t look impressed. He just watched you with a steady, measuring stare. The air in The Abyss was thick with spilled liquor, and the faint bite of someone’s vape. Even as you walked, your eyes swept the room again, searching without permission. Still no Yunho. Just the empty space where he should have been.
Seonghwa followed your gaze. His fingers tightened around his beer glass for a fraction of a second, like he already knew what you were going to ask and was bracing for the impact. “Hey,” he said when you reached the booth. His voice stayed smooth, but there was caution underneath it, careful as a hand hovering over a bruise.
Mingi leaned back and spread his arms like he owned the place, even though exhaustion was clear on his face. “Welcome to The Abyss,” he announced. “Where dreams come to die, and sometimes I get paid. This is Yeosang. Sit down. Before I start charging you a cover fee.”
Yeosang’s eyes flicked to Mingi—irritation threaded with something that might have been fondness—then returned to you. “So you’re the Viper,” Yeosang said finally. It wasn’t admiration. It wasn't a mockery. It was a simple statement of fact.
Your smile sharpened. “Depends who’s asking.”
Mingi made a sound that was half laugh, half choke. “Oh, great. She’s scary in real life too. Love that. That’s definitely going to lower my blood pressure.” The booth accepted you like it had been waiting only for that. The vinyl creaked as you slid in next to Mingi—the only free spot— sticking faintly to the backs of your thighs. It was warm from bodies and the room’s restless heat. Mingi didn’t flinch at the proximity. Instead, he draped an arm over the back of the seat, radiating warmth that smelled like cigarettes and work-shift sweat.
“Drink?” Seonghwa asked, already signalling the bartender with a subtle tilt of his chin that looked far too polite for a bar.
“Beer. Whatever’s coldest,” you said, your eyes doing one last, involuntary sweep of the shadows. In seconds a server slid in with practiced speed and dropped a coaster in front of you like a marker on a map.
Mingi tapped it with two fingers. “This is your spawn point,” he said. “Don’t wander off or you’ll get attacked by freshmen.”
Seonghwa didn’t even look up from the wet rings that his beer bottle left on the table when he spoke. “She could handle freshmen. They’re just loud.”
“Freshmen are unpredictable,” Mingi argued, gesturing with a straw he just took out of his beer, like it was a tactical pointer. “They have nothing to lose and no social filter. They’ll look you in the eye and ask what your major is before they even know your name. They decide if you’re worth their time based on the answer. It’s feral behaviour.”
Yeosang’s eyes flicked to your face, tracking the micro-movements of your expression with the clinical detachment. “What is your major?”
Mingi made a strangled sound, dropping the fry. “See? Ambushed in our own booth. It’s a bloodbath.”
You stared at Yeosang for a beat, letting the pause stretch until he almost—almost—blinked. Then you leaned back, letting your shoulders settle against the cracked vinyl of the booth. “Undeclared.”
Yeosang didn’t simile, instead he took a slow, deliberate sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Undeclared. Funny,” he said flatly. “The Viper everyone in this club talks about is famous for her setups. She plays like she has a degree in architecture and a minor in chemistry. It’s all calculated. Pixel-perfect lineups.” He leaned in slightly, the neon light from a Budweiser sign overhead making his blonde hair look like sour cherry. “I haven’t seen you play yet. But you? You don’t look like a calculator. After all, it’s all about math, right? Calculating the perfect lineup.”
The table went quiet. Even Mingi stopped mid-gesture, a glass halfway to his mouth.
Yeosang couldn’t check your stats, at least not yet, but he was judging your vibe, and he’d realized the girl in the booth didn’t quite match the analytical monster he’d heard of.
Your heart did a panicked thud against your ribs. You didn’t know the math. You didn’t even know what exactly he was talking about. You just knew that when Wooyoung played, the screen turned green and the enemies died. “I don’t do math,” your voice came out a bit sharper than intended. You leaned forward, meeting Yeosang’s measuring stare with a coldness you didn’t quite feel. “I play on instinct. If you spend too much time calculating, you’re already dead. Chemistry is for people who need a lab. I just need a mouse.”
Yeosang’s eyes thinned, he didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. “Instinct,” he repeated softly. “Dangerous way to play at a Radiant level. One slip and the whole composition falls apart.”
“Then I guess I won’t slip,” you countered.
“Okay! Tension!” Mingi shouted, clapping his hands together to break the ice. “Traumatising,” he added before lifting a hand to flag one of his colleagues. “Two more Stella’s! And keep them coming until the room stops spinning, Keeho-ya!” The bartender with short hair didn’t question it, he just rolled his eyes dramatically as he reached for the glasses.
The beers appeared in no time as if the Kehoo guy had decided you were a problem that could only be solved with listening to Mingi’s needs and enough alcohol. The glasses slid onto the wood, sweating and cold, catching the red of the Budweiser sign.
The first sip of your Stella Artois hit bitter and clean, tasting of wheat and the metallic edge of a night that was already beginning to fray. You set the glass down, keeping your voice level. “Where’s Yunho?” It was far from the casual, it was the question that had been clawing at your throat ever since you stepped into The Abyss. But you kept your face neutral anyway.
Seonghwa’s fingers paused around his glass. Mingi answered immediately, far too fast to be natural. “Alive.”
“That wasn’t the question, Mingi.”
“Yeah, but it’s the only guarantee we can offer,” he said, flashing a grin that tried for ‘charming’ but landed squarely on ‘exhausted babysitter.’ Yeosang’s gaze shifted, dark and knowing. “Our Captain is… doing Captain stuff. Administrative duties. Existential dread. The usual.” You didn’t buy the act.
Seonghwa finally spoke, his voice careful, like he was stepping around broken glass. “He left earlier. Said he had to check something.”
“Check what at ten on a Friday?” you pressed.
Seonghwa’s eyes dropped to his drink. “He didn’t say.”
Mingi leaned in, lowering his voice until it was a conspiratorial rasp. “If you want my honest opinion? He panicked. Absolute system failure.”
You stared at him. “Because of me?”
Mingi shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance, though his eyes remained sharp. “He panics professionally. It’s a core skill, like his aim or his ability to colour code a spreadsheet. Yunho’s brain is like a very expensive computer that starts smoking if you open more than three tabs. You? You’re like a high-res 4K tab he wasn’t prepared to open.”
Seonghwa shot him a warning look. “Song Mingi. Enough.”
“What? I’m being descriptive!” Mingi turned back to you, defensive. “He saw you in that basement today and his internal fans started whirring. He needed to go stand in a cold room and reboot.”
Seonghwa’s gaze moved past you, scanning the crowded bar, then settled back on your face. “He doesn’t drink much,” he added simply. “This place… it’s a lot for him.”
“I can tell,” the words sounded sharper than you intended.
Mingi’s eyebrows lifted, interest sparking in his eyes like a flare. “Oh. You know know.”
Seonghwa sighed—softly but with a clear resign. This was the part of the evening he’d been bracing for. “He’s okay,” he said, and you could tell he meant it as a balm. “He just gets overwhelmed. It’s loud in here. The sensory input is… high.”
Your fingers tightened around the cold glass. “It’s not that loud.” Seonghwa didn’t argue further. He didn’t have to. His silence said everything: It is for him, when you’re the one sitting by the same table.
Mingi interrupted the heavy quiet by clinking his knuckle against your beer. “Anyway. Enough about our missing, trembling Captain. You’re here. Which is terrifying. And exciting. Mostly terrifying.”
“You talk too much,” Yeosang said flatly.
Mingi pointed a finger at him. “And you talk like you’re delivering a terminal diagnosis.”
“I am,” Yeosang replied, unblinking.
Mingi turned back to you, undeterred by the salt. “So. How does it feel?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave. “To walk into a room and have three grown men immediately rearrange their entire nervous systems just to accommodate your presence?”
You blinked, taken aback. “Is that what’s happening?”
Mingi leaned back, stretching an arm along the top of the booth. He looked comfortable, but his eyes carried that permanent hint of ‘loser panic’ that only the truly observant could see. “I’m just saying. Yunho saw you once and started making major life decisions. I saw you once and immediately considered becoming a slightly better person. It’s a lot of pressure.”
“You?” you asked, an eyebrow lifting as you took another sip of your beer. “A better person?”
He tapped his chest. “Me. It lasted for about four minutes. A personal record.”
Yeosang muttered, “Don’t encourage the clown.”
“I’m not encouraging him,” you said. “I’m observing.”
Mingi’s smile went sharp but in a way that felt like he was playing a character. “See? That’s your problem. You watch people like you’re trying to figure out where to insert the knife.”
Yeosang took a slow sip of his beer. “She’s just paying attention.”
Mingi’s eyes flicked to him. “Why are you defending her?”
“I’m not,” Yeosang said simply. “I’m correcting your flawed premise.”
Mingi looked back at you, undeterred. “Still. It’s fascinating. Yunho’s the kind of guy who apologies to inanimate objects when he bumps into them. I’ve seen him tell a chair he was sorry.”
“He does not—” Seonghwa started, then paused. “Actually, he does.”
“He definitely does,” Mingi looked at you, his gaze warmer now, threaded with a playful sincerity. “And you? You look like you’d fight the chair. You’d win, too.” You didn’t smile, but the tension in your shoulders loosened just a fraction. Mingi caught it instantly, his eyes lighting up like he’d landed a perfect headshot. “There it is. A crack in the armour.”
Seonghwa rubbed his temple. “Leave her alone.”
“I’m building rapport, hyung! It’s called networking.” Mingi leaned in again, whispering, “Unless it’s working. Then it’s flirting.” Yeosang made a quiet sound—half exhale, half disbelief—and looked away.
You held Mingi’s gaze, steady and unimpressed. “You’re different in person. From what I expected.”
Mingi blinked. “Different from what? The Discord version of me?”
“Yes. But also, different from Yunho,” you said, and the name landed on the table like a heavy coin. “He’s all… exposed nerves. And you’re—”
“Also exposed nerves,” Mingi supplied, his grin widening. “I just have better packaging. I’m confident because I gave up a long time ago. Yunho still thinks if he tries hard enough and is polite to enough chairs, the universe will reward him.”
“And you don’t?”
“I think the universe is a scam,” Mingi clinked his glass against yours. “So I scam it back.” You should’ve rolled your eyes. You should’ve told him he was full of it. Instead, you found yourself watching the way he carried himself—the loose shoulders, the humour used as a shield. The “loser vibe” was right under the surface, but he didn’t hide it. He wore it like a brand name. Mingi raised his glass. “To beer. To missing Captains who are currently screaming into pillows. And to the fact that you showed up to this dump anyway.”
Seonghwa lifted his glass a second later, his eyes soft. “To you being here.”
Yeosang hesitated, then tapped his glass against the others. Minimal. Precise. You drank with them, the bitterness of the hops settling in your chest. And when the next round arrived—unasked for, inevitable—you realized the night wasn’t going to let you leave with your mask intact.
After your third beer, the alcohol was starting to feel heavy. You’d skipped dinner to make the meeting, and the Stella was hitting your bloodstream harshly. The bar felt a little too warm, the bass of the music thumping a bit too hard in your temples. “I need air,” you muttered, sliding out of the booth. The vinyl let out a sticky shlick sound as your legs detached.
“I’m coming too,” Mingi said, jumping up with surprising agility. “My lungs are craving a toxic cloud of their own.”
The night air was a shock—cold and damp, smelling of wet pavement. You leaned against the stained brick wall of the alleyway, the world tilting just a fraction to the left. Mingi pulled out a pack of Camel Blue’s, flicking a silver lighter, the orange flame dancing in the wind before catching. He inhaled deeply, the tip of the cigarette glowing like a dying star. The orange glow illuminated the sharp lines of his face and the permanent “panic” hiding behind his grin.
“You look like you’re waiting for a boss fight,” Mingi said, offering the pack to you. You took it, because you would never say no to a free cigarette, even if you didn’t feel like smoking.
“Yeosang’s very intense,” you muttered, leaning your head back against the cold, rough brick.
“Yeosang is a human patch-note,” Mingi chuckled, blowing a plume of smoke toward a flickering streetlamp. “He doesn’t see people; he sees data points and hitbox errors. Don’t take it personally. He’s just… efficient.”
He went quiet after that, watching a stray cat dart behind a dumpster.
“Yunho thinks he’s the lucky one,” Mingi continued suddenly, his voice dropping an octave. “He thinks he’s the one who won the lottery because you showed up. He thinks you’re the ‘feature’ that’s going to save the club.”
You felt a sharp, cold pang of guilt. “I told him not to put me on a pedestal.” You took a drag of the cigarette, the smoke burning your throat. You looked at Mingi—this guy who scammed the universe back. You realized then that you weren’t just lying to a guy you liked. You were infiltrating a brotherhood that was built on a level of sincerity you hadn’t expected.
“You look a little… glitchy.” Mingi pointed out, leaning against the wall next to you, looking more like the tired student he was.
“Just the alcohol,” you lied, taking a shallow drag. “Empty stomach.”
“Yeah, Yunho does that too,” Mingi chuckled, blowing smoke away from you. “Forgets to eat when he’s in the zone. I once found him trying to meal-prep at 3 AM, staring at a bag of rice like it was a complex tactical problem.” He looked at you then, his gaze softer than it had been inside. “He really likes you, you know. And not just because you’re a god-tier Viper. He’s... he’s scared of you, but in the way people are scared of things they actually care about.”
The world spun again. You closed your eyes, the rough brick scratching your shoulder. The guilt was worse than the nausea. “He shouldn’t,” you whispered. “He shouldn’t like me.”
“Too late,” Mingi said, tapping his ash onto the pavement. “He’s already built a shrine to you in his head. Just... try not to knock it over too hard, okay? He’s made of glass, tempered one but still glass.”
You opened your eyes to Mingi watching you closely, his expression uncharacteristically serious, a one you wouldn’t expect from him. In the dim light of the alley, you realized that Mingi wasn’t just the clown—he was the one who watched the watchman. He knew Yunho was falling, and he was quietly asking you to catch him. “He can take a lot of pressure, but once he cracks… he shatters. That’s why we’re here. Me and Seonghwa. We’re the padding. We make sure the world doesn’t hit him too hard.”
“I’m not who he thinks I am,” you said, the truth bubbling up, fuelled by the alcohol and the exhaustion. You took a deep drag of the cigarette, smoke filling every bit of your lungs. You felt your body tense, instead of the usual, relaxing sensation that nicotine provided.
Mingi just shrugged, a small, sad smile touching his lips. “None of us are. I’m not a ‘radiant socialiser’ as Yunho likes to call me. I’m a guy who works two jobs and fails his midterms because I’m too busy worrying about my friends and a gaming club that probably won’t exist in six months. We’re all faking something, Y/N. Some of us just have better skins than others.” He nudged your shoulder with his in a friendly, grounding gesture. “Just don’t drop him, okay? I’m too tired to glue him back together.”
The heavy door of the bar swung open, letting in a blast of cold night air that sliced through the warm, hop-scented haze of The Abyss. Yunho stood there, framed by the neon “Open” sign, looking like he’d just finished a marathon. His hair was wind-blown, his glasses were slightly fogged from the transition in temperature, and he was clutching a filled paper bag from a 24-hour convenience store like a shield. He looked “sturdy.”
At least until he saw the table.
You were leaning into Mingi’s side, your head tilted back as you laughed at some ridiculous, unfiltered story he’d just finished telling. Mingi’s arm was still draped lazily across the back of the booth, his eyes bright and chaotic, clearly thriving on the attention. To your left, Yeosang was staring intensely at a coaster, his eyes glazed and his posture suspiciously slumped—he’d hit his limit two drinks ago. But at least the drinks made him loose his sharp edge. And Seonghwa? Seonghwa was a vibrant, alarming shade of pink that started at his collar and climbed all the way to the tips of his ears, though he was still trying to maintain the “caregiver” energy.
Yunho’s entire soul seemed to leave his body for a moment. He stopped mid-stride, “I—uh—”
The sound of his voice—thin and cracked—was enough to make you sit up straighter. You pulled away from Mingi’s side, the sudden loss of heat making the alcohol-induced fog in your head swirl. “Yunho?” you said, your voice softer than you intended, a smile already forming on your face.
Mingi didn’t move his arm. If anything, he leaned further back, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Look who it is! You’re back!”
Yunho didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on you—on the way your shoulder was pressed against Mingi’s chest, and the way you looked so much more relaxed than you had in the basement. The paper bag in his hand crinkled loudly as his grip tightened. “I brought… I brought snacks and electrolytes,” Yunho blurted out, holding the bag up. “For tomorrow. Because… because hydration is a tactical advantage.”
“Yunnie, sit down,” Seonghwa muttered, though his words were a little slurred. He reached out and grabbed the hem of Yunho’s sleeve, trying to pull him down. “You’re making the air anxious.”
“You’re a tactical advantage,” Mingi cackled, reaching out to snag a bottle from the bag. “We’re currently debating if Y/N could take on a bear in a fistfight.”
“I’d win,” you murmured, your voice a little slower, a little warmer from the beer and vodka shots you downed 5 minutes ago. You looked at Yunho, a lazy smile not leaving your lips, not even for a second. “Hey, Captain. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m fine,” Yunho squeaked, though his knuckles were white where he gripped the paper bag. “I just... I didn’t think you’d be having so much fun. With Mingi.” The way he said the name wasn’t angry. It was sad. It was the sound of a guy who had spent his last percentage of social battery on coming back to The Abyss, only to find the “movie moment” he’d imagined was already starring someone else. He finally slid into the tiny space on the opposite side of the table, as far away from the Mingi-proximity as possible. He looked like he wanted to crawl under the wood. He looked at Seonghwa, who just gave him a blurry, empathetic nod.
Yeosang, who had been staring at a coaster like it held the secrets of the universe, suddenly blinked. He shifted his gaze from the wood to the frantic skyscraper beside him. “Statistically, a grizzly has a 100% win rate against a gamer,” Yeosang chirped in, his voice lost the flat and clinical tone, but still each time he opened his mouth made you nervous. “Even one with your... instincts.” He looked at you, then at Yunho. “And Yunho, you’re trembling. It’s making the table rattle.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Captain” you leaned across the table, completely ignoring Yeosang’s remark, your chin resting on your hand. The movement caused you to pull away from Mingi, and Yunho’s entire body seemed to deflate with a massive, silent sigh of relief. You reached out to tap the back of Yunho’s hand. He flinched at first, then slowly, tentatively, turned his hand over and let your fingers rest in his palm. His skin was cool from the outside air. “I missed you,” you whispered.
Yunho’s pupils blown wide behind his fogged lenses. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink. He stayed frozen in that half-lean, his fingers curled loosely around yours in a way that felt like he was holding something expensive, fragile. The bar around you was a symphony of chaos—Mingi was currently shouting over the bass, trying to explain god knows what to Seonghwa, who looked like he was contemplating the heat death of the universe. To your left, Yeosang was lining up peanut shells in a perfect, clinical formation.
But between you and Yunho, there was a pocket of air that felt ten degrees warmer than the rest of the room.
“Y-you did?” Yunho’s voice was barely a breath, he didn’t look at the drinks nor at his friends. He just looked at where your skin met his, as if he was waiting for a system error to pop up and tell him this wasn’t real. “I—I thought you’d be... I thought I was being a nuisance. Leaving the basement like that.”
“You’re a lot of things, Yunho,” you said, your thumb tracing the line of his knuckles. “A nuisance isn’t one of them.”
Yunho’s thumb twitched, finally gaining the courage to stroke back against the side of your hand. His touch was hesitant, feather-light, but it sent a jolt through you that cut right through the vodka-haze.
He suddenly remembered the bag on his lap. “I, uh... I didn’t just get electrolytes for the team.” He reached into the bag. He’d brought mango jellies for Seonghwa, and double tuna kimbap for Mingi, but he put them aside and pulled out a small, separate plastic wrapper. It was a strawberry milk carton and a pack of honey-butter chips. “Sugar helps with the... It can slightly slow the absorption of alcohol. And the milk is... it’s soothing. For the throat. After all the smoking.” He glanced at the cigarette pack on the table and then back at you. “I wanted to make sure your stats didn’t drop.”
“My stats are fine, Captain,” you smiled, the lazy, alcohol-softened curve of your lips making his heart rate visibly spike in the vein of his neck. “But I’ll gladly take the milk,” the alcohol made the words come out more vulnerable than you intended. He pushed the items toward you with the tips of his trembling fingers, careful not to let his hand linger too close to yours. “You’re hands are shaking,” you pointed out, shifting your weight to lean across the table until you were deep in Yunho’s personal space. “Is the ‘social energy’ drain really that bad? Or is it just me?”
“Hey! Lover boy!”
Mingi’s voice cut through the air, he slammed a fresh, dripping beer down in front of Yunho, nearly splashing the paper bag of convenience store peace offerings. “Stop staring at her like she’s the last ult point on the map. Drink! We’re celebrating the birth of Level Zero!”
Yunho flinched, his hand jerking away from yours for a second as he sat bolt upright, his spine snapping into a rigid line. He looked like a student who’d just been caught sleeping in a lecture hall. “I—I’m celebrating!” Yunho stammered, grabbing the beer with too much force. His ears turned a shade of fiery crimson that put Seonghwa’s alcohol-flushed face to shame. “I am very celebratory! Huzzah!”
Mingi stared at him for a dead, unblinking second. “Huzzah? Did you just say huzzah? Yun, we’re a gaming club, not a Renaissance fair.”
Yeosang blinked slowly, his head finally lifting an inch from the table. “He’s broken. Get a new one,” he droned. “His social processor is clearly thermal-throttling.”
You ignored them. Your focus was entirely on the way Yunho was currently trying to disappear into his seat. You reached out and slowly, deliberately, hooked your finger under the silver chain around his neck. You tugged, just an inch but enough to force him to lean closer, until his glasses were nearly touching your cheek. “You know,” you breathed, your lips almost grazing the sensitive skin of his ear. The scent of your perfume and the humid heat of the bar seemed to trap the two of you in a private bubble. “If you keep holding my hand like this in public, people are going to start thinking the Captain wants more than just a ‘strategic partnership.’” In response, Yunho made a tiny, muffled sound—a sort of broken whimper that he tried to cough away. “I liked it better when we were alone in the basement,” you whispered, letting the implication sink in like a poison. “You were much… sturdier then.”
The reaction was instantaneous. Yunho didn’t just jump; he launched. His knees slammed into the underside of the table with a heavy thud that sent the beer glasses rattling. You slid your hand from his palm up to his forearm, feeling the frantic, jumping beat of his pulse beneath the sleeve of his hoodie. You leaned even closer, your shoulder brushing his chest, until the scent of your perfume mixed with lingering smoke was the only thing he could breathe. “You’re glitching again,” you purred, the low, bored rasp of your voice carrying perfectly across the table.
Mingi stopped mid-sentence. Yeosang’s peanut-stacking hand froze in mid-air. Even Seonghwa’s glazed eyes sharpened, focusing on the two of you like a high-speed camera.
“I—I am not glitching!” Yunho squeaked, though his voice was two octaves higher than usual. “I am merely... processing the current... social environment!”
“Is that what it is?” You tilted your head, your lips hovering a hair’s breadth from his jawline. You reached up and slowly, deliberately adjusted his glasses, your fingers lingering on his temple. “Because it looks like your ping is spiking. I think we need a frequent connection check to make sure our Captain stays synced with his MVP.” Yunho’s breath hitched so hard it sounded like a sob. He looked at you, his pupils so blown they practically swallowed the honey-gold of his eyes. He was a second away from blue-screening. “Don’t look so scared,” you said, loud enough for Mingi to choke on his beer. You let your hand slide down to cup his flushed cheek, your thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. “You’re doing well, baby.”
The word hit the table like a grenade.
Yunho didn’t jump this time. He didn’t launch. He simply... stopped. His jaw dropped. His eyes went wide and vacant. A soft, high-pitched whirring sound actually seemed to come from his throat as his brain tried to categorise a reality where Viper had just called him ‘baby’ in front of his best friends.
“Did she just—” Mingi’s voice was a strangled wheeze. He slammed his hands onto the table, shaking the glasses. “Did she just call him baby? In public? In front of witnesses? I’m recording this. I’m putting this on the club’s permanent record.”
“Call an ambulance,” Yeosang deadpanned, reaching over to poke Yunho’s frozen shoulder. Yunho didn’t even flinch; he just slowly began to tilt to the side. “He’s reached critical mass. His internal fans have stopped spinning. He is literally overheating.”
Seonghwa leaned back, a look of profound, weary amusement on his pink-tinged face. “I told you she was dangerous, Yunnie. I didn’t think she’d actually kill you.”
Yunho finally made a sound. It was a faint, pathetic squeak—the sound of a balloon losing air. He looked at you, his face a shade of crimson, and then, with the grace of said baloon, he lowered his forehead onto the sticky wood of the table with a muffled thud.
You sat back, picking up your glass and taking a slow, satisfied sip. You looked over at the rest of the boys, an eyebrow arched in a challenge. “What?” you asked innocently. “A Captain needs to be kept in peak condition. It’s just... tactical maintenance.”
Mingi pointed a shaking finger at the pile of defeated blonde hair that was Yunho. “Tactical maintenance? You just deleted his entire operating system! Look at him! You’ve turned our Radiant leader into a sentient heap of anxiety!”
“He’ll reboot,” you said, though you reached out and gently ruffled the hair at the nape of Yunho’s neck. He shivered under your touch, a long, full-body tremor. “Eventually.”
Yunho remained facedown on the table for couple of minutes, a motionless monument to social catastrophe. Then, with a slow, mechanical creak, he began to rise. He didn’t look at you directly. Instead, he reached out a shaking hand and gripped his beer glass like it was a life jacket. He took a massive, desperate gulp—nearly half the glass—swallowing so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed frantically. “System… restored,” he wheezed, wiping foam from his lip with the back of a trembling hand. He sat up, his posture so straight it looked painful, though his ears were still glowing a vivid pink. He cleared his throat, trying to find that steady voice, but it came out a little too airy. “I’ve processed the data. The… the ‘baby’ variable was unexpected. But I have adjusted my defensive line.” He took another, smaller sip, finally brave enough to look at you over the rim of the glass. His eyes were still wide but there was a flicker of something new there—a tiny spark of competitive heat. “You’re dangerous,” he whispered, the beer giving him just enough liquid courage to lean back toward you. “You use psychological warfare. You’re trying to… to tilt me before the match even starts.”
“Is it working?” you asked, resting your chin on your palm, watching the way he tried to look confident while his hand still rattled against the glass.
“It’s a critical hit,” Yunho admitted, a small, shy smile finally breaking through the embarrassment. He looked down at the hand you’d been holding, then back at you. “But I’m a high-level strategist. I’ll… I’ll adapt. Just don’t do it again when I’m holding hot coffee. I’d like to keep my skin.”
“Look at him,” Mingi groaned, leaning his head on your shoulder. “He’s trying to act cool. Yunho, you literally just died. We saw the light leave your eyes.”
“I was rebooting!” Yunho snapped, though he looked more like a flustered golden retriever than a hardened leader. He turned back to you, his gaze softening. “Anyway. I accept Level Zero as our official name. We are a team now. And I… I have strawberry milk to protect.” He moved the small carton closer to you, his fingers lingering near yours for a fraction of a second. The bold flirt had cracked him, but as he sat there, sipping his beer and watching you with that unwavering devotion, it was clear he wasn’t running away anymore.
The air in the booth had become filled with laughter, spilled beer, and the high-octane energy of Level Zero members. But the alcohol and the warmth were finally catching up to you, making the neon signs blur at the edges. “I’m heading out for one more,” you said, sliding out of the booth. You tapped the pack of cigarettes in your pocket. “Min?”
Mingi looked up from his third attempt to explain a concept of “soulmates” to a very confused Seonghwa. He looked at you, then his gaze flickered to Yunho—who was currently peeling the straw for your strawberry milk with the focus of a bomb technician.
“Nah,” he said, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. He leaned back, spreading his arms over the vinyl. “I think I’m gonna stay here and make sure Yeosang doesn’t actually join the peanut army. Go ahead, Viper. Don’t get lost in the smoke.”
The heavy industrial door of The Abyss groaned as you pushed it open, the transition from the humid bar to the biting night air feeling like a cold bucket of water over your head. The alley was quiet, exactly what you needed right now. You leaned against the cold brick, fumbling with your lighter. Your hands were somehow steady, but your head felt heavy. You managed to spark the flame, the orange glow momentarily blinding you. You took a long, slow drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs as you stared at the damp pavement.
Slam.
Yunho emerged into the alley, the warm, yellow light from the bar spilling around his silhouette, making him look even taller than usual. He wasn’t wearing his hoodie anymore—just a thin T-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. He looked around wildly for a second before his eyes landed on you. He didn’t say anything at first, just walked over, shoes crunching on a stray bit of gravel, and came to a halt a few feet away.
“You smoke too much,” Yunho murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips for a heartbeat before snapping back to your eyes, more grounded than he’d been all night. He tucked his hands into his pockets, a shy smile lighting up his face as he stepped even closer, his shoulder bumping yours as you blew the smoke away from him.
“That’s how addiction works, Captain,” you answered, a bit of humour in your voice as you took a deep drag, the tip of the cigarette glowing a fierce, defiant orange against the gloom. The silence of the alleyway felt different than the silence of B-12. In the basement, it had been about the lie. Here, under the warm, yellow light of a streetlamp, it felt like the first real crack in the mask.
Even if the smoke scent was too heavy in his lungs, Yunho didn’t move away; if anything, he leaned into your space, his proximity radiating a heat that made the alcohol in your veins hum. You caught the way his eyes tracked the movement of your hand, the way he seemed to be memorizing the curve of your fingers against the filter. The silence was no longer awkward, it was heavy.
It was becoming too much. Too real.
You looked up at him, your vision starting to slightly swim. Yunho didn’t look like the nervous boy who chokes on plain bagels anymore, but maybe it was just the beer in his system making him more relaxed. The smoke swirled between you, grey and thick, before the wind caught it and pulled it into the night. You felt the nicotine rush collide with the lingering vodka, a sudden, dizzying wave that made the brick wall behind you feel like it was leaning away. You didn’t go far—you couldn’t. You swayed, your boots scraping against the damp pavement as gravity betrayed you.
“Whoa—hey” Yunho’s reaction was instinctive, his reflexes firing before his brain could even process the panic. He moved into your space, his large hands catching your shoulders to steady you. He was warm, solid. He didn’t pull away once you were stable; instead, he kept his hands there, his thumbs brushing against the leather of your jacket, bracing you against the world’s sudden tilt. “You’re really drunk,” he noted, his voice softening into something protective. “I shouldn’t have let you drink that last shot,” he muttered, more to himself than you, his voice full of guilt. “I saw the bottle. I calculated the units, and I still let you…” He stopped, letting out a shaky breath that ruffled your hair.
“I’m efficiently hydrated,” you looked up at him, a lazy smile pulling at your lips. The frigale air between you was becoming heavy with the unsaid things from the basement and the “baby” you'd dropped like a bomb inside the bar. It was intimidating—the way he was looking at you with that crushing, quiet worship.
You needed to break it.
“So…” you began, your voice nothing more than a mare, smoke-damaged rasp. You turned your head slightly, looking at him through the corner of your eye as you tapped the ash onto the wet pavement. “Back in the basement…” You tilted your head back against the brick, looking at him through your lashes. “You called me pretty.”
Yunho’s entire body went rigid. The hands on your shoulders didn’t drop, but his fingers twitched. He looked down at his boots, then at the flickering “Open” sign, then finally back to you. The shy smile from a moment ago was gone, replaced by a sincerity that was far more dangerous. “I did,” he admitted, the sound barely audible over the hum of the bar’s generator. He was so close that the tips of his shoes were touching yours. “I was... that was a tactical observation. Based on... visual data.” He was so tall that he had to incline his head sharply to maintain eye contact.
“Visual data,” you repeated, your smile sharpening as you took one last drag and flicked the ember into the wet gutter. Now, with the cigarette thrown away, you closed the final inch of space until your jacket was brushing the front of his T-shirt. “You were very certain about that data in the basement. You seemed so... sturdy when you said it.”
Yunho didn’t back away. Even with his heart likely hitting 150 BPM, he stayed still, his gaze dropping to your mouth and staying there, trapped by his own honesty. “I’m still certain,” he whispered, his voice dropping into a deeper register that made the ground under your boots feel unstable again. “The data is... it’s consistent. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen on a server. Or off one.” He looked like he wanted to bolt, but he also looked like he would stay in that freezing alley for a thousand years just to keep holding your shoulders. “And the resolution is getting higher. You’re not just pretty. You’re…” He paused, his eyes searching yours as if for permission to say what he wanted to. “You’re terrifying. And I can’t seem to look away.”
You let out a small, huffed laugh, “Terrifying? That’s a 100% win rate for Viper.”
“I’m not talking about the game now,” Yunho said softly, his hand moving, finally leaving your shoulder to ghost along the line of your jaw. His skin was cool, but the intent behind the touch was fire. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his thumb grazing your temple with the lightness of a butterfly wing. “I’m talking about you.”
You leaned in, slow and deliberate, watching his pupils blow out until they nearly swallowed the brown of his eyes. You tilted your head, your lips inches from his, close enough to feel the frantic heat radiating off his skin. Yunho’s eyes fluttered shut, he was so visibly nervous he was actually shaking, his breath coming in short, shallow hitches. But you knew he was waiting for it as much as you were. He was braced for the impact of a kiss. You could feel the slight tremble in his jaw, the way he was shaking from the effort of staying still. He was a man standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for you to push him.
You paused mid-lean, your nose almost brushing his, and felt the sharp, hitching catch in his throat. You didn’t pull away, but you didn’t close the gap either. Instead, you let out a soft, hummed laugh that ghosted over his lips, making his eyes snap open in dazed confusion. “You know, Captain,” you whispered, your voice a silken thread that made the lump in his throat even tighter. You let your hand slide to his chest, your fingers splaying over the middle of his ribcage. “A good strategist never reveals their best play during the first match.”
Yunho’s eyes looked dazed and half-blind with adrenaline. He looked like a man who had been braced for a collision only to find himself suspended in mid-air. “W-what?”
The vibration of soft spoken words was hitting the space between your mouths. “I think we’re still at Level Zero,” you murmured, your lips almost grazing his. “And I’d hate to ruin the progression curve by skipping to the final boss on night one.”
The confusion on his face was almost painful to watch. He was trying to process the logic, his brain struggling to switch back from ‘romance’ to ‘tactics.’ “You’re… you’re pausing the game?”
“I’m saving the progress,” you corrected, a lazy, mischievous glint in your eyes as you finally pulled back just an inch. “They say the third time’s a charm, right? Basement… bar… maybe next time, Captain.”
The silence that followed was heavy enough to choke on. Yunho stood there, his hand still frozen against your jaw, his lips parted as if he were trying to catch the phantom heat of the kiss you’d just denied him. He looked absolutely devastated—but in a way that was fuelled by a terrifying amount of adoration. He wasn’t just “glitching” anymore; he was a total system failure. His chest heaved, a single, sharp breath escaping him that sounded suspiciously like a whimper. “That’s…” he started, his voice cracking and jumping an entire octave. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of the Captain. “That is… highly irregular tactical behaviour.”
“Is it?” You pulled back another inch, making the cool air hit the space on Yunho’s chest where your heat had been. “I thought I was just keeping the stakes high. You wouldn’t want a game that’s too easy to win, would you?”
Yunho’s hand finally dropped from your face, but his fingers curled into a fist as if he were trying to hold onto the sensation of your skin. He let out a long, shaky exhale, the white mist of his breath mingling with yours. “I don’t think I could handle it being any harder,” he stepped closer, invading your space again, his height looming over you. “You’re… you’re playing on a level I haven’t even unlocked yet.”
The world decided to tilt then.
The alcohol hit your bloodstream at the exact same moment a gust of wind whistled down the alley. Your knees, which had been locked in a bold, flirtatious stance, suddenly turned to water. You swayed, the brick wall behind you feeling like it was receding into the dark. “The ground,” you mumbled, burying your face in the soft cotton of his T-shirt. You felt dizzy, the smell of him—lavender detergent mixed with some sweet, slightly woodsy smell—acting as the only thing keeping you grounded. “The ground is lagging, Yun.”
He shifted his grip, one arm sliding around your shoulders to pull you closer, while the other was firm on your waist. A tiny sound escaped him—half laugh, half choke. “You shouldn’t have smoked that cigarette.”
“Tell me what you want,” you murmured against the skin of his collarbone, completely ignoring his correct remark. Your stubbornness, and the need to feel his warmth around you, made you press so close that the cold night couldn’t fit between your bodies anymore. “Do you want me to go back inside? Do you want me to go home?”
His fingers tightened at your waist, the smallest squeeze telling you he needed the closeness as much as you did. “I want you to be okay.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Yunho looked down at you like you were a problem he’d been trying to solve for months and had finally, terrifyingly, reached the last step of the equation. “I want—” He shut his eyes like he could brute force the courage into existence. “I want to stay in this lobby,” he whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of honesty he couldn’t believe he had. “I want the timer to stop. I want to keep you here before I sober up, and you walk away turning back into someone I glitch in front of.” He let out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping to rest against yours, his glasses touching softly against your temple. The Captain was gone. The Radiant rank was gone. There was just a boy in a thin T-shirt shivering in a dark alley because he was too far gone to care about the cold. “You’re so loud, Y/N,” he breathed, his eyes still squeezed shut as if the sight of you would be the final blow to his system. “Even when you’re quiet, you’re the only thing I can hear. It’s like you’re a frequency I’m tuned to, and everything else is just static. So no. I don’t want you to go back inside. And I don’t want you to go home.” He looked down at your lips—the ones that had teased him, mocked him, and called him baby—and his grip on your waist tightened until it was almost possessive. “I want you to tell me this isn’t a strategy, tell me you’re not just tilting me because you can. Tell me that when you look at me, you’re not seeing a mission or a teammate.”
You leaned back just enough to see the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the way his lips were still slightly open. You wanted to snap back with something sharp, something that would keep the armour intact. But the “lag” was too heavy, and his heat was too real. You inhaled, then exhaled slowly, the cold air burning your lungs more than the cigarette did. “Captain,” you whispered, leaning in again—this time not to provoke, but because the world felt steadier when you could hear his breathing. “If you kiss me right now, I might actually start believing you.”
Yunho went still. Every muscle in him locked like he was about to take a hit. “You… you still want that?” The question sounded like he couldn’t afford to misunderstand.
You looked him dead in the eye, your voice dropping into a low, dangerous velvet that felt like it was vibrating against every pore on his skin. You took a step forward, forcing him against the cold brick, letting him feel the softness of your body against the rigid tension of his. “I’m done making the calls, Yun. My head is spinning, and I’m sick of being the one in control.” You let your gaze drop to his mouth, then back to his blown-out pupils. “I need someone to handle me. To put their hands on me and tell me exactly where to go and what to do.”
The effect was catastrophic. He didn’t just blush; he looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. “H-h-handle?” he stammered, his voice cracking so badly it was almost a squeak.
“Yeah,” you nodded, your lips brushing the heat of his neck, “So are you going to be the Captain and take what’s yours, or not?”
For a guy who had spent more time on a headset than talking to girls, the blunt weight of your request was a total critical hit. “Y-Y/N,” he wheezed, looking like he was witnessing a miracle and a catastrophe at the same time. “You... you shouldn’t... that’s a very... high-level implication.”
“Is it?” you whispered, stepping on your toes to press a light kiss right under his ear.
“Yes!” he squeaked, his eyes wide and panicked, his glasses fogging up from the heat radiating off his face. “I—I don’t have the... the experience points for that kind of dialogue! I’m... I’m just the strategist. I don’t... I’ve never... handled... anyone.”
“Then learn,” you whispered, enjoying the way his pulse was visible in his neck. He was terrified. He was overwhelmed. And it made you feel nothing but joy. “None of this is a strategy,” you finally murmured the words he needed to hear the most. “I’m not that good of an actress. I just want you.”
The air in the alleyway seemed to hold its breath.
“So do something,” you challenged, your thumb tracing the jumping pulse in his throat. “Show me the Captain, Yunho. I’m waiting for the command.”
“N-no,” he said. It was meant to be firm, but it came out trembling with nerves. His eyes darted over your face like he was running a full tactical scan and hating the results. You were so close, he could have leaned in, he could have finished the “three times a charm” countdown right there. Instead, he let out a long, shaky exhale that ruffled your hair, and he gently but firmly, tucked your head back under his chin. “You’re drunk,” his voice was rougher than before but it wasn’t an accusation. It was more a boundary he was forcing himself to hold. “And I’m not going to take advantage of that.”
You let out a breath that came out more like a laugh. “I’m just lightly buzzed,” you corrected, because you were still you, still stubborn, still allergic to vulnerability. “And I give you my full consent,” you tried to stand taller just to prove the point but the sidewalk immediately tilted in response, like it was personally offended.
Yunho’s grip tightened, instinctively, steadying you like you weighed nothing. “I won’t—” He shut his eyes, like saying it out loud would hurt. “I’m not kissing you like this.”
Heat flared in your chest, sharp and humiliating. “Because you think I’ll regret it?”
“No,” he said instantly. Too fast. Too honest. “Because I’ll regret not stopping if you do.”
That landed somewhere deep, under the mask, under the alcohol haze. You stared at him for a beat, then tipped your head back against the night air, exhaling hard. “God. You’re infuriating.”
“I know,” Yunho whispered, like it was a fact he’d already logged and accepted. The humiliation you’d felt a second ago didn’t vanish, but it transformed into something else—a grounding realization. Yunho wasn’t rejecting you; he was protecting the version of you that he worshipped, even if that version currently had silver smoke on her breath and a head full of vodka.
“You’re really going to be the hero, aren’t you?” you murmured, your voice small, the usual rasp replaced by something raw. Your fingers tangling in the messy, wind-blown strands of his hair. “Even when I’m being the villain. You just… stay the hero.”
Yunho’s jaw flexed. He didn’t look away. “I’m not a hero, Y/N. I’m just a guy who’s very, very bad at losing things that matter.” He took a shaky breath, his forehead dropping back down to rest against yours. His glasses were cool against your skin, but his eyes, peering through the lenses, were burning. “I can be infuriating all night. I can be the most annoying strategist you’ve ever met. I’ll calculate your water intake, I’ll tell you to sleep, and I’ll walk you to your door without touching you once if that’s what it takes to make sure you wake up tomorrow and don’t wish I was someone else.”
“Okay,” you surrendered. You let your hands slide down from his hair to rest on his chest, feeling the frantic, galloping rhythm of his heart. You took a step backward to reclaim at least a bit of control, but your ankle immediately betrayed you. You stumbled—more dramatic than you meant, less graceful than you wanted—and Yunho caught you so fast it was like he’d been braced for impact the entire time. “I can’t walk,” you admitted, your voice looping into a slight, giggly slur as you leaned your forehead against his chest again.
He didn’t move, keeping his hands locked on your waist, his thumbs tracing the line of your hips through your clothes. He was like a human cage, but for the first time, the cage felt like the only place you were safe. “Okay,” he said, voice going calm in a way that was never actually calm. “We’re in a medical situation.”
“It’s not a medical situation,” you scoffed, trying to push yourself off him like pride alone could stabilise your ankles. Your legs immediately wobbled, and your attempt at independence turned into a slow-motion betrayal. “It’s just the air… It’s too loud, which makes everything worse. Spinning.”
Yunho tightened his hold without even thinking, one arm bracing your waist, the other steady at your elbow. His hands were warm through your jacket. Sturdy. Annoyingly so. “Viper,” he said, and your stomach dipped at the way he used the agent name instead of yours. “You can’t walk.”
“I can walk,” you insisted. “I just need to—” You took one step to prove it and the sidewalk tilted like it was laughing. You lurched, boots skidding, and Yunho caught you again, quick and practiced. He didn’t even flinch. He just absorbed you like you belonged there.
“You are not doing a hero sprint right now,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His breath puffed out in a small cloud in the cold. “Okay. New plan.”
You narrowed your eyes up at him. “What plan?” He looked down at you, and for a second he looked so young it made something in your chest ache. Like he was trying to be the Captain, trying to be responsible, trying to keep you safe, and the weight of it was too big for his shoulders but he carried it anyway.
“I’m taking you home,” he said.
Home. The word hit softer than it should have. You tried to laugh it off. It came out as a tiny, undignified huff against his shirt. “I can… tactically retreat on my own.”
Yunho’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smile but didn’t trust himself. “You just got nerfed by beers and vodka. There’s no retreat. There’s only… extraction.”
“Extraction,” you repeated, like you were testing the word for weakness. He nodded, very seriously. You stared at him for a beat, then lifted a finger to poke his chest, right over the hammering heart. “You’re… so dramatic.”
“I’m not dramatic,” he said automatically.
“You said ‘medical situation.’”
“That was a factual observation.” You snorted and it turned into a giggle against your will. Yunho’s gaze flicked to your mouth again—quick, involuntary—then away like it physically hurt to look for too long. He swallowed, throat bobbing. “Can you… can you tell me your address?”
“My address?”
“Yes.”
You blinked slowly. “Captain, I live in… I live in a building with the… the stairs.”
Yunho stared. You stared back, pleased with yourself.
He exhaled through his nose like someone had just handed him a bomb and a pair of tweezers. “Okay. Great. Perfect.”
“I can show you,” you offered, like you were being helpful. He hesitated, eyes tracking the line of your body, the wobble lingering in your posture, the way your head kept wanting to tip forward like sleep was waiting just behind your eyes.
Then, very carefully, as if he was asking permission from every law of the universe, Yunho shifted his stance. “What are you—” you started. He ducked, turned, and in one not-so-smooth motion he scooped you up. It wasn’t bridal, not exactly. It was more… practical. One arm under your knees, the other behind your back, close and secure like a carry-out of a very expensive, very stubborn package. This time your brain stopped working. Your hands flailed for a second before instinct found fabric—his shirt, his shoulder, the back of his neck. “Yunho!” you hissed, half scandalised, half outraged, wholly aware of how easy it was for him. “Put me down!”
“No,” he said, immediate and firm.
You blinked at him. “No?”
He adjusted his grip like you weighed nothing, jaw set like he’d committed to a mission and was not taking feedback. “You’re going to fall.”
“I would not fall.”
“You did fall,” he corrected.
“I stumbled.”
He looked at you, expression flat in a way that was almost comical. “You nearly ate the sidewalk.”
“I was checking it,” you said, because your dignity was a dying animal and you refused to finish it off.
His lips twitched again. “Thank you for your service.”
You huffed, then—feeling the exhaustion and the vodka pull at your eyelids—you leaned closer. If he wouldn’t kiss you because you were drunk—fine. You’d take what he was willing to give. You shifted in his arms, settling your weight against his broad chest, and let your head fall against his shoulder with a deliberately heavy, exaggerated sigh.
Yunho jumped so hard he almost dropped you. “Are you—is the—is the unit secure?”
“I’m making your job harder,” you mumbled. “Strategic burden.”
“You’re not a burden,” he whispered, his voice finally softening. He tucked you closer, his large hands carefully avoiding any “unnecessary” contact, though the way your body pressed against his was clearly making him short-circuit.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Home,” Yunho said.
“My home?”
A long, shy pause. He swallowed so hard you heard it. “Mine. If you want. I... I have a couch. I’ll sleep there. You can have the bed. It’s... it’s been washed. Recently. I mean—it’s clean! I’m not—I’m not a weirdo!”
You lifted your head, squinting at his panicked face. The “handle me” comment was clearly still playing on a loop in his head. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” he said quietly, finally looking at you with that crushing, quiet worship. “I want you somewhere I can... I can keep an eye on your health bar.”
That sentence should’ve made you bristle. It didn’t. It made your throat go tight. You swallowed. “If you drop me, I’m suing the Radiant Rank.”
Yunho’s mouth twitched—barely there, but real. “Noted. Recalibrating grip for maximum stability.”
The first thing you felt was the soft cotton—smelling faintly of lavender. You opened one eye, and the world immediately punished you for it with a sharp spike of light. You weren’t in your apartment. Yours was messy, smelled like burnt toast, coffee, and didn’t have a $5,000 ergonomic setup glowing in the corner.
Yunho’s room was terrifyingly organised. His shelves were lined with pristine figurines, his hoodies were folded with military precision, and his secondary monitor was currently displaying a System Sleep screen that cast a soft blue glow over the bed. Then, a heavy, warm weight shifted beside you. You froze, your heart doing a frantic sprint. Slowly, painfully, you turned your head. Yunho was passed out on top of the covers, still wearing his jeans and shirt from yesterday, though the hood was twisted awkwardly around his neck. He wasn’t even under the blankets—he’d clearly laid you down, tucked you in, and then collapsed right next to you like a loyal guard dog who’d reached his limit. His glasses were crooked on his face, one arm hooked over his ear, the other poking dangerously close to his eye. His mouth was slightly open, and he was snoring—not a loud, obnoxious snore, but a soft, huffing sound that was so puppy-coded it made your chest ache.
Suddenly, Yunho’s nose twitched. He let out a long, shaky sigh and his eyes fluttered open. He blinked, the world clearly a blur without his lenses properly adjusted. “O-oh!” he croaked, his voice deep from sleep. He shoved his glasses up his nose, realised they were crooked, and ended up knocking them onto the carpet. “O-okay. Morning. Objective… objective reached.” He looked at you, and the memory of the almost kiss must have hit him because his face went from sleepy to high-aware in two seconds. “I—I didn’t… I mean, I stayed because you wouldn’t let go of my shirt!” he blurted out, gesturing frantically to your hand, which was indeed still clutching the hem of his shirt. “I tried to leave! But you said—you said I was your ‘support’ and I had to stay!” He scrambled back, nearly falling off the edge of the mattress. “Did you… do you need water? Ibuprofen? A tactical retreat?”
You didn’t let go of his shirt immediately. Instead, you tugged it, pulling him a fraction closer as you let out a dry, sleepy chuckle. “Support?” you echoed, voice rough with sleep and last night’s drinks.
Yunho froze halfway through his frantic retreat. The morning light made him look unfairly soft. “I carried you,” he said, like he was reporting a mission debrief. “You kept insisting you were fine. Then you tried to salute a mailbox.”
“That mailbox was suspicious,” you mumbled.
Yunho’s mouth twitched. It was the smallest fracture, but you saw it anyway. “Do you feel sick?”
You shifted under the blanket and immediately regretted every decision you’d made since the invention of vodka. The room tilted, then steadied. Your stomach did a slow, offended roll. “I feel… punished,” you admitted.
Yunho nodded, very serious. “Okay.” He slid off the bed, moving carefully like he didn’t want to startle you. “I’ll get water,” he said. “And… food. Something with salt. Electrolytes. I have—” Yunho made a strangled noise that might have been a laugh. He turned toward the door, then stopped like he’d hit an invisible wall. His hand hovered on the knob. “And,” he added, voice quieter, “I’m sorry if… if last night was uncomfortable. I should’ve—”
“Captain,” you interrupted, and your own voice surprised you with how gentle it came out. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I didn’t kiss you,” he said.
“Yeah,” you murmured. “I noticed.”
His throat bobbed. “I wanted to.” The confession landed heavy, even through the hangover haze.
Your chest did that stupid, traitorous thing where it tightened and warmed at the same time. “I wanted you to,” you said, eyes on his shirt, because looking at his face felt too dangerous in the daylight. “But I… get why you didn’t.”
Silence stretched. The room hummed with the low, expensive quiet of his PC in sleep mode. When you glanced up, Yunho was staring at you like you’d handed him a code he’d been trying to crack for months.
“You’re not mad?”
“Should I be?”
Yunho’s brows pinched. “You were… very persuasive.”
You huffed a laugh that hurt your skull. “You were very… stubborn.”
“I was responsible,” he corrected automatically.
“You were infuriating,” you corrected back.
His mouth twitched again. This time it stayed. A real smile, small and exhausted, like it cost him something. “I’ll take infuriating,” he said. “As long as you’re safe.”
“Get the water,” you ordered, defaulting to the only armour you had left. “Before I start thinking you like bossing me around.”
Yunho’s smile disappeared so fast it was almost comedic. “I don’t—” You arched a brow. He exhaled, defeated. “Okay. Water.” He cracked the door open, then paused again, glancing over his shoulder. “And,” he said, voice careful, “when you’re sober… if you still want—” He gestured helplessly between your faces. “The… the thing,” he finished, mortified.
“You mean the kiss?”
Yunho shut his eyes like you’d shot him. “Yes.”
Your lips curved, slow and sore and real. “Bring the water first, Captain,” you said. “Then we’ll negotiate.”
Yunho’s eyes opened. “Okay,” he whispered, like it was the only word he trusted himself with.
You laid back as he disappeared into the hallway, staring at the ceiling of his perfectly organised room. Your head throbbed. Your stomach rolled. Your pride was in critical condition. Yunho’s place was quiet in that expensive way—soft carpet, no neighbour noises, no random clutter screaming for attention. Somewhere down the hall, a cupboard opened. A mug clinked. Then a voice you recognised—too loud, too familiar, too awake.
Mingi.
Your soul tried to crawl out of your body and file a resignation letter. You sat up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The room tilted. You put a hand on the mattress, breathing through the wave of nausea until it backed off. You needed a shower. Desperately. You smelled like beer, smoke, and poor decisions. Yesterday’s make-up making your dry skin itch. You stood up, grabbed your jacket off the chair like it could shield you from humiliation, and cracked the bedroom door open.
The hallway light was a little too bright and smelled like coffee. You stepped out, and there he was. Mingi was sprawled on the sofa, long legs kicked up, one arm flung over the backrest. He had a blanket half-draped over his lap and an expression that said he’d been awake for exactly one minute and already chosen violence. His head turned at the sound of your footsteps. His eyes widened. Then his grin broke across his face like a flare.
“Oh my God,” he breathed, loud enough to wake the dead. You froze mid-step. Mingi sat up a little, delighted. “Why are you here?” he shot, like it was the funniest question in the world. You opened your mouth to defend yourself and immediately realised you did not have the energy to lie with your whole chest. So you closed it again. Mingi’s gaze flicked past you, to the bedroom door behind you, then back to your face. “You slept in his room,” he said, scandalised and thrilled.
“I slept,” you corrected flatly.
“Sure,” he said, not believing you for even one second.
From the corner of the kitchenette, Seonghwa appeared with two mugs and the careful, gentle posture of someone trying not to trigger a hangover-related crime. He was in grey pyjamas — a little too big on him, sleeves pushed up, hair damp like he’d just washed his face. He looked soft and domestic and entirely too awake for this hour. He took one step into the living space, saw you and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. He stopped so fast the coffee sloshed toward the rim. “You—” Seonghwa’s voice was strangled in his throat. His gaze flicked from your face to your jacket to the bedroom door, like he was putting together a crime scene in real time. “I… uh…” Seonghwa’s voice was a high-pitched squeak. “Good… morning? I didn’t realise we had a guest suite.” he blinked hard, trying to reboot his brain. Then his cheeks went pink.
Mingi made a sound like a dying seagull. “Hyung. Hyung, look at her. She’s holding her jacket like she’s about to flee the country. Did the Captain finally land a headshot? Or were you guys just… discussing lineups all night?”
“Mingi!” Seonghwa hissed.
You pinched the bridge of your nose. The motion made your head throb in protest. “I need a shower,” you said, mostly to yourself.
Mingi’s brows lifted. “A shower?”
Seonghwa’s eyes went round again. “The bathroom is—” he started, then stopped, like the word bathroom had suddenly become illegal.
You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you both acting like I just said I’m going to detonate a grenade in the sink?”
Mingi leaned forward on the couch, grin sharp. “Because it’s our bathroom,” he said slowly, like he was explaining a complicated concept to a child. “And you’re… a girl.”
Seonghwa looked like he might pass out into the coffee mugs. “It’s fine,” he said quickly. “It’s completely fine. Use whatever. There’s… there’s towels. Extra towels. Clean towels. I buy towels like it’s a coping mechanism.”
“That tracks,” you muttered. Mingi threw his head back and laughed. You started toward the hallway, moving carefully, one hand on the wall. As you passed Seonghwa, he shifted to give you space, still staring like he couldn’t believe you were a real person and not a hallucination caused by a hangover.
“Y/N,” he said, voice low and concerned, and you paused. You glanced back. Seonghwa’s expression softened, the shock fading into something warmer. “Are you okay?”
You should have said yes. You should have been sarcastic. You should have thrown on the mask and kept walking. Instead, the hangover stripped you down to the truth. “I’m… functioning,” you said because it was all you had. “But my head is in terrible shape.”
Seonghwa’s eyes flicked to Mingi, like he was silently begging him not to make a joke. Mingi, for once, actually shut his mouth. Seonghwa nodded, slow. “Okay,” he said gently. “Shower first. Then we’ll feed you. Damage control.”
“Damage control,” you repeated, then turned toward the bathroom before your pride could do anything stupid.
Behind you, Mingi called out, way too loud, “Try not to fall, okay? Captain will cry.”
You made it to the bathroom door like it was a high-stakes hostage extraction—one agonising, calculated step at a time, your hand skimming the wall for balance while your brain protested the very concept of movement. The door was ajar, a sliver of sanctuary waiting for you. You reached for the handle, leaning your weight forward to shove it open.
WHACK.
The door didn’t just open; it exploded outward at the exact same moment you leaned in. The heavy wood caught you square in the forehead with a sound like a wet towel hitting a tile floor. For one blessed second, the world went silent. Your skull rang like a cathedral bell on Sunday morning. You saw stars—actual, flickering 4K pixels—dancing in your peripheral vision.
“Oh my—Y/N!” Yunho’s voice hit you a beat after the impact, sounding like a man witnessing a natural disaster. Yunho’s hands went into a state of total emergency. He dropped Ibuprofen, shirt, and a clean towel to the floor. “I ended her,” he whispered, horror-struck. “I’ve committed a war crime. Are you okay? Do you see double? How many fingers am I holding up? Do I need to perform a field tracheotomy?!”
“You…” you rasped, your voice sounding like it was coming from a different zip code. “You… door’d me.”
“I know! I’m so sorry!” He hovered over you, his hands fluttering near your face, terrified to touch you but desperate to catch you. “I don’t have my glasses on! I just washed my face and looked for the painkillers in the cabinet!”
Mingi’s voice erupted from the living room, muffled by a sofa cushion but dripping with pure, unadulterated delight. “CRITICAL HIT! Captain’s got 100% accuracy on friendly fire! Is she dead? Can I have her mouse?!”
“SHUT UP, MINGI!” Yunho shrieked, his voice hitting a register that suggested he was nearing a total meltdown. “Please don’t die. I’ll give you my PC. I’ll give you my soul. Just blink if your brain is still in one piece.”
You slowly raised a hand and pressed your palm to the bridge of your nose. The bruise was already blooming like a poisonous flower.
Seonghwa appeared, looking like a weary Victorian ghost in his silk pajamas, holding a spatula for reasons no one understood. He took one look at the scene and let out a sigh that lasted ten years. “Why,” he asked the ceiling, “is this my life?”
“Hyung, I attacked her!” Yunho wailed, clutching his hair. “I used the environment against her! I’m a monster!”
“I got door-stunned,” you corrected, trying to maintain your dignity while the hallway tilted forty-five degrees to the left.
“I’ll get ice, Mingi, stop googling ‘how to inherit a teammate’s skins.’ Yunho, stop shaking before you shake the building off its foundation.”
Yunho’s hands finally landed—light as feathers—on your shoulders, steadying you. His face was so close you could see the sheer terror in his eyes. “I’ll… I’ll carry you,” he whispered, his voice wrecked with relief that you were still breathing. “To the shower. To the hospital. To the moon. Just say the word.”
“You’re going to get me a cold cloth,” you said flatly, the Viper voice returning out of pure spite.
“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed, snapping into a salute that nearly took out your eye.
Mingi snorted from the couch, loud enough to echo. “Careful, Captain! If you salute any harder, you’ll give her a concussion on the other side. Perfect symmetry!”
“WHY DID YOU SLEEP ON THE COUCH, GO TO YOUR ROOM, MINGI!”
You looked up at Yunho—tall, gorgeous, and currently one minor inconvenience away from a heart attack. You stepped past him into the bathroom, your hand on your throbbing forehead. “Captain?”
“Yes?! Anything!”
“Next time,” you muttered, closing the door—very, very slowly—until only a crack remained. “Try a stealth entry. Your ‘push’ is too strong.”
Yunho’s muffled voice came through the wood, “Copy that.”
The bathroom door creaked open, and you stepped out into the hallway, smelling of Yunho’s soap and feeling significantly more human. You were wearing one of his massive shirts—it swallowed you whole, the hem reaching mid-thigh and the sleeves hanging past your fingertips. Your hair was damp, sticking to the back of your neck, and your forehead was sporting a magnificent, throbbing red knot where the door had made its grand entrance.
You walked into the living room, and the silence was instant. Mingi was mid-sentence but his jaw actually clicked shut. He looked at you, then slowly turned his head to look at Yunho. Seonghwa froze, his eyes darting from your bare face to your legs to the fact that you were wearing Yunho’s clothes, and then he looked down at his coffee like it might provide an escape route. Yunho... Yunho just stopped breathing. He was sitting on the edge of the armchair, and the second he saw you, his brain underwent a total meltdown. He stared at his own shirt on your frame, his eyes tracing the way it hung off your shoulders, and his face turned a colour that shouldn’t be possible for a living human.
“She lives!” Mingi finally yelled, breaking the tension like a sledgehammer. He pointed a finger at the bruise on your head. “Nice horn, Viper! You look like a very grumpy unicorn.”
“It’s an accessory,” you muttered, leaning against the doorframe. You felt smaller without the makeup, more exposed.
Yunho finally found his voice, though it was about three octaves higher than usual. “Is it... is it comfortable? The shirt? I—I have others! I have a soft one! A fleece one! I can give you my entire wardrobe! Just—just don’t look at me like that!”
“Like what?” you asked, tilting your head.
“Like... like that!” He gestured wildly at your face. “My defence stats are at zero!”
Seonghwa cleared his throat, desperately trying to save the situation. “I have ice. For the... ‘accessory.’”
“I’ll take the ice,” you said, sliding into the kitchen chair.
Yunho scrambled to help you, but he was so distracted by the sight of you in his clothes that he accidentally tripped over the leg of the table, stumbling right into your space. He caught himself, his hands landing on the back of your chair, effectively boxing you in. He was so close you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes and the way his eyelashes fluttered behind his glasses. He looked down at the bruise, then at your damp hair, and his expression softened into something so pure it made your Viper heart shrivel with guilt. “Does it hurt?” he whispered, his voice deep and honey-sweet, ignoring Mingi’s muffled snickering from the sofa.
“Only when I think about the guy who did it,” you teased, but your voice lacked its usual bite. Yunho leaned in, his thumb hovering just a millimetre away from the swelling on your forehead.
Seonghwa didn’t just clear his throat; he made a sound like a polite engine failing. “Mingi, we need to do some grocery shopping. Get your ass up, we’re going,” he said, his voice reminding you the one of a parent that left zero room for negotiation.
“Why me?” Mingi whined, his voice muffled by the sofa cushion. He didn’t even open his eyes. “I don’t eat groceries. I eat takeout and the tears of my enemies. Send Yeosang.”
“Yeosang doesn’t live here, and you are currently occupying the space where my patience used to live,” Seonghwa replied, walking over and literally hooking his fingers into the collar of Mingi’s hoodie. “Up. Now. We’re out of milk. And eggs. And… detergent.”
“We have three bottles of detergent!” Mingi yelped as he was hoisted upward like a disgruntled house cat. “Hyung, I’m in the middle of a recovery! I’m a wounded soldier!”
“You’re a distraction,” Seonghwa muttered, dragging him toward the door. He shot a look over his shoulder—a quick, sharp glance at Yunho that said: Don’t screw this up, and a softer, respectful nod toward you. “We’ll be back in an hour. Or two. Depending on how long it takes Mingi to stop crying in the cereal aisle.”
“I want the ones with the marshmallows!” Mingi’s voice faded as the front door was hauled open. “Wait—did she just wink at me? Hwa, did Viper just wink at—OW!”
SLAM.
The apartment went silent. Not a normal silent, but that heavy, ringing quiet. Yunho was still standing there, his hands still hovering near the back of your chair, his chest heaving slightly. The shirt you were wearing seemed to glow in the morning light, a constant reminder that he’d carried you, he’d tucked you in, and he was currently the only thing standing between you and the rest of the world. He looked at the closed door, then slowly, tentatively, his gaze slid back to you. Without Mingi’s commentary, the air between you felt thick enough to choke on. “He’s… he’s right,” Yunho whispered, his voice cracking like a middle-schooler’s. “We are out of… Um, milk.”
“You have a carton standing on the island, and another one by the sink,” you said softly.
Yunho squeezed his eyes shut for a second, a pained expression crossing his face. “I know. Hyung is… he’s not a very good liar when he’s stressed.” He reached for the bag of ice Seonghwa had left on the counter, wrapped it in a clean tea towel, and stepped back into your space. He didn’t ask this time. He just leaned down, his face inches from yours, and gently pressed the cold pack against the angry red knot on your forehead. The cold was sharp, but the heat of his proximity was worse. “Sorry,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the side of your temple to keep the ice steady. “I’m still… sorry about the door. And The Abyss. And… everything.” He looked at your bare face, his eyes lingering on the bridge of your nose before dropping to your lips, still murmuring apologies.
You reached up, your fingers snagging the drawstrings of a fresh hoodie he put on while you were showering, yanking him downward. He let out a startled gasp, his balance tilting as he was forced to brace his other hand on the table behind you to keep from face-planting into your lap. “You’re talking too much, Captain.”
Yunho’s eyes went wide behind his lenses, his breath hitching. “I—I am? I’m just providing… status updates…”
With your free hand, you reached up. Your fingers brushed his temple—slow, cool, and deliberate. You felt him shiver, a tremor that started in his shoulders and ended in the hand holding the ice pack. Very gently, you hooked your index finger around the bridge of his glasses and lifted them off his face.
The world for Yunho suddenly went soft-focus. The sharp edges of the kitchen, the glare of the morning sun—it all blurred into a haze of colour, leaving only you as the sharpest thing in his universe (because you were the only thing close enough for him to actually see.)
“There,” you breathed, setting the glasses on the table behind you. Without his glasses, Yunho looked… defenceless. His eyes were huge, dark, and rimmed with thick lashes, looking softer and more terrified than you’d ever seen them.
“I—I can’t…” Yunho’s voice was a wrecked and breathless. He was looking at your lips, then your eyes, then back to your lips. “You’re… you’re too close. I’m going to disconnect.”
“Then disconnect,” you said, your hand moving from his hoodie to the back of his neck, your thumb tracing the sensitive skin there. The ice pack was forgotten, slipping from his grip and hitting the floor. You didn’t care. Neither did Yunho.
Yunho’s world was currently reduced to the smell of his shampoo on your damp hair and the feeling of your hand on his neck. “I’m not sturdy,” he confessed, his voice a whisper against your skin. “I’m really, really not. When it’s you… I can’t help but shake. I’m made of glass.”
“Good,” you murmured, closing the gap until your lips were a heartbeat away from his. “I always did like breaking things.”
“You know what they say, Captain,” you continued, your voice dropping into that dangerous, low register that usually sent him running for the nearest exit. Your fingers trailed up from his neck to cup his jaw, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “Three times a charm.”
Yunho’s breath hitched. He knew exactly what you meant. The basement, where you’d almost touched. The bar, where you’d whispered in his ear. And now… this. “I—I…” He started to lean in. It was slow and agonisingly cautious, but just as his lips were inches from yours—just as you could feel the frantic, shaky heat of his breath—he froze. He stayed there, suspended in the air, his eyes squeezed shut, his entire body locked up. He was filled with pure, unadulterated panic. His brain had finally hit a fatal error and you decided not to wait for him to reboot. You tilted your head and pressed a light, feather-soft peck to the corner of his mouth. It was barely anything—just a ghost of a touch—but the effect was tectonic. Yunho started to shake. Literally. You could feel the vibration through his jaw, through his hands on the table, through the air between you. He was a man holding onto the last shred of his “Good Boy” programming, and it was currently catching fire. He let out a shaky, frustrated exhale against your skin. His eyes snapped open, the shy Yunho didn’t just leave the room; he was deleted from the server. “Fuck it,” he muttered finally—profanity that sounded so wrong and so right coming from his mouth. He didn’t lean this time; he crashed. Yunho’s hand flew from the table to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your damp hair as he pulled you into a kiss that was anything but sturdy.
It was desperate. It was messy. It was the sound of a man who had been polite for far too long finally deciding to take the objective. He tasted like the coffee Seonghwa prepared and the mint of his toothpaste, and he was kissing you like he was trying to memorise the sensation before the world started rendering again.
The kiss was everything you didn’t want to admit you wanted. It was warm, it was desperate, and it was the first time Yunho felt truly solid, like he’d finally found his footing. His hand was firm against the back of your head, his fingers anchor-points in your damp hair.
But as the initial rush of heat began to settle into something deeper, something more permanent, the cold reality of the room started to leak back in. He pulled back just a fraction, your lips were still buzzing, your breath hitching in your throat. Yunho didn’t let go immediately; he leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed, a small, dazed smile playing on his mouth. He looked… happy. He looked like he’d just won the championship. His hands were still trembling, fingers slowly retreating from your hair like they were afraid of the reality of what had just happened.
“I—uh.” Yunho’s eyes immediately dropped to the floor, his ears turning a shade of purple-red. He started to move, but it was jerky—like a character model with a broken animation cycle. He reached for the glasses you’d set on the table, his fingers fumbling and knocking them over twice before he managed to hook them behind his ears. “O-okay,” he stammered, his hands immediately flying to the drawstrings of his hoodie. He started pulling them, tightening the hood until his face was practically cinched shut like a drawstring bag. “That was… that was a high-level encounter. Very… very efficient. Good… good execution.” He wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at a loose thread on his sleeve, picking at it with a frantic, rhythmic motion. Then he noticed the ice pack on the floor. “Ice!” he shouted, way too loud for the two feet of space between you. He lunged for the tea towel, nearly tripping over his own feet again. “The—the swelling! Thermal regulation is… is critical for… for recovery!” He scrambled back into your space, his hands shaking so hard the ice pack rattled against your skin. He fidgeted, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“Yunho,” you murmured, hands sliding to the edge of the chair. You pushed yourself up slowly, carefully, as if your motor functions were still buffering. The oversized shirt grazed your thighs as you stood, and you felt Yunho’s eyes track the movement with a heavy, focused intensity.
He held the ice pack like a relic, hovering it a hair’s breadth from your forehead. His hood was still half-cinched around his face, the drawstrings white-knuckled in his fist. Reaching up, you pinched one of the strings, tugging gently until the tension gave way. His face emerged—flushed, earnest, and so painfully adorable you felt a twinge of guilt.
“Hey,” you said, your voice dropping an octave.
His gaze flickered to the bruise before snapping back to your eyes. “It’s swelling.”
“You’re very observant.”
“I’m trying to be useful,” he whispered, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His grip tightened on the towel, then loosened, his instincts clearly at war. “You—” he started, but the words seemed to snag in his throat.
You offered a small, genuine smile. “Come here.”
He blinked, looking momentarily lost. “I’m already… here.”
“Closer,” you corrected.
Yunho hesitated for a heartbeat before stepping in, finally abandoning his negotiations with gravity. He didn’t touch you yet, but he stood close enough that his warmth bled through your shirt—close enough to reveal the fine tremor in his body.
You reached for the ice pack, guiding it to your forehead to steady his shaking. When your fingers brushed his, Yunho inhaled sharply, as if you’d pressed a blade to his pulse.
A strangled, breathy laugh escaped him. “I—okay.”
You looked up at him, and the need to perform completely vanished. You were hungover, bruised, and barefoot in his kitchen, yet a terrifying sense of happiness settled over you.
“I’m—I’m undergoing a scheduled reboot!” he blurted out, his voice cracking slightly. “It’s a large patch! Lots of data!”
“The data says you’re a dork,” you countered, pulling him closer by the hoodie strings. “And it says you stopped kissing me much too soon.”
Yunho froze, his brain clearly processing your words. You could almost see the combat report running through his head. Then, he let go of the ice pack—leaving you to hold it—and his hands found the soft cotton of your shirt at your waist. “The data is... uh... historically accurate,” he murmured, his voice finally dropping back into a lower, steadier register. “I should probably optimize my performance then.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah,” he whispered, his eyes darting to your lips and staying there. He tilted his head and closed the distance, it wasn’t the careful, hovering touch from before; this was firm and certain, the kind of kiss that made your toes curl against the cold floor. It was soft, lingering, and sweet. His touch turned sure and steady after realising you weren’t pulling away. He made a small, needy sound in the back of his throat as he tilted his head to deepen the contact. His large hands settled at the small of your back, pulling you closer, his thumbs tracing the line of your spine through the thin cotton of his shirt. He was still trembling, still twitchy and nervous, but the way he kissed you was anything but shy.
“Objective… definitely reached,” he breathed. His thumb grazed your cheek, moving with a gentleness that felt like he was handling something breakable. He took a shaky breath. “Can we… Can we make this a daily quest?”
“A daily quest? I don’t know, Captain. My schedule is pretty packed. What exactly are the requirements for this quest?”
Yunho took a shallow, shaky breath. His gaze drifted to the side, eyes tracking the way the sunlight hit the kitchen tiles as he mentally mapped out his ‘requirements.’ “Um… Well,” he started, his voice dropping into a low, melodic mumble. He didn’t look at you; instead, his long fingers began to fidget with the hem of the shirt you were wearing—his shirt—his knuckles brushing the fabric near your hip in a way that felt entirely too intimate for a “professional” debrief. “Requirement one,” he whispered, finally meeting your eyes for a fleeting, shy second. “I want… I want a synchronized login every morning. Even if you’re grumpy and haven’t had coffee yet. I just want to know you’re awake.” He shifted his weight, his broad shoulders hunching slightly as if he were trying to make himself smaller, more approachable. “Requirement two: a minimum of thirty minutes of… of actual proximity. Not through a headset. I mean sitting on the sofa together. Or me walking you to your classes. Just… being the person who gets to carry your bag.”
He stopped, his throat bobbing as he struggled with the next one. His thumb traced a slow, nervous line over the back of your hand. “And requirement three,” he said, his voice cracking just a little. “Frequent… connection checks. Like the one we did just now. Making sure I’m the only one who gets to see you like this—dump hair, in my clothes, looking… looking devastating.” He looked back at you, his honey-brown eyes soft and pleading behind his glasses. “And maybe… if the connection feels unstable… I get to kiss you until it fixes itself. Does Viper approve those patch notes?”
You let out a soft laugh, the sound vibrating between you. “Interesting. Those are very high-maintenance tasks, Captain.” You reached up, sliding your hands over his broad shoulders to link them behind his neck, drawing him back into your space until he had to lean down, his forehead resting against yours. “But you know, looking at the mechanics of this quest… it sounds an awful lot like you’re asking me to be your girlfriend.”
The word girlfriend hit him with the force of a high speed train.
Yunho blinked, his entire posture stiffening for a split second before he completely melted. A shy smile broke across his face—the kind of pure, radiant expression that made your heart do a frantic sprint. “Is the… is the intent that obvious?” he leaned down until his nose brushed against yours, his glasses clicking softly against your forehead.
“Terribly,” you whispered back, your fingers playing with the messy hair at the nape of his neck. “But I think I’m ready to accept the invite.”
He let out a long, shaky exhale, the tension finally leaving his massive frame as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, hugging you so tight your toes barely touched the kitchen floor. “Good,” he murmured into your skin, his voice muffled and warm. “Because the matchmaking for this was a nightmare, and I really don’t want to play with anyone else.”
Viper and Captain were currently defeated—not by a rival team, but by a flat-pack bookshelf.
Yunho was sitting on the floor, surrounded by wooden dowels and hex keys, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he squinted at a manual. He looked adorable—his hair messy, the sleeves of his oversized flannel pushed up to his elbows.
B-12 didn’t smell like damp concrete and old cables anymore. Now, it smelled like IKEA furniture, jasmine-scented candles that Seonghwa had “donated,” and the faint, lingering tomato sauce from the takeout pizza containers stacked by the door. It looked different now with soft LED strips glowing purple and blue behind the monitors, and a plush rug covering the cold concrete. Framed Level Zero posters—mostly hand-drawn by Mingi lined the walls.
“Yun,” you murmured, leaning over his shoulder. “I think screw J-12 goes into hole B, not A.”
Yunho was hunched over the manual like it was a high-level tactical blueprint, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “No,” he whispered, his voice similar to the one of a soldier trying to defuse a bomb. “The diagram clearly shows a 45-degree angle for the dowel. If we miss the alignment, the structural integrity of the entire One Piece collection is compromised.”
You didn’t answer with logic. Instead, you slid down onto the floor behind him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pressing a lingering, warm kiss to the sensitive skin just below his ear. “Captain,” you murmured, leaning your head forward to rest your chin on top of his shoulder. “Stop reading the manual for five seconds.”
Yunho blinked, finally looking away from the Step 14 in the instruction, that familiar, soft flush creeping up his neck. “You’re very... distracting today.”
You laughed in response, pulling his hand away from the screwdriver. He didn’t resist, just let you crawl into his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a lingering, soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Yunho’s breath hitched—a soft sound that told you that even after over a week of this, you still had the power to make his heart lag. He wrapped his massive arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Y-Y/N,” he squeaked, his neck turning a vivid shade of pink that clashed horribly with his shirt. “I am... I am currently in the middle of a high-stakes assembly phase. Precision is required.”
“You’re doing great,” you hummed, ignoring his protest. You trailed a row of soft, kissy, distractions along his jawline, feeling the way his pulse began to drum against your lips. “But your heart rate is getting high. You need a break.”
“I don’t... I don’t need a break,” he lied breathlessly, though he was leaning back into you involuntarily. He let out a shaky exhale, his eyes fluttering shut behind his glasses. “We need to finish preparing the headquarters. For Level Zero. For the... for the mission.”
“The mission can wait ten minutes,” you whispered, reaching around to lace your fingers through his.
He bit his lip, his eyes darting to yours, then down to your mouth. He was still the boy who hadn’t figured out how to handle the physical side of things without blushing until his ears burned, but he was getting braver. He leaned in, his nose brushing yours, his breath hitching. “I still think screw J-12 goes in hole A,” he whispered against your lips, his voice dropping into that low, resonant frequency.
“Is that so?” you breathed, your lips ghosting over his as you felt the frantic, heavy thud of his heart against your chest. “Then I guess you’ll have to prove it to me later. But right now...” You didn’t give him the chance to argue. You tilted your head and closed the gap, pressing your mouth to his in a kiss that was slow, deep, and tasted like the strawberry milk he’d been sipping on earlier. Yunho made a soft, needy sound in the back of his throat, his grip on your waist tightened, his large hands splaying across the small of your back as he pulled you even closer, as if trying to eliminate every last millimeter of space between his shirt and your skin. He was still shaking—that “shaking skyscraper” energy never truly left him—but there was a newfound hunger in the way he followed the lead of your lips.
When you finally pulled back, just far enough to see his face, he looked absolutely ruined. His glasses were stained with a print of your make-up foundation, his lips were red and wet, and his eyes were dazed and swirling with that crushing, quiet worship. He let his forehead drop against yours, his hot breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the basement. “Y/N, you’re... you’re literally overclocking me. I can’t process the instructions if you keep... doing that.”
“Then don’t,” you murmured, sliding your hands up to cup his face, your thumbs grazing his burning cheekbones. “Let the instructions wait. Let Mingi and Yeosang deal with the shelves when they get here. Just be here with me.”
Yunho let out a shaky, breathless laugh, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into your touch. For a guy who lived his life by the meta, by the stats, and by the strict rules of the Radiant rank, being “off-script” with you was clearly the most terrifying and exhilarating thing he’d ever experienced. “They’re going to make fun of me,” he whispered, his hands sliding up from your waist to rest tentatively at the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair with a reverence that made your chest ache. “Mingi’s going to see the half-finished bookshelf and the... and the way my face looks... and he’s going to know. He’s going to say I have ‘zero rizz’ and that I’ve been compromised.”
“You have been compromised, Captain,” you teased, nipping gently at his lower lip.
He shifted his weight, settling you more firmly onto his lap, his large frame providing a solid, warm anchor in the middle of the chaotic mess of wooden boards and screws. “Fine,” he murmured, his voice dropping back into that devastatingly low register. “Mission parameters have been updated. The bookshelf is officially de-prioritized. Current objective...” He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours one more time. “...is just this.”
The manual was forgotten. The unfinished bookshelf was a distant memory. In the purple and blue neon glow of B-12, the air was heavy, warm, and charged with an intensity that was entirely unauthorized by the Radiant rank. You smiled, slow and lazy, as you let your weight settle completely into his lap. Your hands left the safety of his shoulders and slid downward, finding the hem of his grey flannel. You slipped your fingers underneath the cold fabric, meeting the searing, trembling skin of his lower back. Yunho didn’t just gasp; he made a soft, broken sound—half-whimper, half-plea—and arching his back involuntarily. His grip on your waist tightened until it was almost painful, his knuckles white against the denim of your jeans.
The air in B-12 was thick enough to choke on. The neon purple glow from the LED strips caught the silver of the chain around Yunho’s neck as you pulled him down. Yunho’s glasses were gone now, put aside on the plush rug. Without them, he looked exposed. His hands, usually so careful to maintain “tactical distance,” had finally lost their battle with restraint. One was buried in your hair, his fingers curling into the strands at the base of your skull, while the other had slid beneath the hem of your shirt. His large palm was splayed flat against the small of your back, his skin scorching against yours, his thumb tracing a frantic, possessive rhythm. He was a 6’2” mess of heavy breathing and racing heartbeats. He kissed like he was trying to memorize your soul, a soft, desperate whimper vibrating in his chest every time you pulled him closer.
You were just about to let your hands slide higher up his neck when—
SLAM.
The heavy industrial door didn’t just open; it hit the wall like a frag grenade.
“YO! VIPER! I GOT THE NEW MONSTER FLAVOUR AND THE—"
Mingi froze. The plastic bag of drinks, sweets and spicy chips swung once, then twice, before slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor. For three seconds, the only sound in B-12 was the hum of the servers and the frantic, shallow breathing of the two people currently tangled on the floor.
Then, the silence shattered.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” Mingi’s voice hit a register that was physically impossible for a human male. He slammed his hands over his eyes, but his fingers were spread wide, his jaw practically unhinged. “MY EYES! MY IMMORTAL RANK EYES! YUNHO! ARE YOU—IS SHE—ARE YOU UNDER HER SHIRT?! IN THE HEADQUARTERS?!”
Yunho pushed you off him in pure panic, scrambling backward so fast he nearly knocked over the half-finished IKEA shelf, his face turning a shade of purple that looked like a medical emergency. “M-MINGI! THE UNIT ALIGNMENT! IT WAS... IT WAS A SENSORY CHECK!” Yunho squeaked, his voice cracking three times in a single sentence. He tried to stand, but his legs were still liquid, and he ended up half-collapsing against the wooden boards.
“A SENSORY CHECK?!” Mingi shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Yunho’s flushed face. "YOU WERE TASTE-TESTING HER LIPS! THE CAPTAIN IS COMPROMISED! VIPER HAS INVADED THE SITE!”
“Song Mingi, for the love of—why are you screaming?” Seonghwa stepped into the room, looking polished as ever, followed by Yeosang, who was currently occupied with a handheld console. They both stopped. Seonghwa’s gaze traveled from the discarded glasses on the rug, to your ruffled hair, to Yunho—who was currently trying to hide his entire body behind a single wooden plank. Seonghwa let out a long, weary sigh, the kind that came from a man who had seen his family collapse into chaos too many times. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I told you the IKEA assembly would be stressful. But I didn’t realize it would be... sensual.” Seonghwa’s elegant brow furrowed, and he sighed, the sound carried the weight of a thousand tired parents.
Yeosang didn’t even look up from his game, though his lipslift up into a lethal, dry smirk. “I told you he had high ping. I didn’t realize his ‘frequent connection checks’ involved physical contact. Do you need a manual for that, Yunho? Or did you figure out where the screw goes on your own?”
Yunho groaned, burying his face in his hands as he slid down the wall. “I’m retiring,” he muffled into his palms. “Tell the freshmen... I was a good leader.”
“A good leader?” Mingi howled, finally recovering enough to look without his hands covering his eyes. “You're the GOAT! You’re the Rizz-Master! Level Zero Captain... is in love! In B-12! On the floor! With VIPER! This is on the permanent record! I’m going to marry you off!”
“Shut up, Mingi!” Yunho squeaked.
“Mingi, you’re giving me a headache,” you chimed in, standing up, and smoothing out your shirt with a level of composure that was frankly terrifying given that your hair was still a bird’s nest and your lips were swollen. “Seriously,” you added, crossing your arms. “If you scream one more time, I’m locking the B-12 doors and you will be permanently forbidden from entering."
“You can’t do that! This is Level Zero headquarters!" He looked at Yunho, “Captain! Tell her! Tell her you’re the boss! Tell her she can’t—”
“She can do whatever she wants,” Yunho’s muffled voice came from behind his hands. One of his fingers peaked out, pointing weakly at you. “She’s the MVP. I’ve... I’ve surrendered the site.”
“He’s compromised," Yeosang deadpanned, finally closing his console. He walked over and poked Yunho’s shoulder with his toe. “Hey. Are you still in there? Or did she actually delete your personality?”
“I’m processing,” Yunho groaned, finally dropping his hands. His face was still a violent shade of red, and his hair was sticking up at odd angles. He looked at you, and for a split second, that “crushing worship” flickered in his eyes before he remembered he had an audience. He scrambled to find his glasses, his hands shaking as he shoved them back onto his face.
“That’s enough,” you cut in, stepping toward Yunho, deliberately straightening his glasses and patting his chest—right over his racing heart. You looked back at the trio with a sharp, lethal smirk. “The Captain is officially off the market,” you stated, your voice low and final. “So unless you guys want to help with Step 15 of this bookshelf, I suggest you go back to the convenience store and get some snacks that aren’t currently leaking all over the rug.”
Mingi looked at the leaking drinks, then at you, then at the absolutely dazed, smitten expression on Yunho’s face. “Fine,” he huffed, picking up the bags. “But I’m picking the wedding colors. And I’m telling the freshmen that the Viper didn’t just join the team—she stole the trophy.”
“Mingi, stop being a child,” Seonghwa said, his voice cutting through the noise with that effortless authority. He looked at Yunho, who was still trying to fix his hair and look dignified. “And Yunnie... breathe. Your heart is going to beat out of your ribs.”
A gentle, knowing smile touched Seonghwa’s lips as he looked at you, he stepped forward and pulled you into a warm, steady hug. “I suppose we don’t need to worry you’re gonna leave us with for a better team anymore," he murmured near your ear, his voice full of a genuine warmth. He stepped back just an inch, keeping his hands on your shoulders. “Welcome to the family, Y/N.”
You blinked, a rare moment of genuine speechlessness hitting you. You’d spent so long being a “Legend” or a “Goddess” that being called family felt like a status effect you didn’t know how to cleanse. “I—” you started, but Seonghwa just patted your shoulder and walked toward the leaking bags Mingi had dropped.
“If you’re family, that means you have to help Mingi clean the rug,” Seonghwa added over his shoulder, the parental tone returning. “And Yunnie? Put the manual down. You’ve clearly found a better way to spend your time.”
Yunho, who had been watching the interaction with a look of pure, melting relief, let out a soft huff. He looked at you, his eyes shining behind his glasses—the embarrassment was still there, but it was being overtaken by a fierce, quiet pride. “See?” Yunho whispered, stepping up behind you and resting his chin on your head, his arms wrapping around your waist in front of everyone. “I told you. They’re a mess, but they’re our mess now.”
Mingi groaned from the corner where he was scrubbing the floor. “Yeah, yeah, welcome to the family. Now come help me get this strawberry milk out of the carpet, MVP! The Captain is too busy being a simp to help!”
“He’s not a simp,” you defended, leaning back into Yunho’s chest. “He’s just... tactically affectionate.”
“Tactically affectionate!” Yeosang cackled from the chair. “I’m putting that on the Level Zero website.”
“Smaller on the carrots, Y/N,” Seonghwa coached gently, nudging your hand. “We want them to soften, not provide a crunch.”
Across the room, Yunho was buried in the sofa cushions, his long legs tangled in a knitted throw. The blue glow of the TV reflected in his glasses as he tried his best to focus on his game on the PS5. Every few seconds, he’d lean his head back and glance toward the kitchen, his gaze lingering on you with a soft, dazed smile before the game pulled him back in.
“Captain, focus!” Yeosang’s voice crackled. “You just walked into a wall.”
“I’m just... checking the kitchen’s progress.” Yunho defended, his ears turning pink.
“He’s checking the chef,” Seonghwa corrected dryly, stirring a pot of stew.
You paused the chopping, leaning around the corner of the breakfast nook to catch Yunho’s eye. He was already looking, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he navigated a particularly tricky platforming sequence. You winked and blew him a theatrical kiss. Yunho’s hands twitched on the controller—a fatal error in-game—but his face lit up. He physically reached out one hand into the air, catching the kiss and pulling it to his chest and pressing it against his heart with a look of pure, unadulterated adoration.
“Ewww!” Yeosang groaned, sprawled in the armchair nearby with the second controller gripped loosely in his lap. He didn’t even look up from the screen, but his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Captain, you’re lagging in real life. It’s embarrassing to watch.”
“Let him be, Yeosang,” Seonghwa chided, though he was wearing a knowing smirk as he tasted the stew. “At least someone in this house is getting some romantic practice. Though,” he added, his expression softening into something uncharacteristically shy, “I suppose I might be joining him soon. I have that... meeting next week.”
You stopped chopping, your eyes widening. “The tutoring guy? The one with the architecture major?”
Seonghwa’s ears turned a faint shade of pink, and he focused very intently on stirring the carrots. “His name is Hongjoong. And yes. He asked if we could go for coffee after our last session. He said he wanted to thank me for helping him actually pass his exams, but... he was blushing quite a bit when he said it.”
“That’s huge!” Yunho cheered from the couch, this time not looking away from the screen.
“It’s just coffee,” Seonghwa said, pointing a wooden spoon at Yunho, though the smile never left his face. He was usually the one taking care of everyone else—patching up Yunho’s frayed nerves or making sure Mingi actually ate a vegetable—so seeing him flustered was like finding a secret Easter egg in a game you thought you’d 100% completed.
“Architecture major? And he was blushing? Hwa, that’s a critical hit,” you said, setting the knife down and leaning your hip against the counter.
Seonghwa’s hand paused its rhythmic stirring. He looked down into the pot as if the vegetables could give him advice. “He’s very... sincere,” he murmured. “He brings me mango jellies every time we meet for a session, and he always remembers exactly how much sugar I take with my coffee. Last time, he stayed for twenty minutes after the tutoring ended just to talk about the ‘aesthetic symmetry’ of our team’s logo. He said it was ‘elegant, yet sharp.’”
“He likes the logo?” Yunho chimed in from the couch, his head popping up over the cushions like a curious golden retriever. “That’s a green flag, hyung. That’s a 10/10 teammate-in-law.”
Seonghwa’s hand slowed in the pot, his gaze drifting to the steam rising from the stew. “Well... I’m not sure if he’s even interested, like, romantically,” he admitted, his voice dropping an octave. “I tried to hug him goodbye last time, but he went so rigid I thought I did something stupid. He didn’t even touch me.” Seonghwa let out a soft sigh, his lips pulling into a small, rare pout that made your heart ache just a little.
“Well, maybe he’s just shy?” you offered, leaning closer to him and giving his arm a supportive squeeze. “I mean, look at Yunho. If I’d tried to hug him in the first week, he probably would have phased through a wall.”
“Hey!” Yunho protested from the couch, though he didn’t deny it.
“Maybe he’s just old-fashioned,” Yeosang deadpanned, not even looking up from his game as he rapidly tapped the triggers. “Maybe he’s waiting until marriage for physical contact. A true gentleman of the architectural arts.”
“Yeosang, please,” Seonghwa groaned, though the pout twitched into a reluctant smile.
“I‘m serious,” Yeosang continued, his lips lifting into that lethal, dry smirk. “Some people don’t have the Captain’s high-speed connection. They operate on dial-up. You have to give the data time to process before you go in for the romantic interactions.”
“It wasn’t a romantic interaction, it was a hug!” Seonghwa defended, his ears turning red.
The cozy, bickering peace of the kitchen was shattered a second later. The front door groaned on its hinges, slamming back against the wall with a violence that made the soup spoons rattle. A wave of cold, sharp air and the heavy scent of cigarettes flooded the room.
Mingi didn’t walk in; he surged. “DROP THE SPOONS!” Mingi bellowed, he didn’t even stop to take off his boots, skidding across the floor until he reached the kitchen island. “I have it!” he shouted, voice echoing off the kitchen tiles. He smelled like he’d been standing in the Smoking Area of The Abyss for six hours, but he didn’t seem to care.
“Mingi, you’re tracking mud onto the rug,” Seonghwa sighed, though he moved closer to look.
“Forget the rug!” Mingi breathed, tapping the phone screen, pulling up a registration portal. “The Amatour‘s Summer Open! It’s official. But it’s not just a trophy grab this year. Look at the fine print.”
Yunho scrambled off the couch, the knitted throw falling to his ankles as he hurried over, peering over your shoulder. You felt his hand rest on the small of your back as you read the text aloud. “The top four finishing teams will be awarded a direct seed into the Challengers League. Fully sponsored. A dedicated gaming house in Seoul.”
The silence that followed was absolute. This was the door to the big stage.
“We can turn the basement into a career,” Mingi whispered, his voice uncharacteristically low. He looked at Yunho, his eyes burning with a mix of terror and excitement. “Captain? Is it time to actually level up?”
The room went silent for a heartbeat before Yunho let out a bark of a laugh. “The Summer Open? Mingi, have you seen us play together?” He pointed a thumb at Seonghwa. “I love him, he’s my hyung, my best friend, but we aren’t getting past the first round of qualifiers with Seonghwa as our sentinel. We’d be eliminated before the loading screen finishes.”
“Hey!” Seonghwa protested, “I’ve improved!”
“Hyung, having you on a team it’s a death sentence in a tournament,” Yeosang added.
Yunho looked at Mingi’s phone again, then at Seonghwa, then finally at you. You could feel the slight tremor in the hand resting on your back—but his gaze was focused. “But I guess, we aren’t just a basement team anymore,” Yunho said, pulling you a little closer, his thumb grazing your side. “We are registered with the University Council, we have the best teamwork in the rank, the most aggressive flex, and we have Viper.” He looked at the group, a slow, victorious smile spreading across his face.
“The Summer Open starts in six weeks,” Yeosang declared. “If we’re going to do this, we do it right. We start the pro-grind tomorrow. Are we in?”
“I’ve already started drafting the training schedule,” Mingi said, his lips quivering into a sharp smirk.
It hit you all at once.
If Level Zero entered an official tournament, you couldn’t just Ratatouille your way through. In a casual scrimmage, you could hide. You could blame “lag,” you could let Wooyoung carry the game from the safety of your apartment while you talked into the mic. But a regional pre-elimination? There would be officials. There would be hand-cams. There would be the terrifying reality of a mouse and keyboard in front of you—and no Wooyoung to bridge the gap.
The air in the room seemed to thin out. You felt the blood drain from your face, leaving you cold in the middle of the heated kitchen. You looked at Yeosang, who was laughing, and Mingi, who was already talking about team jerseys. They had no idea. They thought they had a Radiant-tier Viper in their ranks. They didn’t know they had a girl who could barely navigate the menu without a panic attack.
“Y/N?” It was Yunho’s voice. “You’re… you’re really quiet,” he murmured, his voice low enough that the others didn’t hear over Mingi’s latest joke. He pulled you closer to his chest, his finger spreading on the small of your back. “Are you okay? You got very pale.”
You looked down at his hand—the hand that shook when it touched you. If you told him the truth, the “Daily Quest’’wouldn’t just be over; it would be a total server wipe. You’d be the girl who lied. The girl who used her best friend to trick Yunho into falling in love with a mask. “I’m fine,” you rasped, voice coming out thin and brittle. “Just… thinking.”
“We don’t have to do it,” Yunho said suddenly, he looked around the room, then back at you. “If you don’t want to—if it’s too much—we can just stay as a club. I don’t care about becoming pro, Y/N. I just care about you.”
He was ready to throw away his dream—the Summer Open, the chance to prove Level Zero was real and worth of a professional title.
“No,” you whispered, your heart breaking in real-time. “We should… we should do it. Let’s sign up.”
As the boys cheered and Mingi started typing, you felt a cold, hard knot form in your chest. You had only a couple of days to figure out how to do the impossible. You had to tell Wooyoung. And God help you, you were going to have to tell him that the Viper lie was about to be exposed.
Yunho laughed, ducking his head to hide his blush, but he didn’t pull his hand away from you. He leaned in, whispering into your ear, “I guess I really am going to have to handle a professional team now, aren’t I?”
“Wait, wait!” Mingi’s eyes suddenly lit up, that mischievous, “I-have-an-idea” glint taking over his face. He leaned forward, slamming his palms onto the desk. “Viper! Isn’t your roommate also a gamer? That guy—Wooyoung, right? I think I talked to him in The Abyss once or twice.”
Your heart didn’t just drop; it performed a total system shutdown.
“He looks like the type who’d be a total demon on a mouse.” Mingi continued, his voice rising with excitement. “Maybe he’d join us? We could kick Seonghwa out and actually have some real chances! If he’s even half as good as you, we’d be unstoppable.” The room went quiet for a second. The overhead light felt too bright, too hot. You could feel all the eyes in the room shift to you—heavy, curious, and hopeful.
Seonghwa let out a dramatic, betrayed sigh. “Oh, I see how it is. The Team is already looking for my replacement. Fine. I’ll just go back to being the Vice President and eating my feelings in the corner.”
“No, Hyung, it’s not like that!” Yunho said, immediately flustered, his shy side pulling him back. “I just… I mean, if Y/N’s roommate is a high rank, it would be a shame not to ask, right? It would make her feel more comfortable having a friend on the team.” He turned to you, his eyes wide and full of that pure, devastating trust. “What do you think, Y/N? Do you think Wooyoung would want to sub in? It would take the pressure off of us to carry Mingi and Seonghwa every round.”
You looked at Yunho—his messy hair, the way he was looking at you like you were the smartest person in the room. You felt like a total fraud. If Wooyoung joined the team, the secret wouldn’t just be out; it would be broadcast in 4K. “I… uh…” Your voice was a dry, you had to swallow the lump forming in your throat to continue. “Wooyoung is… he’s busy. He has a lot of… laundry. And his, uh, PC is in a very bad shape. He wouldn’t be able to play with us.”
Mingi laughed, reaching over to ruffle your hair—a move that made Yunho’s jaw tighten just a fraction. “Come on, Y/N! Just ask him! We’ll give him a jersey! We’ll even let him use Seonghwa’s chair!”
“Hey!” Seonghwa shouted again.
“Seriously, I’ll ask him,” you lied, the words tasting like copper in your mouth. “But don’t get your hopes up. He’s... he’s got a very specific gaming schedule. Very antisocial.”
“Specific gaming schedule?” Yeosang’s eyes flicked over to you, sharp and analytical as always. He tilted his head, his dry smirk returning. “What, does he only play during lunar eclipses? Or is he one of those grinders who only logs on when the sun goes down?”
“Something like that,” you mumbled, retreating toward the sink under the guise of needing water. Your hands were shaking so badly you had to grip the glass with both palms.
Yunho followed you. He didn’t say anything at first, just moved into your space, his large frame blocking the others from view. He reached out, his hand hesitating before he gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was so tender it felt like a physical burn against your skin. “You’re really tense,” he whispered, his brow furrowed with that earnest, protective worry. “Is it because of the tournament? Or is it... is it because of Wooyoung? If you don’t want him on the team, Y/N, we won’t ask. I don’t want to crowd your home life with Level Zero business if it makes you uncomfortable.”
It’s not my home life I’m worried about, Yunho. It’s my entire existence, you thought, looking up at him.
“It’s fine, Yunnie,”you forced out, trying to summon even a flicker of Viper’s confidence. “I’ll talk to him tonight. I’ll see what he says.”
“That’s my MVP,” Mingi cheered, oblivious to the internal collapse happening five feet away. He was already back on his phone, probably looking up custom jersey designs. “We’re gonna be the most feared team in the Summer Open! Viper, Captain, and maybe the Secret Weapon Roommate! We’re basically the Avengers of the basement!”
“I’m still not giving up my chair,” Seonghwa grumbled, though he was already plating the stew, his temporary ‘betrayal’ forgotten in favor of feeding his team.
Dinner was a blur. You ate mechanically, nodding in the right places as Mingi and Yunho debated tactical rotations and map bans. Every time Yunho squeezed your hand under the table, a fresh wave of guilt crashed over you. He was building a future for the two of you—a pro career, a life where you were the stars of the server—and you were still stuck on the tutorial level.
The moment the door to Yunho’s apartment closed behind you that night, the cold night air hit you like a physical slap. You didn’t even wait to get to the subway. You pulled out your phone, your thumb hovering over Wooyoung’s contact.
The phone picked up on the second ring.
“What‘s up bitch,” Wooyoung’s voice crackled through the speaker, sounding suspiciously like he was currently mid-match. “How’s the Captain? Did he finally figure out how to kiss without a manual, or do I need to send him an instructional PDF?”
“Young,” you rasped, leaning your head against a cold brick wall in the alleyway. “We have a massive, server-ending problem.”
The clicking of his mechanical keyboard stopped instantly. The silence on the other end was heavy. “What happened?” his voice was suddenly sharp, all the teasing gone. “Did he find out? Did you slip up?”
“No,” you whispered, a tear finally escaping and trekking down your cheek. “Worse. Mingi wants you to join the team. And Yunho... Yunho just signed us up for the Summer Open. The Pro-Am qualifier. Offline, Wooyoung. With cameras. With officials.”
There was a long, hollow silence. Then, a low whistle. “Holy fuck... okay. So we’ve moved from ‘mild deception’ to ‘federal fraud,’” Wooyoung muttered. “Y/N, if you go to that tournament, you’re dead. The second you touch a mouse in front of a ref, your Viper becomes a common garden snake.”
“I know,” you choked out, searching through your bag for the pack of cigarettes you bought earlier. “But I couldn’t say no. He was going to give up his dream for me. He was going to stay in the basement forever just because he thought I was nervous. I couldn’t let him do that.”
“So what’s the plan?” Wooyoung asked. “Because unless I can teach you ten years of muscle memory in six weeks, or I figure out how to wear a wig and a voice-changer, we are—to use a technical term—screwed.”
“I don’t know,” you said, looking up at the flickering streetlamp. “But I think the “Legend” is about to have a very public heart attack.”
The door to your apartment hadn’t even fully clicked shut before you collapsed.
You didn’t make it to the sofa. You sank against the wood of the door, your knees hitting the floor with a dull thud that echoed in the quiet hallway. The adrenaline that had kept you upright in Yunho’s kitchen—the fake smiles, the forced nods, the mask—finally evaporated, leaving nothing but a hollow, freezing terror behind. Your chest felt like it was being crushed.
“Y/N? Is that you?” Wooyoung’s voice drifted from the living room, followed by the familiar scoot of his gaming chair. He appeared in the hallway a second later, still wearing his headset around his neck. He stopped dead when he saw you. “Whoa, whoa—hey!” He was across the hall in three strides, dropping to his knees in front of you.
“He likes me, maybe even loves me,” you choked out, the words coming out as a broken sob. You gripped the front of Wooyoung’s hoodie, your knuckles white. “He looks at me like I’m... like I’m everything. And I’m nothing.”
Wooyoung’s expression softened, his hands coming up to steady your shaking shoulders. “Hey, look at me. You aren’t nothing. You’re just a girl who got caught in a very long, very stupid prank that went off the rails.”
“It’s not a prank anymore!” you shrieked, the sound muffled by your own knees as you curled into a ball. “It’s the Summer Open! He signed us up! Mingi wants to buy jerseys! Jerseys! They want to put my name on the back of a shirt like I’m actually someone worth watching!” You started to hyperventilate, the air coming in short, panicked gasps. The image of bright lights, the officials standing behind your chair, the crowd watching the big screen—flashed in your mind like a horror movie. You could see the moment the game started. You could see your hand shaking on a mouse that felt like a foreign object. You could see Yunho’s face when he realized his “lethal Viper” couldn’t even move. “I have to tell him,” you gasped, clutching your throat. “I have to tell him tonight. I’ll send a text. I’ll delete my account. I’ll move. I’ll—I’ll join a convent.”
“You aren’t joining a convent,” Wooyoung said firmly, grabbing your wrists to stop you from clawing at your own skin. “And you aren’t texting him. You’re in a full-blown mental breakdown. You don’t make tactical decisions during a system crash.”
“He called me the MVP,” you sobbed, hot tears streaming down your face and dripping onto the floor. “He said he’d throw away his dream for me. How can I look at him? How can I let him kiss me knowing every part of our relationship is built on a lie?” You looked up at Wooyoung, your eyes bloodshot and desperate. “Mingi asked about you. He knows your name. He wants you to sub in. He thinks we’d be ‘unstoppable.’” You let out a hysterical, wet laugh. “We would be unstoppable because you’d be playing for two people! You’d have to grow four arms, Wooyoung!”
Wooyoung went quiet. He pulled you into a tight, grounding hug, letting you sob into his chest. He didn’t offer a joke this time. He knew the stakes. He knew that for someone like Yunho—someone whose entire world was built on loyalty, data, and Level Zero family—this kind of betrayal wasn’t just a white lie. It was a total wipe of his trust. “We’re in the endgame now, Y/N,” Wooyoung whispered into your hair. “You either tell him and lose him, or you play the tournament and get exposed in front of the whole world.”
“I can’t lose him,” you whispered into his shirt, your voice small and broken. “I can’t. But I can’t be the player he expects me to be either.”
Wooyoung remained on his knees, his hands hovering tentatively near your shoulders. “Y/N, just listen—”
“No.” The word was flat, dead, and final. With a sudden, jerky surge of energy, you pushed off the floor. You shoved Wooyoung’s hands away with more force than intended, your palms hitting his chest as you scrambled to your feet. Your skin was crawling with a sudden, suffocating need to be away from the pity, away from the eyes of your best friend, and away from the girl who didn’t exist. “Don’t,” you rasped, stumbling back a step. “I can’t handle a pep talk from the guy whose hands I’ve been stealing for weeks!”
“I’m not trying to—”
You didn’t stay to hear the end of the sentence. You turned and bolted for the kitchen, your boots clicking hollowly on the floor. You needed something to numb the static in your brain, something to wash away the taste of the lie you’d been feeding Yunho all evening. You reached the kitchen and ripped the refrigerator door open. The white light spilled out, blindingly bright against your tear-stained face. You ignored the water, ignored the leftover takeout, and grabbed a cold bottle of beer from the back of the shelf. You didn’t bother with an opener. You grabbed the edge of the granite counter, hooking the cap against the stone and slamming your palm down. The cap hissed and flew off, skittering across the tile, but you didn’t look at where it landed. You took a long, burning swallow, the carbonation stinging your throat as you leaned your weight against the counter. You stared at the dark window, watching your own reflection—red-eyed, hair a mess, looking nothing like the “Legend” your boyfriend thought you were.
Wooyoung appeared in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the hallway light. He didn’t come closer. He just watched you, his usual snark completely erased, leaving him looking just as exhausted as you felt. “That’s not going to fix anything, Y/N,” he said softly.
“I’m not trying to fix it,” you whispered, the cold glass slick against your palm. “I’m trying to forget that I’m the villain in my own fucking love story.”
“We’ll figure it out. I’ll just… I don’t know, wear a wig? Or we’ll say you have a wrist injury and I’m your legal guardian. Relax! He’s whipped! The guy looks at you like you invented the internet. Or maybe we just tell him the truth. He’ll probably think it’s a ‘cute tactical ruse’ or whatever.”
“It’s not a ruse!” You turned to face him, the cold glass bottle trembling in your hand.
“Oh, come on,” Wooyoung teased, standing up and walking toward you with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill! So you lied about being good at a video game. People lie about having hobbies on first dates all the time! Just go to him, bat your eyelashes, and say, ‘Oops, I’m actually a noob.’ He’ll probably just offer to coach you.”
The bottle slipped. It hit the floor with a violent, crystalline clink, shattering into pieces. The sound seemed to trigger a total system failure deep inside you. Your breath hitched, a broken, wheezing sound, and then the sob tore out of your throat, raw and ugly.
“Jesus Christ—Y/N!” Wooyoung’s eyes went wide. He scrambled forward, his teasing facade instantly replaced by genuine panic. “I was joking! It’s okay, we can fix this—”
“We can’t fix it!” you shrieked, the tears overflowing, hot and stinging against your cheeks. You slumped against the counter, your hands over your face as the weight of the last few weeks finally crushed your spine. “He only likes me because of a lie! He doesn’t like me. He likes the girl who can carry his team. He likes the girl who is ‘iconic’ and ‘calculated’! He likes someone who doesn’t exist!”
“That’s not true,” Wooyoung whispered, reaching out to steady you, but you pushed his hands away.
“It is true!” you wailed. “I love him, Wooyoung. I’m so far gone I can’t even see the damn shore anymore. And every time he looks at me with that… that stupid, honest adoration, I feel like I’m poisoning him. I’m a virus in his system!” You looked up at your best friend, your vision blurred by tears, your chest aching so hard you could barely draw air. “I can’t tell him,” you whispered, the words sounding like a death sentence. “If he finds out his girlfriend is just a liar… he’ll never trust anyone again. It’ll crush him. He’s so pure, and I’m… I’m just the girl who let him believe in a fake.”
Wooyoung stayed silent. The snark was gone, replaced by a hollow, heavy realization. He didn’t have a witty comeback. He didn’t have a tactical solution. For the first time, he realized this wasn’t about a game; it was about the destruction of a soul. “You’re not a fake, Y/N,” the words felt thin and useless in the quiet apartment.
“I am! I am a fucking liar,” you sobbed, sliding down the cabinets until you were a heap on the floor, your face buried in your knees. “In reality, I’m nothing! He can’t love me!” The words came out as a strangled scream. You weren’t just crying; you were shaking, your hands clutching at your own hair as you rocked back and forth on the kitchen tiles. Wooyoung reached out to grab your wrists, but you wrenched yourself away.
“Y/N, stop, you’re not making sense—”
“I am making perfect sense!” You looked at him, your eyes bloodshot and wild, a hysterical, broken laugh bubbling up in your chest. “Who makes the call-outs? Who hits the headshots? Who is the ‘legend’ he’s so proud of? It’s you, Young! It’s your timing! Your game sense! Your talent!” You pointed a shaking finger at his gaming setup. “He loves Viper! And Viper is you! You play her!” Your voice cracked, dropping to a horrified, wet whisper. “Oh my god… he loves you. He’s in love with a version of me that is actually just… you. Every time he praises ‘my’ performance, he’s praising you. Every time he’s in awe of ‘my’ logic, he’s in awe of your brain.”
“That’s not how it works, Y/N, he knows you—”
“He knows a script!” you clutched your stomach as if you were physically ill. “He knows the girl who speaks when you tell her to. He knows the girl who wears the mask you built. If I sit down at that computer during the tournament, he’s going to see a stranger. He’s going to realize the girl he kissed is just… a fraud.” The kitchen felt like it was tilting. “I’ve stolen his first love,” you whispered, staring at the shattered glass. “I’ve taken this pure, beautiful thing he feels and I’ve tied it to a lie. If he finds out his girlfriend can’t even choose a proper skill to use… it’ll destroy him."
Wooyoung dropped to his knees in front of you. The usual spark in his eyes was replaced by a scary, focused intensity. He watched you for a long moment, letting out a slow, long-suffering sigh. “Okay,” he said, his voice flat with forced calm. “I’m teaching you how to play.”
You made a miserable sound into your knees.
“No, listen,” Wooyoung continued, nudging your shoulder with his elbow. “I’m going to be honest with you—it’s going to be hell. You’re going to fail your exams. Your attendance is going to tank. You’re going to survive on caffeine and regret, and you’ll forget what sunlight looks like.” He paused, looking at the door, then back at you. “But we’re going to fix this. I’m going to make sure your Viper is so real we will never have to fake it again.”
The kitchen light was clinical and the bottle was still shattered, but for the first time, the world didn’t feel like it was collapsing. You looked up from your knees, staring at Wooyoung like he’d suggested you learn to fly a plane in a week. “You’re… you’re going to teach me? I can’t even jump and move at the same time without looking at the keyboard.”
“I know,” Wooyoung stood up, offering you a hand—not a gentle pull, but a firm yank. “I’ve seen your ‘skills.’ You’re a disaster. You’re a bottom-tier scrub who shouldn’t be allowed near a mouse. But,” he jabbed a finger toward the gaming chair, “you’re my disaster. And I’m not letting you lose the only guy who actually made you feel something just because you can’t aim.”
He dragged you toward the desk, the dual monitors flickering to life and casting a harsh blue glow over your tear-stained face. “Here’s the deal,” Wooyoung slammed a headset onto the desk. “From this second until the tournament, you aren’t a student. You aren’t a girl with a boyfriend. You are a script I am rewriting. We play until your fingers lock up. We drill lineups until you see them in your sleep. If your phone buzzes? Ignore it. If Yunho calls? Tell him you’re studying.”
He leaned down, his face inches from yours. “You said he loves Viper? Fine. By the tournament, you’re going to be Viper. Not my hands. Yours.”
You looked at the mouse. The guilt was still there, a heavy stone in your gut, but a new spark was starting to flicker—spite. Spite for the lie. Spite for the version of you that was nothing.
“Okay,” you whispered, sitting down and gripping the mouse until your knuckles turned white. “Patch me in.”
⭑ bf!mingi x gf!reader x bestie!yunho
⭑ four days away at the beach, hiding your feelings from all of your friends while you’re all under the same roof, a week after yunho broke up with you and mingi. easy enough, right?
⭑ lots and lots of pinv, mxm, oral(m&f), edging, public play, bdsm dynamics (feel free to correct me on anything!! i tried to be accurate) praise, degradation, yunho being 3comp yunho. yes that's a warning in itself
⭑ part three of three / wc 36.5k
⭑ — holy shit i can't believe it's over. thank you to everyone who stuck with me through this, this series is my actual fucking baby. it brought so many eyes to my blog and led me to meeting so many wonderful amazing people, thank you so much if you're reading this, if you have read anything about my 3comp babies. no other series has taught me so much. nothing will ever mean as much as this.
⭑ — if you don't recognize my rortor or if haos confused you, pay my good friends a visit here <3 thank u @svgaplvm for letting my people hangout with yours <3
“You can’t seriously think this would ever work.”
You and Mingi haven’t moved an inch since he left for the bedroom. Now stood in front of you in cargo pants and the same dirty tee that was crumpled on your bed, it seems his anger hasn’t dissipated in the three minutes it took for him to get his things together. A bag thrown over his shoulder, jaw locked, eyes wide and wild like you’d just sentenced him to death, it seems very clear that Jeong Yunho wasn’t coming back here.
“I was honest with you guys from the start,” his voice keeps its edge, “I told you what I look for in a relationship, what I want. There’s none of that here.”
Your teeth grit together, eyebrows slanted, fingers squeezing beneath your arms folded over your chest. “You’re overreacting,” you manage, heart running a marathon in your chest, ignoring the fact that his words hurt as you mask your feelings with a show of anger.
“You two are together,” he points between you and your boyfriend with a finger. “I shouldn’t even be part of the equation. I let this go on too long, let it become too serious.”
“You think you’re the only one to blame?” Mingi surprises you with his words, the sharpness behind them, the glossiness in his eyes the only signal of sadness. “We thought we were already in a relationship, it’s all of our fault for not communicating.”
Yunho looks like he’s seen a ghost. “You– Are you serious?”
You nod, you thought it was obvious, “Yunho, we haven't been apart for more than twelve hours in weeks.”
He turns on his heel, “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”
Mingi stands, following Yunho as he crosses your living room, “You’re just going to leave? You aren’t gonna talk this out?”
You watch from the couch, breathing deep into your lungs, ignoring how your eyes watered. Yunho turns around sharply, “What is there to talk about? We were fucking, and now we’re not. That’s it.”
You gasp from the couch, Mingi shrinks where he stands. Taking a step back, shaking his head, his voice is shaky as he says, “You don’t mean that.”
“I told you,” Yunho slips his feet into his shoes. “I’ve been honest from the start. If you took it more seriously, that’s on you. I’m sorry.”
Mingi’s arms fall to his sides as Yunho leaves through your front door, the heavy oak slamming shut behind him. Your heart breaks as Mingi’s head hangs low, his shoulders shaking, and it’s the sniff you hear from the couch that gets you on your feet, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend.
“He’s just scared,” you whisper, tears lining your own eyes as Mingi racks a sob into your chest. “He’s just scared, Min. He’ll come around.”
His voice is wrecked, ragged and layered with grief, “I can’t believe he said all of that.”
“Me either,” you shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks as you run your fingers through his hair, your other hand rubbing circles into his back. “It’s Yunho, we know how he is, especially with relationships.”
“I thought we were different,” Mingi picks his head up, pulling away from you to wipe his eyes. “I thought he was getting over his dramatic relationship block because of us.” He sniffs, then speaks through another sob, his voice cracking, “I thought he loved us, too.”
“You love him?” Your eyes widen, hands landing on his shoulders, and he nods without hesitation. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath, eyes screwing shut in an attempt to get your mind to bypass the shock so you can think.
“Don’t you?” Mingi asks, his voice small, like if you said no he might crack entirely.
His laugh crossed your mind first. Eyes squeezed to crescents, grin spread wide, head tipping back as the most beautiful sound left his lips, you always got lost in him when he laughed. A hearty chuckle or a small giggle, when Yunho was emitting nothing but pure joy… Yeah, you loved him.
You loved how he walked closest to the street, how he already had your order memorized at the cafe around the corner. You loved how he touched you, soft and delicate, how he complimented you every time he saw you. You loved that he wasn’t afraid to say the hard things, like telling you that you snore, or that this time your boss was in the right. You loved that he kept small pieces of you close in the years of knowing you, how he revealed his knowledge of you in the past month, how he wasn’t afraid to show his passion.
You loved him, and you fucking knew he loved you back.
“Yeah,” your nod isn’t immediate. “I think I do.”
Mingi’s lip quivers, “We’re just gonna let him leave?”
“We’re adults,” your voice is shakier than you need it to be, forever the rock holding Mingi’s hurricane. “He’s an adult. If he wants us, this, he’ll come back.”
Mingi shakes his head profusely, taking a step back from you, “If we love him then we fight for him, I’m not waiting around while he thinks this is over.”
Your lips curve upward, the most Mingi thing he’s ever said, “We’ll be with him for four days at the beach. Let him sit in the hole he’s dug himself in, let him miss us for a few days.”
Mingi looks at you like you’re speaking another language, “He probably won’t even look at us while we’re at the beach if we wait until then.”
“If we love him,” you step closer to him. “Then chances are he loves us, too. Let him take the time he needs to realize it.”
Mingi takes a heavy breath, thinking about who Yunho is, how he handles situations. With poise, consideration, vigilance. He thinks of all outcomes, all strategies, Yunho thinks of everything with his mind, and not always his heart. Mingi nods, because he hopes that just this once, he’ll think with his heart, and figure out the rest later.
Yunho hasn’t called.
Not a text, not a word, not a breath.
But you were on your way to Haos– and from Wooyoung’s call this morning, asking what time to pick you up, you found out that he’d talked to Yunho just before he called you, and he was still coming to the beach. A shred of relief washed over you as the words left his mouth, it couldn’t be that bad if he was still coming to the beach, four days spent in proximity with you and your boyfriend. And your ten other friends. Right?
“Do you want to stop at the convenience store for anything? Water, coffee, a snack?” Wooyoung asks from the driver’s seat, black hair shagged over his ears, his forehead, curling at the nape of his neck.
Sana groans from the seat beside you, “Can we just go straight there? I’m itching to be on the beach with a drink in my hand.” Dressed in jeans and a strappy tank, heels on her feet, curled dark locks framing her cheekbones, she looked like she was going to the club rather than traveling for a vacation. Being eight in the morning, you looked like you just rolled out of bed.
Mainly because you did.
“I wasn’t just asking you, San,” Wooyoung cuts from the front of the black rental he drove. “We’ve been driving for an hour already.”
“Which means we should only have ten more minutes in the car if you just drive,” she bites back, rolling her eyes. She gives you a look, shaking her head as if Woo was asking the stupidest question in the world. She whispers to you, “He should have asked an hour ago.”
You smile at her instead of giving her an answer, redirecting your gaze to the top of Mingi’s head that peeks over the headrest of the passenger seat. After spending some time away from her, you thought you’d at least be a little excited to see her, but alas, she still drives you up a fucking wall. You could have gone longer.
You lean your head against the window for the last ten minutes, listening to soft rock music with your eyes glued to the intricate, tall houses along the coast, the small shops, the ice cream parlors, everything about this place screaming beach. Summer. Rich summer. You were still excited to come here, drama aside, spending time with your friends, cozying up in one of San’s queen-sized beds in one of his several bedrooms. You loved his house, the feeling it gave you, how badly you’d like to own something like it one day.
You didn’t mind four days of pretending it was yours, nor did you mind laying on the beach, a drink in your hand. Maybe you’d shove your feelings aside and stay glued to Sana all weekend.
Finally pulling up on a rocky driveway, you pull your eyes away from the beach just beside it, taking in the cream-colored fucking mansion before you. Ridiculous architecture, a two-car garage, a double main staircase, several balconies and a fenced rooftop, what always took your breath away was the windows. So much light poured into the house, salt scented air rushing through the space when the countless pairs of double doors opened, this house screamed happiness. It screamed carefree.
You let the feeling fill you, let it take a weight off your chest as you stretch your body upon leaving the backseat. Whatever happened this weekend, you’d accept. However you and Mingi returned home, with or without another boyfriend, you’d be okay. Both of you.
You took a look around the driveway as Wooyoung and Mingi went into the trunk to grab all of your luggage. You and Mingi shared one, but Sana… She had two for herself, she bragged about it as soon as you opened the car door.
Three other cars sat in the driveway. You recognized Yeosang’s, Jongho’s, Seonghwa’s, you assumed San and Jongin’s cars were in the garage. No sign of Yunho’s car.
Mingi carried your luggage in behind you, you didn’t knock as you walked through San’s front door, nor did you have time to appreciate the creams, whites and blues stretching across the inside, because the only other person in the living room when you walked inside was Yunho.
Your jaw clenched as your eyes slid over the back of him, faced away from you as he scrolled on his phone.
“Honey, I’m home!” Wooyoung yelled from behind you, and his voice echoed through the archways of the main floor, bouncing off each perfectly staged wall, the balcony above you.
Yunho snapped around, meeting your eye, and he immediately stiffened. With one of his infamous linen sets on, barefoot and his hair swept back, you had to stop yourself from muttering damn under your breath. You loved when he looked like summer, but you also loved when he looked like winter, when he needed the comfort of fleece to keep him warm. Maybe you loved Yunho in anything.
You looked away fast, turning to face Mingi who was already staring over your head, at his best friend who had undoubtedly become something more. Mingi stared at him with hope, with an unanswered question, with so much fucking love in his eyes you felt the cracking of your heart in your chest.
“Finally!” You heard San before you saw him, shirtless and in swim trunks, body tanned and golden and sculpted by God himself. He wore a wide grin, Jongin following behind him, his boyfriend just as gorgeous as he is, taller and handsome and damn, just as sculpted.
San pulls Wooyoung into a tight hug, “I missed you, man. It’s been too long.”
“It’s barely been a month,” Wooyoung chuckles. “But yeah, too long.”
Sana’s heels click against the pale hardwood as Jongin pulls her into a hug, the two men exchanging with the couple as you and Mingi attempt to ignore the elephant in the room only visible to the two of you.
Wooyoung pulls Yunho into a hug as you and Mingi share exchanges with San and Jongin, just as the others start piling into the living room.
“We’ve been waiting for you guys!” Tzuyu squeals as she enters your view, and you’re immediately pulled into all the women of the house, sharing hugs and kisses on the cheek.
“I can’t believe we’re the last ones here,” you’re smiling, warmth filling your chest as you bathe in everyone’s excitement.
Jihyo smirks, “Late because you were getting frisky?”
You roll your eyes, heat warming your cheeks, “You need to let go of that. Like, now.”
“Frisky?” Tzuyu pops a brow. “Fill me in.”
“I went over her and Mingi’s place and saw a vib—”
“Okay!” You speak over her, hands ready to clamp over her mouth, and she winks at Tzuyu in a silent promise to fill her in later. You prayed it didn’t include Yunho’s name.
“Who has which room?” Sana asks loudly, speaking over everyone in the midst of conversation.
“We were waiting for you to decide, princess,” Seonghwa replies, voice smooth, a snarky remark hidden behind a beautiful smile. Your lips curl upward when you see him, stood tall next to his boyfriend, Seonghwa’s open shirt matched Hongjoong’s shorts.
“Jongin and I have the master,” San says. “There’s five other bedrooms, one has a pull-out futon.”
“Assuming I’m on the futon,” Yunho immediately adds, his voice flat. “Since I’m the only single one here.”
Your eyes flicker between the two, heart thumping against your chest, stomach feeling sick at hearing him say he’s single.
“You would have been fucked if you brought a date,” San's smile is anything but sheepish. “But I’m sure no one will mind if you crash their room, maybe one of the girlies are out of commission for sexual activity and it won’t matter.”
Jongin smacks his chest with a disgusted look, but San giggles to himself. You look around the room and all the girls fall quiet, all the guys stay quiet, too used to San and his remarks to feed him a reaction.
“He can room with you and Mingi,” Jihyo nudges your shoulder from beside you,.“Duh. You guys are super close, anyways, just kick him out when you wanna fuck.”
“We aren’t twenty years old, Ji,” you muster. “We can go a few days without fucking.”
You look up at Mingi and you can tell he’s teetering on the edge of losing his shit. You turn to Yunho and he looks like that’s the last thing he wants. Seeing his face, the clear dislike of the idea, imagining the thoughts racing through his mind, all of it combined makes you slap a smile on your face, “Yeah, that’s fine. We’ll take him.”
“Hope you left the hitachi at home,” Jihyo whispers in your ear, winking. You nudge her back, forcing the smile to stay on your face— no one has any idea of what you’ve gone through the last few days. What happened. What started it in the first place.
“Perfect!” San claps his hands together. “That was easy. Go unpack your shit and then we can go to the beach.”
Mingi is at your side as soon as everyone takes a step toward the staircase, voice a low growl in your ear, “Why did you do that?”
You whisper back, “It’ll be fine.”
You didn’t know if it would be fine.
“Three bedrooms on the second floor, two on the top, master is on the main floor. You guys can figure out which rooms yourselves,” San says from the base of the steps as you all make your way up, your shoes hitting the hardwood in chorus, everyone dragging their belongings behind them.
Yunho stays close behind you and Mingi as you check each room in search of yours, taking in the detail of the hallways, where the bathrooms were. The paintings on the walls, tables with vases, starfish, framed pictures of small sayings of wordplays with the word beach, you made sure to take in everything, let it fill you with ease, you were on vacation.
You wouldn’t let Yunho ruin it.
On the third floor, Jihyo and Jongho peeled off into a room at the beginning of the hallway, a bathroom and two closets between you as yours lived at the end. A queen-sized bed, a couch along the wall that pulled out to a bed, the room was decently sized. Cozy, with its balcony attached, white covering the walls, the bedspread and couch a pale blue.
Mingi threw your suitcase onto the bed as Yunho threw his duffle bag onto the couch. The air was tense, heavy, you could hear conversation downstairs, Jihyo and Jongho unpacking just down the hall. There was no sound coming from your room other than zippers sliding and clothes being shuffled.
You stood opposite Mingi on either side of the bed as he sorted through the suitcase, zeroed in on his hands as he separated the clothes you were hanging from the ones going into drawers. With your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you stood focused, yet thinking of nothing as your ears rang, buzzing beneath the heaviness of silence.
What was he thinking right now?
Your eyes flickered to him as he pulled clothes out of his duffel bag, folding them along the couch, laying out the clothes he was hanging up, keeping his toiletries separate. Your gaze fell on his shoulders, broad and muscular beneath the linen he wore, the length of his legs stretching to the floor beneath him, bare feet pressed against hardwood, stepping to the side to fold another tee along the cushion.
You turn your attention back to Mingi, shaking off the discomfort as you grab the clothes to hang up, heading for the closet next to the couch. You lay the clothes over the armrest, hanging up tops, Mingi’s favorite pair of nice pants, the dress you brought to wear to the bar on Saturday. You think that’s the only time you were going out all weekend other than to small shops around the town.
The last shirt you had to hang, one of Mingi’s, you knew you grabbed it from the stack of clothes on the bed, but it wasn’t splayed out on the couch beside you. Brows furrowed, you turned on your heel to check the bed, just for Yunho to be stood at your side, holding the shirt out for you while he had his own stack of clothes folded over his forearm.
You swallowed, avoiding his eye, “Thanks.”
Grabbing the shirt from his hand, your fingers brushed against each other, the feeling of his skin on yours no matter how small immediately sent a jolt of electricity up your forearm, into your shoulder. You were quick to hang up the last shirt, moving out of his way, back to where Mingi was before the dresser.
While he laid folded clothes, pajamas, boxers and panties into separate drawers, you grabbed your bikinis, his swim shorts, cover-ups and the singular bra you brought to help him. The room still silent, suffocating with everything left unsaid, you began laying out your toiletries along the top of the dresser.
You could feel his eyes. Lifting your gaze, meeting his stare through the mirror, you shuffled to the side as he sauntered up next to you, throwing his own clothes into the rest of the empty drawers.
God, is this what the rest of the week was gonna be like? If so, fuck that, he can sleep on the couch. Downstairs. Far away from you and Mingi so you can enjoy this room and its balcony all to yourself.
“Hey!” Tzuyu gleamed, knocking on the doorframe at the same time as she spoke. You jumped a foot in the air, hand clasping your chest, a gasp escaping your chest. She giggles, long brown hair in a braid over one shoulder, bikini already on her body. “Yeosang and I are going to the liquor store before we head down to the beach, want anything?”
“Uh,” you glance up at Mingi, trying to find words. “Tequila, beer, some kind of seltzer to sip on. The usual shit.”
She nods, “Same beer as always, right?”
“Please,” Mingi nods back, giving her a smile that she would never know wasn’t real.
Your stomach fucking aches. You could push your pain aside, but when it comes to Mingi, seeing him hurt in real time, you could feel it as if he shared it with you. Your jaw locks, you could not go the whole week like this.
Tzuyu peeks her head back in, “You should get ready, we’ll be back in ten.”
“Got it,” you smile, and when she bounces out of your room again, it drops. You needed to do something. You rack your brain as you zip the suitcase closed, shoving it beneath the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
Yunho was pretending. He was forcing a mindset on himself, ignoring his feelings for you and Mingi, he was putting on a show that he didn’t mean. In his head, he was protecting himself, or maybe he was protecting you two from getting hurt, of what could go wrong in the future.
You glance up at Mingi who stood leaned up against the dresser, on his phone. You glance over at Yunho who sits on the couch, on his phone. Just because he was acting like he doesn’t love you, doesn’t mean that he believes it.
Your eyes land on Mingi again, holding them there. He looks up from his phone, meeting your stare.
Your lips curve upward. I’m gonna do something crazy.
He pops an eyebrow, lips crinkling. Oh no.
Your smile grows, eyes flashing something dangerous. You gotta trust me on this one.
Mingi nods, face still wary. I always trust you.
You push yourself up off the bed to the dresser, opening one of the drawers, pulling out one of your bikinis from the bottom. You should really thank Jihyo for even putting it in your mind that you should wear one of your college bikinis— so small and skimpy it could barely be considered anything other than string, you funneled confidence into your veins. You wouldn’t care about how you looked after a drink or two, anyways.
Your eyes meet Mingi’s through the mirror, bikini in your hands. Are you picking up what I’m putting down?
Mingi shoots you a silent laugh. You’re fucking nuts.
You stick your tongue out. You love it.
Mingi licks his lips. I love you, and that bikini.
You hold his eyes through the mirror. Remember what I said, trust me.
Letting your eyes dance over Yunho once more, you lay the bikini out over the dresser, and then pull your shirt over your head in one quick motion.
“Shiiit,” Mingi mutters under his breath, long and dragged out from the bed, purposely loud enough for Yunho to hear. His eyes pick up, seeing you through the mirror, eyes catching on you shimmying your shorts down your legs, then your panties.
You don’t let your gaze linger, pulling the bottoms up your legs, then tying the top around your back. “Min, can you tie me?”
He’s at your back in an instant, letting his hands dance along your waist before settling at the back of your neck, bikini strings between his fingers. You’re smiling at each other through the mirror and it’s then that you know he understands what’s going through your mind, the plan you cooked up just a minute ago.
His hands settle on your hips after he finishes tying your top, and both of your eyes slide to Yunho, catching him just as he looks back down at his phone, fingers pressed to his forehead. You smirk at Mingi through the mirror, wondering if maybe you pushed Yunho just a little harder, could you crack the shell of his facade?
Yunho’s never been a huge fan of the beach. He burns easily, sand gets between his toes, in places he simply can’t reach, he hates how his hair looks after being in the breezy, salty air for too long. He’s been excited to come to Haos despite it, to spend time with you and Mingi away from home, but he didn’t give it enough thought to really consider the logistics of it all.
To himself, he thought it easy: Around everyone else, you and Mingi would be your usual selves, madly in love for the world to see. At the end of the night, behind closed doors, where no one could hear you or see you, that’s when he’d have his way with you both. He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t excited for that most of all.
Forcing you into submission, into silence in the dead of night, so the whole house couldn’t hear the whiney moans that leave Mingi’s mouth when Yunho takes him, or the shrill screams that Yunho pulls from your chest when he pushes you just a little too far. It’d be fun— that was fun to him, keeping the two of you hidden away, his two nasty little secrets. No one had to know.
Because if they did, if anyone knew anything, it’d break your perfect bubble. He’d be forced to admit that he hated the idea of not being able to touch you in public, not being able to kiss you, or even flirt with you. Either of you. Which opens another question, one Yunho wasn’t willing to answer, or give any more of his attention.
Luckily, it blew up in his face before he had the chance to worry about it too much, like it has a hundred times before with plenty of different partners. This was the routine— fuck for awhile, become a little more on accident, realize that this isn’t what he wants, leave. Leave, leave, leave. Yunho was good at leaving, at hiding, at not taking what he wants when it’s staring at him in the face.
It was too fucking vulnerable. He ached for love, for true routine, to wake up next to someone and go grocery shopping on Sunday mornings. He yearned for someone to know him down to his core, to love him for the silly things, not just how he fucked or how he guided. For how much he needed to take care of his partners, he never realized how much he needed to be taken care of, too.
This morning, how you stared at him with a locked jaw, a storm in your eyes, he knew he deserved it. He deserved your anger, your pain, he wishes he could take it from you and keep it for himself. How Mingi looked at him, with pain and love and hope, seeing Mingi’s feelings raw in his eyes terrified Yunho. Knowing Mingi hurt, that he was the cause of his ache but also knowing he’d take him back in a second, it sent a shiver down his spine, leaving a hole too deep, too cold in his gut.
He really fucked up this time. He really, seriously, absolutely fucked up. He's fallen asleep cuddled up to your side, he’s woken up beside you for weeks. He’s gone grocery shopping with you, he keeps a mental list of everything you have in your house. You made space for him in your home, for his body and his clothes, he has a toothbrush beside your sink, products in your shower, socks in the top drawer of Mingi’s dresser. He’s felt the rush of affection when Mingi finishes his sentence, he’s felt the pain sitting in the crease of your brow without it having anything to do with him.
He walked into what he was most afraid of, but what he’s yearned for without even realizing. Everything happened so fucking fast. That night with Mingi was the true beginning, he thinks, the catalyst that made him fall headfirst without casting a net. That night changed all of your boundaries, leaving everything in open field for the taking. Yunho took it with greedy hands, but then he destroyed it all the same.
He knows what you’re thinking. In that pretty little head of yours there’s millions of beautiful, strategic thoughts, plans, ways to get him back in your bed. Even though he fucked up. Even though he was the one that destroyed it all.
The curve of your chest in the mirror, a peek of the goldmine between your legs as you bent over, if this was a week ago he would have pinned your chest to the glass and fucked you until you were crying just for teasing him. Mingi’s hands trailing down your skin, his breath on the back of your neck, jealousy infested Yunho like a disease. He could feel the ghost of Mingi’s hands on his body, on his chest, his abdomen, his torso, he forced himself to tear his eyes away so he didn’t break.
Yunho was the one who fucked it all up, and here you two were, trying to get him to fix it. Naive and optimistic, two traits that you two shared that made Yunho feel like he was your missing piece. He wouldn’t break so easily, you two have to know that, you know him.
He watches you run across the sand, wet chest bouncing beneath golden sunrays with a can grasped in your palm. Mingi follows you from the water, trunks slick to his thighs, the inseam of his shorts shorter than any other pair he owned. Yunho sits with his jaw locked, his fingers curled around the armrests of the beach chair beneath the umbrella, watching as Mingi picks you up from behind, a grin on his lips as he presses them to your cheek.
You two didn’t do PDA. You haven’t since you were in your early twenties, when your relationship just began. Everyone in the group knows it, but no one notices, no one pays any mind to the clear show you were putting on just for him. Mingi’s arm is hooked around your torso, black hair clinging to his cheeks, his neck, the two of you dripping in saltwater and love. He keeps you there, hanging off his arm as he walks back up to where you set up, your giggles becoming clearer, reminding him of his favorite song the closer you get.
He could just get up and go back inside. The beach was San’s backyard, after all.
“Can you hand me another seltzer, please?” You ask sweetly as soon as Mingi puts your feet back on the ground. Yunho blinks beneath his shades before the question registers in his mind, it’s the first that you’ve spoken to him other than thanks in the bedroom.
He reaches into the cooler, making sure to hand you your favorite flavor, feeling bile rise up in his throat when Mingi opens it for you and plants a kiss on your lips before you take a sip. Maybe he had it all wrong— maybe you didn’t fucking care that Yunho was no longer apart of your relationship. Maybe, in some sick, twisted way, what happened just a few days ago made your relationship stronger. Seems about right for the two of you.
“Let’s play volleyball!” Wooyoung shouts over the hum of soft rock music and waves in his ear. He forces his eyes away from you two to glance at Wooyoung, holding a volleyball to his chest while beads of sweat drip down his bronzed, tanned skin.
“Hell no,” Sana responds from her towel, laying on her stomach with a bucket filled with God knows what kind of liquor in the sand just above her head. “We’re relaxing.”
“I meant the guys,” Wooyoung replies, the smile on his cheeks never faltering, ignoring his girlfriends’ tone completely. He wiggles his eyebrows at Yunho, “You up for it? A little friendly game?”
“I’m out,” Hongjoong responds from his chair, can of beer in his hand, head laid back along the headrest beneath the shade of the umbrella, “I just ate a gummy.”
“I’m out, too,” Yeosang lifts his head from his towel, Tzuyu at his side, the two of them cuddled up so close under the burning sun he wondered how they weren’t suffocating.
“I’m going to swim,” Jongin waves a hand, already turning his heel to walk down to the shore.
“I’m down,” Yunho says, needing a break from staring, standing from his chair.
“I’m down, too,” Mingi adds as if on command, pressing another kiss to your lips before walking towards where Wooyoung stood behind Yunho.
San, Jongho and Seonghwa make their way towards them, too, and Yunho quickly regrets his decision when Mingi stops directly at his side. He stiffens, eyes glancing down to where Mingi’s hand lingers inches beside his.
“Three versus three then?” San smirks as the six of them make their way towards the net across the beach. “I call Woo and Mingi on my team.”
Jongho breaks into a laugh as he leans on the pole beside the net, fingers sinking into the webbing, “So it’s me, Hwa and Yunho?”
“I think that’s fair,” San shrugs. “We share the towers.”
Yunho rolls his eyes, and Mingi’s smile is wide. Seonghwa dips under the net to the other side of the sandy court, “They’re both competitive, too. Think it’s best we share.”
“We can hear you, y’know,” Yunho follows, sliding into position flanking Jongho’s side, a grin crawling over his cheeks that was nothing short of competitive. “No need to fight over us.”
“First team to twenty,” Wooyoung juts out his chin from the other side of the net, “Best out of three?”
Yunho pushes out an accidental sigh, “Three games?”
Mingi, like he’d been waiting for that comment, snaps. “Why not?” He cocks his head to the side, smile dangerous. “Three games too much of a commitment for you?”
The blood from Yunho’s face drains, the amusement in his eyes gone. After Yunho’s face falls, Mingi giggles, and the rest of the guys seem completely unaware of the jab that just left Mingi’s mouth. Yunho glares at him, knowing now that the two of you are serious about getting under his skin, but he chooses to ignore the shred of pride he feels with your efforts.
The first game went by quickly— Mingi, San and Wooyoung were good. Yunho, Seonghwa and Jongho were good, too, but fell just short of their opponents. The second game went by just as fast, but instead this time it seemed Yunho’s team had a chip on their shoulder, a little too much pride to let their friends win twice. The third game, everyone was drenched in sweat, covered in sand from diving for the ball, forearms burning from bumping it, everyone’s patience was running thin. Curses were shouted, insults thrown from one side of the net to the other, they had gotten serious real quick.
Mingi and Yunho stood at either side of the net, eyes on the ball above their heads, the two of them jumping at the same time to either spike, or block. The ball fell on Mingi’s side and his eyes dropped for a millisecond to see Yunho, both hands up, palms flat out to block his spike.
Yunho, ambition living in the slant of his brows, tongue peeking between his lips, didn’t give Mingi an opening to push the ball through. So Mingi hit it to the side, just past Yunho’s hands before he could even think of sliding his arms over.
Yunho cursed, and Mingi’s arms went over his head in a cheer for winning them one more point towards victory. Mingi leaned in close to the net, a smirk on his lips, “Pay attention, Yun. You don’t want me thinking I’m distracting you, do you?”
Yunho’s jaw locks. Mingi was pushing it, he usually wasn’t the bratty one, that was your area of expertise.
“Careful,” is all he says, venom on his tongue as his chin tips upward, just to stare down at Mingi through lowered brows.
Mingi’s smirk grows, almost a full smile, fingers hooking into the net to lean closer. “Or what?”
Yunho licks his bottom lip, shaking his head as he turns around, back to where he stood, waiting for the ball to be served. Maybe he was stupid for considering you two didn’t care about him, especially after the bedroom, and now he had Mingi taunting him ten feet away?
The ball hits the sand beside his foot before he can process that it was served. Mingi, San and Wooyoung high five, cheering because they were one point away from winning, and Yunho’s teammates turn to him with a scowl.
“What are you doing?” Seonghwa stands with his arms out beside him, face warped into annoyance and confusion.
Jongho barks from beside him, “Lock the fuck in, we’re winning this.”
Yunho nods, shaking off his thoughts, “My bad.”
Then Mingi calls your name. Yunho’s head turns, watching as you turn your head from where you stood with a group of girls that weren’t a part of your group, staring as you jogged towards them when Mingi ushered you over.
That fucking bikini, all string, barely covering anything. His fists clenched when the house hooted and hollered for you, as Jihyo whistled when she saw you. It wasn’t for you. It wasn’t for Mingi. It was revenge.
His neck snaps back to the court before him when he hears San’s hand smack the ball, body moving before his brain can think, diving into the sand to bump it up. Jongho is quick to get under it, two hands setting the ball high in the air, but as Seonghwa jumps to smack it over the net, Mingi is already there.
Broad, sculpted abdomen, hard chest he’s rested his head on too many times, hipbones peeking from just above his waistband. Yunho watches Mingi’s arms flex as he blocks the ball, how his torso folds to send the ball into the sand, Yunho nearly shoves his face in the sand too when his three best friends jump for joy across the net.
Seonghwa and Jongho stand defeated, faces set toward the sun, chests heaving. Yunho gets up slowly, just to see you perched on Mingi, arms and legs hooked around his body, lips pressed to his. Mingi’s hands hold you up by your thighs, fingers making indents where they pressed into your skin, and it’s war for Yunho to peel his eyes away from the sight.
“Sorry,” Yunho runs a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes on the sand as he walks toward Seonghwa and Jongho.
Jongho clasps a hand on his shoulder, heavy but reassuring, “It’s just volleyball. We’ll beat ‘em tomorrow.”
Seonghwa nods his agreement, and at least one weight is lifted off his chest. He watches his friends duck under the net, and Yunho follows, ready to get berated by his three other friends, good sportsmanship be damned.
“This is my boyfriend,” he hears, and his eyes land on where you stood with Mingi, just beside the court with the two girls you were standing with before. One a grinning dirty blonde, the other a miserable-looking brunette, Yunho tried to listen as his friends spoke beside him, but jealousy pierced his soul that Mingi was the only one standing beside you, getting introduced as yours.
His feet moved before he could think about it, coming up to your side, and the blonde caught his eye, looking him up and down as he made his way over. You beamed, not showing a flash of surprise or confusion as Yunho stood beside you, you immediately gushed, “This is Yunho, he’s single, super tall, clearly.” You giggled, leaning into Yunho’s side, you were drunk. You whispered not quietly to the blonde, “I think you’d like him.”
Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed, weight hitting his gut with force, and the blonde before him blushed as her hands gripped the cocktail between fingers, her eyes dragging over him again.
The brunette, eyebrows low, stares at Mingi before her, “You look really familiar.”
Your hand clings to his, wrapping your fingers into your boyfriends, shoulders pushed back, no one would know you were standing your ground unless they knew you. Mingi laughs along, “Really? You kind of do, too.”
“Do you have any relatives that go to Nasara?” She cocks her head to the side, “We’re in ITZ, a sorority at Nasara University in Delo.”
Mingi shakes his head, then turns it to look at Yunho, “Do you?”
Yunho shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders, she does look familiar. Yunho asks, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Sitara Song?”
The brunette makes a tch noise, then grabs the blonde’s hand, voice dripping in irritation, “Come on, Ror, I’m sure Wooyoung is missing you.”
The blonde looks back at him twice as the brunette drags her away, and Yunho feels unsettled. Not only are you making a show with Mingi in front of his face, taunting him, but now you’re pimping him out to strangers?
Mingi’s eyebrows are knitted together as they walk away, “They have an Wooyoung, too?”
Yunho faces the two of you with his arms crossed, “What the fuck are you doing?”
You’re already smiling, mischief in your eyes, “What do you mean?”
If the three of you were at home…
“What was that?” He asks, a hand stretching in the direction of the two girls walking away.
You giggle, back pressing into Mingi’s abdomen, “Was I wrong? You are single, aren’t you?”
Yunho laughs a low, disbelieving chuckle. He turns on his heel, past the court, back to where you set up, sitting back in the chair he was sulking in before. He reaches into the cooler, pulling out a can of beer. If this was how the weekend was going to be, he might as well be drunk for it, too.
Clean and close to sober, your hair was still wet after your shower as you sat around the bonfire, sweats on your body, under a blanket on the sand. Even in Haos the beach was cold at night, a sharp breeze ruffling everyone’s hair, egging the fire to blaze higher.
Yunho barely looked at either of you during dinner. Lounged out on the back balcony after grilling, he laughed along with everyone, cracking jokes and engaging in banter, but he shut you and Mingi out. After his second beer it was as if he put a wall up, he was choosing to not let the two of you bother him, not that you had much to bother him with after the beach.
Fear lived in all your joints that you took everything too far as you sat cuddled up to Mingi, head on his shoulder. With Yunho on your other side, you tried not to let your eyes slide to him, despite his closeness. Even mad, even apart you still drifted together, you try to let the thought relieve you, but you’re too tightly wound to let anything but his hands steady your heart in your chest.
You missed the way Yunho doesn’t see your fear. Instead, all his tunnel vision allows is the way your arms lay over Mingi’s, the way you melt against your boyfriend, how comfortable Mingi looks with your body touching his. You don’t see his frustration, how his mind whirls a mile a minute in yearning to have any part of you two touching him, too.
“You guys must have needed a vacation,” Hongjoong declared from across the fire, the growing blaze making his orange hair burn brighter, white teeth still shining despite the warmth laying over all of you.
You smile, and Mingi agrees in a small noise from beside you. San perks up in a chuckle, “I haven’t seen you two act like that in years. There’s really never any trouble in paradise, huh?”
Mingi snorts, and you close your eyes with a smile on your lips. If only they knew what trouble was terrorizing your paradise right now.
Jihyo cracks a laugh, holding up a hand like she just remembered something hilarious, “No, can you guys remember the beginning? When they couldn’t keep their hands off each other?”
Your cheeks burn as the group laughs around the fire, a chorus of amusement and remembrance. Jihyo continues, laughter still erupting from her chest, breaking up her words, “I miss when we still had true house parties, I remember catching you guys in Yeosang’s garage.”
Mingi tips his head back with a groan at the memory, you remembered it like it was yesterday, he had you lifted on Yeosang’s father’s workbench, tools covering the space around you. Luckily, Jihyo didn’t see your legs spread for him, or his fingers hooked inside you. Your cheeks blaze hotter than the fire before you.
“That’s not the only time, either,” Jihyo’s leaning forward now, cocktail in her hands threatening to spill over the blanket on her lap.
San interjects, laughing himself, “I think we’ve all caught them once or twice throughout the years.”
Wooyoung frowns, “At least none of you have caught them in your own bedroom. That’s worse, trust me.”
Your hand covers your face, digging your forehead into Mingi’s shoulder as he laughs along, muttering Enough in a low voice. The reason you weren’t as open with your relationship anymore was being laughed about in a circle, filling your gut with embarrassment and shame, Mingi felt it.
You couldn’t see Yunho’s fists clenched at his sides, digging into the blanket above the sand. He tries to laugh along, he has a few stories he could tell himself, but he’s ruined them all with thoughts of what those memories would look like if he was included in them, too. He feels weird inside. Knowing it would always be you two, as it’s always been, but feeling so fucking frustrated that he isn’t included, as if two halves of him were fist fighting just beneath his skin.
“My bad, today just reminded me of back then,” San waves a hand, a warm smile on his lips, showing his dimples. “I’m happy to see it. I’ve missed when you were attached at the hip.”
“I was starting to get worried that you guys were chilling out too much,” Sana interrupts, her head tilted, a cheshire smile on her lips, “I assumed that’s why you didn’t have a ring on your finger yet, that your relationship wasn’t the same as it used to be.”
The circle quiets. A beat of silence lays over you, thick and heavy, her comment feels like a jab. Yunho doesn’t know why it fills his veins with ice cold rage. He bares his teeth, “Where’s the ring on your finger, Sana?”
Seonghwa gasps, Tzuyu’s eyes widen, Wooyoung cracks a smile. Everyone’s eyes dance between Yunho and Sana with fear at her awaiting rebuttal. She tips her cocktail back, takes a sip, then raises it up to Yunho with a sinister smile, “Hopefully we both see rings within the year.”
You blink in confusion and awe, sitting up straight, both of your heads turned toward the black hair sat beside you. He meets your gaze and his eyes feel warmer than they’ve been all day, since before the fight, even. The others redirect the conversation into something lighter, but the three of you stay locked in on each other, a bubble within the ash and smoke surrounding you.
You purse your lips. What was that for?
Yunho smiles. Couldn’t help myself, I guess.
Mingi lays a hand over your thigh. Sana will always be Sana, it’s not worth it.
Yunho leans into his hands stretched out behind him. I’m tired of her sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.
Your cheeks warm with a small smile. Thank you.
After all the cans had been thrown into the fire and San had smothered it with the lid, the whole group decided it was time for bed, your day tomorrow required a full night’s sleep. Beach, boardwalk, dinner, a repeat of today, but tomorrow you could really drink. You had half a mind to stay sober tomorrow, you think you had enough day-drinking already, your brain muddled and your limbs sluggish, you didn’t miss the feeling of a hangover.
The queen sized bed felt like a cloud beneath your thighs compared to the sand you were sitting on prior, the bottle of water Mingi handed you when he entered your bedroom healing you. In a hoodie and sweats, the house much too cold for a summer night, you sat up and chugged while Mingi got his toiletries ready for a shower.
Yunho didn’t enter the bedroom until Mingi had left, drying his hair with his towel, sweats hanging low on his hips, droplets of water still trickling down his abdomen. You kept your water in your lap, lips pursed, trying to think of something to say. Just earlier today you weren’t speaking at all, you teased him all day, and then he… Sticks up for you to Sana? It doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes sense.
Yunho pulls a tee shirt over his head, barely glancing at you sitting on the bed, then reaches into the closet to grab a blanket. Folded over his forearm, he tucks a pillow under his other arm, then without as much as a word he makes for the door.
“Hello?” You sit up a little taller, confusion in the knit of your brows. “Where are you going?”
He looks back at you over his shoulder, “I’m gonna sleep on the couch downstairs.”
“No,” you answer, shaking your head, staring at him like the idea is ridiculous, because it is.
He raises his brows, “No?”
“Stay,” you urge, heart picking up speed in your chest. “We need to talk at some point.”
He finally turns around, brows still raised as he shrugs, “Talk about what?”
Your lips part but nothing comes out. Jaw clenching, you sit dumbfounded and annoyed. Talk about the fight? Talk about today? Talk about how there’s still clearly something romantic between the three of you?
“How you toyed with me all day?” Yunho finishes your thoughts, taking a step towards your bed, “How the two of you drove me up a fucking wall? How I snapped at Sana to defend you because clearly I’ve lost the ability to control myself?”
You stare at him wide-eyed, speechless, excitement rippling beneath your skin because he took a step toward you.
“They were right, you know,” he tilts his head, taking another step forward, “You haven’t been all over each other like that in years. And I sat there, knowing it was all for me, and couldn’t do a damn thing.”
“Yes, you could have,” you finally counter, voice barely above a whisper.
“What would you have me do?” He says through a sharp chuckle, “Put you over my fucking knee in front of everyone? The whole beach? That's what started all of this, right?”
“I— What do you—?”
“This all started because of sex. You worked me up all day to have me at my wits’ end when we finally got back here at the end of the night. That was the plan, right?”
You blink at him, that was the plan. Partially. “I just wanted you back here so we could talk—”
He smiles as he cuts you off, “You don’t want to talk, not really. I know what you want.”
You sigh, frustration curling your fingers around the water bottle, ignoring the heat between your legs. He drops the blanket and the pillow on the floor as he takes another step forward, thighs just touching the mattress you sat on.
“I do want to talk,” you frown, heart pounding against your chest, scared those five words will stop him from doing everything he was about to do. Voice lowering, you whispered, “I want you.”
“It’s pointless,” he shakes his head, smile dropped,.“You can’t separate it.”
“Because it’s already blended together,” your voice is still low, teetering on the edge of shaky. “The lines were crossed a long time ago, Yun.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s right,” he meets your eye, and there’s nothing kind behind them. No emotion that makes you feel like there’s any possibility of salvaging what you had. You refuse to trust it, the mask he puts on, you cling to how he’s looked at you these past weeks, with love and trust in his eyes, the mask he wears now is to protect himself.
You give him a bitter chuckle, “Who are you to tell me what’s right? Do you not feel anything when you look at me?”
“When I look at you,” he keeps his face steady, emotionless. “I see Mingi’s girlfriend.”
“You’re a liar,” you spit, sitting up on your knees, crawling closer to him on the bed. He watches, unmoving, eyes not even flickering a change in feeling. “Why did you stick up for us to Sana then?”
“Because you’re my friends, and I’m tired of hearing her project her own insecurities onto you.”
“Why were you bothered when I told that Aurora girl you were single, then?” You stand on your knees atop the mattress, almost face to face with him. “You are single, aren’t you? You want to be single.”
“I don’t want to be single,” his voice cracks, exasperated, eyebrows shooting to his hairline, “but that doesn’t mean I can just join a relationship that’s been established for over five years!”
“Why are you making it sound like a decision that’s made on a whim? We just spent the last four weeks already in one, Yunho,” you raise your voice to match his, every ounce of emotion punctuating each syllable.
“We spent the past month fucking,” he lowers his voice, words sharp enough to cut. “That’s it.”
As if every single one of your emotions swim up to your waterline, your voice cracks as tears blur your vision, “You’re a bullshit fucking liar, Jeong Yunho.”
You keep your eyes on Yunho as Mingi enters the bedroom, catching the towel hanging from his waist out of your peripherals. Yunho breaks eye contact before you do, his eyes sliding to Mingi who stares dumbfounded in the doorway, then quickly closes the door behind him when his eyes land on you.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes are wide and concerned, one hand on his towel as he quickly makes his way across the room. The streak of sunshine in a hurricane, you can feel the hostility fizzle, his presence comfort enough to cool the fire in your veins.
“Nothing,” you shake your head, then wipe your eyes with one hand as you sit back down on the mattress, legs folded beneath you. Your sniff betrays you, as if Mingi didn’t already know you were crying, “I’m fine.”
Mingi stands beside Yunho, a knit in his brow as he turns to his best friend, “What did you say?”
“Nothing I haven’t said before,” Yunho bends down, picking up the blanket and pillow he was holding before. “I’m sleeping on the couch downstairs.”
“No you’re not,” Mingi chokes out a laugh in irritated disbelief, all of his features blown out as he faces him. “You’re not leaving again, you don’t get to walk out twice.”
Yunho’s chuckle mirrors Mingi’s, his voice louder and strained, “I don’t know what else you want me to say!”
“Say you don’t want us,” you answer from the bed, voice unsteady, terrified of his answer even if you’re certain you know it already. “Say you don’t want this, and we’ll let it go.”
Yunho’s eyes dance between the two of you, the cogs turning in his mind visible in his tight features. Mingi takes a step away, walking towards the dresser, pulling out a pair of briefs to sleep in as he mumbles, “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
You stare at Yunho as his lips open and close, racking his brain for something to say that isn’t that. He shakes his head, “Even if I want this, it doesn’t mean it’s right. What will everyone say?”
The slap of Mingi’s briefs against his hips sounds through the room, “Who gives a fuck what anyone has to say?” He faces Yunho, “If we’re happy, that’s all that matters.”
“It’s not that easy,” Yunho drops the blanket and pillow again, his shoulders pushed back in defense, trying to hold onto what’s left of his control as his hands wave with each word. “As much as I want to believe everything will be sunshine and rainbows, it’s you two. Your relationship is concrete, everyone’s expecting a wedding within the next few years and you want to fuck all of that up?!”
Your stomach drops with the validity of his fear, cheeks warming, ears burning hot. You and Mingi have never decided on marriage, not fully, the two of you semi-estranged from your families, not completely in a place financially to make that kind of commitment. A ring, a big party to show off your relationship was nowhere in the near future. A house came first. Stability came first.
Yunho knows that. He knows all of that, but his fear is still valid– because what happens when you are stable? You and Mingi never got that far, the rest was hopes and dreams that would maybe come true one day. You swallow, sniffing again, raising a hand to wipe what’s left of your lingering tears as understanding turns into a bloom of warmth in your chest.
“I understand this isn’t normal,” Mingi takes a step toward Yunho, confidence clear in his voice, it seems you’ve switched places since the last time you talked. Mingi looks over Yunho’s shoulder to meet your eye for a second before looking at Yunho again, “But this won’t fuck anything up, Yunho, our relationship has always been… What it is. This.”
“Your relationship,” Yunho reiterates, his voice quiet, body leaning towards Mingi. “What if that doesn’t stay the same with me in the picture? What if down the line, you decide you want to get married? Do you want kids? Where does that leave me?”
A rush of something you can’t describe swallows you whole. It was overwhelming enough having this conversation with Mingi, and you haven’t had the conversation again with Yunho in the picture, what that would look like for the three of you. Tears crawl their way back up, a tightness in your throat, heat in your cheeks. You didn’t have an answer to his question, fear leaves your stomach hollow, your limbs tingly.
“We’re not asking you to make a decision now,” Mingi’s hands curl around his waist. “Even if it seems like we are. All we know is that we want to be with you, we’re willing to figure all of the details out together, with you. We want you, Yunho, isn’t that enough to at least try?”
Yunho’s head dips down, his face hidden, sucking in a deep, grounding breath. You need to touch him, feel close to him, you need your skin on his, you need to feel like he still wants you. It feels like losing him– a sentiment you can’t bear to accept, you haul yourself off the bed and press yourself into his back.
“This is a lot,” his voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it, weak, frail, strained with uncertainty. “I don’t know what to do, I- I want you too, but this is,” his voice breaks. “Terrifying.”
“I know,” you feel Mingi’s hands swimming along his sides as you keep your cheek pressed to his back, your fists balled into the cotton of his tee. Mingi continues, “You can do it, the commitment, the titles. It’s scary and vulnerable, but it’s us, we won’t hurt you.”
Another trembling breath leaves him as his forehead meets Mingi’s, his hands resting on your own, curled into his shirt. Your lip quivers, trying so hard to keep your own tears in to be the stability he needs, the rock you're used to being; seeing him hurting is like an arrow through your chest, it hurts the same way it does with Mingi.
“You don’t need to make a choice,” Mingi whispers. “But don’t shut us out. Don’t make us think we don’t mean anything to you.”
“I’m sorry,” Yunho whispers, sniffing, his body rigid between the two of you. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean any of it, I was scared. I am scared.”
You press your lips to his clothed spine, “It’s okay, Yunho.”
He squeezes your hands, palms over knuckle, his touch is grounding. Mingi’s hands glide from his waist over his chest up to the curvature of his shoulders, landing there for a moment as Yunho’s head perks up. Mingi leans in, lips grazing Yunho’s as his hands move to his neck, sliding up to cup his cheeks.
“Can I kiss you?” Soft, honest. Yunho barely gives him a nod before Mingi attaches their lips, Yunho’s hands darting to his waist. You keep your hands on him, body pressed into him, feeling Yunho’s body relax, shoulders drooping, back arching into Mingi’s touch.
Their lips move slowly, unhurried, a practice of searching for something in one another, finding it, reveling in it. The air changes around you, expanding, room opening, tension slipping through the balcony door and into the saltwater air, dissipating into the humidity. Yunho’s hands find Mingi’s cheeks and they move together, bodies arching into one another, getting lost in emotion and feeling and longing, you could feel all of it, it bled from both of them and into you, watching from behind.
Hands on Yunho’s waist, you guide him backward until your back hits the bed. You crawl onto it, never breaking your eyes from the pair, watching as Yunho uses one hand to support himself while Mingi lays him down onto the mattress.
“I missed you.”
You’ve never heard him sound like that before. Emotional– soft and whiney, honest, like he’d pulled the words from the deepest part of his consciousness, a box he kept tucked away. It has you moving, crawling over to them, inserting yourself into their bubble. Yunho’s hand reaches for your cheek as soon as you come into view, your eyes meeting, and for the first time you see him consumed by lust without the harsh blade of control in his eyes. Raw, open, free, there’s nothing but delicacy swirling in chocolate brown as he pulls you down into him, attaching his lips to yours like he’d been waiting to do it all day.
Hungrier than those with Mingi, his lips move quickly, tongue slotting between your lips to search your mouth for something true, as if you haven’t given him all of you since the start. “I want you,” you whisper, sharing his breath, a soft smile curving your lips before he swallows down your words with his mouth. You swing one leg over his hips and he sits up on an elbow, his other hand moving to your hip for leverage as he pushes himself up until he’s sitting, shifting you properly on his lap.
Mingi moves behind him, hands on his waist under his shirt, lips finding his neck with soft presses of his lips as your fingers reach for the hem of his tee. “Need this off,” you whisper into his mouth. “Want to feel you.”
Mingi’s the one who pulls the cotton tee over his head, lips finding Yunho’s shoulder as you kiss his lips again, tongue dancing with his, hands splayed on his pecs, letting the warmth of him seep into you. Yunho reaches beneath your hoodie, fingers cold as they dance along your skin, palms curled around your waist while his thumbs brush against your abdomen, his touch is soft, like he’d break you if he pressed too hard.
You break the kiss only to pull the hoodie over your head and Mingi steals Yunho’s lips, using two fingers to his chin to turn his face. You watch them for a moment before leaning in, lips following the curve of his jaw down to his throat, flattening your tongue down to the base of his neck, sucking into his skin just above his collarbone. He tastes clean, like his bodywash, him, your hands find the waistband of his sweats, tugging them downward.
Yunho gasps as you slip them from under him, hips moving easily for you, “I– Are you sure?”
You’re nodding on command, “Of course, I’m sure.”
He’s talking as you tug his briefs down to his thighs. “I said a lot of things.”
“You didn’t mean them,” Mingi answers as you settle yourself between his thighs, coaxing Yunho backward until his back is pressed to his chest.
His cock stands tall against his pelvis, pink-kissed and leaking, it makes your mouth water. Yunho’s hips twitch as your nails graze his thighs, making you smile, eyeing him through your brows. He looks… scared. Like this was unknown territory, his eyes wide, red splotched chest rapidly rising and falling, fingers curled into the sheets beside him.
It makes you want to take care of him in the same way he’s always taken care of you.
“Is this okay?” You ask softly, making him nod. Your head tilts, needing the words to continue, “Do you want this?”
“Yes– fuck,” his hips twitch again, brows raising like he’s surprising himself. “I want it, I want you. Please.”
There’s a pit in your gut as the plea leaves his lips and you’re wrapping your fingers around his length, making a show of the glob of spit dropping from your tongue and onto his length, using your fingers to spread it. He groans, head tipping back into Mingi’s chest as you start working his length with your hand, watching him carefully. So pretty, hair mussed about, chest splotchy and body twitching, you wonder if this is how you look beneath him. You dip your head down, tongue lolling out of your mouth to lick at his tip, salty, raw, Yunho– you wrap your lips around him and suck.
“Fuck,” he draws out the word, low and heavy, a hand reaching down to tangle into your hair. You let him ease you down his length, tongue flat against the underside of him, lips suctioned tight. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”
There he is. You smile, barely, lips stretched around the width of him, bobbing your head as your fist works the base of him, pumping, twisting, gripping him just right– the moan he releases is nothing but nasty, Mingi swallows it, stealing his lips again, you can hear their mouths as much as you can hear your mouth around his length, everything wet, sloppy. Mingi’s hands reach beneath his arms to his chest, thumbs flicking over his nipples and his hips buck into you, making you gag, a hand clawing into his thigh, eyes squeezing tight.
“Sorry– fuck,” he curses again, voice desperate, “feels so good, don’t stop.”
You take him down your throat, gagging yourself purposefully as your nose meets the tuft of black hair at his base, the hand that was curled around him reaching below, cupping his balls softly, tightening your throat around him as you squeeze your palm ever so lightly. The sound that leaves him is obscene, abdomen clenching, his hands finding Mingi’s thighs, nails digging into his skin. You bob your head, breathing through your nose to keep him deeply rooted in your throat, constricting around him just to hear that noise over and over.
“Oh my god,” his voice is strained, harsh, “I’m gonna cum– I want to fuck you, please, wait–”
His hand finds your hair but you don’t budge, keeping your rhythm on his cock, nose buried in his hair as your saliva drips from your lips and onto his pelvis, sliding down to where your hand lays below.
“Baby, baby–”
His moan is strangled, caught in his throat as his limbs lock, legs straightening while his grip tightens in your hair, hips bucking into your mouth once, twice before his release shoots down your throat. You swallow him down, keeping your mouth suctioned to him as you ride out his high until he’s shaking, slipping off of him with your tongue still flat to ensure you’ve gotten every last drop.
You break off of him with a pop, eyes glassy as you find him winded. Chest heaving, head lazily thrown on Mingi’s chest, your brown-haired boyfriend just smiled proudly from behind him.
“Mouth just as dangerous as your pussy,” Mingi says, hands still splayed across Yunho’s abdomen, fingers softly petting his skin.
“Only for you,” your smile is coy, of all things. Crawling up to where they sat, you lean down and press a kiss to Mingi’s lips, then one to Yunho’s. He still looks winded when you pull away, making you giggle, “You okay?”
He nods, “I just… I haven’t come since the last time, with you. Need a second.”
You snort, “A whole week, is that a new record or something?”
Yunho smiles, laughter in the exhale through his nose, “Don’t get smart with me, I haven’t forgotten about today.”
You lean down to press another kiss to his lips, keeping yourself close as you say, “Been waiting for the chance to do something about it, like you said?”
His eyes flicker up to yours. In that one sentence it’s as if you reminded him who he was, what he’s capable of. These eyes you know, deep and controlled, harsh in a way that tickles your spine. Your core clenches around nothing, tongue poking out to lick over your lips, anticipation heating your blood.
“Take off your pants, sit at the top of the bed.”
He barely gets the sentence out before you’re shimmying yourself out of your sweatpants, crawling up to your pillows. You’re vibrating as Yunho turns to Mingi, standing up on his knees, grabbing the younger man with one palm below his jaw to pull him upward. Mingi scrambles to his knees, brows already furrowed, lips still touching in the center as they part.
Yunho smashes his lips into Mingi’s, there’s nothing graceful about the way his other hand digs into the nape of Mingi’s neck, making him arch into the older man with a whimper pouring straight into his mouth as his hands find Yunho’s biceps for leverage. It’s messy, rough, Yunho picking him apart with nothing but his lips– it makes your knees tie together, adding pressure between your thighs.
“You,” Yunho starts, the word accusatory, giving Mingi another unforgiving press of his lips before he continues. “Teased me all day. Taunting me during volleyball, in front of our friends, do you have anything you want to say to me?”
“I’m sorry,” Mingi squeaks, fingers curling into Yunho’s biceps, the sound makes a smile spread across your cheeks, eyes flaring.
“Louder.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Better,” Yunho mumbles, reaching down to pull his shirt up and over his head. One hand reaches down to palm Mingi over his briefs, palm flat and fingers splayed over his length, and Mingi folds upon contact. Head dipping low, abdomen clenching, a groan spills from his lips as his hips buck into Yunho’s touch.
“Don’t tease,” Mingi whispers, voice a strangled moan.
Yunho huffs a laugh, “Like you teased me earlier? You can dish it out but you can’t take it?”
Mingi lifts his head up to look at Yunho just as he starts grinding his palm against his length, bare chest leaning into Mingi’s, using his height to his advantage to look down at him. Mingi sputters, “T-That’s different, Yun. We were trying–”
“Trying to what?” Yunho squeezes his length and Mingi whimpers. Yunho smiles, “Bait me into fucking you in front of everyone?”
“No–”
“Then what?”
“Wanted to feel like you still wanted us,” Mingi says it all in one strained breath, his voice rising in pitch as Yunho’s hand slips beneath his briefs, fingers wrapping around his length.
“I wanted you,” Yunho’s voice slips into something quieter, other hand reaching up around Mingi’s neck, thumb brushing over his bottom lip as before brings his face to Mingi’s, lips almost touching. “The whole time.”
“You left,” Mingi’s voice is barely above a whisper, shaky, a hiss leaving his lips when Yunho twists his wrist, palm closing over the tip of his cock. Yunho pushes Mingi’s briefs down his thighs, lowering Mingi down until his knees are spread, arms splayed behind him, cock jumping against his pelvis, red, angry and leaking like a fucking faucet.
“Do you want my mouth?” Yunho, between Mingi’s knees, asks before his eyes slide to you at the top of the bed. “Or do you want to be filled?”
Mingi’s brows raise. “I get a choice?”
Yunho shrugs. “My way of saying sorry.”
Both of their eyes slide to you and your eyes widen under their attention, back straightening against the pillows. They drink in your posture, knees pressed together, hands scrunched in the sheets as if that’s the only thing keeping you from slipping your hand between your legs.
“Come.”
Yunho’s voice is unyielding, it has you crawling across the mattress on all fours, landing on your knees before them. Mingi’s head tilts, “Thought I had a choice?”
Yunho snorts his amusement, “Like you’d choose anything other than my cock filling you up.” He plants a hand against your cheek, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead, “You can kiss while I prep him, but don’t touch.”
You nod, eager as you settle yourself laid down in front of Mingi, your beautiful boyfriend who already looked so gone. Cheeks pink, chest heavy, his muscled biceps land on either side of your head against the mattress, your calves curling over his thighs with him above you. His cock lands against your lower tummy, heavy, sticky, the order not to touch has your heart picking up speed in your chest, a desire you can’t fulfill.
“Hi, baby,” Mingi’s smiling as he presses one, soft kiss to your lips. Your arms are bent up, hands on either side of your shoulders, palms faced up with your fingers loose and limp, hips fighting the urge to buck up into him.
You push out a sigh, “Need you,” your back arches instead, nipples pebbling beneath the breeze that drifts through the room. “Wanna feel full.”
He places another soft kiss on your lips, “Soon.” He deepens the kiss, tongue pushing into your mouth, you can taste him, taste Yunho, it makes you moan into him, fingers twitching because you want them on his face, in his hair, around his cock.
Yunho leaves the bed to cross the room, you hear him opening the closet, the zipper of the duffel he brought sliding open, but Mingi’s tongue is licking into your mouth, rendering you thoughtless, you don’t care to look over. “Wanna touch you,” you whisper, back arching more until your nipples press against his warm skin, whining at the contact.
“Patience, baby,” his lips find your jaw, elbows closing in around your head, tongue sliding down to your neck to lick a stripe back up to your jaw. You moan, legs tightening around his thighs, hips bucking against his length that tapped against your stomach with each movement. Torture, being naked beneath him, wanting so badly to touch, to feel.
You feel the dip of the bed when Yunho kneels behind him, you hear the cap snapping open on what you can only assume is a bottle of lube. It makes you smirk, knowing he brought it with him, that it was in his bag, waiting to be used. Yunho’s palms flatten over Mingi’s ass, and his head dips down into your shoulder at the contact, in anticipation of what comes next.
You watch over Mingi’s shoulder as Yunho squirts some into his hand, closing it before running two fingers down the space between, thumb circling his hole. Mingi’s whole body jerks, gasping into your neck, cock digging into your stomach.
“Open up for me,” Yunho says softly, “let me in.”
Mingi’s knees spread a little wider, lips meeting your shoulder, your neck, back arching lower, the position Yunho likes. Yunho keeps his eyes on you beneath him as he pushes a finger inside, his own brows furrowing together at the feeling of him, the tightness around his digit.
“Shit,” Mingi whimpers into your skin and one hand comes up to tangle in his hair, relaxing him into the stretch, all while keeping your eyes on Yunho.
“That’s it,” Yunho nods, voice just above a whisper, “there you go.”
Yunho bites his lip as he crooks his finger and Mingi fucks back, head lifting from your shoulder to push himself into the older man, moaning like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. You quickly turn your head to catch a glimpse, his slacked jaw, eyes softly shut, brows knitted together in pleasure, so fucking beautiful. The sight of him when you’re wrapped around his cock versus Yunho pushing into him, the sight of his pleasure was so different, so raw seeing him this way, so open and desperate.
“Yes,” you find yourself whispering, back arching at his pleasure, almost feeling it as if it were your own.
Yunho adds another finger, making Mingi moan, lifting himself up onto his palms, head craning to see Yunho behind him. “More, gimme your cock, I can take it.”
Yunho nods, ripping open a condom packet from beside him and slipping it on in one quick motion. Tapping his cock between Mingi’s cheeks, he looks over Mingi’s shoulder to you, “Go ahead.”
At the speed of fucking light you’re reaching between you, making Mingi gasp as your fingers wrap around his length, Yunho lining himself up behind him as you line him up at your center. You didn’t need the prep, the head of his cock slipping around as soon as you brought it to your slit, sliding through your wetness until it caught against your entrance, making you gasp out a moan.
“Fuck,” Mingi’s voice sounds strangled, strained, preparing himself to fuck you full while he gets fucked full– you’ve done it plenty, but each and every time it’s overwhelming for him, for you to be fucked by Yunho’s thrusts.
“Breathe,” Yunho says, and it’s both a warning and an order as he pushes inside, making Mingi’s breath catch in his throat until he forces it down into the base of his lungs. Yunho groans, head tipping back as he slowly pushes inward until he seats himself inside.
One of your hands cups his face, pressing your lips against his unmoving ones, “That feels good?”
“Full,” Mingi grits out as Yunho bottoms out, hands squeezing his ass, face contorted in pleasure.
You smile, pressing your lips into the corner of his mouth, “Ready?”
He nods, eyes screwed shut, mouth stuck open like he’d unhinged his jaw. You tighten your legs over his thighs, an elbow planted under you, lifting your hips up to press his tip inside, and with Yunho’s next thrust he’s pushing inside, all the way, all at once. Your eyes blow wide as a shrill sound escapes you, and Yunho’s head picks up over Mingi’s back.
“If you’re loud, I stop,” Yunho grits out. “We don’t need the whole house hearing us.”
Your other arm is clawing at Mingi’s shoulder, so fucking full and stretched out it’s dizzying, you barely process Yunho’s words as Mingi catches your lips with his own. The three of you readjust closer together now that you’re positioned, and with every thrust of Yunho’s hips against Mingi, Mingi fucks into you the same.
“So tight, Min,” Yunho gasps. “Missed this ass, fuck, craved this tight fuckin’ thing.”
He’s beautiful, hair soft and messy, brows quirked in focus as he watches himself drill into Mingi, how his cock disappears, how Mingi sucks him in with each thrust. You’re clinging to Mingi, one arm over his shoulder as your hips fuck back into him, his cock curving into you just right, making you moan into his lips as his tongue steals every sound from your throat, pouring another one right back into yours.
“Faster,” you whimper, eyes lifting. “Please, Yun. More.”
“Never satisfied,” Yunho spits out through his clenched teeth, two hands gripping Mingi’s hips as he fucks into him harder, faster, ricocheting into you, body slamming into the mattress with each thrust. You’re a crying, whimpering mess, clawing into Mingi’s skin as he cries into your mouth, lost in a bubble of pleasure, Mingi’s body locking up with each thrust of Yunho’s hips.
“I’m close,” Mingi whispers, straining. “Fuck, too good, so full, you’re so tight–”
“Cum,” you whisper, hips rolling into each thrust. “Fill me up, baby. Come on.”
Yunho’s hands slide up to his waist, nails biting into his sides, “Hold it.”
Your hips buck into him faster, a pit forming in your stomach as the pleasure builds, catching Mingi’s lips again. Yunho slaps his palm against Mingi’s ass as he feels Mingi buck into you, “Hold it.”
“Can’t!” Mingi cries, “I can’t, I cant, I’m cumming–”
You moan as his cock twitches inside you, still rolling your hips against him as he fills you up, warmth spreading through your lower half. Yunho hisses from behind, “You never fuckin’ listen.”
You smile, dazed and lazy as you stare up at him over Mingi’s back, “Happens every time.”
“Fuck,” Yunho huffs, “wanted to cum inside you, Min.”
You slow your hips as Mingi’s arms waver, shaking on either side of you. “’m sorry,” Mingi says, breathless. “Felt so fucking good.”
You pull your hips off of him as you let go of his shoulder, falling flat against the bed as he crumbles on top of you, Yunho pulling out behind him. Sated, he hums into your shoulder, left hand digging beneath your back, holding you close.
Yunho slips off the condom and pulls you toward him by your ankles, Mingi’s startled enough by the action to roll off of you and onto his back, head turned with eyes half open to watch as Yunho tugs you upward by your hips. Yunho sinks down to sit on his calves, pulling your thighs over his, not wasting a second as he runs his cock through your folds, spreading Mingi’s release. You hiss at the contact, hips bucking into him, digging your elbows beneath you to hold you up. “Kiss me,” you beg, “kiss me while you fuck me, please. Need it.”
His brows furrow, lips parting like you’d just taken your cock down his throat, your words hitting like a pang to his gut. He lines himself up, cock prodding at your entrance as he leans forward, grabbing you by your waist to pull you on top of him, using your thighs on his as leverage to sit yourself over his cock.
Lowering yourself onto him, you lay your hands over his shoulders to attach your lips to his, nothing about it structured or neat as he pushes inch after inch into your heat. You moan into him, whining as you reach the base of him, feeling the full length of him in your fucking guts.
“Big,” you mumble, a whiney whisper. “Wanna cum on your cock, Yunho.”
His fingers tighten around your waist, lifting you up on his cock before slamming you back down, making you cry out into his mouth. “Quiet,” he grunts, then places a kiss to the corner of your lips. “I know it feels good, baby.”
Your fingers claw into his shoulders, “So good, missed your cock, fills me up so fuckin’ perfect, so full.”
He guides you with two hands on your waist, lifting you, lowering you, shifting you into a dirty grind, “Take me so well,” he says before he kisses you again. “Pussy so tight, missed her, missed you.”
You catch his lips, words staggered by each slap of your hips against his, “Don’t fucking leave again.”
His fingers sear your waist, squeezing so hard you’re sure they’ll leave marks behind, making you moan. You grind yourself into him, rolling your hips until his cock reaches the sweet spot inside you, a high pitched noise escaping your lungs before you can stop it.
“Shit,” you cry out, panicking at the pleasure, lowering your voice. “Shit, shit, shit– good, right there, so good.”
Yunho meets you where you roll into him and your eyes drop to watch, his sculpted abdomen flexing under the movement, how you swallow his cock with each grind, it’s too much. Mingi’s behind you before you can process it, feeling his heat before his bare skin, his lips at your neck, teeth grazing your steaming skin, fingers toying at your chest, you fall into him as your hips move on their own.
“Min,” you moan out. “Yunho, fuck– wanna cum, wanna cum,” you’re repeating the words like a mantra, Yunho’s cock kissing your walls, the tip of him running over that spot inside you like it has nowhere else to go.
“Cum,” Mingi says into your skin. “Cum around his cock, let him feel it.”
You grind your teeth, a strangled sound escaping you, so close you could fucking taste it.
“Need more, baby?” Yunho asks, breathless, jaw clenched like he was holding himself back. “My girl, never satisfied, always needs more.”
“Insatiable,” Mingi’s tongue drags along your neck and you nearly fold, the pleasure overwhelming. One of his hands dips down between you, two fingers rubbing at your clit and your eyes blow wide, entire body jerking forward at the touch.
“There she goes,” Yunho smiles and your breath completely catches in your throat, hips stuttering in their grind, he quickly uses two hands on your hips to keep you moving in rhythm. You feel it building impossibly further, your orgasm right below the surface, your skin vibrating, your breath coming out in shallow bursts.
Mingi reaches up, one hard pinch to one of your nipples and you’re falling forward, head on Yunho’s shoulder as your limbs lock, pressure blowing, euphoria consuming every inch of your being. You hear Yunho mumble something haphazardly to Mingi before he’s pushing you backward, holding onto your hipbones as he drills into you, chasing his own high. It’s more than overwhelming, your orgasm never ending, prolonged with each thrust of his cock inside you.
“Mouth,” Yunho bites, and Mingi’s palm clasps over your lips on command. You don’t even realize what sounds are leaving you, that your lungs are even working properly, so consumed by euphoria.
You’re seizing around him, body twitching, core clenching with each thrust of his cock until his hips stutter, emptying himself inside you with consistent, punched strokes so you feel every inch of him, every drop of him as he fills you up.
Mingi releases your mouth when Yunho finally pauses, his hand shaky, chest heaving, cock half-hard again against his thigh. The only sound in the room is your breathing, distant waves crashing ashore, the sound of the breeze blowing through the room, making the curtains dance around the balcony doors.
“I could watch you two forever,” Mingi mumbles, more to himself than to you.
Yunho pulls out slowly, keeping a hand steady cupped over your center, so if you do drip it’s not on San’s comforter. Always thinking ahead, even after sex, when one would think his brain would turn at least a little fuzzy.
You swallow down nothing but air in your dry throat, reaching for the man beside you and the other across from you, “Lay with me.”
“You need to shower,” Yunho counters, running his other hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “Or pee, at least. Get this out of you so we can sleep.”
You mumble your discontent, groaning, body spent and tired but so fucking elated at what just transpired. Yunho smiles up at you, “We aren’t at home, little lady, you need to go pee.”
“Little lady?” You and Mingi ask at the same time, mocking him, brows furrowed, smiles amused. You snort, “Try a different nickname.”
“Shut up and go to the bathroom,” Yunho huffs, standing up off the bed, pulling you by your ankles to the edge. Mumbling under his breath, he’s looking at the sheets, “Always something to say.”
“You love it,” you smirk, standing on shaky, tired legs. You wobble, he slides a grounding arm around your waist, you look up at him with smiling eyes, “If I wasn’t such a brat you wouldn’t have anything to punish me for.”
“A well-behaved submissive is a well-trained one,” he’s quick to respond.
You scowl, eyes pointed as you look at him, throwing an arm over his shoulder, “I’m not your submissive.”
“What are you, then?” He asks and you steal your arm back from over his shoulder, ignoring the leakage between your thighs, just to look up at him and see him smirking, face fully amused.
“Not funny,” you grumble. “Mingi will shower with me, you can wait outside.”
“No,” he half-whines the word, still fully amused, leaning into you before he bends at his knees, scooping you from beneath your legs into his arms bridal-style. “We’re all showering together, end of story. Say a prayer that Jihyo and Jongho are asleep.”
You’re giggling at him butt-ass naked in the dark hallway, it seemed Jihyo and Jongho were asleep with how easily you snuck into the bathroom without being caught, Mingi on your heel. Your shower was innocent, soft touches and bubbly soap, exhaustion dancing in the steam, the humor had dissipated and exposed what was left over. The three of you, together again. Whole.
Back in bed, you in the middle, Mingi on your left, Yunho on your right, you didn’t even bother with clothes. The only light came from the still open balcony doors, moonlight acting as a beacon, calming in how it coated the room in a soft pale hue.
“I really did miss you,” Mingi cuts through what felt like an hour of silence, just waves and breeze. “We missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” Yunho’s response is soft, fingers playing in Mingi’s hair above you, you cocooned in the middle of the two.
For the first time, those three little words sat on your tongue, begging to be said. Instead, you ask, “You know what you said? The submissive thing?”
His hand cups your cheek, “I was just kidding, baby.”
“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not that. I was wondering… What it’d be like.”
“To be my sub?” His brows raise, tipping your head up to look at him. “Like, for real?”
You smile, “Yes, for real. I’ve wondered since Woo’s going away party, what you’re like when you’re serious about it.”
“You don’t think I’m serious with you?”
“You know you let shit slide,” you narrow your eyes. “A lot slide. I want to experience a day, in public and stuff when you’re being you. In your element.”
Yunho’s eyes slide up to Mingi, “You too, baby?”
Mingi smiles, bashful but honest, nodding. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious, too.”
“You’re both untrained–”
“You’ve taught us a lot,” you cut him off. Rearranging yourself, head pressed into Mingi’s chest so you can see Yunho easier, you urge, “We can do it. Let us try tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yunho.”
“Fine,” his smile is soft, eyes so dreamy it’s hard to comprehend that a man like him could ever be mean. If you hadn’t experienced it, you wouldn’t believe it. You love him mean. You love him nice. You love how he looks at you. You keep the words inside.
“We’ll talk about it more in the morning.”
You didn’t say another word, other than goodnight. You could still hear the waves crashing onto the shore just outside the house, you could smell Yunho’s body wash everywhere, the moon shining down on your bedroom, for the first time in days, everything felt… Peaceful. Normal.
Your heartbeat hasn’t been this even since the day Yunho walked out of your apartment.
Feet twitching, a tickle on your leg, your nose scrunches as consciousness pulls your eyelids apart. You suck in a short breath when you feel warmth on your thigh, the heaviness of a hand, Yunho’s hand, it snaps you awake like someone poured cold water over your head.
“What are you doing?”
His other hand moves your panties to the side, his head already between your legs, which was enough to answer your sleep-induced question. Your thighs parted for him further, arms limp against the bed, you could hear the soft snores from Mingi still fast asleep beside you.
A moan passes softly through your lips as his tongue makes contact with your center, slipping between your folds, lips swirling around your clit. The fingers curling into your thigh tells you to shut up, and you listen by slotting your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes screwed shut.
Fuck, you’ve missed his hands on you, you’ve missed his mouth, you’ve missed the way he tells you what to do without saying a fucking word. You’ve missed everything about him.
He pulls away only to pull your panties down your thighs, throwing them somewhere on the floor before both hands push into the plush of your thighs, spreading them wider than before. The mewl that leaves your lips, the way your leg bumps into Mingi’s sleeping body has his eyes cracking open, confusion and sleepiness present in the way he blinks himself awake.
“Damn,” Mingi groans, stretching out his limbs as Yunho devours you all over again. “I’ve missed this.”
Mingi leans over, pressing his lips sleepily into your neck, tongue poking out to slide up onto your jaw, your mind clouded with a whirlwind of pleasure. Too long since you’ve had two bodies on you, focused on you, pleasuring you, days had felt like months.
Yunho’s hand left your thigh to grab onto Mingi’s ankle, pulling him downward, a cue to get off of you without him saying a word. Mingi shuffled himself down the bed until Yunho grabbed his already stiff length over his briefs, Mingi pushed them over his hips and down his thighs, eager to feel Yunho’s touch like it was the first time.
Yunho’s fingers slip through your folds to gather the wetness onto his hand just to use it in gliding his hand over Mingi’s length, which had both of you squirming in pleasure, light moans blending together. He spits on your center before sitting up on his knees, slipping two fingers inside you, the other hand still pumping Mingi’s length, he used the same rhythm on both of you, where you both stared up at him with parted lips, furrowed brows, glassy eyes, you think that maybe you were dreaming, or maybe you’d gone to heaven in your sleep.
“Missed me, huh?”
You and Mingi nod erratically, your hips jerking into his touch, he wore a cocky smirk and half-lidded eyes that told you he missed you just as much. Having the two of you splay out beneath him, victim to his hands, to his hold over you entirely, he had you exactly where he wanted you.
His fingers curled into you at the same time as his wrist twisted around Mingi’s length, movements he knew drove you close to the edge, you could feel the pit in your stomach forming just from how deep his fingers hit inside you. He knew you so well, too well, he could pull you to orgasm so fast, even at god knows what time in the morning. From the rising sun outside of your balcony, you knew it was early.
“You want to be with me for real?” Raised eyebrows, temptation in his voice, a depth to his eyes that only came out when he was in the mood to have you crying beneath him, the ghost of fear nipped at your spine. You nodded.
“You– fuck,” Mingi gasped, hips bucking into Yunho’s hand. “You know we do.”
“Then you’ll learn what it’s like to be with me,” staring down at you beneath his brows, his jawline sharp from where you looked up at him, you gulped at the sight of gravity in his eyes. Fingers hitting the spongy spot inside you repeatedly, it was hard to feel the fear through the pleasure, to understand the weight of his words as he pulled you so damn close to the finish line.
“Yes,” you whispered, back arching, eyes closing, your orgasm so close you could taste it.
Mingi wasn’t far behind, his fingers curling into the bedsheets, his legs trembling, small gasps and mewls falling from his lips one after another, it was ridiculous how easily he had the two of you rendered stupid before him.
Lifting yourself onto your elbows, your voice shaky, you cry, “I-I’m close.”
“Me too, don’t stop, Yunho,” Mingi moans from beside you, sounding weary, teetering on the edge.
Yunho smiles, a flicker of something in his eye that assured you the fear in your spine was right. His fingers scissor you open like he could make you cum with his eyes closed. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t give you permission, and you push a heavy breath through your lips like it’d help pause your impending orgasm while you wait for the green light.
“I’ve been too lenient with you,” he bites the inside of his cheek. “I did some thinking, too, and I think you two forgot who I am, why you asked me to share your bed in the first place.”
Your eyes blow wide, panic surging through you, “Yunho, I’m gonna cum–”
He slips his fingers out of you at the same time as he pulls his hand away from Mingi’s cock, your thighs snap together, a curse slipping from your lips. A too verbal cry leaves Mingi’s throat, his cock spurting ropes of white cum onto his hips, his stomach, his orgasm completely ruined.
“We’ll see if you still want me by the end of today,” Yunho is smiling while ignoring Mingi’s heaving chest and teary eyes, proud of himself, happy with what he had just done to the two of you. Your eyes are dancing between Yunho and your boyfriend that has tears slipping past his waterline, his jaw dropped in shock, in anguish of what had just been done to him. You wished you could have seen his raw reaction, the moment his orgasm was denied.
“I didn’t forget everything that happened yesterday, did you?” He asks, eyebrows raised, eyes flickering between you and Mingi. “Today will be different.”
Your body was on fucking fire– fear, arousal, the orgasm that was still on the brink beneath your hipbones, you didn’t know which emotion to pay attention to first. You tried to speak, some form of rebuttal, every string of words came out jumbled, completely incoherent. Yunho grinned. Mingi whimpered.
“Clean yourselves up and come to breakfast,” Yunho climbs off the bed, running a hand through his black locks as he makes for the door. “Don’t touch each other, don’t touch yourselves. I’ll know if you do.”
You swear the beach is hotter than it was yesterday.
All thirteen of you, after having breakfast out on the deck, packed up for another beach day that was thankfully right in San’s metaphorical backyard. No one was acting out of the ordinary, it seemed safe that no one heard the three of you getting edged by Yunho’s hands just a few hours ago, or getting split open by his cock last night, but you wondered if anyone could pick up how fucking frustrated you and your boyfriend were come this morning.
You obeyed Yunho, you didn’t touch each other after he left this morning, instead you kept your distance in your bedroom while you got ready for breakfast, as Mingi took a cold shower, letting ice fill his veins as he replayed his ruined orgasm in his mind.
Yunho was careful around you at breakfast, around your friends, only meeting your eye when he felt yours on him, while you were daydreaming, fantasizing, watching how his veiny hands picked up his utensils, how his pretty pink lips wrapped around the food he ate, how his body bent when he stood up from the kitchen table, the low rumble in his tired voice as he spoke to Hongjoong…
“This one.”
After escaping a calm breakfast, you were upstairs, getting ready for the impending beach day. Yunho had picked out a pair of swim shorts for Mingi, ones with a longer inseam, and had ruffled through all the bikinis you brought with you, choosing one less skimpy, but still as revealing as a bikini would be.
He handed you a black triangle bikini with small, white polka dots printed on the nylon, the bottoms were string-tied, the back ruched at the middle. Thrill danced in your blood at the thought of wearing something he chose for you, an invisible display of dominance to the people who would see you in it. He hasn’t done this yet. This was new.
“We’re playing today,” he sat back on the bed, you and Mingi standing before him, backs straight, heels touching, as per Yunho’s request. You were already buzzing with adrenaline, excitement, anticipation. “If it’s too much, you know what to say, but I’ll be expecting obedience, without question. Understood?”
You and Mingi nod furiously– he clicks his tongue.
“Yes, sir,” scrambles out of both of your mouths simultaneously. You’ve never spoken about or decided on a title formally, you’ve only said the word to Yunho playfully a few times, just for him to respond ‘be careful what you wish for.’
You were more than careful, it’s indescribable how the title makes you feel. Yunho has taken care of you both from the start, slipped into a role on his own when he started spending time with you, but today he’d officially take on the role fully, no shortcuts, no excuses.
There were times you’ve gone grocery shopping or went out to eat and he’s told you to not speak unless spoken to, to only walk on the right side of him, Mingi on his left. Something like this lit a fire in your belly, playing in front of your friends when you and Mingi knew Yunho didn’t want them to know anything about you three, you’d have to be discreet, yet still obey him completely, it made you nervous. Excited to comply, to appease him. Still excited, but nervous about what happens if you don't.
This was Yunho, unshielded, unapologetically himself, this was Yunho showing you who he is, what he wants. Your request had turned into a test, one you deeply wanted to pass; because in your mind, passing felt like the last obstacle. That if you passed, he’d have no reason to deny you any longer, no further reason to say no.
Because he didn’t answer you last night with a yes, in your mind, it was still a no.
Excitement flared in your eyes when he nodded, pleased, “Good.”
When he laid out the rules for today, they seemed simple.
You’re to sit with good posture on his left, Mingi on his right. Easy.
There shouldn’t ever be sand on his towel, if there is, you or Mingi clean it off when you see it. The thought of the two of you doting on him makes your heart skip a beat.
You’re both to make sure he is never without a drink, you get him another when he’s finished the one he has. He’s testing your ability to pay attention, to focus on him only. He should be at the forefront of your mind all day— as if he already doesn’t live there.
If you need anything, if you want anything, you ask permission first. Submission, structure.
No complaining about the sand, the heat, if you or Mingi are in distress, you tell him properly, without whining. He wants you polite, but neither you nor Mingi were one to complain about anything, anyhow.
You both are to stay within arm’s reach of him all day. You want to be by his side, anyways, but being expected to… you would pass his test with flying colors.
You didn’t ask what happens if you didn’t follow them, maybe you should’ve. It feels full circle from Wooyoung’s going away party all that time ago, when you were curious about the date he brought, why she acted the way she did. How a part of you craved it, when you didn’t even know what it was.
The sun scorched the sand, inescapable, a dry heat that was only eased by the salty breeze that snuck past your bodies every now and then, so sporadically you could barely call it relief. You had created a small village on the beach, multicolored towels laid out in a line, beach chairs, umbrellas, coolers with liquor, bags full of snacks, a large speaker that played nostalgic music over the sound of waves crashing on the shore. Looking at the scene made you laugh, you could remember coming to the beach with the same damn people with nothing but a towel and a handle of vodka.
A lifetime ago.
You sat with your knees bent in a pretzel, back straight, palms in your lap. A drink was buried in the sand next to you, something sour, Tzuyu mixed it, she claimed one was enough to keep you buzzed for a while. That was fine with you, sunglasses on your face, watching the waves fold onto the wet sand at the shoreline, head tilted, humming to a song you knew all too well while it danced with the breeze.
Yunho bent down beside you on the empty, clean baby blue towel, the corners still stiff and bent from how it was folded in San’s linen closet, the print on it still bright, likely new. Your chin perked up with his presence, sunglasses perched on his nose, black hair already damp with sweat and mussed on his forehead, sun-kissed and angelic. Your mouth watered before he uttered a word.
“You have sunscreen on?” Short, curt, filled with expectation. It wasn’t just the simple question forcing a rush of adrenaline to sweep through you, heart rate picking up, fingertips twitching against your skin, it was his tone; strong, composed, yet somehow condescending, as if you couldn’t remember to put your own sunscreen on.
You nodded, the need to appease him curling low in your gut, the desire to make him pleased. His tongue clicked, words. You sputtered, “Yes, I put some on before we left the house.”
“That was an hour and a half ago,” he sighed, running long, milky fingers through the damp black locks on his head. “I’ll get some.”
He used his palms braced on his thighs to stand again and your neck twisted to Mingi on the far towel, raising your brows.
Mingi gave you a small shrug, Here we go.
You glanced around the group, taking in everyone’s whereabouts. San and Jongin laid out on beach chairs beneath the sun, carved abdomens dipped in honey, shiny and slicked by sunscreen and sweat. Hongjoong and Seonghwa were down by the shore, mid-conversation, hats blanketing their hair, ankle-deep in the water. Tzuyu, Jihyo and Sana laid in a line to your left, gossiping, drinking, bodies a contrast to the towels beneath them.
Wooyoung had dragged Jongho and Yeosang into the sand off to your right, convincing the two men to bury him. You think Wooyoung started drinking when his eyes opened this morning.
You felt Yunho’s presence at your back like a shadow, a promise of unfinished business. He leaned in tight, next to your ear, “This drink is the only one you’ll have today.”
Your breath hitched in your throat, but you nodded. You didn’t ask permission before drinking it. His silence, his lack of movement, snapped you back into place, back straightening. “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
Fuck. You could genuinely moan at his tone, the way he’s biting his words, silvery in what he expects of you, the power he holds in two small words. Maybe he wants you all fuzzy and moldable, like jelly, testing your ability to control yourself and keep your focus on him.
“Yes, sir,” it’s a mere mumble under your breath, head tucked down, just low enough for him to hear. You can feel Mingi’s eyes on you, you wonder if he heard, too, or if your cowering body is lost on him.
Yunho hums in satisfaction, “Sit on your knees, I’ll get your back.”
You don’t hesitate to tuck your knees under your body, ass pressed against your calves, the breeze on your now exposed tummy making you feel bare. Exposed in front of your friends. You can’t believe how it sends a deep pang of arousal through your entire fucking body. You hear the bottle open, lotion squirting into his hands, rubbing it together in his palms before he touches you.
It’s like lightning hit you, how your entire body jerks at his touch, how his palm pressed to your skin makes your thighs clench on command, excitement thrumming beneath your skin. You can blame it on this morning, how he left you tightly wound and needy, the rules swimming in your mind, but the truth was that any time his skin touches yours it’s electrifying, it reminds you of all the times he’s fucked you brainless, it makes you ache for more.
He rubs the lotion onto your back slowly, massaging it in, you couldn’t tell if his movements were erotic or if your brain had dropped to the gutter. Over your hips, the sides of your waist, the tops of your shoulders, the backs of your arms, each movement was controlled, slow in a way that let you feel each point of pressure, how he was studying you as he worked the lotion onto your skin. Your neck inevitably bends, head drooping, shoulders slouching, despite the lotion being cold, his hands on you were so warm. Your thighs untensed, knees breaking apart, lungs emptying themselves into the summer air, it felt so fucking good to have his hands on you.
One palm smoothes up your spine, fingers curling around the back of your neck, the other hand squeezing your hip over the waistband of your bottoms. “Up,” he bites, the singular word a nasty whisper. “Pathetic for you to lose your composure over sunscreen.”
You were grateful for your sunglasses– no one could see your eyes fluttering at his words. Your back straightens, knees kissing once more, hands folded in your lap. “Good girl,” his voice is still too low for anyone else to hear, if anyone was paying attention. It probably seemed like Yunho was just being friendly, helpful, putting sunscreen on your hard to reach places.
It didn’t look like that at all to Jongho and Yeosang, sunglasses shading their eyes as they scooped sand onto Wooyoung’s body, hands going motionless with each curve of Yunho’s fingers on your skin.
“Are you seeing this too?” Jongho asked the older man, eyebrows furrowed, his voice laced with confusion.
Yeosang nods, “And Mingi’s just watching. I’d lose my shit if you touched Tzuyu like that.”
“I’d fucking kill you if you looked at Jihyo like that,” Jongho agrees. Their eyes linger, watching how Yunho leans in close to your ear, how your back straightens, body locking all over again.
Wooyoung’s head peeks up from the sand, “What am I missing?”
“Do you think she’s cheating on Mingi?” Yeosang asks, sitting back on his heels.
“What?” Wooyoung sits up straight, the layer of wet sand on top of him cracking and falling in chunks onto his lap. The two other men groaned, knowing they were going to have to put it back on him in a moment's time.
Jongho shakes his head, “Mingi’s watching, no way she’d cheat, and no way Yunho would do that to him. Plus, he's never been territorial.”
Wooyoung’s neck stretches forward like he was squinting to see beneath his sunglasses. “Mingi doesn’t care if you flirt, I think giving her a back massage in front of the entire group is different.” His head tilts to the side. “But yeah, he really is just watching. Huh.”
“Interesting,” Yeosang’s lips scrunch, but he brings his head of red hair back to Wooyoung. “Lay down and let us restart, dumbass.”
After getting a slew of pictures of Wooyoung’s bronzed body buried beneath the sand, a mermaid tail packed over his legs, fake abs drawn onto his abdomen, the still-giggling men came back over to the group, covered in sand head to toe.
Wooyoung ran a hand through his hair, shooting back a mouthful from his can, “Anyone wanna go swimming?”
Jongho and Yeosang were behind him, sweaty and beautiful, sand on their exposed bodies like a second layer of skin. You blinked at them, silent, because you didn’t wanna swim, part of you was scared that if you stood, someone would notice the patch of wetness on your bikini bottoms, despite them being black. Your fear held no bounds, no logic, but it was enough for you not to move a muscle.
Mingi leaned into Yunho, whispering something in his ear.
“Can I go?” Too low for your ears to catch, Mingi gave Yunho puppy eyes from below his shades, his voice sweet as candy.
Yunho gave him a short nod, forgoing a rule for Mingi’s appropriate execution of another, your boyfriend hopped up, a smile on his face, following behind his friends down to the shore. His dimpled lower back above the green shorts, how they scrunched around his thighs, the muscles in his shoulders too defined as he jogged away, fuck. You felt like an animal. A perverted, sex-crazed freak with the way your bottom lip caught between your teeth at the sight of him, how your toes dug into the towel beneath you.
You laid on your back instead, trying to rid your mind of the thoughts, of the expectations over your head. Taking a deep breath to ground yourself, to stop being so fucking horny on the blazing beach with all your friends around you.
Yunho’s empty can pressed against your arm.
You turned your head to see his jaw in a steady line, his brows raised. Shit. You stood up, walking over to the cooler in three steps, grabbing him another drink. You opened it for him, he thanked you as you handed it to him, you smiled as you took the empty one.
Even doing something this small, this insignificant, had goosebumps raising on your body. Doing it for him.
Yunho was facing you when you got back to your towel, laying back again, hands laying at your sides. His voice was quiet, soft in a way that meant he was just checking in, “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” you answer in a smooth breath.
“Give me something better than that,” he frowns, voice lowering in volume, “I don’t want to ask you to throw a color all day, if I ask you how you’re feeling, give me words. Tell me what you’re feeling.”
You sit up on your elbows, sunglasses sliding down to the bridge of your nose. The first word that comes to mind, “Stimulated.” You smile, head tilting, “Hot, a little frustrated. Mostly eager.”
He smiles, “That’s good, right where I want you.” He leans back on his own elbows, his can buried in the sand beside him, between you. “Sometimes I think you were meant for this, y’know. You take structure well, you perform easily with it.”
“That’s because I enjoy it,” you respond, words coming easily, the alcohol making your lips loose. “More than I’m supposed to, I think. I like it the other way around too, sometimes.”
He quiets, watching Mingi out on the water. “You both switch. I wonder what I’ll do with you both sometimes.”
Your lip curls in gratitude as you lean your head towards him. “You’ve changed since spending time with us too, you know. Maybe you don’t need to do anything, maybe the three of us are fine how we are.”
He turns his head tight, but doesn’t say anything. You stare through your shades, holding your ground, hoping he feels what you said, and doesn’t cower in fear because what you have is real. He jerks his head to the towel next to him, voice unyielding once again, “Over here.”
You push yourself up without a word, cleaning off your towel before you grab your drink and move to Mingi’s towel, laying back down, all without question or hesitation. Yunho smiles, pride etched into the curve of his lips, “Good.”
The praise sets you ablaze all over again.
When Mingi returns, water dripping down his body, dark hair pushed back by his fingers, Yunho already had a towel in hand. Up by the umbrella, you watched with your head tilted back as Yunho ordered him over by just a nod of his head.
“Water feels so good,” he beamed, sandy feet walking between your towels, shedding droplets of water from his swim shorts as he walked past. He didn’t even notice you’d switched spots, or if he did, he didn’t say anything.
He reached a hand out to grab the towel from Yunho’s grip, but the older man shook his head, “I got it.”
Mingi stood dumbfounded for a moment, but turned around to face the three boys’ gaze who walked up from the water, also dripping saltwater, coated in sunshine. You were sure Mingi’s skin was burning as Yunho dried him off, slowly wiping the towel across his wet skin, on his hair. You bit your cheek. For someone who didn’t want anyone to know, he wasn’t exactly being discreet, but you supposed no one noticed Yunho at the going away party, either.
“They’re so weird,” Sana mumbled under her breath, on her stomach, elbows holding the weight of her upper body. She dipped her sunglasses down to the bridge of her nose, watching Mingi and Yunho across the sand.
Jihyo and Tzuyu turned over on their towels, looking at Sana to see where her eyes were locked, then focusing in on the scene before them.
Tzuyu smiled, “Yunho’s so sweet, it must be nice for them to be so close.”
Jihyo squinted. The way Yunho’s hands dragged up Mingi’s body, his fingers curled over Mingi’s shoulder, how he leaned in to say something in his ear. She had a feeling since that morning, catching Yunho in your apartment, but brushed it off because you wouldn’t lie about something like that. Especially not to her. She would never judge you for having a threesome.
But Mingi’s head dipped down, eyes on his own crotch, mumbling a few words in response, and Jihyo’s lip curled. There’s no fucking way. She turned her head, “I caught Yunho at their apartment, you know.”
Sana and Tzuyu’s heads snapped to Jihyo, eyebrows raised, silently saying continue. Jihyo sighed, “Yunho was shirtless, towel on his waist, he had just gotten out of the shower. In their living room. Mingi had on boxers, she looked just-fucked. They said he was only there to shower because he had no water.”
“Doesn’t he live right around the corner from Joong and Hwa?” Sana asked. “If he didn’t have any water, why didn’t he just go there for a quick shower instead of traveling across the damn country?”
“They’re close,” Tzuyu leaned in, forever devil's advocate. “Would you go to Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s for a shower if Ji was home?”
“First of all, girls are different,” Sana shook her head. “Also, yes. They have a waterfall shower, and those jets in the walls for your body, plus Seonghwa uses that really good body wash from—”
“Exactly!” Jihyo cuts in. “Literally exactly my point. There’s something going on there, right? I’m not crazy?”
“Definitely not crazy,” Sana shook her head again. “Remember how Yunho snapped at me last night, too? When has he ever done something like that?”
“Maybe he was tired,” Tzuyu’s voice was small, like she didn’t believe the words that were coming out of her own mouth. “I don’t know girls… They've been together forever. Do you really think Yunho would be involved with them… intimately?”
Jihyo shakes her head, lips scrunched, disappointed that you’d keep something so important from her. She even insinuated it, and you said no. “Who knows what goes on with them anymore. It’s not like we get any details.”
Yunho is more than pleased when Mingi cleans off the left side towel for Yunho, then the center one for himself, after Yunho nodded his head in silent direction, instruction in his body language only.
You were buzzing. You were both following instruction cleanly, discreetly, you were passing with flying fucking colors, you wondered if your ability to obey made him any more inclined to be your boyfriend. Your boyfriend’s boyfriend. You wish you could be inside his brain so desperately.
Yunho stood, brushing the sand off his multicolored, patterned shorts, throwing his sunglasses back on the towel. You sat up involuntarily, knowing if he moved, you moved with him.
He didn’t look back as he started for the shore. You stood, Mingi following, within arm’s reach as you flanked him down the beach, to the water. None of you knew you had eyes on you the entire time. Or that Wooyoung approached San the moment you walked away.
You minded your surroundings as you breached the shore, no sign of Hongjoong or Seonghwa, they must be on a walk, or back at the house. You’ve been so laser focused on Yunho and Mingi you almost forgot everyone else was there.
“Min said the water’s nice,” Yunho looked to you, then over to Mingi on his other side, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Wanna swim?”
You nodded, even if you didn’t have a choice. You wondered where the line stood with things like this, if you didn’t want to swim, if the urge to obey wasn’t so heavy. Would you be punished? For something measly like swimming?
Ice wraps around your ankles, your calves, your body shaking, hissing the deeper you went into the sea. Mingi and Yunho dove in, completely unaffected, fully submerged by the time you got up to your hips. “Fuck, it’s cold, fuck,” you had your arms tucked tight to your chest, slowly wading deeper into the water while they swam a few feet out, laying under the sun for hours would have made the warmest water freezing.
“How the hell are you guys so deep?” You yell across the waves that crashed against your abdomen, water reaching your belly button. “It’s fucking cold.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Mingi teased, grinning, hair melted around his face, flat against the curves of his cheekbones.
“And watch your mouth,” Yunho added, also teasing, smiling, on his back as he floated in the water. You scoffed, then faced the water before you, you’d have to rip the bandaid off if you were ever gonna be comfortable in the water.
“Just go underwater, baby,” Mingi called again. “You can do it. I believe in you.”
You scowled, eyes pointed, jaw locked. “It’s too fucking cold.”
Yunho’s smile widens, listening to your complaints, drinking them all in. You hissed again, dipping your fingers into the sea, up to your forearms, legs pushing against the moving water to get deeper. Up to your waist, below the tie of your bikini top, you finally said fuck it and sank beneath the surface.
Holding your nose, you gasped when you came back out to the salty air colder, ice consuming you head to toe. The two men just feet away cheered.
“Come here, baby, swim over,” Mingi called out, ushering you over with one hand. Breathless from the cold, you wiped the saltwater out of your eyes, blinking through the sting as you swam closer to them. Clinging onto your boyfriend’s front for life, he tucked one arm under your ass as you moved his hair out of his face. He smiled proudly, eyes bronzy beneath the sun, “It’s nice, right?”
You still shivered in his hold, but smiled playfully, he’s so handsome it hurts. “Fuck, fuck you.”
“Curse again,” Yunho taunts from a foot away, swimming closer, affection in his voice. His eyes go over your head, scanning the beach behind you, before they land back on you, just as icy as the water. “See what happens.”
“I’m sorry,” you whine, “it’s cold.”
“I’m in the water with you, quit whining,” he muses, coming closer. “I’ll give you something to whine about. Is that what you want?”
Arousal licks up your spine, you twitch in Mingi’s hold, but you shake your head. Yunho’s head tilts, “You sure, baby? You’ve been fidgeting all day, bet you’re feeling empty by now, aren’t you?”
You’ve been doing so good. Keeping up with his rules, being obedient, focused, you didn’t think your arousal was noticeable at all. You shake your head again even if Mingi could feel your thighs clench, “No. No, I’m fine.”
Yunho’s hands tug on your hips below the water, turning you until your back is pressed against Mingi’s chest, slotting himself between your floating legs. Mingi keeps his hands on your waist as your breath goes shaky, eyes widening, “Y-Yunho they can see—”
“Mingi is blocking us, they can’t see this far out,” Yunho cuts you off. “This body is mine. You don’t get to question me, you don’t get to worry. That’s my job.”
Even in the water, being held up by your boyfriend, he still feels so fucking big in front of you. You swallow, looking up at him through lashes coated in saltwater, voice as small as you felt, “O-okay.”
“You take what I give you, when I choose to give it,” he tilts his head, hands sliding down your thighs, thumbs curling into your plush skin, feeling so soft beneath the water. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” you nod, and he grins. Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, hands sliding up your hips, up to your waist, over Mingi’s hands. He breaks away just to press a kiss to Mingi’s lips, too.
Your heart is racing in your chest. Intimidation, adrenaline, the press of cold surrounding you, concern about someone seeing you.
He leans back, keeping himself close. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“Horny,” you blurt and he laughs. You shake your head, smile on your face, “Overwhelmed.”
His eyes look up to Mingi behind you, who responds, “Also horny. Stretched thin.”
“Color?”
“Green,” you and Mingi respond simultaneously without missing a beat.
“Don’t be scared,” Yunho shakes his head, grabbing your wrists lightly, sliding them onto his abdomen. “Do you trust me?”
You nod, “Yes, sir.”
His eyes jump to Mingi who didn’t realize Yunho was talking to him too, in a rush he responds, “Yes, sir.”
“Then make me cum.”
Mingi keeps a knee beneath you as his hands race to Yunho’s waistband, reaching in to feel Yunho’s cock that wasn’t even hard. Mingi looks up at Yunho who smiles, “The water’s real cold.”
At the shoreline, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had almost returned from their walk, fingers interlocked, legs moving at the same pace, mirroring each other’s movements. A mile down the beach, a mile back, the sun was warm, the water cooled them down, they loved everything about the beach. They’d get married on the beach, one day, soon.
Standing in the shallow water, arms stretched by how Seonghwa kicks about the waves and sand, Hongjoong stops him. “Baby, Hwa.” Seonghwa looks up, his attention grabbed, Hongjoong’s chin dips in the direction of the sea, a little ways out from where they stood, “Is that Yunho out there with them?”
Seonghwa puts a hand atop his eyes, shielding his vision, squinting beneath his glasses. “I think so. Maybe they stopped fighting.”
A theory the two had going from the time you’ve spent at San’s beach house so far, one they discussed before going to bed last night, a silly question from Hongjoong’s mouth that Seonghwa couldn’t believe he caught on to, too. From your reactions when choosing rooms to the bonfire yesterday to breakfast this morning, Hongjoong and Seonghwa have been keeping an eye on you three, reading your body language, your interactions.
“Oh shit,” Hongjoong’s jaw dropped when Yunho leaned in to kiss you. “Oh shit,” he smacked Seonghwa’s arm when Yunho kissed Mingi, too.
“What? What did you see?” Seonghwa is leaning in, bending forward, fidgeting where he stood, angling his head around to see.
“They kissed, Hwa,” Hongjoong is whispering, his voice coated in sheer disbelief, “they fucking kissed!”
“Who kissed?” Seonghwa raises himself on his tippy toes as if he wasn’t already taller than his boyfriend who could see clearly, “Joong! Who kissed?”
“Yunho kissed both of them,” Hongjoong’s hand moved to Seonghwa’s forearm, “Holy shit.”
“Holy shit,” Seonghwa whispers, a small mumble, his eyes widening beneath his sunglasses. “No- no, what are they doing now?”
Hongjoong breaks out in a wide grin, before a disbelieving laugh punches through his lips. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. In public? In ocean water? People pee in there. Fish pee in there.”
“I feel like we’re intruding,” Seonghwa shakes his head, turning away. “We’re definitely not supposed to see this. We shouldn’t watch. This is an invasion of privacy.”
“They’re hooking up on the beach! They’re lucky there’s no one else out here.”
“This section is private,” Seonghwa turns away fully. “San owns it, or something like that, I don’t know how it works. Plus, we can’t see what’s happening under the water, they could be—”
“You mean to tell me they aren’t jerking him off right now?” Hongjoong’s orange brows bend over the frame of his sunglasses, his smile completely amused.
Seonghwa cringes, but turns around again to meet Hongjoong’s grinning cheeks. He looks out in the water, studying, frowning, “I don’t know if she’s doing anything. It might just be Mingi and Yunho.”
“Okay, but still,” Hongjoong smacks his teeth. “They’re seconds away from fucking in the ocean. Am I wrong?”
Seonghwa’s lips flatten, “Don’t say anything. They didn’t seem okay yesterday and today they’re inseparable, so clearly they’re figuring something out, and keeping it private.”
Hongjoong pouts, “Boo.”
Seonghwa smiles, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, “Do the right thing, my love.”
“You’re right,” Hongjoong sighs, looking out in the water again. "That's so juicy, though. In the middle of the ocean for anyone to see is crazy.”
You feel dizzy on your walk back up. Frustration curls low in your gut, a pestering weed left alone for too long, growing at a rapid pace through your veins, into your limbs, your chest. You needed to get off. Your composure was running scarily thin.
“Can I go to the bathroom when we get back up?” You ask Yunho, fingers laced with Mingi’s, both walking behind him, you on his left side, Mingi on his right.
“Are you gonna touch yourself?” He looks over his shoulder, brows raised.
You shake your head, “No, sir. Just need to pee.”
He nods, small, but permission-granting.
You didn’t say anything to anyone as you walked past the group, up to the house, to the outhouse tucked into the side of the property. It was more like a shack, no roof, thin bamboo walls to separate the toilet from the shower, nothing was enclosed except for the main door which was latched shut.
You eased a breath as you put the black steel hook through the matching loop, running your hands through your hair, eyes squeezing shut while the throbbing between your thighs becomes too much to bear in the silence of the bathroom.
Just for cursing.
Just for complaining about the water being cold.
He’s mean. He’s so fucking mean. You asked for this, he reminded you three times, but the words that left his mouth, so degrading, so teasing, all while being passed between them like a fucking doll. All while neither of them touched you. That was almost worse than having your orgasm ripped from you this morning, watching, listening to them pleasure each other, while being on the sidelines but also right fucking between them, you don’t know if you can do it.
You don’t know if you can take him like this. Mean, arrogant, purposely denying you pleasure because you haven’t earned it yet. You’ve been good all day. You deserve it.
You sit on the toilet with furrowed brows, knees kissing, toes touching the wood beneath you. Your clit cries for attention, throbbing, buzzing, there’s a streak of wetness in your bikini bottoms that was too fucking slick to be washed away by the ocean. Your body feels tight, wound-up, aching for attention.
You could probably get away with it if you touched yourself. He’s not in the bathroom with you, he’s down at the shore with Mingi, with your friends, he’d never know. Your thighs clench at the thought, it wouldn’t even take long. You could probably get off in thirty seconds. Your jaw clenches, fingers curling to fists on top of your thighs. Don’t do it, your subconscious screamed at you. He’ll know.
You swallowed, taking a deep, grounding breath. Your need to obey, to please him, outweighed the ache. At least that’s what you told yourself while you wiped. You opened the latch after washing your hands to be met with Yunho standing outside the door. You jumped, a gasp leaving your lips, “Shit, you scared me.”
“Give me your hand.”
You stared at him dumbfounded before the instinct kicked in. He pulled your fingers to his nose as soon as you lifted your palm, sniffing deeply. Just his fucking touch made your thighs clench.
“You didn’t touch yourself,” he says it like he’s surprised.
Biting your lip, you shake your head. “No, sir.”
He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, moving to push past you and you want to scream. He’s even denying you a kiss to your fucking lips?!
“I can’t do it anymore,” you whisper.
He leans back, brows furrowed. “Can’t do what?”
“I need you to touch me,” your voice cracks on touch. “I need you to kiss me, I need you to fix whatever is happening to me right now. I’m gonna freak the fuck out.”
His eyes thin, jaw settling and god you want to sit on his face. “You don’t need anything.”
“Yunho,” you fall forward, forehead pressing against his still-wet chest, hands landing on his hips, the soft skin just above his swim shorts. “I need you. I can’t take it anymore.”
His neck cranes side to side, a heavy sigh pushing through his lips, his hand landing on top of your hair, fingers massaging at your scalp. “I’m teaching you submission,” he says into your hair, his voice steady. “It’s what you asked for. This is what it would be like. You can say red if you want to stop.”
Red feels like giving up, failing the test. You’re frustrated, but not enough to say the three lettered word that would end it all. You’re wound tight, clit still throbbing for attention, but the need to impress him aches worse.
You stare at him blankly, saying nothing. His lips curve, standing back a step. “You have your answer then.”
“Wait,” you interject, pleading with your hands on his chest. “Why did Mingi get to cum, then? How is he any more well-behaved than I am?”
“You didn’t follow the rules,” he shrugs, answering plainly. “I don’t have to give you a reason, if I don’t want you to cum, then you don’t cum. Your body is mine to do as I see fit.”
“I can’t,” you whine, hands going into your roots, frustrated. You don’t even know what was going to follow the two words, what’s left to say after that.
“Stop whining,” he bites. “It’s ugly, and you’re not ugly.”
Your bottom lip quivers, leaning into him, hiding your frustrated face. “I’ve been good.”
“And that’s ending now, I guess.” “Yunho.”
“Are you acting like this because you want to get punished?” Two hands on your cheeks, he pulls you away from his chest, forcing you to look up at him. “Purposely whining to piss me off, even when I gave you clear, concise instructions for the day?”
You shake your head, ears tipping with heat. You can feel the heat everywhere. Shame, arousal, they blend together with the need to appease him, to impress him, you’re fighting against your own instincts.
“Then listen,” he snaps. “That’s the last time I’m going to say it.”
Jongin sees you as he leaves the house. He grabbed his keys from the rack in the kitchen after the group decided to go out for an early dinner, a place that served bar-food just down the street. You, standing with your head in Yunho’s chest, until he grabs you by your cheeks and tilts your head backward, talking to you… sternly? He stays pocketed behind the tall pampas grass, watching through leaves, his heart picking up in his chest. Is he catching something he isn’t supposed to?
Somehow, he moves far enough to where neither of you see him, and makes his way back down to the beach. He has to tell San, he has to tell Mingi– should he even get involved? Considering what Wooyoung told him and San earlier, there’s a chance Mingi is in on it, too.
“Got our keys,” he smiled briefly at San. “We should wait until they get back.”
San lifts a brow, “Did you see them? Any treachery?”
Jongin shakes his head quickly, not exactly sure why his gut tells him to lie. “I saw him inside, she was outside. No treachery to be seen.”
San’s lift lips in distaste. “Boring.”
Jongin feels bad lying to his boyfriend of three years, the man who changed everything about himself for Jongin, the yin to his yang. But this felt out of his control, a little too heavy for the friend group to be throwing around so easily, it's more than gossip. You, Mingi, you’ve been together for so long… longer than he’s known San. From what he’s learned, you’ve been together longer than any of the couples here.
Except for Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Maybe. He’d have to ask San for clarification on that one.
It wasn’t long until you and Yunho were bouncing back down the beach, wide grins on your faces and damn, his conscience feels heavy after lying. You bend down to press a kiss on Mingi’s lips and the way he grins with stars in his eyes tells Jongin enough. He’d keep his mouth closed for now. But if you and Yunho were any more obvious, if you take another risk— maybe someone else wouldn’t be as nice.
There’s bamboo everywhere. Sand under your feet, surf boards lining the baby blue, wooden walls, the roof coated in thatch, the tiki bar–cafe-restaraunt whatever the fuck was the pinnacle of everything Haos claims to be. An escape, another world, somewhere the wealthy pride themselves in vacationing, it reminded you to breathe. To enjoy everything around you, your friends’ laughter, how the sun just beginning to sink was now far less brutal, the way Mingi and Yunho both had a claiming hand on either one of your thighs under the long, wooden picnic table.
“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” with one hand on either of your shoulders, Yunho walked in the center of you and Mingi in the parking lot, one step behind you after you climbed out of Jongin’s Jeep.
You were still playing. Stomach still churning, body still wound tight, you wished you could force yourself to believe that you wouldn’t explode if someone didn’t touch you soon. Still embarrassed over your outburst earlier, not being able to handle what you asked of him, most of you was glad he didn’t give in– even if arousal kept your body temperature heated to a low-grade fever.
Mingi, free as a bird, was giggling to himself at something Wooyoung said across from you, his face sunkissed, his forehead, the tip of his nose, like the sun shone down on Mingi alone. Maybe it did, your irresistible boyfriend with a heart of gold, you wouldn’t be surprised if the sun woke up every morning hoping just to see him. The sound was music to your ears, you leaned your head on his shoulder, hands holding onto the small, laminated menu.
You flexed your thighs, I missed you guys.
The answering squeezes to your skin told you they missed you just as much.
“Today went by too fast,” San shook his head of messy black hair to the left of Mingi, it was a rare sight to see him unkempt. San was always dressed to the nines, hair gelled back, face chiseled, the face of masculinity. Seeing him with pink cheeks and an affectionate grin made your heart swarm with affection, you loved it most when the group left business behind and lived in the moment instead. “I need to have you guys here more often.”
“Invite us then,” Wooyoung teased back, still shirtless, sitting on the end of the table across from Yunho. Skin bronzed and glowing, he reminded you of some kind of Greek God, like him and summer had a contract. “We’ll come when you call.”
Jongho leaned forward, his flower-patterned shirt unbuttoned and dragging along the picnic table, his dark hair messily sprawled across his forehead, sunglasses still sitting over his eyes. “Says the one who lives three states away.”
Wooyoung laughs, leaning forward, looking to his right to see Jongho almost at the other end of the table, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“At the risk of being fired, I’m sure,” Hongjoong smirks, the only person to his right Seonghwa, who held the end of the table. The pair still had their matching hats on, sunglasses resting above the brim, the only two whose faces were unaffected by the sun’s rays. Maybe you should all invest in hats, the sun was inescapable in Haos.
Yunho leans in, eyes dancing between each speaker, “Are you gonna get fired?”
Wooyoung shakes his head with his face scrunched like his company wouldn’t dream of firing him. Sana’s dark eyebrows raised, glossed lips falling in a line like he wasn’t telling the whole truth, the sight made a snort fall from your nose. When Wooyoung noticed, he nudged her side, scoffing, “You know they won’t fire me, they need me. You’re supposed to be on my side, Sana.”
You lean back with a laugh, hand covering your mouth, so stupid it was funny. You missed him so much, and if the possibility of Wooyoung getting fired was any indication, you think he missed you guys just as much.
“We should take pictures after dinner, at sunset on the beach,” Tzuyu chimes in, sitting in her crochet cover up between Yeosang and Jongin at the end of the table on your side. “No dressing up, just in our bathing suits with some drinks, candid style.”
Jihyo and Sana agree, nodding, sitting next to each other like two peas in a pod. “We should get couples shots, too,” Jihyo adds, dark hair waved by saltwater covering her bikini top, “Jongho and I haven’t taken a proper picture together in so long.”
“Woo and I need pictures for our holiday cards,” Sana agrees, nodding, already leaning into Jihyo. Wooyoung, with his sunglasses pushing his hair off his face, silently groans from beside her. You giggle at his face, stealing Sana’s attention.
Before she could open her mouth, San leaned forward, talking across you and Mingi, “Yun, we need to get you a girlfriend so you can be involved, too.”
You stop laughing immediately like San had reached over and stolen the smile from your face. You blink as Yunho’s hand jumps from your thigh, your body stiffening, trying not to let your eyes widen, to show surprise or discomfort on your face while a sharp pang of something sour hits your chest.
“We could ask a random girl from the bar to pretend,” Wooyoung snickers, eyes locked with San’s.
Jongho laughs, a high-pitched, amused sound, “We’d have to pry him away from those two first.”
Yours and Mingi’s attention jumps to Jongho, who eyes you both, mischief in his eyes. Yeosang, with his elbow on the table, props his chin on his cheek, staring down at Yunho, asks, “What happened to that girl from Woo’s going away party?”
Yunho shakes his head of chocolate locks inflated by humidity. Voice clear like he wasn’t bothered at all, he answers, “Just didn’t work out.”
Your body is on fire. So badly you wanted to tell them all to stop speaking about the past, to not bring up a future that isn’t centered around yourself and Mingi. Yunho is yours.
“Are you okay?” You pick your head up to Jihyo who was eyeing you carefully, eyes pointed, jaw set. “You look sunburnt.”
You shake your head, forcing an easy smile on your face, “I’m fine, probably am sunburnt.”
“How? Yunho put sunscreen on you, like, four times,” San wore a slimy grin, the table erupting with laughter.
“It was once,” you counter, eyes narrowed, tone biting. “And I can’t reach my back.”
“You’re quiet, Mingi,” Wooyoung interrupts, and Mingi’s eyes pick up, wide and doe-like.
“What do you want me to say?” He asks, brows furrowing, head tilting like Wooyoung said something stupid. You smile. Yunho puts his hand back on your thigh.
Like a saving grace, the waiter finally approaches your table, breaking your conversation to ask for your order. Yunho orders for you, then for Mingi, exactly what both of you would have chosen if you’d ordered for yourself. You felt eyes on you as Yunho finished, but you didn’t dare meet a single person’s stare. You didn’t want to know what their eyes would tell you.
You didn’t have to guess, not when San spoke after the waiter left your table, his voice a blanket over one end of the table to the other. “Am I crazy? Is anyone else seeing this, or is it just me?”
The three of your heads pick up in a line. The table is quiet, the only thing you can hear is the reggae music, soft from the speakers, dissipating into the summer breeze. Low, far but close, it melts into the sound of waves, offsetting how thick the tension had become at the table.
San’s face bulges out, bewildered, “No one’s gonna say anything?” He turns to you three and your heart falls into your ass. “Are you three together?” You swallow the bile in your throat. “Are you fucking?”
“No,” Yunho’s answer comes before your lips could part. The word is rigid, a wall, a finality. You look at Mingi who’s already looking at Yunho, his eyes so big, so round, you can hear your heartbeat over the music, the breeze, the waves. No.
Yunho even laughs a little. “Come on, are you serious?”
You glance at Jihyo who’s already looking at you like she knows everything. Like your skin was transparent, and she could see your heart cracking beneath your ribs all over again.
“You’ve been joined at the hip all day,” Wooyoung’s grin is feline, like he wasn’t done prying for information. “Can’t blame our minds for going there, can you?”
You and Mingi don’t smile, don’t laugh. You can’t pretend. Yunho takes a sip of his drink, “They’ve been together for years, you know we’re close. It’s weird that your mind would go there.”
Weird. It’s weird. He’s not yours at all. You feel like ice under the summer sun, melting too quickly, soon you’ll be a puddle darkening the sand beneath you if you don’t remove yourself from the situation. You refuse to let any of them see you upset. You hate that a part of you doesn’t want them to know if Yunho doesn’t want them to know.
You look at Mingi, I’m going to the bathroom.
He nods once, eyes glossy, you wish you could bring him with you. Pushing yourself up with your palms on the table, you swing a leg over the bench and don’t look back, don’t listen to a single word as you nearly run to the bathroom. Your skin is on fire, there’s no air conditioning in the small two-stall bathroom with baby blue walls, it’s suffocating.
You stand at the sink, throwing cold water on your face, two hands hooked around the white ceramic to force yourself to calm the fuck down. What was last night for? What did you talk about all of that shit for? What did you fuck for? Now you feel fucking stupid for today, for thinking you’d pass a test he was never proctoring. It all felt redundant. Pointless.
The door swings open, you don’t move. “Are you okay?”
Jihyo, smiling softly, apologetically. Your lips tighten, you refuse to let tears fall. You refuse to repeat what happened last time. You should have expected this.
“All good,” you force a smile. “I think I got too much sun today.”
“Don’t bullshit me,” she leans in the middle of the two sinks, shoulder pressed to the wall between the mirrors, one manicured hand on your forearm. “Did he lie?”
You huff amusement, it lacks any semblance of warmth. “Yeah, he lied.”
“Fucking asshole,” she crosses her arms. “What’s with him and commitment? That day I came over, I knew it, I knew what he was there for.”
All you can do is shake your head, “I don’t know, Ji.”
“How long has it been?”
You hum before answering. “A month? Five weeks maybe?”
“Damn,” she shakes her head. “The way he looks at you… I don’t understand him. I don’t understand the denial.”
You give her another weak smile. “Don’t tell the others. Please.”
“I won’t,” she scrunches her lips to one side. “You still have Mingi, though. And Mingi has you.”
“Thank god for that, right?” Your smile is only half-fake now, moving away from the sink, pressing your back against one of the stalls. “Although I think he’ll be more upset than I am.”
“He was holding it together out there,” Jihyo shifts to lean her butt against the sink, head tilting. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth from the start?”
You shrug, lips flat. “It was instinctive, we hadn’t talked about it yet. After you left that day he freaked out, we fought, we only worked that situation out last night.”
“He said you’d tell people?”
You tilt your head, showing your bottom row of teeth, “Not exactly. More so that we’re more comfortable being in a gray area now, our feelings out on the table, working towards something. We weren’t expecting anyone to call us on it.”
“They’re such assholes for airing out your business,” she pushes herself off the sink, taking two steps toward you to throw her arms over your shoulders, tucking you into a hug. “I’m sorry, you guys will figure it out.”
You let your eyes close, sucking as much comfort as you can from the hug, “I hope so. Thanks, Ji.”
She pulls away to cup your cheeks, “You know you can talk to me, right? Let me in, I can be a shoulder to cry on.”
You nod, fingers wrapping around her wrists, “I will.”
The rest of dinner was damn near silent. Yunho was in your head with apologies, none you answered, you didn’t want to talk to him or hear him out. Mingi answered once or twice, short responses, it was clear the two of you were hurt and needed time to reset your feelings again. You didn’t want to argue, or settle your feelings in the bedroom again, you’d done that already. It clearly didn’t work. Pictures on the beach were swift, yours and Mingi’s were all fake smiles and silence, watching the live photos in your camera roll made your skin crawl. You don’t think you or Mingi said five words between dinner and bedtime, until it was the three of you in your bedroom again.
Yunho actually had the audacity to pull down the comforter. You stopped him with your palm splayed flat on the right side of the mattress, voice monotonous and bored, but your eyes shot daggers. “You can sleep downstairs.”
His brows raised, “Are you serious?”
You settled deeper beneath the comforter, Mingi still throwing on clothes after his shower. You hold his eye, “It’s weird that you’d try sleeping in our bed.”
His hands fall to his sides, all emotion wiped from his face. “I just said that so they would leave us alone.”
“You could have been honest,” you answer simply. “You could have laughed it off. You could have said anything other than it being weird, Yunho.”
His face softens, “It wasn’t my intention to–”
“You don’t seem to have any intentions,” you cut him off. “You can sleep downstairs, like you were planning to last night.”
Lips bending, a slow nod, without another word he turns around, grabs a pillow and a blanket, and leaves your bedroom. Mingi, watching from the dresser, finally crawls into bed after Yunho closes the door behind him.
You open your arms, welcoming him into your chest, fingers immediately scratching into his hair, pressing a kiss to his clean scalp that still smelled like seasalt, “You okay baby?”
“Tired,” he mumbles into your chest, voice deep and heavy. "Don't wanna do it anymore. Too confusing.”
“You wanna be done?” You pause, fingers stalling in his hair. He looks up at you, his eyes big and round, sad. You frown, one hand sliding down to graze his cheek. “We can be done.”
“I don’t want to,” his voice is so small, just barely above a whisper. “But I think it’s obvious we’ll end up being his secret forever. I don’t want to be a secret, I want him to be proud.”
“Me too,” you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m proud you’re my boyfriend, y’know.”
He smiles, “And I’m proud you’re my girlfriend.”
“That’s all we need,” you kiss him again, parting your lips for him, sinking farther down the mattress until he can roll on top of you, elbows bracketing your head. Throwing your arms around his neck, your legs over his thighs, you break the kiss to say, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he smiles into the kiss, body pressing into yours, and it’s the easy reminder that you’ll always have him, no matter what, that eases weight off your chest.
It’s easy to pretend everything is okay when you lean into the reminder that Mingi will be by your side forever. It’s stuck with you since seven in the morning, when San abruptly woke up the house cracking a wooden spoon against a pot, screaming activities day over and over. He popped into your room with a wide grin, asked where Yunho was, and left your room as confused as he entered it.
Jet skiing, mini-golf, a barbecue, ending the night at Rêve, a reputable bar in town. San insisted that your last day should be filled with the best things Haos has to offer. Of course he left out the part that jet skiing was at the yacht club he was a member of, and that he owned shares at Rêve, making him part-owner; never humble until he was supposed to be, you wished he told you to be on your best behavior today.
Not that your group would ever be on their best behavior. Wooyoung was already drinking by the time you went downstairs for breakfast, he made mimosas for everyone, you had two. The first you chugged after Yunho went upstairs immediately after you entered the kitchen, the second you chugged when he came back downstairs, shirtless, swim trunks painted onto his thighs. If you were going to be forced into activities with him all day, you should make it easier for yourself.
White buildings with terracotta roofing, there were too many buildings to count, a winding paved asphalt driveway up to the front where men in suits stood under a white awning, one approaching as San put his Bronco in park parallel to the main doors. It had valet.
The yacht club was beautiful, massive, every nook and cranny of the main building screamed prestigious. All patrons you encountered were dressed up, some in sports wear for the golf course you could only assume is somewhere on the grounds, in long summer dresses or business-style suits, everyone seemed important. Everyone looked proper. Part of you felt out of place, with your group half-dressed in bathing suits and cover-ups like you were headed to the beach, but it didn’t last long when you got outside to where everything was docked.
Your mouth didn’t close once from the time you walked inside the heavy red doors all the way out to where he kept his jet skis docked, next to his boat, The Kai. Not a far walk, you realized, you assumed meant he was also a very important person here, too, the size of his boat only aided in the confirmation.
He owned four jet skis, which meant four couples could ride at a time, leaving two couples and a Yunho out. Luckily he had a cooler fully stocked on his boat, one he and Jongin brought out to the dock while the first wave of people went out on the water. On the dock were Mingi, Jihyo, Jongho, and Yunho– of course, naturally. You sipped on a seltzer, sitting between Mingi and Jihyo, your feet dangling over the side, one arm behind you holding you up.
Yunho sat on the other side of Jongho at the end and as much as you were grateful after you and Mingi threw in your white towels last night, it hurt that he wasn’t even trying. He didn’t even look at you, not once today, you think. At least when you got out on the water you and Mingi were smiling and laughing, he let you drive the jet ski, which he quickly regretted when he realized the watercraft turned you into an adrenaline junkie.
Mini-golf was ten minutes from the yacht club, half of your group in San’s Bronco, the other half in Jongin’s Jeep. A standalone establishment that had a small course on the outside, an ice cream shop on the inside, and a small kitchen for bar-type food. The alcoholic bar itself was small, connected to the kitchen-half of the indoor space, but it didn’t stop your friend group from ordering a round of shots, cocktails, and beers for all. Even better, the tab at the bar plus admission for minigolf was all paid for by San. His treat, he said, and who were you to argue after seeing The Kai?
There were too many of you for one singular game, but the consensus amongst the group was that you wanted to play together. So instead of splitting your group in half to play two separate games, you played in pairs, and once again you and Mingi were thrown into a triplet, this one you didn’t agree to so easily. One shot down and a cocktail in your palm, no one could feel the tension between the three of you, the energy should be light at mini-golf. You mentally decide you’ll be civil. Maybe you’ll even try being friends.
Mingi and Yunho both had beers in their hands, neither jumping for joy at the blue club you chose, it wasn’t the longest, and the two men you shared with were a hell of a lot taller than you. You stifled a laugh as Mingi uncomfortably hunched over the club as he lined up his feet, awkwardly swinging the club to hit the blue ball.
“This game is fucked,” he stands up straight when the ball bounces off the back wall, missing the hole completely. The first hole is the easiest.
You snort a laugh where you stand, watching his face morph into frustration, his brows knitting and lips parting like he couldn’t believe he missed. “You’ll get it next time,” you encourage, taking a sip of your cocktail.
Hongjoong goes up next, he makes it in with one swing. Tzuyu goes next, she makes it in with one swing. Sana next, she makes it in with one swing.
“This is fucking rigged,” Mingi curses, taking another sip from his beer. Yunho laughs under his breath as your arm comes up to rub his back encouragingly.
“Don’t worry,” you coo. “Yunho and I will win for you.”
“I can play golf,” Mingi argues defensively. “The club is just short. Yunho won’t be able to do it, either.”
Jongho goes next, he makes it in with one swing. Mingi’s brows raise like he’s seconds away from losing his shit. Jongin next, he makes it in with one swing. Mingi’s fuck is loud enough for the children at hole thirteen to hear.
“Don’t get us kicked out of minigolf, Min,” Wooyoung is still laughing, a hand clutching his belly. “We know you’re competitive, it’s just a kid’s game.”
“I know it’s a kid’s game,” Mingi bites, all in one breath, barely looking at the younger man as he says it. Your face is full of amusement when Wooyoung turns to you, brows raised in surprise.
“Don’t ask me,” you shake your head. “I’m not his keeper. When it comes to games, he’s on his own.”
It’s your turn again, the blue ball alone on the green. You’ve played enough minigolf in your life for this to be muscle memory– childhood games at arcades, random birthday parties from school friends over the years. But it’s been a long, long time since you were a kid, too long since you’ve come close to a minigolf course. Your first swing, just a foot away from the hole, you miss. The group laughs and you roll your eyes, waving a hand, “I’m just warming up!”
“Oh, I’m sure!” Sana’s voice is dripping with sarcasm and your lips tighten. Feeling hotter now, you line up your feet, the club with the ball, and swing.
You fucking miss.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you huff. “Someone hand me my drink, I need to be drunker if I’m gonna suck.”
Yunho’s laughing as he hands you your cocktail and you suck down half of it before lining your feet up all over again. You hit the ball this time, but it’s fueled by your rage, it bounces off the brick siding and onto the green of hole four right next door to hole one. You straighten, hand covering your mouth, eyes widening as your ball hits someone else’s ball that was currently playing hole four.
“I’m sorry!” You call as the young kid, definitely not a day over the age of eight, throws the baby blue ball back onto the faded putting green. It’s as if it was in slow motion, how he threw the ball in a perfect arc for it to land flawlessly in the hole without as much as a singular bounce. You whip around to your friend group, eyes wide, “Does that count? Can that count? Jongin, count it.”
Your friend group sounds like a clan of hyenas, loud cackles, obnoxious laughter breaking out across twelve people because of how ridiculous that unfolded.
“Are all three of you competitive?” Seonghwa asks, genuine, voice light and kind.
You shrug as you walk off the green, “I’ve never really played sports, I don’t know.” Skipping over to Jongin who was keeping score, you brush up close to his sculpted arm, tone candy sweet, “So? Are we counting it or what?”
He makes a shh motion, one finger raised, smiling behind the purse of his lips. Your hand forms into a fist and you tuck it into your body with success, “Yes, hole in two, baby.”
Mingi and Yunho are snickering when you return to them, but it’s Yunho who mocks you, “Not competitive, my ass.”
“Hey,” you point a finger at him. “You can’t make fun of me, I’m pissed at you. I said I was gonna make up for Mingi’s shit swing.”
“Yours was even worse!” Mingi’s voice is high-pitched, still defensive. You’re all giggles when you lean into him, pressing a hand to his cheek to pull him down for a kiss. Beer and home, he tastes like half of you.
You feel Yunho’s eyes, but you don’t stop, you don’t do anything to make him think it’s for him. Even if there’s the evil part of you that hopes he wants to rip his skin off his body, that he’s so enraged he sees red, you hope he doesn’t act on it. You hope he doesn’t act on anything ever again.
At hole two, Yunho surprises you both with how efficiently he makes the ball into the hole with only one swing, yours and Mingi’s jaws falling to the concrete. Yunho exudes everything smug on his return.
Smirk on his lips, rolling his shoulders, he says, “What? Like it’s hard?”
Your laugh is verbal disbelief, Mingi immediately quips, “Do not quote Legally Blonde right now.”
Yunho’s giggle is proud, his grin wide, his shoulders doing a little shake in celebration. So fucking cute you could rip out all your hair, you dig your head into Mingi’s chest to smell him, to rid yourself of feelings towards Yunho. Your forehead meets your boyfriend’s skin with a groan, “I need another drink.”
The third hole goes by quickly, efficiently, Mingi excited he got a hole in one, deservedly so. At hole four, you’re up again after a cocktail and a half, at least you’re at the starting line this time. You stare at the blue ball sitting on the green, eyes squinted, whispering, “Do not embarrass me. Okay?”
“Are you talking to the ball?” San asks, humor laced in his tone. “I don’t think it’s gonna answer, girl.”
“I’m giving it a pep talk!” You snap your head to respond and then stare at the ball once more. You line up your feet, then the club with the ball, and swing.
Your fuck is louder than Mingi’s was when you miss. You wave apologetically to the family of four that shoots daggers at you from across the course.
“I can’t watch this,” Yeosang shakes his head as he approaches you. “You're legitimately killing me.”
Your face heats with embarrassment as he stalks up to you, determination in the crease of his brow. You pull all your hair to one side as he stands behind you, arms wrapping around you, hands dwarfing yours over the handle of the club. “Hold like this,” he explains, then kicks one foot between yours, spreading your legs farther, your knees bending. “Stand like that.”
Yunho, tensing beside Mingi, snaps his head to the side to get Mingi’s attention. “Hello?”
Mingi’s brows furrow when Yunho’s shoulder bumps him, his feet staggering. “What?”
“Look,” Yunho says, like it’s absurd Mingi just asked what. He can see the flex of Yeosang’s arms as he stretches them over your shoulders, the veins swimming along his forearms while his hands clasp over yours. It makes his jaw tick, his heartbeat quicken— you’re not Yeosang’s to touch.
“He’s showing her how to play,” Mingi says casually, taking another sip of his beer, leaning towards Yunho like he was watching a sitcom instead of his girlfriend getting felt up by another man.
Yunho’s head tilts, dumbfounded and semi-enraged that Mingi doesn’t feel a shred of the possession he does, his voice a harsh whisper, “Yeosang has had a thing for her since… since forever.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Mingi’s brows raise as he turns to his best friend, a disbelieving chuckle falling from his lips. “No he hasn’t. Tzuyu is right there.”
Yeosang kicks your feet apart and Yunho’s body jerks at the action. His foot inches forward, fingers grasping his beer a little harder like he was ready to pounce. Instead, he grits his teeth, “Have you ever watched Yeosang interact with her? Like ever? He’s basically told you to your face he thinks she’s sexy.”
“She is sexy,” Mingi shrugs, rolling his neck nonchalantly. “If I’m not pissed off then you shouldn’t be either. She’s not yours, she’s mine.”
Yunho’s neck snaps, meeting Mingi’s dead-serious stare. Stunned into silence, he shuts his mouth, drinks his beer, and lets it be. Just when Yunho thought they were getting somewhere, that maybe you wouldn’t be awkward all day, he’s surprised that Mingi’s the one who put him in his place. It’s worse when you return smiling, overflowing with excitement, asking Mingi if he saw your hole-in-one three times before throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him. He feels sick, palms sweating, you weren’t doing this to get a rise out of him, you were leaning on each other because he was the one who fucked up. Again.
The rest of mini-golf goes by in a blur. He doesn’t speak much, he doesn’t have anything to say, his mind is on a roll, trying to come up with any sort of plan to fix this. He needs to get you two alone, he needs to apologize, he needs to say something to get the two of you to stop looking at him like you don’t care about him because that in itself is so fucking terrifying he can feel his goddamn throat close another inch every time he notices.
The drive home is quiet, wind in Yunho’s ears, he can’t even hear the soft music playing through the speakers, he didn’t care to. Out of the corner of his eye he watches you sink into Mingi in San’s backseat with the sun laying over your lap like a blanket, your eyes closed beneath your sunglasses like you didn’t have a care in the world. Like nothing was bothering you at all.
He’s never let himself learn just how terrifying it could be to love someone who didn’t want him. Two people who didn’t fucking want him.
“Who’s ready to BBQ?” Wooyoung shouts from the passenger seat of Jongin’s Jeep, emphasizing the acronym, basically hanging halfway over the door while grinning wide enough to showcase each and every one of his bone-colored teeth. You’d just pulled into San’s driveway, finally back at home to barbecue, to fill your stomachs with a good, hearty meal before you were back on the streets for Haos’ nightlife.
Everyone piled out of the cars quickly, heading inside just for the men to immediately split off into the kitchen to start prepping the grill. You watch as they gather around the kitchen island, shouting orders and ideas about cooking of all things until Tzuyu bumps your hip with her own at the base of the staircase, stealing your attention.
Pulling her hair tie from her bun, she lets it fall behind her in loose waves, scratching her fingers through her roots, “I guess the man-grill thing is genetic. Or built-in, like a default setting.”
“There’s nine of them,” you whisper. “How many does it take to man a grill?”
“Nope, I’m out!” Hongjoong raises both his palms beside his head in defeat while he retreats from the kitchen. “You’re all insane, I’m showering and napping. Call me when dinner’s ready.”
“Eight,” you correct yourself, a grin growing on your cheeks, and Tzuyu laughs from beside you.
Jihyo, her bag over her shoulder, enters the living room with Sana at her side, the two approaching you and Tzuyu with grins on their faces. Sana does a little shake of her hips, grin reading excitement, “Who’s ready to fuck up the club?”
“It’s a bar, I think,” Jihyo laughs, “but it’ll be nice for us all to go out and let loose.”
“We’ve done nothing but let loose all weekend,” Tzuyu furrows her brows.
“No.” you shake your head once. “We have not.”
“I brought face masks,” Sana’s fingertips dance together mischievously. “We should pre-game getting ready while they grill and shit.”
Out on the deck, Mingi stood over the grill in front of the railing, a pair of tongs in his hand while he flipped pieces of meat and seafood on the black, steel grates. The speaker inside played music through the screen door, everyone mindlessly humming and singing along while they set the table, chatter and laughter flowing through the chilly summer breeze that ruffled his hair.
So many years these guys have been his friends, so many years Yunho has been his friend, he can’t believe it’s all gone to complete shit. This was his worst fear coming true, the lingering fear when all of this began, that he’d cross a line and lose Yunho. Yeah, they’d all still be friends, but his friendship with Yunho has always been different. Deeper. He can’t believe he’s losing it, right in front of his eyes.
He felt alive again that first night in Haos, back to normalcy, you three felt closer than before, just for it to be ruined all over again the next day. Each and every time he met Yunho’s eye today, he hated that those three words still sat in the hinge of his jaw, the back of his throat, begging to be spoken. He could tell it was the same for you, where your eyelids sat over your glazed pupils, a certain twinkle to them as you stared up at Yunho even if you tried to hide it. He knows what the words look like forming on your lips, how you tighten your smile to stop them from spilling out, he knows you like the back of his hand.
He can’t believe you both love him and you can’t have him.
“Almost done?” Mingi’s head snapped up to Yunho on his right side, his head peeking over Mingi’s shoulder, the heat of Yunho hotter than the grill. Speak of the devil.
Mingi nods, eyes sliding over his face. Big, brown eyes with clean cut brows giving them structure, cheekbones high and sculpted, lips a pretty, pale pink heart. He wishes there was no one else on the deck, he wants nothing more than to lean forward and press his lips to Yunho’s, he hates that his feelings still linger.
Yunho’s head tilts when Mingi lacks a response, amused by Mingi’s eyes locked in on his lips. “What’cha thinking about?”
“Nothing,” Mingi mumbles, bringing his eyes back to the grill.
Yunho sighs, “Mingi–”
“Don’t,” Mingi keeps his eyes locked on the burning fire beneath the grates. “I don’t want to hear it, it’s all bullshit.”
It feels like a blow to Yunho’s ribs. “None of what I want to say is bullshit, Mingi. You know me.”
“I thought I knew you,” Mingi mutters, purposely keeping his voice low. “I thought I knew how you felt about us, I thought we were getting somewhere, that even though you’re scared, you wouldn’t pretend you didn’t feel anything.”
Yunho frowns, his head dropping. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Min.”
“But you did,” Mingi meets his eye. “And you knew you did in the moment. But you didn’t go back on what you said, you didn’t change your answer. You let me sit there looking stupid because I–”
Mingi cuts himself off and Yunho’s brows furrow for a second, “Because you what?”
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” Yunho urges. “Everything you say matters.”
“Not to you,” Mingi turns sideways, his jaw locked, his brows flat. “Don’t apologize, don’t say whatever pretty words you think are gonna make it better. It was embarrassing, Yunho, sitting there while everyone laughed at the idea of us being together because you said it was weird.”
Yunho’s fingers rub at his eyes, exasperated, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it, it was word vomit, I got scared–”
“Yunho,” Mingi’s voice is so clear, so even Yunho stands a little straighter. “I know how you feel already. You’re twenty-eight years old, you’re old enough to know words have meaning. You know how we feel about you. We’re done here.”
Yunho’s throat is so tight he doesn’t think he could take a breath even if he tried. There’s no oxygen in the air, nothing to feed his lungs, Mingi’s words feel so concrete all he can do is turn around and walk away. Inside, toward the bathroom, he’s walking without vision, without a brain, he locks the door behind him and finally heaves a strained, verbal breath.
We’re done here.
You’re done with him. Mingi’s done with him. His back presses against the door, facing the ceiling, willing his tears to stay below the surface. He’s right. He’s grown enough to know that his fear is childish, that it’s time to settle down, he shouldn’t be afraid of what his friends think, what anyone thinks. He shouldn’t be afraid of commitment with you, he knows you won’t hurt him in his soul, he knows how you feel about him. He feels the same way toward you, if not deeper, he feels so fucking much toward you that it terrifies him.
He’s running out of time to get over it.
If this was a month ago he’d be seeing this situation as an out, he’d be thinking that this was for the best, but now his heart feels shriveled down to a husk in his chest. Hollow, like the best parts of him were gone, missing the people who made him feel whole, gave him purpose outside of sex. Outside of the role he gave himself.
When he goes back out onto the deck, the sun’s at its last moments of visibility over the horizon, the girls had made it back down, too. You sat next to Mingi at the corner, Jihyo and Jongho across from you, Tzuyu and Yeosang beside you. Yunho sits beside Hongjoong who’s next to Seonghwa, and the couple look at him with sad eyes.
Seonghwa leans across Hongjoong, his voice low. “What’d you do?”
Yunho sighs, lips flattening. He doesn’t question how Seonghwa read the situation. “You saw what I did. At dinner yesterday.”
Hongjoong makes a face, one that says you’re fucked. “That was a tough watch.”
“I know,” Yunho answers, tone flat. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t think we’re able to give you advice, this is out of our area of expertise,” Seonghwa looks apologetic, voice soft as he leans across Hongjoong to lay his palm flat over Yunho’s hand, encouraging. “You’ll figure it out if you love them as much as they love you.”
Yunho stares at him for a second and for the first time in thirty minutes he can’t actively hear his own heartbeat. He gives Seonghwa a soft, grateful smile, pulling his hands back in his lap, thinking.
You’ll figure it out if you love them as much as they love you.
He lets his eyes graze over the meal, a feast is what it was, far too much food for thirteen people to consume and feel good after digesting, but no one seemed to care. Music flowed from inside, loud yet calming, a backtrack to conversation, banter, laughter, not anything Yunho could hear over the sound of his pounding heart.
San made a toast to the last night in Haos, a small speech of how happy he was to maintain the friendships that were vital to him. Appreciation for all of you, gratitude for years of friendship, relationships he wouldn’t trade for the world, he even choked up talking about how close he holds everyone to his heart. Not often does he get emotional, but the way the table stood, clapped, clinked their glasses and took turns squeezing him tight, maybe he’ll be more inclined.
Maybe the three of you weren’t the only ones who are having an emotional weekend.
By the time dinner was over, all thirteen of you stuffed full, the impending night out seemed more like a chore than anything. Yunho’s stretched out on the couch half-asleep until he hears Wooyoung complain to San that the girls were getting ready in his room, perking his ears enough for him to wake the hell up and trudge up two flights of steps to his room, your room, to see Mingi passed out in the bed.
A white tee, briefs on his legs, he lays on his side, both hands pressed together beneath one cheek, lips parted as he snores softly. Yunho smiles to himself, staring from the doorway, leaned up against the wooden frame, he looks so peaceful. So pretty, Yunho wanted so badly to crawl onto the bed and press a kiss to his lips, he knows better. Instead he creeps across the hardwood, gathering his things for a shower and leaves.
The hot water gives him clarity. Maybe it’d be easier to confess tonight with a little liquid confidence, it’d give him an easier flow, he could say everything he needs to say without the stupid fucking wall that’s embedded in him biting his tongue. He loves you, he loves you both so much he feels incomplete, the world feels tilted off its axis without you two by his side. One week without you was hell, one day watching you with each other was like living in purgatory, the in-between, where he can look but can’t touch, he thinks that might be worse.
Mingi’s still asleep while he starts getting ready, he only wakes up when Yunho’s buttoning up his shirt. He sits up slowly, wiping at his eyes, “What time is it?”
“After nine, I think,” Yunho responds, staring at Mingi through the mirror. His hair looks untouched, eyes half-lidded, he licks his lips three times just to get moisture in his mouth again. Yunho can’t fight his smile.
“Fuck,” Mingi’s top lip lifts. “You’re dressing up?”
Yunho grins, “I’m only in a button-up and pants.”
“Yeah, but they’re your good pants,” Mingi argues, “the ones that make your ass look good.” His eyes widen after he says it, like his own words woke him up the rest of the way, but he doesn’t correct himself.
Yunho looks over his shoulder like he’ll be able to see his own ass. “You think my ass looks good in these?”
Mingi stretches, a verbal noise of tightness leaving his chest as his arms go over his head, his shirt lifting at the hem, Yunho’s eyes snap to the exposed bit of skin like a moth to a flame. Mingi lays flat on the bed, arms straight out beside him, legs spread. “You know it does, don’t play coy.”
Yunho laughs a little as he buttons the last one, leaving the top three undone, one silver cross pendant sitting on his chest. He turns slowly, hands planted on the dresser behind him, taking a breath to build confidence since there was zero liquor swimming in his blood, “I regret what I said at dinner yesterday.”
Mingi sits up on his elbows, sleep still evident in his glossy eyes, his tone remains flat, knowing. “Do you?”
Yunho nods, lips scrunching to one side. “I don’t like how we are right now.”
Mingi sits up all the way, “I don’t like it either.”
Yunho’s voice is breathy, a little shaky as he asks, “Can I fix it?”
“Last time we were fixing things it took one day for it to get fucked up again,” Mingi lifts himself off the bed, running a hand through his hair. He stops right before Yunho, facing him, “You’re the only one who needs to figure your shit out, Yunho.”
Yunho watches as Mingi heads for the door, calling behind him. “What if I figured it out already?”
Mingi holds his stare from the door. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Stuck in time, Yunho stares, his tongue caught between his teeth, his heart in his throat. Mingi laughs a little, disappointment clear as he shakes his head. Before heading to the bathroom, he mutters, “Thought so.”
Yunho curses under his breath when he hears the bathroom door close, the shower turning on. He doesn’t wait around for Mingi’s return, he goes back downstairs, most of the guys already showered, dressed, ready to go. He opens a beer with the same tightness in his jaw, frustrated that Mingi just gave him an opportunity to speak and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say a word.
There’s music playing from the TV in the living room, something pop from a decade ago, he doesn’t have it in him to listen, or to the conversation happening around the kitchen island. San, Jongin, Wooyoung, Jongho, it’s all muted mumbling in his ringing ears, he feels pathetic.
It’s worse when Mingi comes downstairs and doesn’t even look at him. He joins the conversation seamlessly, the laughter grows, they’re talking louder than the music, it makes Yunho feel not only on the outside of his relationship, but on the outside of everything. Isolated because he can’t speak up, he can’t say how he feels, he’s trapped within his own mind, trapped beneath his feelings. He cracks another beer.
He doesn’t think it can get any worse until you walk down the stairs. On the couch now, he gets a front-row view of the black dress painted onto your body, tied around your neck, stiletto heels with straps that twist up your calves like vines. Mingi meets you at the base, picking you up off the bottom stair with one arm hooked around your body, lips pressed to yours, when he sets you down carefully he says something in your ear that makes your head fall back with laughter.
Emotion feels like bile rising in his throat. He’s jealous, but it’s different now; what was once frustrating was now driving, the words sit heavy on his tongue. You two look like you’re matching, dark clothes, hair styled, jewelry silver and offsetting one another, he looks down at his outfit and it’s almost like fate that he’s matching, too.
He looks back up to meet your eye across the room, what was supposed to be a glance lingers.
Yunho gives you the smallest of smiles, You look beautiful.
Your chin tilts upwards ever so slightly, I know, Mingi just told me.
Ouch. He leans into the backrest, I can’t tell you, too?
The corner of your lips tug upward. Thanks.
He watches as Mingi’s hand slithers around your waist. I need to talk to you.
You sink into Mingi’s hold, your back pressed against his chest, What if I don’t want to hear it?
Yunho’s jaw clenches. You do.
Sana shrieks from the staircase as soon as she sees Mingi’s lips pressed to the skin below your ear, “Do not fuck in that dress, I just bought it!”
You pull your attention away from him and he feels like grieving. You don’t give it to him again until you’ve had tequila poured into your mouth from the bottle, all thirteen of you in the kitchen fully dressed, pouring liquor like it’s water and calling it a pre-game. Outside, splitting two Escalades, rides San ordered for your group to take to Rêve across town, Yunho opted to sit in the back with you and Mingi, you scowled as soon as it left his lips. He smiles, because at least you care enough to frown.
San was immediately greeted upon approaching the upscale bar, stepping out of the Escalade to be met with two men wearing suits like it was regular, casual. Inside it was red everything, from leather booths to velvet barstools to the curtain that hung closed upon the stage; walls full of vintage framed photography, the architecture a brown so deep it appeared burgundy, dimly lit shaded lamps on tables, some traded for candles, the bar was drenched in an amber hue. It was definitely moody, a brand created off of atmosphere, it felt cozy as much as it felt expensive.
It was calmly crowded, plenty of people filling up the tables in the center of the room, a crowd before the stage that had waiters with trays between them. You spotted martini glasses, short glasses of whiskey poured neat, women in daring dresses and doused in jewels, men in suits who blew clouds of swirling smoke in the air from their cigars. All thirteen of you looked appropriate, expensive– but not old money expensive like some of the patrons you observed. You wondered about the history of Haos, about San, how deep his pockets really ran.
You couldn’t wonder for long, though, with how the group was directed past the stage to a steel door at the back of the building that seemed… insignificant. Like it’d bring you outside or to a storage room, not to a long, dark hallway that hummed louder and louder with each step he took.
Bass thumped beneath your shoes, the group quietly following the man in black like this was normal, no one questioned anything only because San followed with confidence, chest puffed out, shoulders back. Surprise wasn’t the word for what was behind the twin steel door at the end of the hallway, it opened to flashes of blue and purple, music so loud it made you jump where you stood.
Women on platforms half-dressed, swaying their hips to the beat of the song, bottle girls with buckets of ice and handles of liquor atop their heads parting through the crowd like it was the Red Sea, patrons in clothing that matched yours exactly. The room was filled with people in your age group dancing to the music at the center of the backdoor club, the walls filled with enclosed sections you assumed were VIP, all by velvet roped attached to silver poles.
“So? Are you guys surprised?” San asks from the head of the group, his smirk turned to a wide, excited grin, which everyone replied with a monotonous, confused yes. San laughed, leaning into Jongin, “We wanted to surprise you, you guys looked so confused at the front, like we were gonna smoke cigars and watch Cabaret.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” Jongho shrugs, and most of the group nod their agreement, including you. You didn’t care where you ended up tonight as long as there was liquor for you to guzzle.
“This is better, no?” San raises his brows as he begins walking you toward the back wall, what you assume was your VIP section. “Music we know, people our age, it’s been a long time since we’ve all gone clubbing together.”
Tzuyu, in a red dress painted on her body, adds, “Because all the clubs at home suck.”
“Not the ones here,” San quips like he was waiting for that reply, entering the section backlit by blue lights cool enough to be white. “They love me here.”
“You own it,” Mingi snorts, “they have to love you.”
“I partially own it,” San raises a finger as he steps into the open booth, the table at the center already full of ice and champagne. “There’s a difference.”
Jongin starts pouring champagne into flutes, “Should we make another toast?”
“We don’t need to get all teary-eyed again,” Sana smiles, softly instead of the nasty smirk she usually wore with her rebuttals. This was appreciation. “We have our makeup done, Sannie made us emotional enough back at the house.”
“It’s not every day that you get to tell your friends how much you love them,” San holds the flute between his fingers, brows wiggling.
Yeosang laughs, “It could be, you just choose not to.”
You can feel the music in your blood, the dance floor calling to you, excitement in the bounce of your knee. You only spend fifteen minutes in your section, finishing a singular cocktail before Tzuyu’s pulling you out to the dance floor, after getting ready together in Sana’s room it was like all four of you had taken a breath of fresh air.
The dance floor was already swarming with sweaty bodies loosened up by liquor. Yours not quite there yet, you’re in a fit of giggles as the girls twirl you into the crowd, you stay on the outside of Jihyo and Sana who fall into rhythm, backs pressed to one another as they sway their hips, laughing as they twist around. You and Tzuyu are watching, smiling, giggling until the two pull you into their circle, forcing your hips into the same rhythm as theirs.
“I’m out of practice!” You yell over the music, and both Sana and Jihyo shake their heads, like they wouldn’t accept the excuse.
Jihyo slaps a hand on your shoulder, “You fuck, you know how to use your hips!”
Head tipping back with another laugh, you let her pull you into her, your hips so close they might as well be touching. You follow her rhythm, using a fuck-worthy roll of your hips as you do, bottom lip caught between your teeth while you focus.
“You’re thinking too much,” Sana’s behind you, hands on your hips. “You need another drink, damn.”
Your lips tighten in a line as you look up at Jihyo again, embarrassed. She laughs in response, “She means you’ll feel looser with a little liquor in you.”
Sana stops the bottle girl holding a tray of shots, her screech for help loud as she tries to balance four between her fingers, the three of you snatch them from her hands like candy. Shooting it back in one swallow, you push a breath through your lips like it’d rid the sting from your throat, your face scrunching up at the taste. Vodka– bitter, painful.
But it helps, it’s not long until your arms lay over Jihyo’s shoulders, your back pressed to Sana’s as she moves to the same rhythm as you, Tzuyu swaying her body in front of Sana. You can feel the music in your blood now, your body thumping with the bass, bones turning fluid with each shake of your hips. You’re unable to feel the warmth spreading through your skin, your senses already overwhelmed by the atmosphere, you’re too busy watching Jihyo’s half-clothed body grinding herself against you.
Eventually Tzuyu heads to the bar for more drinks, handing you another shot before a glass full of something and tequila, you don’t realize how quickly you’re sipping it while Tzuyu is bent over in front of you, her ass pressed to your crotch. You can hear your obnoxious laughter over the music when Sana lands a few smacks to her ass, Jihyo pulling out her phone to record it, the four of you erupting in a fit of drunken giggles and snorts, bodies light, brains somewhere else entirely, not once did you remember there’s an entire club of people around you.
It’s been so long. House parties, clubs, bars, your friend group used to be outside on a weekly basis, you missed it. You missed them, dancing with them, completely carefree, like you’re twenty-three again. It was nostalgic in a visceral way, like maybe you were twenty-three again, sharing platonic kisses with your friends on the dance floor, waiting for your boyfriend to come scoop you up and fuck you in the bathroom because neither of you could wait.
You don’t realize you’re drunk until Mingi joins you on the dance floor. When you see his face, structured and beautiful, strands of hair hanging over his glossy eyes, a smile on his plump lips, you feel the rush of warmth from your chest to your toes. His pants cling to his legs like they’re tailored to him, strong thighs filling out the fabric, his unbuttoned shirt is showing enough skin for you to lick down his chest. You want to, the urge sitting at the forefront of your mind, you lick your lips as he approaches.
“I was wondering where you went,” Mingi’s loud over the music, you could get drunk off the rasp to his voice alone. You throw your hands over his shoulders, swaying your hips to a rhythm he meets you at immediately, his hands on your waist.
“I’ve been here,” you tilt your head, dazed. “We were dancing, the girls are so funny.”
Mingi snorts, “You’re drunk.”
“Nooo,” you shake your head, the word exaggerated, playful. “Just tipsy. Did I tell you how handsome you look?” Mingi looks amused, brows raising, you don’t wait for his answer. “You look sofuckingsexy.” His belly laugh makes your smile grow. “I’m serious, Min. I want you, like now.”
He leans in to attach your lips, a quick peck, he fights your strength to keep him close. “Now? Like were twenty-three again? Don’t wanna wait until we get home so I can fuck you in our bed?”
A small noise slips through your lips at the thought. “Too far away, we just got here.”
“We got here over an hour ago,” his hands curl around your waist, gripping you harder. “You’ve been out here the whole time, baby.”
It feels like you’ve been dancing for ten minutes. “Whatever,” you whine, pressing your front against his. “Kiss me already.”
He obliges, smiling before he presses his lips to yours, hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling your body flush to his. You gasp into his lips, he tastes like whiskey, bitter but sweet, addicting. Your fingers find his hair as his tongue parts your lips, tasting you, groaning into you, your hands fall from his neck to feel him.
“Baby,” he says with caution, you swallow the warning, tilting your head to kiss him harder. He squeezes your hips as your hands fall from his hair to his chest, palms splayed over his pecs down to his abdomen, tongue dancing with his.
“I just wanna kiss,” you mumble into his mouth, hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as you take his bottom lip between your teeth, biting softly. He groans, chasing your lips again, his hips pressing into you, he’s so easy it makes your core clench.
He parts your legs with one of his own, pressing into you, making you gasp a sound too lewd for where you are. Entirely bare beneath your dress, the pressure combined with the texture of his pants makes a breathy moan fall past your lips, one he drinks up with his own. Your fingers curl into his shirt tighter, hips bucking into him, one of his hands sliding up to the side of your neck.
“Can feel her on me,” his voice is deeper, almost a growl as he says the words into your mouth. “Knew you weren’t wearing panties.”
One of your heeled feet leaves the floor to grind against him at a better angle, head falling forward until your forehead lands against his, “Shit, feels good.”
He reaches behind you, fingers finding the hem of your dress, holding it taut over your ass. You moan again as your core drags over his thigh, forehead falling to his shoulder, the rest of the club melting away. He curses under his breath, “Baby, hold on, you gotta–”
You whimper into his shirt, eyes screwing shut, tequila and Mingi was a cocktail for impulsivity. Him, the smell of him in your nose, his body pressed to yours, he made you so fucking cockdrunk without even giving you an inch, without even touching you. The pleasure’s overwhelming, you needed more, pressure building steadily, you didn’t care where you were, who saw.
Yunho can’t believe what he’s seeing. Curiosity getting the better of him, he should have known not to follow Mingi out to the dance floor to find you. But he was growing antsy at the table, listening to the bullshit conversation everyone was having when all he wanted to do was kiss Mingi across the table. Sitting back against the couch with his knees spread, beer in his hand, lips wet and pink and plump, Yunho was stirring in impatience. He’s hungry, he wants to touch him, to kiss him, wants him on his knees between his legs, he wants to tell him how much he loves him with his lips wrapped around his cock. He stared with his chin in his palm, elbow pressed to his knee, his foot tapping against the floor, the liquor made him restless.
At least he waited a few seconds before following Mingi, just to find the two of you at the center of the dance floor, surrounded by bodies and eyes while you grinded your hips against his fucking thigh like you were the only people out here. Mingi’s holding your dress over your ass, your hands in his shirt, leg hooked around his body, he stared until he understood the rhythm you were moving at, watching how you twitched like you were about to fucking cum.
He was seeing red. In his mind you were both still his, and you were letting all of these random fucking people see you like this? Seeing what’s his? He was moving before he could think about it, pressing himself up against your back, hands on your waist to shield you from everyone who could be watching. His voice comes out rough, harsh, “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Your hips still like your blood was still victim to his command. Head tilting backward, you stare at him through wet lashes, lips parting, his name leaves your mouth in a soft gasp. Eyes hazy, glossed over, fuck, all his rage dissipates into the humidity of the club, just from one look at you. Disheveled, you didn’t have a frown on your face, your brows weren’t tied together, so fucking beautiful flushed with arousal he can feel it in his chest.
He looks at Mingi who’s equally as fucked out, cheeks red, eyes glossed over, he stares at Yunho like he wants to devour him, just like Yunho was staring at him in their section. His cock twitches in his pants, his heart twists, it’s been one fucking day and he misses you like he hasn’t had you in months.
He can’t take it anymore. He can’t do this anymore.
He isn’t thinking when he leans forward, sandwiching you between himself and Mingi as his fingers grab his cheeks, there’s no patience in the way Yunho kisses him, no softness, it’s all hunger and relief and driven by every single thought he’s had today. He says each one with each lick into Mingi’s mouth, he hopes he can feel it, the guilt, the fear, the ease he feels just by tasting the whiskey on his tongue.
“Oh my god,” he hears you whisper, it goes one ear and out the other as Mingi groans into his mouth, it goes straight to his cock. He feels you slip from between them as Mingi’s hands find his hair, his hands slide to Mingi’s neck, their chests pressed together like they couldn’t be close enough.
“I love you,” Yunho breaks the kiss only to say the three words into his mouth and he moans. Between kisses, he holds him close, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I fucking love you.”
“They’re watching,” you’re tugging on his arm, panic ebbed in your tone. “Yun, they’re watching you. They can see you.”
He pulls away from Mingi to turn to you, your eyes wide with fear, lips parted, eyes bouncing back and forth between Yunho and what he can only assume is all of your friends. He doesn’t care. There’s no shame, there’s no denial, there’s nothing inside him that could stop him from grabbing you by the waist, throwing the other in your hair, and pressing his lips to yours. He breaks it only to murmur, “Let them see.”
You’re stiff for just a second before melting into him, his kisses softer than those with Mingi, more controlled, like kissing Mingi took the edge off his impulse. “I love you,” he whispers into your mouth. “I don’t give a fuck if they see me kissing you, you’re mine.”
You hook your leg over his thigh, palms on his cheeks, relief flooding you. You tilt your head to the side, smirking, “You couldn’t have said that yesterday?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop speaking,” your fingers tighten in his hair. “Your mouth gets you in trouble. Take us home.”
Your friend group watches Yunho guide you both through the club with wide eyes and parted lips, you don’t spare them a glance as you and Mingi trail behind Yunho like dogs to their owner. The Escalades are still parked out front, a few words from Yunho to the driver and he’s opening the door to the backseat for you and Mingi, ushering you inside.
You stole Yunho’s mouth the entire drive, Mingi settling for his neck, the skin on his chest, more with every button he ripped apart. You didn’t speak, you didn’t need to, you’d said everything on the dance floor, specifics could come later. The only thing left was consummation, which was the only thing on your mind as you nearly sprinted through the front door, almost tripping on your feet on the climb upstairs.
“Careful,” Yunho said from behind you when you’d taken two steps at a time, but he couldn’t hold in his laughter, amused at your impatience. You ignored him, forgoing an answer to instead steal his lips once more when you reached the top of the steps.
His hands found your hips, tongue pushing through your lips, you felt Mingi’s palms a steady wait on top of Yunho’s as he backed you into your room, then closed the door behind you. You broke away to untie your dress behind your neck, just for Mingi to trade places with you, stealing Yunho’s mouth.
“Bed,” you said into the air, and watched as they tripped over each other, stepping in each other’s line of direction as they backed closer, closer, and closer to the bed. Mingi fell backwards, Yunho’s hands flying for his belt.
You kissed your boyfriend, who hummed when your lips met his. “Tequila.”
“Tastes good, right?” You smile into the kiss, dress riding up your thighs, body bent over completely to keep your mouth on his.
You can hear Mingi’s pants hit the floor, grabbing your attention. Yunho has his shirt off, Mingi’s briefs discarded. Yunho’s eyes, always cool and collected, are wide, crazed; sparkling with the moonlight that makes a puddle of white at the balcony door, casting the room in a hue of midnight.
Reality settles, and it’s heavy. Drunk you may be, but not drunk enough to not be wondering what’s going through his mind. “Hey,” you offer. His eyes meet yours, charcoal, swirling with moonlight, not quite steady. Your lips curve, “I love you.”
His bare shoulders settle, ease washing over him. He leans over Mingi’s legs, two hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you deeply, speaking into your mouth, “I love you, too.”
“Holy shit,” you mumble into his mouth, making him giggle right back. He giggled.
He loves you. He fucking loves you.
Mingi reaches for your legs, pulling one over his chest, you’re absent-minded as Yunho keeps his tongue tangled with yours. He pushes your dress up over your hips, holding it up over your waist, and pulls you down to meet his awaiting tongue.
You gasp out a moan as Mingi groans, bare hips bucking against Yunho who was still leaning over him. Yunho leans back, eyes darkening as he takes in the sight, your hips already rolling against Mingi’s tongue.
“Fuck,” Yunho sighs, grabbing his length through his pants, his grip tight like he was pacing his own pleasure. Like seeing you with Mingi might’ve very well brought him closer than he should have been.
Mingi’s arms hook around your thighs, tongue poking out to let your hips rock against it, allowing you to set your own pace, to use him however you want. You waste no time setting a brutal pace, whimpering as his flexed tongue rolls over your clit, as your hips rock back onto his nose. Fingers curling into your skin, searing where they held you, no doubt leaving oval shapes behind, the sting only makes you grind against him harder.
Yunho’s fingers find his button, his zipper, his eyes zeroed in on the sight before him like he couldn’t rip his eyes away if he tried. Indents of strain dimple the space above his brows, just a slight furrow, his hand finds his length again over his briefs, running his flat palm over his hard cock, a moan tumbling off his tongue.
Your eyes flare. “G’na cum just like that? Watching?”
Yunho’s lips part. “Could, if I wanted to.”
You find the hem of your dress at your waist, pulling the thin fabric over your head in one quick motion. Still rocking your hips, abdomen flexed, breasts falling at your chest, Yunho groans.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. You hiss when Mingi’s nose catches on your entrance. Yunho’s eyes sink down to where Mingi’s tongue swallows your folds, how it blankets over your core, swiping through, spit sliding down the sides of his mouth. His hand picks up speed over his briefs, hips bucking into his own hand, chest rising and falling heavily, “I might.”
You lean forward, holding Yunho’s eye, moaning as Mingi’s tongue curls inside you. You take Mingi’s length in one hand, the other pressed on his chest, and Mingi’s hips jerk into your hand immediately, a sharp grunt vibrating your thighs.
Mingi’s knees spread, hips bucking off the bed, feet finding the edge of the bed, legs lifting just to spread wider. You keep your eyes on Yunho, voice a husky whisper, “Join.”
As if you were a siren, his body pulls him forward, his hand leaving his cotton-covered cock just to wrap around Mingi’s, his hand fitting perfectly right above yours. Mingi’s palms wrapped around your thighs keep your hips moving as you and Yunho pump his length, one-handed, your eyes never once leaving each other.
“Fuck him,” you nearly whisper, your voice still husky, coated in arousal. “Push his legs up to his chest and fuck him. I have his mouth.”
Yunho gasps, and it would have been silent if you weren’t so close. His face twinges, a jerk of a reaction, like he wasn’t used to someone giving him orders. But his hands find Mingi’s knees, the underside of them, pushing them upward. He leans toward you, taking your lips in his, and as his tongue pushes into your mouth you know it’s claiming. Steadying. Reminding you who he is, who he is to you.
Yunho’s hand disappears between Mingi’s legs, earning a shattered moan spat into your core, you smile through the sound that rips from your chest. Rocking your hips again, sitting up straight once more, Mingi’s fingers singe your thighs, each fingertip like iron soaked in fire.
Mingi’s heels find the bed, cock twitching against his abdomen, leaking all over the stretch of skin beneath his belly button. The skin of your thighs gathers between his fingers, but you rock yourself through it, the pain mixed with the pleasure better than any cocktail you’ve had tonight.
Your head tips back as Yunho preps him, listening to Mingi curse into your folds, whining and whimpering but giving your clit the most attention of all. “S’good, Mingi,” you moan out, reaching behind you to run your fingers through his hair, sounding utterly dazed. “Mm, I love you.”
You barely hear him say it back, his voice lagged, muffled by a mouth full of you, head no doubt fuzzy from Yunho knuckle deep in his ass. You bring your eyes back to the older man who’s focused, taking his time opening him up, prepping him for his cock that neither of you can ever really be prepped for.
“Makin’ a mess, Min,” Yunho comments, finally noticing the painting the younger man made on his own skin. Droplets of pre, ropes that dripped down his sides, Mingi moaned in response. Yunho pushes his legs up, you catch them, palms splayed over his knees, holding him spread.
Beautiful, watching Mingi suck in every single inch. Beautiful, watching Yunho fight every fucking instinct to cum as soon as he bottomed out. It ignited the fire in your gut like you were the one Yunho was splitting open; a harsh moan pushing past your lips, clit throbbing against Mingi’s unmoving tongue. At least he stuck it out, you thought as your hips bucked against him, grinding harshly against the muscle he wanted you to use for your own pleasure.
When Yunho started moving, when Mingi started moaning like nothing has ever felt this good in his life, you could feel it like a phantom limb; brows furrowing, moans growing in pitch, watching your boyfriend fuck your other boyfriend brought you right to the edge.
“Shit… shit,” you moaned, your fingers finding your nipples, pinching, twisting. Hips bucking rapidly, watching Yunho’s abdomen flex as his hips rolled into Mingi’s ass, you neared so close you could taste it. “Gonna cum, Yun, gonna c-cum–”
“Wait,” he ground out, his voice ragged and harsh like he was nearing the brink himself. It made your eyes dart to him, he always lasted, he’s never cum this quickly. Ever. His grin is lazy, his head tipped backward, sweat kissing his moonlight-kissed skin, he utters, “Been waiting– for this, t-to tell you how I feel.” His chin dips, eyes squeezing shut, “Fuck.”
You understood then, that his release was so much more.
“Let me cum,” you urged. “Let me, want to watch you.”
Yunho’s eyes met yours, and agreement shone in the subtle spark of white dancing in charcoal. He leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around your neck, tugging you toward him to crash your lips onto his, shoving his tongue into your mouth, tasting the orgasm that washed over you as soon as you met.
Mingi’s grip rocked you through it, a sob leaving your throat, lips unmoving against Yunho’s. Whispering into your mouth, he uttered, “I love you.”
You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t do anything but roll off Mingi’s face, the younger man gasping for a breath, reaching his arms upward for Yunho. Yunho’s hips didn’t falter as he leaned down, as he pushed Mingi up the bed, crawling onto it himself. Head in the pillows, utterly dazed, lovesick and spent, you watched Yunho take Mingi for everything he’s worth.
Mingi sobbed, hands in Yunho’s hair, muttering I love you over and over again like he couldn’t believe he could say it. Yunho’s hips snapped against his, responding every fucking time Mingi said it, not missing a single time it passed through his lips.
And it occurred to you then, that they were yours. Both of them, finally, for real this time, they were completely yours. So beautiful together, their bodies molding perfectly, lips touching, speaking, not kissing; Mingi’s hands in Yunho’s hair, Yunho cradling Mingi’s cheeks.
You didn’t feel the tears on your cheeks until Mingi spilled onto his stomach, blurry eyes darting to where it dribbled down his side. They didn’t notice until after Yunho emptied himself inside Mingi, when the smack of hips became a sound of slick movement, and their heads turned to yours.
Mingi’s face, fucked-out turned to concerned. Brows bent, lips pouting, he scrounged to sit up on his elbows, “What’s wrong?”
You shook your head, wiping under your eyes. “I just love you, both of you. That’s all.”
Yunho crawled over to you, a warm smile on his lips as he split your knees, placing a cupped palm on your cheek before he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Wiping your tears, he murmured, “I’m sorry for all the shit I put you through this weekend.”
You sniffed, “I’m just… still a little drunk, you don’t need to console me. I know you’re sorry.”
After cleaning himself up quickly, Mingi curled up to your other side, pressing his lips into your bicep. The two of them watched you like hawks, taking in every micro-expression on your face.
“I’m fine,” you reiterated with a small laugh. “I swear, I’m just emotional. It was an emotional weekend.”
Yunho’s face drooped with guilt. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get my shit together. I didn’t mean anything I said to you–”
Your palms found his cheeks, guiding him down, cutting him off by pressing your lips against his. “I know,” you whispered, eyes opening to look into his. “I know how you feel, I knew the whole time. I’m proud of you.”
His lips quivered. Your smile grows, “Now why are you getting emotional?”
“Because I’ve been searching for this for so fucking long,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Searching for you, both of you,” his eyes find Mingi, “in everyone.”
“Search is over,” Mingi rolls on his back, eyes playful, lips pinned up on one side. He looks at Yunho with barely a turn of his head, “Should we throw a party?”
Yunho snorts, pressing another kiss to your lips before throwing your leg over his body, collapsing on your other side. After a moment, he adds, “I’ve never felt more like myself than when I’m with you.”
Both yours and Mingi’s heads turn to him, listening. Yunho’s head angles toward you, but he doesn’t look as he continues, “I think it’s why I’ve never settled down. Nothing ever felt right, not until that first night with you both. I mean, after that, I never really left.”
“You tried,” you add with a grin.
Yunho looks at you just to roll his eyes. “It’s scary knowing the best thing that could ever happen to you is happening to you. I fucked it up before I even had the chance to fuck it up.”
“No you didn’t,” Mingi counters with a shake of his head. “You’re here, we’re here. Everything happened the way it was supposed to.”
Yunho’s quiet for a moment. “Thank you for letting me figure it out. For not abandoning me when I gave you every reason to.”
Before tears have the chance to fill your waterline again, you wrap yourself around him, literally climbing on top of him to attach yourself to him. Whispering into his neck, you say, “That’s what you do when you love someone.”
“And we love you very, very much,” Mingi adds, already cuddled up to Yunho’s side.
Yunho presses his lips to yours, a short, sweet kiss. Then turns to Mingi, pressing another short, sweet kiss to his lips. “And I love you both very, very much, too.”
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: ATEEZ (Band)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Jeong Yunho (ATEEZ)/Reader, Song Mingi (ATEEZ)/Reader, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi (ATEEZ)/Reader, implied Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi - Relationship
Characters: Jeong Yunho (ATEEZ), Song Mingi (ATEEZ), Reader, You
Additional Tags: Jeong Yunho Has a Big Dick (ATEEZ), Gender-Neutral Reader-Insert, Dirty Talk, Threesome, Mean Jeong Yunho (ATEEZ), Kissing, Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Manipulation, Lies, Hand Jobs, Teasing, Voyeurism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, you - Freeform
Summary:
“Do you want Mingi to hear you? Do you want him to come in here, afraid something bad is happening?”
Finally back with your boyfriend, he teases you until you're loud enough to attract attention.
Tried my hands at GN reader and I’m actually kinda happy with it.
Too Loud
18+ // Yungi x Reader // Yunho is mean // Yunho is a liar // teasing // pet name Baby // smut
“Shh, Baby,” Yunho whispers as you whimper. “So needy tonight, you missed me, too, didn’t you?”
If you could, you would protest, but it’s hard to form words or even thoughts. He’s been teasing you for what feels like hours, his tongue and hands all over your body, until you were a mess. You hate how good he is at this, how he seems so unaffected, while you just want to come already.
“Need you so bad, Yun,” you moan and try to get him to apply more friction, but he’s holding you tightly against his chest, just petting you almost absentmindedly.
When he send you the plane ticket, you almost didn’t believe it. A month into the tour, you missed each other so much it hurt. You had anticipating it being hard, loving an idol with a busy schedule, but it was brutal. You had to tell yourself over and over that the time apart was worth it for the time you spent together. Nobody was supposed to know about your relationship and being here, in his hotel room, was dangerous. But oh so thrilling.
When you arrived at the door, he kissed you like a man starved for contact, hardly giving you time to set down your suitcase. Then he send you to freshen up, telling you to take a shower. Coming out of the bathroom, you found him naked on the bed, the lights dim and his gaze hungry. That was hours ago.
His teasing is unrelenting, plucking your nipples, biting your lips, licking and nibbling down your neck. Long, clever fingers, wet with spit and both of your arousal, playing with you, spreading you, edging you.
“Ah, you mustn’t be so loud,” he growls into your ear. “Mingi is next door, imagine him hearing you and thinking something is wrong.” He punctuates the last word with a flick against your hard nipple and you have to bite your lips to keep from yelping.
“You know, we share everything and I just can’t say no to him,” he continues, his voice gravely, foreboding. What you don’t know is, that he’s lying – the only time he can’t say no to Mingi is when the guy in question is balls-deep in Yunho’s throat. Usually Mingi does just as he’s told. Like right now, with him listening on the connecting door, waiting for you be loud enough that he can stop pretending not to hear anything.
You whine and bite on your knuckles as Yunho pushes his hardness against you.
“Oh Baby, don’t hurt yourself,” he admonishes you softly, taking your hand and peppering kisses over the bite marks. Only he is allowed to hurt you, he thinks and smirks.
“But I can’t….!” you whimper and try to swallow a moan, when he pushes again.
“Can’t keep silent?” he asks, his tone mocking. “Do you want Mingi to hear you? Do you want him to come in here, afraid something bad is happening?”
His fingers pluck at your nipple again, while he’s rubbing himself against you.
“He wouldn’t be able to stop himself, seeing you like this,” he whispers and bites the skin above your collarbone. You must be covered in love-bites all over by now. “He’d see you, needy and whiny like this, begging…,” he trails off and stops his ministrations for a moment.
“Yes, please, Yun, don’t stop,” you moan, raspy from trying to keep your voice down.
“Like this,” he chuckles and kisses you hard. “My perfect Baby, just waiting for him to shoot his load all over your skin.”
Suddenly he manhandles you, so you kneel on the bed, facing the connecting door to Mingi’s room. You can’t help but wriggle your ass at him, waiting for him to finally fill you up. He rewards you with a slap to your butt-cheek and then you hear him spit into his hand. The wet sound of him stroking himself is enough to drive you mad and you turn to look at him with pleading eyes.
“So cute when you’re needy,” he growls and you feel him prod against your hole.
“Please, Yun,” you beg and watch as an evil grin spread over his luscious lips.
“Please what, Baby?”
“Please fill me, Yun, please, I need you so bad, it’s been so long,” you babble, the pit in your stomach and the lusty haze in your brain taking all pride from you.
He groans, loudly, at your words, and at the sight before him, with you flushed and dumb and so ready for him.
“My perfect Baby,” he whispers, almost to himself and lines himself up. You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, you know he’s huge and it’s been so long, but it’s still overwhelming when he finally enters. He’s taking it slow, steady, careful listening to any sound of real discomfort, but you push back against him, wanting more, wanting him inside, completely.
He throws his head back, unable to stop himself from bucking his hips forward the last inches, slotting himself inside you. It’s warm and snug and just so perfect.
“Fuck, I missed you so much,” he groans, forcing himself to keep still, letting you adjust. Your voice is almost a sob, when you answer: “I missed you, too, so much!”
When you rub back against him, he starts moving, his hands gripping your hips tightly. At first it’s painfully slow, you feel him pulse, but there is not enough friction. When you push back onto him, he laughs and stills.
“So eager, so greedy,” he scolds you gently. His hands caress you, but he doesn’t pick up speed.
You whimper. “Please, I need you so bad.”
“Yeah? You missed me?” his tone is breathy and you bask in the knowledge that you’re affecting him, too.
“Missed you so much,” you agree. “Was too long!”
Rolling his hips into you, he picks up speed and you mewl. Your hands are fisted into the bed-sheets.
“That’s it Baby, you take me so good,” he praises you and you push back again, wanting more.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts and suddenly his arms go around your waist, pulling you up against him. You can only hold on to his arms as your back molds against his chest. The angle makes you dizzy for a moment and you gasp loudly.
“Shh,” he whispers into your ear, the wicked grin audible in his voice.
You try to drag his hand against your mouth, but instead he entwines your fingers, resting your joined hands against your shoulders. It keeps you immobile, at his whim. You can only take what he gives you and he’s playing with you, mercilessly.
The moment you think he’s settled on a pace, he slows down, enjoying the way you try to push back against him. When you sag into him, he starts pounding, surprising startled yelps out of you. You try so hard to be silent, your lips already smarting from how hart you’re biting them, but he doesn’t relent. You can’t catch a breath, can’t get a hold on the high you’re chasing and it’s impossible to anticipate his movements.
As he slows down again, you beg again. “Please, please, please, I need to come so bad,” you whisper.
“What was that?” he asks.
You’re almost sobbing. “Just give it to me, Yun, please!”
He laughs and slows down further, just pulsing inside you, his breath harsh against your shoulders.
Your head drops back against him, you’re trying to see his face, but the way he grips you makes it impossible. You try for friction, winding in his arms.
“Yun, please,” you try again. “I need it so – ah!”
You can’t keep from screaming as he suddenly starts pistoning into you, working his hips with short, panting breaths.
The connecting door slams open and Mingi rushes inside, eyes wild, hair standing up every which way.
“What happened?” he yells and falters. He’s playing his role perfectly and in your state you don’t notice that he’s already hard, erection tenting his sweatpants. The look of pretend-panic on his face turns to fake-surprise.
Yunho doesn’t falter, if anything he pounds into you faster, harder.
“Ah, Mingi,” he grunts out. “I’m so – ah – sorry my Baby can’t keep quite.”
Mingi stands there, taking it all in. Your sweaty bodies, Yunho’s tight grip on you, your lidded eyes, fucked-out expression. Your body is on full display and he licks his lips, makes a halting step into the direction of the bed.
“It’s okay,” he mumbles, unable to keep from palming himself.
Yunho laughs breathlessly. “See what you’re doing to him, Baby?”
It’s hard to focus on Mingi’s tall form, but you can tell he’s into what he’s seeing.
“Min – ah! Sorry, ah! Couldn’t stay…,” you’re unable to finish your sentence, your voice turning into breathy moans.
“I think Baby likes the attention,” Yunho drawls. “I think my Baby is greedy and didn’t want to stay silent.”
“No,” you wail, though it thrills you how Mingi watches your body being bounced on Yunho’s cock. “I’m so sorry!”
Mingi steps closer, his fist moving quickly inside his sweatpants.
“You’re gonna make it up to him?” Yunho asks and slows down again. You nod frantically, willing to do anything to make him go harder again.
“I’ll be so good for you,” you promise.
“Yeah?” Mingi asks and steps closer. He strips off his clothes quickly and moves onto the bed.
“So pretty,” he praises and Yunho agrees. “Yes, the prettiest. Want a taste?”
Without hesitation, Mingi leans in and presses his lips against yours. You gasp against him and he grips your head with both hand, using the chance to slide his tongue into your mouth.
It’s sloppy and wet and he isn’t careful with his teeth, but it doesn’t matter. He tastes so good and Yunho is fucking you hard again. You try to wriggle free, to be able to touch, too, but you’re pinned and they don’t let you move. You feel Mingi’s hard-on press against you and you whine again.
They both chuckle and Mingi leans back, taking you in with dark eyes and a dangerous grin.
“You look amazing, Baby,” he praises you. “Can’t keep my hands away.”
He’s making good on his words, letting one hand travel your body, from your neck, to your chest, teasing your nipples. The other is firmly wrapped around himself, pumping. Moaning and begging, you’re repeating their names. You’re voice is ragged, all thoughts about volume forgotten. It’s too much stimulation to think.
Mingi’s hand moves down and he starts playing with you. Yunho’s panting heavily by now and you know he’s not far. Mingi leans his head onto your shoulder, watching his hands on both of you.
Heat rushes through you and you start shaking. There is no time to warn them, but they can feel it coming and neither stops. If anything, they work your body faster. There are no words anymore, just the three of you panting. Pressed together, lips on skin, eyes closed. The knot inside you tightens and just as you think you’re not able to take it anymore, the release rushes through you. With a loud, keening sound you climax, drawing Yunho with you. His teeth in your shoulder, his body rigid against yours, his hips stuttering, he empties himself into you. The sight of you coming on his fingers makes Mingi groan. Yunho’s grip on your hands loosens.
“Go on, Baby, help him,” he whispers hoarsely and you reach for Mingi’s cock. He grunts and closes his eyes as you start jerking him off.
“That’s it,” Yunho encourages you and peppers your shoulders with kisses. You lean forward and catch Mingi’s mouth in another sloppy kiss. Yunho moves away and you almost collapse onto Mingi. Both of you tumble onto the bed and he hands tug you close again, your hands reaching for him without thought.
“So good for us, so fucking good…,” he groans and it doesn’t take long for him to whine and buck into your hand. You kiss him again and he whimpers, chasing your tongue with his. You’re still hazy, but at the same time proud that it’s you who makes him feel like this. He looks gorgeous, flushed, totally lost in the moment.
You bite his shoulder and revel in the sound he makes.
“Come for me, Mingi,” you urge him and he groans and opens his eyes. He looks absolutely wrecked.
“You want it?” he gasps.
“Mingi, please,” you beg.
“Fuck,” he curses and leans into you, pushing his cock against your belly. He’s wet against your skin and you moan together. He crushes his lips against yours, kissing your harshly and then he spills his load over your belly and chest.
A moment later Yunho is back, with water bottles and towels. He has to help you drink and clean up, you’re almost too exhausted to keep your eyes open.
Not long after, you’re cuddle up against Yunho, with Mingi spooning you from behind. You’re warm and content, sated and drained. It doesn’t take long until you fall asleep.
when you're dragged back into a life you wanted to leave behind forever, you're forced to confront the man you willingly let go, too.
▷ genre, warnings. nc-17. exes 2 lovers, assassins au, yn deals in poisons, angst, suspense/mystery, mild violence, very uhhh interesting dynamic btwn people from one's past (scratches head), swearing, presence of guns, alcohol consumption, san is drunk and everyone is tired
▷ chapter wc. 5.4k
m.list · next »
a/n: IM AWAKE and here it is !!
EPISODE ONE: NO HARD FEELINGS.
AH, THE BARREL OF A GUN. You almost forgot what being at the end of one felt like: the chill that pinballed down your spine, the dark abyss of the chamber that held its next bullet, the heavy timbre of the hammer clicking into place.
The drowsiness in your vision dissipated like fog scattering over wet cobblestone. Never mind that it was probably somewhere close to three in the morning—this was proving to be a far more pressing matter.
There was a man attached to the gun pointed at your face. He seemed to be doing everything right, what with his black ski mask, gloves, and the way his knees and thighs pinned your body to your mattress. Any movement from you would likely trigger this guy to pull the one his pointer finger was on.
You held your breath.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he said, voice unfamiliar but gravely and low.
Herein was another issue—he used some half-baked, cliché movie line. If you weren't worried about the immediate danger, you might have rolled your eyes. “And what might the easy way be?” you asked.
Part of your blanket covered your highest hand, up to the pillow. If you could just inch your way up there toward the gun under your head…
“You walk outta here with me to meet my boss.”
Alright, you thought to yourself, I can work with that. That revealed a couple things to you, at the moment. As of now, you knew that he wasn't the mastermind and that he needed you alive. Whether unconscious or conscious probably didn't matter.
You made the split second decision to move.
Before your assailant could blink, you had both arms raised with a pistol thrust in his own masked face. Your arms ran parallel to his, opposing guns primed. You yanked the hammer down with your thumb; in the thrill of adrenaline and sleep deprivation, your hands mercifully did not shake.
You registered the shock in his eyes. Interesting.
“I'll shoot you, lady—”
You squeezed your core muscles and pulled your body upright, arm rearing back to slam the butt of the gun against his extended forearm.
His arm crumpled, the gun falling from his fingers. The grip on your body loosened and with a battle cry, you shoved him off of you and onto the floor. Your heart thundered in your ears as you searched the blankets for where his pistol had gone, eyes flickering to where the masked man slowly rose from his felled position.
“You're a slippery, little bitch,” he huffed and grabbed one of your legs and hauled you off the bed.
Can't shoot here, the thought flashed in your head.
You kicked your legs in his hold and thrashed about. One of your feet managed to hit true—a solid buck to the groin that sent him crumpling to his knees.
You grunted, your own body sliding off the mattress and thunking against the floorboards.
“And stay down,” you snarled, whipping him across the face with your gun again.
Instinct made you tear out of your apartment in your pajamas, grabbing the closest pair of shoes on the way, your bare feet slapping against the carpet. You stuffed your gun into the waistband of your pants, but you could already hear the feet pounding down the hallway after you.
Your eyes snagged on something bright red just up ahead.
You didn't think as you yanked the fire alarm lever and lit the entire building up in flashing white and ear-splitting sirens. The sounds of doors opening and slamming followed after you, right as you shucked on the shoes you took—a pair of black cat slippers (Damn.). The stairwell flooded with your grouchy neighbors to conceal your exit and the wild, scared look in your eyes.
As the rest of the apartment complex grumbled and cursed, you slipped into the crowd pouring out the doors and into the street. You didn't have your phone, your wallet, or proper clothes, and—
You glanced up at your apartment building as you hurried down the street away from it. At least you were alive.
There was one place your rattled and tired body now gravitated toward, and it was the Duality of Man. The Duality of Man was a nightclub in the city district a handful of blocks from your apartment complex, an establishment known for its sinfully delicious drinks, incredibly handsome bartenders, and its crimson red interiors. You didn't find yourself here often—in fact, it had been years since you last ventured near it—but it was a surefire way of getting help.
Especially when you didn't have money or a cell phone.
You hugged your arms around your body as a cold gust of night air swept past you. There was still a massive queue waiting outside the Duality's doors that wrapped around the block. The violent pulses of bass meshed with your heartbeat.
A thick-necked bouncer was stationed at the doors, holding the end of a red velvet rope.
You walked right up to him and stared him in the eye. You could feel the judgmental stares of onlookers, the clubgoers who were dressed to the nines to fit into the occasion and location, eyeing the big baseball jersey and pajama shorts hanging off your form, along with the black cat slippers on your feet.
It was hardly clubgoing attire, but the bouncer gave you one passive sweep, and unclipped the rope.
You didn't pretend you hadn't been holding your breath while he swiftly assessed you. You brushed past him and the queue in silence; maybe it was just dumb luck that they hadn't taken you off their VIP list.
Inside, the Duality of Man was as alive as ever.
Electronic dance music shook the house like the inside of a ribcage as you padded across the first floor past sweaty clubbers. You kept one arm wrapped around your stomach, hand resting over the handle of your gun through your shirt, and the other holding the opposite elbow.
The VIP stairs was guarded by yet another bouncer who recognized you as easily as the first. The climb up to the second floor was a familiar one, and the waitress dressed in wine red barely batted her pretty eyelashes at you as she asked for a drink order.
Fuck it. You deserved a drink. “Just an appletini, thanks,” you said offhandedly. It was something to sip on, you thought to yourself and made your way to a booth in the corner, while you waited for the bouncers to work their magic.
You tugged your feet up to crisscross beneath you on the leather seats just as the cocktail was delivered to your table. If there was one thing you could count on here, it was the service. And, well…
You lifted the drink to your lips, and lifted your eyes upward. A man was making his way toward you from the direction of the upstairs office. He was buttoned up in a black suit, hair combed neatly and his expression a stone faced neutrality.
The second thing you could count on was their reaction.
But whether or not Choi Jongho was walking over here to kick you out or ask you what was the matter, you couldn't tell.
Jongho settled his hand on the back of the booth seat across from you. “Hello, Yn.”
You gave him a small smile, a peace offering. “Hi Jongho. Sorry to barge in like this. I wouldn't be here if I had another option.”
He flicked his brows up at you and scanned your state of being. “I know,” he drawled. “Just don't say that to anyone else. You might hurt their feelings.”
You hid your microscopic wince behind the glass as you took another generous gulp of the drink. There was a gentle burn as it cascaded into your stomach, but it erased some of the post-threat anxiety. “Right,” you said quietly.
Jongho let out a small sigh and slid into the seat across from you, drumming his fingers against the table. “So what happened? You look… frazzled.”
“That's one way to put it,” you huffed a laugh. “I was—a target tonight.” You saw the moment his expression shifted. “Woke up with a gun pointed in my face, but I managed to get him off me. I ran out after that, which is why I still look ready for bed. I don't have my phone or wallet, just a gun.”
“I see.” Jongho leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I can't leave you here or send you back there in good faith. You can stay at the Crow's Nest until we find the prick who did this.”
Your pulse hammered against your throat at the latter. “Oh, no I couldn't. You don't have to take me back to the Nest—”
“I don't have to or you don't want to?” he quipped with a cocked brow.
You pressed your lips together.
Jongho considered you for a moment. “You knew that it could have been any of us here tonight. What if it had been Wooyoung instead?”
Ah. You stared at the bottom of your martini glass with the cowardly spirit inside you shying away from Jongho's very fair questions. “I didn't know what else to do,” was all you could say. You weren't a fighter—that wasn't what you had been groomed for. If you did your job correctly, you never needed to fight back. Any inkling of self defense was whatever Wooyoung had taught you.
The young man across from you, an old friend who didn't forget that he had been a friend, fixed you with a pointed gaze. “Do the smart thing and stay at the Crow's Nest for the night. If it makes you feel better, he's out on an assignment in another city. He won't be home.”
You didn't know if that actually made you feel better, but you settled for the idea that the weight in your chest was relief and not something else.
There wasn't much room for argument. Although Jongho was the youngest out of his guild, it didn't mean he was any less reasonable or wise. In fact, you tended to look to him for judgment calls, and this would be one of them. He had that effect on people—an air of trustworthiness.
Jongho drove you to the Crow's Nest in silence. He was never much of a talker, and neither were you after tonight's events. The hard metal of your pistol dug into your stomach from where it was stuffed into your waistband, but you kept your hands in your lap, fingers wringing each other as the scenery became more and more familiar.
The Crow's Nest was perched on top of a high-rise apartment complex in the downtown area. The lights of the Halazia illuminated the Crow's Nest from below in a soft white-gold glow. It was terribly gorgeous, even more so from the ground. It sent shivers zipping down your spine and you warmed your arm with your palm to make the feeling go away.
“Any renovations since the last time I was here?” you piped up in an attempt at lightheartedness as Jongho slid into a private portion of the parking garage. The lights above shuddered like moving film as the car passed beneath them and deeper into the bowels of the garage.
Jongho lowered the volume of the radio and he carefully turned into an open parking spot between a gaudy red Porsche convertible and an onyx black Bentley SUV. “We got a pool,” he mused.
“Seriously?”
“Yep.” As he killed the engine, he sighed, “Construction was the worst. A rooftop patio was a horrible idea if you're ever thinking of one.”
You let out a chuckle to the percussion of the car doors slamming and echoing. “Yeah, I'll keep that in mind for my next million dollar estate.”
Even in light of Jongho's reassurances that you wouldn't be having the most awkward of awkward reunions tonight, your heart still picked up in speed as the two of you made your way to the elevator. Somehow, it was as if your body knew it was returning to someplace familiar, someplace you once called 'home.’
The jitters in your nerves sparked faster as the carriage rose. Jongho only offered a glance in solace—not quite a blatant lie as to how this will go, but still acknowledging your nervousness.
A few seconds later, you felt the ascent slow beneath your feet, before a light ding cut through the soft music to announce your arrival.
The elevator opened up into a vast living room space you recognized all too well. Not much about it changed—actually, none of it had. It was as if you'd stepped out of a time machine that took you back three years. The walls, soaked in a black, were accented with gold that glittered the most off the massive window framing the skyline. The ceiling in the living room was vaulted high to mimic a cavern; even if they managed to reach the top of the world, they would always try still to climb higher.
The centerpiece of the space was a long sectional couch made of the softest leather known to man. Tucked onto the one edge beneath the soft glow of a bell-shaped lamp was Kim Hongjoong. He glanced up from the book in his palm, over the edge of a pair of thin reading glasses. His hair was a dark brown this time around, not quite the rich shade of blue it had been when you last saw him.
His eyebrows lifted past the strand of hair curled over his forehead. “Well,” he drawled, slipping his glasses off and shutting his literature, “aren't you a sight for sore eyes?”
“Hey, Hongjoong,” you said with a small, crooked smile, shifting from cat slipper to cat slipper.
“Hongjoong?” The man pressed a hand to his chest with a melodrama that made your chest weep with nostalgia. “That's still 'Joong’ to you, kid.”
You couldn't resist an eye roll. “And that's ‘Yn’ to you, not ‘kid.’”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” His eyes slid over your form in a cursory scan, a frown flitting over your face. “So, uhm, I know Jongho doesn't come home early from work most nights and you don't make it a habit to wear a gun in your pants—”
Your hand immediately went over the gun, and you swore Hongjoong's eyes lit up with a smirk.
“—or are you just excited to see me?” he joked. “But seriously, what happened?”
Jongho carded a hand through his hair and walked past you. “I'll put on a pot of coffee,” he muttered.
Hongjoong's eyes followed his youngest until he disappeared into the kitchen. “That bad, huh?”
You were tempted to disagree, but you couldn't in good faith. “I didn't know where else to go,” you said helplessly, with nothing else you could do but shrug.
He considered you for a moment longer, tongue jammed into his cheek. With the hand that rested on the back of the couch, he flicked his fingers to beckon you over. “Alright, well don't just stand there, Yn-ah. You're always welcome back.”
His words had more of an effect on you than you anticipated. You made your way over to the opposite end of the couch, as if you'd been waiting for an invitation. Regardless of how Hongjoong was taking your sudden return in stride, you knew there was still some gap between you and him and the others.
You slowly tugged the gun out from your waistband, showing him the retracted hammer, before setting it gently on the coffee table. “Now I can truly relax,” you joked half-heartedly.
“I bet,” he laughed. “I can't live without a proper holster anymore.”
You tugged your legs up onto the couch beneath you, abandoning your cat slippers on the smooth, wooden floorboards. “So,” you drawled, “how are you… and the others?”
Hongjoong sent you a thin smile. “How am I and the others?”
“Yes, I mean everyone.” You did, truly. It wasn't just that one person; once upon a time, you'd been close with all of the boys in this guild.
“We're fine,” he said to you kindly. “The Duality of Man has never been so alive and business has never been so good. Now,” he fixed you with a pointed look, “what about you, hm? What's brought you here, Yn, because we both know you wouldn't be here if it wasn't dire.”
Well, when you put it that way… it seemed like everyone was intent on making you face the hard truth. You'd left them behind, made it clear that you wanted out. You cared about them and thought about them, but you could no longer stomach what you'd been groomed to do all your life.
“Someone was hired to take me tonight,” you said. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, avoiding his eyes. “He… he said that he would take me to go meet his boss, but I managed to get away. I didn't have time to grab anything, Joong, I just ran with my slippers and my gun. And—and I'm sure you know that my sisters aren't exactly in town anymore.”
You raised your head to find him staring at you with this look of brotherly concern. It was difficult to stomach, too, and you had to duck your head again. “I know that my coming here was uncalled-for, but I—had nowhere else to go.” And I was scared.
You didn't have to say the latter out loud; you practically grew up with Kim Hongjoong.
“You're alright, though?” he asked. “You're not injured?”
“Maybe a little bruise here and there, but I'm more rattled than anything.” You also didn't have your phone with you. It was a classic comfort item.
Hongjoong pushed an exhale out of his mouth and raked a hand through his hair. “What did he look like—do you remember?”
“He wore a ski mask,” you told him. “But he had dark eyes, pale skin, a decent build but not super muscular. I remember his voice; it wasn't modulated.”
“Good,” he muttered, nodding his head. He shifted his seating position, leaning forward onto his knees. There was this glint of steel in his eyes, something you knew was characteristic of the born-leader. “We'll get this guy, kid, I promise.”
You mustered up a small smile. “Thanks.”
In the beat of silence, you could feel Hongjoong's persistent gaze. There was something on his mind, on his tongue, that burned.
Jongho shouldered his way out of the kitchen with three mugs of coffee balanced in his hands. He was cursing and grumbling something under his breath, announcing his return in a way, as he made his way over to join you both.
“Yn.”
You tore your eyes from Jongho and back to Hongjoong.
“You know there are no hard feelings between us,” he said lowly. He bit his lip before continuing, “But you have to understand that seeing you again will be hard for—”
As if the universe itself delivered the stage cue, the elevator chimed, and declared the Nest's latest arrivals. You, Hongjoong, and Jongho all turned to see who had come. There was a familiar giggle that twinkled through the quiet like chimes, followed by a voice in loud, loving reprimand.
You felt him before you saw him, heard him before you realized. Your body knew him before your brain did, an instinct, something out of pure survival. (Because didn't nature dictate that our instincts could be trusted? That we ran when we felt threatened, and we ran to safety?)
It was like the ends of two magnets—yours and his eyes.
You imagined your stomach fell right when the smile slipped off his face.
Choi San's face was flush as he swayed off the elevator. “Oh my gosh, Yn-ie? Wow, now it's really a party.”
Beside him, practically holding his friend upright, was Jung Wooyoung—the man who you and Hongjoong and Jongho were skirting around in discussion, the man who you spent arguably the majority of your life beside, the man whose heart you broke three years ago when you left him behind.
No hard feelings, huh?
All things considered, Wooyoung was having a standout week. First, he received an extra commission from the job he and Yeosang did a couple weeks ago. Next, he finished his assignment out of town early. Then, San (of all people) wanted to get wasted and Wooyoung won every drinking game they played at the bar.
He was feeling good, and he was sure he wasn't even that tipsy from… dinner…
But then again, you could not be sitting on his couch at four in the morning. You could not be anywhere near the Crow's Nest. You could not be here, in his fuckass high school baseball jersey (so that's where that went), looking like a dream.
He was dying. He had to be dying, because the only way he ever got to see you was—
He cleared his throat, slapped on a smile that wasn't convincing in the slightest. “You stole my shirt.”
There was a flicker of confusion and offense across your face, and something in his chest ignited in satisfaction. “You gave this to me,” you said, pinching the material in a gesture.
So you were real, and not just a figment of his inebriated imagination.
Jongho deposited the three mugs in his hands onto the coffee table, then came over to drape a sleepy Choi San onto his own body. “Why don't I go bring him up to his room and you guys can catch up?”
“Choi Jongho,” you scowled. “You said he was—”
“Your fault for believing an assassin!” he called back, already halfway up the stairs.
It was so difficult for Wooyoung not to stare, but maybe he was a little tipsy, because he couldn't pull his eyes away. There was this unexplainable weight over his chest now; he couldn't decide whether to soak in as much of you as possible or give you the cold shoulder.
But you were here. He couldn't deny that, and he wouldn't deny himself just a little slip in self control either.
He swallowed. “So, uh, what're you doin’ here?”
Your head whipped toward him once more, and he relished in the eye contact. You and Hongjoong exchanged a glance, and his heart rate quickened. What the hell was that?
“She needs a place to stay for the night,” said Hongjoong.
Wooyoung's eyes narrowed. “What's wrong with your apartment?”
“Bugs.”
“Mice.”
You looked at each other again.
Wooyoung's mood took a nosedive off an emotional cliff. His brows furrowed and he frowned, walking away from the elevator and toward the couch. What weren't you telling him? “Then you're sleeping in my room.”
Hongjoong raised a hand. “We have a guest room.”
He scoffed. “She's not a guest, she's my” —his mouth snapped shut before he said something he regretted. The words that were dying to be said were reeled back far into the pits of his stomach.
Aish, there went all of his dignity. Your eyes burned into the side of his head and he swiveled his own to look anywhere but you. He caught sight of something on the floor by your feet, a pair of familiar black cat slippers; then the small pistol on the table, a weapon you never liked. His stomach twisted violently—
“She'll sleep in the guest room,” Hongjoong repeated quietly, firmly. There would be no argument.
Wooyoung sucked in a breath, hissing softly. “Can I talk to you?” he asked you.
You blinked at him and he didn't want to psychoanalyze the way the lights reflected in your eyes, but if he was a little more drunk, he just might have. “Okay.”
With no other prompting, he began walking toward the kitchen. He heard the sound of scuffling, the same noise that erupted whenever he walked around in those cat slippers except with a different cadence to his stride. He wanted to laugh; what kind of cruel jokes the universe liked to play.
The kitchen smelled like freshly roasted coffee beans.
The pot was still a quarter of the way full, perspiration rolling down from its lid over the glass edges.
He stopped himself by the fridge with his hands on his denim-clad hips, his leather jacket suddenly a tad too warm and too tight. The door to the kitchen swung and flapped gently before you put its motion to a stop.
“Hey, I'm sorry for showing up so randomly,” your voice, soft like the edges of a coffee filter, curled into his ears. A love song from a not-so-distant past. “I know it’s not fair and I don't deserve to be here after what I did—”
“You're in trouble, aren't you?” he cut in. He didn't want to hear that. Not tonight.
You could only stand there with this exhaustion on your face, your hands wringing out the hem of the shirt he'd given you in the eleventh grade. His first ever team jersey. How the hell did that thing still fit you?
“I saw the gun, Yn,” Wooyoung continued while taking a step closer to you. He licked his lips, carded a hand through his hair. Did you and Hongjoong not trust him with whatever the situation was? He would go to the ends of the goddamn earth for you. “You look like you just rolled out of bed, it's 4am, and you haven't called in… years. Nevermind what you did or said—it doesn't matter, not if you're in danger.”
He didn't want to admit that none of it mattered anyway. Even if you'd come here on a whim, that you'd woken up from a weird dream and had to tell someone immediately, he would have taken that answer. Before you were lovers, you'd been best friends, after all.
You nodded then, and his stomach churned. He needed to focus now that you'd confirmed a threat. “Someone hired a guy to break into my apartment and try to take me,” you said. “Obviously, I got away in the end, but I can't exactly go back there tonight.”
Oh. Oh.
Wooyoung couldn't stop the fist clenching in the pocket of his jacket. Whoever this guy was, whatever his or his employer's intentions were, he would find out. He would hunt them down for doing that to you, for scaring you and interrupting your life. You hadn't even disclosed any details of the encounter, and here he was, imagining every evil thing under the sun.
It scared the crap out of him.
“Are you alright?” was his first question. He couldn't figure out a way to word the rest of his thoughts in a tangle. His eyes scanned your form, just like the first moment he saw you again, only with much different intentions. There were no obvious scratches or injuries, no bruises had bloomed yet either. As you said, you made it out and got away.
(His fingers itched, though—itched to reach out and take your face in his hands, to examine you properly. There was so much space between you two. It was devastating, this chasm.)
You nodded, grabbing your arm and mindlessly scratching at the skin. “I'm fine. I told Hongjoong all that I remembered,” you replied, “I was just a bit scared, I guess.” The latter was accompanied by a small, deprecating chuckle.
“You had every right to be scared.”
He bit his lip, meeting your eyes as he took the steps to close the gap.
Even before the two of you had made your mutual feelings clear to each other years and years ago, he'd never had any trouble with initiating contact—both physical and emotional. He loved showing people he cared and your mutually agreed upon no contact period killed him.
Wooyoung carefully wrapped his arms around you. Your body molded too perfectly into his own, and he could feel your tensions release as you reciprocated the action. He wondered if you could feel the pathetic tachycardia of his heart against yours. “Missed you, brat,” he muttered against your hair. “I'm glad you're okay.”
Your hand cupped the back of his head and his eyes fluttered shut. “I missed you, too. And who are you calling 'brat?’”
A snort fell from his mouth as he smiled. He reluctantly pulled away and patted your head as he did, relishing in the wrinkled-nosed petulance you sent his way. “I've got a list of justifications. Wanna hear some?” The first one had to do with not returning his heart.
“It’s all projection,” you quipped back. “You're the real brat.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, his tongue caught between his teeth. He cocked a brow at you. “Even if I was, what're you gonna do about it?”
The second your cheeks darkened in a slight flush, he all but punched the air. Maybe it was slow torture, your unexpected return, but he could still play this to his advantage. If he played his cards right…
He could do it, he decided. He could simultaneously win your heart back, and find and kill the fucker who made you afraid. Yes, the plan was coming together.
Kim Hongjoong watched as the door to the kitchen slowed to a stop. You and Wooyoung had just disappeared in there to “talk,” and he wasn't sure exactly how this would go. With Wooyoung, a notorious wildcard, it could go a number of ways. Then again, you had worlds more self-control than he did—truly it would be a toss-up between who's will won out.
The leader sighed, plucking his book up again and opening it to the bookmarked page. What an interesting turn of events this night became. He really needed to go to bed.
“You know she was wearing Wooyoung's old baseball jersey, right?”
Hongjoong peered over the edge of his glasses, up to the landing of the stairs on the second floor. “Are you surprised?” he drawled in response, closing the book again.
Park Seonghwa appeared out of the shadows, leaning over the banister with his Animal Crossing pajamas messy, and a pair of glasses sitting crooked on the bridge of his nose. “No,” he replied, “but I am surprised she's here of all places.”
“You're surprised by that?” Hongjoong raised his brows. “Her sisters moved out of this city a year ago and she doesn't exactly trust the police. Where else would she go?”
His second-in-command shrugged, leaning his cheek against his fist. “I supposed I just believed she was more stubborn.”
“She's stubborn, not stupid, Hwa.”
“I know.” Seonghwa let out a small yawn. “How's Wooyoung?”
Hongjoong glanced back toward the kitchen door. No screaming or crying yet. “Beats me. He only pretends to wear his heart on his sleeve most of the time, but…” He shook his head. “I don't know.”
“Well, as long as she's not about to lead him on.”
“Come on, we know her better than that. She's not here to make him suffer.” In fact, he got the impression that you were convinced to come here partly because Jongho reassured you that Wooyoung was out of town. You certainly were not here to try and rub salt in old wounds.
Seonghwa was quiet for a beat. “You're right, sorry. I guess I'm just—I’ve only seen Wooyoung's side of the heart break.”
Hongjoong could understand that, because so did he. But he'd spoken to you before when you were leaving, and though he couldn't find his moral compass aligning with yours, he knew it was something you had to do. There were hard feelings, but it was all to protect the very soft, vulnerable flesh of the heart deep beneath.
In an effort to lighten the mood, he said, “Well, despite all of that, I'm sure Wooyoung won't hold anything back in trying to go after Yn's assailant tonight.”
Seonghwa chuckled. “Oh, I can agree with you on that.”
The two eldest descended into a thoughtful silence. It was rather strange: why would someone come after you now? Three years after your so-called retirement, and they chose this moment to do so? And what for?
Seonghwa brought Hongjoong out of his thoughts again. “So they're in there? The kitchen?”
“Hm? Oh, yup.”
A snicker echoed into the dark and Hongjoong felt himself smirking. “What's so funny?” he asked. (He already knew.)
“Nothing,” Seonghwa mused, “just that old habits die hard.”
a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed !
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⋆ ˚｡𖦹 smut mdni, vampire blood used as an aphrodisiac so slightly dubcon but reader is also very excited so not really but tagging just in case, vampire matz! so everything that comes with vampires like predator/prey dynamics and a LOT OF FUN cliche vampire stuff, some brief backstory about vampires in this universe but not really, threesome, mean dom hongjoong and condescending dom hwa, orgasm control & denial, blood kink, biting kink, unprotected p in v, pull out method, matz kiss once, dirty talk, degradation, dumbification, that's all i'm saying now go and enjoy it for urself
⋆ ˚｡𖦹 wc 10k
⋆ ˚｡𖦹 a/n SURPRISE! @an-annyeoing-writer i am ur secret admirer <3 this is my instalment for my lovely deej aka @everyonewooeverywhere 's fic exchange event, and a fic i had a bunch of fun with!! i have to also cred @sangis-puppy for discussing this with me as i wrote LOL rev i hope u love it as much as i do i am obsessed with them..
It’s hard to remember why you decided to come here.
If it was a typical night out, it’d be different. Normally, you and your friends are dressed up in your cutest outfits with your cutest cherry lip gloss and headed to one of your regular clubs in the city. There’s a strip of many, lined with any vibe you could ever want; cocktails, hard liquor, anything. The music is decent enough, the drinks aren’t too expensive, and most importantly - it’s safe.
It’s a lot safer than what people typically call hot spots floating around these days, the places where vampires spend their time. Ever since the existence of vampires was confirmed to the general public, there’s been as much fear as there has been fixation, so the typical hanging out spots of vampires are regularly discussed and known. You’ve been warned to stay away from these places - the dark lighting, heavy bassline, threatening as much as alluring type of clubs - because it’s dangerous for humans, although plenty of thrill-seeking humans go there anyway.
You’ve always felt like it’s not such a black and white predator-prey dynamic, but that doesn’t mean you’re not standing outside of the nightclub with a tinge of anxiety in your chest. What if the stories are true? What if a vampire uses some sort of mythical power to lure you away from everything you’ve ever known, to compel you to let them feed on you and rid you of any purity you may still have lingering?
Still, you remind yourself that’s silly and you’re safe - you can spot them from a mile away, but not for what one may assume. They’re not walking around at night in centuries old clothing with pale skin and blood glistening fangs protruding over a swollen, heavy bottom lip - they’re just like humans, really, but they have a specific aura. There’s something about them, whether it be expensive designer clothing styled with the expertise of someone who’s spent thousands of years doing so or radiant skin that doesn’t quite look real; it’s something otherworldly that sets them aside from everyone else.
But more importantly, vampires simply aren’t as bothered with humans as you assumed them to be. A few vampires have strutted past you and your friends tonight as you wait outside in the queue, dressed in dark materials and nails long and sharp, but it seems the availability of blood banks and willing donors after the big announcement has left them pretty docile. They don’t snarl and growl like the legends say - in fact, they seem pretty damn uninterested.
The bouncer on the door even displays little pointy white teeth as she checks your IDs and raises an eyebrow at Jihyo who’s dyed her hair and looks a little different. Still, she shoots you a nod, arms crossing back over her strong chest and lets the three of you inside the club.
Well, it’s exactly what you imagined. Red lights drape the partygoers and inside of the club, and the interior is like a church, with stone pillars and arches overseeing everything. You have to teeter downstairs on unstable platform heels to the actual main part, tugging at the bottom of your dress like it’ll help the way it rides up with your movement.
The bass only gets louder when you enter the room with the dancefloor, crowds of people inhibiting your movements so you’re almost locked in the little space you have. Curiosity strikes you and you want to move through the crowd to walk around, check the other rooms now that you know it can’t be that bad, but your friends drag you off to the bar.
“Don’t tell me the cocktails are vampire-themed,” You quip, and Jihyo elbows you, scoffing.
“Get into the mood, please,” She waves a hand in your face, grin bright and hair swept into a perfect ponytail, “the music is good, the atmosphere is good, the place is packed and it’s only midnight. I told you Sana was onto something about this place!”
Sana chirps up from your other side, already leaning onto the bar, “I’ve come here a few times! It only gets better later, you know, we should stay as long as possible.”
It’s surprisingly not sticky like your regular places are when you lean on the bar next to her, and although there’s a lot of people at the bar the bartender doesn’t take a long time to get to you. Jihyo orders you three drinks, something sweet with the kick of too much alcohol, and the three of you take to the dancefloor with drinks in hand.
“Do vampires even drink?” Jihyo murmurs, staring at the drink in hand.
Sana hums, “The ones here do, from what I’ve seen.”
You swear there’s something else floating in there, glittery and tempting and unknown, but when you swirl your glass it disappears. Taking a swig, you know when it hits your tongue that it’s just your typical vodka and lemonade, but that doesn’t change the clenching in your gut that something just isn’t right, like something’s looming and you haven’t gotten the ability to see it yet.
Still, Jihyo was right - the club is beyond busy even though it’s early, and the song is slowly getting you moving in your spot. The dancefloor twinkles, entrancing as you all move to it, and within minutes you’re dancing with your girls, the uneasy feeling leaving your body as literally no one bothers you. It’s beginning to become apparent that this spot might be even better than your usual places; despite the dark, gloomy atmosphere outside and as you walk in it’s pretty inviting once you’re in there, and they’re playing classics that you haven’t heard in years.
A few drinks and a few songs later, you’re reasonably buzzed from the amount of vodka in your system and feeling even more free. Sana wobbles off to the bar again, a little too tipsy to walk in a straight line, and you and Jihyo take the time to look around the club.
The main part you’re stood in is pretty centre, so you get to look around and take everything in. A DJ at the front, pretty generic but she’s focused on the task at hand, crop top short enough to show a navel piercing that glints in the lights - she seems to peruse the dancefloor at who the attendees for tonight are.
What catches your attention is the sections beyond the area you’re in, the VIP booths that seem to be obscured by curtains, yet you can see shadows moving behind them, clearly occupied. You dare to wonder what’s going on behind there. Your vision tracks through it all until you land on an area right at the edge, just over from the bar but with the curtains open, where two men stand in the entryway. You feel a pair of eyes on you before you fully register who it is - the culprit is right there, in that end section, long hair falling over his forehead in black waves.
Two pairs of eyes are on you, to be exact, two dark pairs that you swear to god you’ve seen before. When you wrack your brain, you can’t recall despite the fact they seem so familiar, and the men are still staring at you - one shorter, one taller, clad in all sorts of black leather and tight, dark clothing that your thighs start to tremble. It’s like they work together, their eyes wracking your frame with a million promises that go unsaid, their minds working silently. The shorter man’s lips curve up when he sees you looking back at them.
Radiant skin, an otherworldly aura - you know exactly what they are, but you’d be damned if you didn’t say they look beautiful, so enticing that you feel some sort of gravitational pull towards them, a feeling strong and all consuming that makes you need.
They’re positioned on the side of the club, up towards the VIP booths that you examined but separate, like they booked an area all to themselves. While the entrance is covered in black-out curtains intended to save privacy, the two men have hooked the curtains to the side and you can see inside the booth. There’s a leather couch, an abundance of burgundy-coloured drinks, and rolled up notes that you can only imagine the purpose of.
Jihyo’s talking to you. You hadn’t realised, but you slowly fade back into reality, and she’s flailing, trying to get your attention. “What are you looking at?” She shrieks, spinning next to you to follow your line of sight. It doesn’t take long for Sana to join her too, three drinks in two hands, and the impressed hums they let out are nothing short of embarrassing. “Oh, I see. You should go over there.”
“Definitely,” Sana says, and you notice the men haven’t even acknowledged them - they’re staring right at you still, and the taller man’s eyes follow the straw in your drink as you lead it back to your lips. You wonder what’s got them so interested in you, considering the vampires’ flippant attitudes outside - these men look beyond insatiable in comparison. She laughs in disbelief, “oh, you’re going over there. Like, now.”
You side eye them, mumbling behind your glass in a way that you’re hoping the men can’t see, “They’re vampires.”
“Even more reason,” Jihyo shoves you, pushing you forward before you can retort. “We’ll see you when you’re done.”
It’s a bad idea. It’s such a bad idea, especially given everything you know, how vampires can hurt you and compel you to do things you’d never do normally. However, you just can’t seem to help yourself - you down the rest of your drink, sliding the empty glass onto the bar before you’re walking right over to where the men stand.
The shorter man is laughing before you even get there. You feel embarrassed for a moment, but the taller man cocks his head towards you in interest, as if he can’t believe you’ve made the first move - as if he can’t believe you’re brave enough to. You can’t believe it either, but you stand at the entrance to their section like you belong there with them.
“Mm, can we help you, love?” The taller man speaks, almost accusatory like they weren’t the ones staring at you. His voice is smooth, steady, just barely audible over the music. The shorter man has retreated to the table, arms stretched over the back of the sofa and legs stretched out in front of him, the picture of confidence. He swirls his drink in his glass as he watches you, a smirk pulling at his lips like he knows you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.
You flush, and the taller man reaches out to bring your attention back to him, pushing your hair behind your ear. Up close, he’s ethereal, shoulder length hair that falls in dark layers around his sculpted face. His lips are full and with a pronounced cupid’s bow, causing your eyes to linger just a second too long - he sees it, lips quirking with amusement.
The silence is causing you to hesitate, and you want to turn around and leave, abort the mission completely, but he speaks again. “I’m Seonghwa,” He says, and you think it’s a pretty name to match a pretty face. “That’s Hongjoong. He’s friendly, I promise.”
Hongjoong turns to you with a grin that looks more predatory than friendly, and Seonghwa ushers you over to the table. You don’t miss how he pulls the curtains down behind you once you walk in, obscuring the three of you from the rest of the club - are the rest of the booths full of vampires with their picks for the night? The idea doesn’t make you uneasy, rather exciting you; deep down, there’s something within you that is raving that you may be their pick.
The leather of the sofa is a little too hard when you fall down upon it, dress rolling up a little, and you’re not surprised to see Hongjoong is just as pretty up close too. His hair is messy, dark brown and long enough to almost obscure his pretty, feline eyes, and when he finally drops his smile his lips are pouty, almost cute if you didn’t know who he is - what he is. When he finally speaks, his voice is level, commanding, so strong you’re not sure you can find your own.
“Do you want a drink, sweetheart?”
“I..” You hesitate, glancing at the liquid. What exactly are they drinking? You were still a little tipsy from the pregame, and the drinks that the girls got you at the bar are going straight to your head now that you’re in the company of the two most attractive men you’ve ever met. It’s hard to formulate ideas and Seonghwa blinks, tilting his head again before he finally meets your gaze on the large pitcher in the middle of the table.
He bursts out laughing. “Oh,” He chortles, clapping his hands together. “Did you- sorry, did you think we were drinking blood? Honey, this is rum.”
“Well…” you start, “you’re- y’know.”
It’s Hongjoong’s turn to chuckle, sipping his drink again before he finally turns to you. Instead of letting his friend pour you a drink, he hands you his own glass and you leave a pretty lipgloss stain when you taste some. It’s nice, a little bitter for you but the men seem happy enough drinking it, and you’re honestly just pleased that it’s not human blood.
“What do you know about vampires?” Hongjoong asks, tone teasing, “I mean, surely not a lot. You approached two on your own in a nightclub and then you thought we were drinking blood in here. You seem pretty dumb, little thing.”
It’s said flippantly, but neither of them miss how a shiver runs down your spine - how could they? Hongjoong’s brow lilts in intrigue and Seonghwa takes a sip of his own drink, perching himself on the seat across from you both. He spreads his lithe thighs, too relaxed in the company of someone he doesn’t know - you suppose it’s easy for them.
“I know enough,” When you speak, your voice is quiet, but sure. They hang off your every word, quiet and interested, “you don’t need to hurt people, not really.”
“Mm, you’re right, we don’t need to,” Seonghwa leans forward, elbows on his knees. “We like to, though, me and Hongjoong.”
Your breath catches in your throat. They don’t look any less unsure at your hesitation, only curious, like they’ve waited their entire lifetimes for your answer. You stare at Seonghwa, and then Hongjoong - where have you seen these eyes before?
“L-like,” You stammer, “in what way?”
“Do you know what a little vampire blood does to a human, love?” The taller man’s voice captures your attention. “Just a little bit - not nearly enough to turn you - can make you a horny little love. Even pain feels good. Anything feels good. It can make you beg, even when you’ve cum so much your cunt feels numb, did you ever hear that?”
You stare. You hadn’t heard that, no, but now the idea of the two was seeming even more enticing, if it was possible.
“If you want us to stop, you can tell us to stop,” Hongjoong offers you, and it’s comforting knowing that they’re not totally deranged, but you would never want to tell them to stop. Crossing your legs, you take another sip of the other man’s drink and hand it back to him - his gloves brush you on the way and you don’t know what it is but you want more, inhaling deep, swallowing hard enough for them to notice. He beams, and you swear his eyes flash red for a second, “ooh, I don’t think you do though, do you?”
They notice everything, and you feel like you can’t hide at all.
“So, would you like some, sweetheart?” Hongjoong’s voice is closer now, right at your ear, and it sends shivers through you, down to the tips of your toes. “I think you’d be gorgeous with us inside you,” a thinly veiled innuendo, but you moan too easily, and he laughs, excited with something you’re a little scared of underneath, “mm, why don’t you come here, let me have a look at you properly.”
He’s already had enough of a look, you think, sat next to you for so long, but he pats his lap and you follow. Slinging one leg over his lap, completely ignorant to the happenings of the nightclub behind you, you face Hongjoong. He grips your jaw with two gloved fingers, turning you this way and that like he’s not just going to devour you as soon as he can.
In fact, he leans in just a little closer to look at your eyes, at the way they dilate from something - arousal, fear - and you swear you see two pointy teeth come out to nip at a surly lower lip. His legs spread further, and with the movement you feel him dig into your core underneath your dress, making you squirm where you’re sat. He’s already hard. You wonder if Seonghwa is, too, and the idea of having these two vampires so hot for you… your gut burns.
“Pretty,” He murmurs, and one thumb comes out to dip between your lips, past them into your mouth. It runs over your tongue, and you taste the buttery leather - it doesn’t taste of a lot, the rum perhaps, and he knocks your mouth open to look at your teeth. “Look at these,” he smiles, and you can’t help it; you nip his teeth, gentle but teasing, and he gasps playfully, falling for it, “wow. She bites, Hwa.”
“That’s nice,” He says, almost uninterested. When he crowds into your space, front against your back, you feel his cock, hard and firm against your back that tells you he’s very much interested. He takes your chin from Hongjoong’s hold to pull your head back towards him. You gaze at him upside down, and he smiles, gentle but threatening, “do you want some of this now, love?”
He’s holding a vial, small and clear, with a red liquid moving around inside. This time, you’re sure it’s blood, and you’re even more sure that it’s vampire blood like they were talking about earlier. One of theirs, you presume, but you’re too eager to question it - your lips part, tongue lolling out dumbly as he pops off the cap. Both men look delighted at your eagerness, Seonghwa letting out a little noise of appreciation as he grips your chin.
The cap falls somewhere and rolls on the floor, neither of the men questioning it as Hongjoong’s hands move to your waist to keep you steady. Seonghwa’s fingers hold you more firmly, and he taps once, twice, on the end of the vial, two drops of metallic hitting your tastebuds that have you wanting to screw your face up.
Your head immediately rocks back forwards, eyes scrunching shut as you adjust to the taste. While your ears ring, Hongjoong leans back, gets more comfortable against the sofa and you feel the telltale dip of Seonghwa settling next to him. It’s overwhelming for a moment, and you swallow hard, hoping to get rid of the taste; it’s too much, too strong, too-
Oh.
“Oh my god,” Your hands go to Hongjoong’s chest before you can help yourself, and this time they both watch your pupils dilate, eyes fixated way too intently on yours. A telltale burning spins in your gut, like the same feeling you get when you’ve been building an orgasm and you’re finally, finally about to let go, except the bubble never pops - your hands move eagerly, impulsively. You’re rocking your hips before you can help it, grinding your cunt down against that bulge you’d tried so hard to ignore, sharp whine hitting your ears before you realise you’ve opened your mouth, “fu-uck, oh my- oh, please-”
“How much did you give her, Hwa?” Hongjoong’s voice is gruff, but not at all displeased, his hands moving down the slope of your waist to the plush of your hips, fingers digging in. The pressure guides you to move against him and you feel feverish, desperate, head falling back as your hips fuck forwards. Your pussy starts to slick in your panties, messy and pathetic and ultimately untouched despite your intense movements against his clothed erection, and it builds and builds and never pops.
“Two drops,” Hwa muses, voice level, staring at where you buck against his friend. Your dress rocks up properly from the movement, exposing your panties and where you’re leaking through the fabric, onto Hongjoong’s undoubtedly expensive leather trousers. You run your hands down, over the plush pectorals and over his arms and back down to his belt - even touching him like this feels euphoric, your mouth opening in another strangled noise.
Hongjoong chuckles, seemingly unaffected by your frantic behaviour, “That’s all it took? She really is a slut, isn’t she? Gonna let us bite you tonight too, pretty?”
The idea makes your head spin, and you nod eagerly, “G’na- gonna let you bite me, if you want, would’ve anyway-”
“Would you, little love?” Seonghwa says, and it’s the first time he sounds affected, eyes flickering to the curve of your neck. He reaches over with slender fingers to brush the hair off of your neck, exposing the skin there, and runs one fingernail up as if he can’t wait to split it open. “Isn’t that good to know, Joong?” He’s pleased, lips curving, “she’s just that eager. I think she’d let us do anything to her.”
Seonghwa’s teeth poke out, and you gasp, nodding, eager. Hongjoong’s hand moves suddenly to your neck where his friend’s lips lay, covering the flesh where he intended to bite you, eyeing his friend with a loaded glance.
“I think we need to go home,” he gushes, too fast, a little more panicked than you’ve heard him. The vampire at your neck pauses, before he seems to come back into himself and hum deeply. “Hwa,” Hongjoong murmurs, “you can’t do that here, you know that.”
The other man tilts his head, considering, “Let’s take her back to ours.”
It’s said without an ounce of thought as to what you’d want to do, but you assume they know, can tell by the way your hands roam on Hongjoong and you grab Seonghwa’s waist with one hand, pulling him into you both, hips bucking in short, stuttered movements.
The shorter man huffs out a laugh, hand weaving through your hair and pulling, just slightly. “I think she likes that idea,” his hand smooths down your dress, over your tummy, landing on the soft plush at the bottom, “this little pussy can’t help but move on me, can it? So pathetic.”
You wail. If you grind just right, rubbing your clit against his leather trousers you swear you can cum, if he gives you a little bit, grinds up into you, keeps talking to you like that. He seems to know that’s all you’d need to fall over, and he nudges you off his lap with his knuckles and stands up straight like his cock isn’t tenting his pants. It looks big, thick and promising and your legs fall apart without realising, exposing what’s underneath your dress - simple, cotton panties that are definitely soaked.
Just a few blocks away, Seonghwa says. He seems decisive that you’re coming back with them after your little show, and you wouldn’t have it any other way - you follow them out of the club, leaving the bottles and glasses behind you like they own the place, and you briefly see Jihyo and Sana occupied with their own counterparts for the night. Oh well, you suppose a text will suffice - they seemed to have thought you were safe enough with these men, and although you’re not too sure, you’re the one trailing behind them outside of the club with a stupid little smile on your face.
As soon as you’re outside, Seonghwa lights a cigarette and Hongjoong hands him a lighter from his pocket. The fresh air has you feeling a little clearer, vampire blood wearing off, but surely you can’t be seeing a vampire smoke right now.
“Can you even get addicted to things?” You blurt.
Hongjoong’s eyebrow lilts. “It’s a habit. He smoked when he was human, and he still smokes now.”
He inhales, scratching the back of his head before pointing down the street. You suppose Hongjoong’s right, but it still makes you laugh. He sets off on the journey, leaving you and Hongjoong walking behind him. You’re a lot less colder than earlier with your liquid confidence but the man next to you still takes his leather jacket off and puts it over your shoulders wordlessly, hand wrapping around your waist, keeping you steady and warm.
They were right - it really was a few blocks away, their house, and you’re affronted by how normal it looks.
Their house is modern; it’s sleek and dark and tempting, just like its owners, but painfully normal, and you kick off your uncomfortable shoes at the door next to a potted plant. Without your heels, you feel at a disadvantage, shorter than you were before, but you have no other choice than to walk in and make yourself at home. The sofa is a lot more comfortable than the one in the club, softer fabric and not dipping as much when you sit on it, and Hongjoong walks over to their kitchen and pulls out three glasses.
You wonder if they do this a lot, bringing pretty humans home and taking them apart so nicely they can’t think of anything other than coming back, staying forever, being theirs. It’s already on your mind and they haven’t even touched you properly yet.
Seonghwa sits next to you, legs akimbo. You’re able to see them better now that you’re out of the club, lighting bright - it would be too jarring if they weren’t so fucking beautiful. Turning to Seonghwa, your eyes follow the soft slope of his nose, down to full, plush lips that form as he has a conversation with his friend; you’re not paying attention, wanting so earnestly that you think you might die before they touch you.
A glass of something - whiskey, you think - is placed down on the glass coffee table in front of you, but you don’t touch it, preferring to focus on the men. Hongjoong gives Seonghwa a glass and he sips it, humming at the taste before he finally turns towards you.
His voice cuts through the tension, “What do you want us to do to you tonight?”
What do you want them to do? That’s something you can answer, moreso now that you’ve got your wits about you again, eyes flickering to his lips to give him enough nonverbal consent as you can - you want them to do fucking everything.
With another sip of his drink, he stands up sharply, offering you a hand. Hongjoong’s already gone somewhere, you realise, the shorter man gone from the living room.
Taking Seonghwa’s hand before you can doubt yourself, you decide you’ve already come this far, and he takes you further, leading you down the hallway to the bedroom. Every joke you had stored about vampires not sleeping dies on your lips as soon as you see it, the large bed and pretty much nothing else in the room. The bedposts are clad in canopies just like the club, the mattress clad in dark, satin sheets and with one of your men for the night perched on the edge. He looks satisfied, like he knew this was coming, and Seonghwa leads you to sit on the bed.
“If you need us to stop at any point-”
“I know,” You cut the taller man off, situating in front of him on the bed. The vampire blood has pretty much worn off by now but your gut is still clenching, arousal building up from the simple idea of you having these two men at once, although you can’t help all of the questions you still have. “Do you do this often?”
“Do what often?” Hongjoong says from in front of you, lips curling up like he knows exactly what you mean.
Seonghwa’s hands move to your dress, pulling the fabric up just enough to your waist to expose your panties. “Um,” you start, breath heavy, “bring- bring humans back, and-”
“Oh, that?” He says, eyes dropping to between your legs. You’re know you’ve soaked through the cotton already, and you’re definite his eyes flicker red this time, telling you that he sees it. You squirm with embarrassment. “No, we don’t. Humans break too easy.”
“More like you’re too heavy-handed,” Seonghwa murmurs like an afterthought. His hands roam over your body, too warm for someone who’s meant to be cold. His fingers hook in your panties, teasing, and Hongjoong sips on his drink, content to watch for now. “Should I take these off?”
“Yeah,” you mumble, and Hongjoong’s head tilts. Without him needing to say anything, you straighten up a little, toes curling into the sheets, “yes, please, Seonghwa.”
The “good girl” you get from them both is enough to make you preen, and the man behind you rewards you with taking off your panties, like he was waiting for his friend to tell him he was allowed.
“Keep this up for me,” he motions, and your hands move to your dress, obediently holding it up just enough to show your core. You’re wet, you can feel it - the arousal slicks up to your swollen bud and down past your pussy, dripping to the other hole between your asscheeks. It’s killing you that neither of them are touching you, so content with waiting, letting you feel the tension.
Seonghwa’s fingers finally dip down between your legs, forming a vee up your folds and just barely brushing against the pudge of your clit - you whine, knuckles whiting where they hold your dress up and Hongjoong just watches, across from you both with the two top buttons of his shirt undone, drink in hand.
“How’s she looking?” The man behind you says, quiet in your ear but seemingly loud enough for Hongjoong to hear it - he lets out a noise of amusement in response, placing his glass down on the table. It clatters, glass on glass sharp against your ears, and Seonghwa’s fingers continue their inspection; your legs tremble as they slide down to your hole, prodding teasingly, but you’re in such a position that all you can do is sit there and take it, Seonghwa’s forearm firm around your tummy. You’re convinced this was intentional.
Hongjoong rises from his seat, feet heavy as he struts over to the two of you. He’s on his knees in a beat, pretty face only a few inches from your cunt, and your hips buck desperately.
“I’m not eating it, little thing,” He chuckles, reaching up to swipe his own thumb through your arousal, making a few tight, quick circles around your clit. It wracks a moan from your chest, hoarse and so airy you’re a little embarrassed, but he coos at you, “how long have you been this wet? Since before we gave you that blood?”
“W-way before, since- since I saw you,” You admit, chest heaving, and he rewards you a few more circles against your bud. Seonghwa keeps you spread, and when his friend gives you a few more touches at a rhythm that makes your eyes cross he pulls your thigh back towards him, forcing you to take it. “I- it’s so sensitive there, please-”
“Side effect, honey,” Seonghwa says it like you’re stupid, and you nod dumbly because you’d believe anything he said right now, proving his point. “Why don’t you just feel it, hm? Try not to cum though, yeah?”
It feels impossible right now. Hongjoong’s thumb circles your clit, fast and steady like he knows exactly how to take you apart already, and your hole gushes dumbly down onto their bed. You’re making a mess, you know you are, squirming and writhing on a vampire’s lap while his just-as-dangerous friend rubs your pussy better than your own hands ever could, but you can’t help it - you moan and whine and whimper, hands impatiently moving from your dress to grip at Seonghwa’s thighs.
“We told you we’d make you a horny little thing, but this,” Hongjoong eyes your cunt, looking nothing but thrilled, “this is pathetic. I bet you want to cum so bad already, little clit so fucking swollen you can’t take it.”
It brings your brain back to life, remembering what Seonghwa said, digging your nails into the leather on his thighs with a sharp buck of your hips, “w-why- why can’t I cum?”
“Why would you be allowed to cum already?” Seonghwa laughs mirthlessly. “Have you earned it? I don’t think you have.”
Your head spins. Hongjoong presses down further, slides his hand down until he’s pushing two fingers into your pussy, past the initial resistance and deep until he can curve his fingers up, forcing through slick and mess to reach that spot.
“Mm, she hasn’t,” He says, “all she’s done is been a slut all night. I think she could use learning some manners. Learning how to wait for things, especially.”
His fingers tap against your g-spot and your jaw drops, thighs threatening to close where they’re held apart, voice warbling, “but I w-wanna cum.”
“You do?” Hongjoong laughs, “are you close?”
Voice raising higher, your bottom lip trembles, nodding, the tension in your stomach building with each curl of his fingers, “mmhm!”
His fingers leave you, and although it’s your first proper edge it feels cruel, mean, and your gasp is accompanied by a harsh clenching of your hole around nothing. Slick cascades down your folds, ignored, and you cry out, head rolling on Seonghwa’s shoulder. He shushes you gently, stroking your hair.
“Soon, honey, soon,” He says, and you’re not convinced but you’re still coming down from a denied orgasm and can’t understand fully. “How did that feel?”
“H-hurt,” you strain, and the shorter vampire flicks your clit to laugh at the way you squeak. “It hurt, I- I don’t- I wanna cum-”
His hand still strokes you, kissing at your hairline and down your face until he presses his lips against yours - you hadn’t even realised they hadn’t kissed you but now it feels like a reward, Seonghwa’s tongue claiming your mouth while you lean at an awkward angle to get more. You can’t help the feverish moan you let out, coming down from a harsh edge and being given a pretty man’s lips; it would fully overtake your senses if not for the feeling of the other man moving between your legs. He keeps your jaw positioned against him, hold firm, distracting you with wet, dominating kisses.
You whimper into his mouth, legs still so open, and the feeling of something wet hitting your folds makes you try to pull away and watch.
“No, don’t you worry about that,” He murmurs, and you see the flickering of his teeth - your back arches, skin almost tingling with the need to have him bite you, drink your blood, be his favourite. He rewards you with a nip to your lower lip, just strong enough to break the skin. As soon as the blood hits his tongue he moans, so deep and strangled that you moan right back, scrambling at his arms.
A wet suck on your pussy, and your hips surge far away from him and towards whatever that was. He finally lets you go, your chin smudged with your own blood, eyes fluttering open to see Hongjoong between your legs.
His tongue flicks over your clit, fast and precise, eyes moving up to you and landing directly on your to gauge your reaction.
You’re loud, face crumpling in ecstasy, moans tumbling from your lips quicker than you realise, hand moving to his hair to keep him right there so you can chase it. He lets you, surprisingly enough, groaning at the sensation and rewarding you with his tongue delving deeper into your folds, sucking arousal straight from your hole to spit it back on your pussy again.
The other man seems to savour the taste of your blood on his tongue, licking over his own lips to make sure that he’s gotten as much as he can before moving from behind you. Without the sturdiness of his body behind you, you’re left to fall against the sheets, and your hands automatically come to the pillow, grabbing and pulling and almost ripping your nails right through the fabric.
Seonghwa settles between your legs, right next to Hongjoong. You’re not able to question it because he noses at Hongjoong’s cheek until he looks at him with lust-filled eyes, your slick drowning his chin and his surly lips. The loss of stimulation doesn’t have long enough to bother you because the shorter man pulls at Seonghwa’s hair, yanking him towards him and enveloping him in a messy, spit-filled kiss, both of them sharing the taste of your blood and arousal.
“Mm, fuck, tastes good,” He moans, sucking on Seonghwa’s bottom lip. You moan at the sight, hips bucking for something, anything, but the two men continue to fuck each other’s mouths with their tongues, lips meeting in a heavy exchange - they’ve done this before, you’re sure, too natural in the way they take over each other’s lips.
It only lasts a second longer before they’re pulling away, only this time both men’s lips are on you, Seonghwa sucking your labia into his mouth and letting them go with a wet pop. Hongjoong moves up to your clit, sucking it into his mouth harshly and giving you the stimulation you need, almost too much but not enough. Your body starts to slick with sweat, too warm in your dress but unable to do anything but take it, both men’s tongues swirling around your cunt like they’ve done it a million times.
“Oh- oh my god,” you cry out, in disbelief at the sight in front of you. Both men’s heads move against you, mouths wet and sloppy against your core. Seonghwa moves to lick over your clit, quick kitten licks that have you chasing the pleasure, itching to hold them against you - you imagine they wouldn’t let that slide now that they’re both down there, having their fix. Gripping onto the pillow with another sharp noise, you buck your hips against them, staring down at the mess of tongues and slick that ruin you. It feels so good, so messy but so imprecise and if you just have a little bit more on your clit- “fuck, fuck, feels so good, I-”
“You’ll take what you’re fucking given,” Hongjoong pulls off enough to say, and it’s said so simply that there’s no room to argue. You try to stop squirming but you can’t help it, toes curling and messy cunt rocking to meet their mouths, Hongjoong darting his tongue inside your hole to clean you from the inside. The new sensation makes you gasp, fingers tightening where they grip the pillow, and he does it again, again, curling it a little to see the way you moan, loud and broken.
When their eyes flit up to you this time, you’re surprised to see they’re both fully red now, hungry, dangerous. Seonghwa’s fingertips reach your mound, pulling back to expose your clit to their mouths. It’s too much, too sensitive, and when he sucks over it again you realise you’re dangerously close to cumming. A brief, bratty thought flashes through your mind - could you just let go? - but you remember who they are, what they’re giving you, what they’ve promised to do. You’d rather stay on their good sides if it means getting all of that.
“I’m- I’m close again,” you breathe, and Seonghwa hums, sucking on your clit like it’s a damn popsicle. He doesn’t stop, pushing you right to the brink, and the other man reaches up and slides two fingers past your folds just to really torture you. It’s the most difficult thing you’ve ever had to do, avoiding moving so that the tiniest thing doesn’t send you over the edge. You whine when he taps against your g-spot, shaking your head so rapidly you make yourself dizzy, hips trying to crawl away from the pleasure.
“So good she’s denying herself now,” Seonghwa murmurs, stroking your mound, “don’t be cruel, Joong, look at her trying so hard.”
The man in question does look, eyes round and amused and so red as he watches your struggle. You squirm and writhe until he eventually slides his fingers out, and you fly backwards from the precipice so fast it makes you sob wetly, tears begging to fall from your eyes. Seonghwa pecks your clit softly; Hongjoong doesn’t look bothered, leaning back on his haunches to finally pull some of his clothes off.
You’re exposed to a lot of skin, plush yet firm muscle that begs your hands to touch it when he unbuttons his shirt and throws it to the floor. Seonghwa enters your vision, looming over you and making quick work of your dress - it’s like something goes unsaid, like they know what they both want to do to you and when. It lands on the floor next to Hongjoong’s shirt and you’re moved onto your tummy, automatically scrambling onto your hands and knees with an arch to your back that has the taller man groaning in appreciation.
The sound of a belt buckle is loud, mocking to your ears as you can’t see anything. You hear the sound of fabric hitting the floor again, and then the feeling of a man behind you - not as much of a presence, so you assume Hongjoong, slighter but firmer; heavy-handed too, if the harsh slap he lands on your ass is anything to go by.
Knees crawl closer to you on the bed. Seonghwa positions himself in front of you, shirt now gone too - you wonder when he did that, but you’re so overwhelmed by the men and their two edges have you so dizzy that you can’t question it, mumbling blissfully. You’re able to watch him undo his belt, his trousers being pushed down to his ankles and further onto the floor, his boxers being moved just under his balls to expose his cock.
Seonghwa’s cock is long, thick enough to make your mouth water but not so thick that you think taking him will be a challenge. In fact, your pussy gushes wetly looking at it, the way his tan, erect shaft lays in a smattering of dark hair that leads up to his navel. He grips his base, shows it to you because he can see you can’t stop looking; the way he starts to pump it inches away from your face is cruel.
You inhale sharply at the feeling of a cockhead swiping through your folds, intentionally teasing but capturing your attention effortlessly. Hongjoong’s hand comes down on the small of your back, firm, “do you want it, sweetheart?”
“Yeees,” you writhe eagerly, Seonghwa’s hand coming into your hair to keep you still. He jerks his shaft inches from your face and moves your head onto his thigh, and you lick your lips, wanting nothing more than to be stuffed from both ends. Will they let you cum now? You have a feeling it’s a no, but still, “want it. Gimme both, lemme- wanna cum on it, please-”
“Greedy bitch,” Hongjoong laughs, using his thumb to push his shaft downwards. The tip just about catches on your hole and you whine, thighs shaking as you try to move back towards him - his hand keeps you still, keeping you between him and his friend of eternity. “What did I tell you?” He asks, and your head spins, unknowing of anything but getting yourself full, “stop thinking with your cunt. We’ll decide when you cum, if you cum.”
He’s playing with you, you’re sure, but you’re also sure that he’s mean enough to leave you high and dry once he’s finished using you if you’re not good. With your eyes fluttering shut, you let out a loud whimper of defeat, and he chuckles again from behind you.
“That’s right, quiet now.”
If Seonghwa’s bothered by his friend’s teasing he doesn’t show it, hand tightening at his head and focusing on pleasuring himself. It’s daunting, the way his head rolls back against the headboard but his eyes stay on you, the strings of drool that fall past your lips at the sight, wetting the sparse hair on his thigh. His grip tightens in your hair, tongue curling over his teeth and you see them, sharp and protruding now, and it’s too much to take.
“Please,” You gasp, “please, please, please, fuck, I’ll beg, I-”
“You are begging,” Hongjoong hums, “it’s not very good, though. Beg better. Beg better for me to shove my cock in your little human pussy.”
It’s embarrassing how quickly you respond. “Mm- mm, fuck, please, please, please, want it so bad, want you to- want you to fuck me, bite me, claim me, please, I’ll be yours, both of you-”
He doesn’t say anything, no praise, no confirmation of your hard work - he slides home in one deep thrust, cock so thick your pussy has to stretch to accommodate it despite his fingers spreading you open earlier. It feels like everything you’ve ever wanted, one thrust taking you apart and putting you back together again, and he doesn’t wait; he starts to fuck you vigorously, hips kicking up a rhythm against the plush of your ass.
“Tight little thing, aren’t you?” He sounds unaffected, tone level, “wet enough to drip down to my fucking balls, too. How’s it feel?”
“Mm, I- oh, oh-”
“Yeah,” he smiles, and pushes your head onto Seonghwa’s cock. It’s silent permission for you to start, and you immediately surge forwards to suckle around the head. After his teasing it’s leaking pearlescent drops, and you lick straight from the piss slit with your tongue, swirling it around the head with a delighted moan. Seonghwa swallows hard, sighing, and although you want to take your time Hongjoong grips onto your hips tighter and fucks into you so hard your head slides down the other man’s length too quickly, too fast, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. “Oh, sorry,” he laughs, “did you think you were in control then? Gag on it.”
You moan, delighted, pussy throbbing so hard Hongjoong feels it and lets out a sharp inhale, sucking his teeth. He starts to bounce against you quicker, fucking you down his friend’s cock, and Seonghwa’s hands move to your hair to control your movements a little more.
Managing to breathe through your nose for the most part, it isn’t too bad, but Seonghwa’s dick is long and it hits the back of your throat so hard you wince and whine through the pain. He bucks his hips upwards, full lips parting in silent, eager little breaths and fucking against the back of your mouth a few more times before he lets you up for air. As soon as your head hits his thigh again, you start whining, too full of Hongjoong’s cock still and Seonghwa laughs breathlessly.
“Shit, you’re just like this, aren’t you?” He grips himself at the base, slapping his cock against your cheek, “don’t even need the blood,” he murmurs, in awe, “you’re just this fucking desperate.”
Hongjoong’s thumb slides down, just barely passing over where his cock stretches you, and the extra stimulation reminds you of your ruined orgasms. You begin to babble something incoherent, some form of pleading, and he sighs wetly and hooks it into your gummy hole alongside his shaft. The stretch is too much - you let out a loud squeal, feet kicking where they lay and he has to pin you down with his hips while Seonghwa teases himself in front of you, starting to strip his shaft again.
You land on your tummy, Hongjoong fucking into you without abandon, and the sheets just barely brush against the pudge of your clit. Suddenly, you’re sobbing, too sensitive and too close, trying to writhe away from the pleasure but the pressure of his body keeps you there.
“I- too much, please, I’m close-”
“Just a little more,” Seonghwa groans, forcing his cockhead past your lips again, “suck on this and stay quiet, honey.”
You’re barely suckling on it, but it’s something to focus on while you try to quell your orgasm. Your thighs burn and your cunt drools but you have to be good, have to do what they say, or- well, you’re not sure, but the need to please them is stronger than any need you have to cum. Seonghwa moves your head on his shaft, softly up and down just to keep him sated for now, and you hum and whine around a full mouth.
“F-fuck, yeah, gonna cum,” Hongjoong breathes, and it’s the first time you hear him sound affected. His hips snap into your ass, eyes fixated on the way the flesh ripples every time, and he fucks inside of your wet cunt a few more times before he pulls out with a sharp inhale. You hear the sound of him stripping his shaft, slick wet noises that make your ears turn red because you’re responsible for that, and on a tight grip upwards you feel the beginnings of his release. “Fuck, yeah, mm- there you go, honey, t-there you go.”
He sounds almost soft, but you know better, the hot strips of his white cum burning his mark into the small of your back. It drips down your skin when you squirm from the feeling of it, and he smears it down to your ass, messy and territorial.
Seonghwa pulls you down to the base of his shaft once more, so deep your eyes water, and then he rips your head up by your hair sharply.
“On your back,” He urges, cheeks flushed and teeth permanently out now, so sharp but alluring. They nip at your jugular when you listen to him, rolling onto your back despite the mess undoubtedly staining their bedsheets. He pushes your thigh back to your chest, long hair cascading over his forehead, gripping the base of his dick firmly, just barely angled downwards to your pussy, “do you want it, my love?”
“Please,” you groan, hole sore but so desperate, clenching rhythmically where it tries to pull him inside. “Please, give it to me, please-”
“I’m not that mean,” He murmurs, clearly referring to his counterpart - Hongjoong only laughs, sprawled on the bed naked with his cock softening against his muscled thigh. The sight causes a fire to burn in your gut; you want them both again, but you’re also very aware of the fact you haven’t cum yet, and Seonghwa seems like he might give that to you. With your leg pulled back, you’re spread open, and from Hongjoong’s ministrations it doesn’t take a lot to shove his cock inside, impatient and longer than the last one you took, so deep it knocks into your cervix when he’s fully inside and you squeal, hands moving to his shoulders for purchase. “Fuck, you are wet,” he says, other hand moving to your tummy to keep you flat, “how much of that is from our blood?”
“I-” he starts moving, and you gasp sharply, eyebrows knitting in a moan of pleasure. He’s good at this, just like Hongjoong was, and after a few hesitant thrusts he’s able to aim specifically at the spot that makes your eyes cross. “Fuck, I- it’s just from you, please-”
“I know, I know, I shouldn’t tease you,” He coos, hand smoothing over your hair. He starts to fuck you quicker, rocking against you at such a pace that you can’t help the way your orgasm starts to build already, pussy gushing a river and smearing over his pubes, his happy trail, his thighs. You start to buck your hips from the delicious sight, clit burning with need, hands gripping onto him for dear life. “I’m gonna let you,” he says, like he knows you were wondering, “you’ve waited so long, hm? I know, baby, let me make it happen.”
It’s a promise that he makes quick work of, both of his hands pushing your legs into a vee. It allows him to fuck you deeper, shaft slick as it moves in and out of you, his lips parting in a moan as he watches it. It doesn’t take long to get the same sensation Hongjoong gave you, hands gripping your trembling thighs as he picks up the pace, “Fuck, so warm, how did you- how did you last so long?”
“I didn’t get my cock sucked by her,” Hongjoong says, head tilting as he perceives you. Your eyes water, so close but not allowed to let go until they say, and he smiles, pleased, “looks like she’s broken in now, Hwa. She’s gonna cry for it.”
“Oh, yeah?” Seonghwa’s breath stutters, thumb and finger gripping your cheeks and squishing them like he’s scolding a child. A shiver runs through you at the treatment, tears spilling over, and your arousal starts to cream at the base of his cock, a white ring that has him groaning. “Should we let you cum, honey? Have you earned it?”
“Have, I have,” you manage, nails digging deep, and he groans at the feeling, kissing you again so hard his teeth bite against your lower lip without him meaning to. When he tastes your blood again he sucks it, straight from the plush of your lip, something painful that has your orgasm threatening to break, about to shatter you from the inside out - you can’t take it anymore, writhing, humping your cunt on his cock, “please, I- I can’t, I’m gonna-”
Seonghwa doesn’t look at his friend for permission this time. He pulls away, mouth slick with the dark red, metallic liquid, and starts to rock into you so hard you start to cry. His cock hits that spot inside you deliciously, over and over, more intense than anything you’ve felt in your life, and you can’t even warn him. Your pussy starts to quiver, walls clenching around him in warning, and he doesn’t stop, fucking you in just the right way to pull you over the edge with him.
“F-fuck, I-” you gasp, trembling. The sensation overwhelms every single one of your senses, finally letting go after so long of being their plaything, and your cunt clenches down hard on his cock as you cum. It’s so tight it stops him from moving, but he grinds his pubic bone against you in small, aborted thrusts, just enough to keep you writhing and riding it out, moaning high and airy in your throat.
Your hole relaxes once you’ve finished soaking him, rivulets of wet stringing his pubes together and his breath hits your neck. He starts to fuck you without abandon again, your pussy screaming in overstimulation but you want him to cum so badly you’d take it three times over, legs falling uselessly against the bed, nails scratching down his torso.
“Just a b-bit more, my love,” he sounds apologetic, his thrusts proving otherwise, cock digging into your cervix hard. You whine, and he kisses the noise away, smearing blood over your lips, dropping his head back to your neck. If you focus on the pleasure enough, you’re sure that you can come again, but another sensation distracts you - Hongjoong, the other side of your neck, still naked and still soft but with something else flickering in those red eyes.
You realise too late. Soft lips press against either side in a gentle kiss, one each, and then two sets of teeth dig in hard enough to break skin. Seonghwa pulls out, cumming messily on your pussy in his way of marking you, and the two men let out satisfied groans when your blood hits their tastebuds.
You wonder if this is what they wanted all along. As your vision goes black, you realise it’s definitely what you wanted.
Waking up, you blink sleep out of your eyes. It was clearly a good sleep, because god, you feel heavy, limbs tired and taking what feels like an age to move. While they warm up you notice the taste in your mouth, something sour that tells you that you may have drunk more than you remember because you had definitely forgotten to brush your teeth last night.
Speaking of last night… you’re still trying to wake up, but it seems to be a bit of a blur. You remember getting to the club with your friends, and talking a bit with those men, and then having a few more drinks, and then… what happened then? It feels like a dream, like you didn’t really go, like the entire night wasn’t real. When you open your eyes, you’ll surely see the same walls of your bedroom, the same pyjamas you wore the night before-
You open your eyes, and you’re definitely not in your bedroom.
Where your room has your band posters and desk with all of your trinkets, you seem to be in some sort of extension of the nightclub you were in last night, room draped with dark reds and black satins. The bed is the comfiest thing you’ve had the pleasure of laying on, where the mattress and blanket seem to dip and cling wherever you move like sand, and although the burgundy canopy obscures your vision you can see other furniture around the room. Dark wood mostly fills the room up, solid, sturdy furniture that looks as clean as it is old, and there’s a man sitting in the corner of the room staring at you.
There’s a man sitting in the corner of the room staring at you.
With the survival instincts of a gnat, you surge forwards and yank the canopy away, facing your intruder. Unmoving, he stares at you knowingly and you blink wildly, hair sticking up every which way, before it comes to you.
“Seonghwa,” you murmur, “shit, I almost-”
“Almost forgot?” He says, amused, “it happens. How did you sleep?”
“Amazingly,” you admit, “I-”
Something clicks in your brain. When you turn around, looking behind you, a shorter man with a pleased little smile is gazing at you, not at all tired and with something in his eyes that has your gut burning again.
You remember. Two men- no, not men, two vampires, and they took you apart and made you cum so good that you never want to leave. Is this what everyone had been warning you about?
Seonghwa rises from his seat. “Did you want anything for food? You must be starving, love.”
It has you faltering. Starving. You are starving, but there’s something else to it, a carnal need that can only be sated by-
“Get back into bed,” you urge. Seonghwa doesn’t look surprised, already moving to the canopy and pulling it aside to let himself onto the mattress. “I- can we-”
Hongjoong tuts, “You really are dumb. All it took was one good fucking, huh? Now you’re running away with the bad men, nowhere to be seen ever again-”
You grip him by the forearm, pulling him on top of you. Instead of showing shock, his grin forms predatory, slow like it has all the time in the world, and you see those two teeth poking out again. It reminds you of last night, and your eyes flicker to your chest, where you can see the remnants of a plethora of two-prong shaped holes.
“I want it again,” you blurt, “want more-”
“Right,” Seonghwa grins, decisive, crawling onto the bed. He’s already ridding his shirt again, exposing planes of tan skin that make your mouth water. His teeth stick out at you, something that should be threatening but it only causes you to whimper in need. “And you know how to ask nicely, don’t you? Not as dumb as you pretend to be.”
Hongjoong finds this amusing.
“Mm, she is, but she still knows better,” his hand pulls at your hair hard. “Where are those manners we taught you last night?”
if you live in mainland united states or know people who do and vaguelywhere they are, PLEASE click this link. please look at this weather map. I do not habe the strength to transcribe it or give better information because of a medical treatment today
if you are in the yellow (tornado watch) you likely need to seek shelter NOW. illinois just apparently recorded the biggest hail stone in the state's history
if you know anyone in the yellow or in the path of the yellow (tornado watch) or pink (severe thunderstorm watch) or orange (severe thunderstorm warning) or red dots (tornado warnings, try not to mistake them for the blizzard warning) you need to inform them that this storm cell is extremely dangerous and in many cases is a 4/5 tornado danger like the area centered around chicago
there is an extremely long line of tornado watches (tornado may soon exist here) and tornado warnings (tornado currently exists here) almost the entire height of mainland US, hundreds of miles wide
depending on where you are and what your local conditions ar, put on sturdy shoes (steel toed if you can) and a coat, grab a flashlight, find whatever helmet you can. or whatever you need to do to prepare for a flood ± tornado ± really bad storm. this is the highest tornado risk this year so far
please stay safe
live coverage nationwide:
Official home of Ryan Hall, Y'all — live severe weather coverage, expert forecasts, radar tools, preparedness tips, and community updates.
this live video stream will likely eventually go down and be replaced with another live stream from ryan hall
in many places in the united states, tornado watches and warnings are NOT being issued in time to save lives. ryan hall issues hyper local tornado watches and warnings and alerts in many case many minutes sooner than the national weather service (if they ever catch up) while giving hyper local reference areas such as "the tornado is headed towards the church on church hill road street, which is also close to the best buy in electronics plaza"
pairing﹢jung wooyoung x fem!reader x ateez
genre﹢smut. uni!au, free use, overstimulation, degradation, possessive + obsessive tendencies, praising, usage of pet names (baby, angel, princess, pretty, good girl), biting and marking, public/semi-public places, threesomes (woosan/woosang/???), unprotected sex, a lot of creampie and aftercare. throat fucking + being tied up (hongjoong), cunnilingus + mirror sex (seonghwa), oral fixation + choking (yunho), cunnilingus + vanilla (yeosang), shower + soft/rough sex (san), cockwarming + blowjob (mingi), rough sex + aftercare (jongho). breeding + degradation/praising + talking about pregnancy + blowjob (wooyoung).
synopsis﹢the cheerleader they all pass around, and the girl who somehow ends up cooling down certain players. the pirates are the stars of the team, who use you after practice, after games, in the locker room, everywhere when nobody’s looking… seven days a week, where every man makes his own fantasy come true.
word count﹢11,5k
you always knew WOOYOUNG was trouble. someone you could easily walk away from, until every step felt like it dragged you closer, like gravity had a new definition just for him. campus knew it too, by the way everybody whispered about a certain cheerleader who walked a little straighter when he passed by, whose cheeks flushed faster than a freshly picked strawberry whenever he looked at her.
it started in the most mundane of ways, because that cheerleader was you. pom-poms clutched tight, the roar of the stadium filling your ears, and he jogged by after warm-ups, sweat clinging to his shirt, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes scanning the field, and somehow, he found you. maybe it was the way you moved, or the adorable way you laughed with your team, or maybe he just decided, without asking, that you belonged to him.
he didn’t corner you that first time. all he did was throw you a glance, his signature charming smile while tilting his head, and your heart betrayed you. he was asking a stupid question about drills, and suddenly, your hands were shaking, your lips barely catching his words. your mind screamed, don’t you dare fall for him, but your body had other ideas.
from there, it became almost ritualistic. subtle touches that lingered too long, casual brushes that left goosebumps on your skin. everyone saw how he took an interest in you, yes, but they didn’t know a thing: this was a game played in hardcore mode, which meant he takes his sweet time preparing for the good stuff. he was possessive, demanding, but never cruel, just persistent and testing the lines you hadn’t realised existed. you became his, not by force, but by consent of your own rational mind that tried to protest and protect you. don’t give in, you told yourself, but you always like to play with fire.
wooyoung was careful at first, a dream boyfriend. guiding your hands, tilting your head to peck your cheeks or lips that tasted like cherry, planning dates and spoiling you rotten. the way he looked at you from the locker room as you and the other girls walked by, or how he nudged you onto his lap during practice breaks, giving you his jersey so you could proudly show off that you are taken and off-limits. however, careful turned to teasing, teasing to demanding, and soon enough, you weren’t just his girlfriend — you became his pretty doll. something beautiful, delicate, to be shown, used, and adored.
evenings with him were cinematic, like you were living in a drama, because something like this couldn’t happen just like that. he would corner you in empty classrooms or on dimly lit hallway, whispering the things he would do to you because you kept wearing that short skirt all day, ass bouncing with your every movement and… keep wearing crop tops like that, you will see how he will top you instead. when he pressed you against a wall, hand on your hip, as he whispered in your ear.
“you walked across campus like that,” your boyfriend was pissed to say at least, eyes dragging over you, “with every guy staring right at you… and you didn’t even look back at me once.”
you open your mouth, but he cuts you off with a soft click of his tongue.
“no,” he says, the grip he had on your hip tightening and that made your stomach twist, “don’t even try to explain, angel. you knew what you were doing.”
shaky and nervous breath leaves past your lips because his touch isn’t where you expect it: he never gives what you think you want first.
“look at you,” your fingers clutch his shirt, pulling him closer without meaning to, as he laughs under his breath, leaning in until your forehead pressed against his shoulder. “walking around in that tiny top, that little skirt…”
his voice drops, almost mocking you, when his knuckles skim your thigh, “you keep wearing that uniform like this, and see if i don’t end up pinning you to the nearest surface next time. classroom, hallway, locker room… i don’t care.”
“woo…” your breath catches, a desperate sound you can’t swallow down, and he chuckles at your every reaction. his hand finally slips beneath the hem of your skirt and the safety shorts that kept nothing safe from him, or the hungry stares of every boy in the whole damn university. fingertips trace slow patterns against your clit, pressing and playing with your bud, opening you wide enough to make you moan, but do nothing about to soothe your throbbing cunt that aches for his touch.
“yeah, baby. say my name like that...” he smiles against your skin, licking your neck while kissing and biting it, “you want more?” he asks, voice so sweet and cruel, when he pushes one finger inside that gets you all worked up, and gosh you are so wet it just makes it easier for him.
despite him being rough and edging you to the max by suddenly pulling his finger out of your cunt and kissing your cheeks, leaving you all flushed and confused, there were tender moments. he checks your shoulder after rough dance moves after your practice, makes sure you are eating by preparing you homemade food, reminds you to drink water, tells you to rest, even as he whispers, you are mine.
the contrast made you so dizzy and confused, because the boy who could destroy you in a few seconds also made sure you were okay, and that was part of the thrill. the guilt and pleasure blended into one, a cocktail you couldn’t resist sipping, again and again. for some reason, being with wooyoung felt like heaven and hell at once.
and hell being when the closest of his friends, the ones that he trusted with his heart and calls his brothers, were allowed to play too. it felt like betrayal, like you were selling both your body and soul to someone else. sometimes they were gentle, sometimes rough, but when their touches were sanctioned, when wooyoung watched, sometimes joining in, the guilt morphed into something addictive. the excitement of being played with, looked at, used, made you want even more.
you were fully present and knew what you were doing, but the pleasure you received from each of the eight men was your little guilty secret. everyone knew you were wooyoung’s girl, only for you to become a cute little plaything, pretty and desperate for the next day, because the lines between ownership and affection blurred.
because he brags about having the prettiest and most adorable girl, and the team teases him about it. besides he still hands you out to them each day… because he loves watching you run back to him after every man ruins you in their own way.
the cheerleader they all pass around, and the girl who somehow ends up cooling down certain players. the pirates are the stars of the team, who use you after practice, after games, in the locker room, on the field when nobody’s looking… seven days a week, where every man makes his own fantasy come true. as for your boyfriend, he gets you whenever he wants — between days, before matches, after matches, whenever he snaps his fingers, they all know to be patient and wait.
soon it became a routine after the first two weeks of getting to know each player more intensely, and wooyoung even made a whole schedule. the calendar in his phone is marked with the names of those who will have you on that specific day.
HONGJOONG AS THE NO MORE MR. NICE GUY
as the team captain, he gets to try out first, more so, when monday comes, he sets the pace for the rest of the week. initially was against the idea or even joining in general, because why would he sleep with his teammate’s girlfriend even if it was voluntary?
hongjoong had nothing against you of course. in his eyes, you were so innocent and sweet, but you turned out to be totally the opposite. he understands why wooyoung liked you; nevertheless, why he immediately took the chance to be with you. you are a good girl, obedient and good-natured, but unlike you, your boyfriend is not.
that's why he was setting an example to be careful through you. let's not mention when wooyoung was more or less to blame for one of their losses, not that he wanted it, he was just not in shape... he could have been if he hadn't skipped practice to be with you and do whatever, or smelling a little bit of weed after hanging out with yeonjun and soobin from the basketball team.
and believe him, he doesn't want to hurt you, but he has to. the captain doesn’t fuck you when he calls you into the empty room: he ruins you with control by tying your wrists behind your back, sits you on your knees between his legs, and makes you earn even a lick of his cock.
locking the door, even putting do not disturb sign, because everyone knows not to interrupt him when he thinks of tactics or formations for the next game. with you still kneeling in front of him, he watches old game tapes, using your throat as stress relief. hooking his fingers under your chin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.
“you listen well, don’t you?” you nod slowly, his thumb brushes your lower lip to make you relax to a certain amount. “use your words, angel.”
“yes… captain.”
he fucks your face nice and slowly, hand in your hair to monitor your movements, murmuring, “knows not to use teeth, hmm…good girl.” so good that he cums in your mouth, making you swallow it all. until the salty tears mix with the taste of his cum, and you smile through your teeth, all dirty until it drips from your chin onto your crop top, on the ground. aren’t you the prettiest dirty little secret the team could keep?
sometimes calls you over with two fingers. you are waiting for him to finish whatever he’s doing before he decides what he wants with you. he could take you in the back of his car. he’s thought about it, you’ve thought about it but he wasn’t in the mood for that. so he takes you to his apartment, with you dry-humping him on the couch while he fingers you slowly, his silver rings stay on as the cold metal against your warm skin sends little shivers through you.
“wooyoung’s been slacking lately, hasn’t he?” he watches your face carefully when he says it. rubbing yourself on his legs, face shying away from his. he likes hearing your voice when you defend your boyfriend, seeing the conflict flicker behind your eyes. “think you could tell him to do better?”
he doesn’t let you cum until he decides you’ve earned it. every desperate roll of your hips is noted, and he teases you more. his rings graze your most sensitive spots as he toys with your clit, the sensation almost too much for you to handle.
grinding against him while his hands roam, guiding you until you’re shaking uncontrollably. your moans are soft, needy, and he encourages them just enough to push you closer to the edge, then pulls back, making you whimper and drool in frustration.
whispers filthy little reminders in your ear, “keep your boyfriend in check. tell him to stop slacking… you know it’s your job, and mine too.”
your hips jerk against his leg, begging silently as he denies your release again and again, each denial making you cry louder to the judgment served to you, and not to the one who deserves it.
he presses his face into your neck, low grunts vibrating against your skin, marking you in his own way. when he finally lets you cum, it’s all-consuming, leaving you trembling in his lap, eyes rolling, and he watches every second, satisfied with the control he has over you with just his words.
and when you leave his place, you always look composed, but your head is spinning, and wooyoung can tell immediately that hongjoong got under your skin again.
SEONGHWA KNOWS YOU INSIDE AND OUT
truly a gentleman. he takes care of you, never rushes you, or starts without easing you into it first. makes sure you’re relaxed, not carrying the weight of the week on your shoulders. also loves teasing and praising you with his words almost as much as he loves tasting you. every flick of his tongue, every wet slide in and out comes with a low murmur against your core.
tuesdays are his. he has a key to one of the quieter training rooms, always locks the door behind you. he stretches you out on the table, lifts your legs over his shoulders without warning, pushing your hips back toward him, still holding your pom-poms, as he eats you out like he’s slowly unwrapping his christmas gift: slow licks, tongue teasing, hands holding your thighs open.
“princess, you’re so tight…,” he groans, licking and sucking. “you taste amazing… did you save all this for me?” he teases, opening you wider so you won’t squeeze him to death, not that he would mind.
nibbling at your inner thigh between laps of your cunt. seonghwa’s relentless with the words, praising every inch of your body, even the sounds you produce, such an angelic symphony to his ears. his ego is above the sky, knowing that he can make you feel more than good and more than special. he really can't describe how he's never tasted anything sweeter than you in his life; it's addicting.
“god, your pussy’s perfect… can’t believe this is all mine to play with.” he flirts, and it’s filthy, the way he grins while teasing you, making you melt under his gaze, making you feel like you are the only girl in the whole world, “you’re such a good girl, letting me do this.”
every compliment makes your body shake more, dripping just from his mouth and words. grips your hips so hard you will see the handprints first thing when you look in a mirror.
“you like it when i talk to you like this, don’t you? pretty little thing loves to be praised, hm?” he teases, tongue pushing deeper, he mixes praise and filth perfectly, so you’re caught between feeling worshipped and utterly used, as the combination makes you desperate. trembling, gasping, and completely under his control.
by the time he lifts his head, cheeks wet, lips shiny with your slick, you’re shaking and he’s chuckling. extremely satisfied, because he knows exactly what he’s done to you, and he isn’t done yet. spreading you out further because, as a cheerleader, you are so flexible, it’s so much easier.
and then it happens. your walls clench, pussy gushes over his tongue, spurting uncontrollably as your back arches off the surface. the man groans, licking up every drop, chuckling against your skin: “fuck– you’re insane, look at you squirting for me…” he teases your clit with the tip of his tongue, circling and flicking as he finally lets you rest.
absolutely love to use the empty locker room, he sits you on the counter and kisses every bruise the others left, but he leaves you covered in love bites that would peek out from your uniform the next day. then he bends you over the sink and rails you in the mirror.
your body shakes, voice gone from screaming as he tightly holds your face with one hand, to make you look at the reflections and see how well you take him, and you know better than to disobey the sweet man who gives you everything you need. goes a little harder here, but he never loses control as he watches your face more than, memorising everything.
and he always knows when enough is enough.
the moment your strength begins to fade, he slows down, whispering soft praise meant only for you. once he pulls out and finishes on your ass, he cleans you gently with a towel, making sure you’re not that sticky before hitting the showers. afte that, he helps you sit up, puts your clothes on, then gives you water and something sweet from his backpack, pressing a few soft kisses to your skin while you recover.
the eldest takes a simple photo: his hand resting on your hip, sends it to your boyfriend. not bragging, but to remind him that even if all of them use you in their own ways, you deserve to be treated gently.
wooyoung pretends he doesn’t care about what his hyung implies, but the thought lingers in his mind after he locks his phone.
YUNHO IS THE MVP WHO MAKES YOU BEG
much like wooyoung, he is someone who teases and enjoys pulling reactions out of you until you are begging on your knees to get fucked, touched, kissed, anything. he believes nothing good should be handed over too easily. where’s the fun in that? you have to work a little, have patience, and earn it if you're obedient enough. you are a sweet little angel, the princess of dirty wishes and secrets, so beautiful, and at the same time so his... at least for the day.
and he wonders how he can be so damn possessive over someone he is not even dating, but is merely using for his own selfish desires?
wooyoung gets jealous on wednesdays because yunho knows exactly how far he can push your buttons. he’ll have you flustered, breathless, nearly in tears from frustration, and smile like he’s proud of it. you cry in your boyfriend’s arms about how much your body and mind couldn't take the tension, but at the same time, how much you enjoyed it.
and he is big in every single aspect — tall, long-limbed, hands that could crush yet hold you, and yes… the thing in between that barely fits in your hand. the mvp of the team doesn’t intend to break you until your makeup is smudged and your body gives out completely, but he does. he will bend you over his desk once he gets you to his dorm, fuck you until your back is about to break with your cheer skirt hitched up exposing the curve of your ass to the fullest.
“hush, doll… you don’t want other men knockin’ on my door, telling me to keep it down…” his long and slender fingers would be in your mouth, to keep your mouth busy, “yeah? you have such a pretty voice… i'm sorry i'll have to suppress it.”
your soft gagging only makes him twitch harder, watching your lips stretch around his fingers, wetting them with your saliva, eyes watering as he smirks down at you.
carries you to the bed without pulling out, well, he does have to pull out to change the position because now you are lying on your back, knees pressed tightly to your chest, watching you lose it on his cock while his hands hold your entire body in place. there’s something about your reactions, like he’s studying you the same way he studies opponents.
yunho fucks you while holding both your wrists in one hand, keeping you pinned and completely under his control. adores hearing your whimpers, your soft cries of his name as the length of him is perfectly filling you, creating a full bulge across your tummy that makes your toes curl.
“huh… you feel that, doll?” he murmurs, lips just brushing your ear. “so good… think anyone else could take you like this? think they’d even last a minute?”
“please… y-yunho, i can’t–” your voice trembling, one big hand slides down to your throat. he also loves to choke you, seeing your little breaths hitch, enough to make you gasp and beg.
“what was that? come on, doll, i can’t hear you,” he grins down at you, hips rocking imperceptibly at first, just to remind you how big and heavy he is. every time he moves, you receive a teasing squeeze on your neck. you try to speak, oxygen nearly stops because of the pressure, but it comes out as a strangled, high-pitched plea:
“yun… yunho… please, i– i’m gonna…” your words crumble, begging spilling out in the form of incoherent moans and shaky whimpers. pounding into you, each thrust makes every inch of him fill you, making you groan and gasp for air.
“fuck, princess, look at you… can’t even hold your voice. you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers, cock still hard and very much rearranging your guts, wishing he could take a picture right now and brag to no one but himself about having you like this.
he lets you whine and tremble, making you beg for him to stop until your voice gives out entirely, every moan stolen by his fingers in your mouth or throat. and then, when he finally cums inside you, he stays there, knowing he wrecked you so damn good that you can’t imagine anyone else even touching you for the rest of the week.
YEOSANG CAN BE ROUGH BUT CHOOSES NOT TO BE
he always sees you after you spent the previous day with either yunho, jongho, or san, who made your body sore and you walking funny, sometimes with marks showing under your clothes. it makes him worried every time seeing you like this, even if you hide behind a smile and reassure him it's okay, that you are already used to it.
so he nervously always knocks before entering the room you use on his day, which is thursday, but it really depends on what schedule they made for each week. always asks first, “are you comfortable?” or “do you want to rest instead?” wooyoung actually likes how respectful his best friend is, as he trusts him with you in a way he doesn’t trust the others.
the angel, as he really embodies that nickname, usually starts by carefully laying you down, massaging your thighs and hips while checking for soreness. he presses soft kisses along your stomach, whispering that you look so tired, but so beautiful. he’s quiet, but he’s expressive with his hands.
yeosang never goes rough with you, even though he absolutely could. you know he has strength under all that softness, but he refuses to use it on you. to him, you’re something that needs to be protected from everything he is capable of, and because of that, he is the one wooyoung never worry about.
he spreads your legs so slowly, like your thighs might bruise if he opens them too fast. his fingers are gentle on your skin, as his breath is warm on your inner thigh. then he goes down on you like he was born to do it.
his mouth is the main event; he is so skilled with his tongue and so unbelievably patient. because when he eats you out, he does it until your legs go weak, you’re gripping the sheets, or when you’re softly moaning his name, and tears slip from your eyes. the boy always looks up at you between licks: checking if you’re okay, or if you want more. knows every sensitive spot, every way to make your legs squeeze him tighter and for your hands to tug at his hair if you’re overstimulated. three tugs mean he has to slow down immediately.
“shh… it’s alright, dove. just breathe for me, okay?” because gentleness and tenderness are what he thinks you deserve most.
if he fucks you, it’s vanilla-soft because again, he refuses to hurt you.
lining his flushed cock slowly to your folds, already wet from the way he used his mouth minutes prior, he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, while holding your hand the whole time. sweet angel, holy mother of christ, he is always asking if you are okay, or if you want him to stop or go slower. you want to cry because he is so adorable and good to you, and you always answer the same thing.
his thrusts are steady, never pressing too deep or too far, more so, never pushing you outside the zone of comfort his body offers you. love kissing your shoulder or cheek while doing it, because it makes you open your eyes and realize that you are in fact not dreaming about angels, since one is already with and in you.
and don’t let the gentleness fool you, because he always makes you cum at least twice, sometimes more, although he never pushes you to the edge of pain or exhaustion like the others. his goal is to have you relaxed and at peace, leaving his day smiling, not limping.
your boyfriend pretends to scoff at yeosang’s tender nature. “you treat her like she’s a porcelain doll.” but everyone knows wooyoung appreciates it, because after seonghwa, yeosang is the only one who prevents you from burning out, or being totally worn out and wrecked.
and said boyfriend secretly loves when you come back from a day with the angel because you are relaxed, smelling like coconut body wash, and, surprises surprise, you can walk properly for once. thursday’s the only day of the week when you actually get aftercare during the act, which means the others can keep going hard on their days.
SAN MASKS THE LOVE IN HIS EYES WITH LUST
he is respectful, the kind of man who opens doors, carries your bag, brings you banana milk or shares his sweet treats during practice breaks. but the second he has you alone, every trace of manners disappears as if he were never taught a single one.
when it’s his day, aka friday, usually it’s after practice or a brutal gym session. whenever he’s too in his head and needs a way out.
he doesn’t wait for permission. he hooks his fingers in your waistband, drags you into his lap or against the nearest wall, and kisses you with so much hunger and neediness that he tears your clothes without thinking, mouth hot on your throat, inhaling your scent, like he’s been starving. he stays buried in the crook of your neck until you’re trembling, thighs shaking, overstimulated from nothing but his hands and his breath.
loves the locker room showers. the steam, the echo, the way your moans bounce off the tiles like he’s listening to a melody created for only himself to hear and enjoy. he pins you there, water running over both of you, and devours you like it’s survival instinct: mouth on your neck, chest, hips, thighs, marking everywhere he can reach. when he fucks you in there, it’s loud and so filthy. he grunts, the sound of skin against skin sharp under the water, his hips slamming into you like he’s trying not to cum the second you take all of him.
“hold on for me,” he says, nudging against you. “i’m not gonna last if you make those sounds already.” but then you moan, and his hips snap forward, and you cry out as he growls into your shoulder, biting because he can’t help it.
“fuck– you’re loud today. are you doing this on purpose?” his tone is almost accusing, too breathless to be anything but honest. “driving me crazy, baby.”
his hand slides around your throat, lifting your chin just enough to make you focus on him.
“look at me,” he pants, voice deeper, “i said– look at me while i fuck you.”
he leaves the most hickeys, marking you where he knows wooyoung will see later. you never walk out of his day unmarked. and he loves it when you show up the next morning with them barely hidden, loves seeing his best friend stare at the ones on your collarbone. it’s why the san and wooyoung threesomes get violent: san gets louder, rougher, more possessive because he’s fighting himself and his best friend at the same time. your boyfriend is telling him he’s too slow, too gentle, and san fucking you harder out of spite.
his days are always the messiest because he uses you to empty his head. stress, rage, jealousy, confusion — all of it gets taken out on your body.
most times, he has you from behind, gripping your hair, panting against your ear. he growls when you moan too loud, not because he wants you quiet, it makes him lose control. he finishes inside you and doesn’t stop, keeps fucking you through it, until you’re limp and boneless in his arms.
but he’s also the one who, on some days, becomes unbearably gentle. service top to his core, worshipping every inch of you when he’s scared you will break or disappear like a dream. he’s soft with his hands, slow with his mouth, careful with your body. he kisses you like he’s apologising for things he hasn’t even done yet.
“i’ve been thinking about you all damn day,” he kisses your neck, open-mouthed and desperate. “yeah princess, you miss me too? show me how much you missed me then.”
when he starts thinking about how much he wants you, how much he cares… that’s when he switches off. full dominant, he doesn’t let you rest because resting means thinking, and thinking means remembering how much he likes you, and how much he shouldn’t like you. he hates that wooyoung can see it in the way he touches you when the three of you are spending the night. so he fucks your hard instead, burying the feelings under multiple bruises and orgasms.
he needs you. he won’t say it to anyone or admit it to himself, but he needs you so bad it makes his heart ache for someone he can only touch but not have.
MINGI WHO WILL ACCIDENTALLY EDGE YOU
just like yunho, he is huge when it comes to everything: height, hands, build, dick size. alas he’s also clumsy in the way that makes you crazy, because he doesn’t mean to torture you... he’ll have you trembling, begging, nails digging into his shoulders, your whole body shaking because you’re so close, and then he pulls away shyly, like he just missed hitting the goalie during practice instead of destroying your soul.
his day is saturday, and everyone knows it; wooyoung never worries because mingi never tries to steal you or ask for extra time. he doesn’t want you as his, he just wants to fuck you, pamper you, and fuck you again. no competition for your boyfriend, but a danger to everyone else.
at his house, in his room he always pulls you into his lap, settles you over his cock, and makes you sit there while he opens his laptop for match analysis or whatever the coach dumped on him for the weekend. you’re cockwarming him while he watches someone doing a free kick, your pussy clenching every time he clicks or shifts. his thighs are huge, his build perfect, and when he laughs at someone’s mistake on the footage, his abs tighten, and so do you, which makes him chuckle even harder.
“doing so good f’me, baby… keep still.” however, he’s the one who moves with little thrusts, tiny rolls of his hips, just enough to make you squeeze him, and after thirty minutes when he gets bored, he snaps the laptop shut with one hand, bends you over his desk, and fucks you until the wood shakes under your palms.
speaking of fucking, mingi is so hyper after wins. all that energy, adrenaline, and all that strength nowhere to go except you. he finds you, grabs your hand, and with the brightest grin says, “sorry seonghwa-hyung, you can take her next saturday!” and drags you away before anyone can argue.
the team doesn’t mind. they switch days like trading cards, because when mingi needs you, he needs you.
takes you somewhere private: stairwell, empty classroom, storage room, literally anywhere. panting against your neck, squeezing your waist with big restless hands, too tired to be gentle but too sweet to be rough without warning. you don’t have to say anything, he knows when you’re close by the way your breath changes every second. so he makes you sit on his lap again. one hand slides between your thighs, slender fingers spreading you wider, thumbs pressing into soft flesh while he watches you try to breathe through the frustration he created.
he whispers filth into your ear like he’s narrating a bedtime story: how tight you are, how pretty you sound, how good you are for him. right when you’re about to cum, he pulls his hand away and holds your hips down so you can’t chase your own high.
“not yet, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the back of your shoulder. “wanna hear you scream again.”
he loves making you cum from dirty talk alone. loves watching your face change, your lips part, your eyes get all watery while he whispers exactly how he wants to fuck you. and he whimpers, every damn time. mingi may be the big guy, but he’s also a loser who’s never had a girl like you before. your touch turns him into a trembling and whimpering mess.
when he finally fucks you, its lazy and slow, like he has hours to waste and wants to spend every one buried inside you. praises you nonstop, something from “good girl… fuck, so tight…” to “just a little more, baby, you got it…”
mingi knows he’s big and that you need time to adjust. he waits by holding your thighs open gently, rubbing your hips until your body relaxes enough to take him deeper. and when you finally sink all the way onto him, he looks up at you with the kind of awe that makes your stomach twist and pussy flutter like butterfly wings.
he also likes cumming on you. your ass, stomach, breasts, thighs — anywhere he can see it. when you kneel under his desk, taking him in your mouth, and let him use your throat… he holds your hair, mouth falling open, hips bucking because you’re sucking him like it’s the only job you have. when he spills in your mouth, and it drips down your chin, onto your tits, he moans. not a grunt, but a desperate, high-pitched whimper.
he’s such a pathetic loser about it that he sometimes cums in his pants before you even do anything intimate.
JONGHO JUST TELLS YOU WHAT TO DO, AND YOU DO IT
the youngest of them all, also physically the strongest, has the energy to fuck you for hours, slowly wearing you down until you can’t think or feel any muscle or nerve in your body.
he doesn’t ask or fool around like everyone with mindless teasing. just simply tells you with short commands that are already imprinted in your brain, such as: kneel, turn around, hold still. and you always listen, because there’s something in his voice that makes your whole body go warm and obedient before you can process what you were told, something like a muscle memory.
has insane stamina, the kind of endurance that makes you afraid and excited at the same time. he can fuck you soft or rough, slow or fast, and believe it that he already done it countless times. he's careful of course, observant; he could always be worse, not even giving you time to catch your breath. except maybe the fact that you're not his, and that doesn't allow his conscience and ego to do whatever he wants with you.
on a sunday, a place he usually uses is the physical therapy room, on the massage table, after games or practice when everyone is home, he stays just to do his recovering. you are sitting on the hard mattress, legs open for him and him between them, holding you by the hips, fucking you deep and steady. hitting the same spot each time until you’re trembling and moaning, gasping how you can’t take it anymore, showing him by digging your nails into his back until they leave marks.
“just little bit more, mm? you can handle it.” knows you are sensitive, but proceeds to keep going, cock pushing deeper as the wet and sloppy sounds echo in the empty room.
he’s the only one who never sends wooyoung a photo or update. your boyfriend appreciates that because he doesn’t want to see cum leaking out of you again. jongho is private about you, in the sense that he doesn't want to share what he does to you. you could tell the others if you want, but you don’t. he never asks you to stay quiet; you can be shared, that’s the agreement, but his moments with you aren’t for group discussion.
so your mouth stays shut, but you always tell your boyfriend everything.
another preferred location of his is the gym room he has in his own apartment. picking you up like you weigh nothing, one hand under your thigh, the other behind your back, body heat radiating off him after a workout. your back hits the wall, and he’s already inside you, fucking you while your feet don’t even touch the ground as they are wrapped around his waist.
each thrust drives a desperate sound out of you, your hands clinging to his shoulders because he’s too strong and too much. he always apologizes, “sorry… sorry, pretty, i’m being too rough–”
you always shake your head, squeezing his biceps to reassure him, “don’t stop… please, don’t stop.”
and he listens because jongho fucks in perfect control. the same angle and the same spot every damn time: he knows exactly where it is, and he hits it like he’s built for it. he's so thick, fitting in you completely, even though you're already so stretched from previous days and men. but he moves in such a way that it makes you roll your eyes and see stars.
makes you look at him when you are about to cum, thumb under your chin if he has to, lifting your face so your eyes stay on his. loves finishing inside you, burying himself as deep as possible so you feel full and warm and unable to move for a moment, thick waves of white between where your bodies connect, even some dropping to the floor that he has to clean after.
when he is done and sees you really can’t keep up anymore, it’s aftercare time, the sweetest of anyone. a warm bath with you resting against his toned chest, big hands rubbing your thighs, soft kisses on your shoulder, whispering, “pretty girl, you did so well for me…”
now ready to take a nap, your hair is dry, body wrapped in a hoodie that smells like him, food and water provided for energy, because when he’s rough, he makes sure to give you twice as much softness after.
THOSE SPECIAL DAYS AND THOSE WHO GET MORE . . .
threesomes exist, but only with two specific people. no other combinations are allowed on the field, as wooyoung refuses to share you beyond those.
WOOYOUNG and SAN are both competing for you, physically and vocally. it’s so primal and possessive, almost aggressive if you must explain it to them. making you cry in the prettiest way, you’re overstimulated, pushed to your limits, denied orgasms multiple times, and thrown into every position they can use you in. the two of them are trying to see for whom you will scream the loudest.
they even have matching tattoos, stupid little symbols of a friendship that most people wouldn't understand. they move as a unit and feel what the other wants — sharing almost everything, except san’s growing feelings for you.
san hides them under the same lust he shows you. in the roughness he uses, the pent-up suppressed stress that can only be burned off by lifting weights, or being buried so deep inside you that there’s barely any room for wooyoung to put his own dick.
and your boyfriend watches how his best friend fuck you like you're his to ruin. san has always been emotional; sometimes he covers it up well, sometimes not at all. there's nothing wrong with wanting something you can't have. being greedy and envious is what makes us human, because if you have sinned, that means you have lived without any fears, breaking the wall of rules and expectations someone just put there.
wooyoung is bratty and teasing, while san is feral and possessive. they trade control: one denies release while the other punishes, then swap. you’re used like a toy, and as mentioned, you are the beautiful doll everyone gets to play with.
their voices, hands, and bodies commanding you as both men tease you relentlessly. when you beg to cum, they pull back, switch positions, and make you work for it. if you can even say their names, as you're already fucked dumb on their cocks, because look at you: drool dripping from your mouth, the way you're shaking all over but smiling at the same time... you probably won't be able to say much.
“baby…” your boyfriend would whisper in your ear, biting the shell of your ear, your neck, collarbone and shoulder. delicately taking your arms, sloppy kissing before biting the soft flesh, yearning a hiss and a scream from you, “i want you screaming for san too.”
another thing is that they talk to each other while using you, sometimes for the most random stuff, like for example that one time at practice when wooyoung couldn’t even score a goal, “and hongjoong decided to– oh fuck, she’s close… he decided to bench me and make me the ballboy instead,” thrust after thrust in your already abused pussy, sqeezing him so tight wanting to keep him close.
“talk to me about it. seonghwa made me practice dribbling with yunho and we know how competitive he is even during practice... god, does she always sound like this before she cums?” san was as rough as wooyoung. together they are biting, scratching, and marking, until you’re overstimulated, begging with your whimper for the sweet release. “don’t even think about cumming yet, princess… not until we say.”
usually san takes you from the back since one of the things he loves about you is your ass, and wooyoung takes the front because he can’t get enough of your desperate face, but they take turns because sharing is caring.
after repeated denial, they finally let you cum, hands and mouths everywhere, leaving you completely wrecked with them finishing deep inside you at the same time. you not only spill your juices on their cocks but on san’s clean bedsheets too, making such a mess. they can’t even be mad about it, because you did so well for them… maybe the real mvp is you and not yunho, with the way you take very hard opportunities with open mouth and legs, truly magnificent, the only girl in the world born for that role.
sometimes san comes over to wooyoung’s apartment, and your beloved boyfriend is sitting in his gaming chair, spinning lazily while watching something on his phone. his arms rest on the armrests with one hand propping up his chin, the other mindlessly scrolling… or occasionally recording. just a short clip, with the way san’s muscles flex and how your legs tremble as he eats you out.
your legs are thrown over san’s shoulder as he sucks and pushes his tongue deeper, completely lost in you. like seonghwa and yeosang eating you out wasn’t already enough, because out of everyone, san is easily the most pussydrunk.
and when the sweet but strained little sounds start slipping out of you, wooyoung finally glances up from his phone. he notices the way your fingers clutch the sheets, knuckles whitening as your hips try to pull away but don’t quite manage it. you’re biting your lip too hard, the faint crease between your brows. san doesn’t notice a thing. he’s too far gone and obsessed with the taste of you, with the way your thighs squeeze around his head.
“sannie,” he says without raising his voice, “slow the fuck down. don’t you hear her?” but the man between your legs can barely hear his own thoughts, let alone anyone else’s voice. your head slowly turns toward wooyoung, eyes glossy as you blink rapidly, lips trembling with soft whines. and yeah, that might be his best friend, his soulmate (after you, of course)… but it still irritates him.
he stands up, the chair spins once behind him as he tosses his phone onto the seat. rolling up his sleeve as he walks over, gaze dropping to you first. his pretty girl is being devoured by another man who’s too lost in pleasure to notice the line between good and too much.
he knows you like it, as he also knows everyone loves to overstimulate you, and as any good boyfriend who actually wants you to feel good… his hand fists into san’s hair and yanks him back, his head is pulled away from you immediately, a frustrated sound leaving him, because his tongue literally seconds ago would have made you orgasm, but this time he was the one denied from that pleasure.
his mouth hangs slightly open, face coated in your essence, gaze dragged away from your soaked pussy and up to wooyoung.
“how many times have i told you to be careful and listen to her?” his voice drops, a bit threatening, “you can feel when she’s too sensitive.” like sure, any of them could use you however they wanted. but with wooyoung right here, seeing and hearing everything, there’s no way he’s letting you get uncomfortable.
“don’t make me kick you out,” wooyoung continues, thumb pressing slightly harder into his scalp. “or keep you away from her for a week. watch your mouth, am i clear?”
san barely gets the chance to mumble a response before he’s shoved right back between your legs.
and just like that, wooyoung returns to his chair, picks up his phone, and doom-scrolls again… totally not already planning to cut san’s time with you next week.
WOOYOUNG and YEOSANG are a strange, yet perfectly balanced duo. one of them is always holding you so carefully that it almost makes you forget how much you missed spending the day with him… while the other only starts biting you when you’re not squirming or tossing like you’re caught in a nightmare, because that’s when he likes to mark you most.
they move slowly, keeping you comfortable while still using you exactly the way their hearts (and dicks) want. it’s tender enough to make your heart beat like crazy, tears threatening to spill because moments like this are rare — where you’re treated like a real princess… and not like the slut you technically are.
for the first time in days, you can actually hear your own thoughts: real words form in your head instead of the usual muffled ones.
you’re lying on yeosang’s bed, flat on your back, their hands wandering gently over your body, leaving soft touches on your stomach and the swell of your breasts beneath the oversized shirt. wooyoung’s lips press warm against your neck while yeosang’s ghost kisses along your shoulder. your fingers tangle into both of their hair, lightly massaging their scalps without even thinking about it. your body so loose and so at ease, you feel like you’re floating somewhere, like drifting in the ocean on a hot summer day.
“just relax…” your boyfriend whispers against skin already decorated with fading marks from earlier days. “i’ve got you, babe.”
his best friend’s voice follows, so low and soothing. “you’ve been so good… just let us take care of you.”
the three of you have your eyes closed, because sometimes intimacy isn’t just about having sex. sometimes it’s being cuddled between them as they take turns to adore you, making you feel owned and safe all at once.
honestly, you have to give yeosang credit, since he is the only one who makes wooyoung loosen up like this instead of the usual teasing menace he turns into. it almost makes you forget how stupidly lovesick your boyfriend really is beneath all that campus reputation he tries so hard to maintain.
it makes you wish you could live this day on a loop.
there’s barely any roughness, they are entirely focused on your comfort and pleasure. their voices alone start to send you into a frenzy. even though wooyoung’s possessiveness slips amid whispers and light bites, while yeosang’s deep tone vibrates through you, keeping your mind from drifting too far.
at some point, your hands stop their mindless idling in their hair; you’re not even sure what did it. maybe the sensitivity or gentleness, or how they’re taking care of you, but tears start slipping down your cheeks before you can stop them. you are so overwhelmed, like a fallen angel quietly begging at heaven’s gates, knowing it might already be too late to be let back in.
“don’t cry now, angel,” yeosang notices first, as he kisses the tears from your cheeks before pressing a delicate kiss to your lips. “you deserve this.”
everything stays purely vanilla. they bring you apart slowly, mostly with their voices, with barely any touches, only wooyoung’s thumb to push your panties aside, brushing your clit in lazy circles, just to work you up. until you come once… maybe twice… soft and trembling between them.
and you’re left damp and a little messy, yeosang is the one who carefully guides you to the shower. he doesn’t have a bath, even if it would suit the mood better, but he still washes your hair for you, your body too. no wandering hands or naughty thoughts, he’s too tired for games tonight.
by the time you’re wrapped in a towel, wooyoung is already back in bed, clean sheets changed, sprawled out and waiting. he would’ve joined the shower, but he wanted everything nice and tidy, because being caring is part of his nature too.
when you finally crawl back under the covers with the same oversized shirt slipping down your thighs, someone’s clean boxers loose on your hips, they pull you between them without a word. spooned and kissed until your breathing evens out and sleep finally takes you.
YUNHO and MINGI are a pair that woyoung doesn’t know about, because the mvp is smart enough to outsmart the mastermind.
for your safety, and to keep control over everyone’s schedules, your boyfriend tracks the team’s location every single day. but what does yunho sometimes do when it’s his turn with you? absolutely nothing. you relax together, play games, cuddle, kiss… maybe make out a little, because he wants you rested and prepared for saturday when the two of you will visit mingi.
and how does that work when your locations are being tracked? quite simple, he uses two phones. his current one gets switched off, the location gone. the old one stays behind in the dorm, quietly broadcasting that he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. studying for midterms, locked between four walls, fighting for that perfect grade — fake it till you make it.
“i make her moan louder,” mingi says, casually taking a slow sip of water while perched on the high barstool in his kitchen.
“in your dreams,” yunho shoots back, already halfway into the fridge looking for something to eat. “she whimpers my name.”
“she screams for me.”
“she begs for me.”
they’ve known each other since high school, yet they still bicker like teenagers who’ve never touched a woman in their lives. just another best friend duo in the group… the duo with the monstrous dick size and the most ridiculous size kinks known to mankind.
and while they argue over things that only matter to the male ego, you’re sprawled comfortably on your stomach in mingi’s room, scrolling through your phone. texting your friends that you can’t make it to tonight’s party, because you’re supposedly spending the weekend with your grandparents. they believe you, just like wooyoung believes he can keep tabs on everyone.
“then maybe we should make her say both… at the same time.”
“bet i’ll still make you cry mine first.”
mingi pushes up from his seat, already heading for the stairs. halfway up, he tilts his head, eyes flicking back for yunho to follow.
“only one way to find out, yeah?”
and that’s how it starts.
but beware, one man is emotionally invested, the other is selfishly enjoying himself. yunho is the one giving instructions, mingi is the one physically overwhelming without trying, and that makes you stuck between pressure and indulgence.
yunho tends to position you exactly how he wants, guiding your chin, your hips, your posture, as he is very controlled; every move and touch is intentional. mingi is more the grab-and-go type with lazy confidence, moving you because it feels good for him, not because he’s planning ten steps ahead.
mingi super chill but physically intense, murmuring soft praise while absolutely ruining your composure, and he’s easily distracted by how good you feel. big hands everywhere, slowly moving and leaving occasional whimpers despite being in the dominant position. he’s not trying to compete… which makes him accidentally win sometimes, and lowkey drives yunho insane.
that result of you being constantly manhandled by yunho and adjusted by mingi.
because they’re both the biggest on the team, you need a lot of time and preparation to adapt. they are very aware of how you react to the stretch and the pressure, as this is where yunho’s competitiveness spikes, especially if mingi is the one who makes you melt first. the taller keeps checking your face, needing proof he’s the one affecting you most.
mingi is here because: it feels good, you feel good, the situation is convenient for everyone.
toward the end, they stop being separate energies and start coordinating without discussing it, cocks moving in sync, in and out of your pussy or mouth until you are painted white inside and out.
“look at me, doll…” yunho is slightly breathless when worked up, seeing that tummy bludge again, and how your eyes are too busy focusing on taking mingi’s cock in your mouth, drool and cum mixing as no verbal confirmation could come out of you, just muffled moans and whines. “who’s got you shaking like this?”
“relax, baby… ” mingi chuckles when you get too needy or overstimulated. sometimes he can’t tell if you are in pain or enjoying it, but you deep throat him so good, you have a master's degree in taking him whole at this point. ”doing so well for me, hmm? ahh– yes, that’s it pretty,” he says while fisting your hair, controlling you because all you need to do is just keep that mouth wide open.
the size kink is impossible to ignore, due to you having the perfect height, your body is perfect, you are perfect.
not everyone can take two big cocks at the same time, but it gets to a point where the stretch starts to burn, where your breath stutters, and your hands clutch at yunho’s shoulders. then you’re begging for him, and the second his name slips out of your mouth first, he feels like he just won the world cup.
you only said his name because it feels like he’s going to split you open, like he might actually ruin you with how deep he keeps pushing, but yunho doesn’t care about the reason; he just hears you choosing him… you have no idea what that does to him.
after that, they don’t slow down. they fill you again and again until you’re completely stuffed, warmth spilling from between your thighs, from your lips when you can’t swallow fast enough. it’s messy and filthy, however, they aren’t careless with you.
they let you rest, give your shaking body time to come back to itself before even thinking about running you a bath. and strangely enough, yunho is the first to press a bottle of water to your lips, voice softer than anyone would expect as he makes sure you hydrate.
meanwhile, mingi just lounges beside you, big hand lazily rubbing your thighs, watching with quiet fascination as your pussy keeps leaking around nothing, still sensitive and fluttering from everything they put you through.
you can’t feel your body properly: not your mouth, or your limbs, not a single steady nerve in your system. you’re boneless, floating somewhere between overstimulated and completely gone, as you lie there, one thought keeps circling lazily through your fogged brain:
do you finally confess this little secret rendezvous to your boyfriend, or do you just keep coming back to let the big boys use you as a cumdump again?
aftercare hours have you fast asleep in mingi’s bed, completely knocked out. your head rests on yunho’s chest, your body tucked into his side, soft and safe in his arms. one hand tucked behind his head, while the other plays with your hair. absent-minded strokes, and every so often his fingers pause, then resume their soothing rhythm.
across the room, mingi is at his desk, laptop open, mouse clicking steadily against the surface. he’s focused on whatever game the guys dragged him into, probably league again, as voices could be heard through his headset while he plays. then wooyoung asks a simple question, wondering if you are okay, is all.
“how’s she doing?”
mingi glances over his shoulder, eyes flicking to the bed. “she’s out cold. snuggled up like a baby bear in hibernation. it’s kinda adorable, actually.” as he very obviously does not mention the extra detail.
back on the bed, yunho’s hand never stops its slow path through your hair, but his eyes have gone distant. because now he’s thinking about you and wooyoung. thinking about what might’ve happened if he’d said something first, shooting his shot before anyone ever had the chance. you might’ve been his from the start… instead of someone else’s.
his thumb brushes gently along your hairline, careful not to wake you… yeah, a man can only dream.
WOOYOUNG THE DEVIL WITH ANGELIC HALO
having two sides inside him that are constantly battling against each other: an angel and a devil, as cliché as it may sound.
the devilish side is cocky and bratty, hands you off to his friends like it’s nothing, loves watching you squirm, and pushes you to your limits. the angelic side, he is impossibly attentive and protective, tuned into your body and mood, soft in ways no one else ever seen him. he can absolutely ruin you, and five minutes later be the one tucking you into his hoodie and pressing kisses into your hair.
there’s no other way to describe it — he is obsessed with you.
he hates wearing the same scent as everyone else when it comes to fragrance and cologne. even more, he hates when you come back smelling like yunho or jongho for example, or whenever you have been out with your girlfriends… so expect to be showered and gifted the same perfumes he uses; you are the only one allowed to do so.
pet names are something normal in every relationship. he can call you anything in the moment… but he always brings it back to my girl.
by the time you get to his place, the table’s already full with food, your favorite drink, even the snacks you once mentioned liking just once. he acts like he didn’t just spend the last hour cooking. you’re practically glowing as you eat, shoulders relaxed for once, happily munching away.
“you always spoil me,” you mumble around a bite, smiling up at him. “feels like i’m a princess.”
wooyoung snorts softly as he reaches over without hesitation, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth to wipe away a smear you missed. you are always a little messy when you eat, but he never seems to mind.
“yeah?” he hums, leaning back in his chair like it’s no big deal, even though his gaze never really leaves you. “that’s because my girl deserves the best.” and because the cafeteria food is awful, so when boyfriend duties call, he answers.
aside from seeing you full with carefully prepared meals in the kitchen, when it comes to the bedroom… let’s not mention the insane breeding kink this man has. he might seem like he doesn’t care, but once he’s in you, it’s not only violent, but savage. the fixation comes out strongest when he’s jealous or worked up, and just needs to see you completely full of him, to claim you and be a part of you, to be one whole. he wants to stay there forever, as it seems your pussy doesn’t want to let him go either.
“no one else is ever gonna fill you like this.” cock staying buried until you have milked him dry, hands tight on your hips to ground himself, visibly irritated when he has to pull away. “want you to walk around leaking of me. let everyone see who you belong to.”
it’s possession and obsession that mainly take over him, since he gets more focused and territorial over you.
other times, he calls you a dumb little doll, a cumdump, a brat who deserves to be put in her place, but he’ll also say you’re the best he’s ever had, his perfect angel to destroy. yes, he degrades a lot on top of that. but when he praises you, it’s scary-good. you can't blame him, he's just that way, more controlling and dominant, a sweet-talker even when he's rude.
“needy little thing, so good for me. you were made to take me, yeah?” and it’s you cockwarming him before he needs to go to practice, and before you start getting ready for the next man on the timetable. “nobody else gets this pathetic version of you… still my good girl at the end of the day.”
he would kiss your neck, grazing his teeth over the skin and bite, watching you shiver and arch. since his special is mixing degradation with praise in the same breath.
everyone on campus knows that you are wooyoung’s girl, and thank god, they don’t know about the nasty stuff that’s happening behind the scenes.
you wear his hoodie to hide the numerous hickeys and bites left from every man. you stay close to him or any of the other players when you don’t feel comfortable around people, because before fuckboys they are your friends too. it's just all a perfect illusion, a lie that feeds on itself.
wooyoung knows when you’ve been pushed to your limits, even if you deny it. after intense day with san or other yunho, he sets a clear rule not only to his friends.
“she’s off this week, maybe for longer, i’ll take care of her.” what he meant to say was, find someone else to fuck.
even though you love being used by the team, he wants your body and mind fully recovered, or just wants you to himself, he will give them the chance to use you again someday.
teasing touches to remind you you’re his, but surprisingly without pushing you over the edge. again cooks food for you, does your assignments even if you two study completely different things, insisting you don’t lift a finger.
the other pirates respect the rule, don’t go against it or try to question it. they bring you snacks sometimes, or offer shoulder rubs after your dance practice, making playful comments like: “woo’s really spoiling you, huh?”
and you wonder why he is attentive and caring beneath the chaos he loves to cause?
because wooyoung knows your monthly cycle is near. you’re sensitive, more emotional, hormonal, and physically overwhelmed. during this time, he’s extra affectionate, more observant, quicker to pull you into his lap, way softer and clingier in private.
he always pays attention, that’s why during your ovulation day, knowing he could get you pregnant, but it’s too early for that, he uses condoms. very unfortunate, but he’s taking no risks. it’s just the start of your twenties; surely neither of you wants a baby to just pop up. the other times it’s raw, next question.
wet sounds of skin clapping echo through the room. he is rutting inside you, the plastic wrapped around his dick there for safety, he tells himself, but fucking dammit, the urge to breed you is getting out of hand, especially with how much your hormones spike during these specific hours.
“messy baby… can’t help it, huh?” you’re lying on your back with him hovering above you, your hands holding his, fingers laced together as he breathes you in. “such a greedy girl… but you look so pretty fucked dumb on your boyfriend’s cock, hm?”
“wooyo–” you moan as he hits that spot, hot tears spilling, your vision blurring because you want him so bad, closer than gravity allows. fuck, you love him so much.
“yeah, baby? you’re mine, remember that… it’s me who makes you feel like this. a cockdrunk slut who knows who makes her feel real good.”
his grip on your hands tightens, veins in his arms and neck standing out as his pace quickens. you’re close to orgasming, maybe squirting again, who knows, it’s a gamble, and he’s close too. god, how he’d love to see his cum dripping out of you… but then he thinks about you with not-so-happy tears, holding a pregnancy test.
so for now, he and the rubber are becoming very good friends.
wooyoung always has this look when you start getting desperate for him, so smug as if he still can’t believe you always crawl back to him. because you never get like this for anyone else. not for hongjoong on a monday afternoon, or for yunho after practice, as the whole world can touch you, but only he gets to keep you.
so when he pulls out, and for once he actually put towels beneath you because you’re making a mess again, he kisses you from your lips down to your neck, breasts, and stomach, until he’s right where you’re soaked and sensitive, licking everything up like a starved kitten. he can’t get enough of the taste of you… he’s just as pussydrunk as you are cockdrunk.
shit, the condom is heavy with his cum as he slips it off and tosses it somewhere on the floor. he wants so badly to be inside you, but maybe your mouth can do the job for now… so now you’re sucking his dick, licking him clean as he makes you swallow it, because it’ll be inside you at some point, just not from the right hole.
“fuckin’ making me wait until this day is over… how about we graduate already so i can get you pregnant,” he mutters, pushing your head down to take him deeper. “won’t gotta worry about birth control or plan b– f-fuck, baby, that’s it, you know how to suck a dick right.”
and when he comes into your mouth, he barely even has to work for it. he pulls out, breathing heavier than usual, like his body’s finally starting to feel it, how he is completely milked dry. you’ve been fucking for what…oh, all day, basically.
like a devoted future husband, he takes care of you all over again. once you’ve both finally calmed down, the first thing he does is wipe your tears away, kissing each cheek gently.
“you did perfectly, princess. so perfect for me...” quietly reassuring you that you’re not any of the degrading things he said earlier, even if you know you are, you just want to be pampered right now. “c’mon, breathe with me… there you go, my good girl.”
so he pulls you into his arms first. his bedroom still smells like sex, eventually you’ll both hit the shower… just not now.
you’re curled into him, legs tangled with his, your cheek resting against his bicep since it’s your personal pillow. his fingers trace slow, lazy circles along your back while he stares up at the ceiling, not even realizing you’re starting to drift off.
“baby, let’s sho–” his lips brush your forehead as he murmurs into your hair, but you don’t answer, and … the softness that takes over his face, the love in his eyes with that helpless adoration, totally heartstruck and whipped. he presses another kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally a quick, gentle peck to your lips. “i love you so much.”
and he really loves you, and he doesn't just say those words that easily. it doesn't matter who you're with tomorrow, or in two days. you will always, absolutely always come running into his arms, wanting him and only him. because at the end of the day, the others get access to your body, but it's wooyoung who gets access to your heart.
a/n: any grammar mistakes or typos will probably be edited with time!
Yeosang sits on the couch, his arms wrapped around you as you both watch a movie. He's been extra affectionate lately, his hands always finding a way to touch you - your hand, your hair, your waist. He suddenly pauses the movie and turns to face you. “Y/n?"
“What?” You say, turning your attention to him
His eyes are serious, his expression soft but intense. “Come here for a second," he says, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around you tightly. “I need to talk to you about something important." He takes a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. “Baby?" You look at him intently.
He looks into your eyes, his own filled with love and a hint of nervousness. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box, keeping it hidden in his closed hand. “I know we've only been together for a few months, but... being with you feels like everything I've ever wanted." He shifts you off him and makes his way down to the floor.
He gets down on one knee in front of you, his heart hammering against his ribs. He opens the small box, revealing a beautiful diamond ring that catches the light. He looks up at you, his eyes glistening with emotion. “Y/n... will you marry me?" His voice is soft but sure, his whole world resting on your answer.
Tears prick your eyes and a lump rises in your throat. He sees the tears in your eyes and his heart swells with love and hope. He reaches out to take your hand, his thumb brushing away a fallen tear. “Please, y/n," he whispers. “Marry me. Be my wife. Let me love you forever."
“Yes!” You say sincerely, nodding furiously.
Yeosang's face breaks into the most beautiful smile you've ever seen. He slips the ring onto your finger and then pulls you into his arms, kissing you deeply. “I love you so much," he whispers against your lips.
You sob. “I love you too.”
He holds you tightly, rocking you gently as you cry happy tears. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your lips - anywhere he can reach. He's overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude that you said yes. “My fiancée," he murmurs between kisses. “My future wife."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first person you tell is Wooyoung, Yeosang’s best friend of ten years.
Wooyoung's eyes widen in shock and surprise when Yeosang tells him the news. He stares at the ring on your finger, his jaw dropping. “You're engaged?!" He looks back and forth between the two of you, still in disbelief. “Wow! If someone had said this four years ago, I would have said they were crazy!” He laughs. Yeosang chuckles along with Wooyoung, but his expression saddens slightly. He remembers the pain and heartbreak from four years ago when you were with San. “Yeah," he agrees softly. “A lot can change in four years."
“Have you told him yet?” Wooyoung asks.
He shakes his head. "No, not yet. I wanted to tell you first. You're my best friend, Wooyoung. I wanted you to know before anyone else." He sighs heavily. “Telling San is gonna be... tough."
“He’ll understand” he assures. “He’s moved on. He’s… Happy.”
Yeosang nods, hoping that's true. He doesn't want to hurt San again, but he knows that he deserves to be happy with the woman he loves. He trusts Wooyoung's words and takes comfort in knowing that San has moved on. “I hope so," he says softly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You tell Yeosang that you want to see San alone initially. Yeosang looks at you with understanding and concern. He knows that seeing San alone is important for both of you. He nods slowly. “I think that's a good idea," he says softly.
He drops you off outside San’s apartment. “I’ll wait here” he says. “Let me know when it’s ok to come up.” He watches you walk up to San's apartment building, his heart pounding in his chest. He sits in the car, waiting patiently as you go to see San alone. He trusts you both and knows that this is something you need to do before he can move forward with your relationship. "Take your time.” You smile back at him. You go up in the elevator, press the buzzer and wait.
Inside the apartment, San hears the buzz and opens the door. His expression turns from neutral to surprised when he sees you standing there. He's dressed casually, looking like he's been lounging around the house all day. “Y/n?" He blinks, completely shocked to see you.
“Can I come in?”
San steps aside immediately, allowing you to enter his apartment. He closes the door behind you and turns to face you, his arms crossed over his chest in a defensive posture. The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. “What are you doing here?" he asks cautiously.
“How have you been?” You ask. Deflecting his initial question. San's expression softens slightly. He runs a hand through his hair before responding. “I've been... okay," he says with a small shrug. "Just working a lot and trying to keep busy." He studies you carefully, noticing the way you're avoiding his original question.
“Why are you really here, y/n?"
“Can we sit?” You ask. San nods and gestures towards the couch in his living room. He sits down first, leaving space for you next to him. As you both sit, he turns his body slightly to face you, his elbow resting on the back of the couch. “Talk to me" he says softly but firmly, sensing that whatever brought you here is important.
The ring feels heavy in your pocket. San notices the slight shift in your posture as you sit down, your hand subconsciously moving to your pocket where the ring is hidden. His eyes follow your movement briefly before returning to your face. He swallows hard, suddenly feeling nervous about what you might be about to say or do.
“Yeosang asked me to marry him” you say, softly.
San's breath catches for a moment, but when he speaks, his voice is steady. “And?" He tilts his head slightly, studying your face with those familiar, perceptive eyes. “You said yes, right?" There's no accusation in his voice, just quiet curiosity. The old San would've been crushed. You pull the ring from your pocket, sliding it onto your finger. “I did.”
San watches the ring slide onto your finger, his expression unreadable. He swallows hard again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I see." He looks down at the ring for a long moment before meeting your gaze again. “So... this is why you're here." He pauses.
“I wanted to tell you in person, alone” you say. “I thought it was the least you deserved.” He nods slowly, appreciating your thoughtfulness. He knows that this couldn't have been easy for you - coming here to tell him that you're engaged to someone who was once his best friend. Yet here you are, looking at him with those sincere eyes, delivering news that he knew was coming eventually.
“Are you ok?” You ask. He lets out a soft, slightly bitter laugh that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Sophie, I haven't been 'okay' in a long time." He shifts slightly, his thumb tracing patterns on the couch cushion between you. “But I'm... managing. This?" He gestures vaguely toward the ring. “This doesn't change anything. It's what I expected." You nod. “Yeosang is outside” you say. “Can he come in?”
San's eyebrows rise slightly at this revelation. “He's waiting outside?" He asks, surprised that Yeosang gave you space to talk to him alone. “Yeah," he says after a moment's consideration. “Yeah, he can come in." He stands up slowly.
You text Yeosang to come to the door. Minutes later, there's a soft knock. San moves towards it slowly, while you stay seated on the couch, your fingers nervously playing with the new ring on your finger. When San opens the door, Yeosang stands there, looking slightly anxious but determined. “Hey man” he says.
“Hey," San replies softly, pulling Yeosang into a tight hug. It's clear that despite everything, there's still a deep friendship between them. After a moment, he speaks.
“Congratulations Yeo.” he says.
Yeosang's eyes widen slightly at San's words. He steps back, looking at San with an unreadable expression. After a moment, he nods slowly. “Thanks, San," he says quietly. He looks over at you sitting on the couch, then back at San. “Are we ok?” He asks. San looks at Yeosang for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nods slowly. “We're okay," he says softly. He opens his arms in invitation for another hug, this one more relaxed than the first.
As they hug, San whispers something in Yeosang’s ear that only he can hear. Yeosang tenses slightly, then nods in understanding. San pulls back from the hug, his expression softening slightly. “Take care of her," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Yeosang nods solemnly, taking your hand in his and leading you toward the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
You find Seonghwa practicing in the studio, his voice echoing beautifully through the room. When he notices you and Yeosang entering, he pauses, looking up with a smile that quickly fades when he notices the ring on your finger. “What's that?" “Finally put a ring on it” Yeosang smiles. Seonghwa's eyes widen, his gaze shifting between you and Yeosang. A slow smile spreads across his face as he realises the significance of the ring. “About damn time," he says, walking over to pull Yeosang into a hug. "Congratulations, seriously."
You move to hug him next. Seonghwa has a special place in your heart; he’s always been there for you. Seonghwa embraces you tightly, his warmth enveloping you completely. He's always been your rock—your first friend in the group, the one who made you feel welcome when you first joined. “I'm so happy for you," he whispers, his voice slightly choked up. When you pull back, his eyes are glistening. “My baby sister..." You laugh, “not quite Hwa, but I get the sentiment.” Seonghwa laughs too, wiping at his eyes. “Shut up," he says playfully. “You know what I mean." He looks at Yeosang. “You better treat her like the queen she is." Yeosang nods solemnly, placing a hand over his heart. “Always," he promises.
The studio suddenly fills with laughter and chatter as Mingi, Jongho, and Yunho enter. They all freeze when they see the ring on your finger, their eyes widening in unison. Mingi is the first to break the silence. “What is THAT?" He points dramatically at your hand. You wiggle your fingers in their direction. The three of them crowd around you immediately, craning their necks to see the ring more closely. “No way," Yunho breathes, looking between you and Yeosang in disbelief. “You two finally got your shit together." Jongho crosses his arms, shaking his head with a smirk. “I take it you finally had sex then?”
Yeosang punches his arm playfully. “Shut up, Jongho!" Yeosang laughs, pulling you closer protectively. “And yeah, we did. Many times. Happy?" Mingi grins mischievously, leaning against the wall. “So when's the wedding?" He asks, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I call dibs on being the best man!" “That post is reserved for Hongjoong” Yeosang says, just as he enters the studio.
Hongjoong pauses mid-step when he hears his name, looking confused. Then his eyes land on your hand and the ring sparkling there. A slow smile spreads across his face as he walks over. “Well well well," he says, pulling Yeosang into a hug. “About damn time." You smile and Yeosang looks at him. “So waddaya say Joong… will you be my best man?”
Hongjoong's eyes widen slightly at Yeosang's question. For a moment, he's speechless. Then he pulls Yeosang into another hug, this time more tightly. “Fuck yes," he says, his voice slightly choked up. "I'd be honored."
“Where’s San and Woo?” Mingi asks. As soon as he asks, the door to the studio opens and in walks San, looking tired but happy. Woo follows behind him, stretching his arms over his head. Both of them freeze when they see the group gathered around you and Yeosang. “The news is out then?" Wooyoung says. Yeosang nods, looking over at his two best friends.
San walks over slowly, his eyes fixed on your hand. He swallows hard before looking back up at Yeosang. “Congratulations again" he says softly, meaning it. San pulls you into a hug. He wraps his arms tightly around you, holding on for a moment longer than necessary. When he pulls back, his eyes are soft. Wooyoung steps forward and slaps Yeosang on the back. “Thank fuck this is over” he laughs.
Everyone laughs at Wooyoung's blunt comment. The tension in the room breaks, and suddenly everyone is talking and laughing at once. San moves to stand beside Hongjoong. “You’re really ok with this?” Hongjoong asks him. San glances at you and Yeosang, who are smiling and laughing with the others. Then he looks back at Hongjoong and nods. “Yeah, Joong. I'm really okay with this. It's... actually kind of a relief." He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “I just want her to be happy.” Hongjoong nods understandingly. "She is happy," he says, looking over at you. You're currently arguing with Mingi about something, your face flushed with laughter. “And Yeosang looks at her differently now. Like she's really his." San smiles slightly.
“She is” Hongjoong replies.
**And that is it my lovelies! I hope you’ve enjoyed my ramblings! Please let me know your thoughts in the comments. ❤️ I’m currently editing my next fic (San x Reader) which may or may not be a prequel to this one… 😉 That’s for you to decide!**
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.....What if we have it wrong? What if everyone else is possessed and Yunho is the one who breaks free?
WAIT.
WAIT. WAAAAAIIIITT!!!!
Wooyoung sends in Sopro at the beginning to "take control" of everyone inside of the bunker.
You see the (I'm gonna call them Black Pirates for now. They might not be the rebellion but they look like them) Black Pirates fighting them after they enter the bunker.
When Wooyoung comes out of the elevator, and before Mingi fights them, he says "why you trying to be alone, I know you want it."
Which sounds....threatening. Like something someone would say to someone they wanted to mind control. "Don't fight it. Join us. Resistance is futile."
Then Mingi squares up and the fight begins, but some of the Black Pirates are fighting each other, so it looks like SOME of them are being controlled and the rest are fighting it?
Then we see the giant red cubes...which I think are meant to represent Sopro? Or maybe extend Sopro's power?
And then Yunho looks like he's being controlled, but maybe he's fighting it off??
And he runs off.
And then the Black Pirates all seem to fall in line one by one, dancing with Yeosang.
Meanwhile, Yunho leaves the bunker and looks back. And...you know, I thought he looked shifty as hell at first, but now I think he's just SCARED.
Maybe he's not being controlled anymore, and he's trying to run away?
Whatever the case, they have the rebellion in line now.
Literally.
Except for the faction that fled with Yunho.
And we get the dance battle. Yunho vs ATEEZ.
Maybe they get control over him again?
Or?
They kill him.
How?
Car "accident."
And what happens when Yunho dies in a car accident?
He wakes up in the afterlife, and becomes a ghost.
(take none of this seriously, I'm professionally and recreationally full of it)
EDIT:
Okay but like.....look at all of their eyes. The red blush, like an infection from being possessed.
What if Yunho is the HERO of the piece, not the sus one?
title: come touch the line
pairing: jeong yunho x reader
genre: neighbors to lovers, neighbors au, smut (mdni!!)
word count: 23.3k
summary: your next-door neighbor is both incredibly insufferable and insanely hot.
author's note: really desperately needed to write brat tamer yunho, so here he is! i hope you enjoy. you can find this fic on ao3 here! also I will never not hate making graphics/making these posts cute so I hope u can tolerate that dkfgjskjfs ily guys so much thanks for reading <3
tags/warnings: brat tamer yunho, reader is a menace, reader is a brat, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, blow jobs, teasing, general brat/brat tamer dynamic, begging, dirty talk, safe sex (I did it!), multiple orgasms, face-fucking, yunho does the tongue thing, best friends jihyo & wooyoung, hongjoong mentioned
The moment your eyes flew open, it was to the sound of video games and swearing. Unfortunately, from learned experience, there was no waiting this out. No staying in bed until the problem eventually removed itself. This problem loved to overstay its welcome, loved to take a seat on your couch until it rotted there.
You lay in bed for as long as you could stand the background noise. You tried to fall back asleep, but the sounds of intermittent fucks and sporadic yelling made it entirely impossible.
When you did finally drag yourself out of bed, still half asleep and grumbling to yourself about the inconvenience, it was in baggy sweatpants and a loose-fitting shirt, your hair tied up into a bun.
Creaking open the door to your bedroom, you watched him momentarily. He didn’t notice the disturbance, just remained locked into the game, lighting up bright colors and explosions on your television.
Your fingers easily found the spot they always managed to settle on your face when he was around, pinching the bridge of your nose in stress.
One of your mugs sat on the coffee table in front of him, filled to the brim. You ignored the problem at hand, the man intruding on your living room before noon without your permission, for the second, or maybe third time that week, and walked toward the coffee maker instead.
He didn’t acknowledge you as you passed, his eyes instead remaining laser-focused on the screen. You didn’t speak either, hoping that maybe if you continued to ignore him, he’d go away. Though, based on past encounters, it never really worked out that way. Though a girl could dream.
Pulling down a mug from the cabinet, you attempted to place it carefully on the counter before you, tempering your anger. It didn’t matter anyway, even if you slammed the thing down so hard it shattered into pieces, he still probably wouldn’t have looked up.
It was when you reached out for the coffee pot, hand just barely touching the handle, that the anger bubbled over.
You whipped around, coffee pot in hand, face screwed up into a scowl that only Jeong Yunho could produce. “Are you serious?” you asked, raising the coffee pot above your head, directing that scowl in his direction—not that he even looked up to see it.
He was too locked into whatever video game he busied himself playing on your PlayStation. It drove you over the edge, how little regard he had for you. How he used your apartment like a landing ground, a place to escape—and then dared to ignore you while inside it.
You walked around the counter, coffee pot still in hand, and stopped in front of the television with your arms outstretched. “Earth to fucking Yunho—what are you doing here?”
You knew the answer before you asked, knew why he was there based on the sheer lack of sleep you’d gotten during the night.
He shifted to the side in an attempt to see the screen behind you, but you moved with him, waving your arms to get in the way as much as possible. Finally, with a groan and a roll of his eyes—like you were inconveniencing him—he set down the controller.
With his attention free, he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. His legs were spread, and he took up way more space than he needed to.
His eyes dragged over you slowly, making a show out of looking at you. It made you squirm in a self-conscious kind of way. The kind of way that also made you want to chuck something at his head.
With a lazy smile, he finally leaned forward again, balancing elbows on the tops of his thighs. “Good morning to you, too,” he said.
You closed your eyes, sucking in a deep breath to keep yourself from screaming at him this early in the morning. “You know, if you’re going to use my apartment as a hideout, the least you could do is save me some fucking coffee.”
You had to admit—you understood why his apartment had a constant stream of one-night stands filing in at night and out in the morning. He had this way of looking at someone like they were the only person in the entire universe, like nothing else mattered. He looked at you like that, now. All attentive eyes and half-quirked up lips.
“Your charm doesn’t work on me,” you said with a roll of your eyes. Because it didn’t. All that charm, it was nice. There were split seconds where you understood, sure. But that feeling always passed even faster when you remembered every other thing about him.
“Not sure about that,” he teased. It was always this push and pull. Him trying to get under your skin, and you always reacting.
You pushed past the teasing because you just couldn’t deal with his entire personality that early in the morning. Instead, you got back to the matter at hand. “Is she still in there?” you asked, placing the empty coffee pot down on the table in front of you, simply so you could cross your arms.
Yunho shrugged, accentuating his uncertainty with a slight lift of his eyebrows. “Why don’t you go over and find out?”
“We’re not doing this,” you said, looking at him with that same pointed expression.
“Doing what?” he asked, mocking ignorance.
This would not be the first time, nor the second, nor the third that you’d provided Jeong Yunho with this kind of turn-down service. The first had been a mistake. Knocking on his door to ream him out for being loud throughout the night. The second time he’d tricked you, asked you to come over. And the third, well, it went something like this.
“We’re not friends. This is not something I just do for you,” you said. “And stop letting yourself into my apartment.”
“So, are you going to do it, or?” Yunho asked, one brow raised, and you knew he wasn’t planning on relenting. No, he would be insufferable about it until you gave in. He was always stronger-willed than you in that matter—more stubborn. More annoying.
“Make some coffee,” you said. It was in exasperation that you turned and stormed out, choosing to face the innocent woman left behind in his apartment rather than continuing to have this conversation. Plus, if there was anything you’d learned, it was that once you’d scared her away, he’d leave, too.
You didn’t understand why he did it. The whole one-night stand after one-night stand thing. He was charming enough, and any of the many girls you’d kicked out of his apartment probably would have made for a great long-term partner. Even just a situationship. It was his biggest red flag. The thing that turned you off. But you got it, too. Because if he didn’t live next door, if you didn’t get to witness the parade and the payoff, you would probably fall for his tricks and charms just as easily.
But you’d seen the man behind the curtain. You knew the game. And so you knew, too, that he didn’t give a single fuck about any of those women. Not even enough to reject them himself.
Even though it wasn’t the first time you’d done this, it still felt strange. Pretending. You knocked on the door. Crossed your arms over your chest. Tapped your foot. Directed the annoyance you felt toward Yunho into pretend anger.
Someone did, inevitably, answer the door.
“Hey bab—” the woman started. She had long black hair and warm brown eyes. She wore a long button-up shirt that stopped above her knees. Yunho’s. You witnessed the slow furrow of her brow as she put together the situation before you started whatever badly performed rant you chose this time.
You scrunched your face up to match, mock irritation appearing in the creases at the corner of your eyes, the slight scowl of your lips.
“Who are you?” the girl asked. It was always their first question, and sometimes you even felt bad about having to crush their dreams—you shattered the ideal image they had of Yunho in their heads, before he could find a way to do it themselves. You framed them as a mistress, the other half of a cheater.
Why couldn’t he just reject them himself? Wouldn’t everyone leave with more dignity in that circumstance? You and whatever girl he’d involved included?
But you stood firm, trying to imagine what it would feel like to show up at your boyfriend’s apartment only for the door to be answered by another woman.
“I’m Yunho’s girlfriend,” you said. You’d said it before. It still felt strange. A label you would never want to have. Probably because it would land you in a situation too close to this one. “Who are you?” you asked.
“I’m—uh,” the girl said. You didn’t stay to listen, instead pushing past her into the apartment, looking for your cheating boyfriend. It was enough to send her into high gear, throwing her clothes back on and ducking out the front door before you could so much as turn around.
Once she was gone, you took your time leaving. There was nothing interesting in his apartment, no secrets to glean by snooping. For the most part, he was an open book. All games and pick-up lines, without any actual substance.
You headed back to your apartment. Yunho stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, waiting for the pot of coffee to brew.
“She’s gone,” you said.
He chuckled under his breath, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually done it. The first time, you’d both had a laugh about the situation. The incidental scaring off of the woman he’d invited over. It wasn’t as funny anymore. At least not to you.
You studied him, watching his face for any shred of emotion, finding none. He truly didn’t care about these women or what happened to them after they left his apartment. It wasn’t like he’d speak to them again, so why would it matter how things ended?
“Come on,” Yunho said. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m not looking at you like anything,” you said. But you could feel the scowl, still pressed into your features. Disgust.
He took a step forward, towering over you and craning his neck to meet your eyes. He loved getting into your personal space, like he was trying to figure you out just the same. But if he wouldn’t give away any shred of his real personality, then neither would you.
He was just an annoyance. A neighbor who thought the two of you were friends. That didn’t mean you actually had to be his friend.
“Well,” he said. “Say it.” His head tilted slightly to the side, waiting for whatever opinion you so clearly wanted to share regarding his dating habits.
“You should go home,” you said, instead. “Thanks to you and your little house guest, I didn’t get any sleep last night—and I have to work later.”
This made him smirk, a slow crawl across his lips as he enjoyed the thought of you listening. It wasn’t that you wanted to listen—because of course you didn’t. But he made it difficult. Your bedrooms shared a wall, and it wasn’t exactly thick.
“Don’t start,” you said, stopping whatever thought process was going on behind his eyes, whatever words he was planning on using to get even further under your skin.
He took the hint, holding his hands up in defense. He stepped away from you, taking out the full coffee pot to fill both of your mugs. He scooped one spoonful of sugar into his own mug, stirring it a few times before grabbing the mug and walking out of the kitchen. “Have a good day at work,” he said, before the door to your apartment opened and closed.
“I just don’t understand what his problem is,” you said, standing behind the bar, mixing a drink. Jihyo sat across from you, nursing the first drink you’d made for her. It was a quiet Thursday night, so for the most part, your bar was occupied by friends and a few other regulars who didn’t require that much attention.
It was Wooyoung who responded. “Maybe he likes you,” he said. It wouldn’t be the first time this idea was floated by the board. But it only earned an eye roll from both you and Jihyo, who refused to believe this asinine idea. “It’s guy logic,” Wooyoung said.
“Maybe you should move,” Jihyo suggested.
You pointed a finger at her, but looked at Wooyoung. “Now these are the types of solutions I’m looking for.” You laughed. “Maybe I should move.”
Wooyoung and Jihyo have been your best friends for ages, ever since college. They’ve been there for you throughout more challenging circumstances than just Yunho. If anyone were going to help you get through this, it would be them.
“You can’t move,” Wooyoung pointed out. “Your place is too nice.”
You’d talked in this circle with them countless times before. There was no obvious solution, aside from putting up with him.
“I could threaten to call the police,” you suggested. “Next time he shows up in my apartment.” You placed the finished drink on the counter in front of Wooyoung, taking his empty glass.
Jihyo pressed a finger to her lips. “Or,” she said. “You could lock your door.”
“I do lock my door,” you said. “He just knows where I keep the spare.”
“Okay, so hide the spare somewhere else,” Wooyoung said.
“I’ve tried that,” you said.
“Do you really need the spare?” Wooyoung asked.
“You made me get one,” you said, pointedly. “When I kept locking myself out.”
“Right, yeah,” he said. “You could give your backup to Jihyo instead—then there’s no Yunho problem, and I don’t have to worry about you calling me at two in the morning when you lock yourself out.”
Jihyo said, “No, no,” with a wag of her finger.
With a sigh, you picked up a collection of shot glasses, placing them on the bar between the three of you. They both had regular people jobs—i.e., ones that required them to be up early the next day, but neither did they protest when you started filling the glasses.
Just as you filled the last of the three, the bell atop the front door chimed. Pushing open the door was the topic of conversation himself. He wore a black leather jacket, snow dusting the tops of his shoulders. His cheeks were a soft pink from the cold, and his eyes found yours immediately from across the room.
His pleased smile was met by yet another scowl on your end. He closed the distance between the door and the bar in only a few steps, coming up behind Jihyo and Wooyoung. He reached forward and took Wooyoung’s shot as you pushed it forward.
Wooyoung looked at you, brows drawn together in shared annoyance. You and Jihyo already had your glasses raised, and Yunho was quick to join in on the cheers he hadn’t been invited to participate in.
He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. He just raised the shot to his lips, tipping it back and swallowing the clear liquid as if it were water.
You watched in stunned shock.
“Damn,” Yunho said. “You’re hanging out without me?”
You let your eyes fall shut for a second, trying to process the situation, trying to figure out what words to say aloud without coming off like a complete and total asshole.
Jihyo took the lead instead. “Why would we invite you?” she asked, a pretty smile appearing on her lips. One that might have looked harmless to an outsider, but you know meant I’ll fucking kill you.
Yunho placed a hand on his chest. “And here I thought we were friends.”
“You’re delusional,” you said.
He lifted his eyes to yours and smiled warmly, like he really was that delusional. You poured Wooyoung another shot, holding it while you waited for Yunho to sit anywhere else. Of course, he didn’t, instead opting to sit on the other side of Jihyo, who promptly turned her back to face Wooyoung completely.
You put the replacement in Wooyoung’s waiting hands.
Just as you were raising the shot glasses, Yunho cleared his throat. “Can I get something to drink, beautiful?” He had one arm on the counter, and he leaned forward over it, looking at you with those big brown eyes. You might even be attracted to him if he weren’t so god damn annoying.
You ignored him, instead, looking back to your friends. Your shot glasses clinked in the center before you all threw them back.
“Why is he here?” Jihyo asked in a low voice.
“He can hear you,” Yunho quipped, and you could hear the smirk in his tone without even looking in his direction. “And this is a public bar. You do know that, right?”
Jihyo pressed her lips into a tight line, glaring at you because she refused to turn around and glare at the source of the problem.
“What do you want to drink, Yunho?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest and attempting to press a smile to your lips. It was your job, after all, to provide good customer service. You couldn’t be the one asking him why he was there or what he wanted from you. At least not when you were on the clock. You would leave those questions to Jihyo and Wooyoung.
“Do you know how to make an Old Fashioned?” Yunho asked.
Jihyo did whip around to face him, then. “She’s a bartender, you idiot. She knows how to make an Old Fashioned.”
That same slow smile crept across his lips. “You’re pretty when you’re mad,” he said, eliciting an immediate groan from Jihyo.
“Oh my god,” she said. “What is your problem?”
You looked to Wooyoung, who attempted to hide a laugh with his hand. This was pretty much how it went whenever the three of you were together. You and Wooyoung stopping Jihyo from getting into yelling matches with whoever didn’t agree with her. It was charming, in its own way.
“It’s fine,” you said, not wanting to make a scene in front of the four other customers in the bar. “Just ignore him. I do.”
You started making the Old Fashion instead, letting Wooyoung and Jihyo get back to their own conversation. All the while, feeling Yunho’s eyes trailing your hands, watching your movements.
Maybe Jihyo saw your cheeks turning red, or maybe she was just really curious about your love life, because she diverted the conversation away from Yunho, distracting you from his watchful eyes in one swoop. “How are things going with Hongjoong?” she asked.
You placed the drink in front of Yunho, saying, “Oh, yeah. They’re good,” while making direct eye contact. There was something quizzical in his gaze that you couldn’t quite place. You didn’t ask, and he didn’t voice whatever question it was that plagued his brain. “We’re going out tomorrow night.”
“Third date, right?” Jihyo asked.
“Mhm,” you said.
“I hope he puts out,” Wooyoung said, and Yunho choked on his sip, setting the glass down to cough into the collar of his jacket, hiding the redness blooming on his cheeks.
Your eyes widened at Wooyoung, a pointed glare.
“What?” he said, unsure why you were looking at him like that. “You’re the one who said it had been a while—”
Jihyo elbowed him in the stomach, and that was the end of that conversation.
You printed out Yunho’s receipt and placed it on the table in front of him without meeting his eyes.
“Actually, can I start a tab?” he asked.
You grabbed the receipt, crumpling it into a ball. Through gritted teeth, you said, “Of course,” taking his card out of his outstretched hand.
Customers thinned out one at a time for the next several hours, with Jihyo and Wooyoung finally departing a little bit before midnight. But Yunho stayed.
At 1am, he was still there, watching you clean up from across the bar.
“So,” he started.
You threw your head back in exasperation, even though the conversation had hardly begun. You just knew, because it was Yunho, that it was going to be exhausting.
“You’re dating,” he said.
It wasn’t what you expected, and it caught you off guard. The way he said it so casually, aloud to the empty bar.
“Is there something strange about that to you?” you asked. “Me dating?” You tried not to go on the defensive. But there was something so inherently cutting about the way he’d said it. Like he couldn’t believe it. Did he think there was something wrong with you? Something fundamentally unlikable? Or were you just projecting?
“No,” he said. “Of course not.”
Silence. Deafening. Your ears had a heartbeat.
“So, it’s been a while…?” he asked, and that stupid fucking smirk reappeared on his lips, like he was proud of something.
“I’m not having this conversation with you,” you said.
“You know, if you don’t remember how to do it, I can give you a crash course,” Yunho suggested, leaning back in his seat.
“I’ll kill you.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
You took your phone out to check the time, waiting for the numbers to flip forward just enough. When they did, you smiled. “Sorry, we’re actually closed.” You turned to face the register, printing out his receipt. You placed it in a book, then in front of him.
“You want a ride home?” he asked.
You couldn’t help the look of surprise that appeared on your face.
“What?” he asked. “I’m a gentleman.”
“You are not.”
“Just because you don’t like me, doesn’t mean I’m not charming,” he said. “So, do you want a ride home or not? It’s cold.”
He signed the receipt and closed the book.
You shook your head. “No,” you said. It sounded too firm. “Thanks,” you tacked on. You’d face whatever winter weather you had to in order to get home without his help.
Yunho stood up, and for some reason, you watched him. You always forgot how tall he was, how broad his shoulders were, until he was standing in front of you. He tossed his leather jacket back on, shoved his hands into his pockets, and left without another word.
You followed, locking the door behind him. Then, finishing your tasks, you grabbed the book off the counter and pulled out his receipt. On the few drinks he’d ordered, he tipped nearly thirty dollars. And there was a note scrawled across the bottom, too. Sorry for being an ass. You looked at it for a while before putting the tip into the system, storing the receipt, and shutting everything down.
It was a short walk between the bar and your apartment. Only about ten minutes. There was never any point in getting a car. On weekend nights, you could always count on Jihyo or Wooyoung to bring you home. Other nights, the walk wasn’t so bad. Besides, you kept pepper spray and a knife close at hand in case anyone dared try something with you. It wasn’t masked murderers in the middle of the night that caused a problem, though.
It was the torrential downpour that came on like a light switch, drenching you in ice-cold rain in seconds. You held one arm above your head as you walked, but it barely shielded you from the storm.
There were hardly any cars on the road, so when a motorcycle pulled up next to you, you were fairly certain you were about to be kidnapped.
So when the rider took off his helmet and extended it to you, revealing a quickly drenched Yunho, you couldn’t keep the shock from your face.
“Come on,” he said. “Get on.”
“What?” you asked, because your brain wasn’t exactly functioning properly. You didn’t even know he had a motorcycle, and you certainly weren’t going to get on the back of it.
“Come on,” he said again. “It’s pouring. You’ve made it ten feet. Let me take you home.”
You hated the way he said it, but your clothes were getting heavier as he spoke, so you stepped forward and took it.
“Isn’t it dangerous?” you asked. “You don’t have another helmet?”
He shook his head, freeing some of the wet hair that was stuck to his forehead. “Stop talking,” he said. “Just get on.”
You swung a leg over, keeping your distance from him. “What—how do I?” you asked.
“Hold on to me,” he said. You hesitated. “Just do it, it’s pouring, if you haven’t noticed, and I’d like to get going.”
You scooted forward and placed your hands delicately on the sides of his body. One hand at a time, he pulled you forward even more, putting each of your palms on his chest. “You’re such a baby,” he said. “Just hold on to me.”
“Fine,” you grumbled, pressing your body against his. You hated how large he felt. His back was wide and strong, and his chest felt warm underneath your hands.
Before you could think about how much you liked being close to him, he started driving. You hardly even had time to worry about him driving without a helmet in the rain before you were pulling into the apartment complex’s garage.
You were still clutching his chest when he said, “You can let go.”
“Oh,” you said, not loud enough to be heard through the helmet. You did, however, jump away from him, pulling your arms back and scooting backward before clambering off the bike altogether.
Your heart raced, and a clamminess had settled on your skin beneath all the layers of drenched clothing. When your hands touched his body—even through his clothes, it felt like being electrocuted. No reason for that could be justified by hatred. But you hated it, still. That he was so hot that just touching him made your body react. You convinced yourself it was purely animalistic. That how much you hated him couldn’t negate how attractive he was. It made you hate him more.
He turned off the bike and swung a leg over to stand up, reaching a hand out to you. You stared at it for a second too long. “The helmet,” he said.
Right, you thought. What was making your brain lag behind? Why couldn’t you fucking think straight? Surely it couldn’t be the dripping wet 6’1” man in front of you.
You took the helmet off and handed it to him. He secured it on the back of the bike, then lifted his hands to grasp his shirt, twisting it. Water fell in droplets onto the floor between you, but your eyes lingered on the patch of exposed skin, the curve of a few abs under the thin shirt. You could barely even process the fact that you were looking, let alone that he looked good. It was only when he cleared his throat that your eyes flicked up to meet his and that stupid smirk that never seemed to fade fully.
“Thanks for the ride,” you said abruptly before taking a few quick steps away toward the elevator. Unfortunately, he followed, slipping inside before the doors could budge.
Right, you wanted to say. We’re neighbors. At least you wouldn’t have to listen to him engaging in his usual extracurricular activities that night. Unless he magically found some way to get a girl back to his place in the middle of the night. Maybe he could summon one from the internet with the power of dating apps. You didn’t know how he did it, anyway.
The elevator immediately felt small, the ride up to your floor longer than it had ever been. Every time you looked up, he was trying to find your eyes, watching you intently. But neither did he say anything—and of course, you kept quiet too. Kept actively trying not to look at him. But you were curious, and you couldn’t help yourself sometimes. Because who was this man? This man who grated on your nerves and got under your skin and was so god damn annoying, but also left you big tips with nice notes and drove you home from work in the rain? This man who was absolutely gorgeous, whose body you wanted to touch again?
“You seem like you’re panicking,” he said.
“What?” you asked, lifting your head to meet his eyes. He leaned casually against the railing in the elevator, watching you with his hands in his pockets. “I’m not panicking. Why would I be panicking?” you asked, but it was immediately too defensive, too much talking.
He raised a brow, nodding almost imperceptibly. “Right,” he said. “All things someone who isn’t panicking would say.” He kicked off the wall, striding toward you, only to stop a few inches short.
“What are you doing?” you asked.
“Just trying to figure you out,” he said.
“I don’t need figuring out,” you said.
“Really?” he asked. He reached out, then, because he couldn’t help it. Because he wanted to touch you. His hand skimmed your bicep, and you shivered. He leaned forward. “Are you sure you don’t like me?”
“Yes,” you said, through gritted teeth, trying to sound as sure of yourself as you possibly could.
This only elicited a smile and a dry laugh from Yunho. “You don’t sound sure.”
“I could kiss you, and I would still feel absolutely nothing,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. Who was he to question your feelings, especially when all you’d ever given him were snarky comments and sass? Did he think a few longing looks at his abs equated true desire?
“Prove it,” he said.
“What?”
“Kiss me,” he said.
Later that night, when you struggled to sleep—you’d argue with yourself about the reasons. You’d say it was a matter of impulse. A desire to prove him wrong. But there would be something in the back of your head, too, a nagging, whispering like the devil on your shoulder—you did it because you wanted to.
When you stepped forward and stood on your toes, you weren’t thinking about any of that.
It was a challenge, and you weren’t one to back down. Simple as that.
The kiss started soft. Yunho took a moment to react, his lips still against yours for only a second before he stepped forward into you, forcing you backward into the wall. His hands moved, first grabbing your upper arms, then the sides of your face as he tilted your head back to deepen it—slipping a tongue between your lips.
You didn’t hold back. Your hands gripped the zippered edges of his jacket, pulling him toward you needlessly.
The kiss was not kind or soft, but passionate and aggressive, like something pent up was spilling out for everyone to see.
Only the ding of the elevator reaching your floor was enough to separate you. You pulled away, letting your hands drop from his jacket as your thumb came up to wipe away some inevitably smeared lipstick—probably worse than you could save with a simple action, anyway.
“See,” you said, rolling your shoulders back. “Nothing.”
Then, you slipped out from under his grasp and walked out of the elevator, trying to keep your pace even and calm until you were inside your apartment, breathing heavily with your back against the door.
Yunho turned to watch you leave, but didn’t follow. Instead, he stood stock still in the center of the elevator, fingers touching his lips, until the doors started to close.
“You what?” Jihyo asked. She leaned against the door frame as you dusted blush across your cheekbones.
You hadn’t exactly planned on telling her—or anyone—what happened, but it just slipped out. There weren’t really words to explain the situation. You couldn’t figure out why you’d done it, anyway. He’d tested you, and you weren’t one to back away from a dare. You wanted him to know, for certain, that he had no chance with you.
But why, then, had it been so difficult to stop thinking about him?
“I don’t know,” you said, because they were the only words bubbling to the surface in your otherwise Yunho-occupied mind. The heat of his lips on yours, the way his hands roamed all over your skin. You were starting to understand why the women he shared a bed with sang his praises all night long.
“Well—why? How?” she asked. “When?”
When you didn’t respond right away, Jihyo’s eyes widened expectantly, waiting for you to reveal all the dirty details of the situation.
With a sigh, you put down the brush and turned, leaning against the sink. “He gave me a ride home last night, after my shift.”
“He stayed that late?”
“Yes,” you said. “And I thought it was just to get on my nerves—but I don’t know. He left me a big tip and apologized for being such an ass.”
“He what?”
“He left a note on his check. Sorry for being an ass,” you explained.
“And then he kissed you?” Jihyo asked, one brow raised.
You shook your head. “No. He left. I started walking home. It was cold. It started raining. Yunho found me. I don’t know how. Maybe he was waiting. I don’t know. He gave me a ride home on his motorcycle, by the way.”
“You got on a motorcycle with Yunho?”
Your eyes narrowed. “Is that so unbelievable?”
“A little bit, yeah,” she commented.
“Anyway, it’s pouring. He drives me home. We’re in the elevator on the way up, and he just accuses me of looking at him differently.”
“Were you?” Jihyo asked.
“Hm?”
“Were you looking at him differently?” she clarified.
“Oh.” You hesitated. “Of course not. But I don’t know what I was thinking. The words just kind of came out. I said something along the lines of, I could kiss you and still feel nothing.” You, of course, did remember the exact words you’d spoken—but you were trying to be aloof. Trying to pretend that it wasn’t affecting you.
You weren’t very good at it. And besides. Jihyo could always see through your bullshit.
“And then he told me to prove it,” you said, your voice a bit smaller than before, ashamed of the act so many hours past it. An entire night's sleep and you still couldn’t believe you’d actually done it. You should have just laughed in his face. Should have ignored him, like you always did.
“So you did,” Jihyo said.
“So I did,” you echoed.
“But you felt something,” she said.
“But I felt something.” Your stomach flipped. You turned away from Jihyo, facing the mirror again, your hands gripping the edge. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Jihyo, ever the pragmatic, said, “Well, stop thinking about it. He’s an asshole, remember.”
You weren’t naive to believe that his apology truly fixed anything. Besides, maybe this was the long con. Step one: apologize. Step two: get you on the back of his bike. Step three: kiss you in the elevator? Then what?
Who would he send over to kick you out in the morning? Some other neighbor?
It wasn’t feasible, these thoughts. They couldn’t go anywhere. It almost made it worse—that they just had to stay in your head. Trapped. Because acting on them, well, it was a fucking horrible idea. And he was probably just playing with you, anyway. That’s what he did.
“I remember,” you grumbled.
“Do you remember Hongjoong?” she asked, and you could see the way she smiled reflected in the mirror. Pointed, obvious in the point she was conveying.
You picked up a lip gloss and ran the wand over your lips. “I didn’t cancel the date, did I?” you said. “I’m wearing a cute outfit. I’m going.”
Jihyo smiled. “Okay. Good.”
“You know, you can be really judgmental,” you said, a hint of a laugh escaping between words.
“That’s why you love me.” She smiled big and wide. “Now have fun tonight. That’s an order. And try to get laid, for the love of god.”
You were standing in front of your door, a little bit tipsy, trying to unlock it, when the one down the hall popped open. You couldn’t help the groan that fell from your lips, knowing just who was going to appear in front of you in no time at all.
He took his time. You had to give him that. He leaned against the door frame to his own apartment for a little while, watching you struggle. Which was annoying in its own way—but at least it was from a distance.
The distance didn’t last. He got closer.
You held up a hand in his direction. “No,” you said. You weren’t drunk enough that your words were slurring, just tipsy enough to say exactly what was on your mind. A dangerous thing, considering what was on your mind lately regarding the man in the hallway. “You stay over there.”
Thankfully, you got the key to work, letting the door to your apartment swing inward. Yunho was faster, though, and more determined. He caught it with one hand before it could slam closed.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and those weren’t the words you expected to come out of his mouth. They weren’t suggestive or annoying. He actually seemed genuine. Had you ever met a more confusing man? One who could flip back and forth between strange softness and playful humor faster than you could process it?
He wore black jeans, the same leather jacket he basically lived in. His near-black hair fell just past his eyebrows, only partially obscuring brown eyes that met your gaze. There was a slight crease between his brows, like he was just as confused as you were about the state of his personality—about the way he was acting toward you.
“Yes,” you said. Yunho closed the door gently behind him. “And you can’t just invite yourself into my apartment whenever you want.”
“Date didn’t go well, I take it?” he asked, that playful tone coming back at half power. The smirk that appeared put in a lot of work.
You pressed your lips into a tight line, gritting your teeth. You couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks as you grew embarrassed. Any normal person wouldn’t have commented on the fact that you’d come home alone after a third date—especially after your friends announced so loudly your desire to get laid.
“Can we not do this right now?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as if to cover some of your obvious discomfort.
“You know,” he said, taking another step closer to you. You didn’t move. Of course you didn’t. You wanted him closer, even if you wanted to pretend otherwise. And ultimately, your body beat out your mind the moment he intruded upon your personal space. “The offer still stands.”
Your brain wasn’t working. “What offer?” you bit out.
He didn’t touch you, but his hands might as well have been all over your body with how hot you felt. “You know—if you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be with someone.”
It was enough to make you take a much-needed step back, sobering you some. “Oh my god, get a grip, Yunho.”
He just laughed. It wasn’t a big deal to him. It was just another joke, another way to get under your skin.
You steeled yourself for the lie you needed to speak aloud, to really get the point across. “I don’t want you. I’ll never want you. I like my men with a little more… dignity.”
For a split second, you were certain you’d hurt his feelings. His eyes softened, and his shoulders lowered. But then he was back to smiling again, acting like it hadn’t affected him in the slightest.
When had this turned from him asking you if you were okay to him propositioning you again? And why had you wanted to say yes? If it weren’t for the voice of Jihyo playing in the back of your head, reminding you that he was an asshole—over and over again—you might have let it happen. You were feeling just dejected enough, anyway.
Hongjoong had basically rejected you. It was rightful, too, since you’d barely paid attention to him during your date. Your mind had been on other things. Other people. And besides, there’d been no spark. He didn’t push your buttons. He didn’t make you laugh.
“Really, though,” Yunho said, taking a more serious tone again—enough to give you whiplash. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you said.
“You don’t seem fine,” Yunho said.
“If I needed a friend, I’d call Jihyo. Or Wooyoung.”
Again, that look of hurt. Like he’d been struck.
“Right,” he said. “Obviously.” He took a step away from you, toward the door. “Sorry.” You were too stunned to speak. “I’ll see you later.”
When you woke up the next morning, there was no woman to escort out of Yunho’s apartment. Your apartment sat empty. Quiet. It continued like that for several days. Nearly a week. You let Jihyo and Wooyoung talk you out of going over there, of making sure everything was okay with him. That he hadn’t died or moved out or something.
No matter what excuses you made up, however, you still couldn’t get him out of your head. Even when he wasn’t around to bother you. You found yourself hoping to catch him around a corner, in the elevator, or by his bike in the parking garage. You didn’t.
He was strangely absent.
Not only that, but his apartment was quiet, too.
That should have resulted in better sleep, but you found yourself awake for other reasons, staring at the ceiling. You could find any reason to doubt yourself. Maybe you’d been too quick to judge him. The way his face had fallen the last time you spoke haunted you. Eyes open or closed, you could still see the ghost of his disappointment. The soft tenor of his voice and the way he sounded so genuine.
Convincing yourself that it was a fluke did not help.
And somehow, you always ended up back in that elevator, his lips hot on yours.
Yunho was hot. Of course, he was. You had never questioned that fact. You had explicitly tried to ignore it. But he wasn’t your type. He liked to push your buttons, get under your skin. He didn’t respect basic boundaries.
Now, he was gone. The firm boundary you’d put in place was being respected, and you found yourself being the one who wanted to cross it.
Maybe that was growth. Or maybe it was all a part of Yunho’s grand scheme to get in your pants. If you thought about it for too long, you could believe anything. It was the only the long con, a way of getting to you by disappearing when you were finally interested—or, it was the first genuine thing he’d ever done.
And it made you feel bad.
Something shot through your nervous system, a realization that you didn’t want to make eye contact. You missed him.
It was nearly a week later when you spotted his door clicking shut just as you were leaving to run a few errands.
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to you. But after all the times he’d barged in uninvited, you figure it was okay to intrude on his space just once. Walking the short distance from your door to his, however, did cause a strange anxiety to settle in next to your heart, tucked away in your ribcage. A thrumming that whispered, “What are you doing? Why are you doing it?” over and over again.
It didn’t stop you from raising your hand to tap your knuckles against the door.
When Yunho opened the door, he looked a little worse for wear. His hair was fluffier than usual, sticking up in places like he’d spent the last seven days running his hands through it. He looked you up and down. A smile appeared on his lips, but it wasn’t the same as the proud one you’d grown used to. He didn’t say anything, just watched you.
“Hey,” you said. Attempting to be casual didn’t exactly suit you.
“Hey?” he repeated.
“Yeah,” you said. “Hey.” You tried to meet his gaze, but his eyes kept moving away, finding something else to look at whenever you got close.
He had one hand on the door, holding it open. It would be easier that way, to close it whenever he needed to. Because he wanted to look at you. He wanted to meet your gaze. But there was this ball of anger in the pit of his stomach, too. A tightly wound piece of hatred. Not for you, of course. He couldn’t hate you. No. He hated himself. And he would never say it out loud, not to himself and certainly not to you—but he hated himself for being someone you didn’t want.
But all he could do was look past your eyes and force a smile.
Unfortunately, the hatred he felt toward himself manifested as anger. “Do you need something?”
The sharpness in his tone sliced straight through you. “What?”
“You made it clear you don’t want me,” he said.
“Well—” you stammered. “That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
“You have Jihyo and Wooyoung, right? That’s what you said.” He paused and finally met your eyes. Something crossed his face. “Besides, I don’t want to be your friend.”
“Oh,” you said. The anxiety tucked away in your chest blossomed, and your heart began to race. This was a mistake, then. At least you could leave and pretend it never happened. Why then, were you so frozen solid to the spot in front of his door? Why couldn’t you just turn and walk away? Why could you feel the ghost of his lips on yours, the heat of his palms on your arms? Why couldn’t you look away?
“You’re afraid to admit it, but I’m not,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, gentle tone once more. The one you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. The one that floated through your dreams like a melody. “I like you.”
Your lips parted. He leaned forward to look at you on eye level, studying you. He didn’t touch you, just let his eyes bore into yours. It was far too intimate than your racing heart could take.
“You think I’m all bad,” he said. “I’m not. Let me take you out sometime. I’ll prove it to you.” The corners of his lips turned up in a small smile. Hopeful.
It was your own self-hatred, your own uncertainty, your own self-consciousness, your own fear, that made you say what you did. “I can’t,” you said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said. And that’s what broke you. Not the rejection, but the acceptance. The way his smile turned firm as he stood straight up and stepped away from you, moving to close the door just as you turned to flee.
Several days passed, but even the passage of time didn’t make you feel any better.
“It’s good,” Jihyo said. “I don’t trust him.”
“Yeah,” Wooyoung echoed. “Me either.”
It wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, either, given how much you’d been thinking about it. About him. Even your thoughts felt selfish. Because you could have him, if you really wanted to. If you really wanted to have him, you could walk over to his apartment and tell him that.
But something held you back.
The fear, mostly.
The thought that you would just end up like all the other girls he’d engaged in one-night stands with. You weren’t exactly a one-night stand kind of girl. Or, at least, you weren’t certain that was what you wanted from Yunho. You didn’t know what you wanted. Maybe that was the scariest part.
“You didn’t see the look on his face,” you said, sinking deeper and deeper into the couch.
It was Wooyoung who eventually said. “If you like him, I guess I don’t really see what the problem is.”
“The problem is he has a different girl over every night,” Jihyo commented.
“Not every night. Besides, he hasn’t in a while,” you said, which earned you a look from Jihyo. “What? The walls are thin. I can hear everything.”
“Maybe he’s a changed man,” Wooyoung commented.
“Doubt it,” Jihyo said.
You could only shrug. “I don’t know. I hardly know him, anyway.” You let out a long, deep breath. “I’ll get over it eventually. So will he. I’m sure it’ll be fine in a few weeks. Maybe we’ll even laugh about it.”
Hours later, when Jihyo and Wooyoung finally left your apartment—you stood at the door, waiting for them to get on the elevator. An old habit. Like making sure they got home safe. The elevator doors opened, and Yunho stepped out. You only saw him at first.
Then, you saw her. The girl hanging off his arm. Laughing. Smiling.
Jihyo shot you a look, but you shook your head. It was fine. You didn’t need them coming to your rescue over a man you’d rejected. They got into the elevator and disappeared. You tried to close your door fast, but Yunho spotted you first. You just barely caught him raising a few fingers in a wave, a smile on his lips, before the hastily shut door separated you both.
Something bloomed in your chest, hot and angry. You’d seen him with other women before. Countless times, in fact. You’d heard them through your walls, escorted them out afterward. And you’d never been angry at anything other than the inconvenience.
But now the anger flushed your system of coherent thoughts. The tips of your ears turned red as you rested your forehead against the closed door. This wasn’t anger. As much as you wanted to believe it, manifest it into being so—it was so much worse.
Jealousy.
It made your skin crawl, the realization. You were jealous. And the worst part was that you had no right to be. He had offered you the same thing he gave all those girls, and you’d turned him down. So why now, did you have your head resting on the door and your eyes squeezed tight? Maybe it wasn’t just jealousy, but anger too.
Anger at your own poor decision-making skills. Anger at Yunho for—what exactly? Moving on? You were the one who’d been adamant that there was absolutely nothing between you. He’d shot his shot and failed. Had you expected him to retire from the little game he played every weekend?
You tried to remind yourself what would have happened if you’d gone out with him. That he wasn’t relationship material. That he didn’t want you like you wanted him.
Fuck. You wanted him.
You wanted him, and it made you feel like an idiot.
Is that how everyone who ended up in his bed felt? Confused and annoyed, angry with his charming personality and his ability to sweep pretty much anyone off their feet without really even trying?
And when had this happened, anyway? He’d moved in a few months ago. You’d been tolerating his presence since—and then things just, well, shifted.
It didn’t even matter if you ended up as just another one-night stand—you wanted to be in his bed, underneath him, no matter what the outcome was. It was that thought that pulled you away from the door and sent you into the bedroom, diving under the covers and attempting to think about anything other than what was possibly going on in the next room over.
Damn his stupid motorcycle and the way his shirt, damp with rain and sweat, had stuck to his skin. Damn his stupid, charming smile that shifted between snarky and kind. Damn his everything, every detail that made you look twice, that had you second-guessing every moment, every interaction.
It was even worse, knowing that he wanted you, too. Knowing that he wanted you, and that you could have just had him, if you weren’t such an idiot.
And so you oscillated back and forth like that for a while—between being annoyed at yourself for rejecting him and at him for being so charming and so untrustworthy at the same time.
It went on like that for some time before you eventually fell asleep to thoughts of walking down the hall and throwing the door open, to grabbing him and kissing him—before your mind eventually decided being awake no longer served you.
Unfortunately, when morning came, it wasn’t with a new, refreshed mind.
Instead, more thoughts swarmed, and before you could stop and think about what you were doing, you were standing in the hallway outside Yunho’s apartment in your pajamas.
It wasn’t until you raised your hand to knock that you realized exactly where you were.
Yunho must have sensed it. The door swung open, and there he was, standing there with that somewhat charming, somewhat obnoxious smile on his face, looking at you like this—whatever you were doing—was, in fact, completely normal behavior.
He looked just out of bed, messy hair and plaid pajama pants. A white shirt that clung to him and a loose robe overtop. One hand held a mug of coffee, and he leaned against the door frame in such a casual manner as you glanced him over, trying to figure out some excuse for why you’d shown up at his door.
“Good morning,” he said. There was a coldness to his voice. Something absent from his tone that you didn’t want to linger on. Like he was distancing himself from you.
Words failed you.
“I—” you started. You took a step forward, nearly into his body. He didn’t yield against you, instead holding firm in the door frame. You tried to look over his shoulder to see if the girl was still present. Did he not want your help escorting her out?
The smile that fell on his lips was slow, and you watched him figure you out in record time.
“Looking for someone?” he asked, that cold tone growing warmer, charm seeping back into his words, that familiar enjoyment. A cat playing with a mouse.
You took a step back. “No.”
“Seems like you are.”
“I’m not,” you said, but you weren’t able to keep the defensive note from your voice. It was so painstakingly clear to both of you why you were there and what you were looking for. It became a game, then, of who would concede the space first. Who would give up. You could easily admit your lie, but there was no pride in that. And Yunho, well, he could just as easily call you out on it, but that didn’t seem like the path he wanted to take, either.
Instead, it turned into a standoff of words loaded into guns and backs turned. Paces counted before firing. Eye contact, before your gaze dropped to his lips, and the slow smile crawling across turned into a smirk of victory undeserved.
“I just thought you might want my help,” you said, cocking your head back and crossing your arms. A feeble attempt to gain some ground.
“I don’t,” he said. Sharp. You hated that the simple words cut, even though you would have claimed to hate said help only a week prior.
“You don’t,” you repeated.
Your cursed brain. He’d found someone else. Someone else to break the streak of one-night stand girls. He’d found someone else, and it was too late, and you’d ruined everything out of pure indecisiveness and misguided advice.
Maybe he wasn’t even such a bad guy.
Maybe your vision had been clouded by jealousy from the very beginning.
Yunho stepped away from the door, walking deeper into the apartment. You hesitated. He brought down another mug and filled it, pushing it in your direction and eying you to take it.
“You know,” he said. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”
Your brows drew together as you watched him, sipping his coffee and looking over the cup at you, still standing in the hallway.
“I’m not—” you started, but he just laughed. “I’m really not.”
“Then why are you here?” he asked, the genuine nature of his voice catching you off guard. “You already rejected me, remember?”
Your feet carried you into his apartment. You closed the door behind you.
“I remember,” you said. You stopped across from him and reached over to pick up the mug of coffee, the kitchen island separating you. You looked over your shoulder, eyes wandering toward the open door of his bedroom.
“You’re funny,” he said.
“What?” you asked, eyes snapping back to him.
“There’s no one here,” Yunho said. He set his coffee mug down on the counter and walked closer to you. “And whatever you’re trying to do—you’re not very good at it.”
He reached up and took the coffee mug out of your hands, placing it on the counter next to his.
“There’s no one here,” you said, repeating his words back to him for the second time. It was easier than finding new ones to say.
He rolled his eyes, but the annoyance didn’t reach his lips. No, those still held that same pleased smile, like he knew something you didn’t.
Yunho reached out, closing the distance between you, to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. He looked down at you with a gaze you couldn’t place. Something between admiration and lust. His fingers trailed down your jaw and hooked under your chin.
His touch froze you. You could only blink and watch, your gaze darting between his mouth and his eyes.
“Are you jealous?” he asked, holding your chin and looking at you carefully.
“I don’t know,” you said, because that was the truth. All the thoughts in your mind were jumbled, and nothing made sense when it came to him.
He raised one brow, skeptical. “Did you need to borrow something?” he asked. “Or yell at me because the TV was too loud?”
“No,” you said.
“Then why did you come over?” he asked. He led you toward the answer, walked you there while holding your chin and making sure you kept your eyes trained on his. His voice was gentle, but stern—and you knew he wouldn’t relent until you gave him the truth.
You sighed, and this small act of giving up only made the corners of his lips turn up. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you said. His lips parted in shock. Because he’d been expecting an admission regarding your jealousy, not the way that he raced through your mind all night. But you kept going, anyway. “And I didn’t mean to come over, I mean—I guess I did. But I left my apartment, and then here I was—and I wasn’t even going to knock, but you opened the door, and then all I could think about was whether or not you had a girl over.”
His hand slipped from your chin to lay flat against the side of your head, his palm on your cheek and his fingers dipping into your hair.
Your heart raced faster as his eyes dropped to your lips, and your first kiss played on a loop over and over again until you were stepping closer to him, lifting a hand to touch the one on your cheek.
He inched closer too, until your bodies were almost touching.
Yunho’s eyes met yours, then flicked downward. Up and back. Your eyes followed the same pattern, and you moved closer, closer, a centimeter at a time, until his lips were on yours again and everything agonizingly slow kicked into full speed.
His other hand came up to cup your other cheek as he kissed you slowly. It wasn’t the abrupt, intense heat of the kiss you shared in the elevator, but a soft, molten kiss that sent your nerves firing.
When he pulled away, it was only a half an inch, barely enough to keep you from recapturing his lips and stopping whatever sentence whirred to life behind hazy eyes. “That’s what I wanted our first kiss to be like,” he said.
“I liked our first kiss,” you said, without really thinking.
He dropped his forehead against yours. “Me too.”
“I liked the second too.” But you didn’t let yourself reach out again, not with the last thought that nagged at the back of your mind. “What about the girl—your date last night?”
“She didn’t stay long. I couldn’t stop thinking about my neighbor.” He put a half-step’s worth of space between you.
“How annoying,” you said, laughing under your breath.
“Yeah, she really is,” he teased. “Kinda hot, though.”
“Kinda?” you asked, raising a brow at him.
“Okay, insanely,” Yunho said, crossing his arms over his chest. “So hot she’s driven me mad since the day I moved in. Is that what you want to hear?”
You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips. “Yes.”
“Now will you let me take you out?” he asked.
You hadn’t thought about what would happen after you stormed over to his apartment without invitation, nor what would happen after his lips were on yours. You thought he would try something more, but he kept his distance—asked about dates instead.
“You look shocked,” he said.
“I’m not,” you said, and he chuckled under his breath. Apparently, you were easier to read than you thought, or maybe he was just good at knowing what you were thinking. Somehow, that wasn’t as annoying as it used to be.
“Not jealous, not shocked…” he trailed off. “Not very good at lying, either.”
“I just didn’t think dating was really your thing,” you said.
He placed a hand to his heart in mock hurt. “You wound me,” he said. “I’m a romantic at heart, you’ll see.”
“Oh, will I?” you asked, “From what I’ve heard, it doesn’t sound like romance.” You tilted your head to the side, looking up at him, watching for the reaction.
His brows lifted a hair. “You’ve been listening.”
“The walls are thin, Yunho.”
“And that’s why you’re jealous?” he asked, reaching out to poke your cheek. “Because of what you’ve been hearing?”
“No,” you stammered, a crinkle developing between your brows in irritation.
“I can’t figure you out,” he said. “You think I’m this big player, right? But you’re also up at night with your ear to the wall trying to listen in so—I think you might be the real freak, here.”
You slapped his arm playfully. “I am not.”
“We’ll see,” he said, continuing before you could get a word in, “Let me take you out tonight.”
“I’m working,” you said.
“Tomorrow night.”
You pretended to ponder the availability of your schedule. Since your minor situationship with Hongjoong fizzled out, you hadn’t had plans with anyone but Jihyo and Wooyoung. And they wouldn’t mind a night off from having to listen to your problems. Maybe you’d get an earful from Jihyo about how you were choosing to spend the night, instead, but Wooyoung would come around.
“Tomorrow night,” you confirmed.
It was strange how quickly everything turned over in your mind. Maybe you were naive, but one kiss and you’d started to see him differently. That voice that nagged in the back of your mind, reminding you that maybe he was like this with all the girls he brought back, had disappeared completely. Instead, you found ways to justify it all. There was nothing wrong with sleeping around, anyway.
You’d had more active times in your life, too. And no one had judged you for that, well, experimentation.
He watched the cogs turn behind your eyes. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Just trying to figure you out, is all.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, rethinking whatever it was he wanted to say. It seemed like you were both playing the same game—trying to understand the other without giving too much away, without making a big deal out of something that hadn’t gone anywhere, yet.
“So,” you said. A blanket of silence suddenly fell between you, the awkward air of the kiss settling on your shoulders, and the future plans made.
“So,” Yunho said, much cooler, calmer, than you had. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then?”
“Yeah,” you said. “Definitely.”
You took a step back, but he reached out to grab your hand before you could get too far. He held it, not too tight, but not exactly with a gentle grasp, either. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said. “Really.”
Heat rose to your cheeks.
“Yeah,” you said. “Me too,” before disappearing from his apartment. By the time you were back home, your palms were sweating.
Was this a horrible idea? And if it was, why did you want it so badly?
The next 36 hours went by at an unimaginably slow pace. In that time, you managed to spend a good several more hours overthinking, at least thirty minutes on the phone with Jihyo, convincing her that this was, maybe, a good idea, actually, and the rest of the time panicking about your ability to make decisions regarding your love life.
“It doesn’t have to be anything,” Jihyo said at the end of the call, after retiring her role as devil’s advocate. “It was just a kiss, right? And it’s just a date.”
“Maybe I want it to be something,” you said. “That’s what scares me. What if he doesn’t?”
You could hear her shrug over the line. “Guess you’ll have to ask him.”
Wooyoung chimed in from over Jihyo’s shoulder. “Besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen, anyway? You find out if the sex is good, and then he stops showing up at your apartment without permission?”
You pinched your nose between your thumb and forefinger. “Neither of you are helpful,” you said.
Hours after the call, however, you couldn’t help but admit that Wooyoung’s words were true. This was a sexual attraction. Yunho was sexy. He had a confusing charm to him that you never understood, and a contagious smile. He was goofy, good at video games, and fun to bicker with—but you didn’t really know him, did you?
So you decided that’s what the date would be for.
You’d get to know him. Decide exactly what you wanted. And if that was just sex, well. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, right? Maybe fucking him would get him out of your head, too. Though, you had a feeling that probably wouldn’t be the case.
By the time eight o’clock rolled around, you were standing in your bedroom, looking in the floor-length mirror, still attempting to determine exactly which outfit was right for the date.
You’d never been this nervous for a date before.
It was just a date. Yunho was just a man.
The knock at the door, however, sent your heart into your stomach—so maybe you were just lying to yourself. Either way, it wasn’t working.
You smoothed your hands down the front of your shirt, over the sides of your skirt. Was there time to change? He was on the other side of the door, and still, you didn’t feel exactly right. Almost like you were wearing a costume, something to impress him, but not something that was really you.
The nerves were getting to you, and all you had to do was just open the door.
Open the door, and he would be there, staring back at you. You knew exactly what he would look like, too. Leather jacket, permanent smirk curling up the corners of his lips, knowing brown eyes scanning you. It was a comfort, almost, this knowing.
But still, you were frozen.
Like opening the door was some kind of test of your own nature. He was the same, steady. Predictable. But you? Was he on the other side of the door, telling himself the same thing, that you were there—familiar?
What if he didn’t like this version of you? The one who had spent hours trying to figure out how to look just right, for him. The one wearing a skirt, the one who was excited about the date, who had gotten her hopes up.
What if he had only ever liked you because you didn’t like him?
You rubbed your temples, trying to quiet the ever-existing anxiety that stirred behind your eyes, a reminder that this was something you fucking cared about, which only made the whole thing worse. You cared, which meant you could screw it up. You could screw it up, and it would hurt.
“You gonna open the door?” Yunho asked from the hall. He had this weird ability to read your mind, to sense when you were nearby. Like he knew some part of you that even you couldn’t see.
You opened the door halfway through an eye roll.
And there he was.
He looked nothing like you’d imagined in your head. His leather jacket was missing, replaced by a black suit jacket with a white button-up underneath, a skinny black tie cut down the middle. Though you could barely see his torso behind the bouquet of flowers he held in one arm.
Yunho’s eyes stayed glued to yours. They didn’t wander, as yours did. But that slow smile did crawl across his lips as you took him in, this different version of him.
“Are those for me?” you asked, looking at the arrangement of tulips and baby’s breath.
He took a step closer to you, dropping his free hand around your shoulders to place a kiss atop your head, into your hair. It was immediately overwhelming, being in his presence again, especially after so many hours of trying to pretend that he had no effect on you.
Well, there that effect was. The way your heart immediately beat faster, your nervous system racing into high alert, goosebumps rising on your forearms. You would think that something was truly wrong, the way your body reacted. Like this was something to run away from. But coupled with the feeling of ignition—the warmth of him being close started a fire somewhere deep within you—there was no chance you would run away.
“Do you have a vase I can put these in?” he said, answering your arguably dumb question as he took a step away from you.
You moved out of the way, letting him step into your apartment. A place familiar to him. Some place he’d basically broken into over and over again. He moved through it like it belonged to him, walking into the kitchen to grab a vase from under the sink. He filled it with water and placed the bouquet inside, leaving it on the counter.
“You seem nervous,” he commented as he trimmed away the plastic wrapping with a pair of scissors he’d also known the location of.
Your arms were crossed over your chest, not in disappointment or contempt, but because you had to hold onto something to steady yourself. Your fingers dug into your biceps only slightly, but he must have caught that, too.
Or maybe he was just so used to the inner workings of your mind, your body, that he could sense these differences too.
You had no idea he paid so much attention.
“I’m not,” you said. But even a stranger would have known you were lying.
He peeled away the rest of the crinkling plastic and put it in the trash, snipping the rubber band on the bouquet and letting the flowers fall outward.
“They’re pretty,” you said, as if that could distract from your nerves and his commentary on them. “Thank you.”
You kept your distance from him, standing just outside the kitchen while he worked. But once finished, he strode toward you again. He stopped just short, not opting to reach for you, just looking.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “You sure you’re okay?”
You cleared your throat as you nodded. “Mhm.”
He could only chuckle under his breath. You were standing so straight, holding yourself so tightly. He did reach out, then, peeling one of your hands away from your arm to hold it. He laced his fingers between yours.
Yunho’s hands were large and warm, and they didn’t serve to ground you any.
Oh god. What was happening to you?
You tried to remind yourself of everything you’d said earlier. This was just a date. Yunho was just a man. A really, really fucking hot man. And a man who drove you absolutely insane. A man who knew how to kiss.
“You ready to go?” he asked, eyes flicked downward, watching your joined hands. He couldnt’t believe it either—was just better at keeping his cool—that this was actually happening. That you’d agreed to it.
“Yes,” you said, and the pair of you walked out of your apartment together. He made eyes at you in the elevator.
Were you both thinking about the same thing? The upward quirk of his smile was enough to make you think yes.
“You are nervous,” Yunho commented as the doors to the lobby slid open.
“Shut up,” you said. “I’m not.”
He held his free hand up in defense. “Not a very nice way to talk to your date.”
You shot a glare in his direction, but it wasn’t very threatening when paired with the smile gracing your lips.
He squeezed your hand. “Why?”
“Why, what?” you asked.
“Why are you nervous?”
“I’m not nervous,” you said again, but this time the pointed look was from him. And frankly, it was deserved. “Shut up,” you said again, as the two of you stepped outside. “I’m not nervous, you’re nervous.”
“I’m a little nervous,” he said.
He kept your hand in his as you walked. He didn’t tell you where you were going, and you didn’t ask.
“What?” you asked. “The Jeong Yunho, nervous? Haven’t you done this like a million times?”
“Yeah, but never with you,” he said, which only made heat rise to your cheeks.
You were still not used to this version of Yunho. The charming one. The complement to the snarky asshole who’s been appearing in your apartment for the past several months.
“Where are you taking me, anyway?” you asked, diverting the conversation from compliments that made your skin turn pink.
“We’re almost there,” he said.
There were so many other questions flying through your head, but it was so much harder to form words around him, now. It was easier before, when all those words were full of frustration and anger, when you were making fun of him or reacting to his torment. When he was being kind to you, it only left you speechless and on uneven footing.
Thankfully, he was right. In only a few minutes of walking, you arrived at a small Italian bistro. A place you’d seen a hundred times on walks home from work, but never stopped into. It wasn’t exactly a bartender’s salary kind of place, unless you wanted to blow an entire month’s food budget on delicious gnocchi. Which, honestly, you’d thought about plenty of times before.
Booths lined the walls with tables in the center, spread out and quiet, each with its own warm candlelight in the middle, its own dangling chandelier in the center. The tables were preset with wine glasses and cutlery.
He gave his name at the host stand, and the two of you followed her to a table. Yunho’s hand settled on your lower back as you walked.
Only the thin layer of your shirt stopped the electricity from knocking you out, dulling it to a mild spark instead. You slid into a booth opposite him.
The host rattled off some wine specials.
“Whatever you suggest,” Yunho said, smiling warmly at the woman.
She disappeared momentarily, then returned with a bottle of red wine with a name you didn’t know how to pronounce. She filled up your glasses, then left the bottle behind.
“So,” Yunho said, picking up his glass to look at you over it. “I should have said this already, but you look really nice tonight.”
“Don’t,” you said, a knee-jerk reaction to his complimenting. “I mean—”
“You know this is a date, right?” he teased. “You agreed to go on a date with me.”
You laughed under your breath, covering your mouth with your hand. “Sorry,” you said, trying not to laugh. “Still trying to get used to you being like this.”
“Like what?” he asked, one brow raised.
“Oh, come on. You know like what,” you fired back. You lifted your glass of wine too and took a small sip. It was delicious. Deep and dry.
He set his wine glass down and leaned slightly forward with both elbows on the table, trying to get closer to you. He tilted his head to the side, watching you curiously. “I don’t,” he said.
“All charming and nice,” you said.
“I think I’ve always been charming and nice,” Yunho said.
You shake your head, taking another sip of your wine to hide the fact that the smile won’t fade from your lips—that being around him made you smile, now. “That’s not true, and you know it, Yunho.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Please,” you said. “You can’t pretend that for the last several months you haven’t been trying to get on my last nerve.”
He pursed his lips like he was really, actually taking the time to think about it. “Maybe I just like getting you all hot and bothered,” he said, finally.
“Wasn’t hot,” you said. “Just bothered.”
“And now?” Yunho asked, leaning even further over the table, as if making direct eye contact would allow him to glean every secret you ever had.
“Still just bothered, I think,” you teased, lifting your glass to your lips.
Yunho leaned back in his seat, picking up his own glass and smiling smugly to himself. “I do like a challenge.”
When the waitress came over to ask about starting courses, you were still looking at one another, like you were both trying to place exactly what was going on, exactly what all of it meant. Yunho looked at you like he was trying to read your mind, trying to figure out what you thought about him, and you looked at him like you were trying to piece together a complex puzzle, trying to figure out what he wanted from you.
It was Yunho who broke eye contact first, who glanced over at the waitress, who ordered a few starters for the table.
When she walked away, you were still looking at him, watching. Studying, almost. Like you could glean something in the way he talked to others, in whether he chose bruschetta or burrata.
“So,” he said, lowering his empty glass back to the table.
“So,” you mirrored.
It occurred to you then that you knew almost nothing about him, aside from the fact that he liked video games and coffee. Aside from what his mouth felt like against yours.
You engaged in tense, short, small talk for a little while, until the food came out. How work had been for you, what he’d been up to with his time. Trying to get to know each other even a little bit more. It all came back to pointed glances and tension—both of you guarded against something. Not each other, really, but refusing to let the other in.
Yunho didn’t give much away about himself, only continued asking about you. And you could only tease him in response. Keeping him at a distance by pushing back, instead.
As the wine levels lowered, so did your defenses.
“Is this how it usually goes for you?” you asked, finishing off your second glass of wine while you waited for his answer. He didn’t speak immediately, so you clarified. “Like, on all your dates, is this usually how things go?”
“I don’t know where you got this idea that I go on tons of dates,” he said.
It only served to stun you. Because—where else would you have gotten that information, aside from the obvious? By living next door. By kicking out said dates the next morning.
“I mean—” you started.
“Your impression of me,” he said. “It’s wrong. You think I’m this ladies man, right?” He laughed like he couldn’t even say the words with a straight face. “I’m really not.”
“Oh, please,” you said, because you knew that to be false. You’d met the women. Spoken with them.
He chuckled under his breath. “Just because they were at my house didn’t mean I went out on dates with them. You know that, right? That you don’t have to go on a date with someone to get into bed with them?” He raised a brow in such a suggestive way that you choked on your saliva.
“I know that,” you said. Even though it didn’t really occur to you that he wasn’t actually dating anyone.
“This is the first date I’ve been on in over a year,” he said, offering up something about himself completely unprompted. “So I don’t know how it’s going, really. My date seems a little tense. A little nervous, even though she doesn’t want to admit it.”
“You haven’t been on a date in over a year?” you asked, lingering on the details. “But you’re so—” you started, then realized you had no idea how to finish the sentence. What? Active?
“Let’s just get this conversation over with,” Yunho said, a bit of tension appearing in the crease between his brows. He didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t want to draw attention to it. But you were so obviously curious, and it was so easy to do anything when it was what you wanted.
“No,” you said, holding a hand up. “It’s okay, really. I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “It makes sense why you did. The women I’ve been with, they knew what I was looking for. I didn’t trick them or make them think I was looking for a relationship when I wasn’t. We met at bars or clubs or on dating apps. I didn’t date any of them.”
“Okay,” you said.
“So, I guess I’m kind of rusty,” he said. “When it comes to stuff like this.”
You laughed. “You’re not rusty at all,” you said. “You’re charming. You’ve always been charming.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you said. “Like, annoyingly so.”
He looked down at the table, but not before you caught the slight blush appearing on his cheeks. Had you actually made Yunho blush?
“I think that makes you the experienced dater in the situation, then,” Yunho said.
This, too, made you laugh. Because if there was anything you didn’t have experience with, it was dating. All of your dates had ended—with a fizzle and certainly without a bang. Your track record over the past year or two was mostly boring. Boring men who didn’t make you laugh. Boring men who you couldn’t bicker playfully with. Men who wanted more from you than you had to give. Or not enough.
“I don’t know about that,” you said. Then, “Maybe we’re both losers.”
A bright smile crossed his lips. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe.”
The rest of the dinner went by without as much tension. You learned a few little bits of information about one another. Where he grew up. What you studied in school. What your favorite drink to make at work was.
“Do you like it?” he asked, refilling your wine when a new bottle appeared at the table seemingly out of nowhere. “Your job?”
You shrugged. “Most of the time, yes.” You took a small sip. “I like the people. The regulars are mostly cool. And I get this glimpse into people’s lives that I don’t think I could get anywhere else. I only get to see what they want to show me. What they tell me about their day, or whatever baggage they bring to the counter. I like that.”
“Is what they say about bartenders really true?” he asked. “Do people tell you their life stories, their secrets?”
“Sometimes,” you said. “Depends on the person, and how many drinks they’ve had. Most people keep to themselves, but I have a few regulars who like to talk.”
“You’re kind of fascinating, you know that?” he asked.
“What?” you said, exhaling a short laugh.
“When I moved in down the hall, you were headed out somewhere with Wooyoung and Jihyo—”
You interrupted him. “No, that’s okay, you don’t have to—”
“Why?” he asked. “I like this story.”
You put your hands over your face like you could hide from it, from your own actions several months ago.
“You walked right over to me and introduced yourself. I thought that was pretty cool.”
Really? Because you had recounted that interaction several times in the hours afterward, convinced that you had made a complete ass out of yourself, convinced that you were the lamest person in the entire world.
“Do you remember what you said to me?” he asked.
“No,” you said. Even though you obviously did. Even though you knew exactly the words you’d said.
Yunho smiled. “That I could come over any time if I needed something. That you were excited to have a cool, new neighbor.”
You hid your face behind your hands again. “God, that’s so lame.”
“I thought it was cute.”
“You did not,” you said.
He took a sip of his wine, eyes not leaving yours as he did. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you were certain that this embarrassment was going to kill you.
“And then you came over whenever you wanted for the rest of forever,” you said. “Just to bother me.”
He laughed again. “I came over because I thought you were cute.”
“I thought you were just trying to get away from the girls in your apartment.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Because they weren’t you.”
You rolled your eyes at him because it was such a line. So something he would say to get what he wanted, to make a girl blush, or make them want him. It was probably something he said to those girls in the bar, to get them to come home with him. Not that he probably had to say much of anything at all. His appearance could do most of the talking.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he said. “I’m being honest here.”
“You are not,” you said.
His eyebrows raised at your blatant dismissal. “Just because you don’t want to believe me doesn’t make it untrue.”
“Yunho, be serious.”
“I am being serious,” he said. “None of those girls meant anything to me. They knew it. I knew it.”
“How charming,” you said.
“Are you going to keep judging me for this, or can we move on?” he asked, straight-faced, just as blatant as your words. It must have been the alcohol, making you both so free to talk about what you were really thinking.
“I’m not judging you for sleeping around. I don’t care about your sex life, Yunho. I really don’t,” you said. “You just can’t expect me to believe that you were thinking about me the whole time. I mean, we didn’t even know each other.”
“I know you wake up at ten on weekdays and eleven on weekends. I know you record more reality TV than any sane person probably should. I know that you like coffee and you hate tea. I know you make a really good old-fashioned. I know you like people. I know you’re kind, but you don’t take people’s shit.”
It was all true.
“And I know I think about you when you aren’t around. I know that I’m not good enough for you even on my best days.”
“That’s not true,” you said. “You’re good.”
“Is that why you rejected me?” he asked.
“No,” you said. “I rejected you because I wanted more than I thought you wanted to give me.”
Something lit up behind his eyes when he smiled.
The rest of the date went on without incident. You returned to small talk. To easier conversation. To more teasing and taunting.
When you finally left, both wine drunk and happy, it was with intertwined hands.
“So nice of you to walk me home,” you joked.
“Well, I am quite the gentleman,” Yunho said.
You laughed under your breath.
“Your place or mine?” you asked as you stepped into the lobby and pressed the button to call the elevator down.
He looked shocked by this. Like he hadn’t been thinking about it all night, what taking you back to his place would be like. Okay, so maybe he had, but that didn’t mean he was going to act on those feelings. No, he wanted to do this right.
He didn’t respond fast enough, and it felt like a rejection.
You played it off. “I just want to make you a drink, Yunho. Don’t be weird,” you said. Even though that wasn’t exactly what you meant. Maybe it meant what he thought it meant. That you were looking for more.
“Your place, then,” he said, trying to keep the smile off his lips with little success.
The elevator doors slipped open, and you both stepped inside.
That same tension returned again. The we-kissed-here tension.
You were both looking at each other. Wine drunk and smiling. You used your intertwined hands to pull him toward you. He took one confident stride closer. When the doors slid open at your floor, his hands were reaching up to touch your arms, that same darkened look in his eyes. The part of his lips, the way his eyes roamed your face, up and down, unable to stop in any one location. He wanted to kiss you.
But he remained that step away, instead letting his knuckles glide along your skin.
You reached out for him, like that first night. Your hands found his lapels as the elevator doors slid closed. You didn’t tug him closer, but just held them.
He leaned down slowly, eyes shifting between your lips and your mouth. Your lips parted, too, and he captured them like it was an invitation.
Kissing him felt just as insane every single time you’d done it. There was the urgency and the fear of the first night, the pretending. And days ago, there had only been tenderness in his investigation. This kiss fell somewhere in the middle.
You could taste the wine on his lips as they moved slowly against yours. He tried to savor every bit of you. But as soon as it was really getting started, he was pulling away, cutting it off.
Then, his hand intertwined with yours again. He hit a button to make the elevator doors open again, and he led you down the hall, toward your place.
You wanted to reach for him again, wanted to drag him down for another kiss. But his expression looked like steel. He didn’t look at you, but instead forward at the door while you dug around for your keys. Even when you tried to steal a glance, he didn’t meet it.
But he let you lead him into your apartment, and once you were inside, he removed his jacket, placing it on the back of one of your chairs. You went to the kitchen, and he followed you, wrapping his arms low around your waist so he could rest his chin on your shoulder.
It was so domestic that it made your teeth hurt like you were sucking on a sweet candy.
“What do you like to drink?” you asked. “Do you actually like an old-fashioned, or were you just trying to piss me off?”
He chuckled in your ear, low and melodic, his breath curling against the shell of your ear. “I like them.”
“But are they your favorite?” you asked.
“I don’t know if I have a favorite,” he said.
“Everyone has a favorite,” you said.
“What’s yours?” he asked. “That’s what I want.”
You weren’t going to be able to make anyone anything if he kept holding onto you like that, kept whispering in your ear.
“I like, um,” you started. “Mai tais. Rum-based drinks in general.”
“Rum sounds good,” he said.
You took a step forward, and his arms fell away from you. You collected a few things from the counter, moving them over to the place next to the sink. Yunho stayed close, watching you work as you sliced and juiced a lime. He watched as you filled a shaker with ice and added the ingredients. He watched you shake it, then strain the contents over ice in a lowball glass. He watched as you carefully placed a few cherries atop the drink next to a lime wheel.
“Wait,” you said. “Finishing touch.” You dug around in a drawer and found a tiny umbrella, which you dropped into the drink for him, before picking it up and handing it to him.
He took a tentative sip, then smiled. “Damn, that’s good.”
“Kind of my specialty,” you said, already starting the process over for yours.
Eventually, the two of you migrated to the couch. You took a seat on the ground, your back to the legs of the couch, your drink on the table adjacent to you. Yunho sat behind you, on the couch itself.
You already had a controller in your hands, and it didn’t take long before Yunho wandered to the other side of the room to pick up another one.
While you scrolled through your available games, he said, “Trying to figure out which game you want to lose at?”
You shook your head, not looking back at him. “Cocky,” you commented. “I think you’ll find I’m better than you think.”
“I play on your account,” he said, which really meant I’ve seen your statistics.
“Okay, so I’m bad at the games you like to play,” you said.
He slipped onto the ground next to you.
“I was thinking something collaborative.”
You pulled up Overcooked and watched as he rolled his sleeves up.
“It’s that serious?” you asked, teasingly.
He laughed. “It’s incredibly serious.”
You both finished your drinks and played into the middle of the night, yelling at each other about vegetables and recipes.
It was nearly three in the morning when your eyes started to get heavy, when your head started to hurt, the hangover starting. You leaned your head against his shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. Neither of you moved for a long time. At some point, his hand came up to stroke long lines into your hair. And when you did, finally, fall asleep like that, he scooped you up and carried you to bed.
He peeled back the covers and deposited you there, pulling them back up around your body afterward. He pressed a kiss into your hair and disappeared.
When you woke up the next morning, it was to an empty apartment. When you wandered into the living room, there were no empty mai tai glasses to be found, no dishes from your late-night cocktail crafting. Everything was clean and put away.
You had no choice but to call Jihyo.
When she answered, it was not with a hello but with the immediate, important questions. “Oh my god, how was it?”
You kicked your feet up on the coffee table, leaned back with arms crossed over your chest, thinking.
“You’re up later than usual—does that mean it went really well?” Jihyo asked.
What was this feeling developing in the center of your chest? It couldn’t possibly be disappointment, right? There was nothing wrong with the date. He’d been a perfect gentleman. He’d paid for the meal, walked you home, let you yell at him into the wee hours of the night. He’d even tucked you in and washed your dishes.
But he’d hardly kissed you.
“It was… good,” you said.
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It wasn’t bad,” you said hastily. “It was really good. It just—I just, I guess I can’t even tell if he really even likes me or not.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
You shrugged, even though Jihyo couldn’t see it. “We kissed again, but that was it—and he didn’t even seem like, eager to continue.”
“That’s… weird,” was Jihyo’s analysis of the evening. You filled her in on the rest of the fine details. The restaurant, the banter, the moments of tension. “Maybe he’s just being careful?” she suggested. “Like he doesn’t want you to think he just wants you for one thing.”
“Yeah,” you said. “Maybe.”
Jihyo laughed. “So what you’re saying is that it was a really good date, but you’re annoyed he didn’t put out?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” you said.
“Kind of sounds like what you’re saying.”
“I’m hanging up now,” you said.
And you did.
It wasn’t long before you heard from Yunho again. Before another date was scheduled. Before you were calling Jihyo afterward again to recount the same news. The lack of news. And then it happened again. You were beginning to think the worst, that he didn’t want you. When he pulled away from another kiss on the night of your fourth date, two weeks into whatever it was the two of you were doing together, you threw your hands out in exasperation.
“Is there something wrong with me?” you asked.
He folded his arms over his chest. “Hm?” he asked. Then, what you said must have registered with him. “What do you mean?” He might have teased you if you hadn’t sounded so serious.
You chewed on your bottom lip for a long time, trying to work up the nerve to say the words you really wanted to say.
“I mean,” you started, but the words died on your tongue.
He had to know.
There was no way he didn’t.
He lifted his hand to your face, curled two fingers under your chin, and lifted, making you hold his gaze. His eyes were sharp, brown, drowning in blown-out pupils.
“Do you even still like me?” you asked, getting the words out. They weren’t exactly the right words, but the right words made your stomach turn. Even these ones made your heart beat faster, made your fingers twitch. Because it felt so stupid to be asking. Obviously, he liked you.
And he laughed.
Because, of course, he laughed.
It was a stupid fucking question.
“Of course, I like you,” he said, still holding your chin, still looking at you. Something knowing crossed his features, then, and you wished he would just confirm your worries without you having to actually speak them aloud.
“Then why don’t you want me?” you asked, voice small and timid.
His hand moved to the side of your face, his fingers dipping into your hair, holding you. “You think that I don’t want you?” he asked.
“I mean, it’s the only reasonable explanation,” you stammered, heat rushing to your cheeks.
“It’s not reasonable,” Yunho said.
Then, he dropped his hand from your face, slipping his palm into yours instead. He tugged you toward his door, away from your apartment—where he was previously dropping you off for the evening. You don’t even remember what his excuse had been. Something about having to work in the morning.
You let him lead you down the hall, toward his apartment. You would have followed him anywhere. He didn’t speak, just walked with you trailing behind. The short distance felt so much longer when you had to cross it without knowing what was on his mind.
As soon as you were inside, the door closed behind you, and he had you pressed against it, the cold metal interior, the doorknob just to the side of your hip. He didn’t kiss you. Just held you caged between his arms, elbows next to your shoulder, forearms resting against the door next to your head.
You cleared your throat. Breathing felt like an impossibility, like all of the air had been sucked fully and totally out of the room, with his face so close to yours, his eyes studying every movement you made.
“What were you saying?” you asked, voice just above a whisper. “About it being unreasonable?”
He ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his cheek, and it was so much hotter than it had any reason to be.
How high did he keep the heat in his apartment? Why did it feel like you were absolutely drenched in sweat? Your hands were clammy, your fingers tense at your side. You didn’t touch him, even though you wanted to. You weren’t afraid of being rejected. You knew that wasn’t what this was, exactly. But you were too curious to move.
Curious about what he would do—what he wanted.
Yunho shifted his weight, pressing against the door with one arm, in order to lean slightly back, to run the pads of his pointer and middle finger along your jawline. Your eyes stayed locked on his, watching him as he followed the movement of his hand. They flicked back to you, dark and deep. He cleared his throat, parted his soft, almost heart-shaped lips, to speak.
“I was trying,” he started, voice still gravely despite his attempt at clearing it. “To be a gentleman.”
Your lips formed into an oh, and you swallowed thick, trying to gather the confidence to say the next thing. To make the words known. “You don’t have to be.”
His fingers stilled on your jaw, and his dark brown eyes—overflowing with want—caught yours. You tried to keep your gaze neutral, but you could tell by the way he was looking at you that it wasn’t a success.
One corner of his lips quirked up first, just before the smirk drew across his face. Brows slightly raised, eyes inquisitive.
He was still so close to you, leaning in just an inch away from your lips. You could have closed the distance if you wanted to, but there was something appealing about this game the two of you had started playing the moment the door to his apartment closed. Like it was something tangible between the two of you that could be grabbed at any moment, but you both tiptoed around it, careful and curious.
Yunho’s hand fell to your neck, his knuckles dragged downward, skittering over your pulse and making your heart beat faster.
“So jumpy,” he said. “How long have you been thinking about this?” he asked. “About saying something?”
Your lips parted, but the confidence in your brain didn’t meet the confidence of the real-life situation, couldn’t face the way he was looking at you. Words died on your tongue, and he looked at you like he could see the entire process. Your struggling only made his smirk more proud.
“Really interesting,” he said, voice still low and gravely, but soft—too. A tool he used for inspection. “I was trying to be a gentleman for you, and you were thinking about—what?” he asked.
Your breath caught in your throat as he lowered his lips to the edge of your ear. You tried to collect your thoughts, tried to figure out how to navigate this new situation. This was the Yunho you were more familiar with. The one who poked and prodded at you. Who teased you in the living room, who was downright difficult.
It was the gentlemanly version of him that you’d been unfamiliar with, that you didn’t know quite how to handle.
“Oh, now she’s quiet,” he commented. “You had so much to say not even five minutes ago.”
“Five minutes ago, you didn’t have me pressed up against a wall,” you said, trying to steady your voice into something that sounded any semblance of calm, even if you didn’t feel it.
He slipped his hand into your hair at the base of your neck. “How long have you been thinking about it?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, tilting your head up as you ran your tongue over your lower lip.
Yunho laughed dryly under his breath. “Is that right?”
“That’s right,” you repeated.
“I was going to be so nice to you, baby,” Yunho whispered, breath curling against your ear. “Was going to treat you so good, too. Now, I’m not sure you deserve it.”
Your mouth fell open.
“What?” he asked, pulling back to look at you, to read the shock running its way across your face. “You want to play pretend now—pretend you haven’t been thinking about it, pretend you didn’t just ask. I can play, too.”
“I just—” you start. “You weren’t—”
“What wasn’t I doing?” he asked, one brow quirked upward. He wanted actual, tangible answers.
The way he spoke made everything in your brain stop working. All the lights turned off, and it was just fizzling, crackling energy left behind. Nothing that converted the thoughts into words. You were left just staring at him, mouth opening for a moment before your lips pressed together again.
Yunho was patient. He didn’t speak. Just kept his hand laced through your hair, kept that same look leveled on you. It didn’t help, but it certainly didn’t hurt, either.
“Let’s recap,” he said after a moment. “You asked me why I don’t want you. Which, I’m not sure where you got that idea, but that’s not important. And I asked you how long you’ve been thinking about this. And what was it that you said?” he asked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A small smile crept across your lips in delight at the way he spoke, the way his words got faster the more irritated he got with trying to figure you out. It was nice to be the one to get under his skin for once.
He shook his head in disbelief, but you could see the hint of a smile on his lips, too. He was enjoying this just as much as you were, this back and forth.
“I don’t,” you said, a proud smile on your lips now. “Know what you’re talking about.”
He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh.
“You know if you keep playing innocent, you’re not going to get what you want. What we both know you want,” he said.
You pressed your lips into a pout. He couldn’t resist. He removed his hand from your hair and touched the center of your lower lip with the pad of his thumb, dragging gently downward. “You don’t have to pout,” he said. “Just tell me how long you’ve been thinking about it—and don’t lie.”
Speaking didn’t appeal to you. Instead, you parted your lips around his thumb and leaned just slightly forward so the pad landed flat atop your tongue.
He did it again, ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his cheek in an attempt to mask his frustration. He hummed, a disapproving sound laced with something else. Like he enjoyed it, but didn’t want to indulge.
“That’s not going to work on me, beautiful,” he said, pulling his thumb slowly out of your mouth. He dropped his hand to the space right below your neck, holding it ever-so-gently. He leaned in slowly, so his lips were only a fraction from yours.
Your body reacted before you could stop it, leaning slightly forward to try to capture his lips. He pulled back, holding you firm against the door with one hand. “Ah, ah,” he said.
“You don’t want to kiss me, Yunho?” you asked, pouting. “I mean, I kind of got that impression on our dates, but I thought maybe I was wrong.”
He ran his tongue over his gums, just under his lower lip, and you could tell you were driving him insane, too.
But you kept going. “If you don’t really want me, I could just go home,” you said.
“Never said that,” he said. He took one of your hands, hanging useless at your side, and placed it atop the taut material and the hard length underneath it, lowering his lips to your ear again to whisper, “I want you, but not before you tell me what I want to hear.”
He didn’t hold your hand to him, but yours lingered, regardless. You moved your palm against him, and he worked hard to keep his expression neutral, to not break immediately underneath your touch. After a few moments, he pulled your hand away, holding it tight in his.
“Come on, baby,” he said. “How long?” The tip of his nose ran along the shell of your ear, and you shuddered under the sensation. Goosebumps rose on your forearms, and the heat of the apartment had only increased. “How long were you thinking about this while I was focused on treating you right, being a gentleman?”
He kissed the hinge of your jaw. “I just want to know how long it took,” he said, pressing another kiss lower, along your jawline. “Was it the first date?” he asked. “Or the second?” Another kiss, this time at the top of your neck. You angled your head away from him, giving him better access. He didn’t comment, but you could feel the pride tug at the corner of his lips. “You must have been really frustrated to ask.” He dragged his teeth downward, then bit gently. “Were you frustrated?”
All the bravado disappeared, and you were left, mouth open, victim to his ministrations, trying to figure out exactly how you could argue against this idea that you had been thinking about him like this nonstop for the past two weeks.
You could no longer find a good reason to continue frustrating him.
“The night you drove me home,” you said, your voice just above a whisper, like it was embarrassing to admit. His smile grew against your skin in an instant.
“Mmm,” he hummed against your skin. “The kiss in the elevator really did it for you?”
“No,” you said, like it was an instinct to shut him down.
He only chuckled into the crook of your neck.
“Is this what I have to look forward to?” he asked. “You being a brat?”
“No,” you said, cocky smile across your face.
“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said, exasperation seeping into his words, seconds before his lips were on yours. You were all talk. The moment his lips touched yours, you came alive against him. It was a taste of what you wanted, and you immediately didn’t want it to end. You pushed away from the door, letting your arms fall over his shoulders as you pressed your body into his. His hands fell to your waist, then slid around to your back, holding you against him.
Yeah, sure. Maybe you were impatient. Maybe you’d been thinking about this for weeks. Maybe you didn’t want him to know just how much you’d been thinking about it, how much your body absolutely craved his. But when your hands dropped to the buttons of his shirt, he didn’t complain. He didn’t make you stop to recite the answers to any questions.
He just smiled against your lips, proud, like he’d won something.
Your fingers grazed his bare skin as you worked further down. He deepened the kiss, angling forward as he tilted your head back, slipping his tongue between your lips. Yunho’s fingers dug into the cloth covering your hips, and your fingers stalled on his shirt. You reached for his skin instead, wanting to touch anything you could. You put one hand flat on his chest, but he was quick to loop a hand around your wrist and pull it away.
“Hey,” you mumbled into his lips.
He gave no response, only laced his fingers through the hand he’d stolen and pinned it back against the door as he continued to kiss you, running his tongue along yours.
“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he said, breaking apart from your mouth, breaths ragged, forehead touching yours. “At anytime,” he said.
You nodded, but remained silent. Hoping for the continuation of whatever he was doing, his lips on your again, his hands exploring your body. Any of it. You didn’t care. You’d take what he was willing to give. You might even say thank you.
He kissed you again, dragging your lower lip into his mouth as his fingers inched toward the hem of your shirt. One hand snuck underneath it. His knuckles grazed your bare stomach, and you jumped. He smiled into the kiss, and you rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it.
“You sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked, muttering the words against you between kisses. “I’m barely touching you.”
“I’m fine,” you hissed. His lips found the column of your neck again, however, and you began to question the declaration.
He chuckled again, letting the sound reverberate through you as his fingers climbed further up your abdomen.
Your head lolled backward, resting against the door behind you, the rest of your body arched forward into him.
“You give up on the shirt?” he asked, eyes glancing between the two of you, to the few buttons holding his shirt together.
“No,” you said.
His hand still held one of yours pinned to the door. You reached between your bodies with your free one and worked on the button. It kept slipping free from your fingers at the same time as your soft moans. He bit your pulse point, sucking your skin into his mouth gently at first and then harder. Your lids fluttered closed, and the fabric fell out of your hand again.
“Come on,” he said.
His other hand slipped under your bra, cupping your breast. You almost had the last button done when his thumb ran over your nipple. “Yunho,” you hissed in annoyance.
“Want me to stop?” he asked, lifting his lips from your neck just enough to catch your gaze, his thumb still moving back and forth across your nipple inconsistently, making it impossible to get used to.
“It would be easier,” you said. “If I could use my other hand.”
“Huh,” he said. “That’s too bad.” Then, he dropped his lips to your neck again, kissing lower, grazing them along the length of your collarbone.
You finally did get the last button, then used your one free hand to attempt to push the fabric back off his shoulders. You tugged against his hand, trying to free yourself from the grip. He held firm, didn’t even so much as budge. But he felt your attempt, and that had him grinning.
“Need help?” he asked.
“Nope,” you said. You had most of his chest revealed, and that was good enough for you. You reached out for it, running just the tips of your fingers down the center. He didn’t stop you this time, letting you explore him.
He released your hand then, only for his own benefit, to grab the hem of your shirt with both hands and lift it up and over your head.
You stood apart for a second, looking at one another. His eyes fell to your chest, your cleavage. His tongue flicked out to wet his lower lip. You were too busy getting the rest of his shirt off to notice the way he looked at you.
The break only lasted a moment, but it might as well have been an eternity of not touching one another. Of studying what was before you and wanting it. You both seized forward at the same time, your lips colliding as hands roamed over bodies. Yours found his shoulders, slid down his arms over his biceps, then back up. His went to your waist, around to your back. One fiddled with the strap of your bra before unhooking it in a swift motion.
He didn’t break the kiss, just took a half-step back as he pulled the straps off your shoulders and down. Once your bra was on the floor in the growing pile of clothes next to you, he pulled away again to look at you. His lips were on your skin again in no time, working downward as his hand moved upward. He rolled one nipple between thumb and forefinger as he kissed a circle around the other.
Your body tensed under his ministrations, and you were certain this man was going to be the absolute death of you with his knowing looks and his slow touches. Heat started in your stomach and dripped dangerously low at every caress. But you tried to keep your cool, tried to handle it. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being putty in his hands.
Yunho hummed a sound of happiness as he sucked, flicking your nipple with his tongue. Your hands threaded into his hair.
His hands fell to your pants, unbuttoning the top button. “Take these off,” he said, and you finished the job, stepping out of them as he kissed back upward, taking his time. His fingers teased at the waistband of your underwear.
You sucked in a breath, hot and sharp between your teeth. The door pressed cold lines into your back, and Yunho’s fingertips continued to flutter atop the band, teasing. The heat of the moment and the cold of the metal did not grant you equilibrium but only contributed to the building feeling of overstimulation that you know he would absolutely revel in if he could read your mind.
Maybe he could read your mind, because he smirked against your skin for at least the tenth time in so many minutes, and you were starting to think he knew every nasty thought you’d ever had.
It was a stalemate, because you knew that he wanted you restless. He wanted you begging. But you didn’t want to voice another word, another request, didn’t want to do what he told you to do. Unfortunately, you also really wanted him to slip his fingers lower.
He watched you, too, like he knew you were making this calculation.
He placed his hand across your stomach as he leaned forward to whisper in your ear. “Just say it,” he whispered. “I know you want to.”
He lifted your chin with his fingers as he pulled back, meeting your eyes. His eyes were dark and heavy, full of clear desire. The word no died on your tongue.
But neither did he wait for you to ask. He held your eye contact as he moved his hand between your thighs, humming as he ran the pads of his fingers along your clothed slit. “Nice and wet for me, hm?”
He pushed your underwear to the side, dragged his middle finger through your folds, and then slipped it inside of you to the knuckle.
“See, I can be nice,” he said.
You choked on a gasp and tried to let your head fall back against the door, but he held your chin firm, keeping his eyes on you. He moved his finger slowly as you adjusted. His eyes traced your expression, the subtle part of your lips, the way your eyes rolled slightly backward. And you studied his, too. The hooded gaze as he watched you, the way his smirk got cockier every time you reacted to the movement.
There was no escaping his careful eye. He caught every soundless gasp, every subtle movement.
He liked you like this, falling apart and trying to keep yourself together at the same time. Not wanting to give in to him, but wanting everything he had to give. He liked teasing it out of you, that desire.
Your lids fluttered closed as he stroked just the right spot, curling his finger to meet it.
“Eyes open,” he said. His voice was firm, but not sharp. Commanding in a gentle kind of way.
It didn’t make you want to listen.
“Or what?” you challenged, eyes still closed.
“Or I’ll stop,” he said. And he did.
Your eyes flew open, and he couldn’t help the breathy laugh that fell off his lips.
“You’re trying so hard, baby, but your body keeps giving you away,” Yunho said, a hair away from your lips, before he kissed you.
He slipped another finger inside of you at the same time, and your body arched forward, your hands reaching for something to hold onto and finding his shoulders with ease. You groaned into his mouth, both at the feeling and his words.
“God,” you moaned, breaking away from his lips to catch your breath. He didn’t go far, instead dropping his lips to your neck, biting and sucking at your skin until you felt like you were melting. You rolled your hips against his hand, wanting more, and he gave it without a word. His thumb ran over your clit, sending a shudder through your body. “Yunho, oh my god,” you muttered, hands digging into his shoulders.
It was all too much. His teeth on your neck, his fingers moving fast inside you, curling, and his thumb running circles over your clit at a pace that made everything ache.
“That feel good, baby?” he asked, voice gravely, breath hot on your neck.
He didn’t slow his pace, so you could barely voice the words you wanted to say. All that came out was a breathy, “Don’t stop.”
And he was smirking again, running his tongue over your pulse before whispering, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Your hips kept rolling into his fingers, but he managed to keep the dizzing pressure on your clit as you squirmed. He took a step into you, pressing you up against the door again. One of his legs snuck between yours, and he used his upper thigh to hold you in place.
He had you on the edge, about to teeter over, every muscle in your body so tense you were almost shaking.
Then, he did exactly what he said he wouldn’t. He stopped. He dragged his fingers out of you slow, removed his thumb from your clit, and met your eyes. He struggled to keep your gaze, his eyes falling to your heaving chest as you tried to catch your breath.
You groaned and tried to let your head fall back against the door, but he caught it, holding you forward by the neck.
“Aw, you don’t like being teased, baby?” he asked, looking down his nose at you.
You whimpered, moving your hips against his thigh in search of something. He only pinned you harder, keeping you from moving at all.
He lifted his hand, slick with you, and tapped your lower lip. “Open,” he said.
Your lips fell open, and he placed both of his fingers on the flat of your tongue. You closed your lips around them. He pressed down on your tongue, and you licked from the base of his finger to the tip without breaking the very direct eye contact he made with you.
“Look at that,” he said. “You can follow directions.”
You rolled your eyes and bit down gently on his fingers. He hooked his fingertips just behind your teeth and pulled you forward.
“Mm,” he hummed. “I think I like you like this—unable to talk back.”
You ran your tongue over his fingers again, tried to move your hips again, chasing anything that would give you any kind of satisfaction now that fire danced over every inch of your skin, where he touched you and where he didn’t.
He pulled his fingers from your mouth slowly as you licked them clean. He replaced his fingers with his tongue, lips crashing into yours—hungrier than before. The entire length of his body pressed up against you, anchoring you in place. You could hardly move between him and the wall, except to reach for him, to grip his arms tight in a grounding kind of way.
He took a step away from you, dragging his lips from yours like it was the hardest decision he’d ever made. Then, he was grabbing your hand, pulling you deeper into his apartment, past the kitchen, through the living room, toward his bedroom.
You’d been here before, seen these places before. You’d stalked through his apartment, looking for your fake boyfriend in order to drive off the women he’d slept with, you’d sat on his couch post-date, talking into the late hours of the night.
The place seemed different now. His bedroom a completely new world. You’d only seen it in the aftermath, or with another woman sprawled out across it, waiting for his return. It was pristine now, the bed made with crisp sheets and a comfortable atop it. Pillows stacked in front of the headboard.
He guided you toward the edge of the bed, and you sat while he towered over you, hands lowering to his belt. You watched with rapt attention, tongue running between your lips. He undid his belt buckle, then the top button of his pants. He worked slowly—slower because he could tell you were watching, waiting.
Yunho let his pants fall to his ankles. He stepped out of them, and your hands shot out, touching his abdomen but trailing downward for more. You were so interested, so needy. You’d never wanted anyone as much as you wanted him, right then.
He slipped his hands over yours, and you rolled your eyes before he could open his mouth.
“Ask for it,” he said, looking down at you. That same smirk playing on his lips. You should have known that being with him would be like this, with all the teasing he did outside the bedroom. All the playful glances he always shot in your direction, all the comments he made. It just never occurred to you that he would be so, well, annoying.
Why was it so hot, then? If you were so annoyed, why did his words always make that same heat pool between your legs, always make you want him even more? And why did it drive you absolutely insane anytime he asked you anything?
You pressed your lips into a tight line, determined to be stubborn about this.
“You don’t have to touch me,” he said. “But if you want to—I’m going to need to hear you ask.”
He held your hands tight in his to prevent them from going anywhere.
“You’re—”
“What, baby?” he asked, still looking down at you, not touching you anywhere other than your hands. He cocked his head to the side. “What am I?”
“Bossy,” you said. “And kind of a pain in the ass.”
He laughed, a full, deep one that shook his chest. “You want me to stop?” he asked, lifting one hand to tilt your chin upward. “I could be nice to you, instead. Really nice.”
You hesitated.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said.
“Shut up,” you said, pushing against his abdomen with your intertwined hands. You grumbled under your breath. You batted your eyelashes at him. “I’d really like to touch you, Yunho. Could I, please?”
He smirked. “Now, I don’t think you really mean that.”
“Oh, should I get on my knees?” you said, that same expression on your face—fluttering eyelashes, like you’d do anything he wanted if he really wanted it.
“Only if you want to, beautiful,” he said. He freed your other hand, too.
You hooked your fingers into the band of his boxers and pulled them down, tongue flicking out to wet your lips as you slid off the edge of the bed and onto your knees in front of him. He watched, silently, one hand coming up to gather your hair away from your face.
One of your hands lifted to wrap around him. He was big, you had to admit. And you couldn’t keep the look off your face. Like you were drunk on want. Like he was all you could possibly think about.
You leaned forward, flattened your tongue against the underside of the tip, eyes flicking up to meet his as you did, watching for a reaction. He didn’t hold back as you did, but let you watch as his lips parted. His hand tightened in your hair, and you gasped as you took him into your mouth—shallow at first, as you got used to the size.
Slowly, you took him deeper.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re so good.”
He rolled his hips once, slow, as he held the back of your head.
“That okay?” he asked, his voice dropping to one much more gentle than how he’d been speaking to you.
You nodded as best you could with your mouth wrapped around his cock.
Another slow roll of his hips, and he was reaching your throat. You dropped your hands from him and looked up. You stopped moving, letting him take control instead. He held the back of your head firm and rolled his hips again and again, a little harder each time.
Each time he hit the back of your throat, your eyes stung. His grip in your hair tightened, and you moaned around him, which only made him thrust into your mouth faster—harder.
Tears stung in the corners of your eyes, but neither of you stopped.
“God,” Yunho hissed again, hips bucking, snapping forward into you one more time before he pulled out fast.
“Get up,” he said, and you stood—no attitude needed.
He wiped the tears from under your eyes, the drool from your mouth, then spun you around and pressed you down, into the mattress. He reached into the drawer next to his bed, ripped open a condom with his teeth, and rolled it on, keeping one hand on your lower back.
He guided the tip of his cock to your entrance and dragged it through your folds. “Still so wet, and I wasn’t even touching you,” he said.
You couldn’t get a single word out. Your face was buried in the bedspread. He pushed just the tip inside of you, and every muscle in your legs went taut, seizing up.
“Relax, baby,” Yunho said, moving forward another inch, reveling in the stretch, the feeling of tightness as you clamped down hard around him. Your hands were already balled into the fabric next to you, your teeth already biting down hard on your bottom lip to keep from whimpering. You pushed back against him, trying to get more.
His hands came up to hold your hips, preventing you from moving. He slid forward another inch, slowly, enough to make you ache.
“Please,” you begged, needing all of him way faster than he was willing to give it.
You could practically hear the smirk appear behind you as he rolled his hips forward into you, filling you up.
A jagged gasp escaped your lips. You could feel him pulsing inside of you, twitching, betraying his resolve. But he didn’t move. He kept one hand on your hip, then ran the other down your spine, making you shiver.
“Yunho,” you whimpered.
“Something you want, hm?” he asked, voice low and dark, like he was holding back from what he wanted, too, just to break you down even further.
You gritted your teeth. “Yes,” you said, forcing the word out.
He traced lazy circles on your back. “Tell me.”
“Yunho,” you moaned again, trying to move your hips against them again.
He stilled them once more. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Say what?” you teased—only punishing yourself.
He shifted only slightly, enough to remind you what you wanted. He grabbed your shoulder, pulled you back against him, pushing his cock even deeper into you, making you gasp into the blankets. “Tell me what you want from me.”
“God, Yunho,” you muttered, thighs starting to shake. “I want you,” you said. “I don’t know—I want you, I just want you.”
He laughed dryly under his breath and rewarded you with a slow roll of his hips. “Not specific enough,” he said.
You groaned again, exasperated and desperate.
“I don’t—” you started, another slow, agonizing thrust. “I don’t—”
“You know,” he said. “You just don’t want to say it.”
He pulled out of you slow, then snapped his hips forward, taking you to new levels of desperation.
“You’re—” you stumbled over your words. “You’re being so mean.”
He stilled again, giving you time to process, to think. He massaged circles into your hip with his palm. “Yeah?” he asked.
“Yes,” you said, through gritted teeth. He started slow again, and you couldn’t help the whimpers that fell off your lips immediately, giving you away. “I want you so bad, please. Yunho, please,” you begged.
He didn’t move.
“What do you want me to say?” you hissed, irritated. “That I want you to fuck me until I see stars?”
His fingers dug into your hip, and you knew you’d hit the mark.
“Look at you, so good with your words,” he commented.
His hips snapped forward again, deeper this time, faster. He established a rhythm. “Fuck—” you started, only to be interrupted by your own gasps. “You.”
He slammed into you until you were stuttering, barely even able to say his name or mutter any other profanities. Your thighs were still shaking, legs tense and tight, especially as you arched into him, standing on your toes to lift your ass even higher. He put his hands on your shoulders, holding you in place before him, not letting you shift forward with every thrust—instead taking all of him with each deep stroke.
It didn’t take long for you to start crumbling against him. He’d had you on the line for a long time, and your body could hardly take it anymore. Your thighs clenched, walls slamming down around him.
“You wanna come, baby?” he asked, voice soft and deep, just above a whisper. You could hear the desire dripping from it, and it only made it more difficult to hold back.
You nodded, whimpering as he kept up the pace, holding you and slamming forward again and again. He reached forward and grabbed your hair at the root, pulling you back. Your fingers tightened in the bedspread as the orgasm crashed into you, over you, through you, and you pressed yourself back against him as hard as you could, taking everything he could give as everything tightened so hard it was nearly unbearable.
“That’s it, baby,” he coaxed as you came undone, falling limp beneath him. His pace slowed into long, languid strokes before he pulled out.
With his hands on your hips, he turned you over, and you let him. Your face was flushed, your chest hot and red, your lips swollen from earlier kisses, and your hair a mess from his hands.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he said.
You let out a shaky breath, eyes dropping to his cock, still hard. You must have read his mind, because as he crawled onto the bed toward you, you moved away, sliding up so you could rest your head atop the pillows.
Your knees were folded up, thighs pressed together.
He slipped a hand on the inside of your knee and pushed them open so he could crawl between, moving up your body. Your hands went to his shoulders immediately, looking for something to grab before he touched you anywhere.
Yunho pressed a kiss to your jaw, your cheek, the side of your nose.
“Can you take more, baby?” he asked.
You nodded, lip between your teeth.
“God, you’re fucking perfect, you know that?” he asked.
You shook your head, and he laughed, dropping his lips to yours in a slow, tender kiss, such a stark difference from the previous few and their feverish nature.
He slipped a hand between your bodies, slipping a finger inside of you quickly, in and then out, before lining himself up with your entrance again. You sucked in a breath before he even moved. In one fluid motion, he sheathed himself fully inside of you. You shared the same gasp, mangled between kisses.
Everything felt immediately intense. Each stroke lighting a new fire. He seemed intent on wrecking you completely, because his fingers moved quickly to find your clit. He put pressure on it with two fingers, letting the movement of his thrusts provide the friction.
He sat up and pulled your hips down on him as he slid into you over and over again.
“Yunho, oh my god,” you said through heavy breaths, the combination of sensations making you dizzy, making it difficult to keep your eyes open.
Your sounds only encouraged him further, and soon his own grunts joined with your moans. He rubbed your clit with his thumb, not stopping to give you a second to calm down, only taking the sensation higher and higher. You squirmed, trying to get away from him, trying to stop the overstimulation, the feeling of everything being encompassed in wet, hot fire, but he didn’t let you move an inch.
You threw your head back against the pillow in defeat, letting your hips roll against his. He lifted one of your legs, leaning it against his shoulder as he fucked deeper and deeper into you. You had to close your eyes—and he didn’t stop you, didn’t demand your attention, just kept touching and thrusting, and holding you until it was all too much.
“I can’t—” you started, hips stuttering as your core tightened impossibly, strangling him inside of you. He groaned as you came, and you felt him twitch inside of you at the same time as he fucked you through your second orgasm of the night, until you were lying nearly boneless beneath him. And then he was still, too, collapsing on top of you, gathering you into his arms.
You breathed heavily together for some time. Yunho pressed soft kisses to whatever skin he could reach and smoothed your hair away from your face.
It was a long time—intertwined just like that—before he got out of bed to clean up. As soon as he returned, it was to gather you into his arms all over again, to hold you flush against his skin, to kiss your lips soft and slow.
“That was—” you started, even though there were no words in the known world to finish the sentence properly.
“Yeah,” he said. “Really was.”
You nestled your face deeper into his neck, and he held you even tighter, like he was worried you were going to go somewhere.
When he spoke again, it was quiet, just above a whisper. “I really like you, you know.”
You peeled away from him enough to catch his eyes. There was a bit of worry in them. Your hand shot out to touch his cheek.
“I really like you, too,” you said.
He cleared his throat. “Haven’t really—you know, dated anyone,” he said. “In a while.”
The words hung between you for some time.
“I want to, though. I mean, I want to keep dating you,” he said.
You laughed under your breath. He was cute when he was flustered. “Good,” you said, touching the tip of his nose with yours before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I want that, too.”
“Sex was that good, huh?” he teased, and you pushed his shoulder. “Kidding.”
“It was good, though,” you said, pointedly. “But that’s not the only reason. A silver lining, definitely.”
You tucked your head back into the crook of his neck and fell asleep with his arms wrapped around you, thinking this is a good thing, and wondering how you were ever anything other than completely enamored by him.
